Once Upon a Time in Mexico 1. High Speed

..............Sands..............

The gunshots rang out everywhere around him, but Sands lay still in the orange dust. Funny how he said it was orange, colors didn't mean much to him any more.

A few bullets hit the dirt where he lay. He panted and lay still as blood seeped out of the bullet wound in his left calf. From what he heard of the bullets it seemed only stray ones where aimed at him. He couldn't tell where exactly the cartel where aiming over the chaos. His sensitive hearing was only confused by this ruckus. He was more used to listening for the slightest sound as an enemy tried to sneak up on him and slit his throat. Now, as hell broke loose around him, he lay on his back and acted as dead as he could manage. One wrong move and one of those cartel fuckers would put a bullet in him. One bullet was all it'd take. So he remained as still as a corpse and concentrated on breathing and listening.

He had ended up here by chance. There he was walking across this square, minding his own business when shots rang out and a bullet embedded itself in his leg. Being quick on the action he had dropped, army crawled a way, then stopped at the realization that the bullets weren't aimed at him.

There was return fire but it was slow, as if from a handgun. One shot, silence. One shot, more silence. While machine guns and Uzi's shot a hundred bullets a second.

There was no way the opposition would win. Of that he was sure.

It was only a matter of time.

The battle went on. Bullets ripping everything to shreds and the occasional one shot. And to the fallen CIA officers surprise he realized there were not as many bullets attacking the lone fighter.

It was not possible... or was it? Could the little handgun really be winning? For a second there was silence, then there was an alarmed shout and the sound of many feet jumping low walls and running towards him. The cartels feet made soft thumps and Sands could almost envision the puffs of dust they were creating. But more importantly they were heading right towards him and he had no gun. Once they were over him they would see he was still breathing and put a bullet in his skull. And just as this thought entered his head the world tore apart.

There was a deafening roar and the screams of perishing men. Something landed close to the former agent, and it sizzled where it lay. Then Sands was coated in debris. Dust choked him and bits of plaster and clay brick rained down upon him, so he had to cough and wheeze to get air. Hoping that the cloud would hide his signs of life Sands spluttered around the dust.

Gasping for breath and fumbling around in the dirt for any kind of gun. Surely if that explosion killed a few, a gun could've flown in his direction... his hand clasped the thing that had fallen near him before. He lifted it easily and felt it squish a little. Probing down it he felt fingers and grinned before throwing it away. He didn't need an extra hand. A few extra eyes would be good though.

There were a few random shouts and coughs as the surviving cartel slowly stood. Sands hadn't found a gun and the dust was no longer falling on his skin; which meant that it was clearing....

Not good news.

And then there were pounding footsteps coming straight for him. He cringed half expecting those footsteps to be the hooves of Deaths mare, come to seize him and throw him into hell. But at the last second, they swerved to the left of him and he found a gun thrown into his lap.

"MOVE!" shouted the cartels enemy as he flashed past him. His feet making next to no noise in the loose dust. Sands was on his feet the moment he had shouted, and clasping the gun to himself he sped after the stranger. Ignoring the pain that licked up his leg from the bullet in his calf as he bunched his muscles.

He hardly noticed it for a full minute. He didn't know where he was, he was disorientated, so he followed the sounds of the man. It seemed he was the only one who was not trying to kill him. He was level with him before he knew it, and he kept only slightly back.

"Right" he bellowed over the noise of the bullets nipping at their heels. With that he turned to the right and Sands followed after.

Sands nearly ran into him when he pulled up suddenly and reached into his pocket. There was a jangling sound as he fumbled for his car keys and then the click of a door opening.

Completely ignoring Sands he opened the door and hopped in. Sands felt for the second door, found the handle and tumbled in just as the engine started. He heard the approach of many feet, followed by bullets chinking into the car. He went to pull the door shut just as the driver slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The door swung closed viciously. Hitting Sands square in the face. He fell back onto the seat clutching his nose.

"Fuck!" he swore loudly, letting him know how he felt. "Where'd you learn to fucking drive? Amish paradise?" he snapped.

"Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out" the driver snapped back as acidly, then turned a sharp left causing Sands to slide. He sat up, then immediately ducked when a bullet plowed into the back windscreen showering glass all over him.

"Fuck!" he swore again, but this time it was directed at his attacker. He rested his gun on top of the seat and fired a stream of random shots back.

A bullet answered, only one. But just by hearing that one, Sands knew it was going to hit something vital. And it did. The car swerved dangerously and the driver swore harshly and in panic as the vehicle smashed into another one in front. Sands was hurtled forwards, his nose smashing into the back of the front passenger seat. Then he felt consciousness flitter away with the sound of a dying engine and he remembered no more...

----------------------------


	2. Feverous

..........Sands..........

His fevered dreams caused him to wake and pass out randomly. Sometimes he didn't know if he was dreaming or conscious, and sometimes he didn't care. He couldn't see; every time he awoke he realized it with more and more panic. Sometimes there was someone beside him, but instead of going for his gun he lay quiet and just breathed.  
Once there was a cool cloth on his forehead, and once there was a hand resting on his shoulder. He was sure that someone was asleep on his covers too, and then he awoke with a gun pressed to his head.  
It was trembling violently and he had gasped out a plea in his sickened state. Then lapsed back into darkness darker than the type he saw all day.

When he started sleeping longer and waking for longer too he was given water. But whenever he tried to ask who was helping him, the words wouldn't form and he forgot as he rested. Whoever it was never spoke, but they had gentle, uncertain hands.

And when he was finally well enough to sit; he was alone.

* * *

He woke up suddenly. And everything was clearer. He could hear and feel and, after drinking more, he could speak. He sat there, waiting for his pounding head to stop spinning and then he had called out. Something about the way his voice echoed told him the house, or wherever the hell he was, was empty. He was alone. He had stumbled out of bed and towards one of the walls. After feeling down the hall and around the place, he finally found the bathroom and relieved three days worth of water. Then he stumbled around some more until he found the couch. He had rested for only a minute then slept again. His mind rebelled at the thought of having no gun but he ignored it and was seduced by sleeps irresistible call. He woke up when the door clicked open quietly. His hand dove for a gun, but found only a cushion.

Instead he froze, his arm still draped over his face. Hoping that whoever it was would think him asleep and come close enough for him to snap their neck. But it was a bustle of skirts and plastic bags that he heard instead of the harsh click of a gun. The person crept in, then turned into the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. He remained still. The woman approached him. He could smell her cheap perfume. "Signor?" she questioned softly. Sands did not reply.

"Signor?" she tried again. Then sighed and moved away. The kettle boiled and she made coffee he could smell it everywhere. She brought it over to him, placed it on the table beside the couch and moved closer to him. "Signor?" she whispered too close to his ear. "Wake up signor I have made you coffee and you must walk to healâ€, Sands considered smashing her nose in but decided instead to wake up good naturedly and slowly. Make her think he was a nice guy. At least until he had a gun.

He groaned and yawned and sat up. He had a cloth over his eyes, but she did not seem perturbed by this.

"Hello" he said in what he hoped was a warm voice. "Do I smell coffee?" he detested coffee. He thought it was vile.

"Si signor" she replied sweetly. "I made you coffee. I am Lana, your housemaid and carer until you are better".

"Really Lana" He said flatly.

"Si signor. I was paid to look after you and make sure you are well. Would you like something to eat?" she asked. Changing topic from her employment. Sands wanted to know about her employer. But he didn't question the matter.

"I make you a sandwich?" she called chirpily from the kitchen.

"That'd be great" Sands lied. "You know Lana I think I will go get changed, I will be right back" he said and made his way back to his room.

Once the door was closed, he dressed in his old clothes. He had found them on the chair beside his bed; his guns were hanging off the backing. He put on everything but his boots and holsters. Then he put a gun in the waistband of his jeans and strolled back to the lounge room. His side ached and his foot clenched in knots but he forced a smile and seated himself on the couch again.

Lana came in and put a tray down in front of him.

"Thanks Lana" he smiled.

The lady beamed back at him, he could tell by the way she said "it was my pleasure signor".

"Say Lana, could you tell me what town this is?" Sands said, getting right to the point.

"This is Puerto Miyo Signor".

Sands mind jumped to the detailed map of Mexico and all of its cities and dusty little towns that was imprinted in his mind. Puerto Miyo was only one hundred kilometers out of Culiacan. It was closer to Chihuahua... he forced a smile for Lanas' sake and mapped out an escape route.


	3. Back in the game

His time with Lana was uneventful. The woman chatted, but never spoke of her employer or anything more consequential than what was for lunch or the weather.

Sands for his part was civil. He never stopped her, although his headache was only made worse by her incessant babbling.

She cooked for him and helped him to clean and dress his wounds. The injuries he had received from the crash were not bad. A few cuts bruises and strains. Enough to immobilize him for three days. But one had become infected. Evidently he had not been treated straight afterwards, so he had caught a fever. Once that had broken he was fine.

However, he endured Lanas' company because he desperately wanted to find who had helped him; she had not been the one that had tended him during the worst. It was dangerous but curiosity gnawed at him. The balance was disrupted by this person. It was like El Mariachi the second. Taking on the drug cartel... It mustn't be allowed, it screwed everything up. He had to find him and get rid of him. He knew too much about the CIA agent. And that was knowledge he didn't want anyone knowing.

Finally, he snapped. He could no longer bear the womans' babbling.

They were in the lounge room. Lana had just made sandwiches, and placed them on the short table in front of the couch. Sands was on the couch when he made his move. He took the loaded gun out of his jeans just as she brushed past him in her way back to the kitchen. As she went, he stood and grabbed her around her neck with one arm, and brought his gun to her head with the other. She squealed in fear and tried to writhe away. Sands hit her with the butt of his pistol. She stopped her futile struggling and went still. Sands then spoke to her.

"Who is your employer Lana, who hired you?" he asked silkily in her ear. She shook and tried to struggle away again. Sands pulled her tightly against him. Choking her further.

"Just tell me Lana and this will all be over" he said threateningly.

"No Signor, please signor. No name no name Signor, please" Lana babbled. Sands grimaced.

"Then tell me what he looked like Lana" he said trying to sound like her long lost friend.

Lana trembled, her loyalty very strong to this person. "Tell me Lana" he said, digging the gun against her temple harder.

Lana let out a sob, shuddered violently then folded.

"She was little Signor" she sobbed dryly. Sands kept the gun there.

"How little?" he snapped.

"Small, but angry. She said she needed me to look after a friend, she said she couldn't because she had business to take care of. I was scared of her, she had a gun" Lana blurted, talking so fast to please Sands, that he had a hard time keeping up due to her accent.

What the hell was she talking about? A small female with a gun?

"What else Lana" he said, applying even more pressure to the woman's head.

"She had Americano money, and she was wearing black Signor, like you" Sands frowned even harder.

"What was she wearing?" he snapped.

"Pants, and a shirt and a belt signor. The belt had many things in it. But she hid it under her large shirt. She hid it signor, she hid it".

"I don't know any fucking gun slinging girl. Who brought me here?" he growled in frustration. This was not helping.

"The lady at the front counter, she said signorina did signor. Signorina"

"She was a fucking kid?" he questioned acidly.

"Si signor, si. 19 signor, or maybe older", Sands mind was in confusion. This didn't help. Who was it? He decided asking what she looked like didn't help. She certainly wasn't from his past.

"What did she _sound_ like Lanaâ€ he asked, sounding relaxed and friendly again.

Lana squealed at his tone, "Rough signor, very rough. She was wearing scarf signor, but I think there was something wrong with her throat. Sounded rough Signor, rough" Lana babbled. Then Sands knew. It had not been a man fighting the cartel but a raspy voiced woman. He wanted to laugh; how differently he would have acted if he knew it was female, and weak.

"Thanks for lunch Lana" he whispered, took a small step back and shot her. His bullet must've got her throat, but she screamed as she fell, and continued writhing and screaming until he put another bullet in her skull to quell the god-awful noise.

Her voice shrank to the ghostly whisper of her previous one as she died. Despite the slight shift the guns impact had had on Sands' hand, his position had not changed.

"Sorry Lana" he said in a bored drawl and stood there a few moments more, feeling almost as if her life was leaking from her and into him. Making him feel stronger and more alive. It sounded like something out of a bad movie. But Lanas' death had restored his independence. He needed no one, he was back in the game, back into life.

Sheldon Jeffery Sands stood alone; he needed no one and was untouchable.

Then coming to himself, he turned abruptly and went back into his room. He took the last of his possessions, some money from Lanas' purse and walked out the front door, seizing a ham and lettuce sandwich on the way. He ate it on his way down the stairs. He had closed but not locked the apartment's door.

Leaving the key with the front desk, he strode out the door and into dusty Mexico. Turned a sharp right, went straight down the dusty Mexican street, full of dusty Mexican people and caught the dusty Mexican bus that pulled up right in front of him when he reached the next street. Its pistons hissed as the door opened and Sands stepped up and onto his rickety escape. He paid the driver and took a seat; oblivious to where he was going. But knowing it was away from here; and for now that would have to do...


	4. Barhopping

---------------------------------------------

Sands supposed the first step to finding the short, young, croaky voiced female was to learn what her beef with the cartel was in the first place. From there he would decide if she would be a repeat offender, then start following the trail of destruction she would create. This meant Sands would have to go bar digging. The best way to get information was to go to a local bar and listen, men in bars loved to gossip, and the hottest gossip place would have to be the town she shot up. They'd talk about it for months afterwards, of course, the longer you left it the more fantastical it became until it was as distorted as the Mariachi story.

