Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

By

E. S. Young

Chapter Thirty-Four: Closer

This just in: I've just had a new idea for a OUaTiM fic! It's actually pre-Mexico, so anyone who loves flashbacks should enjoy it :) Only problem is, I don't know if I should start writing it now or start it after I'm done with this one. Hmm . . . decisions, decisions . . . I'll sleep on it and let ya know, 'kay? :)

Oh, and this also just in: I finally got my own copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas! :D!!! I'd read it before, but not all of it since I was borrowing it from a friend. She needed it back when she moved to Main, so I hadn't been able to finish it. But now I can! Yay! (shrug) Just wanted to let ya know. :)

VVV

"Th-three miles . . ."

"And you walked?"

The last vision had brought Zebbidy to a large, expensive hotel room both like and unlike the one she had sought refuge in. Like it because of its lavish and obviously expensive decorating, but unlike her suite due to the rustic feel the interior had taken on. This was one of those hotels that had been made up to give residents the feeling that they were roughing it. By living in a faux great outdoors visitors were given a false sense of adventure, made the men feel rugged, and the women got the romance they so sorely deserved . . . and no one even needed to get their hands dirty.

"Three m-miles, s-s-six hours . . ."

Zebbidy stared in fascinated horror at the shivering form of a younger Agent Sands, his sister's face contorted with rage, and a confused and concerned blonde girl that she did not know. The trio of young adults sat huddled together on a large bed, both girls on either side of the frigid young man in a drastic attempt to warm him.

"God, Dad . . . that –"

She watched as Lynné was interrupted when a sharp, rapping cut through the air. In one synchronized movement, all three of them turned their heads towards the sound and Zebbidy, still deep within her timorous stupor, felt her neck craning around with them.

"That'll be room service," the blonde said, slowly sliding off of the bed and moving towards the door.

Zebbidy watched the scene play through like she was watching a movie. Better yet, a play. In plays, it was if she was right there with the actors because she really was with them. Unlike in the movies where their images merely stared down at her, outrageously magnified by the gigantic screen. Yes . . . her visions were exactly like a play. They were all contained within the same room, she was the audience who watched the scene unfold, and Sands, Lynné, and the smaller girl were the actors, completely unaware of her presence.

During the time it took the nameless blonde to open the door, Zebbidy felt her eyes trailing away as the girl accepted the stack of blankets and a mug of tea from the rather bewildered bellboy. Before she knew it, she was staring at the sullen picture of the two siblings. It touched something deep inside of her. Some deep and terrible sadness that had not been disturbed in a long time.

"I can't believe he did that," the little blonde was saying as she hurried over to Sands' side. Zebbidy watched as the agent accepted the blankets but refused the tea. He closed his eyes, creases of pain forming upon his young face.

"Believe i-it," Sands told her, his voice quavering from the cold that shook him so terribly. "And you t-two don't h-have to s-s-it so close . . . I'm f-fine –"

"Sands," the blonde scolded with a churlishness that Zebbidy felt wasn't a common tone of voice for her. She seemed to have lost her angry touch just as soon as it had appeared because the young girl fell silent, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't think we wanna stay," Lynné shot back, making up for the other girl's falter. "Christ knows I certainly don't. It's just that I'd rather not deal with the mess when your heart stops because you became too warm too quickly."

Despite his violent shivering Sands still managed to send a venomous glare in Lynné's direction. His sister, however, was used to this and completely unafraid of the look that usually shut others up immediately.

"So . . . you two were headed back to the hotel, he was driving, unfortunately, and you got into a fight . . ." Lynné held out her hand, staring at her brother expectantly.

"And he th-rew m-my ass out . . . in the s-now," Sands snapped angrily, wincing at the terrible cold that refused to leave his stiff and frozen body. "What m-more . . . of an ex-planation . . . do you . . . n-need?"

Lynné rolled her eyes, unmoved by the harshness of his voice, and continued calmly. "What were you fighting about?"

Sands gave what appeared to be a shrug, though it was difficult to tell through all of the shaking.

"I t-told you . . . the u-usual s-st-uff."

Fuckin' liar, Zebbidy heard Lynné thinking. "Gracie," she said suddenly, "Would you mind going down to the front desk and getting some tea?"

"But . . . there's tea right here," the blonde – 'Gracie' – pointed out, staring at the other girl uncertainly.

"I know that, Grace, but there's always the chance that we'll need some more. Did that ever occur to you?"

With a small sigh, the girl called Grace, knowing she was being thrown out, tossed her eyes to the ceiling, rose from the bed, and left the room without another word.

"Now," Lynné began after the sound of a door closing – A little too loudly, Zebbidy thought – had grown faint, "what did you two fight about? It must've been something major to piss him off enough to abandon you in the middle of Alaska."

Zebbidy felt her eyes widen in unimaginable horror.

