Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Rating: R
Summary: The world is falling down around Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and Morton Rainey. What's the next step towards a grander plan?
Disclaimer: No, the lady Ajedrez isn't ours. Armande might be, but I've lost track of all those people.
Author's Notes: More Ajedrez fun, but instead of Armande hoarding him all to himself, we got more people running around. How cool is that? A little bit of…lovemaking…towards the middle, but we don't go into that much detail, promise. However, the warning's out, try not to flame us too badly. Honour Roll at the end.
The One that Got Away
Mort sighed in relief when they finally left the bar. He'd had to suffer through nearly 3 hours of Armande making lame passes at the Hispanic woman. Mort had to admit that she was beautiful and quite attractive, but he could smell trouble. He didn't like her, not one bit. He'd situated himself in the corner of the bar in a booth with his cigarettes, and he'd had a few shots of Jack Daniels. If he wasn't concentrating on smoking a cigarette, on sipping his Jack Daniels, he'd zoom in on Armande and Ajedrez chatting at the far end of the bar.
She was good, leading Armande on. She continuously shifted on her stool, offering him peeks down her blouse. She took slow sips of her drink, licking her lips sensuously afterwards. She played him, drawing him in until he was wrapped tightly around her little finger.
Finally, they stood and started for the door slowly. Mort wasn't sure which had called it quits, but he was grateful. He grabbed his cigarettes and scurried after them, getting more than a few curious glances. He followed them through the door and nearly ran smack into the back of them as they were huddling under the awning of the bar. It had begun to rain.
"Are we going to a hotel now?" Mort asked eagerly, looking forward to a nice hot shower and a bed. Traveling over the past two days had worn on him.
"I dunno, I kinda like the rain," Armande slurred around his rakish cigarette filter. He felt positively debonair. All he needed was a fedora and he'd be ready to sweep his damsel off into the sunset. Maybe it was the tequila. He wasn't sure. "¿Qué piensas, chica¿Buscaríamos un hotel?" What do you think? Should we look for a hotel?
"Ya tengo un cuarto, mi animalito ansioso. Un cuarto para dos," she said looking at Mort pointedly. I already have a room my anxious little pet. A room for two.
"¿Obtendremos un cuarto para el?" he asked slowly. Shall we get a room for him?
"Es solamente grande bastante para dos, así toma su elección: tú o él." It's only big enough for two, so take your pick-you or him. She spotted a cab and rushed for it, flinging open the door and sliding in out of the rain. She wanted to toy with him a bit first.
"¿Qué es esto? Dije un cuarto para él; ¡no es mio!" he yelled, jogging to catch up with her. What's this? I said a room for him; it's not mine! He grabbed her upper arm before she was completely inside, not caring if the rain soaked him or both of them. The expression on his face was of hidden desperation and mingled understanding. "Pero, si quieres que yo comparta un cuarto con el, lo haré. Ojalá que no quieras esto," he said solemnly. But if you want me to share a room with him, I will. I hope that you don't want that.
"Ven aca, estás haciendome mojado." Get in, you're getting me wet. She smirked at him, sliding further into the cab. Mort helped himself to the front seat, not knowing any Spanish to know what they were conversing about.
"Pues...Creo que ésa es una buena cosa." Armande grinned slyly and closed the door behind him. Well...I believe that that is a good thing.
"¿Pensarías así, no?" You would think so, wouldn't you? She chuckled at his eagerness.
"No tienes una idea qué ésto significa a mi." You have no idea what this means to me.
She leaned back against the seat and crossed her legs. "Digame..." Do tell... Her lips curled into a smile as she caught him watching as more leg was revealed beneath her skirt.
"El mundo. Al principio...yo...no era..." The world. In the beginning…I...wasn't...
She smirked again. "No debes joder en una tiempa larga." You must not have had sex in a long time. She gave him a knowing look, shifting so that her skirt hiked up a bit more. "¿No eras lo qué?" You weren't what? She purred, leaning towards him.
"No sé," he frowned. "No hablo con Sands mucho. Y éso es, simplemente. Yo no era." I don't know. I don't talk with Sands much. And that's it, simply. I wasn't.
Her brow furrowed and before she could say anything, they arrived at her hotel. It was, of course, the nicest in the city. She got out and turned to Armande. "¿Estás seguro que puedes proporcionar esto para él?" Are you certain you can afford this for him?
Mort got out and looked up at the bright hotel with his mouth hanging open. He let out a low whistle. "I'll be damned...This has got to be one of the nicest pimp houses I've seen," he muttered.
Ajedrez shot him a glare. "Su amigo va a doler," she told Armande. Your friend is going to get hurt.
