A couple of weeks later, Sands was well enough to take out on the town. El took him to a local restaurant. It wasn't a long distance away but he thought the agent needed to feel like he could do this on his own so he gave him minimal help along the way. Only when he stumbled did he help him. They sat and ate and the agent seemed happy to be out of bed and out doing something. They were enjoying some drinks and relaxing when Sands became somber.
"Why are you still here?" The agent asked pointedly.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, El, you could have left me in the streets to die. Why didn't you? And why are you still here?"
"That is not my nature to leave someone to die," El replied incredulously.
"Well, it's mine," Sands smirked
"That is not entirely true and I know it."
"Oh, you know it, do you? You would be wrong, mi amigo, very, very wrong, to believe that."
"You are NOT who you claim to be."
"Well perhaps you haven't met the many people I have killed in cold blood. No, El, I do not care about anyone."
"But you did...once."
If Sands had eyes he would have stared holes right through the presumptuous Mexican. The only sign of anger the agent showed was a slow clenching of his jaw until his lips formed a tight line. The thought occurred to him to kill the Mexican right here and now, but he didn't, at least, not yet. Right now he was useful to the agent and he needed him as much as he hated to admit it.
