Sands Through The Hourglass
Once Upon A Time In Mexico Fan Fiction
By Scarlett Burns
Rated: M (16+)
(for adult language, violence and disturbing situations)

Summary: Post-movie. Sands finds himself back in CIA hands, and his future is uncertain. A setup within the CIA puts Sands to the test, and he's forced to lay it all out on the line to gain proof about the conspiracy against him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
~*~
Spook Speak | Translation Guide

Part 4

Sands wearily entered his apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him. He’d just returned from his sixth DLSC. The acronym was mercifully better than the full title; Disabled Living Skills Class.

It was degrading to him, to need such a class. Yet he saw no way out of it. He had to take the classes if he was to have any hope of staying on at the Company and what was worse, he found that the classes did help him to live better on his own. He was finishing his second week, and already he’d learned some useful skills.

Still, it didn’t help Sands’ mood any. He craved revenge. Not revenge against the cartel, that had already been done, but revenge against the traitor within his own agency. The agency that had been his miserable life for over 10 years. Yet here he was, going to these classes because… because why?

He disgusted himself.

Sands threw his coat and cane down in a corner of the entryway and made his way into the kitchen, feeling an intense need to shoot something.

Opening the cabinet that contained the tequila, Sands poured himself a rather large measure of the liquor, then opened the fridge and fished in the fruit drawer for a lime. Unfortunately the fruit drawer was empty and Sands found himself and his friend El Tequila lime-less.

Sands downed the drink quickly and set the glass down heavily on the counter, refusing himself another shot of the drink. He walked into the living room running a hand through his hair, but he felt too antsy to sit down.

Sands desperately needed to do something, to stop thinking.

Suddenly he got an idea, and he smiled at the thought.

Reaching into his pocket he got out his cell phone. It wasn’t his old companion - that still seemed to be MIA - but he supposed it would have to do.

Cam had only visited once since their little encounter two weeks ago. During the visit Cam had entered his number into Sands’ cell, setting it as speed dial three, much to Sands’ dismay.

After dialing Cam’s number on speed dial he waited as the phone rang. Cam picked it up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Quid agis, medice?"

"Huh? Wh… Sands?" Cam asked, sounding caught off guard and a little shocked that Sands had called.

"The one. The only."

"Is everything alright?"

"Groovy. Except I seem to be developing a possibly fatal case of itchy trigger finger and seriously need to shoot some lead into some shit. So, I thought before I go next door and shoot one of my neighbors, I’d give you a jingle and see if you were up for it."

"Are you offering to shoot me instead?"

"Hmm, tempting, tempting," Sands said as if contemplating the idea, amused, but showing little sign of it in his voice. "Are you offering?"

Cam was silent, obviously trying to think of something to say. Sands snorted and continued. "I didn’t think so… well since my human target doesn’t seem to be willing, what do you say we go down to the range? You can paste a picture of Officer Lake’s head on my target. It’ll be better than a visit to the shrink."

Cam laughed, and was relieved to hear Sands sounding more like himself… even if it was just because he was happy about the prospect of shooting something, it was refreshing to hear.

It was Sands.

The nurse at the hospital, Crystal had been keeping a sharp eye on Sands when he came in for his physical therapy and check-ups and had told Cam that Sands had seemed even more detached than normal (which was saying something) and that it could be a sign that he was depressed. The news certainly wasn’t surprising considering Sands’ situation.

Actually, what was more surprising to Cam was that Sands hadn’t completely lost his mind. He certainly hadn’t had a firm base as it was, and a lesser man would have given in by now. Briefly Cam wondered what he’d be like if the same happened to him… he didn’t think about it too long.

"Sounds like a plan. I’ve just finished up some paperwork… I can probably make it over there in about forty-five. Sound good?" Cam asked him, thinking that perhaps Sands was finally starting to warm up to another human being.

"Peachy," was the quick reply, as Sands hung up the phone and smiled at the thought of feeling the power of an automatic in his hand again. It had been far too long.

The thought that perhaps he was beginning to develop a less-than-hostile relationship with another officer never even crossed Sands’ mind.

---

Sands had just finished changing when his phone rang; not his cell, but his home phone. He stiffened slightly, as very few people ever called him, especially on his home phone.

"Ah shit." Sands swore under his breath as he walked over to the phone, damning the fact that he could no longer read his caller ID.

"Yeah?" he answered in a bored tone, as if he was already tired of a conversation that hadn’t even started yet.

"Officer Sands?" The voice on the other end asked, all business.

