Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Summary: It's on the road again for Agent Sands and Mort Rainey. What sort of vicious demons will they have to face along the way?
Disclaimer: We own Stephanie. And...Tom. And...that's it.
Author's Notes: You kind readers (after you forgive us for the hiatus and the lackluster editing) can all thank Stephanie for being such a lovely plot device. Applause welcome. -claps politely-
Lost in the Supermarket
Sands leaned over Mort's sleeping form, trying hard not to fall on top of him. He poked Mort in the shoulder. "Hey, Mort. Wake up."
"Whaddya want?" Mort asked into the pillow.
"Get up. We're leaving."
"Wha? Why?" He lifted his head and looked around the room groggily.
"We've overstayed our welcome. And I'm kind of tired of being confused."
"Wasn't Dr. House supposed to help with that?" Mort groaned as he stood and stretched.
"Dr. House is a Grade A fuck up. Now come on. I booked us a flight out of here to Seattle."
"Seattle? Why're we going there?"
"Because I haven't been there before."
"Oh..." He shrugged and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth get the nasty taste out of his mouth.
"And the best part is that I don't have to see that creepy bitch ever again," Sands whispered.
Dame bitch, someone yawned.
Tom grunted as he sat up on the side of the hospital bed finally able to get the hell out. "Is my cab here?" He asked the orderly grumpily. He'd been there for over 2 weeks now.
"I think so, but I wasn't in charge of that, so I wouldn't know," Merrie shrugged falling in step with Tom and the orderly. After Sara, she'd made it her job to keep tabs on Tom.
"It better be there," he grumbled. He looked at Merrie as she walked beside him. "I want to thank you for all your help."
"Don't worry about it." Merrie smiled slightly. He'd been difficult, but he'd been a good egg on the whole. She could see why Sara had liked him.
When they reached the sliding glass doors and there was no cab, he turned around, fuming, ready to cuss any and everyone out. "Where the hell is my cab?" he hissed.
"Because you're coming with me," a feminine voice called.
Tom whirled, wincing as his wounds pulled. He glared at the woman standing in the doorway of the hospital. "Hello, Nicole," he muttered, with an edge to his voice.
"Irritable already? You haven't even left the hospital." Nicole approached Tom with a sure step, following his voice. "The company wants to talk to you, find out what happened. They sent me because I'm such a wonderful messenger girl." That wasn't entirely true; it had really been that the whole mission had been botched and she'd been dumb enough to be caught waving her gun around like a newbie. But she wasn't going to tell Tom that.
Tom snorted. "Riiight. What, they don't believe you? Well, let me tell you. I can answer about as much as you can as I was unconscious."
"You know Sands better than I do, Tom. Besides, I wanted to talk to you first."
"Ah...it comes out." He replied with a smirk. "So...can we talk on the way to wherever it is we're going?" He scanned the drive behind her for a vehicle.
"Well, the Company figured that you might be a bit annoyed and said 'Convince him any way you can.' I got a limo," she responded lazily.
Tom nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Nice." Upon seeing the limo, he emitted a low whistle, and held the door open for DB before sliding in behind her. "Ok, so say again why they want to hear my side?"
"I couldn't tell you. Guilt, maybe? If he's anything like the stories, I think the Company may have dropped the ball on this guy."
"What are you talking about?" His brow creased as he listened to her.
"Well, here's the story as I've heard it. Sands freaked right out, shot you. Mort distracted him as Tokey called 911. He stabbed Tokey. He went after Mort again and I shot him. That's when the cops showed up. And I'm not so sure about you, but I'm fairly certain friends don't shoot each other. Sands seems to have shown himself capable of trying it, if not totally successful. I don't think the Company should have accepted him," Dangerbabe admitted.
Tom shrugged. "I wouldn't know all those events as I was drowning in my blood. That's what I recall after being shot and Mort stabbing him...As for Sands being accepted into the company, he's a damn good agent and you know it. Well..." He frowned. "He was."
"So this insanity is a recent development," DB answered incredulously.
He shrugged. "As far as I know. Probably has something to do with that doctor..."
"If I wanted to be cute, I'd say it was Mr. Rainey's bad influence. I think it more than likely would have been the stress instead."
"Think about it Tom. It was his first big assignment all by himself. Who wouldn't be nervous? I think it just got to him. What else happened when you first saw him?"
He shrugged. "He had this lady cop after him...and a fat one."
"Is that it?"
