Author's Note: whoa! This chapter just flew, man! One minute I had nothing and three days later I was done. This is the fastest I've written a chapter in a long time. Good thing too, because it's probably going to take me awhile to get that chapter of FS up and running. :P Please enjoy this and let me know what you think.
Author's thanks at the end.
Liz was too unreasonably angry to notice that Sands had effectively stopped arguing with her. She'd always been particularly sensitized to him; he could make her feel things more deeply than anyone else she'd ever met. At times that had been…wonderful. And then there were times like right now when he made her feel like a first-rate clod, a lobotomy patient, and a clueless nitwit all rolled into one. She could even pinpoint the statement that had lit her very short fuse: "Damn, Lizzie. I think the peroxide has sunk a little too deep." Her reply had been inane, but heartfelt, and she wasn't nearly through.
"That's the sad title of this entire escapade, isn't it?"
Sands – who had been mulling over the pros and cons of shooting DeLeon in the head versus strangling the mother of his children with his bare hands – noticed the edge of hysteria in Liz's voice. Sure, no one will lock her in the loony bin if she lets loose. "What's that, Lizzie?" He'd completely tuned her out and wasn't quite sure what she was going on about.
Liz literally saw red, making her wonder if she'd popped a blood vessel in her eye or something as equally unpleasant. Had it not been for that dull wash of color over her vision, however, she probably would have launched herself at Sands in a veritable tornado of kicking, hitting, scratching, biting womanhood that would have been better suited to a Fury than an approaching the big 4-0 mother of two.
And as was often the case for people who lost one sense, another stepped in to take its place.
"We might as well put the past decade or so into a file marked 'Things Sheldon Wanted.' It would be such a shame if my intelligence-inhibiting hair color was lonely in such a neat little category." In addition to being bitter and too hearty by far, Liz's voice flowed on too fast for Sands to break in. Not that any defense he could have mounted would have stalled her at this point.
"Let's see…what else can we add? Well, if we jump back about fifteen years, we can add my not going back to school after Chris was born to our file. After all, you were the one that convinced me that a move for your career was in the best interest of us all. And then there's your whole 'secret life.' You weren't going to let anything hold you back from what you wanted, were you? I can just hear you now. 'Kids who'd like me to be around occasionally? A wife who'd like to see my face now and then? Screw that! It's no big deal. They'll all be waiting around when I'm done playing Secret Agent Man, and if they don't like it, well that's too darn bad! I'm Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, and I get what I want by fair means or foul, damnit.' And now I'm here because you wanted it. So don't act as if this was some great, unwelcome tribulation to test your martyr's heart."
Restless because parts of her diatribe – especially the last half or so – had hit far too close to home, Sands slowly lit up. He could hear Liz panting angrily not too far away. Somehow he'd lost control of the situation; it was unlikely that he'd get it back at this late point without a fight. Not when Liz had the bit so firmly between her teeth.
So he decided to placate. It wasn't as if things said in the course of self-preservation were binding. Right?
Exhaling through his nose, he said in his most calming, charming voice, "You know that's not true, Lizzie."
At the moment the only thing Liz knew was that the comic shake of her head was wasted because her husband couldn't see it. The nerve of the man! For some reason the fact that he was blind was trying to hit home at this particular moment – Now! Of all times it had to be now! – but even that didn't make a big enough dent in her head of steam to stop her.
"What can I say, Sheldon? When you're right, you're right. Not everything in your life has gone the way you've wanted it to." Her scarily understanding tone disappeared the moment Sands started to look as if he was actually going to agree with her. "But apparently the possession of a loving family – wanted or not – didn't hold you back at all. You left us, you conceited bastard! You brought me here! Those were your choices, not mine!"
"I didn't want to leave," Sands said tightly, but it was a lost cause. Even he could see that. So to sweeten the sentiment he tagged on, "And you're not that loving."