So Sands ended up outside a bar in Culiacan. According to the people he had asked, this fine establishment was called the Scarlet Hog. Sands had not been in the least bit surprised by the name, he had heard worse in his time.

It was twilight when he found himself standing at its doors. This one was run by an American, and was one of the busiest in the city. Already he heard raucous yells and laughter. Taking a deep breath, Sands pushed open the doors and strode in. The place was more than half full, but Sands found a table. In the back corner. He settled himself in for what was shaping up to be a long night. After ordering a beer Sands cast his hearing around the room. People talked, some about wives and other female associates, others about their jobs, or the actions of friends that weren't present at this particular time, but more than two conversations were about the shoot up in the square that happened three weeks ago. It had started after the 'bad girl' had come running out of a cartel controlled building. No one had seen her go in, but she flew out of there like a bat out of hell and took shelter behind a pottery plant, that was diagonal across the square. The cartel had shot the thing up but by the time it was reduced to dust she had moved to another part of the battleground. In one of the stories he even played a part. As the idiot who walked across just as the shooting started. It seemed he was being painted as the girls bumbling partner. Sands had clenched his fist at this but remained still.

After killing at least eight she had somehow blown the building to smithereens. And in the confusion made a run for it, Sands had followed. Then she had jumped into a sports car and zoomed away. Sands could've rolled his eyes at that. She had not been in a sports car and eight had to be an exaggeration. But he tuned into another part of the bar as someone started the same story up.

Sands did learn something more out of this version; it seemed that this shootout had occurred in the exact same square he had had his first blind gunfight in. Other than that it was the same. His beer arrived just as someone closer to him started to tell the same story. This one claimed that the get away car had crashed. Sands listened.

The girl had got out, threatened a driver with her gun and got a new car. Then she had slammed it into reverse and run over even more cartel, before pulling up to her totaled car and dragging the 'black man' into the new backseat and zooming off. Sands listened to this in surprise. Why go to the trouble of helping him, as far as she knew the cartel knew nothing about him. Or did she know more? After listening for a few more hours, Sands left. He had drunk one beer, and was pissed at the whole situation. On the plus side he now knew a bit more. Such as, she had done this before; in other Mexican towns, and that she was an American. One old man had insisted that she was a famous singer who had disappeared after delving too deeply with the drug cartel but everyone had called him an old pervert and he had shut up.

Sands went to the apartment block he currently resided in and slept. He dreamed. In his dream he still had his eyes, and he could see nothing but himself. He saw himself shoot numerous people, he saw past lovers, bits of his childhood and CIA training. But here, in his dream, he could feel all the pain he had inflicted and all the pain he had numbed himself to. He screamed at his uncle, who towered over him with the cane, he cried at the sight of the death he had caused and tried to hide from the accusation in the eyes of the deceased, but he couldn't; they bored right through his soul. In a panic Sands tried to cover his eyes with his hands. There was a bolt of excruciating pain and he took his hands away to see that they now held his eyes, then the world was plunged into darkness and he bolted upright in his bed. Breathing harshly.

After that he sat at the table thinking. Somewhere in the early morning, around four, a thought presented itself. He had been reminiscing about his old CIA days. The training, the tests, the people, when suddenly he wondered how his disappearance had been taken; were they still looking for him? He knew they wouldn't give up easily; he had done the whole 'missing in action' thing before, and gotten very rich from it too. Plus he had worked out a fool proof alibi and got a few agents fired. They had learned the hard way that Agent Sands was not to be left to his own devices.

Sands thought on this, and realized that the reason they had not found him was that he was laying low. He pondered this for a second. So what did this mean? Was he hiding like a rat? Did he care? The answer to both of those was of course yes. The fuck would he hide from his own people. Fuck them if they thought they could intimidate him. Fuck them.

He stood and paced. Somehow he had decided he was finished with the CIA. They had left him to rot, and he had a kind of life down here now. He thought maybe one day he'd pay them a visit if he felt like shaking up the bees hive. But until then he didn't want them knowing about his little mishap. He could just picture his leading officers' face. The smug arrogant asshole would grin. Knowing that Sands couldn't see him, then he would cough and tell him they would put him in a place best suited for his 'special' needs. The scorn and disdain he'd pour onto those words would send Sands bonkers and then they'd put him in a mental institute. Again.

Sands frowned. He didn't want them knowing about him just yet, he had his own troubles, and he didn't need CIA agents on his ass. So that meant walking around aware that there could be a sniper trained on his head. That wasn't much of a change, he did that anyway. And just as he thought that, he let the idea of the CIA go. There was nothing he could do about it, other than play dumb and stay out of the spotlight for a while.

The sun had risen, today Sands would find out where his doomed rescuer was currently residing. And tomorrow? Tomorrow he would make her pay.

* * *

The next morning Sands packed his few belongings. He was fairly sure that she wasn't in this town. She hadn't been since the last gunfight. So now he'd have to go in a direction and hope it was the right one. He left his things at the apartment. He figured he could grab something to eat, listen in to the early drunkards then leave; with or without the desired information.

He was three blocks away from his current residing place, just on the sidewalk to a semi busy street, with vendors of all kinds, when a shout rang out.

"Sands! Stop you're under arrest by the..." the man never finished. Sands spun and fired and he dropped. The mans' partner drew his gun but Sands threw himself around the corner and listened as the second one approached. His enemy moved quickly and cautiously, when he neared the corner he slowed. Sands was right against it, he listened as the man flattened himself against the stone and leant forwards. Sands put his gun right against the corner, the man made the mistake of peeking. Sands fired, the former CIA agent was dead, and most likely no longer recognizable.

As the adrenaline faded Sands heard the mans voice in his head again. It was familiar... yes. Samuel Fronz. The man with balls for brains. He remembered Sammy alright. The man basically lived in the gym, tried to give him a rough time once. But he had discouraged that quite well. Men like Sammy learned a lesson best when it was hard. He hoped that this one would be remembered in the next life, or he'd have hell to pay. He clicked his tongue in frustration. This was an annoyance. When they failed to report in there'd be agents sent down here.

He couldn't afford to get taken in yet, he had unfinished business. Now what? He'd have to leave. Without sight it would be harder to learn if any agents were snooping around. He'd have to learn where she had gone and fast, hopefully it was far away from here. He gave the body with a hole where its face used to be a swift vicious kick.

This just wasn't his day.

He made it three blocks before he realized that he was being followed again. The footsteps behind him keeping pace, when he stopped they stopped. He judged around five meters distance; the idiot was wearing steel capped boots. Sands snorted in frustration. Then he turned off the sidewalk into some random's kitchen. The reason being it smelt nice. The man did not follow, instead four sets of shoes could be heard congregating outside. Sands made for the back, a woman came through the door from the lounge. She gave a cry. "Excuse me M'am, is there a back door out of this place" he asked smiling charmingly. She made a gesture, probably a nod.

"Si" she said when he cocked his head questioningly.

"Okay", he said, "that's a start, can you show me the way out please" it was not a request.

"Si" again as she moved away. He followed, somewhere upstairs a child cried out. He stepped outside on the other side and soon was on the sidewalk again. Behind him he heard a shrill cry and then there was an explosion. He felt the shockwave from the other side of the street. Some car alarms went off and people started screaming in panic. Sands strolled through the mayhem, on his way back the crap hole he called an apartment, there was no time for food. His welcome had worn out, if there were this many cartel here, evidently his prey was not. Next stop: Guana.


	5. First impressions

The people in Guana were on edge, Sands liked the vibes he was getting. It seemed there had been many shootouts of late; cartel winding up dead, people actually locked themselves in their houses at night. The old men at the bars blamed it on new comers, mainly Americano's. They seemed particularly intolerant of the Americans indeed. He was sure that she was still here somewhere. From the bits of information he had gleaned, he figured she wasn't one to leave without a bang. By slipping into unsavory places he managed to learn of a cartel run facility a short distance out into the desert, 50 kilometers to be exact. It seemed to him like a drug processing plant.

It was perfect. Now he just had to plan when she would attack. He had to get her there when he wanted. This meant spreading a false rumor. Some drastic event too good to pass up, and soon. Within the next day or two. That way she would have to act within a limited time zone. Increasing the chance of Sands meeting up with her.

Why not a big boss visiting...

* * *

On Thursday two days later Sands got up. He drank a morning tequila, then went outside. After walking two streets he stepped onto the road, causing an unfortunate driver to brake hard. The man yelled out that he was crazy. Sands grinned and went over to the passenger window.

"Hello friend" he smiled in on the man. The idiot just looked at him. "You wouldn't happen to be going in a south westerly direction would you" he asked comfortably.

"No, I am not you crazy..." the man stopped when he saw the gun pointed at him.

"Good, but now you are, so drive" he said getting in beside the man.

There was silence then the man fumbled for his keys and started the car again. Moving off in the right direction. Sands for his part sat there in boredom, the gun trained on the man at all times. Halfway through the ride however the man started speaking to him.

"You are the Americano that has been killing the cartel". He accused Sands. The ex-Agent gave a lopsided grin.

"No, I am about to go meet that man right now" he said, with a tight rein on his temper.

"You are crazy. That Americano is huge, and deadly. He don't even let you speak before blowing your head off" the man babbled in warning. Sands grinned again. A vicious grin.

"We'll see".  
.................................................................................................

After a stretch of silence the man next to him said quietly "We're here" and slowed the car.

"Thank you captain Obvious" he drawled and got out of the car. Once there was a door between the two men, Sands aimed his gun then said, "Drive away and do not talk to any mother-fucking cartel about my presence, or I will hunt you down and blow your balls off" then smiling genially, "have a nice day".

The car sped off, a cloud of dust left behind it. Sands turned and walked five steps in the direction the driver had been looking when he had said that they had arrived. Almost immediately he found himself cast in shadow and grinned. He was going to walk right in the front entrance. From a floor above he heard shots and some yelling.

He nearly tripped on the body of a cartel in the doorway. The place reeked of blood and death. After scouring the first floor and realizing there were only corpses, he advanced to the second floor. There were three bodies on the steps. The second floor was mostly controlled rooms for processing the stuff that was grown and imported from downstairs. There was still another floor after this one, where all the big bosses were.

"Well, what have we here?" drawled an American voice from the room around the corner. Sands stopped and pressed himself against the wall listening. "Looks like you can't dodge bullets like they say after all" the man scoffed. There was the sound of frantic scrambling and then what sounded like a gun being reloaded, before a grunt and the gun went clattering to the floor. Two men were laughing. Sands frowned. Sounded like his prey was about to be killed before he got his shot. Then smiling in mischief he took his spare gun, placed it at his feet and kicked it into the open doorway. It skidded across the floor. "What the?" the man before said as Sands stepped out from around the corner and fired. At the same time another shot rang out and two bodies hit the ground.

Sands stepped into the room, there was a click and a gun was in his face. Then it was clicked off and he felt it being lowered.

"Why the fuck are you here?" she asked and Sands recognized the croaky voice. It seemed he had found his prey.

"Seeing the sights" he smiled crookedly. His finger tightening in the trigger of his gun, which was by his side. She made a snort sound then Sands spun his gun up, but a shot rang out before he could fire and the cartel behind him fell. He smiled. This was fun actually.

"Okay fine. Just stay out of my way would you" she said and brushed past him. Sands fingered his gun. He had come here planning to shoot her, but he decided she was of more use killing cartel, besides he was intrigued. He followed her down the hall. She got to a door, and shot the lock, walking through. Sands followed quietly, and leant against the doorframe. He heard a man say "you!" in a panicky voice, then a shot and she came back out into the hallway.

"Okay, I'm leaving. I suggest you do the same. This place has just under nine minutes before it goes sky high".

Sands said nothing.

He walked beside her as she moved down the second floor hall. He followed her down the stairs, and then he started wondering just what he was doing. The answer came when a babbling man screamed in rage and threw himself on him. Sands struggled then punched the man, who fell off him to the side a bit before grabbing his shirt collar and going to slam the former CIA agents head into the lanolin floor. A single shot was fired and the body slumped and then fell next to Sands. "Oh. I'm Rana by the way" she said chirpily.

He stood.

The girl just continued ahead. Sands smiled, this was exhilaration at its peak. A girl that was basically on his side. Interesting, she seemed real enough to, not like a certain other girl who he thought was on his side and hadn't been. Yes, legitimate fun on two legs. He hurried to catch up to her, they were nearing the exit, he could feel the hot desert wind coming in his direction. Then something beeped ahead of him. There was silence as she stilled to look at her watch. Then a very audible "Shit!" and Rana started running. Sands was rather quick on the uptake and pelted after her. Neither stopped nor slowed as they ran into the full blast of midday Mexico.

Then there was a shout from up ahead as a man in a truck caught sight of them, and she swerved off the gravel road and onto the desert sand, which slowed her running but would be able to stop the cartel coming after her.

Then the building exploded.

They were still far to close for comfort and were hurtled forwards and then bombarded with rubble. A sizeable chunk of cement got him in the shoulder, not to mention his leg had landed on a cactus when he landed after being thrown what felt like ten meters. He groaned and rolled onto his feet. Rana regained her feet more slowly, and pattered away on the sand. Sands followed as the sound of yelling started up from the cartel that had just arrived in the truckloads.

Both of them staggered away. She was hurt more than he, he could tell. She was hardly breathing and he was clutching his shoulder and slightly limping. They were walking into the desert. The sand was hard to walk on and the sun was merciless.

"So what you got against the cartel?" she asked after a while. Her breathing was labored and she had to take three breaths to get that sentence out.

"Let's say we don't see eye to eye" he replied dryly.

"What about you?" he asked curiously.