"No es mi amigo y si, puedo pagar por el," Armande rolled his eyes. He's not my friend and yes I can pay for him. He looked to Mort and gestured at the hotel. "Come on Mort, let's get you checked in."
Ajedrez strolled ahead and checked in, going to wait by the elevators. There was a bank of phones beside them. She glanced over at Armande checking Mort in, and then picked one and began a hurried conversation in her native language.
"You're gonna be fine in your own room, right? With your cigarettes and all the commodities and stuff right? No escaping?" Armande pleaded. "Neither of us wants to be torn to bits by Sands or...the other one. Please hang around? You know he can track you down. It'd be better if you saved yourself the trouble and the wrath."
Mort just shrugged, clinging to his cigarettes as if his life depended upon it.
"Is that a yes?"
Mort shrugged his shoulders again, looking down. He mumbled something incoherently.
"C'mon, Mort. I know he seems mostly harmless now, but do you think that's going to stop him from finding you and breaking both your legs if you run away? You've been around him long enough. Please promise you'll stay in your room."
Mort looked up at Armande warily. Although he knew it was someone else speaking, it was still quite odd to hear him say please, much less plead. He gave him a grim look and nodded. "Fine," he mumbled.
Armande made to grip Mort's shoulder with his right hand only to stop midway through the action. He scowled at the cast and instead extended his left hand for a handshake.
"Thank you."
Mort made a face and pushed past him towards the elevators, spotting Ajedrez deep in conversation on a phone. His eyes narrowed as he got closer and heard her whispering. He was incredibly frustrated that he was unfamiliar with the language.
Seeing Mort heading her way with Armande close behind, she hurriedly ended the call, and moved towards the elevators. She gave Armande a seductive smile.
"Do you have to check in or will we just be bad guests and assume that we're all set?" he smiled jovially.
"You were preoccupied," she said dangling a key card in front of his face. "It's all set. The penthouse suite."
"Well, that is fine taste," he murmured. "Shall we go up?"
"Only the best." She purred, and then looked at him doubtfully. "I'm not so sure that you're the best though." She cocked a brow at him.
"And how would you have me prove that I am?"
She put her finger to her lip thoughtfully. "Hm...I don't know." She met his eyes. "How would you prove it to me?"
"By being as creative as I possibly could," he smirked.
She rolled her eyes. "We'll see then won't we?"
He chewed on the end of the cigarette filter thoughtfully as he continued his awkward limp to the elevator. "How much farther is this?"
"Are you getting tired already?" She tsked.
"I don't suppose you've ever had two injured legs, huh? I think, once we get there, it'll be the furthest thing from my mind. And if you say that's wishful thinking, you're in need of a lesson or two," he remarked wryly.
"Are you a professor?" she asked. "Because I am a very, very good pupil." She moved closer to him.
He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. Smoke trailed from the corners of his mouth as he grinned. "I think I can be persuaded to teach a crash course."
"What in?" She pressed her mouth against his ear.
"Well...what would you like?" he murmured.
"Oh, I'll let you decide. What are you good at? I'm quite open, really," she smiled against his ear. Mort was in the corner, grimacing at their display.
"Pain...pleasure...what have you." Armande placed the card from the front desk in the electronic lock of the room marked 327. "Happy camping," he winked, pushing the door open for Mort. "We'll find you in the morning."
"Not too early I hope," he mumbled disappearing into the room.
"Me neither," he shrugged. "Lead on, sugarbutt."
She sashayed down the hall to her room, slid the key card in. and pushed into the room. She didn't bother to flip on lights, leaving the suite shrouded in darkness. Armande followed tamely, enjoying the experience. He'd never really been in a nice hotel before, though he assumed Sands probably had.
"Tell me...what do you have in mind?"
She looked over her shoulder, looking more and more alluring as she disappeared in the shadows. "Oh...just play some games...maybe some chess?"
"I think I can dig it," he smirked.
"I was hoping you could." She dropped her purse and took off her high heels.
"I don't suppose you've got anything more...strenuous...lined up either, hm?"
"Perhaps. Might have to see just how much you're willing to work-how much pain you're willing to suffer..." she said, implying his wounds.
"I like pain," he grinned lazily, exhaling a long stream of smoke.
"Really?" She continued to move about the room in the darkness. She slid around him without his knowledge and pressed her front up against his back, grabbing the wound in his leg and squeezing while sliding her body against his. Her lips were on his ear. "How much do you like it?" Her tongue snaked into his ear and trailed down the side of his neck; her lips smiled against him as she felt, more than heard, his intake of breath. Whether it was from pain or pleasure was anyone's guess.
The sparks and electric heat that exploded from her grip on the knife wound in his thigh immediately made his knee go numb. His head lolled back and his grip on the crutch made his knuckles go white. He wouldn't moan, not yet, but it was an otherworldly experience.
