Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Fifteen: An American Cowboy in Paris
Sands and Zeb are getting married. O.o In the RPG I'm in; should've been more specific. Really, I don't know how it happened, I mean . . . I do, but it was just so sudden. Ah, well. At least they'll be happy. This creates a problem, however, because (like I said earlier, like way earlier on) the Sands and Zebbidy in the RP are a lot further on in their relationship than the pair in this story. I'm somewhat confident that their sudden idea to get hitched won't interfere, but if it seems like I'm rushing things don't hesitate to tell me. You guys know how I am about keeping everyone in character. 9.6;
Determination. That was all Zebbidy could use to describe the man who stood before her. The world around them was scorching and arid – so dry that Zebbidy couldn't breathe without coating her throat in dust. And yet there he was wearing black clothes that made his fair complexion even more prominent. Dark sunglasses hid most of his face but they did not mask the blood that was steadily trickling out from underneath them. Slowly, suppressing a moan of despair the entire time, Zebbidy closed her eyes.
Oh my . . . not this . . . not this again . . .
Before she could pinch herself as a feeble attempt to leave this horrible nightmare, two men entered from the door behind her. They stalked briskly towards Sands without even noticing the badly out of place woman who was standing in their way.
The men were dressed in suits that clashed horrible with the dramatic scene Zebbidy found herself standing in. However, she couldn't help but think that the slimy grins they wore and the guns they were each carrying fit everything all too perfectly. The pair of goons kept walking, inching ever closer to where the agent stood, but Sands remained rooted to the ground, determined not to run from a fight.
Where could he run to? Zebbidy wondered desperately, It's not as though he can see where he's going . . .
She narrowed her eyes as the two thugs smirked stupidly at each other and pointed with their guns at Sands.
Those bastards . . . she fumed silently. He's got three holes in him, it's an obvious effort for him to stand let alone fight, and yet they're still going to shoot at him.
She wasn't surprised, though. She knew that these men were probably just doing whatever their boss had told them to do. They didn't look intelligent enough to have thought of killing a CIA agent on their own; they seemed more like the type who would work for a more powerful person and either do whatever orders they were given or be killed.
Makes you wonder how people get into business like that . . .
Shots suddenly ripped through the air as Sands began to fire. Bullets flew in every direction, hitting everything in sight (So to speak, Zebbidy thought) except for their intended targets. Some even hit Zebbidy herself, though she paid them no mind. This was a dream and she knew it. The bullets had passed through her as easily as if she were made of air. And she probably was. After all, from the looks of things, no one could see her.
The hit men jeered at how foolish the American agent looked, but, as it turned out, the joke was on them. It was their laughter that gave them away. By following the sound, Sands now knew exactly where they were.
Which is exactly what he wanted, Zebbidy realized in awe as she marveled at just how clever Sands could be when he wasn't making immature jokes.
While the men were distracted, he took aim and sent two bullets straight into the head of the man on his left. The remaining was stunned, but only for a second. A quick recovery and he was ready. He raised his gun and fired twice.
Riveting pain seared through each of Zebbidy's legs. Her eyes widened as her hands immediately flew down to clutch one of the injured limbs. Her hands were not coated in blood as they should have been. Sands was a different case, blood gushed from the wounds in his legs. But he seemed not to feel any pain. The agent continued firing, shooting his attacker once in the foot and once again in the head.
All the while Zebbidy stood there, gripping her legs and taking in painful gasps as she watched Sands finally fall to the ground. His sunglasses slipped from his face, and fell clattering to the dusty earth beneath him.
"Ahhh!"
"What the hell!?"
"I . . . I . . . Oh . . . stupid coffee table! My gods . . ."
"What? Are you lisping?"
"Wha – no! I just . . . how did I get . . . down here . . ." Zebbidy trailed off, rubbing her sore shins involuntarily. Her green eyes, which were vibrant and visible even in the darkness of the night, had expanded with fear and perplexity. She blinked up at Sands, her face livid with confusion and bewilderment.