"I get bored" she said flatly and Sands almost laughed. It seems she didn't want to talk about it.

They stumbled on.

"I didn't need your help you know" she said suddenly. Sands cocked his head.

"Funny, you weren't in the best of shape when I got there" he replied. Purely because he wanted to be annoying.

"I was fine" she said defensively.

"Whatever kid", he answered dismissively.

"I'm not a kid" she snapped.

"Yes, you are" he said patiently.

"I am not!" she all but shouted at him.

"Then stop acting like one" he chirped, knowing she had fallen into his taunt.

She let out a kind of feral growl and was on him in a second. The gun was knocked out of his hand, and she had both hands wrapped in his shirt. "I am not" she hissed. Sands rolled, pressing her into the scorching hot desert sand. His hands where against her neck as well. He smiled down at her sleazily and she rolled reversing the positions again. She lifted his head and then slammed it back into the sand. Sands hands dove for her holsters and snagged a gun, as he brought it up to her head she threw herself sideward off of him, and kicked the gun out of his hand. He sat up, but she remained lying on the ground. She was breathing hard. Sands figured she had a chest injury, which was restricting her breathing. She evidently hadn't thought her actions through.  
Sands groped around and found his gun then sauntered over to her. He squatted next to her, then he placed it against her head. "Which way is out?" he asked.

"Fuck you" she rasped. Sands shot the ground next to her head.

"I repeat: which way is out?"

"Once again, fuck you" she choked. Then there was a coughing fit.

Out of nowhere her hand flashed up and smacked the gun out of his hand. Then she rolled away. Sands dove for his gun, and she threw herself forwards on her stomach to clasp hers. They both spun and both found a gun to their heads. Sands grinned and so did she. He could feel it.

"Well, this is productive" she drawled.

"Isn't it?" Sands smirked. She sighed. Then re-sheathed her gun. She groaned as she got to her feet and began to walk off. Sands grimaced. Did she think he would not shoot her? He cocked the gun and fired. He was met with a dry click. He fired five more times. Great, he was out of ammo. He stalked after her.

They made it to a road without speaking to each other. A car pulled over and she turned to go. She was at the door when she turned.

"Here's how it goes Sands. You come near me again and I'll shoot you. If I ever see you again I will shoot you and if you follow me, so help me god, I'll shoot you". And with that she got in the car and was gone in a cloud of dust. Sands stood there for a few seconds and then flipped her off.


	6. Bad day

....................six months later.....................

Sands panted under the merciless sun.

Where was that gum boy when you needed him?

He had blood flowing down his leg and sweat coming from every pore in his body. So; maybe he hadn't thought through his actions enough. Not only had he started a brawl and shot around three cartels, but then he had sat there, choosing to finish his tequila in a show of dominance and arrogance.

Of course around six more had burst in the door and he had been forced to eat the floor as they shot the place up. He took out two, then in the confusion ran for the door. But he had unfortunately copped some lead to his leg. Why always the leg?

He grit his teeth, they'd catch him up sooner or later. He needed to hide out somewhere...

............Sands............

He stumbled into the hotel room. Blood flowing freely from his leg. He couldn't go to a hospital... the cartel would be waiting for him. So he had come here, because there had been a radio playing in this room. He had heard it from the street.

It was not just any radio station. It was an American one. Which meant the person here spoke English. There weren't many who did and he was willing to bet that this was the hotel room of Rana.

He didn't know what she would do. She had said six months ago that if he came near her again, she would shoot him. But outside was dangerous for a blind criminal. And so far she was the only person he had met who didn't pity him, nor did she try to kill him on sight. This meant she was the only person he would attempt using.

He tripped over a lump in the carpet. Making his presence noted. He gave a scowl. She had done that on purpose...

Then his toes hit a pair of shoes and he went down. Flat on his face.

He rolled onto his back. Now to add to his condition, he had a blood nose. He felt around him for his gun. He had lost on his way down. Instead he found some kind of hat. He pulled off one glove, using his teeth. Then he felt over his find. It was a cap. There was embroidery on the front. He traced his hand over the words. _NO FEAR._ He gave a lopsided smile as a husky voice told him to drop it.

"Why would I do that?" he asked casually.

"Because I don't want blood on my cap" she replied in her strained voice.

Sands forced a ridiculous smile and crushed the cap to his chest. She sighed irritably.

"What do you want?"

"I was in the neighborhood and decided to just drop in for a chat..."

His answer was the click of a pistol being readied for fire.

Then she said something that threw him off. "You're bleeding all over the rug" she said in annoyance.

"So sorry for the inconvenience. Excuse me while I die on your rug. I'll only be five minutes" he replied dryly, his smile fading. The thing was he was not sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Fine! It wasn't that great a rug anyway" she muttered and went back into the room she had just come out of. Sands waited, then heard the faint tap of keys being pressed. He couldn't believe it! She was typing! While he lay bleeding all over her living room floor?

He had thought she was one of those, talk tough and help the hurt person type of people. But apparently not. She was who she came across as. He frowned, he had read her wrong and now he was going to die. He cursed softly as he felt his consciousness slipping. At least he died inside, and not on some torture table of the cartels...

.................Rana................

She looked out into the living room. He had lost consciousness. Good. Pain in the ass he was. She continued to type, then looked up at him again. She let out an explosive, highly frustrated sigh.

............Sands............

Sands was lying in a bed. The mattress was firm but soft. He was wearing a big shirt. That ran down to his knees. And his leg was bandaged. He ran his fingers gently over it. It throbbed only dully. This meant drugs. He gritted his teeth. He disliked how weak he had been. To have been drugged so easily. He decided he'd have to shoot her for this. Of course he had wanted help, but he had wanted to be awake to tell her what to do and show her that he had control. Instead she had waited until he passed out before moving to help him.

He growled, which hurt because his throat was dry. He felt around for his gun, but could not find it in his general vicinity. Had she disarmed him? He wanted to howl in anger. She had taken his clothes and guns, but it seemed that she had left his glasses next to his bed. At the moment he had a scarf tied around his eyes. It was prickly and rough on the sensitive skin around his sockets.

He could feel a soft light on his arm. Which meant morning. Cautiously he stretched out his arm and felt around. The edge of his bed, a table with nothing but his sunglasses and his arm brushed something hanging from his bed post. It was his holsters. Guns still in them. He grinned as he hefted them. She had left his guns, which meant she trusted him. This meant advantage on his behalf. He stepped out of bed, wincing slightly as he once again placed pressure on his thigh.

He took a step forwards and found a chair. And on the chair he found clothes. They had been washed, he could smell the soap powder. But they were his. He felt the badly mended hole in his pant leg... he had done it himself on a bus ride out of Culiacan. He felt slightly better. He continued familiarizing himself with his room. There was no noise in the apartment to suggest anyone else was home.

Then he found a door adjoined to his. It led to a bathroom. That was cramped, tiled and had hot water. He felt around, felt a towel, the shower, the lock on the door and decided to wash. So he put his clothes on the sink stand. Placed his glasses on top. Put the towel next to the shower. Turned it on, stripped and stepped in. The water was very hot, he turned the cold on a little bit. It was at the right temp. How he wished he could just stand facing up into the spray of water pouring onto him. But his eyes were still too sensitive for that. So he hunched his shoulders and felt the old tension flit away. He reached around for the soap and found something hanging off the taps. On closer inspection he realized they were goggles. He held them for a second, then hurled them at the wall opposite him. They rebounded slightly and landed at his feet. He stood there a second longer before stooping and retrieving them. He put them on in one quick angry motion and turned to the water. The goggles did protect his eyes (or lack thereof) and he felt the long missed sensation of water streaming down his face. His anger washed away with the water and finally he turned the shower off.

He dressed, but left his holster. (He did tuck a gun in his jeans). Then began exploring the short hallway outside.

He felt his way to the right, found the end of the wall and heard many things at the same time. Someone light was shuffling around, some appliances were on and he could hear his room mate drumming a tune on a table of sorts whenever she drew close. He moved towards the table, but his foot caught the same kink in the rug that had almost tripped him last time.

Sands stumbled to the kitchen counter. From what he could feel it was a long, bar like table that connected to the wall. Sitting down on a stool with no back, he listened as Rana moved around the kitchen. Her steps were irregular and tapped a beat as they moved. He realized she was dancing around the place. He scowled. As she moved past him he heard the muffled sound of music and guessed she was listening to a cd or the like with a portable player.

He let his head slump onto the table.

He jerked it up though as a plate was placed next to him.

"Breakfast?" she asked cheerily.

He regarded her from behind his sunglasses. "You're giving me breakfast?" he asked suspiciously.

"Si" she replied and he heard a smile in her voice.

He shook his head and found a fork in his hand. So he ate it, he was hungry and it had been hard to eat anything without cartel fuckers bursting in just as he had started to enjoy his meal.

It wasn't so bad, in fact he hardly tasted it as he swallowed without chewing. His body was weakened and he needed sustenance. He heard her waltz off as the kettle boiled.

"Coffee or tea?" she asked him over the whistling of the hot kettle and the music only she could hear.

"Tequila" he replied between mouth fulls.

She snorted and went over to the fridge. Sands ignored this and continued eating; listening hard to the music she was moving to.

_Well, look behind the eyes_

_It's a hallowed, hollow anesthetized_

_"Save my own ass, screw these guys"_

_Smoke and mirror lock down_

He lost it for a second and then she moved the earphones off her ears so that she could hear him, letting the music out and clearer.

_...We blamed it on the other guy_

_Sure, all men are created equal._

_Here's the church, here's the steeple_

_Ashes, ashes, we all fall down._

"What flavor?" she asked.

"Lime" he replied and was then able to hear the music again.

_Count your blessings._

_We're sick of being jerked around_

_We all fall down....._

Then the fridge door closed and he heard a bottle being placed next to him. There was a fshh sound as a can was opened.

Then silence from his dancing companion. Followed by a gasp for air. It sounded slightly painful and Sands realized she had just been drinking some sort of cool drink. He could almost see the look of pain from it burning her throat. Her eyes would be watering... he let out a short, humorless laugh. Funny, how he always thought of eyes now.

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"You shouldn't be drinking cool drink in the morning" he said in a lecturing voice.

"Who are you? My mother" she asked wryly.

"It's bad for you" he said sternly.

She let out a bark of laughter as mirthless as his own had been. "This coming from the man who got involved with the drug cartel and had his eyes ripped out!" Sands let out a snarl as he stood so quickly that his stool tipped over and clattered to the floor.

"Don't chip the tiles" she said calmly.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Never mention that again" he said icily.

She made a non committable noise that sounded like contempt.

"I'll talk about whatever I want" she shot back challengingly. Sands almost shook with rage.

"Fine" he snapped and stalked back to the room he had slept in last night.

* * *

He ended up asleep atop the covers. 


	7. The Lone Ranger

* * *

It was afternoon, he could tell by the intensity of the suns glow on his face. He was dozing slightly. Once again hungry. The door slammed to the main room and he heard footsteps. His hand went for his gun, but he relaxed when he heard bags being placed on the counter. It seemed his room mate had been shopping.

He frowned, thinking about her. She seemed like a paradox. Sometimes she let him have power and other times she made it clear that she was in control. And she seemed uncertain as to why she helped him. This did not help the CIA officer in his reading of her character.

He walked confidently into the hall. Aware of the gun in his belt.

He heard a sharp movement as she spun, a gun cocked. Then she saw it was him and put it away before he could say anything.

"So, you're still here" she said it like a statement.

He did not answer. He nearly tripped over the stool, which she still hadn't righted. He said nothing, just stood it up and sat down on the stool again.

She continued unpacking whatever it was she had bought. He waited. But once she was finished she went into the living room and switched on the TV.

"What's for lunch?" he asked finally. Annoyed at having to ask for something.

"Oh, whatever is in the fridge. I think there is some microwave dinners in there. Help yourself, third shelf on the right" and he heard her turn back to the TV. He frowned. What was this? He stood and felt his way around the counter to the fridge. He felt for the handle, opened it and found that there was a packet of sorts where she had said. So he took it out and after more feeling about, he found the microwave. But he could not see the buttons. Unfortunately his pride would not allow him to ask her. He felt almost like throwing the food against the wall, but decided against it.

He was able to find the 'open' button and put his food in. Then he felt over the other buttons, trying desperately to distinguish between them or remember where they were from his own personal microwave incidences. Finally he pressed the second button on the left, followed by two more buttons on the right and the start button. It started up and Sands went rummaging through the drawers looking for a fork. In the first draw he found cloth of some kind, in the second all the cutlery. Knives, spoons and forks. As he clasped his chosen fork the microwave beeped. He ejected the nuked food and sat on his stool. He removed the lid with a wince, because it was hot and the steam smelt. But he did eat his creation, which turned out to be beef and hard rice.

.................Rana..............

She watched him from the lounge room. It was actually quite interesting how he got over the lack of help so fast. She would have pulled a gun on someone by now. But he persevered. And he succeeded too. She grinned as he began to eat, and then turned back to the TV. She had rented a video, the 'Lone Ranger'. She did like westerns.

...............Sands...............

The rice tasted like shit. But to him it tasted wonderful. He was feasting on his success. And to Sheldon Jeffery Sands, nothing could taste better.

The day passed uneventfully. After watching the 'Lone Ranger' Rana went into the back room and continued to type. Sands walked around the area, learning it off by heart. The only place he didn't learn was the back room, where he guessed all her stuff was. She seemed to have slept on the couch though, while he had the bed. It was around afternoon when she emerged. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, swinging back on his stool while he fiddled with his gun.

