Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the hell does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: This chapter is a dark one. I'm telling you know. That, and it takes place almost entirely in flashback. Hope you like it.

Aurthor's Note II: This is the CLEAN version of this chapter. I took a part of the scene with Alice out for content's sake and while it doesn't really have an effect on the whole chapter, if you want to read the FULL version, it's on www. adultfanfiction .net under the same title and author.

Rating: R for extreme violence, sexual content and language.

Chapter Twenty-One: Darkness Becomes You

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 17:23 pm

"Have you even thought about schooling yet, Sheldon?" Sara Sands asked her 17 year old son incredulously.

"He had better. He's not going to be supported by us, I can tell you that much," Anthony Sands added with a disapproving frown.

Sheldon Sands sighed and tried not to look too hatefully at his parents. God, they didn't understand anything. They didn't care. They just wanted their fucking heir and toy to show off to their stuck-up friends and that was it. He wasn't their son; he was their fucking possession.

"Sheldon! Answer me when I speak to you!" Mrs. Sands yelled at her son.

"I've already been accepted to Cornell mother," Sands said calmly. If you had bothered to pay any attention to me whatsoever, you'd know that, you dumb bitch.

"Cornell? Why not Stanford, like your father?"

"Because he probably couldn't get in," Mr. Sands said derisively.

"I didn't apply for Stanford, mother. I didn't want to go there."

"You didn't what?" Mr. Sands asked, practically throwing down the newspaper he had been reading at Sands' statement. "After all the money I've paid for your schooling you think you can just pick and choose which college you go to? You ungrateful little brat."

"I wanted to go to Cornell, father. It's a respectable school," Sands said, keeping his voice as calm as he could while inside he was fuming.

"That is not the point. And if you ever talk back to me like that again, I'll make you wish you never had," Sands' father said coldly.

Sands gritted his teeth, but bore it. "Yes, father," he said with all the meekness of a frightened lamb before a wolf when in actuality, he was a hairsbreadth away from baring his own claws at his father and seeing whose were bigger.

"You're going to go where I tell you to go. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, father."

"Now go to your room and don't come back until you've done what I've told you to do. Dinner can wait."

"Yes, father," Sands said evenly, getting up from his seat at the dining room table as they waited for their dinner to be brought out and stalking out of the room.

"This is your fault, you know," Anthony Sands informed his wife before turning back to his newspaper. "You indulge him too much. All that time spent in the rose garden. You've made him weak."

"Oh, spare me you bastard. If I thought we could get an annulment still, I'd end this marriage in a heartbeat."

"The feeling, my dear, is more than mutual."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 20:15 pm

"Stupid fucking parents," Sands muttered to himself as he finished the last application essay for…god, he didn't care where it was for anymore. Maybe he should just go to Stanford. At least then he'd be on the other end of the country and away from his fucking parents. "They probably wouldn't even miss me. Except as someone to order around all day long," he muttered to himself.

They don't care about you. They never have, a voice whispered malevolently in his thoughts.

Sands rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock," he muttered. "I've know that they don't love me since I was nine. It's old news."

And yet it still pisses you off. Doesn't it?

Sands scowled. "I'm their son. You'd think they'd at least notice that I seem to be just a little insane," he murmured ruefully. "I'm talking to myself for Christ's sake."

No, you're talking to me. Not the same.

"Oh, and that makes me feel so much better," Sands said dryly.

You know what would make you feel even more so? Getting rid of your fucking parents.

"Explain 'getting rid of,' oh mysterious voice inside my head."

What are you, a fucking moron? What do you think I meant?

"Oh fuck you. What, you think I'm just going to kill my parents? Just like that? I'm not a killer."

The voice scoffed.

"Ok, fine. But I haven't killed any people," Sands tried to reason.

But you want to. Admit it. You want to know what it's like. You want to know how it feels to hold someone's life in your hand and simply…squeeze.

Sands didn't want to answer that. It was true, he had thought about killing someone else. Perhaps one of the fucking kids who had called him "shellfish" when he was younger.

Fuck them. They're not here. And shellfish? Come on, was that the best they could fucking come up with? They don't matter. They don't affect you. They're not holding you back like your parents are. And I know you've thought about killing them. Matricide. Patricide. You know the words as well as I do.

