Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

By

E. S. Young

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Irony

Y'know . . . I am reeeally getting annoyed with this website. It wouldn't let be upload the last chapter for abouttwo days before I actually managed to get a chapter posted! I was ready to post it a while ago but FFN kept saying I couldn't log in. XO!! Grrr . . . I'm flirting with the idea of finding a new website. I really am. But I probably won't. Not until I finish this story, at least. u.u

"What if she's still alive?"

The question was soft, hollow sounding, maybe even a little fearful. It mingled on the line between worry and childlike innocence. The sheer concern he had expressed stunned her. And just like that, something changed between them. It was something left unsaid, something neither of them ever mentioned, but Zebbidy knew. She now felt more connected with the man in her arms than ever before.

In his voice, Zebbidy could hear the frightened little boy he had once been long ago, before whatever had happened to make him the man he was today occurred. Before he had become so cold and distant. Before he made sure he isolated himself from love and care. No one was born with the kind of barriers that ran around Sands. The agent had put them up himself . . . for reasons she hoped she would someday know.

His head was still resting lightly on top of her chest, his left arm draped casually across her torso, while her own arms were placed delicately over his back. Slowly, almost tentatively, she brought a hand up and let her long fingers become entangled in his hair. Sands didn't protest and Zebbidy didn't think he minded.

The question repeated itself in her head.

'What if she's still alive?'

Zebbidy knew who 'she' was. Ajedrez. Señorita Barillo. The beautiful vixen who had lured Sands into her trap and then snatched him up and ripped his eyes out with her claws. She had gotten him to trust, perhaps even love – two factors Zebbidy had to give her credit for – and then she had thrown all of that out the window and shattered every thread of compassion Sands might have held. Zebbidy decided she hated that woman for doing such a thing. She didn't approve of killing people, but she didn't blame Sands in the least for what he had done.

'What if she's still alive?'

"What makes you say that?" she wondered aloud, absently stroking his hair. It was soft beneath her fingertips and that surprised her.

Sands lifted his left hand, palm up, and waved it in a makeshift shrug.

"Y'know how Rosa caused this?" He gestured carelessly towards his eyes and dropped the hand, letting it fall limply at Zebbidy's side. "I thought it was her and I freaked, to say the least."

"Ohh . . ." she sighed, breathless with understanding. Sands had killed Ajedrez but he hadn't seen her die. Without that evidence, she realized, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure that she was truly and undeniably dead. So suddenly seeing a woman who must have resembled his former girlfriend to some extent would have been like a strong hit to the gut. The impact would have sent his senses reeling, severely winding him, causing all sorts of disorientations, and unearthing haunting memories.

And suddenly, there was a click. Everything fell into place. At last, everything made sense.

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone . . . she had to stop herself from singing out loud.

"Well," Zebbidy began in measured tones, "if she is alive . . . then you'll kill her again."

"I didn't kill her the first time," he protested, his voice rising with worry. "That's my point. If I can't kill the bitch once, what would enable me to do it . . . a . . . second time . . ."

He trailed off, letting his words float in midair. Tranquil silence filled the room, a pleasant replacement for the worry that had once been a prominent emotion in the suite. He curled his fingers around the blankets, becoming quiet once he finally noticed Zebbidy's touch. He should have been annoyed, or at least feigned irritation, but he felt neither and showed nothing, only heavy apathy that was dragging closer towards a comatose state. He didn't bother to fight it this time. Sleep was good. As long as she made herself scarce whenever he finally dropped off.

Yeah, good luck with that. I'm sure if you simply tell Ajedrez that you're sleepy, she'll leave you alone. She's understanding like that.

She's dead.

Yeah, sure. Then why does Rosa look like her?

She's a fucking reincarnate of The Bitch? I don't know.

And suddenly he realized he didn't. He really didn't know what was going on. He had no clue whatsoever. There were vague ideas and theories here and there, but he didn't really know what was happening.

He should have known from the second the CIA was unable to unearth any information that there was something wrong about Rosa Hernandez. What did he know aside from orphan with blue eyes, black hair, a great ass, and a shit load of money? Absolutely nothing. Nil. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Diddly squat. Who was she? Ajedrez's sister? He decided on no, going by what that one dream had contained. She wasn't her half-sister either, or her cousin for that matter. Twin? Clone? Hell, he was ready to believe anything at this point.