"I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we? That was...nice," he allowed.
She smirked against his neck as her hand slid to the front of his other leg, where the bullet hole was. She knocked on the plaster cast to jar the knitting bones, her arm pressing up against his groin. "How bout that?" She teased as she began to suck on his neck. "That feel-" She knocked harder; her arm was pressed into his groin more firmly. "-nice too?"
"Quite," he ground out around the filter. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was enjoying it. The sensation of her arm in just the right place spurred himself to action and he felt a knot of pleasure in his belly.
She chuckled and stepped away, prancing to the corner where there was a mini bar. She could just barely make out the accompanying fridge. She fumbled around with her lighter until she found the bottle of tequila, and she stood up again, opening the bottle and taking a hearty swig. She hadn't had but one glass of wine at the bar, so she was still completely sober.
Armande, however, had not had the restraint Ajedrez did. Tequila was his poison, preferably with a slice of lime. He'd had several drinks that night and wasn't quite up to snuff; not that he let it stop him. It hadn't prevented Ajedrez from noticing his weakness.
"Want a drink?" she purred somewhere near his ear in the darkness.
"You think I'm going to say no?" he frowned.
"Aw, why the long face?" She rubbed her body against his side tauntingly, waving the bottle of tequila below his nose where he could smell it.
He finally removed the filter from the corner of his mouth and gave her a sarcastic grin. "If you intend on calling me a horse, I insist you do that in private. Unless you mean hung like one, in which case, I'm all ears."
Her laughter floated through the darkness. "I'm quite sure you are. Open your mouth." She tilted his head up and poured the tequila down his throat, overfilling his mouth so that it dribbled down his neck and down his shirt. She moved in front of him to unbutton it slowly. When she got it open, she knelt down and started where the waistband of his jeans were and licked the trail of tequila slowly, returning to his mouth, taking a swig of the tequila herself, before crushing her lips to his and sharing the sip.
The sharp bite of tequila and the insistent tongue would have been enough to make anyone woozy. Armande wrapped his good arm around Ajedrez's shoulder in a half hug, half supporting maneuver. The crutch could only do so much and he felt himself losing his balance. He swung them both over the bar so he could latch onto a surface without crushing her under his weight. He never once broke the kiss.
She stopped a bit breathlessly. "Awww, is getting to be a bit much for you, baby?" She licked his lips. "Well, let's get you off those feet of yours." She pulled him back to her hard and stumbled backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed and they fell onto it a tangle of limbs.
"Unless you'd rather go it on the floor," he grunted and promptly rolled them off the bed and onto the beige carpet with a thump. He grinned wickedly as her eyes narrowed at his attempt to take over. She rolled them again, getting on top and straddling him.
"As long as your the one getting the rug burns."
"Speaking of burn..." He looked around frantically for his still lit cigarette. It wasn't quite his idea of burning up the place. He grabbed it not too far away and quickly pinched it out with nary a flinch. "All set," he smirked.
She leaned close to his face and lit her lighter where he could feel the heat of it. "What's the matter? Don't like to play with fire?" She slithered down his body, bringing the flame in contact with every available inch.
"You're going to burn this hotel to bits." He grunted as the flame came close enough to leave a bright red welt on his thigh. He blew out the lighter with a contrary look. "And it's no fun if I don't get a turn."
"Who said you're supposed to have fun?" She moved to undo his pants, with a wicked grin.
"Would you prefer to do this alone?" he asked, arching a brow. He scooted away awkwardly before she could so much as unbutton his jeans. She smirked and grabbed his crotch and gave it a squeeze before she stood.
"I'm not the desperate one." She moved away through the darkness.
He wouldn't be intimidated or humiliated. "Give me time and you will be equally, if not more desperate."
Her lilting laughter floated through the darkness. "I don't get turned on by fucking monkeys."
"What could possibly possess you to fuck a monkey in the first place? Don't they bite and give you venereal diseases?"
She let out a growl; a stiletto came flying at his head. "Do not insult me."
"Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I thought I was in the presence of a woman who could take as well as she could give."
She slid up behind him and grabbed his crotch again, pulling him flush against her as she bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. "Don't fuck with me. I bite..." She licked the droplet of blood that appeared on his shoulder, and then proceeded to suck at the injury, applying varying pressure on his groin.
He hissed at the suddenness of the attack. "Damn! That's going to cost you." Armande jerked away and pinned her to the ground. He went in for the kill, ravaging her mouth with a searing kiss.
She kissed him back with fierceness. She could play his game. She arched her body into his, allowing her curves to hit his sharp angles just right. She raked her nails down his back scraping skin and grinning at his hiss of pain.