"The one and only," Sands stated before thinking, ‘deja vu.’

"This is Officer Douglas…"

"I’m calling to inform you about the progress of the investigation."

"Oh well, glad to hear you all stopped farting around. There may be hope for OOS yet," Sands commented sarcastically. "So, have you found out who cluster-fucked the operation?"

"Perhaps… Officer Sands. I regret to inform you that you’ve been suspended indefinitely, pending an investigation into your actions during your operation in Culiacan, Mexico."

Sands whole body froze, his breathing stopped, his grip on the phone becoming so tight his knuckles turned white, as he forced himself to answer and maintain his ever-bored drawl.

"Just for my own edification, why the sudden shift in suspicion? Last I talked to you, you seemed to agree that Martin was the rat."

"We found your phone Officer Sands," Douglas answered, then paused, waiting for a reaction from Sands.

‘If they found the phone, then shouldn’t they be delivering this call to Martin?’ Sands thought, suddenly confused.

Douglas continued in the face of Sands’ silence. "There are no recorded phone calls to your superior, Officer Martin, in your cell phone, nor is his number in your recent calls archive. There is no record of you ever calling your superior, Sands."

Sands opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say and no sound came out.

"You are free to continue your DLSC and physical therapy at OMS while we investigate further. However, you are suspended from any type of active duty and you will be arrested if you attempt to leave the state. For the time being, consider yourself a civilian. We will notify you further at a later date."

With that Douglas hung up, not even waiting for a reply and Sands just stood motionless as the dial tone buzzed in his ear and into his brain like a swarm of hornets. His temples pounded as his phantom eyes began throb with pain. Over and over his mind raced in circles.

‘I made those calls. I made those calls. I did make those calls…’

Sands’ breathing became quicker as his sense of reality began to crumble. Still he held the phone to his ear, the sound of the dial tone the only reminder that he was standing in his apartment at this moment… alive and in the US… just stripped of his title by a one-minute phone call from a weasel of a man who’d sat in a cozy office all his life and didn’t give a shit. A sorry-you-wasted-eleven-years-of-your-life-with-the-Company-and-got-your-eyes-
ripped-out-but-tough-shit-and-guess-what-we-don’t-give-a-damn courtesy call that took away the last thing he had left in his miserable existence.

Sands began to feel dizzy, the pain in his temples and the thoughts in his mind affecting his equilibrium in ways he didn’t know were possible. His thoughts became fogged over, confused, as his breathing quickened and his head spun out of control. Suddenly he didn’t know which way was up or down, left or right, front or back. His eyes burned, mere phantoms to torture him.

Then there was more fog, and the ground seemed to tilt.

And as ridiculous as the thought was, Sands tried to open his eyes.

He let out a strangled sound as an arm snapped out in reflex, groping for anything within reach. Yet his fingertips hit nothing but air, and Sands staggered hard to the right, finally dropping the phone from his iron grasp. It fell to the floor as the dial-tone turned to a beep.

The sockets of what were once his eyes pounded mercilessly and the pain echoed in his skull.

Sands staggered again, reaching out with the other arm for something to hold on to. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Just black surrounded by deeper black.

Sands right hand reached down to his side for his gun at the sound of that voice, but again, there was nothing there. The movement was enough to cause him to lose his balance and he felt his still recovering left leg give way, then the right.

"I am Sheldon Jeffery Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency" Sands muttered, trying to keep a grip on his slipping hold on reality. As his knees hit the carpet that same black was eaten away by the deeper black and he quickly slipped out of consciousness as his body hit the ground.

Cameron walked up the second flight of stairs and made his way down the hall to Sands’ apartment. Reaching the door he knocked hard three times and waited… and waited… and waited. Cameron frowned slightly before knocking again and calling out, "Sands, open up. It’s me, Cam."

Still, there was no response. Cam felt a knot begin to form in his stomach as he got a duplicate of Sands’ apartment key - given to him the day Sands was released from OMS - out of his pocket. Wary of entering without Sands opening the door himself, Cam knocked again and tried the doorknob. Unsurprisingly, the door was locked.

Cam sighed and fidgeted with the key in his hand, staring at the doorknob and listening to the echoing silence inside with dismay. A woman walked past him, giving him a suspicious glance before heading down the stairs.

Cam knocked on the door one last time. "Sands, if this is your idea of a joke it isn’t very funny."

Still there was nothing.

Worriedly Cam glanced up and down the hall before withdrawing his gun, then inserting the key into the door. Turning it, he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside.

