Authors Note: The rating has been bumped up from pg-13 to R because of Adult situations at the end of this chapter. If you dislike this sort of thing.. I suggest not reading it...

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers!

Thanks Scarlett for beta reading this. Helps a LOT girl. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, or any other characters from Once Upon A Time In Mexico, they belong to their respected creators. I just let them come and play. ;) Nor do I own 'Rebel Yell' by Billy Idol or 'Free Bird' by Lynard Skynard.

The time ticked by, a clock in the study proclaiming it was somewhere around five in the morning. Sands had been sitting in the chair farthest from the front door and farthest from the hallway to the other rooms, a loaded pistol under the frame in his reach. He'd been flipping open the lid of the lighter he'd taken back from Sarah and flipping it closed. He was internally kicking himself.

"Stupid fucker, you shouldn't have said it," he muttered to himself. Sighing, he pocketed the lighter and ran his hands through his hair as he leaned forward. He let his hands run over the coffee table in front of him. He found his disc man and a pack of cigarettes and pulled both towards him. The disc man was something other then the clock to listen to, though he didn't remember what CD he'd had in it last. He slipped the headphones on and pushed play, grinning in the darkness.

"Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door,
Last night a little angel Came pumpin' across my floor,
She said "Come on baby I got a license for love,
And if it expires pray help from above."

He let his fingers search the rest of the table and he found his pocket knife. He stiffened a moment, a thousand memories flashing through his mind. Memories of being in that cupboard under the stairs as a kid, pounding and screaming, all hours of the day and night. Memories of hiding on the roof as a teen, smoking a cigarette to help stop the threatening tears. Memories of finding the pocket knife and slicing skin to rid himself of emotional pain. The physical pain always distracted him from the emotional pain.

Sands sat back, turning the slender object around in his fingers, his mind reeling. The song brought back the guilt of what he'd done to Cerise earlier.

I walked the ward with you, babe
A thousand miles with you
I dried your tears of pain, babe
A million times for you

It seemed so easy to him. So he pulled the slenderest, sharpest blade open and cocked his head to the side, considering what he was about to do. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, sliding it between his lips and lighting it. Then he spun the pocket knife with its open blade once and muttered, "Fuck it." He pressed the blade to his arm and put enough pressure on it to break skin as he dragged it across his arm. He felt the pain as the blade dug in, sharp and numbing, sweet and releasing.

He felt the warm sticky trickle of blood that he'd become so familiar with as of late, drip down his arm. If Kate had been nice enough to give him the black sweats like he asked, the blood wouldn't show up on his pants. If not, he didn't much care at this moment. He just wanted this release. It took his mind off what he'd said to Cerise earlier. What he didn't have to see but heard all the same, and the fact that he DID want to see it. God, more then anything, he wanted to see her face right now!

The CD changed to another song, and as he dug another cut, he listened.

Bye, bye, its been a sweet love.
Though this feeling I can't change.
But please don't take it badly,
'Cause Lord knows I'm to blame.

How that made so much sense to him right now. He was to blame, he'd stung her hard. He knew better then to ever bring up her father, a man he would gladly kill if given the chance for what he'd done to Cerise. Her back still bore the scars. How many nights had he kissed every one of those 34 scars? From the longest, to the smallest on the back of her neck and he'd do it again. If only she'd forgive him for his mouth in the bathroom.

And this bird you'll never change.
And this bird you cannot change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Lord help me, I can't change

He snorted bitterly at the last two lines. His right arm, the one he was cutting, now on his third slash, was starting to tremble and feel light. But his mind wasn't on that. Now he was contemplating those last two lines. God he wanted to change, he was more then willing to change, IF it was for Cerise. That realization was so firm in his mind. He was willing to settle down. He had the chance to know his daughter, to be a better father then his father had ever been, whether he could see or not. He just felt the desire and ache to be with them both, whether he stayed an officer for the CIA or not. He felt at that moment, all he wanted in his life was his daughter and the woman he loved more than life.

Cerise had been standing in the doorway of the hall for a few minutes. When she hadn't heard anything from him for a while, she got a little worried and a little more curious.