"That I can remember. He was in the hospital, had to spring him."
"Why was he in the hospital?"
"Dunno...car crash of some sort." Tom shrugged. He didn't see how this was of any importance.
"What if the crash sprung something loose in him? I doubt I'm right, but there has to be an explanation. He always seemed at least sort of stable, if a bit touched in the head," she mused.
Tom shrugged. "You yourself seem a bit off your rocker." He said, not really understanding why he was standing up for Sands. Perhaps because he wanted to be the only one 'out to get him.'
"I know I'm crazy, but it's a manageable crazy. It's Sands who's causing bodily harm to people."
Tom didn't argue there. "So what is expected of me at headquarters exactly? I mean I know as much as you do..."
"If I know them, they're going to question you about Sands. That's my only guess," DB admitted.
Tom sighed. "I don't know anything about that fucking psychotic madman." He mumbled.
"You know more than you're willing to admit," DB responded.
"Oooh! Look Nicole's now a mind reader!" Tom said sarcastically.
"I have to make up for it somehow," she replied acidly. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're doing nobody any favors."
"What the f-? How am I feeling sorry for myself?"
"Poor me, I got shot at and almost died! Poor me, my friend turned on me and I don't know why! Poor me, he ran off to a place I can't follow! Tom, every agent realizes there's some degree of danger with the job. It's obvious, wouldn't you say? Well, that also happens to mean that you're not allowed to wallow in self pity every time you almost kick the bucket. It just makes you sound immature, if you want to know the truth," Nicole smiled stiffly.
Tom's eyes narrowed and he leaned over and pinched Nicole's forearm. "Hush up." He muttered.
"No, Tom. Not if you're going to be depressed this entire ride. Where's the Agent McCarthy who didn't take carp from anybody?"
Tom sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Do you want me to shoot you?" He asked smiling slightly.
"If it'll get you out of your funk, I won't say no. I just won't sit quietly and take it either," DB smirked.
Tom laughed snidely. "What'll you do Nicole, hm? What would you do with a gun to your head?" As he said this he slipped his gun out of his holster and swiftly put it to her head.
Nicole nodded slowly, a slow grin crossing her features. Her own gun's muzzle found its way to Tom's crotch in the blink of an eye. "Same thing you'd do with a gun to your manhood I'll wager."
Tom swallowed hard and grinned uneasily. "Very sly Nic." He muttered taking his gun from her head although he didn't holster it. He was waiting for her to take her gun away from him.
"Are you going to cooperate? Behave like the redblooded agent you are?"
"Sure, why not? Are you going to remove your weapon from a very vital organ?"
"Vital? I was aware men could live without em. Course, their called eunuchs, but I can't imagine that would matter to a strong, secure man like yourself," Nicole grinned mischieviously.
Tom swallowed. "Lady-do you have a death wish?" He mumbled scooching back a bit in the seat.
"Now why's it me with the deathwish when I've got my gun trained at you?" DB laughed and reholstered the gun. "Not quite the bravado of the old Tom, but certainly all of the rakishness."
Tom sighed. "What is that you expect?"
"Tom...I just hope you don't take the same road as Sands."
Tom shook his head vigorously. "Hell no. I'm not going ape shit!" He said firmly.
"If you're going to let yourself get depressed and mopey and stressed, I think you might. I worry about these things, Tom."
Tom rolled his eyes and patted her on the cheek smartly. "Don't you worry yourself over ol' Tommy Boy." He sighed. "When can I get back home?" He asked quickly changing the subject.
Dangerbabe sighed, but rolled with it. "When the Company's done with you, I'd wager."
Tom leaned back in the seat heavily closing his eyes wearily. "How much farther now?"
DB raised her eyebrow. "Do I look like I know?"
Tom scowled. "Well wake me when we get there."
Dangerbabe shook her head. Well...it was easier than conversation. She needed a nap. She hunkered down in the limo seat and pulled her jacket over her. She was asleep within the minute.
Tom cracked open an eye. "Nicole?" He whispered. She didn't move. "Nic?" He said a bit louder, and tapped her shoulder gently. When she still didn't stir, he pulled out his cell, his hands shaking slightly with anger. He punched in Sands' number and waited for it to connect tapping his fingers on his knee agitatedly.
Sands cocked his head. It sounded like his cell, but nobody called his number unless they had damn good reason. "Jeffrey's Talented Wenches, we find 'em, you rent em, what's your name and purpose?"