"If you want to delude yourself into thinking that," Liz hissed back at him, "be my guest. But you damn well had a choice to live up to your vows or to follow this mad path of yours. Don't think that I'm not perfectly aware of what choice you made every time that crossroads came up. And if you think – honestly think – that your family could have been anything but loving, then you've been blind for a lot longer than you haven't been able to see."
Great. All that time and perfectly good aggression spent and we're back to square one. If we ever get past this point it'll be a miracle. Sands rolled his head on his neck, trying to relieve some of his ever-building tension. Not only had he been hurt – surprised even – that Liz had thrown his lack of sight in his face, but he was perfectly aware that more important discussions were taking place outside this room. One last try at peace, then screw it.
"Don't be like that, Lizzie."
Silence
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees or so.
Shit. Obviously not the right thing to say –
"Don't be like what, Sheldon?" Liz's voice was nauseatingly sweet.
Danger, danger Will Robinson… "That's not what I meant –"
"Explain it to me then. That is, if you think my peroxide saturated brain can comprehend English."
Since he'd already blown it, Sands decided to go for the gold. It was sloppy to leave a job half done. "Look, I don't have time for this right now."
"Why am I not surprised?" Liz asked bitterly. "Of course you don't have time. Fine. Go play spy with all your little friends. And go to hell while you're at it."
It was Sands' turn to be furious now. People were being maimed, framed, and killed... And she called it a game? If she wanted to call an acute case of Blind Mans' Bluff – and he was bluffing his ass off – a mere game, then –
"You go to hell," he drawled back at her, resorting to the safety of sarcastic disdain. "I don't know why I'm putting my neck out for you if you're not going to take any of this seriously."
"Not taking this seriously?! I've been bullied, kidnapped, threatened, and assaulted due to no actions of my own –" Sands snorted, "– and you have the gall – no, make that the unmitigated gall – to say I'm not taking this seriously? I'm terrified! What are you?"
There was really only one way he could answer that question.
"Blind."
Again there was an extended moment of silence, then slightly hysterical laughter bubbled up from Liz's position. Before Sands had any earthly clue as to what was going on, she'd thrown her arms around his neck. Whether she was laughing or sobbing now, he wasn't sure; mangled hilarity still rang in his ears while at the same time, his neck was growing a bit damp.
"Oh Sheldon, did I hurt you earlier? I don't know why I did that. I'm not usually a violent person."
Sands just patted his seemingly crazed wife awkwardly on the shoulder, more certain than ever that she'd finally gone around the bend. Though he'd always thought that he'd go first. "I'm…uh…I'm fine." Flummoxed but physically able.
"You just make me so mad."
"Yes…I seem to remember having a talent for that." Poleaxed, there's a nice word. And it nicely describes how it feels when surprise whacks a man upside the head.
Before she could reply, a voice interrupted from the mysteriously open doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt such a touching moment," the words dribbled in a lazy Texan drawl, "but there's some deep sh…er, trouble piling up out here, Shep. DeLeon is pressing to have you both left behind to greet our estranged colleagues. You need to deal with it before he can build up too much of an anti-Sands faction."
Roberts left the room then and Liz discretely wiped her eyes on Sands' collar. "It's about me using the phone, isn't it?" she asked as she straightened her shoulders and stepped away from him.
"You've instigated it, yes. You made a stupid mistake –" Sands bit off the rest of that sentence. Liz was on his side at the moment and he'd be the idiot if he didn't try to keep things that way. "Like I said, you instigated it, but this has been coming for awhile. DeLeon is a rabble rouser, and we've an abundance of rabble at hand. My treatment of you has been tempered because I have a basic understanding of what your actions stemmed from. No one out there does. No one pities you – unless it's your being married to me – and most probably dislike you for that same pity-inspiring reason."
Liz felt a bit lost, as if she was out of synch with the world around her. Which she was. But there really wasn't anything that could be done to fix that right now. "Are you saying this to comfort, warn, or scare me?"