Sands eyes narrowed as he grew wary at the voices' insistence for him to murder his parents. "Why are you trying to get me to do this? What's in it for you? No, don't answer that. I don't care. I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're not real. You never have been. You're just a voice inside my head; a figment of my imagination. I'm done talking to you. And I'm not going to kill my parents."

Sands might have said more, but he was interrupted by a polite knocking on his bedroom door. It was probably one of the help. His parents never came to him directly. He wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even know which room was his. He was always sent for, never visited. He had come to accept this. "Come in," he murmured.

"Pardon me, sir." He heard one of the younger maids voice before he saw her. "But your mother said I should tell you not to come for dinner. It's already over."

Typical. Sands thought to himself bitterly.

"Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen?" the maid asked in a too sweet voice that made him want to scowl. He kept his face free of that emotion however by years of practice. He had long ago learned not to show people what he really felt about them. They'd be horrified if they knew.

Sands shook his head. "No thank you." He didn't want the fucking false hospitality. He couldn't stand it. And even more, he really hated having people wait on his hand and foot. He wasn't a fucking child.

And yet they treat you like one. Doesn't that piss you off?

"Shut up," Sands muttered.

"Excuse me, sir?" the woman asked with a frown.

"I wasn't talking to you. Leave," Sands said evenly, tired of this woman's presence.

You could just kill her, you know. That'd be a quick way to get rid of her.

"That wouldn't be quick at all," Sands muttered under his breath. "And I am not killing someone just because you think it might solve some of my problems. I am not a monster."

"I never said you were, sir," the young woman said in a slightly trembling voice. She looked scared of him.

You like that, don't you? You like having her fear you. You get off on it, I can tell. Do you want to fuck her before you kill her? She's easy enough on the eyes. And no one would have to find out. We could be careful. You want her, don't you? You don't even need me to convince you.

Sands frowned as he thought about it. The voice was right. She was easy on the eyes. With auburn hair that he knew would fall to at least her shoulder blades if he was to take it down, a slim figure and large breasts just begging to be held, she was definitely worthy of his notice. But it was her eyes that got him; wide bright blue eyes that were like two jewels set in a sea of cream that was her complexion. Yes, he definitely wanted her.

Take her.

But he wouldn't result to rape.

Oh really?

Not unless she fought him.

That's better. You like their struggles. I know it. You like to be in control. You want to hear her scream. You're hard right now just thinking about it.

"What is your name?" he asked the maid in a soft voice, moving past her to close the door. He didn't lock it, not yet.

"Alice, sir," she said in a voice matching his, staring up at him with those wide blue eyes of hers.

"Alice," he repeated in a seductive drawl. "What a beautiful name."

Oh please. You hate it. Stop lying to yourself and just fuck her already.

"You-you really think so?" Alice asked timidly.

Sands very nearly rolled his own eyes at that, but somehow managed to stop himself in time. "Of course I do. I've noticed you from the first moment you started work here. Don't say that you haven't noticed me." He reached past her to lock the door.

She noticed what he was doing and her eyes grew impossibly wider. "What are you doing, sir?" Her voice had regained the slight tremor to it that Sands discovered he loved.

I told you you got off on it. Just fucking take her already. You're wasting time. You know what? I don't think you're going to even do it. You're a fucking pussy, Sands; a mama's boy. And you know what? You'll always be one. You might as well just let her fucking go. She's obviously not going to get anything out of you, you spineless prick.

Instead of answering the voice aloud again like he had earlier, he glided towards Alice and kissed her long and deep. She squeaked against his mouth and her hands beat at his shoulders, but he didn't let up and she wasn't able to stop him even as he moved a hand to the front of her livery to squeeze one of her breasts.

"Sir, don't. We shouldn't. It's not right. What if your parents—"

Oh that definitely wasn't the right thing to say. You shouldn't have said that sugarbutt. He's very prickly when it comes to talking about his parents. Haven't you noticed that?

"What about my parents?" Sands hissed, moving his hand from her chest to grab one of her wrists tightly.

"Please sir, you're hurting me. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear," the woman tried to plead with him.

"Oh I am, am I? Well what if I like hurting you? What about that?" Sands asked curiously, not letting her go.

Alice whimpered and tried to squirm away from him. Sands held on fast. "Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone about this, I swear to you."

Sands laughed and Alice whimpered again at the sound. "I know you won't tell anyone about this. You won't get the chance to."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 21:57 PM

You made a mess. And you've killed the person that's supposed to clean it up. Bravo.