"What . . . what happened . . . ?" she breathed, flustered.
"Exactly," Sands began calmly, "what I'd like to know." He paused, watching in amusement as Zebbidy tried in vain to control her haggard breathing. Deciding to egg her on, he grinned wryly and voiced the statement:
"I guess you couldn't keep your hands off me."
His smirk widened at the irked glare she threw him.
'Nother score for me.
And here I thought you weren't at war with her.
"So . . . what are you doing down here?" Sands asked, gazing down at Zebbidy as she hid her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"I think I was sleepwalking," she murmured in a rush. Sands may have rolled his eyes at her response, but she didn't care at the moment. She was distracted in her study of the man and did not want her concentration to be broken by something he felt he had to say.
After all, she thought reasonably, he says enough most of the time. He can shut up for a few seconds while I figure that dream out.
What had that dream been about? Sands, obviously, and some gunfight he had been involved in.
Or will be involved in. That's just it, I don't know if it's his past I'm seeing . . . or his future.
His past, she decided finally. It was his past she was Seeing. After all, Sands had made (or thought of, she couldn't help but wonder) that one comment many months ago.
'I'm sure you'd feel differently if you knew about last years' Day of the Dead extravaganza, sugar-butt.'
When was that? May? The beginning of May when he had said (Or thought, the idea forced itself on her again) those words? Yes, it must have been because Zebbidy specifically remembered hearing them the day she had arrived in Paris. Those words would never leave her, no matter how many weeks, months, or years passed. They clung to her because of their mystery, because of the secretive aura that hovered around them that forced her to question what their true meaning was over and over again. Frequent eruptions in her brain spawned questions, but never answers.
But what did he mean? she found herself demanding pathetically once again. He must have been blind before she met him, if the visions she had been experiencing said anything. The unsure movements, the dark glasses, all of the blood . . .
The Day of the Dead . . . she murmured thoughtfully, that's celebrated in countries like Spain and Mexico, isn't it? And her dreams and visions always took place in the same location, and that location always looked like somewhere in the southern part of the world.
Meanwhile, Sands was doing a study of his own. For once Zebbidy had her hair down. Usually, she wore it up in a messy bun or in a tight braid that hung down her back. He had never cared for the braid much. Hated it, actually. It didn't to the woman justice at all. Then again, with the color of her hair, her braid looked as though it were restraining something. Almost as if it were encasing the burnt orange fire that was her hair. Maybe that's why she never let it down. It certainly looked like it would lash out and burn down entire villages if it were ever set free.
Wow. Where did that come from?
I don't know . . . Sands answered truthfully.
Don't go getting all poetic on me, Sheldon, the voice warned, its tone dangerously low, I mean it.
"Do we have any tea?" Zebbidy wanted to know as she twirled a lock of auburn hair around her finger. "I just . . . those goddamn dreams . . . I really need to clear my head."
"Yes," Sands answered, "but I don't know why you'd need to clear your head. You never remember your dreams, after all."
"That's true," Zebbidy replied without missing a beat, "but that doesn't mean I still don't have a lot on my mind. And, for me, drinking tea is a way of fixing that problem and perhaps even remembering my dreams."
"Is that so?" he inquired mockingly.
"Yes," Zebbidy said with a small nod and a tight-lipped smile. "Now, you said that we do have tea?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You know where to find me, then."
"So . . . what are you doing here?" Lynné asked into the darkness.
"Like I said, I heard you muttering," Liam answered, indicating that he was just as awake as she was.
"I must be doing that a lot, then," Lyn murmured thoughtfully. "This is the second time I've woken up to find you in my bedroom." She turned her head towards Liam. His blue eyes were just visible from the other side of Joséphine's soft curls. Even though the room was nearly pitch black, Lynné could see her partner blush.
"Oh, well . . ." Liam stumbled, "I was just . . . worried . . . that's all."