"I'm just letting you know that things are probably going to get ugly." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet while his hands competently and absentmindedly checked the fit of his gun in his holster. "Just stay out of the line of fire, Lizzie."
She'd watched with no small amount of uneasiness as his hands had practically caressed his weapons. "Are we talking about literal or figurative gunfire?"
"Both. Neither. Depends on how the cookie crumbles." Sands reached out with uncharacteristic sentimentality to lightly brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I've done enough damage. I still intend to see you home safely." Out of a deep need to disperse with the sappy feeling hanging in the air, he smirked, "If you can keep from acting like a naïve idiot, of course."
Easier said than done, I thought moments later. It felt…wrong…to allow Sheldon to precede me into the common room. Now that I knew – or had allowed the knowledge to sink in – that my husband was well and truly blind, it was against my nature to simply let him still go first. It was nearly infuriating, mainly because I know he felt just as strongly about hiding behind me as I did about hiding behind him. Not that I knew how to deal with these people, this spoof of Robin Hood's merry men. It makes perfect sense. Well, it would if the merry men had been out to kill Robin and they all hated each other… Maybe it has something to do with their training. So they're better at working alone or something –
"There he is now. Our own Casanova. I guess there must be some truth to love being blind."
I bristled at the man's poisonous tone. It was one thing for me to point out Sheldon's vulnerability. It's something else entirely for another person to do it. With that in mind, I moved to step around Sheldon, but as usual, he somehow knew exactly what I was planning – annoying man. Then, as if to tell me that I couldn't fool him, he leaned against the wall with perfected insouciance, blocking my way.
"Real men can do it under any circumstances, Dee. But you wouldn't know that, would you?"
The man, DeLeon I suppose, growled while I rolled my eyes. What is it about men and their preoccupation with each other's sexual prowess? I mean, really. And that was rather cliché –
"Oh, I suppose you're right, Dee." Sheldon either read my mind or – and this is more likely – correctly interpreted DeLeon's growl of irritation. "That was a bit of a cheap shot. Let's make a deal: I won't speculate about your…hmm…abilities…if you don't question mine."
From the beet red color of the man's face, I don't think things are going to be cleared up that easily. A quick glance at the other faces in the room – all of them exceedingly grim – confirmed my suspicions. Even the faces of Sheldon's two bosom buddies were less than optimistic; they looked like they were expecting Trouble, capital "T" and all. This was an unusually distrustful group and from the looks of it, none of them would question turning on their one of their own if given the slightest provocation.
"I think you've misunderstood the situation, Officer."
I didn't like the way DeLeon started to swagger towards us. "Umm…Sheldon…?" He shifted and suddenly seemed rather…dangerous.
"Why don't you clear it up for me then, Dee? You know how much I hate being left in the dark."
"Yes, I can see how that would be annoying," he said with false sympathy as he came even closer. I didn't understand why he couldn't feel the unmasked threats emanating from Sheldon's dark form. "And I'd be more than happy to shed a light on things for you. After all, I'd hate for you to think that I harbored any doubts."
"Sheldon," I whisper more urgently.
He turned to me with an indulgent leer pasted on his otherwise unreadable face. "Shut up, Lizzie."
My eyes shot back to the view over his shoulder; DeLeon was wearing a triumphant smirk. As much as it rankled, I knew what I had to do. Keep my mouth shut and my nose clean.
Sheldon must have taken my silence for the agreement it was because he turned back to the room at large. Unfortunately that didn't include DeLeon. That man looked as if Sheldon's inability to locate him had caused Christmas to come early.
"What was it you were going to say before we were interrupted, Dee?"
"I was going to say –" Sheldon's head slowly turned until he'd honed in on DeLeon, making me realize how well he'd adapted to this…infirmity. It seemed to be an afternoon of revelations. "I was going to say that it's clear to me that you're unfit for duty, Officer." I didn't think that anyone could sound more smug that Sheldon, but this man managed to give my husband a run for his money. "You're blind."