"Leave me alone," Sands muttered, wiping the blood from his hands on the top sheet of his bed. It didn't really help much, but he just wanted it off. He didn't want to be covered in a dead girl's blood. Not really.

I didn't hear you complaining a half an hour ago. I think you like the blood. You're lying to yourself, Sands. You enjoyed yourself. You enjoyed taking someone else's life. Well, the voice laughed in Sands head, causing Sands to press his bloodied hands to his temples in an attempt to get it to stop, you didn't just take her life, did you? You didn't stop there. And to think, you didn't even need my help at all. I think I should feel fucking offended. You did do a good job though. You should be proud. Congratulations, Sands. You are now not only a rapist, but a murderer as well. And you loved every minute of it.

"Shut up," Sands muttered, but he couldn't deny the truth of the voice's words. He had enjoyed himself. He had liked killing her. What did that say about him? And fuck, he didn't just kill her, he fucking mutilated her.

A fledgling killer's first attempt towards greatness. You didn't do too badly, actually.

Sands tried to ignore him. It wasn't hard when faced with the results of what he had done. Blood was everywhere. On the bed, on him, Christ, it was even on the walls. Where had it all come from? How had it gotten there?

You put it there, you fucking idiot. You said you liked the way it made patterns on the walls.

He didn't remember that at all. In fact, the last…however long he had been here…was somewhat fuzzy. He knew what he had done, there was clear evidence of that, but he couldn't really remember any of the actual doing. He looked over at what had once been the body of a beautiful young girl and frowned. He felt nothing; no regret, no sense of guilt, only confusion that he couldn't clearly remember having killed her. But he clearly had. With what, he was unsure. He didn't own any weapons; at least, he didn't think he did.

A letter opener. A dull, flat, letter opener. That's what you used. It was quite interesting to watch, actually. Especially when you tried to cut her throat and it wouldn't work. That seemed to anger you somewhat.

Sands could practically hear the voices' smug smirk within his head. "Why did I do it? I'm not a killer," he said dully, shaking his head back and forth at the clear evidence that he was.

Please. Stop deluding yourself. You're a killer. What do you think you just did? Normal people don't do that kind of thing. A normal person in a fit of homicidal rage might kill someone, but not like that. And you didn't feel any rage when you killed her, did you? You didn't feel anything. Well, except for when you found out you couldn't slit her throat with a dull letter opener.

"I didn't feel anything," Sands acknowledged slowly. "I killed her and I didn't feel anything." Well he was certainly fucking feeling something now: fear. "I should have felt something. I took another human being's life. I should feel guilty. Why don't I feel guilty?"

Because you're a sociopath. Haven't you ever wondered about this before? I thought you were supposed to be fucking smart. Going to college at 17? Does this ring any fucking bells, halfwit?

"A sociopath? No, I can't be. It's not possible. I'm just in shock. That's it. That's all it is; shock."

The voice laughed again.

"Stop that. You're not even real. You made me do this. I didn't do it, you did. I haven't killed anyone," Sands argued, throwing himself out of bed, desperate to get away from the body and the blood. "I don't even know if this is real. It could be a dream; a bad fucking dream. That's what this is. It has to be."

Listen to yourself. You're freaking right out, aren't you? The thought of actually have gotten laid once in his miserable life is just too much for the poor little mama's boy to handle.

"Shut up!" Sands yelled. "You don't know anything about me! You're not even there!"

I've always been here, Sands. Always listening; always watching. I've just been waiting for my moment, and guess what, it's here. You did exactly what I wanted you to. How about that? And I didn't even really have to fucking persuade you. You were more than fucking happy to not only get a good fucking, but to kill her as well. Your first fuck and your first kill all in the same moment. Dear me, this isn't going to develop into a complex, is it? The voice asked with a manic laugh. You're pathetic. I should have tried to take over years ago. If I known you were going to turn out into such a fucking pussy, I would have.

"You're just a voice in my head. Why can't I get rid of you?" Sands moaned, clutching the sides of his head again, leaving bloodied handprints on his skin. He didn't seem to notice.

Because I am a part of you, Sands. You'll never be able to get rid of me. I'll be with you forever.

"Oh yeah?" Sands asked with a desperate laugh that made the voice a little nervous. "We'll see about that."

WWW

Washington DC, 11 March, 1986, 23:36 PM

What the fuck are you doing, Sands? Don't do anything crazy now, alright?

