Wow- It really has been ages since I've updated any of my fics. Writer's block, too much school work, too busy planning world domination, etc, etc. But I've got back in the loop and here is my latest offering- enjoy!

Summary- La fiesta empieza!

Rating- PG-13

Warning- Crazy

Disclaimer- No I don't own the movie, or the characters, although I wish I owned Sands, Lorenzo and Fideo. A girl can dream.

Part One- It's My Party and I'll Not Cry if I Want To

The day of the party had arrived, and Sands' living room was adorned with balloons, streamers (courtesy of the eager doctor) and two banners wishing the guests a happy Golden Wedding Anniversary. The agent himself was fast asleep on the couch, wearing a pair of earplugs and stylish green sweat pants. Dr Sanderson was slaving over a hot stove (well, a microwave) to produce delicious delicacies native to Mexico (although he doubted that "Chickeno-Friedo" and "Burgero-con-fryos" were actually Mexican dishes.)

Eventually, as the doctor was placing the last dish of salsa on the coffee table, he heard Sands stir. He was awake. Finally. Suddenly, though, Dr Sanderson felt a wave of excitement. He sat down quickly, looking at the only just woken man. He was at ease, relaxed… Sands was lying on a couch, vulnerable, he was sitting in a comfortable chair, in control… a familiar situation!

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asked Sands, enjoying the feeling of his most over-used words.

"Hmm?"

"Would. You. Like. To. Talk. About. It?"

"What are you on, Doc?" Asked the sleepy Sands.

"Nothing," answered the doctor, put out. "Just wondered… if you would like to talk about how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling? Ok then."

"Yes!" Blurted out Dr Sanderson, unable to stop himself.

"How I'm feeling… pretty hungry, actually. Would you pass me a dish of crackers or chips or something?"

Disappointed, the doctor passed his patient a platter of tortilla chips. "Anything else?" He asked hopefully. If only he could get a single tear out of the guy!

"No."

After a few minutes of awkward silence (or at least the doctor thought it was awkward- Sands didn't particularly notice or care), Sands decided to get dressed in preparation for his guests. Dr Sanderson was pleased- at least his patient was beginning to make an effort. That was, until Sands returned wearing worn black pants and a T-shirt reading 'why did the Mexican push his wife off the cliff? Tequila!", with a shiny cartoon of a drunk, jolly Mexican wearing a sombrero.

"Is that entirely appropriate?" Asked the psychiatrist sternly, in the manner of a school teacher.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Doc," replied Sands over- casually. "After all- I can't see what I'm wearing. Besides, there isn't time to change; my guests will be arriving soon, won't they?"

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Sands ignored it and went back to his bowl of chips. Dr Sanderson sighed, and went to answer the door. Upon opening it, he found himself looking at not a person, but a very large, battered double- bass case. It was without a doubt the most enigmatic case of any string instrument that he had ever come across but, nevertheless, it was still a double-bass case. Looking to either side, the doctor scratched his head, puzzled.

"Hello?" He called.

As if in answer, the case began to rock slightly. After what seemed like an internal struggle, the lid burst open, and a tall, long haired man climbed out. He cast a couple of wary glances around him, before reaching back into the case and pulling out a dark haired, curvy woman, who clung to his arm. After a further delve in the case, he pulled out a guitar and a bottle of Chilean wine.

"Hola," he whispered, huskily. Dr Sanderson looked at him in astonishment.

"How- how di- how did you- ?" He stuttered. Surely the case wasn't big enough to carry a full grown man, a buxom seňorita, a guitar and a bottle of vino?

"Is this the place of the fiesta?" Asked the man in the same husky undertone.

"Yes," Sanderson found himself whispering back. "And you are..?"

"My friends call me 'The Man With No Name'. You may call me El."

"Well… thank you, El. Please come in."

The doctor led El quickly into the living room to join the uninterested agent. El clasped his girlfriend to his side and cast more suspicious glances around the room. Cautiously, he took a burrito and bit into it, chewing slowly. He nodded to show that it was safe, and he and the girl began to pick at the snacks.

"Sands," he whispered warily to the agent.

"Hmm?"

"You and I have some unfinished business?"

"Ummm… I don't think so, buddy."

"Just making sure. I got unfinished business with a lot of people… sometimes hard to keep track of who."

"Why don'tcha make a list?"

Sanderson watched the exchange, a slow smile spreading itself onto his face. His patient was bonding, bonding with people his own age. He was proud.

"What are you smiling at?" Demanded El of the grinning doctor. "Could you get me some paper and a pen?"

"Ah… sure," answered Dr. Sanderson quickly, still a little scared of the guy. He took an orange Bic and a small notepad from his inside pocket and handed them to El.

"Gracias," he muttered, beginning to mumble to himself.

As Sands snacked on a taco and El scribbled away on the pad, Dr Sanderson nervously perched on the arm of a chair. He was watched closely by El's girl, at whom he flashed a self-conscious smile. She tossed her head and stared at him from under her heavy eyelashes. The sound of the doorbell startled the doctor so much he fell off the arm of the chair. Standing up quickly, he hurriedly excused himself to answer it.

"Bienvenido a la casa de Seňor Sands!" He welcomed, opening the door.

"Yeah, yeah," replied the strong, tanned looking girl, pushing past him. "Where is he?"

"Who, Sands?"

"Yeah, that asshole who tried to kill me."

She walked into the den, hands on her hips, surveying the room. El Mariachi stopped his scribbling and stood up, squaring his shoulders, his right hand involuntarily touching his gun holster.

"Save it, Music Man," she told him.

"Well, well, well," Sands piped up, picking up on the voice of the woman. "Hey there, sugarbutt. Guess you couldn't stay away."

"Guess I couldn't."

"Can't blame you. There was always something about me that you never could resist."

"Yeah. The desire to plant a bullet between your eyes!"

"I think it was a different kind of desire, baby…"

"Dream on!"

This fiery exchange over, Ajedrez sat down on an armchair and accepted an olive from the dish Sanderson was proffering to her. The room lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence as the guests snacked and traded glares. The doorbell rang a few minutes later, and Sanderson answered it, yet again. There stood two Mexican guys and a girl, all slightly hammered and dressed casually.

"Hi, we're here for the party," said the tallest guy. "I'm Lorenzo. That's Fideo, and this is Juana."

"Come in, come in," Sanderson hustled. "The party is through here. We're already joined by Agent Ajedrez of the-"

"Buddy!" Exclaimed Lorenzo, catching sight of El Mariachi.

A flurry of introductions and greetings were made, before the three new arrivals seated themselves. Fideo, the guy with a slightly unkempt hairstyle grabbed himself an assortment of liquor from the table, then pulled a bottle of tequila from his own pocket. A friendly conversation ensued, spoken in Spanglish and mostly between El, Lorenzo and Fideo, with the occasional catty comment thrown in by Sands.

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Think I'll leave it there for now. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and sorry about the wait!