"If you r-really m-ust know . . ." Sands sighed as he fought to overcome the ice that was piercing his very skin, turning it raw and red around his ears and nose. He glanced up at his sister, his eyes aphotic and serious, and uttered but one word: "You."

That was all Zebbidy heard before the familiar spinning sensation quite literally swept her off her feet, letting her know that she was being dragged away by brutal reality.

VVV

Oh my gods . . . Zebbidy's thoughts were losing all sense and she struggled to maintain control over what little sanity she had left. His father . . . he threw him out of the car?? He only looked about nineteen years old . . . Dear gods, it's a wonder he didn't die . . . And where was the mother in all this!?

No one answered her questions via voice or mind. Zebbidy had grown accustomed to this as a child. Whenever she had been sent to her bedroom for some stupid reason, she was left all alone. This was, of course, her grandfather's idea of punishment for the little girl. Unfortunately, it had worked. Being isolated from the rest of the world and a desperate yearn for someone to talk to had driven Zebbidy to screaming her thoughts inside her head to actually voicing them, albeit, quietly so as not to arouse her grandfather's suspicions. Because of this, she had learned to keep her thoughts mostly to herself, never speaking, not even when the time was right. But then she had left for college – American college – and things had changed. She had gone to a place where people knew her thoughts no matter how quiet they were. And, slowly, she had learned the power of speech all over again.

And now the process is being reversed after all of that . . .

But there was no time for mournful thoughts about her past. There was no time for sympathizing for herself. Right now, she had an injured person in her care, and they were her main priority.

Sands had his arms spread out in front of him as if trying to touch something he could not see. As she accepted the scene before her, a terribly miserable thought struck Zebbidy: In that position, Sands looked every bit the stereotypical blind man. Except he's lying down, she mused, her thoughts laced with sadness.

Quietly, she walked to the bed and, crouching down beside him, slowly reached out to take one of his hands in hers. But just as her fingertips brushed his own, Sands shot up in a panic, completely unaware of his injuries and panting for breath. Zebbidy was barely able to back away in time.

"Did you see what happened to Lyn?" the agent demanded in a rush.

Her initial reaction was to say 'She was on the bed with you,' but at once Zebbidy realized that Sands had no clue she had seen his past. "I don't know," she murmured, shaking her head as she watched the severely distressed expression on his face melt away and change to stunned confusion in mere seconds.

"You . . ." He swallowed hard. "You didn't see her?"

"Not after she left to investigate those shots we heard," Zebbidy answered quietly.

Sands let out a slow sigh in response and fell back onto the bed, the picture of defeat. Zebbidy observed him carefully. He had run out of ideas, she realized, and he didn't know what to do now.

"Fuck," the agent muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Why is this happening?"

The next thing Zebbidy knew, she was sitting next to him on the bed, gently stroking his hair, and marveling at how utterly vanquished he looked. He hadn't even bothered to swat her hand away, something she thought he normally would have killed her for.

"I'm not sure," she replied softly. Sands looked slightly startled that someone had answered him. Clearly, the question had been directed towards himself and not to her, but Zebbidy brushed that idea aside. If she could just find something to enlink everything together . . . Lynné and Liam's disappearance . . . Rosa Hernandez business with Poisson . . . Sands' sudden . . . loss . . . Zebbidy bit her lip, now feeling in very much the same position Sands was in. What were they going to do? Why was this happening?

Me, she realized, the thought suddenly striking her like a punch in the face. Shit . . . I shouldn't've gone to the authorities. I should've just left the island and waited for Poisson to find me and carry out whatever the hell it was he wanted to carry out and be done with it. I should've gotten him involved . . . he doesn't deserve this . . .

"I'm sorry," she murmured, caressing his hair soothingly. Her fingertips brushed over his forehead for a moment and she was relieved to note that his fever had gone down considerably. The agent was still terribly weak, but hopefully the worst had passed.

"What d'you have to be sorry about?" Sands quizzed wearily, moving closer to her. The temperature suddenly seemed to have dropped a few notches since the last time he was awake.

Zebbidy sighed. "Everything. I'm sure you won't care for my apologizes, but I thought I'd do it anyway."

"Didn't you already?" he asked, his voice bleary and distant.

She nodded. "I did. But that was for running off. Now I'm apologizing for everything else."

"Oh," he replied, not bothering to ask what 'everything else' happened to be. He merely turned in towards her and gazed upward through sightless eyes. In the silvery glow of the moonlit room, Zebbidy could see that a thin sheen of sweat had broken out over Sands' face, but other than that he looked all right.

"Feeling any better?" she wanted to know.

Sands made an 'if-y' sort of gesture with his hand and pulled a blanket up over his shoulder and, Zebbidy noticed, around her legs.

"Anything hurting you in particular?" Zebbidy went on.

"My stomach," he admitted, turning over onto his front and closing his eyes. "But that's to be expected, right?"