Tom was speechless for a moment. It had been over two weeks since he'd heard his voice. "You-you-you inconsiderate bastard!" He hissed.
"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, you must want Jeffrey's Wonderful Housewives, hang on." Sands cleared his throat and adopted a Cockney accent. "Top of the mornin', what sort of a wife are you lookin' for today?"
"Where the hell are you, Sands?" he growled.
Sands frowned, wondering who it was. The voice was awfully familiar, but the voice belonged to a broken man Sands never expected to hear again.
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Who's this?"
"Your old partner. Your buddy Tommy Boy that you shot up and left in the hospital so you could go out and fuck the world," he said bitterly.
At least his ears weren't deceiving him. "Tommy Boy. What a...surprise. Why the fuck did you call me?"
"To find out where the hell you are so I know where to start my man hunt." He said with an edge to his voice.
"If I told you that, I think you might try and cause me bodily harm. Much as I love you, I kind of love myself a bit more. You know how it goes."
Tom snorted. "Do I ever." He muttered. "What the fuck are you playing at Sands? Where are you? You do know the company wants you to come in-right?"
"I've known it since two agents had to chase me all the way to Maine. I'm surprised you didn't, Tommy Boy."
"You're surprised I didn't what?"
"Know. Suspect. Realize that Danger-fricken-babe and One Toke Over the Line were out to bring us back. That's kind of a new low for you, mentor of mine."
Tom balled up his fist that was in his lap. "They wanted to bring you in. It was your assignment-not mine. As they saw you're quite incapable of following through with an assignment, and following orders."
"What a sin? Tommy Boy, I'm a free spirit. I hate the Company. I'm considering this 'Me Time' so that when I get back to work, I'm not going to accidentally kill someone, savvy?"
"Well I'll just do it for you-savvy that?" Tom retorted.
"Oh, hey, can you off my boss for me? Save me the work?" Sands asked curiously. "I'd appreciate it."
"If there's any ammo after I pump all the lead into your body." He said with a chilling casualness.
"And just when'd you grow yourself a pair of balls, Tommy Boy? What have I done to earn your wrath?"
"You killed Sara." He hissed his hand automatically going to his gun in his holster thinking about it.
"You were really attached to her, weren't you?" Sands murmured.
Tom felt himself blush. "She didn't deserve to die!"
"I guess we'll agree to disagree, won't we, Lover Boy?" Sands answered quietly.
"What the hell did she ever do to you?" He spat indignantly glancing at DB as she stirred slightly.
"Quite a lot."
Hang up. Hang up now!
Sands wasn't sure why he wasn't stopping the call. It could have been the loyalty to Tom, but he just wasn't sure. He never made a move to hang up.
"She was going to kill me. She thought she could play my game without consequences. I couldn't let her do that."
"Uh-huh...Well Sands hate to break it to you, but I can't let you get away with murdering her." He said matter of factly.
"Want to bet?"
"What's the wager?"
"Whatever you'd like, Tommy Boy. Because I always win."
"Well there's always a first for everything."
"I doubt that, Tommy Boy," Sands murmured.
"We'll see." He said in a clipped tone and terminated the call, looking over at DB. He glanced outside seeing that they'd arrived at Headquarters. He cleared his throat softly, and slid away from her.
DB didn't move for several minutes afterward. She'd heard most of the call and could guess what it had been about. Frankly, she wanted to curl up in a ball and wait until the madness was over. When she could no longer hide the fact that she'd noticed the car had stopped moving she stretched and made a show of waking up. It was one of the perks of being blind, the lack of facial expressions. "Are we there?"
Tom didn't answer, instead just pushed open his door and shut it. He quickly moved down the drive towards a cab that was leaving. He waved his arms over his head and lumbered as quickly as he could towards it. He had a madman to catch.
"Tom?" DB called.
Tom was already sliding into the back of the cab, giving the driver instructions to the airport. He had a feeling Sands had fled somewhere.
She heard the roar of the taxi engine and felt her morale sink. She also had the sneaking suspicion there'd be no catching him either.
Sands blinked slowly as he closed his cell phone. His fingers cracked and he winced. He liked Seattle, but it was too cold and wet for his healing injuries. His thigh was the first to recover and his hand followed soon after, albeit reluctantly. He'd cut the cast off with a steak knife. It still popped and twinged if given half a chance. His shin was still enclosed in its plaster prison, but he'd upgraded to cane instead of crutch.