He heard her crack her neck and silently yawn.

"I'm going to get some food. Want anything?" she asked as she headed for the door, slipping on some scuffs and grabbing her car keys off the hook that was connected to the wall.

"Pork" he grunted.

She chirped an overly bright "okay" and left. Sands sat there for two minutes more, then went into the back room.

Upon opening the door he became aware of how full it was. There was a humming from a piece of machinery that was running. It may have been the computer or the bar fridge in the corner.

Sands walked carefully into the room, knowing his roommates habit of leaving things on the floor.

His foot contacted shoes, a pile of clothes, a chair and the wall. The clothes were of little interest. The desk on which the computer sat had a draw. And, being as he was a CIA agent he opened it. Not needing to console himself that this was okay to do. There was paper and pens and a gun. He took out the weapon; it was heavy, and it was a revolver. A .45 colt long barrel to be exact. Although Sands was not one for guns, the only thing about a gun that he was interested in was if it was loaded or not.

After feeling over the gun, and the bullets that she kept in the draw (something he found incredibly stupid, he could easily have killed her so many times since coming here), he moved to the fridge. It was on, and full of soft drink. He frowned at this and moved over to the other corner of the room, where there was a desk. On it was parts, gun parts. And other tools for the use of building guns, he supposed. There was a half finished cool drink can, hot and flat, as well as a radio. The same radio that had led him here two days ago. Was it two days ago? He didn't know how long he had slept... but things like time didn't matter much to him anymore.

On top of the computer sat a portable disk player, the one she had been using this morning. And there was a pile of cd's. He tapped them four times and decided to listen to one.

* * *

She got back thirty minutes later, with precooked food. Sands ate the greasy stuff, as did she. She also had another video. So after she finished eating she went to the lounge room. Sands joined her on the couch, and they sat in silence.

It was shaping up to be a pretty peaceful night, but all pretense of that flew out the window when the door blew open and no less than fifteen men, armed to the teeth, burst in. The sound of the door slamming against the wall was met with Rana throwing all her weight backwards and tipping the couch. Sands had thrown himself to the ground, and forwards, and he was joined by Rana as she scrambled back over the couch seeking cover. Bullets tore at the place. The TV exploded, and Rana let out a string of curses.

"That was a NEW TV!" she snarled, then crawled sideways, probably making a break for her computer/gun room. Sands still had a trusty gun in his jeans, and it was in his hand almost without him thinking. He listened to the soft thuds of footfalls of his enemies, and sprung up, getting off three successful shots before ducking for cover again. All was chaos from the enemy front. Sands was grinning for some unknown reason as they repeatedly missed him. He took down two more as they rushed the couch. Then Rana burst out of the side door, taking them by surprise as the sound of an M16 filled the room. Five more fell, the others must've hidden behind corners or the kitchen counter. There was some incoherent cursing as Rana ran forward. Sands almost shouted out that she was fucking crazy, she certainly sounded like it, and rushing the enemy hardly ever worked. There were four shots, one hers. Another cartel fell.

She was yelling a continuous stream of curses at the men, by the sounds of it; she was frothing at the mouth. Sands listened but the opposition seemed to have its hands full. He stood, placing his back against a wall, out of view of the hidey holes accommodating his foes. Or so he hoped. He was still... there. The rustle of cloth as someone stood. Sands aimed and fired... he missed; but he fired again anyway, and got the sucker with the second bullet. The mortally wounded man made a 'hurk' sound as he collapsed, sending a stream of bullets up the kitchen cupboards and the walls as he fell. Three more fell to Rana's riot and silence descended upon the room. All that could be heard was the panting of the survivors.

"Well. Just great; now I have to leave. Bastards" she growled in her throat as she went over the bodies. Sands listened to her rummages through pockets then stand and kick one of them in the ribs before going into her room and slamming the door. He went into his room and packed his minimal belongings. It fit into one small bag. He found himself waiting next to the door when she emerged.

She strode out angrily, pulling a backpack onto her back. "Let's go" she muttered. Then stopped. "Almost forgot" she said going back into her room. Then emerging with a few cans of soft drink. She opened one and started drinking as she walked out the totaled door. Sands raised an eyebrow. What about her computer?

"I had all the files backed up on a disk" she answered his unspoken question from the door. He hmphed and followed her out the room. He may as well get a lift from here. With her at least it was free.


	8. On the road again

They ended up in some random, shit-hole of a hotel. She paid the rent, and moved up the stairs. There was a short hall with branching rooms. Halfway down was a disheveled "room service" lady pushing a rusted trolley. By the looks of her, she was going to have to watch her stuff in this place.

Sands was walking slightly ahead of her, seemingly lost in thought. He made no reaction to the trolley coming straight for him, the lady steering it was not watching where she was going at all. When it was merely two meters away, Rana sped up, grabbed Sands by the crook of his arm and pushed him against the wall as the trolley squeaked past. He yanked his arm out of her hold scowling, then trailed her to their room. She had just opened the door when he pushed past her. She let him go, switched on the dingy light and closing the door, scanned over the room.

Sands

He moved forward confidently, slightly insulted by the way she had pulled him out of the trolleys path.

"Chair" she said in a bored voice from behind him, near the doorway.

"What?" he asked just as his knee slammed into a chair sending instant pain up his leg. "Fuck" he swore, then pulled his gun and aimed it straight at where her voice had come from.

"You think this is funny" he snarled. "Watch the blind man hit into things huh?" he got no reply. In fact he couldn't hear her at all.

"Answer me you bitch" he spat, his hand shaking from suppressed rage. Only silence answered him. "Fuck you!" he said and shot where he thought she was. His bullets hit the wall. He spun, sending bullets everywhere around the room, until he ran out.

Then he felt the gun in the back of his head. He froze, a snarl plastered on his face.

She said nothing. The gun remained and Sands slowly began to swallow his irrational anger. And then he realized the position he was in. "Fuck" he said for the sake of it.

"Better now?" she asked calmly. There was no mockery in her voice, there never had been and there never would be. He stomped away from her. Slamming the bathroom door behind him.

She went out and got some food. Sands ate it sullenly and she did nothing to try and change his mood. Then she took the rubbish out and came back. It was late and Sands listened as she prepared for bed. He stretched himself out on top of his own covers and was asleep before he knew it.

Sands

Sometime in the night Sands awoke. He was thinking about his twisted partnership with this girl. She didn't seem to think much of him. She leant a helping hand whenever she felt like it, other than that he was baggage that she had to lug everywhere she went. Whereas he saw her as vital to his plans.

But no, something was not right. He trusted her; he had come to accept that long ago. But she did not trust him. She did not fear him but she did not ask for his help, she did not allow him to learn her weaknesses, did not want him to know how she was hurt. Would rather die than place her trust in someone else. He felt his jaw tense. So what was this? She thought she could just become part of his life but he wasn't permitted to be part of hers?

He sat up, restless now. Throwing off his covers and moving swiftly to her bed. Somewhere in the back corner of the room. He found it, patted up it and found it empty. The sheets were neat, untouched. She had not slept here at all. He wanted to curse. Why hadn't he realized he couldn't hear her breathing?

He went out into the hall, heading for the downstairs bar. He'd had enough of her, he wanted some answers. Like her real name for starters. Her origin, her reasons for hunting cartel. He could guess what they had done to her, but why? What had her father done for a living, when did it happen, what had she done prior to it? Revenge for herself or her family. When did she leave the US and why.

Feeling his way down the stairs, into the murmuring of the bar room. Filled with drunks. Only a few were awake, most passed out on the table and those that were conscious could not talk any coherent language.

He felt along the bar, knowing she would be here. Sitting at the bar, probably in some strategic spot, where she was half facing the door and where she could hear every conversation clearly.

She was against the far wall, leaning half on the fake stone and the bar itself. He wondered if she ever slept. He sat next to her stiffly. "Can't sleep?" she inquired pleasantly.

Sands smiled in what he hoped was a plausible show of good will. There was no noise from her. He continued to stare at her through his sunnies. She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

He flashed a malicious glint. "Everything" he replied.

"Well I don't know if I can tell you everything, but I'll try" she said in a bored like manner.

Sands face remained blank.

"Maybe we should take this upstairs" he said, it was not a question.

"No I rather like it down here" she replied calmly. Sands mouth twitched downwards as he seized her arm and pulled her off her stool. Then he dragged her towards the stairs. Other than holding back she didn't put up much resistance.

"Put it on my tab" she told the bar man as she was pulled past him on her way to the stairs. Sands got her up the stairs and to the door of their room. Then he threw her inside and closed and locked the door behind him. She was being surprisingly docile about the whole affair. It sent his paranoia through the roof and set him on edge.

She was sitting on the chair in the corner next to the bed. Sands paced a bit, then turned to her.

"Name?" he snapped.

"Rana" she replied smartly, no small amount of amusement in her voice.

"You real name" he snapped again his ire growing. It was going to continue like this, he knew it.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked distributing an air of mock innocence.

Sands advanced on her, placed his arm on the chairs handles and leant right in close to her face. "I said, what is your name?" he was fairly growling now. He had only enough time to feel her tense slightly and then immeasurable pain shot through him as she cleanly kicked him in the groin. He stumbled back slightly, and she stood and padded away to some other part of the room. He gulped a few breaths, and was able to compose himself rather quickly. But it had been enough time for her to have gone silent again.

He swore. She had unarmed him as she went, his holster was empty.

Then her voice rang out from his right. "I had to, didn't want a repeat of last time" she drawled dryly. "I didn't much like you bearing over me like that; I think we need a fairer system, so here's how it goes. I ask a question, and then you ask a question. If you don't answer then I don't answer. Fair?" He didn't answer, but she seemed to take that as a yes.

"Okay, let's start with the basics. Are you gay?" Sands mood lightened slightly. He couldn't resist this one.

"Why don't you find out?" he asked, moving towards her.

"Nice try but I don't have a gun on me anymore" she replied in amusement. He scowled and sat on the bed.

"Okay, what is your name sugar butt?" he asked sweetly.

"I'd prefer to be called Rana, but I was born as Gina Wyatt" she answered flatly. "My turn, so what agency do you work for? My instincts suggest CIA, but you can never be sure".

Sands smirked. "I don't work for any agency, I'm MIA".

"Okay, so that is a confirmation on ex CIA agent".

"What did your father do?" Sands asked without pause.

"Died" she replied flatly. Sands grinned.

"You're name?"

"Sands"

"Fair enough"

"Reason for killing cartel?" Sands queried.

"Torture, you?"

"Ditto"

"The eyes?"

"No shit, your voice…"

"Yeah"

"Yeah, you got two questions…" Sands pouted.

"No I didn't"

"Why'd you leave the states?"

"Wanted some sun…"

"Real reason?"

"I wanted to learn Spanish, thought it'd boost my career…"

"As what?"

"A singer" this got a snort from Sands.

"Hence the voice" she added.

"What exactly did they do?"

"Slit my throat".

"How charming."

"Why'd you leave?"

"Money"

"Of course, what else…" she trailed off.

"Family?"

"All dead. Ever married?"

"No".

"Well I say that concludes this happy little heart to heart."

"Fine by me darling"

She moved to her bed and rustled under the covers. Sands waited for close to two hours until he was sure he was asleep before going over to her bed, and retrieving his gun from under it.


	9. And the music starts to play

The next day they started out again. They took another car from one of the bars inebriated patrons. Leaving the old one for him to use. When they had found a cowboy hat in the back Sands had asked what colour it was. She had said black so now he was wearing it.

The car ride was silent. As usual.

Sands cleared his throat. Then again. Then again. At least twice every thirty minutes.

Finally she spoke.

"Why is it so important to wear black to you?" she asked in annoyance and some curiosity.

Sands grunted.

"It's not like you can see, what do you care what others think?"

"Why do you listen to music when you can't sing?" he answered back curtly. He expected her to hit him, or yell. There was silence.

"Touch" she said in a dead flat voice. He hadn't expected that but she didn't seem to hold his comment against him. She was strange like that.

It went back to silence. At around midday they stopped in a big enough town for some food. Both got out, but Sands merely leant against the car while Rana went into the nearby shop for the greasy shit she seemed to live on.

_...............Rana................._

She went into the respectable looking building with a sign picturing a burger. Inside were a few tables, three long shelves of preserves and the like and a counter in front of packets of crap and a store oven containing pies and sausage rolls. No burgers. She sighed softly and went up to the counter. The clerk was a lean, mean looking man with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. "Two sausage rolls and a pie" she muttered sliding the money across the counter. The man scowled at her, then looked over at the three men sitting at one of the tables. She drummed her fingers on the table in boredom, missing the look of identification that ran between the four other inhabitants of the shop. The man took the money and turned to get the food. Then something slammed into the side of her head. She stumbled back before two men seized her and the third put a knife to her throat.

"Thought we'd seen you" knifeman breathed. She merely glared at him. "You gave me this" he said pulling down his dirty shirt enough for her to see a rather nasty looking knife wound scar right above his collar bone. She kept her face blank but her mind jumped back to her fevered rampage when she had permanently lost her ability to sing.

Yes, she had buried a knife into one of their necks, but she hardly remembered seeing as she was drugged out of her mind.

She looked into the face of her captor. This meant that he was a cartel. The clerk behind her got on the phone. She listened to the Spanish murmurings and heard as he informed his cartel associates of her capture.

"Your friend outside is he?" he asked with a vicious sneer on his ugly pockmarked face. Rana realized they were talking about Sands.

"The boss has been wanting to get his hands on that bastard for a long time" then he chuckled unpleasantly. "He's gonna wish he were dead, like you will" he said as he turned his back to look out the small window at Sands.