"And you're a jackass, but I don't hold that against you," Sheldon replied in an oh-so-reasonable tone, earning several snorts of laughter from the assembled audience. DeLeon wasn't amused though. If anything, he turned downright ugly.
Sheldon's words of warning rang in my ears. I stepped back a bit.
"You know what, Sands?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"You're not only blind, you're delusional. You're nothing but a liability, an accident waiting to happen… A joke." DeLeon stayed just out of reach as he taunted my husband. It not only infuriated me – although this time I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut – but it made me wonder how it made Sheldon feel.
"You think I'm a joke? You obviously haven't heard the one about the Pope, the pimp, and the lawyer. You see, the pimp and the lawyer make a bet –"
"See? See! That's exactly what I mean." The nods coming from approximately half the group wasn't encouraging to see. "You don't take anything seriously."
"If I did, I'd have eaten my gun by now," Sheldon muttered under his breath, his words hidden by DeLeon's continuing tirade.
"Your incompetence will get us all killed. Unless we do something to make sure you're not a danger."
That sounded like a threat. I bite my lip in an effort not to interrupt. I really am trying to do what Sheldon would like me to.
"Incompetent." I could practically hear the indolent lift of an eyebrow that went with that statement. "A moment ago I was blind, now I'm incompetent. I can't tell if I'm rising or falling in your estimation, Dee."
"Let me assure you then; you've been falling since you showed up with the little woman in tow –"
"Lizzie's not that little." Sheldon sounded surprised. "I mean, sure, she's not in need of a diet or anything –"
"Gee, I'm blushing," I mutter from behind him.
"Anytime."
DeLeon's face was turning that dangerous shade of red again. "You might think she's amusing, Sands, but she's not. She's proof. How the hell can any of us rely on you to do your part when you can't even control your own wife?"
"I wasn't aware Liz needed to be controlled. Besides, collars and leashes are a little too S&M for her tastes –" I don't have time to blush before DeLeon interrupts.
"Not need to be controlled? The little bitch gave us aw–"
DeLeon didn't have time to finish that sentence before Sands reached out and grabbed his shirtfront. Before anyone could move close enough to stop him, he'd slammed his captive against the wall and had his gun out. And as he flipped the safety off, it was clear that he was ready to use it.
"You never did have a clue as to what was suitable for public discussion and what was not, did you, Dee?" I step forward when Sheldon raised his gun to press it against DeLeon's forehead; a hand on my shoulder stops me. Apparently Sheldon's friends think he can handle this on his own.
"Now, you've had the chance to make yourself clear. Let me make myself clear. You're welcome to share your feelings, but you've now crossed the line. You know what that line was? Lack of intelligent thought. If you think you can get to Price without me, then you're the one who's blind and delusional. For reasons that I'm sure are beyond your comprehension, I'm the only person who's going to be able to get Price so ticked off that he'll never notice the commando squad on his front lawn until it's too late. Without me, no one here stands a frog's chance on the freeway of clearing their name. I want you to also keep in mind that I don't need eyes to keep someone like you in place." A small white circle appeared on DeLeon's forehead as Sheldon pressed a bit harder with his weapon. "¿Comprendés, me amigo?"
DeLeon nodded slowly. I had the absurd need to laugh at the way his eyes crossed as he tried to keep watch on…the barrel…of the gun.
Not amused anymore.
"Hold up there, Mrs. Shep." Roberts' unexpected drawl in my ear stills my just barely unrealized impulse to go stop Sheldon. "Just let it slide. He knows when to stop. Usually."
"Why am I not comforted?" I mutter back. But his words bring back my resolution not to make things more difficult for Sheldon.
As for Sheldon, he continued his one-sided discussion with DeLeon without pause; I wonder if he heard us, and if he did, if he approved. Or cared. "Oh good. I wasn't sure if I'd used small enough words or not. But if we've got that point settled, then I suppose we can move on." Sheldon got so close to DeLeon and said his next words so quietly that I barely heard them. "Naïve and an idiot she might be, Dee my friend, but Liz is my concern, and my concern alone. Isn't that right, Lizzie?"