Mort seemed fine. He was all healed, save for the occasional ache of an old bullet hole. The landlord was happy because they paid their rent on time. Everything was splendid...except for the rain and that was to be expected.
Sands shook his head and limped over to the sticky cold leather chair. He hadn't expected Tom's call and it certainly hadn't come at an opportune time.
"Who was that?" Mort asked around a mouthful of Doritos.
"A ghost," Sands sighed.
Mort quirked a brow as he took a swig from a can of Mountain Dew and sat down on the couch next to the chair Sands was in. "Hm? It was a pretty heated conversation from a ghost..."
"He said he was going to haunt our toilet if I didn't put his body to rest," Sands shrugged.
Mort choked on his Mountain Dew. "What?" He said wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
"Yeah, could get messy. Should I put him to rest for All Soul's Day? Let him get a decent eternal rest and all that shit?"
Mort frowned. "I thought he was a ghost."
"Yeah, but ghosts hate it when they're not buried in dirt or cremated or some shit like that. Haven't you ever read comic books?"
"Huh uh. But how can you kill a ghost? They're already dead."
"They technically are. It's their spirits that do all the yowling."
"I see... So...this ghost, is he one that you killed?"
Sands almost answered, "No, of course not, I haven't killed a fucking person in my life," when he snapped his mouth shut. When he thought about it, a kidney stone of remorse made his abdomen contract painfully. "I think so."
Mort quirked a brow. "Really now? I find that rather...unbelievable."
"Why would you say that?" Sands quirked an eyebrow.
Mort rolled his eyes. "How many times did you try to kill me?"
"Never, actually. I've never consciously tried to kill you. Never saw it in my best interest," Sands snorted.
Mort harumphed crossing his arms over his chest.
"Don't you think I'm capable of hitting a moving target in the heart? I got trained in this kind of stuff, John Wayne." Sands rolled his eyes, "Haven't I had more than enough opportunities to kill you if I really wanted you dead?"
"Then how come you've not killed me? I know that you've wanted to on numerous occasions."
"Mort, if I'd ever wanted to kill you...you'd be dead," Sands snapped.
"Ok...we've established that, but why don't you want me dead?"
"Well...I've never felt the need. And...you've kinda...grown...on me..." Sands answered awkwardly.
Mort's lip curled slightly as he glanced at him. "How come you didn't kill me before?" He asked quietly.
"Before I grew on you..."
"I told you, I never saw the need to kill you. Teach you a lesson, sure, but never kill you. I used to entertain thoughts of bringing you back to HQ then."
"Why did I need to be taught a lesson?" Mort frowned. "You're not going to take me to HQ now? Then why can't I go home?" He pouted. Not that he'd know what to do by himself after not being alone for nearly 3 weeks...
"Because you kept trying to escape, no I'm not taking you to HQ and because someone else is going to come after you with torches and pitchforks, you dope!"
"So? Like you care! I can-I can fend for myself!" He said indignantly.
Sands scoffed. "I knick you in a couple places with bullets and you whine like a stuck pig. You're such a fucking hypochondriac, you'd die of the common fucking cold."
Mort stood up huffing. "I most certainly would not!" He dumped his half full can of Mountain Dew on Sands' head and headed into the kitchen for another.
"Oh fuck! God, I'm melting!" Sands yelled.
Mort popped open another can and snorted into it as he took a swig.
Sands took the opportunity to test the miniature water gun he had filled with Mountain Dew. It hadn't congealed, that was a good sign. He dove in front of the doorway to the kitchen and rolled to a crouch in a classic secret agent move. The watergun was cocked and at the ready. He aimed. He fired, sending a stream of Mountain Dew at Mort's nose.
Mort shook his head and opened his mouth preparing to sneeze. "Ah...Ah..." He blinked, and nothing happened. He smiled wryly and made a face at Sands. "Hope you're having fun." He muttered rolling his eyes as he took a drink from his new can of Mountain Dew. All of a sudden, his eyes teared up and his face turned red. When he sneezed, he spewed Mountain Dew all over the kitchen. He looked at Sands partially sheepishly, while also partially accusingly.
"You sneeze when soda goes up your nose? Shit, I get a headache." Sands squeezed his eyes shut to stave off the imaginary headache. "Whatever. I'm taking a shower before the ants attack me."
Mort frowned and looked around. "What ants?"