"Liam," she sighed, "what have I said about worrying for me?"
"Sorry," he mumbled, ashamed and embarrassed.
Oh, he such a liar, the voice hissed.
And just what do you mean by that? Lyn inquired skeptically.
Come on, Lynné! the voice practically yelled, It's obvious that he wants to jump your guns.
Lyn raised her eyebrows.
Oh?
YES, the voice stressed, fed up.
Lyn was enjoying the torture session while she could. She knew it wouldn't be long before the tables turned and she would be the one being tormented. Until that time came, she wanted to make sure she annoyed the voice as much as possible.
So what do you propose I do? she asked innocently.
Advance on him, the voice advised.
Not in front of the children, Lyn thought stubbornly, indicating Josey.
Why not? it whined, It's not like the kid can see what you'd be doing.
NO, Lyn told it sternly.
Fine, the voice huffed, irritated, It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm sure a horn-dog like Liam will take it whenever it's available.
Liam? You sure you're not mixing him up with Sands?
You sure he hasn't been spending too much time with Sands?
Lyn's eyes widened at this.
Good point. Although I still don't think he wants to take me to bed and do the horizontal cha-cha.
I know you do.
I'm not answering that.
"What do you think happened to her parents?" Liam's sudden question broke through her train of thought.
"Hmm?" Lyn murmured carelessly.
"Joséphine," he explained. "She said that her uncle takes care of her. I imagine that means she doesn't have any parents?"
"They're dead," Lynné answered shortly.
"Huh?" was Liam's brilliant response. "How do you know?"
"The second time I ran into her," his partner began, "It was in a graveyard."
Liam knew better than to ask what Lynné was doing in a cemetery. It would only anger her and he didn't want that.
"And she said she was there visiting her parents," Lyn continued. "So, you can imagine . . ." She trailed off, waving a hand in a throwaway gesture, indicating that he could think whatever he liked.
"But . . ." Liam faltered, finding what he was about to ask uncomfortable.
"What?" Lyn sighed, bored.
"What happened to them?" he finally voiced, feeling extremely restless.
"Accident de voiture . . ." (Car crash . . .) Joséphine muttered drowsily, not opening her eyes.
"What?" Liam gasped. On the other side of the bed, Lynné sat up a little, not taking her eyes off of the little girl. Still appearing as though she was asleep, Joséphine sighed.
"C'était un accident de voiture," (It was a car crash,) she repeated.
"When?" Liam asked, staring at the girl with wide eyes.
(When I was three,) Joséphine answered dully.
Oooh, Lyn's voice winced. Bet that brings back a lotta memories.
Shut up, she shot bitterly.
"But how did it happen?" Liam wanted to know. Now that he had seen that Josey acted careless in her answers, it wasn't as hard to ask about her past.
"Je ne sais pas," (I don't know,) the child said simply. "Je me souviens juste que j'ai presque volé de ma place quand la voiture devant nous s'est arrêtée. Notre voiture l'a heurté. (I just remember that I almost flew out of my seat when the car in front of us stopped. Our car ran into it.
"Il y avait un son grand, hurlant et ensuite tout est allé sombre," (There was a loud, screeching sound and then everything went dark,) she continued. "La chose suivante dont je me souviens se réveillait à un hôpital. Seulement je ne savais pas que c'était un hôpital." (The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital. Only I didn't know it was a hospital.)
"Why not?" Lyn put in.
"Il y avait un bandage sur mes yeux," (There was a bandage over my eyes,) explained Joséphine in a tired voice. "Alors les docteurs sont entrés . . ." (Then the doctors came in . . .) She paused to yawn. Her dark lashed fluttered momentarily and she continued. "Ils m'ont dit que ma mère et père étaient morts." (They told me that my mother and father had died.)
"I'm sorry," Liam murmured sincerely.
Joséphine waved a dainty hand.