She was hoping to find him asleep on the couch. But instead, here he was, leaning over the coffee table cutting rail road tracks in his arm. He'd cut a series of four or five horizontal cuts on the inside of his right arm, before the tattoo he had there. Now he was dragging the blade up his arm vertically in the middle of the horizontal ones. "Those will scar," she finally spoke.

The blade slipped, going diagonal at the wrist. He hissed a sharp swear and dropped the blade on the table in defeat. "One more scar to add tothe whole collection, eh?" Sands mumbled, leaning back in the chair, arm resting on his leg. He hadn't heard Cerise and he was a little pissed at himself for it. He heard her move from the hallway and towards the couch, sitting down near his chair. He didn't move.

"When did you start cutting again?" she asked softly.

"Do you care?"

"Go to hell."

"I'm in hell!" He heard her sigh.

"Stop being such a bastard, Sands. I'm going outside for a smoke."

He heard her get up. Cerise stopped at the door to the kitchen and grabbed a dishrag. If there was one thing she knew about Sands, it was that he'd follow her outside. She unlocked the door, digging in her purse on the table next to it, looking for her cigarettes. As rarely as she smoked, she still did, and it had been Sands who'd started her on the habit.

Pulling the door open, she moved into the hall, intent on going out to the outside stairs to sit down. As she moved towards them she heard the apartment door open again. Bingo she thought. He was following. She lingered a moment by the outside door, before pushing it open and stepping out. The stairs led down to a courtyard in the middle of the rectangular complex. There were four sets of stairs, one on each side.

She sat herself down in the middle of the stairs and gazed down at the large pool and patio area. A moment later, she heard him come through the door and move down the stairs slowly.

Sands had guessed she'd come this way, without her having to linger by the door to tell him. When she had been living with him, this is where she often came to think. Now he just had to decide where on the stairway she was sitting. He felt her presence near the middle and slipped down next to her... at least he hoped it was her.

He knew he was right when she reach over, taking his right arm, and wrapping the dishtowel tightly around the cuts. He sighed dejectedly, knowing he should have expected her to do this.

She said nothing, but her fingers slipped down to tangle with his, and she held his hand, looking back out at the pool. They sat there in silence for a long while.

Sands understood that he had to be the one to break the quiet. "What I said in the bathroom....I didn't mean."

"I know," she said simply. He hadn't heard her light a cigarette, so he knew it had simply been a ply to get him to follow and apologize.

"You know, I've caught onto your little game now," Sands said with mock cynicism.

"Well, I'm glad of that." Cerise answered dryly. "Let's get something straight, Officer Sands. I did not, I repeat, DID NOT, play you, or turn traitor on you... not now or EVER," Cerise said hotly.

"Yeah, well, I don't have a lot of trust these days," Sand said. "So I had to know."

"And that was your fucking way of asking? Are you suggesting that it was me who called those assassins or whoever the fuck they were?" she demanded.

"No.." Sands said softly.

"Alright!" She rested her case. Sands did light a cigarette, and he exhaled the smoke slowly. Silence settled between them again. Cerise leaned over slightly, still holding Sands' hand and it was at that moment, as a few warm tears hit his hand, that he realized she was crying. He turned his head in her direction, his mouth opening.

But her next action froze him to his spot. She let go of his hand, and reached up. He felt her fingers brush his cheek as she took a hold of his sunglasses. He jerked back instinctively. It didn't matter that he'd only had them on a few hours, they'd become a part of him. More so now than ever before. It didn't matter that she'd seen him without them at the hospital. He didn't want her to see, he didn't want ANYONE to see. But he felt her removing them. His hand shot up to stop her. "Don't..." he breathed, but she didn't stop. She took the sunglasses off completely.

She swallowed hard. In the yellow light, they looked so black... so endless. She wanted to turn away, wanted to run away, but she forced herself to stay. She lay the sunglasses on his thigh, moving her other hand, and cupped his face, leaning even closer. Her fingers caressed his cheek. "I'm sorry all this happened to you, I really am," she whispered sadly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "But I still love you." She let go of him and stood.

Sands fumbled for his sunglasses before slipping them on, while that nasty little voice spoke up once again. "HA! Told you so, fucker! NOW GO AFTER HER!" He heard the door close and scrambled to his feet, tossing his cigarette over the railing. Turning, he huried back up the stairs and through the door. He just heard his apartment door open when he got inside and sprinted down the hall to catch up with her.