"The ants that sneak into unsuspecting soda cans during picnics. They don't differentiate between soda in a can and soda-slicked skin. If you let them crawl all over your skin, John Wayne, there'll be nothing left but a meatless skeleton. I've seen it happen. You don't have much time, John Wayne. You'd better get clean," Sands called casually as he waltzed into the bathroom.
"Gah!" He lunged after Sands trying to squeeze into the bathroom first, managing to get stuck between Sands and the doorway.
Sands grunted and tried to dislodge himself from the doorframe, but it clearly wasn't happening. "Jesus tapdancing Christ, Mort, move!"
Mort's arms flailed out whacking into Sands and the doorframe. "I'm trying!" He said indignantly.
"Oomph, Jesus! Stop, STOP!" Sands snapped.
Mort froze and glanced at Sands quizzically. "Didn't you just say to move?"
"Well, it's not working, is it?" he hissed. "Now do as I say. Suck in your gut. Pretend you're trying to impress the girl next door."
"Huh? There's a girl next door? I thought it was a 300 pound guy with a beer belly?"
"His daughter, you fucking dip! Suck it in!" Sands yelled.
"Isn't his daughter like 12?" Mort mumbled wiggling.
"Fuck this," Sands snarled and shoved Mort forward into the doorframe. He wedged his knee upwards for some leverage and all but popped out. He landed on his hands and knees on the living room floor with a groan passing his lips.
"Oomph!" He smacked his head against the doorframe and went diving forward into the bathroom, nearly smacking his head on the porcelain tub giving himself a concussion. "That wasn't very nice." He mumbled pushing to his feet a bit dizzy.
"Next time, fucking listen to me," Sands grunted.
Mort made a face moving his mouth in silent mimic of Sands as he grabbed onto the sink trying to keep the room from spinning. He looked in the mirror and realizing he was in the bathroom shot Sands a triumphant grin. "Ha! I beat you in here!"
"Now take a fucking shower. We're going shopping later and you're coming with me." Sands pushed himself to his feet and stretched.
Mort's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Shopping? I don't like people and when you shop, there's loads of people..." He bit his lip. "Why are we going shopping anyway?"
Sands rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. There was one can of Mountain Dew left. "That's why."
"So we're going shopping because I don't like people?" Mort moved to the doorway his hands on his hips, making no move to take a shower.
"Well shit, pardner, you givin' up yer precious Mountain Dew? No skin off my fucking nose, but I would have thought you'd care more about it than that," Sands shrugged.
Mort frowned. "Well why can't you go?" He eyed the last can longingly swallowing hard. He'd have to make it last somehow...
"I could. That's why we have that fucking automatic," Sands sighed. "But I'm not buying soda or Doritos. They rot your fucking teeth and get you stuck in the fucking doorway."
"I wasn't the only one stuck in the doorway!" He huffed. "And it's not like you eat all that healthily. At least Mountain Dew is better than tequila."
"Tequila isn't neon green. Red meat isn't artificially flavored. I didn't get us stuck in the fucking doorway!" Sands jabbed a finger at Mort. He paused to sit on the countertop to alleviate the pressure on his leg. "Of course I don't much give a shit what you eat. Just don't expect me to accommodate you if you're not going to give me a leg up once in a while."
Mort turned and went into the bathroom slamming the door behind him grumbling. He stripped his clothes and took a quick shower emerging from the bathroom a mere 10 minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. "How about we get some clothes too? I'm tired of this Bangor shirt." He mumbled.
"Jesus, Mort," Sands groaned. "Fine, fine, what the fuck ever, put some clothes on."
Mort mimicked him as he grabbed his clothes and disappeared into a bedroom. He plopped down on the couch a few minutes later with just his pants on. He looked at Sands questioningly. "You're gonna shower too right?"
"Of course. I, unlike you, don't need prompting."
Mort rolled his eyes. "Will you bring that Mountain Dew on your way?"
"Get some exercise and get it yourself," Sands snorted and cleared off into the bathroom.
Mort scowled as he hefted himself up from the couch. He got the last can of the Dew and plopped back down on the couch.
Sands didn't take more than seven minutes. The sooner he finished, the sooner they could shop and consequently, the sooner they'd be done with it all. He threw on a pair of khaki shorts and a holey shirt and rejoined Mort in the living room. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Lemme get that damn Bangor shirt." He muttered moving to slip it over his head and down the remainder of the Mountain Dew.
"You do wash that, don't you?" Sands glanced disdainfully at the gray shirt as he opened the front door.
Mort rolled his eyes. "Have we had access to a washer?"