He worked his throat, trying to unglue his sticky vocal cords. So far all he accomplished was an increased amount of mucus and a sore throat. Perhaps waiting it out or goading his body into functioning were better ways to go, but Sands had never been famous for his patients.

"Lyn said – on the Day of the Dead – that she was spoken with her, asking where I was, but the bitch kicked the bucket before she could tell her anything."

"But you don't think she died," Zebbidy murmured, voicing his unspoken thought.

Sands shook his head and whispered hoarsely, "No."

He could feel her nodding as she took all of this in, like a computer downloading a file before finally running the program. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second, but Sands forced himself to stay awake.

"I can understand that," Zebbidy agreed considerately. "There's a good chance she was just unconscious. Lynné may have been wrong –"

"Lyn's never wrong," he interrupted sounding more confused than defiant.

"Oh . . ." she sighed thoughtfully. "Well . . . there's always a first time for everything. Isn't that what she'd say?"

Sands' only response was to snuggle into her and pray that Zebbidy mistook it as a shifting of positions.

God, how did I wind up here Liam wondered as he roamed the hallways of Poisson's mansion, having lost his way while in search of the exit. No one was awake at this hour, and anyone that was up was either standing guard or safely hidden away in their offices.

Or dungeons, Liam couldn't help but think. He wasn't sure if a dungeon was where Lynné was being held prisoner, but it was the only image his mind could conjure up. He smiled fondly as he imagined what kind of torture chambers Lynné could come up with. She had always been very imaginative, if not slightly twisted.

He had hoped that the Mafia don would have sent several men to accompany him, that way he could attempt to keep a conversation going and avoid the panicked thoughts that threatened to bombard him. But no. Poisson had wanted everything to look as though Liam was still working for the CIA, like he was trying to help Sands and Zebbidy, like he wasn't the sniveling, pathetic traitor that he really was.

Again he thought of Lynné and what had done to her. Betrayal was one of the lowest things a person could do in Lynné's book. It was right down there with attacking someone in an elevator that was still in motion. Yes, he was in quite a pit at the moment, and he was only sinking deeper. By the time he got out of the labyrinth that was Poisson's mansion, he imagined he would have one foot in hell. And when he finally found Sands and Zebbidy, he would already be burning.

At least then he would have a vague idea of what Lynné had felt like. That Day. The day she had been forgotten by her own agency, cast aside like a pesky child that nobody wanted to deal with. Her situation had, in a way, been like a child's. When Mom or Dad didn't want the kid around, they would give them a new toy to play with and send them on their way. That's what the CIA had done with his partner – Liam cringed as the word automatically came to him. The Company hadn't wanted Lynné around, so they gave her a new assignment – a new toy – to occupy her for a time and then sent her off to Mexico, hoping to get her out of their hair and perhaps some relief for a little while. Then, when things had gone awry, when she had demanded their attention . . . they had blown her off, ignoring her warnings and her threats.

And Harrington hung up on her, Liam reminded himself. But he meant to do that.

No, Lynné's phone hadn't cut out because of a bad connection all those years ago. She had told him about it cutting off after he had retrieved her ('rescued' was what Liam called it, Lynné always said he had given her a lift). Liam didn't know the CIA had intentionally deserted Lynné and even if he did, he wouldn't have believed it. His partner – again Liam winced – didn't know it either, although she certainly had her suspicions lined up. Only after the CIA failed to look for her at his rental home in Mexico, only after they had called him and said that Agent Lynné Sands had been deemed MIA and that the search for her had been discontinued . . . Only then did Liam realize how right Lynné had been.

He hadn't wanted to doubt the CIA – they were part of the American government; their job was to protect the citizens of the United States as well as the rest of the world – yet after knowing that they would just abandon one of their own agents like that. . . He never trusted the CIA after what they had done to Lynné, and his faith in them had only lessened a year ago when he learned that Sands had undergone a similar experience.

But only recently did he learn of Harrington's role in the plan. The CIA hadn't discarded Lynné. They hadn't wanted her around and her sudden disappearance had been like a dream come true . . . But they hadn't burned her intentionally. Harrington was working under different authorities when he had hung up on her. Authorities that were connected to the CIA, but were certainly not the agency themselves.

At least now everything makes sense, Liam sighed dejectedly.

Placing his hands upon a majestic pair of mahogany doors, he pushed and stepped outside into the fading moonlight.