She smiled slightly. "I imagine so." She felt herself lying down next to him, the bed having become irresistibly comfortable. It was too inviting to contend with, she reasoned, letting her head sink into the pillows beneath her. Beside her, Sands felt himself being taken in sleep's hold once again.

Careful, the voice warned, jarring him from his haze. Remember what happened the last time a woman got too close.

She's not getting close, Sands informed it, hating how unbelievably tired he sounded.

Okay, she's not, the voice said reasonably. But you are.

VVV

"Would you wait a minute? She hasn't said a word to me since she regained consciousness. I think she may be in a state of shock –"

"All the better," the imposing, powerfully built man replied, grinning fiendishly as he ran a finger along the trigger of his gun.

"Could I . . ." Liam faltered, not sure what he wanted to say. He didn't like doing this – Lord knew he didn't want to do it – but it was for . . . For what? The best? I'm supposed to be her partner and this is the best I can give her?

"Rest assured, Agent Fusco, you have done more than your share. You need not overexert yourself," a woman who could only be classified as a string bean assured him, placing a hand on the arm of the burly man. Her dark eyes glittered with an energy Liam was certain he had never seem before.

"I know it's just . . ." He glanced around, looking uncomfortable. "Could I get the little girl out of here first? I don't want her to know."

"Girl? What girl?" the thin woman asked, giving him a strange look.

"The little girl," Liam tried to explain, forgetting that no one aside from Lynné, Sands, Zebbidy, and himself knew of Joséphine's whereabouts. "She's blind, she's Poisson's granddaughter –"

"Poisson's granddaughter!?" The man's eyes widened in shock. He even took a step back. The woman, however, remained calm and stationary. Her eyes narrowed maliciously and, slowly, a smile began to form upon her pointed face.

"Oh no, Agent Fusco. I think not. You see, Poisson is offering a healthy sum of money for that child's return. And my fiancé and I are considering traveling to Monte Carlo for our honeymoon."

Liam blanched. "You're . . . you're going to give her back to him?"

"I believe that's what I said, yes," she replied.

"But she hates the man!" Liam protested, surprised at how loud his voice had suddenly become. "She doesn't like to talk about him and when she does her hatred is obvious. She won't want to go back there –"

"I don't care, Fusco. If there weren't any money involved, I'd leave her at the doorstep of the closest orphanage.

"Now," she began, smoothing back a piece of her stick-straight hair, "where are they?"

VVV

Curse my liking for cliffhangers! I have a whole other scene written up but I decided to leave it off there. Sorry. The next chapter will hopefully be longer, too. This one was just too short for my liking. Then again, in The Da Vinci Code some of the chapters are only a page long. O.o But, hey, I brought back Alaska! I was rereading that scene the other day when it occurred to me that I didn't care for how I ended it all that much. And, thus, that flashback was born. :)

Author's Thanks and Review Responses:

Dawnie-7: I missed Vincent, what can I say? Although I did not miss Tom Cruise -.9 He's everywhere I turn anymore. 9.6 I think he's trying to bump Johnny Depp off of the Favorite Actor's Chair in my mind, I really do. That's not gonna happen, though. u.u lol, I don't trust doctors at all and if you add that to Sands already immense distrust for people plus the fact that he had his eyes removed by a doctor . . . nah, I don't think he'd like them, even as a kid. Guess this kinda proves how smart a child he really was, huh? ;D

Lynx Ryder: lol, yeah, her anonymous lover is back. He actually does have a name, but it just happens to be the same as one of Poisson's sons: Vincent. 9.9 I did not plan this, but rather than confuse people I just chose to keep him nameless. :) I'm so glad you enjoyed the scene between Sands and his mother. I was really worried about how it would be received , so that's a relief to hear. Nah, Sands doesn't hate his mom at all – you actually could go as far as saying that he loves her and be right on target. o.o Dunno if you'd get him to admit it, though. And 'breathtaking?' O.O I don't think my writing has ever been called that before. I can't express my thanks, I really can't. I'm not sure if I'd call it my best chapter, but thank you all the same. :)

morph: I'm updating as quickly as I can :) New chapters are usually posted on Monday and Friday nights. And, no, Sands pain won't last forever. But he's not gonna get over his nightmares 'til a few things are settled. u.u

DragonHunter200: Yeah, Vincent's back. I couldn't resist, cuz despite how much I really don't care for Tom Cruise, I do like his character in Collateral. I have such a hard time picturing Sands as a kid! o.o I don't know why, either, but, yeah, it's isn't easy for me. :( I know what you mean about cute guys and fevers. For some reason, that appeals to me. O.o Still haven't gotten my hands on The Rum Diary although I was this close to nabbing a copy of Rolling Stone Magazine last Saturday. My dad dragged me out of the CD store while I was only halfway through with the article, so I didn't get to finish it. XO But thank you for the nice comments on Sands pain. :) Really, I think I have what has to be the worst memory to date, so reading that I wrote sickness well is very reassuring. :D

o