Oh but was it nice.
He slipped a hand into her pocket and carefully withdrew her lighter without her knowledge: one of his favorite tricks. He snicked it on, careful to lift the back of her shirt before applying it to her skin.
"Fuck!" She gritted her teeth, arching her body harder into his. Her jaw tensed. If that was the way he wanted to play it. She ground her hips against his hard, and while he was distracted, her hands slipped under his shoulders and yanked his hair, giving her the leverage to flip him.
The breath whooshed out of him in a startled gasp. Before he could be taken by surprise again, he snagged the back of her tight pants and dragged her towards him to prevent her fighting. He latched onto the crook of her neck and nipped hard for her insolence.
She bit back a groan and still tried to fight, which made the situation worse. Her body rubbed against his to create a friction so high, that it felt as if the lighter had set their bodies aflame. She sunk her teeth into his neck as he worked on hers. Payback was a bitch.
They may as well have been a couple of vampires fighting over the same victim. He yanked a blanket off the bed which tumbled around their sweaty bodies. The temperature increased even more in their secluded tent.
"You're not shy, are you?" Her hand snaked between their bodies to the button of his pants again. He tried to make her work easier with as little inconvenience to himself as possible.
"Why would you think that?"
"Well...is there a reason for the blanket...?" She kept her hips glued to his as she worked at undoing his pants. Once they were undone, her hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers, even as his hand snaked around to begin tugging her shirt over her head.
"It's kinky. Shut up."
She snorted as she grasped him. "How so?"
"It's priVATE," he grunted at a rough jerk. "It's dark, and it'll be warm when we pass out afterwards."
"It's already dark in the room." She licked up his neck. "You mean when you pass out. You know I'll wear you out, don't you?" She tugged at his ear with her teeth.
"Bullshit," he snorted and dug his nails into her back out of spite.
"Ugh." She jerked her body against his. She lifted her head from his ear and fixed him with a dark stare that was not decipherable in the darkness. "You'll pay for that," she said, digging her nails into his shaft. "You forget where my hands are."
He groaned. That had created a ripple effect up his back and fuck did he want more. He'd had no idea when his last lay was, and from the sensations his body was sending his brain, it'd been too long to ignore.
"Fuck. More."
She grinned at the power she so obviously held in her hands. She stopped her stroking, and removed her hand from his boxers, teasing him. "I'm sorry? Did you want something?"
"Now you're going to make me fucking play?"
She chuckled. "I told you that before we came up here...before you came up here..." She smirked as her fingers brushed him through his boxers.
He grabbed her wrist and tried to focus his gaze on her.
"Shit, girly, you didn't tell me anything. I just came to reap the fucking benefits. Your boy toy's fucking inebriated. Now get this over with or I'm going to do something I won't be proud of."
A grin spread across her lips and a shiver ran down her back as she recognized it as a different persona. This was going to be more than fun. It would be like fucking several people all at once. She leaned over him and nipped at his lips. "What's your name sugar?" She spoke with her lips against his.
"I told you, bitch, I haven't got one," he snapped.
"Ooh...feisty aren't we?" She purred in his ear, her tongue lashing in and out of it. She slid her other hand down to his groin and resumed her playing.
"Girly, you're either going to be fucking serious, or I'm going to be pissed. I'd understand if you haven't seen one before, but stop fucking playing with it! Buy a fucking dildo if you must," he ground out.
She let out a growl, latched onto his earlobe, and dug her nails into him as hard as she could. "Go back in your fucking hole if you don't like it," she ground out around his ear.
"Goddamn, Sam!" he sighed with relief when it was over. "Oh...that's good."
She chuckled. "Armande..." She hummed, releasing his ear to move back to his mouth. Her strokes became softer, barely touching.
"I told you, I'm not fucking Armande," he griped.
This amused her even more. "So, Armande is the playful type. What does that make you?"
"The one that gets pissed off when he's not being fulfilled."
"I see." She stopped touching again and, instead, teased with her mouth, trailing kisses down his neck to suckle on his collarbone. "What do you do when you get pissed?" she smirked.
"I kill people, you dip!"
"Mm." She let him feel the vibrations against his chest. "I've been known to kill too."
"I'll just bet you have. That was real initiative in the smoke shop today, letting the hopeless romantic do your fucking dirty work."
She shrugged. "It's not always about pulling the trigger."
"You could've gone over the desk and strangled him and you know it," he scowled. "You're a fucking spoiled bitch who can't lift a fucking finger-"
"Oh but I can lift other things," she said rotating her hips.
"-to do her own fucking bidding. You rely on the fucking minions you can buy over with cheap sex and liquour. You're a fucking whore, no more, no less," he finished with a growl.