The room where they had taken her was small and square. Barren. The walls were a stern, emotionless slate gray, as were the floors and the ceiling. Desolate. There were no windows and, from what she could tell, only one exit: A narrow, steel plate door. Around its edges ran a brilliant glow – light from whatever was outside. A hallway, Lyn guessed. She was positioned right in front of the door, just a few feet (And two cuffed hands) away from the handle.

To her left there was a table – cheap aluminum like the uncomfortable chair she was bound to. If she tilted her head all the way back, she could see the single bulb that hover directly above her, hanging on a sleek black cord. But she didn't look at the light for too long; it hurt her eyes and made them water and the last thing she needed was the back-stabbing brigade to think she was crying.

She let her head drop back down, hearing her neck crack in the process. Great. Now she was going to be tortured and have a cramp. What a bright, sun shiny day this was turning out to be.

Cat leaned against the wall, arms akimbo, smirking at her in triumph. At long last, she had finally succeeded in shocking her stepsister into silence. Good for her. Lyn was glad she could make her day.

Beside Cat stood Harrington, his arm around the narrow, shapeless hip of his fiancée, looking just as smug. Whatever traces of doubt she had held vanished the moment he locked eyes with her. She knew, now, that Harrington had made no mistake when he hung up on her in Mexico those four years ago.

Yeah, you're probably right, the voice agreed reluctantly. Though recent events have swayed my confidence in you just a bit. Thing is, I was under the impression that you were never wrong.

I'm not. This was just bad judgement on my part.

You're such a dumbass, the voice patronized in disgust. You could've at least checked the bitch's pulse before running off.

Well excuse me if I cared more about getting my ass out of there than making sure she was dead.

You should have! That's what everyone always does! They forget! They forget to completely eliminate the bad guy and then they pay for it in the end. God, you're such a dumbass, Lynné.

Cool it, honey, I've got this.

That doesn't reassure me, Lynné.

The only thing that's holding me back is a set of handcuffs.

Point?

I'm CI-fucking-A, remember? Where were you when I learned escape plans?

When the voice offered no answer Lynné knew she had won that quarrel. But winning a mental argument with the voice in her head meant nothing to the group of people who had gathered in her holding chamber. There were four of them, two she knew, one was a stranger, and one she thought had died along with the hundreds of others who had perished on the Day of the Dead.

"So good to see you again, Angie," she greeted, still a little breathless from shock. "Funny thing . . . I thought you'd died."

"I only wish I could say the same about you," Ajedrez returned snidely. Her voice was quiet and calculating as she eyed Lynné critically. "Then again, if you were dead, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the pleasure of watching you suffer."

Like I didn't see that one coming, Lyn snorted. Christ, could this chick be more predictable?

"You're looking rather worse for wear, Lynné," Ajedrez continued mockingly, unaware of her captive's degrading thoughts. "Not at all what I expected."

"Rest assured," Lyn told her, "if I'd've known who I was being taken to, I would've shaved my legs this morning."

"Legs."

The word hung in the air, dripping with hilarity and filled mocking and sarcastic disbelief. Nobody said a word. All action halted abruptly. Time itself seemed to have stopped.

Ajedrez gazed at her for a moment, surveying her with those merciless eyes, eyes that bore no pity, only cruel mirth, eyes that did not sympathize but taunted. In the short time she had to stare into the honey colored orbs, Lynné was told all she needed to know: She was screwed, completely and undeniably.

"Funny you should mention legs," Ajedrez began, pacing regally in front of her, her arms folded over her ample chest. "Did you know that your brother was the one who shot me?"

Lyn knew she was referring to the Day of the Dead and nodded.

"Didn't shoot you enough, though, I guess."

"No." Ajedrez shook her head, a very dark look clouding her face. "He shot me enough to do some damage, though."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Lynné assured her offhandedly. "Some guys like girls that are a little marked up." She grinned. "I oughta know."

"But do you know what really destroyed everything for me?" Ajedrez prodded, ignoring the comment. She strode over to her prisoner, uncrossing her arms as she went, and placed a hand on each of the armrests flanking Lyn's chair. Eye level with her enemy, so close their noses were but a few inches apart, she hissed quietly, venom dripping from every word, "You . . . when you kicked me with those ugly black boots of yours. The doctors would have been able to repair the damage had you not been so spiteful. But now – " She gave a soft, humorless laugh. " – thanks to you, I can no longer eat properly, I cannot bear the children that were destined to carry on my family's legacy, and every day . . . I am forced to attach a set of plastic appendages to my hips because I can no longer walk like a normal human being . . . all . . . because . . . of you."

