Disclaimer: No. Sands is not mine, despite all the pennies, and all the knocking on wood, and all the rubbing of bottles. sigh>> Mmmph.
A/N: Feel free to tell me if this chapter is a bit too fluffy for these characters. I mean, I know that everyone has emotions deep down, it's just that I'm not certain how much these two can trust yet. Thanks!!
Buggering, bloody, son of a- Adele changed into her pajamas with unnecessary vigor, yanking clothes on violently and flinging her bedclothes back as if she were throwing a boomerang. She pulled her gun from its holster, checked the clip and safety, and stuffed it under her pillow.
'T would be brilliant if I could use it on that...she growled deep in her throat. How could he? How dared he? To think, she had almost begun to empathize with him when he'd revealed his scar! She should have known he'd act like a child. He hadn't stopped teasing or sulking since she'd met him; why should she assumed there was anything to him other than the surface?
She flopped backward on her bedding, cracking her skull on the headboard in the process.
"Ahhhowww!" she intoned angrily. Tears gathered in her eyes. Snatching at a tissue from the box on her nightstand, she attempted to convince herself they were from the jolt, and nothing more.
Assassins don't weep, little lass. Not over things like...
"Why does his opinion matter, anyway?" she said aloud.
"I dunno any better than you do, sugarbutt."
Adele jumped and turned toward the door. Sands stood on the threshold, hands stuffed in his pockets, hair obscuring his face.
"How long have you been there?" Adele snapped. Sands grinned cheekily.
"Long enough, sweet pea."
"You know," Adele told him heatedly, "if you've come just to be exasperating again..."
The grin disappeared. Sands turned his face to the floor, looking almost sheepish.
"I...I'm...I just wanted you to know I- I didn't mean what I said to you," the words came out in a jumble that Adele barely understood. Before she could reply, the agent turned and exited the room.
Adele rose and followed him in silence. He found his own bedroom, and slumped onto the bed, face in his hands.
"Was it really that difficult?" Adele said gently. Sands' head came up, and he smirked a little.
"I've never done that before. Apologized. To anyone. So, yeah, sweet pea, it was hard."
He heard footsteps come towards him. Feminine hands, smelling like some kind of lotion, cupped his face. Fingers traced the outside of his sunglasses, not touching the wounds, but tracing his scars, as he had traced hers.
"Thank you," Adele murmured and began to leave.
"Adele," Sands said. The woman stopped; he'd used her name only once before since they'd met.
"I'll go with you, do whatever it takes to kill that son of a gun."
"Good." The word was whispered before the door closed softly, leaving Sands alone with his thoughts.