A glance at Roberts confirms that I'm actually supposed to voice an answer. "Yes."
"And you're going to be on your best behavior from here on out, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"There. You see, Dee? Problem solved." He slowly pulled the gun away. "And should you forget anything – anything – we've spoken of, our next talk won't be nearly so pleasant." With one last vicious twist of DeLeon's collar, Sheldon let the man go and turned back to the still assembled agents. "Now, is there a reason to stand around for any longer discussing whether or not I'm 'fit for duty,' or are we going to scatter like mice before the cats swoop in and have a field day?"
They scattered. Small groups of agents headed for bus and train depots, called taxis, headed for airports, etc. Three volunteers stayed behind to watch for whoever it was who came to check things out. They knew that the CIA would definitely send a team out, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Price would send men out as well. Sands thought – to the agreement of Roberts and Riley – that it not only would be a smart move on Price's part, but very like him. A man who lived off the information he could collect would be stupid to not keep an eye – and an ear – on anyone his information had burned.
About the only thing that the former operatives could agree on was that Price was anything but stupid. Thus the covert exodus; they planned to regroup in Boca Raton in a week's time.
Sands, Liz, Riley, Roberts, and Biaselli were just one of the groups that took to the open road. They headed northeast. There was no particular destination in mind; frankly, any place would be better than the derelict VW van they'd got at an equally ramshackle used car lot.
"I've always wanted to go to New Hampshire in the spring," Riley drawled as she took over the 3 am to dawn driving shift.
"Mid-January does not constitute spring," Biaselli mumbled back.
"It does if you were raised in Alaska."
Biaselli harrumphed before jerking a stolen hotel blanket over her head.
Liz would have liked to do the same, but she was loathe to surrender her barrier between herself and the van's moth-eaten avocado green shag carpeting. It was actually supposed to be her turn to get a bench to sleep on – not that they had more than the one since the second had springs poking out of it – since her driving shift had just ended. But she hadn't wanted to wake Sands. He'd been pale and quiet since they'd quietly left Hagerstown. By now she recognized the signs of a ferocious headache. Laying on the floor with all its vibrations and vaguely heart-stopping shimmies would hardly be restful for him. He probably wouldn't like her consideration, but while he talked a good game about not wanting to be coddled, Liz was still felt that it was the least she could do after setting this particular series of events into motion.
"Wondering what happened?"
Liz looked up from her study of Sands to see that Roberts had turned around in the passenger seat to watch her. He was on duty to help the driver stay awake and on deck to take over the next shift. Apparently he'd decided that talking to her would be an entertaining way to keep everyone awake. And she was tired enough that she was willing to be friendly for awhile.
"No. He told me."
"Everything?"
The sideways glance that he exchanged with Riley only supported her notion that Sands hadn't shared everything. And he hadn't. He hadn't shared any of his feelings about the events that preceded his injuries. He'd never said if he'd been scared, or angry, or felt like giving up… "No. Not everything. But enough." She could imagine how he'd felt well enough without actually having to hear it. Not that she wouldn't listen if he ever tried to share his feelings. But there were places that even wives didn't dare intrude.
"You care about him, don't you?"
Liz glanced up; Riley was looking at her in the rearview mirror. She shrugged as she thought about her answer. "We were happy once. Or at least I was. Maybe he never was. I think I would know if he hadn't been but I don't necessarily trust myself where he's concerned anymore. Being a single mother has been hard. I'll admit to wanting a husband to help share the load. I want the man I married – that I thought I was marrying – back. And I know that's Sheldon, even if I no longer know Sheldon." She stopped and tried to put her disjointed thoughts into some kind of order. "Yes, I care about him. Even if he doesn't want me to and even though I don't know what caring for him involves anymore. So I guess we'll see what happens."