Sands cocked an eyebrow. "Downstairs. It takes quarters."
Mort rolled his eyes. "Yes I've washed it." He muttered under his breath moving past Sands out the door.
Sands sighed and locked the door.
Mort made his way to the car and stood waiting rather impatiently for Sands to join him and unlock the doors. "Let's make this quick ok?" He mumbled.
"I don't know if you noticed, John Wayne, but that soda can was the only thing in the fridge. It's going to take a bit longer than ten minutes." Sands slid into the driver's seat of the butchered Chevy. The way Sands saw it, any car without a Standard transmission was a castrated vehicle. Mort had insisted he was not a chauffeur and thus, the eunuch Sands was forced to drive until his leg stopped being fucked up.
Mort just slumped in the passenger seat as he pouted. "I hate shopping." He muttered.
"You think I enjoy it? You're a selfish prick, you know that?" Sands spat.
"What? Why am I the selfish prick? I'm not the one that insisted on dragging us cross country." He muttered.
"I'm not going to argue about this anymore. If you're too damn dense to realize it's for your own fucking good, I don't care."
"Well maybe I don't care!" Mort scowled as he looked out the window continuing to pout.
"Good. So as long as we both don't care about your opinion, we should be on even ground."
Mort sighed exasperated, but said nothing more for the remainder of the ride. When they arrived at a rather large supermarket, Mort looked up at it from the car disdainfully. "I'll bet there's loads of people in there..." He mumbled.
"No, I called ahead and made sure to get the attendants to clear the store just so we could shop."
"You really should have..."
"Were you going to pay for it?"
"You have to pay for it?"
"Unless you'd rather go in waving a gun. I bet you'd even get your food free too. I don't think the local police would much appreciate it though." Sands shrugged and got out of the car.
"Hey! Hey! That's a thought...Where's your gun?" He asked leaping out of the car and running around to face him before he could move away from the car.
Sands leaned on his cane, a bored look on his face. "Mort, only I'm allowed to be that crazy. Get in the store before I hurt you."
Mort crossed his arms huffing and shook his head. "Gimme the gun!"
"Mort, you're going a swift way to a cracked skull."
"If you're the one plannin' on doin' it I'll..." He bit his lip thinking for a moment. "I'll sic Shooter on you!"
"Yeah, good luck with that," Sands rolled his eyes and brushed past the indignant Mort. "Your attack puppy really scares me. You can't even call him out."
Mort growled and opened his mouth making a show of cracking his jaw. He looked over at Sands...and sighed. He followed him into the store resigned.
"Cart," Sands called, brushing past the entrance.
"You're the handicapped one." He muttered shoving a cart at Sands' back.
Sands sidestepped the cart and watched sourly as Mort nearly lost control of it. "Stop being a whingeing little fuck and let's go." Sands started forward only to have someone kick the cane out of his hand and topple him to the floor. Above him was an apologetic girl.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"
Mort snorted as Sands got wiped out. "Your eyes giving you problems too?" He chuckled as he moved past Sands grabbing the cart and proceeding to cautiously make his way through the store stocking the cart with Mountain Dew and Doritos and fresh corn on the cob.
"Fucking A!" Sands snarled. "Where the fuck did you learn manners?"
"I said I was sorry! Let me help you-"
"Get the fuck away from me," he hissed. He caught a glimpse of a nametag. "Stephanie."
She looked surprised for a fraction of a second before realizing she had the nametag. "Listen, here's your cane..."
Sands grabbed it and held in front of him threateningly. "Get the fuck away from me."
Stephanie backed away, horror on her face. Sands slowly got to his feet by grabbing onto a shelf. There was hate in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated loathing.
"Are you okay, sir?" she whispered.
"The hell I am." A gunshot blammed loudly and echoed throughout the store. Screams soon followed and unlucky Stephanie dropped like a stone. "God, stop fucking doing that!" Sands yelled.
She was going to die anyway. You just helped her along.
"Fuck..." Sands backed away slowly and pretended to fall to the floor in fear.
Mort looked up and saw the hordes of people rushing from the store. "Well...Guess he changed his mind about firing a gun to rid the store of people." He muttered to himself a slight smile on his face. "Was awfully nice of him though." He continued shopping quickly piling stuff into the cart.
Sands crawled backwards in the hopes of finding Mort and still looking suitably petrified. It wasn't long before Mort ran into him with the sopping cart. "Fuck, that's my foot!" Sands snapped. "Don't make me kill you too."