From her position Rana could see the black clad man leaning against the car in unsuspecting boredom. Cartel were on their way as she thought. He would be unprepared, they'd either shoot him or somehow get him alive and then he would be tortured in a lot more depth than what he had been. She felt panic flare in her chest, then she looked at her holders. Knifeman was screwing a silencer onto his gun. Her mind was in turmoil and then she made her decision, her resolve snapping into solidified determination. She pulled one arm free quickly. The man that had relaxed his grip made a lunge for the freed limb but found it in his face. He stumbled back and almost immediately she had kicked the second holder under the chin. She pounced on the man with the gun, getting him in the balls and kicking his gun to the other side of the shop before bursting out of the door. This was not an escape plan; she didn't have a hope in Hell of getting out of this one. But she could still do some good, and that was what she was going to do. May God have mercy on her soul...

_...............Sands..............._

He heard the door bang open and running stumbling feet were rushing towards him with great speed. His hand rested on his hip gun.

"Don't stand there you stupid bastard. Run for your fucking worthless life" she shouted hoarsely, her voice betraying her panic and pain. "Run. There is a street on the right. A used car dump, run for it. Faster damn it" she called even as a shot rang out and she fell silent. A thump as her body hit the sandy ground. Sands had sprinted the moment he heard the word run. And he didn't slow even when she fell.

He ran down the pavement, bullets whistling past him, embedding themselves into the walls near him and cutting into the pavement he ran on. Then a bullet hit the ground before him, however it hit dust; not cement and Sands knew he was at the corner. He turned sharply, skidding off the pavement. He nearly fell, but by using his hand he balanced himself as he skidded around the corner. Dust flying from his feet as he tried to grip the sand. But he did not stop running despite this.

When the bullets were left behind the corner; Sands knew they were running to catch up; he moved to his right and found a fence there. It was old wood, the kind that would encircle a used car dump.

He moved along it frantically. Knowing that any second he'd have another bullet in him. His fingers met air just as a bullet shot right between his fingers. He jerked his hand away and threw himself into the opening. Then he rushed forwards, acutely aware that the place was full of sharp metal objects and precariously placed one tonne machines.

He heard them at the fence, and turned a sharp right to find that the ground was rising steeply.

Rushing up the mound. Stumbling on everything and nothing alike. Finally he found a semi- whole car and was able to collapse against it. With every intention of using it as a shield. If this was the end, he would take a whole heap of the bastards with him. Of that he was certain...

* * *

He had wasted a lot of his ammo, by just randomly shooting back at his pursuers, to dissuade them from actually catching up with him. Now he had to reload. 

_..............3rd party..............._

Rana's body was taken by the cartel, the car she and Sands had arrived in was moved to the side of the street. Sands had the keys, having taken them so that no one could steal the car while he was outside of it. The cartel left it there happy with their prize. However a third party took this chance to scan through it and then after finding enough information made its way to the shoot out in the used car dump.

_...............Sands..............._

There was a crunch in front of him, Sands was still reloading his gun. His head snapped up at the sound. He heard a gun click and stilled his frantic movements. "Alright you got me you cartel fucker" he snapped thoroughly pissed.

Silence from his attacker. Then the man moved and Sands heard a faintly familiar jingle.

"What are you doing here?" it was the Mariachi. Sands clicked straight away.

"Why El, you're just in time. I was playing a little hide and seek with my friends. At the moment they're it, but soon it will be my turn." Sands said happily. Then he reached for his gun, but El shot right next to his hand.

"I don't think I want you doing that" the jingling man said. His accent making the word think sound like theenk.

"Fuck off El, my friends and I don't like you and you're not invited to play" he said seizing his gun and continuing to load it. "Why don't you get ready to play at some funerals, got practice somewhere or something" he grumbled. Cocking his gun and turning his back to the Mariachi. It was a risk he knew, but he would die bygone it, by killing a whole lot of cartels, not by a man that sounded like a Christmas tree.

"Who are your friends?" the mariachi didn't take the hint. "Fellow CIA agents or some innocent people you ripped off?"

"Well El, I did kinda piss them off, but they had to make a mountain out of a mole hill" Sands said in annoyance.

"Well then tell me why I shouldn't just yell now and give you away?" the Mariachi questioned.

"Don't you have more brothers to kill or something" Sands snapped angrily.

Just then a shot rang out and El dropped to the ground behind him. There were shouts; someone had spotted the Mariachi standing on the hill. And were currently on their way up.

"Serves you right you dumb fucker" Sands muttered. Then jumped as the Mariachi scooted next to him.

"There are cartels" he said solemnly and Sands had the impression he had tilted his head when he said that.

"No shit" Sands grinned, then fired a shot over the car bonnet. His savage grin broadened as he heard one fall and had to duck to avoid the return fire.

* * *

_...............Rana..............._

The light blinded her. Immediately she registered that a bullet had grazed her head, and that she had been unconscious. She also noticed that she was inside now. Damn this was going to be bad. She was tied to a metal chair, the ropes were strong and the knots impossible to undo without a free hand. Both of which were tied to the chairs' arms, a rope around her waist and two more, one around each leg.

She looked up as the door opened. She was in a metal paneled room. The walls had six panels on them. Two high three long. All silver-like; aluminum most likely, cold and merciless. At the opposite end of the room a metal plated door opened. It was very thick. These people were part of some organization. It wasn't any old cartel torture room. It was far too elaborate.

The man who entered was wearing a black suit. Her sense of foreboding increased ten fold, but she found she did not feel fear. This did not make her happy, she just noted it. It was strange, when she had lost her livelihood she had lost her emotions too. Usually it annoyed her, but now she was glad and used it to her advantage.

"Ah. Miss Gina. You're awake" he said. Smiling such a cold, smug smile that she vowed if she ever got out of this chair she would kill him. In response to his statement she glared at him. Not disguising her hatred for vermin such as he.

"We were wondering when we would get the chance to talk to you again" he said, sticking to his pathetic attempt of formality.

She grit her teeth then asked, "We?" His smile flickered for a brief second.

"My associates and I" he said breezily as he made his way over to her. He took a seat in the only other chair in the room; it had a matching table made of rough wood.

He smiled, waiting for her to ask what they wanted. But she refused to play his little game. Instead she leant back, and looked at the roof, as is being tied to a chair in a strange place that smelt like blood didn't bother her at all. The greasy haired man continued to stare at her.

"No doubt you're wondering why you were brought here" he said suddenly, realizing that she could outwait him.

"I got a rough idea" she said emanating the air of boredom she was so good at.

He ignored her. "Over the past couple of months it seems that you have been roaming the countryside attacking my associates' workers" he said in concern as illegitimate as his friendly manner. "Murdering and slaughtering innocent people who are just trying to do their jobs". He continued with scorn in his false voice. Her frown deepened for a second but she did not comment. "Now Gina. I know you were hurt by some reckless people, but it was an accident. They had nothing to do with my associates at all; it was just a little misunderstanding".

She honestly tried to keep her face blank, but she could not suppress the rage she felt. She had not felt this angry in a long, long time. More than anything in the world she wanted him to take back those last few words; she wanted to make him do so. She wanted to cause pain, in large amounts. How dare he belittle her in such a way. Just walk all over the single life breaking event that had landed her where she was. "Don't patronize me you despicable cretin" she snarled so hard it hurt her throat to say.

His fake smile evaporated like fine mist.

The door at the other end of the room opened to emit four toughs and a doctor. She grimaced in disgust. She knew what they were here for. The doctor had a case, and being only four toughs it seemed she would be tortured before the boss showed up to question her. She must really have annoyed some people higher up.

The man in his white lab coat put his case on the table. He opened it, revealing what she had expected. Sharp metal. But the first thing he did was prepare a needle. She felt herself tense at the sight of it. Drugs she could not fight or endure, because there were always new ones and there was no telling what was in the needle.

He approached, needle in hand. She would have fought, but she was secured to the chair too well. So she was injected with the stuff, whatever it was. It was unlikely to be pain killers or sedatives. After that she felt sick. Not from the drugs, but from the dread of knowing what was coming. There was fire, tweezers, pincers, saws, hot metal and drugs. The first thing to go were her fingernails. There wasn't much to begin with, since she bit hers, but by the end of it they were gone, and her fingers were bleeding. She bucked at the pain, straining against the chair in agony. She did not cry out, but she did make muffled yells that she could not suppress. The man in the suit sat and watched, continuing to talk throughout it. When it subsided, and she slumped back in the chair panting he asked a question, and she found she could answer.

"You're a smart girl, from western civilization, why didn't you just sue them? Why did you have to go and commit this horrible, horrible crime?" It seemed he had a superiority complex.

"Sue?! In this country!" she laughed a harsh laugh, not like she could laugh any other way.

"Well, you could have forgotten about this. Settled down, got a job, or gone back home, instead you turned to unnecessary violence by your own free will. So why did you?"

"Better to die on your feet than live on your knees" she muttered strongly, panting heavily. Not looking at him, as if saying it to herself. Actually she could have been. Right now the words played through her mind incessantly. Slurring together at the ends, to become a continuous stream of music.

Music always came to her when she needed it. It was there when she was bored, when she slept, when she awoke and when she was in pain. Like now.

In extreme pain it was always some form of rock and roll. And when she was trying to stop from screaming it was heavy metal, enough pounding to match the blood in her ears and her aching head. From then on, the man in the suit sat and watched from a safe distance to avoid the flecks of blood that occasionally happened to fly into the air.

After the fingernails and toenails came the burns. It was done by the toughs as the doctor took a break. Her shirt was undone. And her stomach burnt with cigarettes they smoked. Making her already raspy breathing worse. She struggled for air, her head light and sickeningly dizzy. The room was seen through a fogged glass, and she didn't register much. She felt her body buck under the burning cigarettes but she didn't really feel it. She knew there was pain, but it seemed to be happening to another person and not to herself. This state of detachment had happened after the seventh fingernail had been ripped out.

Once the toughs noticed her lack of response, one stepped cruelly on her toes. Grinding his boot into the soft and bloodied skin. That was the first scream.

She cried out in agony. Trying and failing to pull her foot away to safety. The chair restricted that.

The four men laughed at her cry of pain. It was harder to draw breath. She was hyperventilating, she knew, but she was unable to stop. For if she stopped surely she would faint; no one would help and she would die. And she didn't want to yet. She wasn't ready. She couldn't, could she?

No, staying alive was all that she had to do. She knew that, and did not question it. Later it would make sense. Later when she escaped.

The doctor returned; with him was a young man of around twenty. He had a malicious gleam in his eye and a savage grin on his face.

She knew this would be bad as he also had a stick, one edge bamboo, the other knifelike metal.

She drew a deep breath as he moved closer and blocked her view. This would get worse before it got better.

* * *

..................................................................................................

* * *

_I hereby apologise for the last chapter... I must've been overly tired or something. It wasn't edited to fit the net, I use Mozilla and it seems the end of speech marks are transformed into aC or something. So sorry, I would redo it but I don't wanna kill the review I got for that chapter... :-) Yes, shamelessly flattered by reviews. Thank you all! I actually read your guys stories and can't believe you're talking to me :-D _

_Anyways, I'm sure you got better things to do than listen to the author rant on... So, muchos gracias amigos!_


	10. Retreat

...............Sands..............

Sands and his unwelcome mariachi tag along were at a hotel room. (They had killed most of the cartel by pushing the car on top of them). Sands was adamant about not leaving town. El said that it was foolish to stay, and Sands retorted that he was a coward; the real reason was Rana. He had to know if she was dead or captured.

He didn't bother telling the mariachi, just sat cleaning his gun furiously with the musician watching him from the chair across the room. If that man didn't stop staring he'd shoot his eyes out from here, he could practically _hear_ them looking at him.

"Who's Gina?" the Mexican asked Sands, who slammed his gun down on the table in response.

"How'd you find out about her?" he asked; angry that he was being predictable.

"I found her wallet in the car you came in" he replied and Sands picked up the gun again and began cleaning it all over. Maybe he obsessed over his guns too much, but they were the only eyes he had left and he needed them to work in order to stay alive.

"She's an acquaintance" he said cagily working along the barrel.

"An acquaintance or an associate?" he asked, Sands supposed he was referring to the CIA.

"Well El, she didn't seem to be after my blood so I think she was an acquaintance" he drawled tightly.

The mariachi blew air out of his nose and stood.

"Where is she?" he asked sternly. Sands flipped him off.

"Ok then. Why were those cartels chasing you?" Sands gave the same response.

"They captured her and you ran away?" he asked Sands in a disgusted voice.

"Fuck you El, I was following orders. And I don't usually take on the cartel with a pissant revolver. I usually have traps set for them because I happen to have no eyes" he growled in anger and threw the cloth down. El stared at him passively.

"So, we rescue her, and keep driving" the mariachi reasoned to himself.

"EEP! Wrong! Here's how it goes. I attack their base, kill everyone, get the girl and catch a bus outta this town" Sands informed him.

"You can't see" the man said flatly. Sands frowned, and before El could blink there was a new gun in the CIA agents hands, trained on him with terrifying accuracy.

"I don't need to" he grinned, an action full of sociopathic glee.

..............Rana...............

It was dark. The torture had ended for today. She now doubted that she could walk out of here anyway. If feeling was anything to go by, her feet currently resembled shredded meat. So far she had been burnt, cut, beaten, mutilated and now whipped with an impossibly fine knife. Didn't tomorrow just look great. She must have passed out sometime in the feet lashing. She didn't remember the end of it. She recalled unavoidable tears streaming down her face. And she also remembered that she had not opened her mouth. Suit had asked her biennial questions but she had ignored him. Probably because she couldn't be so sure she wouldn't scream if she opened her mouth.

