|Caramel and Mocha
Author: Kerttu PM
Dreams can come true. Postmovie but severe case of AU. Slash. Third of the Mentality series.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 5 - Words: 10,891 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 3 - Published: 01-28-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2238400
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: Caramel and Mocha (1/?)
Rating: R to be on the safe side
Disclaimer: As if anyone could own these guys!
Summary: Post-movie; severe case of AU; dreams can come true
AN: Not beta'ed, so all mistakes thus are mine. Bows to Maureen for planting images of El and Sands doing everything possible (and impossible- sidewise under the bed, come on!) to each other, and to Ebe who has asked and pleaded with and nagged at me to give Sands his gorgeous eyes back.
There was nothing better to wake up to than the feeling of El's arms around him. Tightly encircled by his hands.
In both ways.
Sands bit back a moan when El grazed his earlobe with those Mexican teeth.
His caramel dreams were becoming true. So fuck you, Susanne Vega.
When the fingers teased him, he did moan and pushed back at El's arousal, making now in turn the Mexican groan. With this man he was a shameless slut but El did not need many reminders right now, did he? The Mariachi had his hands full anyway.
El's left picked the pace up, the rhythm quickening to push him into crescendo and the right arm of El tightened around Sands' waist and then the morning was hotter, sweatier, noisier, and even more glorious than before. And-
A sound of the metal hitting the wooden floor. A quiet curse in Spanish.
Somebody dropped something in the adjoining room. Sands smiled at the other person's mishap and nuzzled the pillow some more but the sleep was gone. And he was alone on the bed.
He rolled on his back and glanced around.
He did not know this room. It was clean and did not have the feeling of a hotel hole. There were two armchairs across the room, near the window and a nightstand by his bed, all of them possibly beige. The glass on the nightstand was filled with water and the golden pattern of the glass glittered against the silver of the water in the low light of the room. The shutters allowed only slivers of light in.
And Sands got the feeling there was something very wrong about this situation.
He shot a look towards the door ajar on his left from where the dropping sound had come from. No movement there.
He climbed out of the bed (Why am I wearing a T-shirt? I wasn't a few moments ago… And why am I wearing ONLY a T-shirt?) and padded to the window. It was not locked and either were the shutters. He pushed them open and blinked several times in order to adjust to the sudden bright light.
And he froze.
I do not have eyes anymore… I cannot possibly blink. I cannot-
But he could. He looked at his hands that were gripping now the windowsill so hard that the knuckles were white. He looked at the bright blue sky above and the white tower of the church that was visible over the tin roof of the neighbouring house. On the tin roof the paint was shedding…
Sands spun around.
There stood Ramirez, the half of his face purple and yellow. "Are you back here yet?"
"What?" Sands leaned against the windowsill and held on.
Where was El?
Why was Ramirez here?
What was happening?
Why can I suddenly SEE?
Where were they? Were they even alive?
He felt his knees getting weak.
Nothing was making sense anymore.
Ramirez cleared his throat and Sands snapped his attention back to him. "Do you know who I am?"
Ramirez only looked at him, waiting him to elaborate.
Sands drew a breath. "You are Jorge Ramirez, a former agent of FBI, your badge number was-"
"That's enough. Come, sit down before you fall over. You haven't eaten for three days."
Sands looked at him but stumbled then to the nearest armchair and crashed into it. "What's going on?" He saw that his hands were shaking and he folded them to hide the sign of weakness. Thank God for a long T-shirt, too. Covered all the essentials.
"You do not remember, do you?"
"I wouldn't be fucking asking, if I did."
"Oh, that's the Sands I have been waiting for." Ramirez took a seat in the other chair. "A cigarette?"
Ramirez offered him light and waited until he had settled back on the chair. "You have been here for three days. Some of those that you employ still have some concern and honour which, in fact, surprises me…"
"I do not follow."
"Ok, let's start then. You sent me to shadow Barillo. I followed him to the hospital. I got caught."
Sands watched how the former agent frowned. "As you can see, they weren't particularly gentle." Ramirez lit a cigarette of his own. After he had exhaled, he continued. "Fortunately for me, Billy Chambers was left to guard me. You remember him?" Receiving a nod to that Ramirez continued: "I had offered him a fair trial in States and he wanted out anyway. So he released me."
"You have learned the beautiful art of manipulation." He sounded almost like always. Good. Cool cucumber was the number he was best at.
"So I have." Ramirez glanced outside where a couple of children were making a ruckus. "It looks the same. The city. As if there were no shooting and-"
"So there was a coup?"
"An attempt of it. The dwellers of Culiacan did not fancy the idea. They hate cartels but they hate ambitious military even more." Ramirez turned back to face him. "Chambers knew that Barillo was going to meet the General in the building the President was staying. I thought I was going to be dead anyway, so I went after the thing you'd offered."
"Revenge for your partner." Sands felt chilly sitting by the open window but the cold kept his mind sharper. And the smoke made a beautiful little spiral curve while drifting outside.
"Exactly. When we got there, the president had been sent safely away, there was only the corpses of Marquez and his troops all over the place and three Mariachis stealing money." Ramirez pinched the bridge of his nose and shrugged. Sands noticed suddenly how tired the man looked. "Well, two were stealing and stuffing their guitar cases, the third came up to me and asked whether I knew you."
"Tallish, dark, brooding, wears black and white?" So El had saved the president. Typical. Just could not allow the grey to win.
"That's the guy."
"Why did he assume that you knew me?"
Ramirez reached into his suit jacket and fished out a cell phone. "That's why. He had one of the same type. He got it from you."
"El, you are not so stupid after all…" Sands smiled and leaned back. "What then?"
"He led me to the back of the building. There, on the back seat of a black-red striped sports car, were you. Barely alive and totally out of it."
"Drugs. He showed me needle marks on your neck and arm. El…, was it El?"
Sands nodded and put his cigarette out. He pushed the sleeve up and looked at his right upper arm that had, indeed, itched. True, there was a mark of an injection.
So far, so good and some of his sanity was still salvageable.
Ramirez shifted and coughed to clear his throat. "El had found you after escaping Barillo's estate. He noticed this car parked in front of a cantina and recognised it as yours."
Sands had to physically stop himself from gaping. He had no idea that El knew THAT. "And?" he prompted when Ramirez was working out kinks from his neck and not giving further information. How in a hell did he end up here and how he was not blind and…?
"He asked me to look after you till you either woke up or died."
"And you did."
"Yes. 72 hours of intense interagency co-operation."
Ramirez had not known anything more of why or how exactly had El found him. So having spent two lazy days eating, soaking in bath, cleaning the guns he still had left, and packing Sands took out the small scrap of paper with the address Bellini had given him. He needed information; that was his job description and his tool of control.
He was going to visit the Guitar town.