I needed to get drunk. Inebriated. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor tequilas past tipsy. Cockeyed, boozed, crocked, pickled, loaded, soused, drunk as a skunk, plastered, three sheets to the wind, sloshed, and/or go on a bender.
See – haha, of course I can't – the thing about having no eyes is no one can tell if you're awake or not. And it was my misfortune to be waking up just in time to tune in to the last part of Lizzie's little spiel.
"We were happy once. Or at least I was. Maybe he never was…I don't necessarily trust myself where he's concerned anymore…I want the man I married – that I thought I was marrying – back. And I know that's Sheldon, even if I no longer know Sheldon…Yes, I care…"
Damning words if I ever heard them. Not that I don't understand where she's coming from. I'm sure her point of view is that everything about our previous life together was a lie. Women and their emotions. If she could just keep her emotions out of things she'd know just how illogical it would be for me to pretend to be a family man while going through all the BS training I had to do. I had some truly craptastic days that I would have much rather preferred to have been alone for. But I always came home, didn't I?
"Wouldn't know, Shep."
"Huh?" The overwhelming noise of a local bar on a Friday night is abruptly and nastily overwhelming.
"Oh…you're just monologging again. Gotcha."
Hmm…it's possible that I've been here too long… I make a swipe for whatever it is I'm drinking and toss it back. The glass is empty. "Robbo. How long we been here?"
The long wait to get my answer makes me wonder if my drinking companion has passed out. A throaty "'Bout two hours," relieves that worry though.
"Where're the women?"
"Probably commiserating about how we're all pigs."
"Where?"
"Oh. Where. Right."
It penetrated my alcohol soaked mind that this conversation wasn't making much sense. "What're we drinking?"
"Tequila shots. Your idea. I wanted whiskey."
"Right…where're the women?"
"Putting on a show." This was said in a very matter-of-fact manner that I just knew was hiding admiration. Hell. "Admiration." Try lust. "Tell Lizzie to knock it off."
"Oh. Those women. You gotta be more specific, Shep. Our women are at the motel."
"Where's the motel?" I remember a lot of driving…and that's about it. My head hurt. While painkillers might have been a smarter choice – since a hangover was just going to compound the problem in the morning – getting ripped was always a lot more fun.
"'Cross the street. Lucky us."
Right. I stood. It felt very weird to have the room spin around me without being able to see it. I know it doesn't make sense because vertigo is really an inner ear problem, but I had hoped this whole invisible tilt-o-whirl deal would disappear for good.
"Whoa…hold on there partner." Too late; I've nearly tripped over the chair behind me. "Ooo…I'm gonna tell Mrs. Shep that you can't hold your liquor."
"Don't be a rat fink. Besides. She knows." I don't know where the falsetto comes from, but I find myself doing an eerily accurate impression of Lizzie. "Don't even think about it, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. The last time you were drunk like this, we had Chris."
"Why don't you talk about your kids?"
Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not nearly drunk enough to have this conversation. "Where's the street?"
"I ask a question and you want to become street pizza?"
"What?" Where did he get that idea? An excellent question. "No, you drunk bastard. Where did you get that idea?"
"Why do you want the street then?"
"To cross it." That seemed rather obvious. What else would I do with a street? Isn't like I could stay on one long enough to drive down it and I'm fresh out of chickens.
"Right…"
"The women, Robbo. You said the women were across the street. In the motel. Therefore, if I wanted to sleep off the enormously ridiculous amount of alcohol in my bloodstream, I need to cross the street. To get to the motel. Where the women are." That came out rather well.
"Oh. Why didn't you say so before?"
"Shut up." Windmilling arms or no, I manage to find Robbo and wrap one arm around his shoulders. "This isn't about being blind," I warn him lest he get the wrong impression. Can't have people thinking I need help. "This is about me failing a sobriety test."
"Right. Can't walk straight to save my life either."
A century or two later, I'm slammed into a door that's all too solid for my comfort. "Damn, my head hurts."