"I thought you told me that I was crazy? Well, I'm just doing what comes naturally," Sands answered in a two calm voice for someone who was walking back to their house carrying a can of gasoline in each bloodied hand from the car garage. "I'm going to burn this fucking house to the ground."

Oh, a little arson. Always a fucking cathartic thing for me—

"And I'm going up with it. My parents too. That's what you wanted, right? Well congratulations, you're getting it. My parents will be dead in one fiery swoop."

Well good for you. Death to the bastards. I'll even help if you want me to—wait a fucking minute. You said you were going up with them. What are you fucking talking about, you crazy son of a bitch?

"You fucking heard me. I'd rather be dead than spend the rest of my life taking orders from you," Sands hissed. The voice had a response to that, but Sands ignored it. He knew what he had to do. This had to end. If he truly was a killer, then he couldn't be allowed to run free.

If that's what you really think, then why not just kill yourself? Why kill your parents as well? The voice asked smugly. And you don't really expect your parents to just lie down and die, do you? There are easier ways to fucking skin a cat, Sheldon.

"Call me that again and I swear I'll put a gun to my head and blow our collective brains out," Sands said evenly as he silently climbed a side stairway up to the rooms where his parents slept.

Don't get your nose all bent out of shape, Sands. It isyour name, you know. And you didn't answer my question.

"Because I want them fucking dead," he said simply. "I didn't care about the girl. I had no feelings whatsoever for her."

But you feel for your parents, don't you? You fucking hate them. It hasn't always been that way, you recall, but as of late that's all you feel towards them, isn't it? An all-encompassing hate. Well, that and a strong desire to see them dead. I'm sure I fucking blame you, really. They never loved you, Sands. You know that as well as I do. And killing them will make you feel better. But you won't get a fucking chance to feel anything if you fucking kill yourself too!

"I don't care. I just want it over. I'm fucking tired of this," he said wearily as he stopped in front of the door to his father's room. It was a toss up if his mother was there with him or not tonight-she often slept in her own room at the other end of the house-but he was feeling inexplicably lucky. There was no cause to feel this way, especially given his day, but he felt it all the same. It was as if this was meant to happen. Perhaps it was.

If you truly believe that, you're dumber than I fucking thought you were, and that's saying a lot. There's no such thing as fate. We make our own destinies.

"Then this is me making mine," he murmured as he set one of the containers of gasoline down so he could push the door open.

Wait! What if they're still awake? What are you going to do then, genius?

But it was too late. Sands had already pushed the door open to enter the master bedroom, immediately going very still and silent. It was dark, that was a good sign, and his parents generally went to bed almost two hours earlier, so he thought he was ok.

For now. Are they both even here?

Sands squinted into the darkness. Yes, it seemed that there were indeed two figures on the bed, each of them turned away from another and as close to the edge as they could possibly be. In a king size bed this was pretty far. He just hoped that the woman in bed with his father was his mother or else he'd have to make two trips. But his luck held. As he drew closer, he could see the sleeping profile of his mother Sara clearly. She was a beautiful woman in every way except on the inside. Beneath the lovely outer shell was a cold hearted bitch who only cared about her appearance, her money and possessions, and her fucking rose garden. He hated the last most of all because he had genuinely grown to like the rows of delicate flowers too and she knew it. She knew the power she held over him as only a mother could. He hated her.

He turned his now even more hateful gaze to his father's sleeping form. For a brief moment he debated which one he hated more and couldn't come to a decision. His father was one cold son of a bitch. Always had been, always would be. He only cared about furthering Sands' education through any means necessary and grooming him to take over the investment firm he ran someday. That was it. Sands knew he was to be a replacement. Not a son, an heir. His father wasn't someone you could talk to; he was someone who forced you to listen to him. His will was law, and he quite frequently laid down that law. There were only two things that existed in Anthony Sands' world: his work, and his money. In that order. There wasn't room for anything else. The only reason he had started a family was that it was expected of him. Just as it would be expected of Sands someday. He already knew he never wanted to get married; never wanted children. Any progeny of his would end up just like he had. It was a grim thought, but it wasn't necessarily a wrong one.

Are you going to fucking do it or just stand there looking at them?

The voice was right. The time for waiting was over. It was time to act. He began pouring the gasoline.