She laughed and slapped him smartly across the face. "Damn, do I have to keep my lips on yours to keep from hearing all that nonsense coming out of that sexy mouth of yours?" She crushed her lips on his.
He made to fling her off him, but when his fingers closed vise-like around her upper arm, he stopped. She had opened her mouth wider, preparing to bite down on his tongue, when he went still. She looked into his eyes, which were centimeters from hers, and a shiver of excitement went down her spine at what she was able to see through the darkness.
It looked like fear. It was only there a second, soon to be replaced by confusion.
"Should I even ask?" he murmured.
"No." she said. She once again crushed her mouth to his-whoever the hell he was. His eyes widened in alarm. He didn't give in to the kiss, but he didn't reject her either. Ajedrez scowled and shoved against him to get up. She threw the blanket across the room. "Get out!" she demanded, pointing to the door.
"Christ on a cracker, I hate women," Sands muttered under his breath. He had to perform some special moves to get his pants in order again, mostly ignoring Ajedrez.
"Fucking monkey," she grumbled under her breath. She moved to get a cigarette out of her purse only to remember that she didn't have her lighter. She sighed irritably and stalked over to Sands, sticking her hand out before her. "Give me my fucking lighter."
"I don't have your lighter," Sands scowled.
"Yes. You. Do," she said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. "Don't think I won't frisk you for it."
"You know, under different circumstances, I might've enjoyed that. Not now. I'm tired, I'm sore, I don't know where I am, I don't know who you are, and, frankly, it's a bit of a mood killer. I can't imagine why I'd have your precious cigarette lighter because I wasn't here two seconds ago. Now, if you'd be so kind as to fuck off, I think it'd do the both of us a world of good," Sands replied.
Her eyes narrowed as she moved closer to him. Her hands snaked into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling him flush against her. She smirked and held him close for a moment before stepping away holding up her lighter. She stuck the cigarette in the corner of her mouth and lit it, taking a stroll to the balcony, sliding open the glass door, and stepping out. She shivered in the cool Denver breeze. She looked over her shoulder to see what Sands was doing.
He looked to be seriously considering leaving. His gaze was trained on a cigarette filter with a brown butt still screwed in the end. The woman on the balcony wasn't smoking hand rolled ones. The only logical explanation was that it was his. He pocketed it and quickly rolled himself a fresh one before he left in earnest.
Ajedrez scowled in frustration as he left. She smoked her cigarette vigourously before tossing the butt off the balcony and heading back into the room.
XXX
Sands was wandering aimlessly down the hall while the cigarette slowly got sucked down to naught. He tried to evaluate his position and found he simply couldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. Instead, he gave into the empty buzzing of his mind and nearly walked right into Mort. Mort gave Sands a sheepish look before ducking to go back the way he'd come.
"Hey wait, what are you doing here? Where is here?" Sands called.
Mort hesitated only a moment, but continued to move in the opposite direction of Sands.
"Shit, I just want to know what the fuck I've done! Is that so fucking wrong?" Sands yelled.
Mort's eyes darted back towards him and he hurried even faster. Sands was in a mood again. He'd probably just realized about Armande, Mort figured. He clutched the bucket of ice to his chest and fumbled with his key card, putting it in the door and quickly slipping in before Sands caught up.
"Mort, goddamn it, answer me!" Sands punched the door with a sure right hand. When the cast smashed against his abused fingers and rattled his mangled hand, he dropped to his knees with a moan. This only served to jar his two leg wounds which started an ache right between his eyes. "Oh Christ," he whispered. "Mort, I'm not going to fucking hurt you! Open the damn door!"
"Why would I want to open the door if you're going to 'fucking hurt me'?" Mort called.
"You're not listening! I said I wasn't going to fucking hurt you!" Sands voice was muffled from having to yell it into his sleeve.
Mort frowned and slowly cracked open the door to see Sands crouched on the floor. He was stubbornly trying to keep control.
"Listen...I know what it looks like. I'm not interested in hurting you," Sands muttered.
"Isn't that what you've always said? That you don't want to hurt me?" Mort gave him a skeptical look.
"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think I could right now if I did want to."
Mort saw that he was speaking the truth and opened the door wider. He looked down at Sands with a little smirk. "Did you have a nice time?"
"I don't know." He rolled his eyes. "Does it seem like I did?"
"No. You look like shit."
"Okay. Help me up?"
Mort looked down at Sands with a bit of concern. He stuck out his good arm to help him to his feet, knowing better than to question him. Sands didn't play dirty and simply allowed himself to be tugged upwards.
They stumbled into the room together: two cripples. Mort helped Sands to a chair and then sat himself on the bed. He looked at Sands expectantly, waiting for him to tell what had happened, or what he knew of what had happened.
