Well, here it is. Took me long enough, I know, but it's not my fault! Talk to Sands. After the last chapter, he slept for like twenty hours straight and woke up in what can only be termed a b****y mood, even for him. He sat in a dusty corner of my mind, smoking and swearing and sulking until I finally gave in and asked him what on earth was wrong, and he told me quite matter-of-factly that he hadn't shot anyone in at least 24 hours, and that he was starting to go through withdrawal. ************************************************************************
Sands woke early the next morning, but lay for a long time without moving, listening to the sounds of people and the occasional car on the street outside, memorizing what he heard. He mentally shook his head, thinking with grim good humor how odd it was to wake up without opening one's eyes. His arm was still around Estrella, and he shifted slightly to kiss the back of her neck. She didn't move, but he heard her breathing change ever so slightly. He waited, but nothing more happened for several minutes.

At last he said, "You can stop pretending to be asleep any time now."

She laughed softly and turned over to face him. "How did you know?"

"Magic," he answered with a straight face.

She sighed and answered, "Right. I should have guessed. Tell me, Sands, have you always been insane, or is it a recent development?"

He deliberately gave her his most worrisome grin as he replied, "Always have been, always will be."

"You're good at it," she informed him.

He smirked. "I practice every day."

"Well, you-" she began, but he cut her off with a gesture.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Do you hear that?"

"I hear nothing," she said, sounding puzzled.

"Exactly," he said simply.

She let out a slow hiss of breath and got up without another word. Sands followed suit, tugging his clothes on and buckling on his gun belt. He stretched, making a few vertebrae crack in protest. "Qué quieres hacer?" she asked, her voice as controlled and calm as if she were asking about the weather.

"Kill every last ****er the cartel sends after me, starting with the ones outside and working my way across the country," Sands answered grimly. His words were punctuated by the roar of several truck engines, and the screech of brakes.

"Then let's go, before they get in position," she said, heading for the door.

He grabbed her arm and said, "No, let them get in place. There's no way the two of us can deal with them when they're all in a group, but once they nicely spread out-"

"We'll be caught in a crossfire!" Estrella spat. "Sands, this is loco. We will both be killed!"

The dull thump of an explosion somewhere up the street made Sands jump and Estrella swear. "What was THAT?" she demanded.

"How the **** should I know?" Sands drawled. "Why don't you go look for yourself?"

He could tell she was having one of her I'm-glaring-daggers-at-you moments, and he enjoyed every moment of it. Pissing people off was something of a hobby for him. He waited for her curiosity to get the better of her, as he knew it would.

At last she jerked her arm out of his hold, cursing him, his ancestors, Americans in general, and the CIA in particular. She also added a few notes on his personal habits, probable sexual preferences, and lack of intelligence. He listened appreciatively for a few moments, then said, "Yes, yes, I confess, it's all true, now will you please go see what our friends are doing out there?"

Still muttering, she carefully opened the door a few inches. "Three trucks, about thirty men. None of them are wearing uniforms. They are going from house to house, searching. If no one answers the door, they blow it off. The truck that is nearest to us, about fifty feet from the door, seems to be full of explosives," she reported, closing the door again as quietly as she could.

"Does it now?" Sands murmured, then he gave her another twisted grin. "OK, I've got an idea."

"Does it involve both of us living to see tomorrow?" she demanded.

"With any luck, yeah," said Sands unconcernedly.

"So what's your buen idea?" she asked.

He told her. She sighed deeply, but made no comment beyond, "Si, yo comprendo."

"Good," he said brightly, listening to the scuffing of perhaps a dozen pairs of feet on the road just outside the door. He reached up and peeled the bandages away from his ruined eyes, gritting his teeth, and put on his sunglasses. "Ready? Go."
He flung the door open and stumbled out into the street, his arms extended in front of him, occasionally tripping over his own feet for added effect. Behind him, just out of sight of any observers in the shadows of the doorway, Estrella screamed insults at him, punctuated by a few carefully-aimed shots from her gun that whistled past his head, some coming close enough to ruffle his dark hair. "You son of a *****!" she shrieked in spanish. "I'm going to ****ing kill you, you bastard!"

Sands could feel blood beginning to run down his face again, so he raised a shaking hand to his cheek as he ducked her shots with carefully judged clumsiness, allowing the blood to coat his fingers. He did his best to keep a look of terror on his face, while inside he was roaring with maniacal laughter.

He half-turned, still stumbling away from her, and slammed full-tilt into the side of the cartel's truck. Pain from his wounded arm nearly made him black out, but he forced himself to stay conscious, and focused. He slumped to the ground, curling into a ball with his arms curled protectively around his body, in terrible pain.

At least, that was what he hoped it looked like. Under the cover of his fall, he pulled two guns from their holsters and lay panting in the dust, waiting, hiding them close to his body. Right on cue, Estrella screeched a final blistering oath, fired one last shot, and slammed the door shut with an echoing bang.

Sands could hear rough laughter all around him. He mapped the ground around him by sound, locating as many of the cartel's soldiers as he could. He gave them a five count, then rolled onto his back and started shooting. He heard screams and bodies falling as his bullets found their marks.

Leaping to his feet, he vaulted lightly into the bed of the truck, dropping almost prone, feeling the boxes of explosives shifting under his weight. The wound in his thigh blazed with pain; he ignored it. The adrenaline pounding in his veins made that easy.

There was some half-hearted return fire, but a shouted order in spanish from one of the soldiers put a stop to that. Sands smiled and murmured, "I know, I know. Your boss wants me alive, doesn't he? You really can't risk blowing me up, now can you?"

He shot the man who had shouted, just because he could, and took out three others who were nearby for good measure. He could hear the rest of them milling about in confusion, now leaderless, so he put a few more out of their misery, purely, of course, as an act of kindness.

The welcome sound of a car engine and the squeal of tires reached his ears. The vehicle screeched to a halt alongside of the truck, and Sands rolled out of the bed of the truck, yanked the passenger door open, and threw himself inside just as Estrella (who was driving) floored the gas pedal. Sands twisted around to fire out the back window, hitting the boxes of explosives, which went off with a ground-shaking roar. Sands felt the frame of the car vibrate. Estrella was also shooting; she put a bullet in each of the tires of the other two trucks as they raced by, eliminating any possibility of pursuit.

"You had no trouble?" he asked, shouting to make himself heard.

"None," she answered smugly, swerving to avoid an obstacle of some kind. "There were only two behind the house, both near the car, and they were distracted by your little performance."

Sands grinned wolfishly and said, "I should get a ****ing Oscar for that!"

Estrella laughed and said, "I don't know about that, but at least it worked. We're safe, for now at least."

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A/N: Well Sands, I hope you're happy, mate.