Please remember that I write for fun, so don't expect threats to work on getting me to update. Disclaimer- I do not own the characters. Please don't sue me.

By Myself

ChapterOne

The Blind and the Beautiful

Agent Sands was never one to admit defeat. In fact, he controlled all the pieces, so defeat never even crossed his mind. But now, he considered the thought. He was cut off by those damn half-assed agents in charge of Mexican operations. They had disconnected his line, by no apparent reason behind it. It took Sands a while longer to figure out that the damned woman Ajedrez. She must have tipped off the CIA of his less then good behavior. Sands cursed his luck. He should have known better. It was his cockiness that got him in trouble this time.

He let out a harsh breath of air, as he tried to straighten himself on the wall. The boy who he had paid to be his eyes was standing in front of him. Sands was sure the kid was still staring at him, waiting for the next move to be made. Somewhere, in Sands pain confused mind, he registered that the boy looked up to him. Aw well. That information was irrelevant to what was going on right now.

"¿Qué hacemos nosotros ahora?", inquired the boy. (what do we do now?)

Sands let his chin rest at the strange angle against his chest as the blood mixed with his sweat covered neck. He felt his sunglasses dipping a little. His hair was starting to free itself from behind his ear and blow into his empty sockets.

'What to do now?' Sands repeated the question the boy asked in his mind. He honestly didn't know. He was planning on dying in the road after he shot the bitch. He never planned for the kid to come back for him. He never planned to lean against a wall, trying to battle the pain to think. He never planned a lot of things that had happened.

"No sé." Sands answered, shaking his head slightly, "No sé." (I don't know.)

"¿Sabe usted alguien que puede ayudar?", he suggested, trying to help out. (Do you know someone who could help?)

Sands resisted the urge the snort with laughter. Someone, who could help? Like who? Who would help a corrupt, CIA agent that will probably have a huge price on his head by tomorrow from the remaining cartels.

"Nadie me ayudaría." He answered with a registered sigh. He corrected himself on the wall before continuing to speak. "Usted debe ir a casa. Tu padres estarán preocupado." (No one would help me. You should go home. Your parents will be worried.)

There was a pause. For that moment of silence, Sands was sure the kid was going and he was being deafened by the pain. Then, he heard the boy's feet scarp against the sand as he shifted his weight, as if nervous.

"Yo no tengo un hogar, señor." came the nervous reply. "Qué yo significo es, tengo a no padres." (I have no home, sir. What I mean is, I have no parents.)

So. The kid had no home or at least didn't have any parents. This was some bad luck. Sands was sure that God was laughing at him right now. Picking a kid who had no family. This was just great. This was prefect. Here, was his one chance at being saved from a painful death, and it was dashed because little chico here didn't have parents.

"Si sobreviviremos necesitamos un lugar para permanecer y grande bandaids." Sands answered. (You have to find a place for us to stay and some big bandaids.)

Well, there was no way in hell he was sleeping in the street. The boy would simply have to find a place to stay and some bandages. Sands pushed himself off the wall and opened the cell phone. Well, it was worth a try. He dialed the number of the hotel near here. The phone rang. 'About fucking time too.' Sands thought to himself.

"Hello señor. I'd like to rent a two bed room for the night."

El walked steadily across town after seeing the president off. Now, he was sure that the cartel was going to fall. With Mexico's people backing the president, there was no way the cartel was winning this war.

El stuffed the sash that had Mexico's colors on it into his pocket. He would carry this around for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. He now knew what he had to live for. Mexico.

El turned the corner and found something he did not expect to see. The agent, the one pulling the strings behind some of the most dangerous men in all of Mexico, the man who could make anyone shudder, was being led away by a small boy in a bright yellow shirt. El's brows came together in a thoughtful action as he watching this happen. Something so weird should never be spotted.

'What is he doing in the city?' El questioned to himself. He decided to follow the weird duo and find out what he could from this.

Only after trailing Sands for three blocks, did he notice that Sands was badly limping and he kept running into low hanging window sills. El walked a little faster to catch a good view of the Agent, when Sands turned on a dime, aiming a gun right at El's head.

"Sands." El said before he could stop himself. Sands did not lower his gun, but his finger relaxed on the trigger.

"El.. the man I wanted to speak to. How did the Coup go?"

"The cartel... is no more." El said, lowering his arms from their 'surrender' position. He, after all, did not have a loaded gun in his handsat the moment.

"Finally, some good news." Sands mumbled. "Nice chatting with you El, but I must run along now. I have things to do and people to corrupt." he lowered his gun and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Vaya adelante." (let's go)

The boy took a glance at El, before moving. Sands turned around and walked with him, his hand never leaving the kid's shoulder.

"And what about you, Sands?" El questioned, making the agent stop.