Lynné cringed inwardly.

Shit.

"Well you know what they say, sugar-beets," she murmured softly, her lips barely parting. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. It was rather inconsiderate of you when you made that comment about my visage."

Ajedrez pulled away sharply, her face molted in revulsion at how disgustingly frustrating the young woman could be.

"And anyway, it wasn'tmy fault," Lyn began to explain, her eyes following the other woman. As Ajedrez backed into the metal table and took a seat, Lynné continued her defense. "Sands is, after all, the one who shot you. If he hadn't done that, I would've been able to kick you and you'd be just fine. But, really . . . he only shot you in the first place because you played him, betrayed him, sold him out to your father, and then got his eyes ripped out of his skull." She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her expression. "And that gave him a motive. So, really, darling . . . you brought this on yourself."

"And now I'm going to finish it," Ajedrez retorted coolly. "I wasn't there the day my father took your leg, but he often described it to me. The look on your face when it hit you. You knew you weren't going to make it out of there in one piece. He always thought it was so strange . . . how you didn't scream when the saw began to break your flesh."

"Did you know it was me when my brother introduced us?" Lyn demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, a smile spread across the other woman's face and Lynné knew the answer before a word was spoken.

"I did, but not at first. Before my father confirmed everything I only had my suspicions. You hide your disability very well."

"I don't hide it," Lynné corrected, "I simply care not to parade the fact around."

Ajedrez's lips curled into an even wider smile as her eyes lit with amusement.

"You are going to die, Lynné Sands," she declared softly, "and I am going to watch it happen. But not before you pay for all that you have burdened me with. And while you are reimbursing me for your crimes " she added, "we will be getting a hold of your brother, so he can witness yourinfinite torture and then suffer with you."

Oh boy, here we go, Lyn sighed uninterestedly. This must be part of my torture. She's gonna try to talk me to death, which is actually really stupid because once the real torment begins, my brain'll be too numb with monotony to care.

As she felt boredom begin to settle in, Lynné didn't bother to fight it. Knowing Ajedrez, she would ramble on for a good twenty minutes, listing off each and every torture she had in store for her and sparing no details. Lyn found that she really didn't want to hear that; after all, she wasn't planning on sticking around for it, so she embraced the lassitude and allowed her mind to wander freely.

Her eyes drifted, taking her from Cat who was fondling her leg without care, to Richard Harrington – fucking prick was ogling Ajedrez when he was supposed to be engaged to Cat. Her eyes took her past Ajedrez who had yet to reach the end of her speech, and at last they landed on the stranger. The tall, dark, unconceivable hansom stranger who was standing behind and to the right of Ajedrez. He met her gaze and Lynné felt the edges of her mouth twitch, wanting to break into a seductive smile and bat her lashes flirtatiously. It would be an act, but it would be fun. She was just about to flip her hair teasingly when a sudden utterance made her freeze where she sat.

"You killed my father."

"Excuse me, what?"

"You killed my father," Ajedrez repeated, her voice dangerously low.

Lynné was silent as she stared up at her, her eyes dark and unreadable. So, Ajedrez thought that she was the one responsible for the assassination of Armando Barillo. Lyn could understand that. But what she didn't understand was Ajedrez's meaning. Did the bitch think she had brought on the death of her father by being involved in Sands' plan to flee Mexico? Did she think that Lynné had been the one to engage the service of "El Mariachi?" Or did Ajedrez merely think that Lynné had flat-out killed her father?

"No I didn't," Lyn said bluntly, keeping her face impassive and calm.

"You did," Ajedrez countered testily.

After a quick thinning of the lips – one of her brief smiles – Lynné leaned forward as much as the cuffs would allow and let a single word flow lightly from her lips.

"Didn't."

"I saw you kill him!"

Ajedrez seethed, rage emanating off of her in fiery bolts, glowing like hot coals. Her fists clenched, imbedding her fingernails into the palms of her hands as her anger continued to radiate. Lynné cocked her head, as if pausing so she could take a moment to think. Her lips were pursed, scrunched in a mid-kissing position like phony immersion. She took a while, but at long last Lynné drew her mouth back, smoothing out the puckered wrinkles and letting her lips slide back into their usual sulky position. Finally, she proffered her thoughts.

"Are you . . . sure . . . of what you saw? Cuz you could be mista –"

"I was not," she assured her, her voice escaping her gritted teeth like a furious threat, "mistaken." Ajedrez drew herself up again, regaining the smug composure that had evaporated in her moment of outrage, and scrutinized Lynné through carefully calculating eyes.