He caught her just inside the door, taking her arm and shutting the door with his other hand. She didn't pull back, and as Sands leaned back against the door, turning the lock on the knob, he pulled her to him. His arm snaked around her waist, drawing her as close as possible and when he let go of the door knob, he wrapped his other arm around her as well. She leaned against him, her hands on his chest.

"Haven't we been here before?" he asked with a grin.

She looked up at him, "Yes, we have..." she said softly. He ran his hands up her back and slipped them under her T-shirt, undoing her bra. "Moving fast, Sands?" He kissed her hard and passionate. "Shelly," he growled in protest of the nickname through the kiss.

Cerise gave in, moving her hands up slowly to wrap around his neck as her bra went free. She kissed him back and he moved forward, causing her to step back, and they stumbled through the room. Their kissing became more fervent as they stumbled, hands yanking at each other's clothes. He tossed away her blouse and bra as she ran into the coffee table.

She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as she tried to keep herself from falling backwards, and popped off the top half of the buttons to rid him of the garment as she tumbled. Sands turned her and they hit the floor between the coffee table and the couch. He kissed her breasts as he moved downward, setting to work on her jeans. She kicked off her sandals and ran her hands up his back as he kissed her stomach, pulling the zipper of her jeans down with his teeth.

He grasped a hold of the jeans and began tugging them off. Freeing her of her jeans he paused to kiss her lightly on a knee and got a sharp intake of breath from her in response. He knew she was ticklish on the knees. He grabbed her panties as she sat up slightly, weight on her elbows. Once he got those off, he eased her back down, slipping a hand between her legs. She gasped as he slipped two fingers in side of her, his thumb circling around her clit. She gasped and bucked against his hand, twisting on the floor. Sands grinned maliciously as he felt her growing moist.

"Been awhile, hasn't it?" he whispered in her ear as he bent over her, kissing her neck.

"Sheldon..." she whimpered, fingernails digging into the carpet. He continued to rub her, stopping only once to wet his finger and began the assault afresh. He drove her towards climax and she whimpered and moaned in pleasure.

"Sheldon!" she gasped, arching as the wave broke over her, eyes opening.

He pulled back and quickly removed his sweat pants and boxers, moving her legs apart. Then he slipped over her, sliding into her fully. Bracing himself with his body over the top of her, he started the rhythm, moving the hair from her face with his fingers.

It had been a long time since they'd shared a bed together, made love or slept in each other's arms, and God, how he'd missed her. He'd missed her scent, her touch, her soft breath. He'd missed watching her sleep against him. He missed watching her eyes on him when they worked, and he suddenly frowned internally, his mind screaming. He'd never see any of those things again! But at least she was there with him, now and in this moment, and he was going to hold on as long as he could to her.

The climax hit them at the same time and Sands' body went ridged as she tightened around him. He didn't pull himself out until her body released him for good, and he collapsed on the floor next to her panting and listening to her catch her own breath. He leaned over and kissed the hollow of her collar bone, laying his head on her shoulder.

She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him to her as her breathing steadied. He took in her scent deeply, a mix of roses, and the sweat from loving making. He reached up with one hand and ran his fingers through her hair.

"I love you, Cerise, so much," he whispered in her ear desperately.

"Shh... I know..." she said softly. His other hand slid beneath her to run over the faint scars that covered her back. They just stayed like that, lying in the dark, listening to the clock in the study, not wanting to break the moment. They both knew that breaking the moment would thrust them back into their whole mess.

She'd just finished bandaging up his arm. They were sitting on the couch, with streams of early morning light floating through the window, in nothing but their underwear.

She cut the tape and dropped it on the table, patting his arm gently as she leaned back against the couch. She was tired. Sands slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. She lay her head on his shoulder, with a sigh. "You should sleep," Sands said, exhausted himself.

"And you shouldn't?" Cerise mumbled.

Sands grinned slightly, leaning his head back. Cerise shut her eyes, still leaning against him, and yawned.

"How long will she sleep?" he asked, nodding towards the bedroom.

"Probably util around eleven, since she was moved around so much last night," Cerise said, stretching out her legs and turning herself slightly, so she lay against him again.

Sands ran his fingers up and down her arm. It wasn't long before the both of them fell asleep.