"What-what?" Mort asked his eyes growing wide. "You-you killed someone?" He sighed wearily. "And here I thought you were being nice and scaring the people out of the store." He mumbled grabbing Sands under his arms and hefting him up leaning him against the cart.
Sands had to adjust himself to stand semi upright. He glanced in the carriage and sighed. "Mort. You're not fucking living off that shit. Buy some fucking meat. Something with substance. Not...cheesy poofs."
Mort shot him a glare. "Do we have time before the authorities get here for you to gimp around the store?"
"God I fucking hate you." Sands moved to the front of the cart and stood on the step. He crouched low so Mort could see over his head. "Drive."
Mort grinned and shoved off going towards the butcher counter at breakneck speed.
Sands scooped up meats as his balance would allow. "Move! Fire escape!"
"Where? I can't see over the cow in the cart."
Sands glared at Mort and threw a bag of chips at him. He ducked even lower to the point where he was in danger of falling off. "Move, fucker, move!
"I'm movin', I'm movin'. " He muttered grabbing the chips and tossing them back in the cart as he spotted the fire exit. "What do I do, just smash through it?"
"The alarm's already off, go!" Sands grunted, and crawled beneath the carriage. He was a lot of things, but extremely stupid wasn't one of them.
Mort shrugged and barreled through the door, pushing the cart around to the front of the store where the car was. He saw all the chaos and the patrol cars pulling up. "How we gonna get out of here now?" He questioned Sands.
"We can't outrun the cops! Plus the apartment is like far!"
"Christ, why don't you come up with an idea for once?" Sands growled.
Mort shrugged. "Why?"
"Do you want to stand here and get caught with me and called an accomplice or do you want to leave?"
Mort frowned. "I'm not an accomplice. Why do I always have to do everything?" He mumbled pushing Sands across the parking lot.
Sands tugged his leather coat around his ears and face to better aid their unobtrusive escape. "You do shit. I do everything."
"Well it's your fault we're here." He pointed out slipping between cars unnoticed. "How far do you think we can get with a cart full of cow and corn and annoying killers?"
"I'm not the only person who eats the house out of food. You're part of the reason we're here too," Sands muttered. "We'll go as far as we can."
Mort sighed and continued pushing until they reached the street. Then he stopped and bent over to catch his breath. "There's a lot of cow in there." He looked at Sands pointedly.
"The more steak, the merrier," Sands growled. He conveniently ignored the barb.
Mort snorted. "If you're carnivorous." He groaned and stood up to push the cart again quite conveniently hitting a rut in the road sending Sands and the sides of beef flying out of the cart.
Sands hit the pavement on his shoulder, ripping the fabric of his favourite shirt. He scrambled to his feet and gripped Mort by the collar. "I know you're pissed. You've made it quite clear. Stop fucking with me. The more attention you draw to me, the more attention you draw to yourself."
Mort cowered a bit. "Sorry. I didn't know there was a hole in the road!" He said indignantly.
Sands decided he'd be better off if he were walking on his own two feet. He limped along behind Mort, glaring at the ground.
"You need to hang on to the cart?" Mort offered a spot next to him kindly.
"You're just going to knock me down again. And I'm not going to fight back because there are too many witnesses and you're going to throw a nutty. Thanks, but no thanks," Sands grumbled.
Mort shrugged again. "Suit yourself." He said shooting a disdainful look at his prominent limp.
"Don't worry, I will," Sands muttered.
Mort started to hum nonchalantly as they walked along. His body stiffened though when he heard the siren and the crunch of tires as a patrol car pulled up. He glanced over his shoulder nervously at Sands.
Sands didn't look up. His hands were jammed firmly in his pockets with a permanent scowl on his face.
"Uh...Sands?" Mort called in a sing song voice as he shot a smile at the cop.
The window rolled smoothly down and the cop looked at Mort over the top of his sunglasses. "What in the blazes are you doin'?"
"Uh..." Mort looked to Sands again. "Going for a walk?"
"We're fucking prostitutes, what the fuck do you think we're doing?" Sands growled.
The cop's eyes narrowed. "Sir I see what you're doing, but you also look a mite suspicious just walking away from a crime scene..." He pulled the car over.
Mort continued walking staring straight ahead, swallowing hard not saying a word. He continued at the same pace, knowing Sands wouldn't be able to keep up if he moved quicker.