"Ce n'est pas un problème," (It's not a problem,) she assured him, yawning once again. "Après cela, les docteurs m'ont dit que j'avais été aveuglé dans l'accident et qu'il n'y avait pas d'espoir de fixer mes yeux." (After that, the doctors told me I had been blinded in the accident and that there wasn't any hope of fixing my eyes.)
"Oh . . ." was all Liam could say.
"I'm not going with you," Lyn stated mechanically later that morning.
Sands closed his eyes, paused to rethink what his sister had told him, and opened them again.
"What?"
"I'm not going," she repeated.
"May I ask why?"
"You may."
"Well . . ." Sands began, gritting his teeth in annoyance, ". . . why?"
"Oh," Lynné sighed, "many reasons."
"Care to . . . name a few?" her brother prompted.
"Well, it would save us a lot of time if I didn't . . . but I will. First reason, there's no one to watch Josey."
"Je peux me surveiller!" (I can watch myself!) the child protested at once.
"Wrong," Sands corrected, ignoring Joséphine completely, "there's Zebbidy and Fusco if he chooses not to go."
"Right," Lyn informed him, "I don't trust Liam with a kid and Zebbidy has an idea – that is, I have an idea – of how we could end this whole mess. She likes it and agrees with me that it's the best option, so she wants to go with you and spring it on Cat."
"What?"
"Another reason," Lyn continued smoothly, "is because I didn't get enough sleep last night, what with my bedroom suddenly becoming a place of meeting," she added, with a glance at Josey.
"Moving on, Josey can't go around wearing your shirts all the time." She gestured to the girl who was indeed wearing one of Sands' quirky T-shirts. This one happened to be black with a white arrow pointing upward printed across the chest. Underneath this were written the words 'The Man.' Below that the words 'The Legend' could be seen, followed by a second arrow, this one pointing downward. Lyn gave her brother a critical look.
"I'm taking her shopping," she stated. "And, lastly . . . I just don't like Cat." She shrugged. "Understand?"
A thin smile pulled at Sands lips as he made his reply.
"Understood. Have fun."
Waiting was not something anyone ever cared for. Given that Catherine Johnson – known as 'Cat' to her friends and family -- was not just anyone, she, just like any other person, did not like having to wait. That brought up a thought in Catherine's mind: She wasn't just anyone. She was someone. She was CIA, she was the daughter (well, stepdaughter) of the governor of Colorado, she was engaged a senator's son who happened to be one of her fellow agents. Very impressive, and she could hardly call herself anyone, thank you very much. She was someone who did not deserve to be kept waiting.
So where was that obnoxious stepbrother of hers? He should know better than anyone else that she hated sitting around. Then again, knowing him, that's exactly why he was late. Ignorant bastard . . . She could be out shopping by now or touring the city – not sitting on her butt in some restaurant waiting around for her god-awful stepbrother to show his face.
The bell above the entrance door tinkled merrily as someone entered the restaurant.
"Finally," Catherine was about to mutter but as she looked up her jaw dropped.
"Stay here, Josey," Lynné instructed, leaving the little girl with some French cartoon show she'd turned on for her.
"Pourquoi?" (Why?)
"I need to have a word with Liam," Lyn replied, turning to exit the living room.
"Oh," Joséphine said bluntly. There was a pause, then –
"Est cela de moi?" (Is it about me?)
"No."
"Est cela de la nuit dernière?" (Is it about last night?)
"Possibly," Lyn answered after a moment.
From her position on the couch, Joséphine turned to smile at her.
"Cela signifie oui." (That means yes.)
"Uh-huh. Watch the idiot box, Josey. It'll teach you everything you need to know."
"Mais je n'aime pas ce spectacle," (But I don't like this show,) the girl remarked stubbornly.
"You have the remote," Lyn said, her voice growing more and more faint as she walked away. "Change it."