Sands had a different plan.
"What happened on the plane? That's the last thing I remember; we were about to touch down."
Mort made a face. "Armande made his appearance and took his 20 minutes of fame. An extended 20 minutes. He was...baited by some Mexican beauty," he snorted.
"Armande? Another...one?"
Mort nodded solemnly. "And the nameless one made several guest appearances as well."
"Well, as long as I've got one that's not an entity, I guess we're all set then. And that's how I woke up sucking on the Mexican tart upstairs?"
"You're asking me?"
"Guess not," Sands sighed. "Christ, I hate this."
Mort shrugged. "You get used to it after a while," he muttered more to himself.
Sands snorted, "Sorry. Forgot."
Mort's eye twitched. "At least I only have one."
"At least I didn't create mine," Sands pointed out.
"Is it saner to have them morph into existence?" Mort snapped.
"Under periods of extreme stress, I wouldn't doubt it was possible for emotions to morph into separate beings if the need arose. To protect the head honcho, as it were. At least I never planned to go ape shit on you people in the cabin like you wanted to on Theodore and Amy."
"Fuck you! I didn't do...anything…" he trailed off.
"Didn't we just establish that you created Shooter? Why would Shooter kill Theodore and Amy if you didn't create him to?"
Mort clapped his hands to his ears. "Shut up!" he growled.
Sands sighed. "I'm not fighting with you because I don't have the energy. But one of these days, you're going to realize that you did it, no matter how indirectly. And that's going to be the day that Shooter saves your life. You're going to hate him, hate me and you're going to hate yourself. But right now, they're still dead, I'm still right, and you and Shooter are still separate persons. Think about that as you fall asleep, tonight."
He grabbed the big, fluffy comforter off the end of the bed and awkwardly spread it on the ground before sliding out of the chair and on top of it. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than nothing.
Mort breathed heavily through his nose as Sands spread out the comforter on the floor. He laid back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling until sleep finally took over.
XXX
Mort jerked awake early the next morning to pounding on the door. "Sands," he said groggily. Sands grunted, but didn't wake up. Mort frowned as the pounding continued. There was only one person in Colorado that knew where they were at, unless the authorities had caught up with them. Mort grabbed a pillow and smacked Sands on the head hard.
"I didn't tease the crocodile!" Sands jolted upright, with a cry. "Wha? What the hell?"
Ajedrez was seething, pounding on the door with Sands' crutch. Mort looked at Sands anxiously.
"There's someone at the door," he squeaked. Sands winced, last night's alcohol and headache catching up with him.
"I couldn't tell."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Are you going to get it?"
"I'd rather wait and find out who it is first. Whoever it is will be screaming at us to open the door any second now."
"How can you be so-"
"Armande, or whoever the fuck you, are open the goddamned door!" Ajedrez hissed, smacking the crutch against the door hard enough to crack it. Sands smirked.
"No Armande here. Try next door!" he answered.
"Open. The goddamn. Door," she said slowly though her teeth.
"I could, but then I'd have to report you to the police."
"For what?" she spat.
"For stalking and threat of bodily harm."
"I did no such thing! I'm returning your fucking crutch!" she ground out with a few more whacks on the door.
"You're breaking it is what you're doing."
"How do you think breaking a crutch is going to stand up next to killing a smoke shop clerk?"
Sands' eyes narrowed at the question and turned to Mort before he replied.
"I'm not sure, I savvy. Come again?"
Mort bit his lip. "Let's just keep the authorities out of this ok?"
"What did I do?" Sands mouthed sharply.
"You shot the guy."
"Goddamn it." Sands crawled up the bed to gain a footing and shuffle stepped around the room towards the door. He yanked it open and glared at the pissed off Hispanic girl.
She met was in mid knock with the crutch when the door opened; it sunk into Sands' stomach. She smirked at the look that crossed his face. She pushed him back easily, making her way into the room and shutting the door behind her.
"You bastard," she hissed.
He was knocked backward into the bed with a groan. He clutched his belly in pain, but recovered fairly quickly. "What'd I do now? Forget to give you a good night kiss?"
"You could say that," she said, pursing her lips.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"Like I said, I'm returning your crutch."
She thrust it into his hand. Ajedrez pulled him up from the bed; a smirk played at the corners of her lips as she crushed her lips to his and pressed their bodies together. When she felt him begin to respond, she pulled her mouth from his and whispered in his ear, "I've a proposition for you. Meet me in Acapulco in 3 days at the Holiday Inn at 9 PM, if you're interested." She gave his ear a quick lick, then pulled away swiftly. She turned and blew him a kiss, as she made her way to the door, her hips swaying alluringly. Sands blinked as the door swung shut.