"I came to shortly after you left. I could still see your feet as you moved further and further away from me. I could have still killed you, of course," she added lightly as if it was obvious, "but I found that I had lost my guns."

Her eyes narrowed as a broad grin slid over Lynné's face, but Ajedrez did not express her annoyance any further.

"And then, you stopped. You had seen something. Possibly your bastard brother, but I knew he had gone in the other direction. And then I remembered . . ." She took a moment to loop her legs around each other again. "My father had fallen out of the window of the building you were standing in front of. When I saw him fall, I assumed he had died on impact, but no. He was still alive, and you knew this. So you stopped and spoke with him.

"And then . . ." Ajedrez narrowed her eyes contemptuously, building tension for the climax she had obviously prepared for. "I heard a shot, I saw you, I saw his corpse, and put the two together at once. Conclusion?" She leaned forward, her voice grew cold with spite, yet her words still seeped with fiery vehemence. "You – killed – my – father."

Ajedrez glared at her. Her eyes, lit with miniscule fires, threw burning daggers of hatred at her while Lynné herself was silent. Cat and Harrington stood next to the plain metallic door, forgotten in the moment of confusion in which accusations had been made and threats had been fired. Lynné remained in her impassive phase. Her expression was cool and emotionless as she stared back at Ajedrez through blank eyes and when she finally spoke, her lips barely seemed to move.

"That's quite a claim, there, girl, but . . . how do you know it's correct? You had been having a rough day, you'd just lost how many pints of blood . . . for all you know, I could've been putting Barillo out of his misery."

"I doubt that," Ajedrez replied softly. "Now –"

"Rosa Hernandez," Lynné cut in. There was no need to continue; they both knew what she meant.

"For my plan to work, I needed everyone to believe I was dead. I couldn't very well do that when the CIA was planning to send Zebbidy Samhain to Édouard Poisson when she was infested with bugs. So a replacement was in order. I hired a girl to fill in for me whenever my presence was required."

"That'd be Rosa," Lyn acknowledged.

"She's done her job well, gathering information and passing it onto me. Not only that. Hernandez has proved to be very useful to me."

Her eyes widening in feigned surprise, Lynné remarked, "That's strange . . . I wouldn't've thought you were into that kind of thing. Then again, you may just do it to get him aroused –" she nodded to the dark haired man who still flanked Ajedrez "— so he'll be extra good in bed. It's the sorta thing I'd do . . . if I was desperate for a good lay, at least."

While Ajedrez wrinkled her nose in disgust and stared down at her in stunned outrage, the man at her side slid a well toned hand around her slim hips, confirming Lyn's theory about the two being lovers. An accomplished feeling rising inside her, she smirked.

"Care to introduce him? I'm sure he's fascinating."

She blinked seductively. Ajedrez scowled.

"Adrián is none of your concern," she spat resentfully.

"I'm sure he's a good dog, though," Lynné commented breezily. "He probably does whatever you tell him to do, cuz he knows if he doesn't there goes the money, there goes the sex, and there goes his life right out the door." Her eyes flickered to Adrián, taking in his dark eyes, broad nose, strong cheekbones, and his hair done in a Desi Arnaz pompadour hairstyle. Good looking and a push over. Too easy. Grinning maliciously, she chided, "Good boy."

Adrián opened his mouth to speak but Ajedrez cut him off at once. Pushing herself off of the table she growled an infuriated "We're going" to her accomplices and stalked toward the steel door in a huff, limping on her prosthetic legs as she went.

Haughty grin still in place – She's probably feeling superior because she just went fifteen minutes without talking, Lyn thought snidely – Cat looped her arm through Harrington's and followed her flustered employer out. Lynné noted that Ajedrez made the two former CIA agents leave before she and her lover did.

She doesn't trust them. Eh. Even if Cat did turn on her, it wouldn't be that big a deal. Hell, Cat'd probably tell Ajedrez she was gonna betray her before she actually did it.

Ajedrez stopped just as she reached the exit. A thought seemed to have struck her. Turning slowly, she faced Lynné, an evil grin spread wide across her tanned face.

"See you later, Lynné."

Resisting the automatic urge to roll her eyes, Lyn threw her a careless, "Fuck you."

"Sorry, I don't do women," Ajedrez replied coolly.