That was true. In her hands, Joséphine held the remote, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she could see it to know what buttons to push. Maybe la mademoiselle had forgotten. She had been told she was excellent in disguising her handicap. But Mademoiselle Lynné didn't seem like the type to forget things like that. Maybe she simply had confidence in her abilities to do things on her own. If so, that was very bold of her.
"What . . . are you . . . doing?" Catherine hissed as Sands sat down at the table.
"Why, Catherine, what ever do you mean?" her stepbrother asked in mock-bewilderment.
"What are you doing?" she demanded in a screech of a whisper. Across the table, Sands looked around in confusion before finally setting his sights on his stepsister again.
"Sitting?" he tested, arching a brow. "Kitty, unless you're going to be more specific –"
"You know damn well what I mean," Cat fumed at him, narrowing her already squinted eyes in frustration. "What are you doing dressed . . . like that?"
"Oh, this?" Sands asked, gesturing to his ensemble. "I did it for you, Cat. I know how much you love Westerns."
Catherine shot eye-daggers at him, or rather, his outfit. Clad in worn jeans, a light yellow shirt with red trim, a large leather belt with an even larger buckle, and a cowboy hat and boots, Sands would not have looked out of place in a movie starring the Duke himself, John Wayne.
When he had first picked out his attire earlier that morning, Sands had smirked at himself in the bathroom mirror, thinking only one thing:
At least now Lynnie can't say that France never did the Westerns justice.
"What's she doing here?" Catherine spat, interrupting his musings and nodding to Zebbidy. The woman, a Mary Tyler Moore-esque wig on her head, was taking a seat next to Sands, annoyed by the fact that he hadn't pulled the chair out for her and waited for her to sit before pulling up a chair himself.
Well, she thought, I never said he was a gentleman. But most guys aren't these days. And if they are, there's a good chance they're gay. Gods, life's not fair.
"She's supposed to be in hiding. The Poisson Mafia is after her, and you're letting her walk around in broad daylight – are you that insane!?" Cat's voice was low, but the fury that lingered within it could not be subdued.
"I'd like to take the time to point out that this was her idea, not mine," Sands defended, pointing a casual finger at Zebbidy. "She wanted to come." He paused, grinning at his stepsister. "And you know I can't say no to a lady."
"You've said no to many of the things I've asked," Catherine reminded him clipped tones. "Why am I any different?"
'Cuz, honey, you ain't a lady,' Sands could practically hear Lynné cackle.
"Oh, Cat," he sighed aloud, "you're my stepsister, practically family --"
You fuckin' liar.
"— you don't count," he finished with an annoying smile.
Catherine's eyes, if possible, grew into even smaller slits as her face contorted in suppressed rage.
"If you must know," Sands sighed, "Miss Samhain –"
"Sow-when," Zebbidy corrected flatly.
"— is here because she and my dear sister concocted a plan of action that I think you'll find very . . . agreeable."
Cat continued to fume, clearly uninterested in the ideas of anyone other than herself.
"Where's Lynné?" she said tersely.
"Working," Sands replied easily.
"Working," Cat echoed disbelievingly.
"Working," Zebbidy put in, with a nod and a smile.
"I don't believe you," Catherine told them. "Lynné never works."
"Au contraire," Sands retorted. "That girl never stops working. Y'know . . . I can't remember the last time she went on vacation."
Cat still wasn't taking the bait. Reaching into his jean's pocked, Sands shrugged.
"Call her up if you think I'm lying."
Grinning, he withdrew his hand and tossed her a cell phone. Pointing at it, Sands mouthed the words 'She's on speed dial' as Catherine glared at him. She punched in a few buttons, held the phone up to her ear, and, after a few seconds, she got a response.
Dipping one arm down over the bed, Lynné felt along the floor, trying to follow the sounds of her ringing cell phone without having to move too much. Her fingers brushed across the edge of something sleek and plastic. After a few more seconds of fumbling, she turned over onto her back, a tiny black phone at her ear.