"What about me, what?" Sands questioned, his voice slightly faint but nerved.

"How did... everything go for you?" El inquired, wondering why the Agent had blood on his face and was shot full of holes.

"I got my eyes drilled out, my bank accounts frozen and lost all contact to America. I'm fucking peachy." Sands replied with a cocky attitude and a smile to match. But, it soon faded as the Agent fainted from the blood loss.

El rushed forward on instinct, barely able to stop the Agent's head from hitting the hard ground.

(tis a bit tricky, but I step back in the story and take it from Sands POV)

Someone was trailing them. Those heavy feet andjingling chainshad been following them for a few blocks now. Sands was sure that this man was trailing them for the cartel.

'I guess they are pissed about me killing one of their leaders.' Sands thought with a twisted smirk. His legs shook a little, but he corrected himself quickly, trying not to look like he was struggling. Just as they turned around another corner, Sands turned quickly and pulled his gun with all intentions of shooting the person who dared to follow him.

"Sands." Said the voice.

Sands could easily tell that the rough voice he heard was El's. It was very distinguished and held itself apart from all others. Not that Sands cared or anything. It was just some bit of observation information that seemed to stick to him because of his training.

Sands straighted himself again, trying to at least look less pitiful then he thought he looked. Well, this could be a perk to finding El at this moment. He could drain the man for information, then leave with some pride and knowledge.

"El.. the man I wanted to speak to. How did the Coup go?" His face slightly grim. There was a slight pause. Sands wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

"The cartel... is no more." came the good news.

Now, Sands would be lying if he said he wasn't on the verge of doing a Snoopy dance. But, of course, he had to keep control of everything. No need to let the Mariachi see the complete happiness.

"Finally some good news." There. That sounded slightly disinterested. Sands could pat himself on the back for his performances. Then again.. he felt kind of dizzy right now. "Nice chatting with you El, but I must run along now. I have things to do and people to corrupt."

He lowered his gun from the Mariachi. Sands, still used to the habit of looking to wards the person he wanted to speak too, looked where the kid would be about. "Vaya adelante." (let's go)

The kid helped him go to wards the hotel he had just reserved a night's stay in. Sands wasn't stupid. The cartel members that were left would be dying to get their hands on him. He had to keep moving, despite his wounds.

"And what about you Sands?" El had asked. Sands held back a snort of laughter. Just, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Did El really give two shits about what happened to him?

"What about me, what?"

"How did... everything go for you?" El answered. Sands was sure he was going to ask, how did he become blind, but it seemed the Mariachi was at least smart enough not to ask the question directly. If he had, Sands would have put a bullet in his head for it.

"I got my eyes drilled out, my bank accounts frozen and lost all contact to America. I'm fucking peachy." Sands answered. Well, if you have to speak cocky, you have to look cocky. Besides, at least this way a lot of the questions El was sure to ask were out of the way.

Now, time to find that damned Hotel so he could get some damned rest. Speaking of rest... that sounded like a good idea. The world of darkness became suddenly numb as his mind gave way to sleep, while he was still standing.

"¿Qué está equivocado con él?", The boy asked with concern for Sands' safety. (Is he going to be ok?)

"Pérdida de sangre. ¿Dónde estaba usted dos van?", El hoisted the Agent over his shoulder. (I don't know. Do you two have aplace to stay?)

"Un hotel. No es distante." The boy said, pointing further down the road to the shady looking hotel. (A hotel. It's not far)

El nodded and they boy sped walked to the hotel. El shifted the agent on his shoulder so he could open the door. The boy went in first, followed by El. El walked up to the desk, wondering what he was going to say. He had a man over his shoulder who was bleeding freely and a boy who kept glancing uncertainly up at El.

"..Do you have a reservation?" The man asked, passing looks to the three strangers.

"Do you have one for a 'Sands'?" El questioned.

"Yes. He just called in... is that him?" The man questioned, pointing to the agent over El's shoulder.

"Yes. He got in between a gun fight during the Coup. What room is he in?" El questioned, not wanting to waste any time with questions nor with a clueless desk clerk.

"Of course. Room 12, second floor. Here are two keys." He said, handing him the keys.

"Thank you." El said, taking the keys and quickly going up the stairs with the little boy following behind him.

The clerk glanced up at the odd pair. Certainly, the cartel would be looking for at least one of them. The clerk pulled out a phone and dialed a number.

"I would like to speak to the man in charge. I might have some interesting information for you."

sighs Hello all. I know. Lots of Spanish. It will be toned down with the Spanish. The next chapter barely has any spanish in it. The translations in () aren't DIRECT translations. They are the basics of what you need. When I wrote this I was slightly better at spanish. Besides, if you are confused, I left huge clues in the sentences following after the spanish of what the words mean. Please leave a comment. Tis all I ask for.