Logan knocked on the hotel room door as the sun sat outside. "It's open." Came the reply. Logan raised an eyebrow at the all to easy way this could go wrong if he were the kid's enemy, but entered the hotel room. Sands was sitting at a back table near the balcony typing away, but when Logan saw the gun resting on his thigh, he smirked slightly.

"Over the smoke?" Logan asked him.

"Killer migrain." Sands answered with out looking up.

"Yeah, that shit'll do it to ya." Logan replied, flopping down in a chair near the door and lighting a cigar.

Sands closed his laptop, looked over and regarded Logan a moment. "You said you wanted to know more...what do you want to know?"

"How long ya been doin' this shit?" Logan asked, as he puffed away at the cigar.

"Some time too long, and some times not long enough." Sands answered, digging around under a stack of papers.

Logan quirked an eyebrow. "How long's Cerise been yer partner?"

Sands looked over at him through the hair in his face and gave a have crooked grin. "Long enough to know how to handle me." He replied.

Logan stared back at him through the smoke, watching the kid find what he was looking for and light a cigarette. "Ya ever answer a question directly?"

"Keeps me alive and other people on their toes." Sands answered, opening his lab top again.

"Bub, I need t' know the real answers." Logan said levelly. He waited, watching the kid type and smoke.

Sands tried to keep his mind on the work in front of him, rather then the fact that he could see Logan out of the corner of his eye waiting for him to answer. But no matter how long Sands held off on answering the questions, the calmer Logan seemed to get.

Finally, Sands sighed, sitting back in his chair a bit and said softly. "Eleven years. Three years, and no, I never answer a question directly if I can help it."

"Why?"

Sands looked at him through the grey smoke of his cigarette. "It keeps me alive longer. I was being honest about that."

"How'd it really happen?" Logan asked, settling comfortably in the chair.

Sands snorted, watching him. "It's not that long of a story. We tracked Evans to San Maguel three weeks ago. The idea was to set up...an ambush. However, some how he got wind of it, and hours before it was to happen, he busted into her hotel room and kidnapped her. I was finalizing everything, so I was hardly there to stop him." He drew a long drag and held it until his lungs couldn't stand it any more, exhaling slowly.

"Any idea how he got wind of it?" Logan asked, eyeing the kid.

"Nope. Been working on that one as I go." Sands said with a shrug.

Logan continued to eye Sands in a silent manner, reading him. The kid was sharp, intelligent and dangerous. But Logan saw some other traits. He was a talented liar and manipulator and Logan began to wonder if he could even trust the kid. He wasn't sure loyalty was one of the kid's strong suits and decided to hold back on his own information for the time being, feed the kid enough to get what information Logan needed. He had a feeling the kid was a wild card, it was written all over him.

And he was hardly bothered that the kid was looking back at him with the same calculated look. It just proved his intelligence.

Sands snubbed out his cigarette, watching Logan a moment. He hadn't known any mutants before meeting Logan, and he really didn't care one way or the other. All this mutant hysteria that was gripping the country with the riots, and the registering, so the 'public' knew who the mutants were. It was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing Sands had ever heard of and was probably the lowest form of racism the country could achieve. It gave Sands a headache really.

But on the other hand, he could see why the registering would be useful. This man, Logan, or Wolverine as Evans had called him in the bar, may have been just one man, but he was more like a walking execution. So far he'd walked out with no injuries where a normal man would have fallen. The knock out gas hadn't even effected him. And then what about those claws? If this man wasn't on Sands' side, Sands would have a hard time of dispatching him. Nothing short of slicing off Logan's head 'Highlander' style, wouldn't slow this man down.

But could Sands trust him? How long until Logan got what he wanted and abandon Sands for better or worst. What the fuck are you talking about?! Sands inwardly grimaced. Trust! He out right barked a laugh, getting up from the chair and going over to the mini bar. Sheldon Sands trusted no one. The only thing Logan was useful right now, was getting to Evans and getting Cerise out.

"Somethin' funny Slick?" Logan asked in a growl.

Sands dug around in the mini bar and pulled out a mini bottle of tequila, twisting off the cap and drinking the whole thing, before he turned and looked at the man. "Yeah, you."

" 'Cuse me?" Logan growled, quirking an eyebrow again.

Sands stifled a snicker. "You gettin' paid for this?"

Logan inclined his head a moment and shook it. Paranoid too... He decided to turn the tables on the kid. "Not as much as you, obviously."

"The CIA don't pay me enough to fuck around with this kind of shit." Sands said, digging out another bottle of tequila.

"Obviously." Logan remarked.

Sands raised an eyebrow. "Obviously what?"

"Kid, you got the bum rush with this job." Logan smirked, getting up from the chair.

Sands tossed back the second bottle and slammed it on the counter. "Don't." He said simply, giving Logan a bored look.

"Don't wha?"

"Don't EVEN trying to play games with me. You wont win." He shifted his weight.

Logan smirked. "Is that a fact? Let me guess. Ya think I'm workin' for Evans."

"It was obviously convenient for you to show up at the bar last night..." Sands replied with a slightly arrogant look.

"And the fact that he tried to kill me doesn't make you think a bit harder?"

"I watched you take three bullets that would kill a man. And the gas this afternoon certianlly didnt' effect you."

"Advanced healing. It's a mutant thing, Kid." Logan replied simply.

"That your gift?" Sands didn't fail to notice Logan was heading his way.

"More or less." Logan replied, hands in his pockets. He was stalking slowly, casually toward the kid, with the full intent to show the kid, if he intended on playing games, he wasn't going to win against Logan. "What's the CIA want with Evans anyway?" Logan asked conversationally.

"Arms trafficking." Sands answered.

"Odd. Evans doesn't usually concern himself with you and your petty wars."

Sands' eyebrows shot up. "That's a bit racist, don't ya think?"

"That's what yer implyin', Sport."

Sands gave him an incredulous look. "Wha?"

"Oh." Logan said, letting the word hang and smiled in a mock realization. "You just don't trust people."

"People are like elevators and stairs. They're all a trap waiting to happen, but so much bloody fun to walk all over." Sands said with an insane grin.

Logan was forced to bark a laugh. It was such a perverse statment but so very logical. "Twisted, kid, real twisted."

"Well, I ain't exactly a fuckin' ray of sunshine, mate." Sands replied, with a look. "And to answer your question, no one's lived up to earning my trust."

"Then what's Cerise to you?" Logan asked simply.

Sands frowned, giving the man a look. "Didn't any one tell you it's not nice to pry."

Logan shook his head, chuckling, heading for the door. "Night, Sport. Don't forget to screw on that head a little tighter in the morning." Logan opened the hotel door. "Oh, and lock your door."

Sands stared after him, with a cold glare, realizing he'd just lost that battle of wits to Logan. He tried to remind himself he'd at least got one or two good ones in, but he'd still lost! "Shit!" he swore, kicking the mini bar.

He heard Logan's laughter fading down the hall and Sands snarled at the closed door. "Two can play this game, my friend." He grumbled to the closed door.