"Hello . . .?" sighed a slightly breathless Lynné. She sounded as though she had just undergone a very thrilling and exhilarating experience. And enjoyed it. It was a very good feeling, one she hadn't felt for a long time. Nearly four years, in fact.
"Why aren't you here!?" an angry woman demanded into the tiny phone.
Lyn winced, holding her cellular away from her ear.
"Cat . . ." she acknowledged, her voice weak from lack of air. "Lynné Sands is busy right now . . . Fuck off."
"Lynné!" her stepsister all but shouted, vainly trying to get her attention before she hung up.
"I thought I gave Sands specific instructions: I'm not to be bothered while I'm working."
"You haven't answered my question, Bea –"
"I'm working, Cat, as I've already stated. Now, if you don't mind –"
"Yes, I do mi –"
"Well I don't. Ta."
Lyn abruptly ended their conversation there. It wasn't that she didn't like Cat – okay, yes it was. But she also had pressing . . . business . . . to tend to. Turning over on her side, she faced the person next to her.
"D'you think he knows?" her thoroughly disheveled partner asked as they both stared up at the ceiling.
"Who? Sands? Nah." Lynné laid a hand over her chest and was surprised to find that her heart was still beating violently. Closing her eyes, she continued, "Even if he does know, he won't care. . . . Unless you use me . . . or cheat on me . . . or rape me . . . or something along those lines. Then he'd have to kill you."
"After you got through with me, I'm guessing."
"Oh, of course," Lyn agreed wholly. "Rest assured, Fusco, that if ever you should take advantage of me, I will have no choice but to fuck . . . and kill you. And not necessarily in that order . . . Savvy?"
Cat snapped her phone shut irritably after hearing the distinct sound of being hung up on. She sat there, stewing in her own irritation and fury for a moment before turning her frosty gaze on her table's two other occupants. Her cold black eyes honed in on Sands for a moment, but finally came to rest on Zebbidy. Shoving the cell phone across the polished wooden table, she sneered distastefully:
"You said something about a plan?"
Wow. That's certainly . . . a lot of . . . progress . . . for one chapter. Like I said earlier, I hope I'm not rushing things but It had to happen sometime. And for those of you who think they know what 'It' is, you're probably right.
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
Dawnie-7: I'm definitely leaning towards Josey staying with Lyn. Sorta like a way to make up for the fact that the kid who helped Sands out in Mexico didn't make much of an appearance in my previous fic. It was only later that I found out I probably could've given him a bigger part. 6.6; And that was a typo, btw. The scream wasn't from upstairs, it was from the living room where Sands was sleeping. Sorry I didn't catch it 'til after I'd posted, but it's fixed now. O.o; That chapter had so much to edit it wasn't even funny . . .
Lynx Ryder: Hmm . . . I dunno, Josey just might have a death wish. Then again, she can't exactly see Lyn's face whenever she's mad, so that probably helps. And I did have fun at the nature park, if you call being overwhelmed by foliage and waterfalls fun, which I do, lol.
vanillafluffy: Oh my God! I seriously thought of adding, "He thinks he's Keith Richards," to that line, but I liked it the way it was. o.o Wow. How 'bout it. And I've now got this image of Sands asleep and wearing a red bandana and smoking an imaginary cigarette all the while talking in a slightly slurred British accent. (shakes head) I gotta fit that in somewhere . . .
DragonHunter200: XD Like I said, I've gotta fit a scene with Sands having a 'Stones dream in this somewhere. And, flashbacks! Yes! I actually had that one written (but not finished) a while ago but I didn't have any place to put it, so it just sorta remained unused for a while. Then I decided to throw Cat the Evil in there by making her a CIA agent and that kinda left an opening for a childhood flashback. ) Glad ya liked it!
fanfiction fanatic: I'm not much of an action writer but I'm trying! ) I do have a few action-y scenes planned out for future chapters, though. Thanks for wishing me luck!
o