"Who said I was talking to you?" Lynné retorted snidely. As she spoke her eyes trailed away from Ajedrez's face. She met Adrián's gaze and blew him a kiss.

With a revolted look, the man took Ajedrez's hand in his as if to prove that he was truly in love with her, and began to open the door.

"Hey, Adrián!" Lynné called cheerfully, once again putting their departure on hold. The pretty boy spun around, his dark eyebrows furrowed in anger and annoyance. Unfazed, she smiled. "Just wanted you to know . . . I like dogs.

"And Ajedrez?" she continued questioningly. "Before you go, I'd like to tell you something."

Ajedrez glared, hands on her hips, waiting for her to go on. Still smiling, Lynné leaned forward slightly and in a low, eerily flat voice, uttered a single warning:

"Je vous recevrai, ma jolie – " her eyes flickered momentarily to Adrián "— et votre petit chien, aussi."

Don't hate me! (winces) When Zebbidy had her vision of Ajedrez and everyone started guessing that Ajedrez was Rosa, I merely said that they weren't the same person. I never said that The Bitch wasn't alive. Also, in the end of OUaTiM, El shot Barillo and he fell out a window – fun! – but we never saw him actually die. It's highly unlikely that a person could still be alive after all of that but, hey, Marquez survived after being shot in the heart, didn't he? And besides . . . 9.9 Lynné suddenly reminded me that, while Sands got his revenge for what the Barillo cartel had done to him, she never got hers. And I thought the idea of Ajedrez having to have not one but both of her legs removed was a decent bit of irony. And I wanted to give her a boyfriend so Lyn could pretend to come onto him and piss Ajedrez off. :)

What Lynné just said in the end of this chapter is a quote that everyone should be familiar with. I would have put the English translation right in parenthesis like I usually do, but I thought it would ruin the moment. Won't keep you guys in the dark, though (using that saying lightly especially now 9.9;). In English, that scene would have sounded something like this:

"I'll get you, my pretty –" her eyes flickered momentarily to Adrián "— and your little dog, too."

Hah, I love that. Okay, that done, time to respond to my reviews :)

Author's Thanks and Review Responses

vanillafluffy: Don't worry, Liam's got a reason for his sudden betrayal. Dunno how good a reason it is, but he's got one nonetheless. And he's proved his loyalty to the Poisson's in many shapes and forms. Everything will be revealed shortly – hopefully in the next chapter. o.o;;

Dawnie-7: Well . . . kinda. See, when Lyn freaks out, things get bad for her, and when things get bad for her, things get bad for the voice. To prevent any psychological mishaps the voice has to keep Lyn in check so it doesn't suffer along with her. So, really, the voice is looking out for itself, not Lynné. But that's another one of those mental author's notes that I always forget to mention. :D;

morph: Yep, after the initial shock wore off, everything was cool as far as the leg was concerned. Funny, I never linked the leg removal to the first time we saw Sands without his eyes cuz I usually relate two things together immediately. O.o

Lynx Ryder: lol, it's great to hear you're so enthusiastic about the story and its characters, though. Makes me smile. :D Can't make any promises about Liam making up for his wrongdoing; dunno if the guilt's getting to him enough to do that. I'll certainly try, though :) And you called Zeb realistic! That's so great to hear since she has a lot of Mary Sue-like qualities. I knew that there were a lot of emotions in the last chapter but I didn't really pick up on just how many of them were unnatural to the characters. And poor Sands . . . I doubt he's ever felt ashamed in his life so that scene was definitely not the easiest thing to write. Not to turn into a raving fangirl, but he looks so cute when he's penitent! I have the image in my head and it's downright adorable! o.o I think it's the way his lips look, not necessarily his eyes. For me, Captain Jack is all about the eyes, but I absolutely love Sands' lips. Not even in the sense that I want to kiss them; I just like them. To me, of all the Johnny Depp characters, Sands has the best lips. They're just . . . nice.

Sands: u.u!

Sidney: Well, at least my pointless ramblings have put him in a good mood tonight. Moving on, I can't help but feel sorry for Liam when everyone's against him. To me, he's still the helpful little coward from TLWH that we all know and used to love. :D;

zigzag: You nearly cried? Oh my God . . . I can't believe that. Didn't think I'd ever hear it – not to say that I'm not pleased :D; Thank you very much!

fanfiction fanatic: As always, thank you and, of course, I'll try to update as soon as possible. I always do. :)

Happy Chanukah to anyone who celebrates it! Gut yontev!

o