WWW

Sands slid down the wall outside his parents' bedroom, his hair and clothing reeking of gasoline, smoke and burnt flesh. He had left the doors open so the fire could spread more easily, but for the moment neither flames nor his mother came out. He had seen to the latter. The screaming had only just stopped and he knew in the grim silence that followed afterwards that he had been successful. His parents were dead. He wouldn't have to deal with them ever again. Nothing could hurt him now.

Nothing except for me, the voice said evenly. Get off your ass and get the hell out of here Sands. I refuse to let you kill me. We're getting out of here if I have to drag your lazy ass every inch of the way.

"You can't. You're not real," Sands murmured with a hacking cough as the hall began to fill with smoke. He could see flames on the ceiling now as well. They spread down the hall like liquid; consuming the old wood of the mansion that had been in Sands' family for centuries without hesitation or consideration for the loss of something that had meant so much to so many people. Sands just wanted to watch it burn.

Well I'm not going to let you. Deal with it.

"Leave me alone. This is what I want. Their fucking dead and I'm tired of it all. I'm going to sit here and let the fucking fire come. Engulfed in flame; consumed by fire; cremated alive. You can't stop me. No one can." Sands coughed again, his head beginning to spin from smoke inhalation. He would lose consciousness soon and then he would be free.

You'll never be free. We're getting the fuck out of here whether you want to or now. Now come on.

Sands didn't answer. He didn't want to answer. He just wanted to close his eyes and not wake up. That's it. That's all he wanted. Fuck college, fuck any future life he might have had; this was it. This was where life ended. No bang, certainly not any fucking whimpers if he could help himself, just an end. He didn't believe in any kind of afterlife. He didn't want to. He wanted oblivion when he died; nothingness.

With your luck you'd wind up in hell and take me with you, you fucking crazy bastard, the voice muttered. Fuck that. You're coming with me.

Sands just laughed. He realised that it would help speed things up if he stood up so that he was closer to the smoke, so that was what he did. He nearly fell back down again as he began to cough violently, but he held his footing and breathed deep.

You're going to get us killed! The voice shouted within Sands' head as he looked up to the ceiling and the wave of flame that passed overhead. He reached out to touch those flames, but they were too high for him to reach and too hot for him to stand being close to for very long. He pulled his arm back and watched the place burn as spots began to dance around the edges of his vision. He could see the expensive paintings his mother had meticulously collected melting, and it brought a smile to his face to see such destruction. Fire had been the right thing to kill his parents with. Fire was pure; without cause or motivation. It had only one purpose: to burn. It didn't matter what was in its way, whether it be living or dead, it burned all with equal prejudice. It was beautiful.

Fine, it's fucking beautiful. But wouldn't it be even more so to see on the outside? Just think, Sands. The entire place will be burning. You can watch it until its ash if you want. We won't let anyone stop you. Don't you want that? I know; you can even sit in the rose garden.

Sands shook his head. "Don't want to see it. I want to die in it. No survivors. No witnesses." His voice was a raspy whisper now but still he stood, breathing in smoke.

NO! I WILL NOT LET YOU KILL ME! The voice screamed.

Sands just laughed again as he finally fell to his knees, his oxygen-deprived body unable to hold itself up anymore. "You have no choice. This is mychoice and I've made it. I choose oblivion."

Sands dimly heard the voice practically roar in rage and frustration before he finally succumbed to the darkness with an expectant smile on his face as he waited for the fires to come.

WWW

Washington DC, 12 March, 1986, 0:13 AM

"That's right, son. Just breathe deep now. You'll be ok," a voice drifted into Sands consciousness. He frowned, not understanding. He reached a hand up to his face to remove whatever it was that was covering his mouth and nose, but a firm hand stopped him. "You breathed in a lot of smoke, understand? You need to breathe the oxygen for awhile to re-oxygenate your blood or you'll have real problems."

Sands didn't care. He wanted to know what was happening and he wanted to know now. He was supposed to be dead. Was this death? Was the voice right and this was hell? He wasn't sure. He pushed the oxygen mask away from him and sat up. He collapsed back down again immediately afterwards.

"Hold on there big man, you've had quite an ordeal. I wouldn't get up right away if I were you. Now, you just lie here and let me look after you, alright? I promise someone will tell you what's happening soon if that's what you're trying to figure out. You were in a fire. That's all I can tell you right now, buddy." Sands tried to question this, but he couldn't form a clear sentence through a sudden onset of coughing and wheezing that had the people around him scurrying to put the mask back on his face. "Don't try to talk. You're throat is swollen from the smoke inhalation. That's why it's so hard to breathe as well. But no worries, we'll get you set right soon."