"I wasn't just hallucenating, was I?"
Mort's mouth was hanging open by her blatant display. He shook his head. "Nuh-uh. What did she say?" he asked ungluing his eyes from the door to look at Sands.
"That we have to meet her in three days at a hotel. Do you think she'd call the police if we didn't?"
Mort shrugged. "Dunno...she's got nothing to lose if she did," he pointed out.
"Shit." Sands stood up suddenly, anger apparent in his eyes. "Fuck!" He hurled the crutch across the room and fell back on the bed. Got the gun out of the small of his back and looked it over before pointing the muzzle squarely in the middle of his forehead.
Mort started to panic. "Wait! What are you doing?" he cried, trying to figure out whether he should move towards him or away from him.
"What's it look like? I'm going to stop this shit before it gets any more twisted," Sands muttered tonelessly.
"No! You can't! What will I do then?"
"Be free. Run the fuck away. What do I care?"
"Fine, I'll just be going then." He headed towards the door. Sands undid the safety and cocked the gun.
"Shit. Don't do this, please?" Mort asked quietly from the door.
"Why not?"
Mort shrugged helplessly. "You're just gonna give up and let them win?"
"Who could possibly win that would make me care?"
"Oh come on! You're not that weak are you?" Mort scowled, annoyed with his show.
"Would you prefer I got you captured by the police?"
Mort shuddered. "You wouldn't because that's why you're planning on shooting yourself."
"That's part of the reason, yes."
"See, so there's nothing to worry about on that front."
"And if I don't pull this trigger, I will meet this crazy bitch I never seen before, and there most certainly will be something on that front and advancing quickly."
"Why? What do you mean?" Mort looked puzzled.
"She'll call the police. They'll come after us. Maine will come after us. The CIA will come after us. Dangerbabe and Tom will be at the forefront. We'll both be strapped to beds while fucking House preps two syringes of anti-crazy serum. We'll be fucking out of it until they execute us. One of us might as well get out of it scotch free."
Mort just stared at him his mouth hanging open, hand on the doorknob.
"Can't talk me out of it, can you? I thought not."
"Well...j-just shoot me first then! I don't want to go through that!" He waved his arms around his head and squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the bullet.
"Why do you have a death wish? You did shit."
Mort cracked open his eyes. "But you said they'd do it to both of us."
"Clean your ears once in awhile. If I don't die, you will be hunted. If I do, you'll be fine. Savvy?"
"Since when do you care about me?" Mort moved towards Sands, glaring.
"I don't. I'm not doing this for you. I'm outlining your perks since you seemed to give a damn about me."
"I don't give a damn about you!" Mort lunged forward, attempting to wrestle the gun from his hand.
"Then let me do it, you fuckmook!" Sands hissed, not letting go of the gun.
Mort tried frantically to wrack his mind for a way to bring out one of the other personas. "You're a fucking pussy just giving in like this!" he spat.
"Why the fuck do you care?"
"Who said I did? I certainly didn't." He paused and looked thoughtful. "Did you say anything Shooter?" He acted like he was hearing a response. "Nope. Shooter doesn't give a fuck either."
"Then why won't you let me do this?"
"Because there'd be one hell of a mess."
Sands redid the safety and let Mort have the gun. "Fair enough, clean freak. I'll go strangle myself instead."
Mort breathed a sigh of relief as Sands reset the safety. Then he looked at the gun horrified as Sands handed it to him. He tossed it from hand to hand till he finally let it drop to the floor with a clunk.
Sands didn't care; he had gone in search of something that could serve as a rope. Mort didn't know how close he'd come to almost persuading Sands to stop. But the writer had shown his true colors and proved that he was a selfish bastard. If he didn't care that Sands was around or not...oh well. Sands found a sheet. It would have to do.
Mort groaned and moved after Sands. "Stop fucking around!" he yelled. He tried to yank the sheet from him, ensuing in a tug of war.
Sands backhanded Mort viciously across the cheek. "Stop pretending to fucking care!"
Mort reeled backwards. "What do you know about pretending?" he spat.
"A damn sight more than you!"
Mort yanked on the sheet hard, bringing Sands down to the floor with him. "Just stop it ok? Please?" he hissed.
"Why? Give me one fucking plausible reason!"
"Because..." Mort paused.
"WHY?"
"Because I don't want you to kill yourself!"
Sands yanked the sheets back from Mort with a glare. "You still haven't answered my question! Why should I fucking live to make you happy?"
"Because...you're not all that bad of a guy..." he mumbled looking down at his lap.
"Come again?"
"I said you're not a bad guy. Don't ask me to say it again because I won't," Mort said with a glare, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What have I ever done for you?"