"This is the punishment you receive for living the life you did" he had said just as she blacked out. She had of course welcomed unconsciousness. It wasn't painful when you were zoned out.

God did she want coke. God was she bored and frustrated. It was good to feel that familiar surge of hatred and desire for vengeance. She was going to escape, and when she was healed she would come back here, and no one would be left unmarred. She'd take fingers, toes, ears, hands, feet and heads. There would be a pile of corpses so high that you'd be able to see Jupiter half way up it. She grinned. She was doing okay. She would be fine.

She was going to make it...

..........El..........

The day dawned clear and grey. The sun filtered colour into the world in the east. He was currently watching its progress from the hotel window. Sands was loading and preparing guns behind him. He listened to the metallic clicks and familiar chinks. Today blood would be spilled. By his hand. He crossed himself and bowed his head for a second before turning to find Sands standing, guns in all the right holsters and clips tucked everywhere.

"Okay. Walk" he ordered and El obeyed with a roll of his eyes. He seized his case as he left. It was heavier than usual, it always was before a bloodbath. Almost as if it could smell the death it was about to cause and was already trying to add to El's burdens.

Sands was silent in the car. He had hardly slept last night; the Mariachi had had to listen to him obsessively clean his guns. The man was a psychopath.

El glanced at the former CIA agent. He was seemingly looking out the car window in pure boredom, tapping two fingers on his leg in a random, off-beat tune.

The man set him on edge. He couldn't help but feel nervous and wary around the American. Last night he had slept with a knife in his hands and his eyes mostly open.

Sands on the other hand emanated an air of comfortable ease. But El had no misconceptions that Sands wasn't about to spring at the slightest sound.

"Watch the road El" Sands drawled and El nearly jumped out of his skin. Sands knew he had been staring at him.

He diligently studied the road ahead but his mind kept going over the whole situation...

_After tipping the rusted car they were using as a shield on the advancing cartel they had both fled down the other side of the scrap pile. Sands had been slower than the mariachi and El had deduced that he was tired from the running he had done earlier, however when they had been fired on the CIA agent had tripped and fell. His sunglasses coming off. El had turned around impatiently and shot the cartel that was firing at them. Then looked at Sands to see a sight that almost stopped his heart. Sands was groping for his lost sunglasses, which were out of his reach. In place of his eyes were two deep chasms of darkness. He was blind!  
The mariachi had felt something was off in the CIA agent, more than the last time they had met, but this, this was the biggest shock he had encountered. How had the man managed to kill those cartel? How had he been able to survive this long? However a few stray bullets had put him back in action. El picked up the sunglasses and handed then to Sands, who was on his knees searching still. Sands had snatched them, rammed them back on his face then continued on. They made it onto the street and Sands had run ahead, then slowed to a walk once he was back among people. El had followed close by him. "Stop following me so closely would you; you stick out like a penis in a convent", the agent snapped. Referring to his height. _

"_No more than you" El hissed back. "Everyone here is wearing white or other colours"._

"_Fuck you El, I knew that" Sands growled back. Then moved ahead and into a dingy bar/hotel. Where they had got a room. _

Now he was somehow going to rescue a girl who was no doubt as sick and twisted as Sands. However this girl confused him. What did Sands want with her? Did she have vital information? Was she a former agent too? A relation? Maybe Sands just liked her, but the prospect of Sands liking anyone was ridiculous and El found that he could not determine exactly what the relationship was. Sands had spoken about her like she was nothing very important, yet his actions suggested that she was indeed something special. He wondered if Sands even knew what the relationship was, he seemed just as confused and undecided as the mariachi, only he concealed it better.

..............Rana..............

The door opened at the end of the room. Inside she felt her spirit quake which in turn caused her fury to spike. This time close to six toughs came in, surrounding a well dressed man. He was wearing a white suit, with frilly lapels and ridiculous other add ons. His shoes shone like the sun, and she found her throat constrict in dislike. He radiated power, wealth and corruption to the core. His very being seemed to shine. From his overly greased hair, his shiny buttons, his luminescent suit and his pearly white teeth. Only his eyes were without shine. Without life in fact. Only one mental word came to mind. Fuck.

At the back of the group was Dr Death. The questioning was about to begin.

......Sands..........

"MOVE!" the mariachi shouted leaping out from around the corner and firing as many bullets into the cartel advancing down the hall as he could. Sands threw himself after the man. This place was like fort Knox, hard to get in, impossible to get out. He was through half his clips already. Everything that moved he shot, and it seemed everything that moved was a fresh cartel.

El seemed rather comfortable with this whole situation, like he knew how many to expect. Sands was starting to wonder if it was worth it, at least she'd be alive, unless they killed her out of spite for the two men. No one would defend a corpse so well...

He spun hearing something move behind him, getting off the killer shot before turning and shooting a cartel that had stepped out of a room ahead, thus saving El's life, seeing as the mariachi was currently reloading. "Nice shot" the Mexican said. Sands scowled.

..........El...........

"Well it's all very fun shooting vermin all day El but I am in a bit of a hurry and wasting ammo is not getting me closer to what I came for, could we speed this up?" the blind man drawled in his usual tone of voice. El frowned. He moved ahead, not encountering any more cartel.  
He knew this was the right wing, the walls were aluminum coated, as all cartel torture chambers were. He moved down the hall, kicking in one door at a time. Nearly all were empty, then he got to a door with a doctor's cart outside, the utensils had yet to be cleaned. His intense eyes fell on the blood coated objects, then swiveled to the door. He kicked it in; at the other end of the room a small figure tied to a chair slowly raised its head. She looked straight at him, her eyes clear and calculating. Brown hair, hazel eyes and a complete bleeding wreck. This must be Gina.

...........Sands...........

The first proof Sands got that he was in the right place was Rana's croaky voice questioning who the Mariachi was.

"Who, who are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

Sands assumed she was directing it at the mariachi. Both men continued forward.

"Who..." she began again before El introduced himself.

"I am nothing but a fellow tradesman" he said as he went to untie her.

She nodded, then stopped the action with a grimace.

"We're leaving now" he said as he began to work on the knots.

Sands felt for her arm, tied to the chairs arms, then his fingers found the knot. He undid it; every slight tremor up the rope caused her to pant. He pulled it off of her, took her arm, the mariachi took the other, and lifted her clean out of the chair. She shuddered violently, and Sands clenched her arm tighter. No one said anything as all three moved to the door.

"Can't you at least stand?" Sands said angrily as she all but fell even with his hold. Causing him to have to use both hands to get her up again. She didn't say anything, but she did plant her feet and stand by herself. El interjected.

"Don't" he said sharply. "You'll make it worse, here let me carry you" he said moving towards her.

"No" she snapped. "I can bloody stand on my own two feet" and then she lurched forwards, so erratically that even Sands could sense that she was far from stable.

"What the hell's wrong with her?" he asked the Mariachi. The man grunted.

"Her feet are cut", was all he said and moved after her. Sands tentatively put his foot to where she had just been standing. The floor was slick with blood. He frowned angrily and strode after the other two. He should have known that she would not lean on them unless absolutely necessary, he was angry that she had been caught and he had to be here, he was angry at whoever had hurt her and he was angry at the thought of what she had done. Had she screamed, did she have to go through previous memories, or had she remained silent and unresponsive, letting them do what they wanted to her? Perhaps what angered him most was that he felt angry for her, which meant that they had a relationship of sorts.

He stopped next to the jingling musician, who was a fair bit behind their rescue-ee. "What's she doing now?" he asked in annoyance.

"Leaning against the wall" the man replied smartly, sounding thoroughly pissed at Sands as if it was entirely his fault that she was hurt.

Sands sighed irritably. "How bad is it?" he asked as if forced to against his will. The Mariachi turned to him, Sands heard his material rustle.

"She looks like a walking corpse" he said bluntly and moved away from the CIA agent. Sands gritted his teeth and followed.

They were halfway down the exit hall when a man stepped out of a side room. He was wearing a suit. Without warning Rana sprung forward, ramming her shoulder into him and giving a cry as she did. El rushed forwards to her aid, Sands followed. The man she attacked was on his back, she had her hands firmly around his neck and was throttling him with all her might. However that wasn't very much because she had lost too much blood and was barely conscious.

"Asshole" she hissed as he gripped her hands and arduously pushed them away from his neck. She was evidently using everything left in her. It was an impressive amount after two days of torture. However the man dislodged her a few seconds later and flipped her around so that it was he who was pressing her to the ground. Unfortunately for him El had just come in range and he kicked the man off of her. Even as the man slid away Sands had his gun trained on him and fired despite the Mariachi's call not to.

Rana was gagging as she rubbed her neck to get air back into her throat.

She gave a snort of disgust at the dead man before her, then using the wall as support regained her feet. She wobbled for a few seconds then hardened her resolve and moved forwards down the hall without a backwards glance.

..........El..........

They got to the car, and Rana was helped into the back, she had all but crawled the last four meters. She managed to get her torso and body into the car, but her legs were too much for her to lift, so El had to take the protruding limbs and tuck them into the car; as he was doing this he heard her sigh. "The price we pay for the lives we lead" she seemed to mumble to herself; her eyes were shut. El looked at her. She almost looked dead. He shook his head, someone so young. At her age he was walking around Mexico dreaming of being a mariachi like his father and his father before him.

What dreams and ambitions did she have? Not to get shot before the age of twenty one?

He closed the door, and ran to his side as a shout sounded from above and he saw a sniper flash on the rooftop.

He ducked in as the first bullet hit the bonnet. Sands was in the passenger seat, looking supremely bored as bullets buried themselves into the aluminum of the car.

"Gee El, whenever you feel like it" he drawled. There was a sliver of urgency in that tone but it was all mild annoyance.

El didn't reply, just started the engine and slammed the car into reverse, before successfully completing a spectacular spin that directed them the right way, and zooming out of Culiacan.


	11. Healing

..............Sands..............

An hour out of Culiacan Rana spoke.

"Stop the car!" she demanded so suddenly and with such ferocity that El slammed on the brakes and all the cars occupants were thrown forward and saved only by their seatbelts.

The girl threw herself at the right car door, burst out of it and ran off. Sands listened as her feet pattered across bitumen then desert sand.

Next to him, El also got out, but he stood at the open door. Not leaving the car, merely watching. He looked over the roof of the car as she ran a little further into the desert. Sands listened intently over the car's dull roar. From quite a distance away he heard the sounds of retching and allowed a lopsided grin onto his face. Well at least she had spared them.

Then he heard the return of her. She was running as quickly as her damaged state allowed her, over the blisteringly hot ground. Then she was back in the car, panting from her run and the pain of the hot road on sliced feet. El got back in the car and they continued on without saying anything.

An hour had passed before she spoke from the back again. But it was to Sands that she spoke; "I think I just figured out why you wear black" she said solemnly.

"Oh, and why's that?" he asked. Expecting some sappy, forever in darkness analogy.

"Black attracts heat; you wear it so you know when it is day and when it is night. When your clothes are hot, it is daylight. And when they aren't it is night..." she trailed off as if she was onto thinking about a new topic. Completely having forgotten what she had just said to him.

Sands sat there quietly. That had been it at the start, but Sands didn't need to be wearing black to tell if it was day anymore. He had become more sensitive to the suns light and could tell by sounds and feeling alone. He just wore black. It was almost a petty payback to the world. If all he saw was black, then all other people would see black, at least when they looked at him. He was just doing his bit to balance out the world.

They did not speak after that.

.............El...............

After the joyous car ride the three of them got to a hotel. Sands had been sulking the whole time in the front seat. And the girl had made no noise for two and a half hours. When the Mariachi parked and both men got out they stopped at the realization that it was only them who had gotten out. Their injured friend was still in the car. El looked in the back window and sighed. Then he opened the door and lifted her unconscious form out the back seat. She gave no indication of hearing them. Or of waking. Sands booked a room and went ahead, somehow counting the doors to their room. El watched in fascination. The man walked confidently and without falter. Then suddenly he stopped and fitted the key into the lock of their room. El raised an eyebrow and followed the despicable man in. He locked the door and went to lay her on the bed but Sands stopped him. "In the bathroom El" he drawled. "Don't want dirty sheets now do we?"

El frowned at him.

"She is bleeding" he told the ex CIA agent.

"Precisely why we should put her on tiles, they don't soak up blood".

"But..." El began.

"Tic toc El, she is bleeding to death while you fart around"

El's glare was wasted upon the blind man, but he made for the bathroom anyway.

"Good boy" Sands praised mockingly as he flung himself onto the bed.

"Uh" El hesitated. Sands raised his head to look at him.

"What now?" he asked in annoyance.

"I think we should get a nurse, to look after her" the Mariachi said haltingly. Sands cocked his head in mock questioning.

"Why El, I thought you'd know how to heal holes by now..." but the Mariachi cut him off.

"No, a **female** nurse" he said hastily. Sands stopped and then grinned. His grin threatened to crack his face. It just kept growing wider and wider until El thought that surely it must stop, but it didn't; it grew and grew until El said "Fine" and stalked into the bathroom.

* * *

...........Rana...........

She woke, but didn't open her eyes. She felt awful to say the least, and then she heard a voice above her. It was male, and that was enough to spike fear through her system.

