Disclaimer: Adele is mine. Sands is not. Why is life so unfair?

A/N: I'm sorry it took me so long to update all my fics, but it's finally finals week (no pun intended) and I've nothing to do today, so I'm like "I shall update my fics!" I plan to update regularly for several weeks as Christmas vacation (whoot!) starts tomorrow.

Adele jerked awake to a sound she couldn't at first identify. Her heart bumped in her chest at an unnerving rate as she listened, finally pinning the noise down.

Sands was screaming.

Slipping out of bed, Adele made her way to his room, quietly opening the door. Sands thrashed about so violently she thought he might break his back, screaming at the top of his lungs. Sweat gleamed on his exposed arms and chest, and his sunglasses had been dislodged by his movements. Suddenly, he sat up, jerking his head into his hands, eyelids open to reveal empty sockets staring blackly at nothing. The look of sheer terror on his face tore at Adele's heart, but she didn't go to him.

Likely he would only be angry that she had seen his weakness. After his pseudo-apology the walls had gone back up, for both of them. No matter how badly Sands looked as if he needed comfort, he wouldn't accept it, anymore than Adele would in his place.

After a few moments, Sands calmed enough to feel around for his sunglasses, cursing creatively, and muttering about someone named Ajedrez and Cristobal Larento. Adele felt his pain from where she stood at the door. Her own encounter with Larento had left her sleepless and panicky for months. She still couldn't get a wink unless she had a pistol beneath her pillow. Old, unwanted memories came back suddenly, banishing all grogginess from Adele's mind. Sighing silently, she shut the door and went into the kitchen for a brandy.

Sands held his head in his hands, swallowing thickly against the bile that threatened to rise. His sore throat bore testament to the volume of his screams, and he silently thanked whatever powers were listening that Adele seemed to be an incredibly heavy sleeper. The last thing he needed was someone rushing in to pour saccharine comfort all over him. He was a big boy. He could deal with this himself. I hope.

He felt around for his sunglasses, muttering rude things. It had all been so real. He could feel it all again, all of it. Cristobal and Ajedrez were both there, torturing him. As Sands' fingers finally found his sunglasses, he heard the door click shut.

Damnation.

She'd seen him, after all. She'd seen him screaming like a stuck pig, trembling like some child afraid of the Boogie Man. She'd seen his weakness. She hadn't come to him though, a thing that confused him for a moment. Adele was a tough customer, but there was an underlying compassion in her voice and manner that he would have thought would drive her in here. But she had let him be.

She knew better, he realized. She knew that I would just cock off to her again. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Adele was an odd woman; infuriating one moment, but teasing or thoughtful the next. There were complexities in her tone that he couldn't even begin to unravel. And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Screw it, he thought, lying sleepless on his back. I wonder if there's any alcohol in the house.

Sliding out of the bed, he felt around for some pants and yanked them on as he left the room. Of course, this took two tries as he smacked into the wall the first time, and had to feel around for the doorknob. Maybe I should get one of those handy-dandy blind-guy canes, he thought ruefully, padding to the kitchen. He managed to get there without too much fuss.

He began to open cupboards in an attempt to find anything resembling a glass bottle. He knew he'd have to be careful, though. Wouldn't want to take a swig of vinegar, now would we? Or worse, vanilla extract. Grimacing, he continued his search.

"Midnight snack?" a British voice said, amused. Sands started, knocking soup cans to the floor. One landed on his unprotected foot. The epithets that sprang from his mouth were as amusing as they were filthy, and Adele found herself holding her breath to keep from laughing.

"Thank you," he said blandly, "for scaring the bejeevers out of me."

"Bejeevers?" Adele asked, curiously. He could almost hear her smirking.

"That'd be it, sugarbutt. You got anything stronger than apple juice around here?"

"It's on the table," Adele told him. He heard the scrape of a glass bottle being slid over wood. "I'll get you a glass."

Sands took a seat, and felt gently for the bottle. "Drinking in the middle of the night, Adele? I wouldn't think that to be a vice of a British assassin."

"Because it dulls the senses?" Adele asked, handing him a glass. Sands grinned, pouring himself a drink.

"Because your tight-arsed." He sipped his drink; mm. Brandy. Tequila would be better but I'll take what I can get.

"Oh, really?" Adele responded. "You buy into stereotypes, do you?"

"C'mon, kitten, if you're the norm for British natives, it's not a stereotype. It's a fact."

"Indeed? Well, if you're the norm for American inhabitants, I would say the world is doomed."

Sands raised his glass. "Straight up, sugarbutt." He sipped his brandy. "So, what are you doing out here, sipping brandy at this ungodly hour?"

"None of your bloody business," Adele said companionably. "What are you doing looking for alcohol in my cupboards at the same hour?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Sands said with a lazy smile. Adele sniffed.

"Then I suppose we're both going to remain fully clothed."

"That's a shame," Sands said, with feeling. "So, when do we leave this muck hole for fairer pastures, so to speak?"

"Noon, tomorrow. We've a layover in Ireland, then on to jolly old Spain."

"I thought it was jolly old England?"

"'Twas until they kicked me out. Good night, Agent Sands."

Her chair scraped linoleum as she stood. Sands remained silent as she padded down the hall to her bed room, sipping his brandy. He listened carefully as her door opened, and heard her pause.

Barely audible, he heard her whisper, "Sweet dreams," with compassion. He knew he wasn't meant to hear her, and wasn't about to let on that he had.

But the worlds meant something, all the same.