Mort shrugged, still looking away. "Does it matter?"
"YES!"
Mort cowered at his outburst. "Y-you haven't hurt me again," he mumbled.
"So where'd that giant red mark on your face come from I wonder?" Sands snapped.
Mort touched his face tenderly and winced. He looked up at Sands sheepishly. "You got DB out of jail." He was scrabbling for the few good deeds Sands had performed.
"What. Have I done. For you."
"Why do you have had to do something for me for me to think you're not a bad guy?"
"Because if you don't really want me alive, you must need me alive for some despicable end. I just want to know where I stand."
Mort let out a frustrated cry, leaned forward, and slapped him smartly across the cheek. "Snap the fuck out of it!"
"Thanks for putting me in my place. Will you be needing me in chains and leather next?" Sands sighed, giving up his hold on the sheets. So damn useless, all of it.
I always knew you were a pussy.
"So what if I am?"
You're giving yourself a bad image.
"I don't care anymore."
Fuck you, Harrison.
Mort watched Sands converse with one of the voices in his head. "Which is it?" Mort asked quietly.
"Which's what?" he muttered.
"Which one were you talking to?"
"I don't know. I don't care. They're all the same."
"Oh." Mort rubbed his cheek where Sands had hit him. He changed the subject after an awkward silence. "So...are you gonna go meet her?"
"I have to."
"What? Why?" His brow puckered in confusion. He didn't see why Sands had to...
"Because you won't let me die and you don't want the police to chase us. There's no alternative."
Mort quirked a brow, but nodded, as if he understood.
Harrison sighed. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me up in three days. Or the Apocalypse. Which ever comes first."
Mort began to get worried. "What if she does call the cops? She knows where we're at...Shouldn't we be on the move, not staying too long in one spot?"
"I know what I'm doing. Trust me. Even if you despise me, trust me."
"I don't." Mort trailed off with a scowl. He wasn't going to say anything about it anymore.
"Christ, what the fuck do you want from me?"
"Nothing!" Mort yelled, plopping down heavily in a chair.
"What the fuck do you want me to do? Tell me! Get me on even fucking ground before I go insane!"
"I just think that we should go someplace that she doesn't know where we're at," Mort said slowly.
"They're going to find us! Don't you fucking get it! All she wants is that we meet her in three fucking days! She will do nothing until then! She can't! In three days we will be there in her good fucking graces or we'll be running again! That's all there is! Res ipsa loquitur!"
"Okay! Okay! We'll stay here! I really don't give a shit!" Mort held his hands up.
"No. Fine. We'll go. I don't care. Fuck it. Grab your stuff. You drive," Harrison grumbled.
"What will I drive? We haven't a car here..."
"I don't know. I don't care. You're the one that wants to leave, you figure it out."
"I said I didn't care!" Mort shouted, getting frustrated. He began working his jaw.
"You obviously do or you wouldn't be yelling. Do whatever you want. You're going to anyway."
"Ah most certainly am," Shooter drawled giving Harrison a sharp look. "You again." His eyes narrowed.
Harrison shuddered from his spot on the floor. "You again."
"What are you doin' here?" Shooter asked with a glare as he stood up to circle Harrison.
"I assure you, if your fucking other wasn't a pigheaded little shit, I wouldn't be."
"Well, I get along much better with your other half as well-or as the case is, quarter."
"Leave me alone. I don't want to deal with you."
"Nor I you, but we're a bit stuck here, ain't we?" Shooter moved closer while his eyes narrowed all the more.
"There's bound to be a breakfast buffet downstairs. Go 'way."
"Well now see...that might be appealin' iffin I was hungry, but I ain't."
"Take a walk! A swim! Anything, for fuck's sake!"
"I'm a gettin' reeeal tired of you," Shooter drawled, coming closer.
"Get the fuck away from me!"
"I don' think I'm inclined to do that." He lunged and got Harrison in a headlock. "I don' much like you," he drawled.
"Fuck you!" Harrison cracked his elbow across Shooter's face.
Shooter hissed in pain. "Now that ain't very nice..."
"Let me go!" Harrison managed to punch Shooter in the nose with a strong left hook. He hit him again and again as he felt his own consciousness slipping.
"Nice goin' Cowboy..." Shooter's drawl was slurred. He kept his grip on Harrison as he began to fall. Harrison was dragged down on top of Shooter, his breaths coming in pants.
"Likewise..."
Everything went black as they hit the ground, their arms and legs in a tangle.
Honour Roll: Merrie-Yeah, sorry about whats her face. No convenient deaths for her. Glad you and House got your last couple minutes of glory. Gena-An hour? Wow, more power to you! Might have to see about another fic eventually. midnightmuse-Here's more, soon!