She did not know where she was, she was hurt and for the moment the only thing she remembered was her few days of torture. She opened her eyes, but she couldn't see! She panicked, throwing a wild punch at the man hovering over her she threw herself sideways out of the bed, entangling herself in the blankets as she went. She hit the ground with a thump and crawled for the far wall when she stopped. Another man was laughing, his voice was American and he was laughing so hard that she almost forgot to be afraid. Then she heard the other man cursing and she remembered who they both were. She stopped her mindless run and turned back to them. Then she felt her face and found a black eye cloth for sleeping. She ripped it off and was greeted with the sight of the mariachi, rubbing his jaw and glaring at Sands, who was close to hysterics against the far wall.

In all her time with him she had never seen the former agent honestly laugh, now that he was he looked like he was in pain. Hunched over and only getting in short gasps. She felt her cheeks go slightly red, and shot the Mariachi an apologetic look. He rubbed his jaw once more ruefully and looked at her. He didn't smile but she felt no ill will from him. Sands was down to little bursts of giggles, as she stood and made her way over to them. She found herself extremely cautious, not out of her own will but her body's response, however she affected the air of casual comfort. And hoped they would not notice.

..........El..........

El noticed the flighty way she walked towards them and wanted to sigh. Whether or not she realized it, she was wary of them both. A natural reaction to what she had been subjected to; but still painful to behold.

It would take time.

* * *

..........Rana...........

_The cut across her chest was not shallow. She ran into the bathroom, into the shower. She was wearing only her pants, leaving her cut chest bare. The blood was all down her front, it covered her so much she looked like she was wearing a red shirt. The water streamed onto her, washing the blood down and around her feet. It was not hot, but it wasn't cold. She panted looking at her stomach as it went back to its pristine white colour. She turned the water off, but blood welled quickly in the wound and leaked down her front again. Staining her red. She screamed and turned the water back on, the blood loss made her dizzy and she sank to the tiled floor. The water stopped and she lay as the thick red liquid seeped out of her, and down the drain. Leaving a red stain as the only reminder it had ever been there. She cried out, unconquerable fear and panic gripping her. She tried to brush the blood off but it just multiplied before her eyes. She was powerless and it scared her. Everything was red, all was lost; she was dieing and this time she was afraid. _

............El............

The high pitched scream that ricocheted through the house seemed to puncture the very air.

Sands and El shot up from there respective beds at the same instant and stumbled towards her room in a blind rush. Both had guns in their hands, both guns were loaded and cocked and both men feared the worst.

El got there first, he busted in the door, slamming it open with almighty force.

The room he was greeted with was empty. It was bathed in moonlight, which allowed him to see the rumpled sheets and nothing else. His eyes roamed the room and then returned to the sheets. They were darker than they should have been. His eyes widened; they were soaked in blood. He stepped into the room, his gun held high. "The sheets are covered in blood" he whispered. Sands snorted from behind him and pushed past. Instead of going to the bed, he turned right, into the adjoining bathroom. El followed softly. Sands entered swiftly and went straight for her. She was bent over the sink. Her head submerged in water.

Sands grabbed her around her waist and heaved her into the air before she could react, water flinging everywhere from the sudden movement. She let out an explosive breath, as if she had held her head under for longer than she should of; and was placed on the edge of the bath.

She coughed a little then pushed her wet hair from her face.

Sands' hand flashed out and gripped her wrist where it was. Against her head halfway through the process of brushing away her hair,

"What did you see?" he asked in a voice made of steel. She tried to pull her hand from his but he wouldn't let go. Her actions grew more desperate. But Sands remained in possession of her hand, and he continued to frown, as if staring at her hard.

When she realized she could not free her hand he asked her again. She looked away from him.

"What?" he almost made it a command.

"Blood" she croaked out. "Blood I could not stop, blood that wouldn't wash away"

Sands made no reaction to her words. Then he stood and drew her towards him. She leant back and tried to free herself, but couldn't. And the end result was that Sands had her back against his stomach and his hands over her eyes. She stopped moving at this.

"What do you see now?" he asked angrily.

"Nothing" she choked.

"That's because there is nothing there" he snarled into her ear. Then he let go of her and she stepped out of his reach.

El watched it all from the door. He could not believe what he had just seen. It seemed that Sands felt for her, but also that he saw her as somewhat of an equal. Or maybe the man did not know how to comfort someone. That was also a possibility.

But there was no mistaking that there was some kind of understanding between them. Perhaps even a bond, a relationship. Beyond the angry facade and faked annoyance.

Sands was listening to her carefully, El could tell. Rana however was still breathing erratically. She was gripping her nightshirt just above her right breast tightly and El noticed that she was still trying to calm her evidently frayed nerves. That must've been some dream. Rana self control was second only to Sands. El shuddered at the thought of Sands losing it... This didn't explain the blood on her sheets though.

"There is blood on your sheets" the Mariachi informed her with a hint of questioning. He saw her eyes widen slightly in alarm and she clutched her chest again, then seemingly without thought she pulled her shirt up, El averted his eyes in time. Sands didn't, not that it mattered. Then she sighed in relief and stepped past him into the room.

"I don't know where the blood is from, not me that's for sure" she said as she became a silhouette in the moonlit room. El followed and she went to her bed. She pulled the sheets out, they were perfectly dry, and no stains other than old beer and grease were to be seen. El felt his face contort in confusion.  
"Gee El, and I thought _I_ was the blind one here" Sands drawled from behind him. How did that man always seem to know what was going on?

She didn't sleep after that. She returned to the kitchen and sat drinking soft drink all night.

Both men left her to it and went back to their rooms.

In the morning she was how they had left her. Only there were around twelve more empty cans on the table.

...........El..........

"Doesn't that hurt" the mariachi asked, watching her down a coke without stopping.

"Yes it does" she answered grimacing from the burning sensation in her damaged throat.

"Then why do it?" he asked again.

"Why do you play guitar after getting your hand shot, didn't that hurt too?" she answered with a question.

"Yes, but it kept me alive".

"It's the same for me too. I drink it because I drank it before and I will continue to drink just because I can" she said in an aloof manner, that El knew concealed her real thoughts on the matter. He nodded and moved off.

Sands was sitting on the couch, balancing a spork on his index finger.

* * *

.........................................

* * *

Yes, a spork... I don't know, don't ask me. I just had a mental image of Sands balancing a spork on his index finger, then when it slipped throwing it angrily at the opposite wall where it digs itself into the wood. With the 'thwang' sound and all. However the walls at the aprtment aren't made of wood, they're made of stone... :-( So no spork hurling happening here.  
  
No reviews : '( ... woe is me....  



	12. Peaceful Chaos

They decided to stay for a week or more. Both men figured that the cartel were too damaged to mount an assault anytime soon, and Rana couldn't care less. So they lived, like a dysfunctional family, two brothers and a sister on the run. El got the food, Sands ate it and Rana lived in the bathroom.

....................Rana.......................

She stepped into the shower, turned the water on and waited shivering for it to warm up. Once it did she let the water rush over her. Her feet stung, in fact they burned. She winced and sank to the tiled floor, slid the shower door open a bit and placed her feet out of the shower. She sighed feeling the water bombard her, and felt her body relax. Too much. She felt like jelly, the hot water working on her muscles, making it almost impossible to move. She realized the position this put her in and that she needed to get out soon. So she reached up for the taps, but they were too high up the wall to reach from a sitting position. She strained trying to reach. She couldn't stand, of that she was sure, her feet hurt too much. Her vision started to fade out into blackness, the last thing she saw was her hand reaching for the taps.

................Sands...............

Sands paced outside the bathroom door. He needed to piss. He banged on the door. "Get out!" he growled. She was always in there these days. He waited two minutes, but the water kept going.  
He let out a snarl and stormed into the bathroom closing the door behind him. "I'm just going to pee, I'll be out soon", he informed the bloody woman. There was no answer from her. He did what he came to do, then flushed the toilet, expecting her to swear at him for the change in water temperature that would cause. Nothing.  
"Gina" he taunted drawing out the name she despised. No response. "Gina" he snapped. Maybe she was ignoring him for using her real name. "Rana?" still nothing. Sands went to the shower, he couldn't hear any movement. He got to the door when his shin hit into something sticking out of the shower door. He reached down. A foot, two feet actually, and they were both bleeding. Sands flung the door open slightly panicked. He reached in and turned off the water.

He felt down the shower wall to find her head against the tiles. He went further down and shook her shoulder. Her head flopped, but she did not wake up. "Shit" he said, grabbing the towel from the nearby wall. He draped it over her unconscious form and called for El.

..........El..........

The mariachi was in his room, strumming on his guitar when he heard Sands shout for him. He sighed and placed his guitar on the bed before going to find the CIA agent. "Sands?" he called when he couldn't find the man in the lounge or his room.

"Bathroom El" Sands called in annoyance, but there was something else in the mans voice. El quickened his step. As soon as he stepped into the bathroom he moved to the shower. Sands was leaning against its frame, and Rana's bleeding feet where resting on the door frame. El moved to Ranas aid. Sands had already draped a towel over her, it was soaked.

"Get more towels" El said as he stooped and lifted Rana off the cold floor. Sands handed him two more towels. El wrapped them both around her as best he could and took her out to the couch where Sands had placed a bed sheet. El laid her down then went to the medicine cabinet. He'd have to re-stitch her feet, and put anti infection ointment on them. As well as see that she did not freeze or catch fever.

He went into the kitchen and put the kettle to boil.

When he came out he stopped at the sight before him. Sands was kneeling over Rana, his hand slowly removing the towel around her neck and pulling it down, before returning to her throat. El watched in silence as Sands ran his hand over the scar that marred her neck. The man had no expression on his face as he traced it from one side to the other.

Then just as gently as he had removed it, he took the towel and moved it back up to her throat. Tucking it in under her chin.

El was rather disturbed by this show of what appeared to be affection. Perhaps Sands had just been curious. He'd never be able to touch Ranas' scar with her awake that was for sure. And since Sands couldn't see the only way he'd ever know was by touch.

El walked back into the room, on his way to the bathroom where the medicines were kept. Sands sprung away from Rana to the armchair where he sat in mock comfort. El grinned. Sands hadn't realized that he was watching him from the kitchen.

After retrieving the desired instruments from the bathrooms first aid kit El returned to the lounge. "I will have to give her pain killers" he said flicking the needle to get the air from it. Sands nodded curtly, El injected the sedatives and anesthetics into her easily. Then set about stitching up her feet, before smothering it all in ointment and bandaging them.

Sands sat there listening to it.

* * *

Two weeks later landed them on the coast. The boredom of not hunting cartel was getting to them all. Sands in particular, he had become almost unbearable and El and he were constantly at each others throats. Literally. Rana had to shoot at them to stop them the last time, the bullet had buried itself onto the floor between the two and they had dropped it. Something in the second week Rana suggested they go to the beach. Both had steadfastly refused but in less than two days they came...

_..........Two days later.........._

All three lay there, in the sand. To two of them it was a calm grey day on the subdued beach. No one around, neither hot nor cold, grey waters mirroring the sky. The slight tinge of rain filling all three with its scent, the sand held more warmth than the air so it felt extremely relaxing. Rana wondered at what they were all doing like this. Lying like sitting ducks in the sand. Heads close together, all three completely relaxed in each others company.

The clouds rolled in silently. All three had been sharing stories of childhood, cartel, experiences. She was currently silent. Listening to the Mariachi and the ex CIA agent talk. They were talking about laying low, and what caused them to come out guns blazing. She smiled as El blamed his re-emergence on Sands and Sands replied with a taunt that sounded pleased with himself.

"I went into hiding once" she said softly. Both listened in. "Right after it happened. I guess I was nursing my wounds. Took me four months to realize what I was really doing. Hiding like a rat. So I came out of hiding, and went straight for revenge." There was silence. Sands smirked, she could feel it. El was silent for a while.

"Had things been different, I may have played besides you" he said thoughtfully. She sighed wistfully.

"Ah well. I guess it wasn't meant to be" she said regretfully, Sands snorted.

"Give me a break" he scorned, but it held no malice in it.

"You should learn an instrument Sands" El told him and he grunted.

"Hands are made for pulling the trigger. Not fiddling with strings" he told them. There was silence.

"What about afterwards?" she asked, changing the topic. Her voice seemed subdued.

No one spoke. The wind started to pick up, but none of them moved. The sand swirled around them, the storm had come. The wind sped up, blowing a gale so that sand stung any exposed skin. Still, none of them moved. She had the feeling that if one stood the others would follow, but none of them did. Both men were leaders. Masters of themselves, but still they waited for the others. She was pondering why, when a random thought popped into her head. How nice it is to lie here and talk without the fear of rejection or put downs. The beach seemed to have dulled Sands tongue and removed El's natural judgment. And she had actually talked instead of listening and analyzing. They were almost friends here. Compadres even. In the very least it seemed they each shared a mutual respect for the other two. If she got up, then it would be broken. But they couldn't lie here for ever. The sky was growing darker, and the rain was falling heavily. Within moments all three were drenched.

Silence reigned.

The eye of the storm hit, and it went eerily quiet. "Will there even be an afterwards?" she asked uncertainly.

"Not for me" Sands replied calmly, stating the facts.

"There isn't an afterwards. We all move forwards, that is all" El answered her, sure of his words. She nodded to herself.

"I guess I should have known" she muttered and looked up at the sky again. The clouds were threatening another downpour, but in the far distance she could see the sun. Setting as it was, painting the storms end in red. She wondered if it meant anything.

* * *

Dun dun DUUUUH! :D  



	13. Decisions

............Rana................