You dun don' care bout that man, why don you jest pick up yer feet and run Morty? Get away while you can. Ya'll dun got a place to live so you don' need him no more Morty.
"Yes I do..." Mort whispered frantically glancing back to make sure Sands was keeping up with his unconsciously quicker footsteps.
Sands was still stubbornly keeping his gaze on the ground with similar thoughts running through his mind.
What the fuck do you think you're doing?
"Whatever the fuck I want to. I don't care. You're going to fuck up my life and everything in it. I'm going to enjoy what left of it."
You're moping! Get over yourself, you fucking psycho!
"Shut up, I'm not listening to you."
Mort frowned and stopped. "Well I didn't want to be dragged along for your little trip to begin with! You have no right to be angry with me for "fucking up your life"!"
"Oh get a fucking hint, Mort. You of all people should know when I'm not talking to you," Sands glowered.
"Oh...Right." He looked away.
"Is everything alright?" The cop inched closer warily.
"Fuck off. Everything's peachy." Sands replied.
The cop frowned. "Sir can I see your ID?" He demanded rather than asked, moving to step in front of Sands with his back to Mort.
Mort turned around and frowned. He slowly turned the cart full of cow around and backed up few paces preparing to charge.
"No. You can't," Sands returned acidly, sidestepping the cop and continuing on his way.
"Sir..." The cop said in a warning tone moving to grasp Sands' arm.
Just as the cop grabbed Sands' wrist, Mort went barreling into his back. The cop's face barely had a moment to register surprise before he was flung at Sands, body slamming him to the ground. Mort looked over the cart at Sands sprawled beneath the cop's body, sheepishly.
"Whoops..." He mumbled.
The cop was disoriented and shocked enough that he just lay on top of Sands bewildered, and was easily shoved off.
Sands felt like he'd been run over by a truck. A truck with a gun mounted on its thigh that was now jammed into Sands crotch. When the cop was unceremoniously shoved aside by Mort, it took a minute before Sands willing to talk in a normal tone of voice.
"Thanks," he wheezed.
Mort didn't bother replying to the hasty 'thanks', instead jerked Sands to his feet and pushed him towards the patrol car. "Figure out how to get the trunk open." He said wheeling the cart to the back of the car.
Sands barely had time to catch himself against the side of the car. The urgency of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. He popped the trunk and wobbled into the back seat.
Mort quickly dumped the cart's contents-quite literally scratching up the rear fender of the car-and then moved into the driver's seat. "I get to drive huh?" He shot Sands a grin in the rearview mirror. He caught a glance of the cop stumbling to his feet, and started the car. He peeled out spewing dirt and rocks on the cop. "Where are we going?" He asked his eyes on the road.
"Wherever your twisted little head wants. I just want a drink." Sands groaned, not bothering to sit up. He thought the only nameless thing in his head was pissed at him and this was the backlash. Better to drown him in alcohol now than to do something even stupider later.
"Well we gotta ditch this car first..." He mumbled peering through the windshield trying to figure out where to go and what to do with the car. They also had to have a way to get their groceries back to their apartment.
"Then ditch the car. You sound like you're new to this whole fugitive thing," Sands articulated into the seat.
He glared into the rearview mirror. "It is." He ground out.
"It is a new thing for me!" He protested hotly his eyes locked on Sands'.
"Well, think of it as an adventure."
Mort rolled his eyes. "Well would you mind pointing me in the right direction?" He returned his gaze to the road to see that they were headed straight for a ditch.
"To anywhere!" He cried jerking the car back to the lane, his eyes frantically searching the mirrors knowing that any minute he'd see a swarm of cop cars on their tail.
"God, if you're going to be a fucking pussy, get out of the car and run the fuck away."
"Fine!" Mort whipped the car to the side of the road killing the engine.
"I don't hear you running..."
Mort harrumphed and pushed out of the car popping the trunk. He slammed the door and went to the trunk grabbing a case of Mountain Dew and a bag of Doritos and starting down the road mumbling something about good for nothing bastards.
Sands wanted to join Mort, say he was just dicking around and being a hormonal fuck. Rather that Nameless was being a hormonal fuck, but Sands would take what he could get at this point. He still hadn't gotten out of the back seat.
He heard the low wail of sirens in the distance. His head moved fractionally to better catch the sound and judge how much time he had. Turned out to be not long at all.
Honour Roll: Merrie- I miss House, do you miss House? I miss House. MrsLoDepp- Welcome to the fan club, we've got t-shirts. : ) Here's more.