Sands tried to shake his head; tried to tell them that he didn't want to be "set right" but they didn't understand him. He didn't want their help. He had wanted to die. Why hadn't they let him die? Who had gotten him out of there? The last thing he remembered was fire—no…wait. There was something else… A rose. A rose framed in flame. Why was he thinking about that now? He hadn't seen it? He couldn't have. He was passed out.

"You're lucky we found you when we did, you know buddy? Just sitting there in the garden. I've seen some pretty strange things in this job but I think that has to be hitting the top of the list. It was like you didn't even know you were there. Know anything about that, kid?"

Sands obviously couldn't answer because of the mask, but glared at the man in an attempt to get him to stop calling him 'kid.'

"Hey, what's wrong now, kid?" If Sands could have sighed, he would have.

WWW

Present Day

"Alice," Sands murmured, ducking as a bullet ricocheted over his head.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Jeffrey asked. "And why now? We're being fucking shot at if you haven't noticed!"

"I remember Alice. I killed her. You told me to kill her," Sands said with a scowl.

"Who?"

"Alice," Sands hissed loudly. "The night I killed my parents. You had me kill her."

"Oh, you mean that busty maid that you fucked and killed before torching the place? Hey, that was your idea, not mine. I merely gave you a push in the right direction." Another shot ricocheted overhead. "But now really isn't the time to talk about it."

"Oh fuck them," Sands said, jerking the gun they held towards where Emily and Roland were shooting at them. "I'm asking you about Alice. Why did you want me to kill her?"

"You're obviously not remembering everything yet. I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted you to fuck her so that I could too." He shrugged. "I don't recommend living life by proxy, by the way; very unsatisfying. You're the one who wanted to kill her. And you're the one who in fact did. And you made quite a fucking mess of it, if I recall. You're lucky the fucking fire took care of all the evidence for you. Otherwise you might have burnt down one home only to end up in a new one behind fucking bars. Lucky, lucky, lucky."

"Think about it, Sands! You haven't got any spare clips left and we both know it! Officer Brisbane and I can just keep shooting at you until you run out! That, and backup's already on its way! Just give yourself up, you murderous bastard!" Roland shouted over the gunfire.

"Shove it up your ass, Rivers!" Jeffrey yelled back with a smirk. This was actually kind of fun, near death experiences notwithstanding.

"You're insane, you know that?" Sands muttered, picking up on some of Jeffrey's carefree emotions.

Jeffrey laughed. "Pot? I'm kettle," he said wryly.

"Oh shut up. The bastard's right, you know. We're running out of bullets more quickly than I'd like and we don't have anymore. Once we run out, we're basically fucked."

"Basically," Jeffrey agreed, firing another round in Roland and Emily's direction.

"Jeffrey! You're not helping! Have you been listening to a fucking word I've been saying? We need to conserve our ammunition!"

"Oh, I'll say at least one for each of them. Don't you fucking worry."

"I'm going to worry anyway, so deal with it you crazy bastard. You know as well as I do that Rivers isn't bluffing when he said that he's got more CIA fuckwits coming to save his sorry ass. You better save some bullets for them too."

"Oh. Right. Fuck. We need to get fucking out of here before that happens."

"No shit," Sands muttered with a roll of his eyes. "But where do you suggest we fucking go? We have barely enough cover to not get shot as it is, and no fucking hostages to bargain with."

"Well then let's go where there are hostages then. This is a hospital if you haven't noticed, Sands."

"I was aware of that, thank you," Sands said dryly. "How are we going to get to these so-called hostages anyway? We're fucking pinned down by a pair of pissed off and accurate shooters. Not to mention we still have a fucking bullet lodged in our chest," Sands said with a wince as he rubbed a gentle hand across his aching chest. It felt as if a weight had been pressed on top of it, making it incredibly hard to breathe properly.

"Easy. We run," Jeffrey said simply. Before Sands could ask any more questions, they were already racing down the hall amidst the sound of echoing gunfire.

TBC

A/N: Done! Whoa I thought this chapter would never end! I sincerely hoped you liked the insight into Sands' life pre-Jeffrey. The wonderful Lady Arenas egged me on to write it and I have to say, I was a little surprised at how much Sands had to say. Anyway, I hope you liked what I came up with. Please continue to send me your comments and reviews. Thank you!