Although she hated to admit it, the following days with Sands and the Mariachi were some of the best in her life. Perhaps it was because she was no longer alone, or maybe it was staying in one place for so long. The coastal town was great. The first few days were spent living in the house but after visiting the beach Rana became more bold and started going out. She never liked to leave the two men alone in each others company for too long, but in her wanderings she found a music store that had cheap pirated American music, and a book shop. She bought two, long novels and around fifteen new cd's, for the price of two albums. Neither men seemed angry at each other when she came home, which made her suspicious of whether or not El followed her. He was always wearing his boots when she arrived home, but she didn't question it.

On one day all three were sitting on the lounge room couch. No one speaking, El strumming on his guitar and Sands deep in thought. Rana sat there, then decided to get them all out the house. "Let's go get some food" she suggested. El looked up at her and Sands twitched the corner of his mouth. "Come on, I'm sick of eating packet food. I need some good cooked meat". El seemed to accept the idea, but Sands cocked his head.

"Who's paying?" he asked.

"Bags not me!" she instantly added.

Sands followed with "Ditto". El looked at them both, momentarily confused.

Sands was grinning in his slouched position and Rana's eyes were twinkling. He sighed and shook his head, a faint smile clinging to his face.

"Okay" he said resignedly.

"Well, suddenly I feel famished", Sands said, bouncing to his feet. El stood and put down his guitar regretfully, grabbing the car keys and following the other two to the door. "You know, I haven't had lobster in a while..." Sands said wickedly as Rana pushed him out the door, El shook his head in despair.

There was a fight at the car, Sands and Rana bickered for the front seat. Sands saying he was older and deserved it more, and Rana playing the card of chivalry and reminding Sands that _she_ was the female. After a brief shoving match Sands pushed her hard away, then got in the car and slammed the door as she threw herself against the window and called him a jerk. He laughed at her from the other side of the glass and she got in the back grumbling.

However the mood was light. The car was and old double carriage ute. It had four seats and the typical ute tray. It was red, rusted and had a working radio.

They ended up at a relatively clean looking restaurant; The Hairy Spaniard. The food was not that good, but still better than what El cooked so all three ate quite a bit. Sands consuming the most, until he looked like he would be sick. Then he asked for desert and both Rana and El had told him no, and headed home.  
Due to Sands over eating the bill was rather large, when El was given it he had glared at Sands across the restaurant and Sands had grinned in smug satisfaction despite feeling so ill, as if he knew El was glaring at him. They rolled home at about ten, got out and went back to their apartment. When they got to the door they froze. "What?" Sands whispered.

The door had been jimmied open. El pulled his gun, as did Sands. Rana gripped a throwing knife from her belt. El kicked the door open and rushed in. Everything was as it should be. It appeared nothing had changed or been moved. However all three were extremely wary after that, hardly sleeping and generally feeling flighty.

The next morning they decided on leaving. El suggested they go back to the town he usually lived in. Sands refused.

"Then where?" he asked. Rana thought.

"Culiacan" she said finally. Both men looked at her, well El did, Sands turned his head in her direction.

"I have unfinished business" she added. El looked at her suspiciously.

"You heard that Sanchez is there" he accused.

Rana affected an air of innocence. "I may have heard one or two thing whilst shopping. Besides, as far as I'm concerned Sanchez has it coming".

"You've met this man before?" El asked seriously.

Rana nodded. "It was Sanchez who did the questioning". There was silence.

El looked unhappy at the idea.

"Why'd you leave home El?" Rana asked suddenly. The Mariachi looked at her in surprise. "You didn't just turn up in the town we were in on vacation, so what were you doing?"

El was silent. "I was after Sanchez" he admitted.

"Sands?" she asked looking at the silent CIA agent.

"I have a person I'd like to waste" he admitted, smiling in a sickening way. Rana nodded.

"Then it's settled, we go to Culiacan".

* * *

Next chapter is the last one.  



	14. Storms End

Culiacan was a police state. There were cartel on every corner; the people tiptoed around the place, trying not to evoke any cartel with the fear of being shot in the street.

Sanchez lived in the huge house near the center of town. It was hideously over priced, all high walls and elaborate gates, but well manned. There were cameras, guards and dogs. El parked the car across the road and scoped the place out.

"We could crash the car through the gate" she suggested. El nodded.

"Let's get this over with" Sands drawled from the back. "The longer we stay, the more chance of them finding out we're here". El evidently agreed, because he spun the car around, facing the gate and accelerated right for it.

"Oh fuck!" Rana yelled, bracing herself; they tore through the gate, cartel scrambling to get out of the way. She fumbled around her feet, picking up the discarded holsters and guns she had left there on the trip here. She had only just fastened the last buckle when El slammed on the brakes and leapt out of the car, she shrugged off her seatbelt and followed him, Sands already ahead. They rushed down the gravel path, heading for the low garden wall. Rana reached it first and vaulted over it.

On the other side three cartel looked at her in surprise. "Hi" she said smiling and shot them. "Clear!" she called over her shoulder, then El was over the wall, and Sands. Four more cartel came around the corner of the house releasing a string of bullets on the three intruders. Sands and El dove behind some bushes and Rana got behind the only tree. From her position she could see Sands crouch on his feet and take aim, "around 25 degrees left" she whispered at him, he readjusted his aim and fired. He got one, then El popped up from the other side of the garden and killed the rest. Rana ran for the house.

They entered via a side door. "I'll take second" she said quietly, both nodded. "Search out Sanchez, shoot him if you can". Sands shook his head. "I'm looking for a certain doctor" he said, "You search out Sanchez".

They separated. Rana made for the second floor, El would scour the bottom and Sands was going to wander around looking for a doctor of some kind.

She crept up the stairs gun ready. It was eerily quiet. She moved down the hall, hearing gunshots from downstairs. She moved to the first door, slowly pulled the handle then flung the door open. It was an empty room. Bed made and lace curtains billowing. The same for the next three rooms, in the fifth room there were signs of life. The sheets were ruffled and clothes were draped over the back of a chair, placed in front of a vanity table.

She made it to Sanchez's room, it was huge and expensive. But the man was no where to be seen. This worried her. She made her way back down. She moved swiftly down a corridor, her backed pressed to the wall. There was someone approaching the corner ahead. He came around too fast and Rana had her gun against his head before recognizing El and lowering it. He had a cut above his right eye, but it wasn't so bad. He looked momentarily shocked and put his hands up and only lowering them when she lowered her gun. They smiled at each other and froze at the click of a gun, both raised their hands. Then Rana looked past El to see Sands grinning ridiculously at them. She sighed. And lowered her arms, El following suit at the look of relief in her eyes.

"Get your man?" she asked him.

"Oh yes" he crooned smiling in a sinister way. She smiled herself.

"What about Sanchez?" El asked.

"No, not upstairs" she said. El shook his head at her questioning look.

"Have you tried Torture Tower?" Sands asked in amusement. El and Rana looked at him. "Four stories high, all metal right over there" he said pointing back the way he had come. "Seems Sanchez rather likes inflicting pain" Sands commented.

"Tell me about it" Rana mumbled.

"A man after my own heart" Sands added, seemingly not hearing her. El moved past Sands in a hurry. All three made for the tower, Rana began to feel great apprehension as they approached, but the desire for revenge was too strong to resist and she followed Sands and El up the many flights of stairs, searching every room as they went. Finally they made it to the top, but Sanchez was not there. El kicked the aluminum wall in frustration. Where was the shiny suited man?

"Let's just blow it already" Sands growled. El turned a questioning eye to Sands.

"It's Gina's specialty" he smirked. Rana growled in annoyance. El looked at her, and she felt her cheeks go slightly red.

"You have explosives?" he asked.

"Yes", he cocked an eyebrow.

"Then set them, give us ten minutes to get out of here" he said. She nodded then took the belt from around her waist and set up the sticks of TNT she had, before getting out the timer and setting it to ten minutes.

"Okay, lets go" she said, getting to her feet.

All three moved down the Hall, El was ahead and Sands behind. The Mariachi disappeared around a corner up ahead. Rana quickened her pace, trying to keep him insight in case he needed her help. She had made it to the corner and was peeking around when she felt a strong sense of dread. She spun, gun up. It was Sanchez. His usually perfect hair awry and a snarl of pure venomous hatred plastered on his face.

"Sands, look out!" she cried, but too late. Sands spun half around when the cartel lord slammed him against the wall. Smashing his face with the butt of his gun. Sands grunted as he was kneed, then disarmed. Rana aimed and fired. To be met with a dry click. She shot three more times before throwing away her guns in disgust. "El!" she screamed rushing forwards as Sanchez threw Sands ahead of him in one of the vaulted rooms. As he disappeared inside he smiled grimly and raised his gun. She skidded slightly as she dodged sideways. His shot missed but she had been effectively stopped in her tracks and he slammed the door shut, just as she slammed into it. Unable to stop in time. El had rounded the corner. He found her beating uselessly at the door and kicking it so hard she was denting the metal.

"He took Sands" she yelled redoubling her efforts on the door. El's face hardened.

"We cannot wait, we have less than five minutes before this place blows. It will take us seven if we run" he said grasping her hand and pulling her to the exit.

"No!" she said slipping from his gasp and going back to the door, it was handless. It had merely a keyhole.

"We have to leave" El shouted, grabbing her arm firmly and pulling her down the hall in a hurry. She struggled but after three steps she too was running.

_"Sanchez" she coughed, raising her head, the man turned to look at her. She was finding it hard to stay conscious, her eyes kept closing and it was hard to open them again, but the anger was not dulled by weariness; her eyes were almost black. He merely looked down at her in disgust.  
"I'll be back, this isn't the end of me". Her eyes were aching. He sneered at her.  
"I'm afraid you will not be coming back Miss Gina, you will die here and we will hang your corpse from the tree outside".  
She bared her teeth, blood coating them and no doubt giving them an eerie glow. It leaked out of her mouth, running down the side of her chin. "Oh no, I'll escape and I will come back. I promise". Sanchez regarded her then spat on the floor before turing to recieve a message that a rather rushed looking man came to deliver. With that he swept out of the room, Rana glaring at his retreating back._

They pelted down five flights of stairs in fewer than three minutes. They flew out the door, leaping the corpses they had created earlier. Hitting the dirt path and still their mad dash didn't end. Less than a hundred meters down the road Rana spun, sliding in the dirt. It was at that second the building exploded. Sending such a shockwave that she was thrown back almost a full two meters from it. She rolled back onto her feet and continued down the path to the car. El went ahead.

.................El.................

El stopped at the sound of her knees hitting the ground. She was kneeling in the dust, her back heaving her face hidden in her chest. He was about to go and help her, to see why she was breathing so erratically, when she suddenly flung her head up to look at him. There were tears streaming down her face, running orange mud rivulets down her once untainted skin.

"Dear god he's gone. He's gone and I swore I wouldn't care but I do, I did. I loved him" she shouted in hopeless despair.

"Not again, not again NEVER AGAIN!" she screamed close to hysterics, El rushed over to her.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed throwing her arms out erratically. El stopped. If it had been his Carolina he would have held her, and let her rock with her grief. But Rana merely buried her face in her hands and remained motionless. She was like this for thirteen seconds, and then she rose.

"Let's go" she said flatly and made her way to the car. El looked at her uncertainly, but went to the driver door.

It was as if the outbreak had never happened. She opened the passenger door and froze when she found her seat taken. There, in all his blood spattered glory, sat Sands. She let out a gasp as Sands turned a smiling face to her.

"I get the front seat I'm oldest" he smiled smugly as if sensing just how surprised she was. El smiled, he couldn't help it. He didn't like Sands, he doubted he ever would, but it was one less soul to pray forgiveness for, and one less distraught person to comfort.

Sands was still smiling surely when he was slapped clean across the face. His head snapped to the side with a crack and his smile dispersed.

"What the fuck was that for?" he asked angrily.

"Goddamn you" she said only half angry. El looked across the car roof at her as her face paled and she stumbled backwards. He ran around to find her sprawled out in the dirt. El was surprised to find Sands got out of the car too. He was next to her when El got there.

"What is wrong with her this time?" he asked the mariachi. El looked her over, other than looking sick she seemed okay. Nothing immediately life threatening.

"She looks okay" he said hesitantly.

"I hate you" she mumbled at Sands, who grinned in the most annoying fashion possible.

"Get in the car" he said jovially, stood and walked shakily to his seat. El noticed that he was hurt somewhere, but knew better than to make an issue of it just yet.

All three piled in, for once without the threat of being chased...

* * *

The rusted old double seated ute sped down the Mexican highway. A cloud of desert dust trailing it. The three dirty, soot smeared, shot up passengers sat in silence.

Then suddenly from the back the female occupant burst out laughing. Both men were momentarily shocked, but the laughter was infectious and their faces widened in grins and soon they too were laughing. Then she leant forwards and switched on the radio.

_This was your mistake with the master plan  
With all the drugs you take, you can hardly stand  
After all is said and done  
Are you still having fun?_

_  
Well, you know when you've been defeated  
You don't care and you thank no one  
Feeling low you will always need it  
Are you're having fun...  
Are you still having fun?_

_  
You don't know what it is you've done  
Just to show that you're having fun  
You don't know what it is you've done  
Just to show that..._

_  
I can set you straight if you let me stay  
I hope I'm not too late_

_No you won't regret it_

_I can show you the way_

_And make you happy today_

_  
Yes, you know when you've been defeated  
You don't care and you thank no one  
Feeling low you will always need it_

_  
Well, you know when you're being cheated  
Yes, you know when you've been defeated  
Feeling low you will always need it  
Now you're having fun..._

_  
And are you still having fun?_

_  
Are you still having fun?_

_  
Are you still having..  
_

* * *

The end.  
Thanks to all.  



End file.