"Still? Maybe we ought to hunt down a few beers."
"Don't sound so concerned, man. Where's my key?"
"Search me."
"Hell no." It's much easier to simply pound my fist against the door. "Lizzie! Lizzie, open the door! It's your outrageously handsome husband!" I ignore Robbo's sniggers. "Lizzie!"
"Sheldon!" I hear my name hissed a split second before my fist thuds into the door one last time.
"Lizzie? What're you doing over there?"
"This is my room over here. You're probably causing the occupants of that room to call the manager. I swear, if you get us thrown out of the first unmoving lodgings we've stopped at in over thirty-six hours –"
"Robbo…I thought you said this was my room."
I felt my companion shrug since we each still had an arm thrown over each other's shoulder. "My mistake."
"Don't let it happen again."
"Yes, sir." Robbo shrugged me off into the open doorway of my own room.
"Drunk bastard," I muttered as I closed the door behind me.
"Look who's talking." Liz's voice is tart with disapproval.
"Oops...sorry. Forgot you don't like cursing." Which was odd, because it seems to me that she's been doing her fair share lately.
"What are you doing!"
I freeze. "What?"
"You're…you're stripping in front of me."
"Should I do it behind you?"
"Sheldon…"
"I just want to go to bed, Lizzie." Why is she yelling? It makes my head hurt. Can't she see I'm a very sick man?
"Fine. Do what you want then."
Permission given, I strip down to my boxers, go to brush the stale alcohol out of my mouth, then pad back into the room. I can hear Lizzie moving around in bed. It only makes sense to join her since I've no idea if we have another bed or not and I'm not about to make an ass of myself by looking for one.
"Sheldon!"
"What!" For the love of Pete, why can't she lower her voice?
"What are you doing?"
"Going to bed. Didn't I say that already?"
"This is my bed."
What's her point? "Isn't that where I usually sleep?"
"Not since you left."
"Hmm…sounds like I've been remiss in my duties." Sliding under the covers I reach out for Lizzie. She's soft. Right now I need soft.
"Don't even think about it, Sands. The last time we…did this…while you were drunk, I got pregnant with Chris."
"That's what I told Robbo," I mutter sleepily as she pulls herself out of my grasp.
"You what?!"
"Please stop yelling, Lizzie." I reach for her again. "Just sleep. I promise. I hurt too much for anything else."
She's stiff under my fingers for a long time before I hear her huff. "Fine. But I swear to god, if you –"
"Yadda, yadda, yadda, double castration, etc. I get the picture, Lizzie."
"You'd better."
Author's Thanks: you guys are all so great. :D vanillafluffy (Liz just isn't used to thinking that she's remotely interesting, and the fact that she's basically on the run from the law really doesn't have much reality for her. Perhaps she's in denial. I dunno. As for the darling children, I hope to have them pop up in the next chapter.); Dawnie-7 (Sands likes to exaggerate. He's convinced that hyperbole is an art form. I'm glad you liked the emotionally intimate moments for Sands and Liz there. They were a lot of fun to write.); LadySparrowJack (I like playing with Sands. He's a character that is easy to get unconventional reactions out of, and the unconventional is always fun to read about at the very least.); quick29 (Liz doesn't quite understand what's really going on, and she still misses her kids. Perhaps he next attempt to call them will have a happier ending. I'm really pleased with how Sands has turned out in this story. Like you said, he's a bit colder, a bit more calculating, and that really is the nature of Sands.); Mayorst (The reason I like flashbacks are because they're great for establishing previous character. And once you see how things "used to be," then you can understand how much that circumstances have created change in the characters. And that's about as much sense as I can make at the moment.); Lynx (Sands can contemplate killing pretty much anyone. However, he can usually control himself. When he wants to. I'd comment more but I'm suddenly very ditzy, and you make so many wonderful comments that I can't reply to them all coherently. :P); misc (yes, I'm writing two other fanfics along with this one, a Secret Window fic and a From Hell fic.)