Cam’s eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. Closing the door, he hurried over to Sands’ prone body, lying unconscious on the living room floor.

"Jesus! Sands!" Cam called out as he knelt down beside him, efficiently checking him over for any wounds, thinking that perhaps someone had broken in.

‘I don’t see anything,’ Cam thought, somewhat confused, as he shook Sands a bit in an attempt to rouse him. However, Sands still didn’t move, and the lack of any external harm did little to ease Cam’s worries. As he sat back slightly, he returned his gun to its holster, at a loss as to what exactly he should do. It occurred to him that the phone was beeping and he looked over to see it off the hook, lying on the floor next to Sands.

‘Water. Maybe some water on his face will wake him up,’ Cam thought as he stood, picking up the phone and replacing it in its cradle. It was then that Sands abruptly sat up with a sudden gasp, and Cam nearly knocked the whole table over in his surprise.

"Sands?" Cam asked tentatively, but got no real response as Sands’ breathing speeded up. He appeared to be on the verge of panic. "Sands, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?" Cam questioned, but still didn’t seem to be getting through to the man sitting before him. Sands’ right hand began to reach out blindly in the air in front of him as his breathing became ever more labored. His sunglasses had been knocked askew to reveal some of the nothingness that lay beneath, and strands of his long hair clung to the sweat on his face.

Cam bit his lower lip nervously as he thought, ‘He’s a total wreck.’

"Sands?"

Cam moved toward Sands slowly, not wanting to startle him, but still seeking to help him. It was painfully obvious something was very wrong. "Sands," he said softly, as if talking to a child.

Finally Sands’ head moved towards the sound of Cam’s voice and he took a small amount of comfort in the acknowledgment. Sands swallowed hard, his breathing still far too quick to be normal. "Cam?" Sands asked quietly, his upper body swaying a bit as if he were dizzy.

"Sands, what’s wrong?" Cam asked again as he knelt down, unafraid of startling Sands now that he held his attention. He grasped Sands’ outstretched hand and immediately noticed how clammy his skin was to the touch, his palms sweaty. "I… I… Cam, something’s wrong. I…" Sands began to stutter, in a small voice that Cam had never heard from him before.

"Sands it’s OK, just…"

"No… no, it’s not. Eric… I… I can’t see!" Sands whispered to him desperately, as an involuntary shudder passed through his body.

Cam furrowed his brow in confusion, surprise… and worry. He couldn’t remember the last time Sands had called him Eric.

"Sands…"

"I can’t see!" Sands said again, more loudly this time, his voice cracking. Sands reached a hand up to his face as he attempted to stand up, succeeding only with Cam’s help, and swaying dangerously in place. "My eyes… my eyes hurt so much. Eric, why the fuck do they hurt so much?" Sands asked, becoming frantic. It was painfully clear to Cam that Sands was having some sort of panic attack or mental collapse.

"Sands… you’re alright. Just try and take a few slow, deep breaths," Cam said soothingly, as he tried to guide Sands over to the couch, but Sands pulled back at his lead, roughly and suddenly, the quick movement almost causing him to tumble back down to the ground. Sands was still breathing oddly, and he was sickly and pale and not at all Sands.

"Don’t you touch me!" Sands warned in a dangerous tone laced with unfamiliar desperation. "Don’t you dare touch me!" Sands said again. This time his voice was a mere whisper.

"What… what have you done to me? I can’t see… I can’t see anything."

Cam swallowed, his throat dry, as a feeling of dread swept over him. Sands was definitely having some sort of mental breakdown. Unfortunately, out of the two of them, Sands was the only one with a degree in psychology.

"Sands, I haven’t done anything to you. Don’t you remember?"

"Yes… yes you did," Sands accused. He began to feel his way around the apartment as if searching for something, stumbling several times before finding a wall to help guide him.

A thought struck Cam as he watched Sands in concern, ‘He’s never looked as blind as he does right now.'

Sands made it to the door of his bedroom and Cam followed him, still completely unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to make any drastic phone calls, still holding out hope that Sands would snap out of whatever panicked state seemed to have gripped him.

As Cam entered the doorway of Sands’ bedroom he watched as Sands felt around the bed, and then his dresser. Sands began to pull out the lowest drawer and it quickly dawned on Cam what he might be searching for.

Leaping into action Cam came to an abrupt halt as Sands swiftly stood up and spun around to face him, automatic in hand.

"What are you doing, Sands?" Cam asked, as he cursed himself for his stupidity. He took a step back from the imposing figure of a crazed Sands; hair a tangle of black, sunglasses askew, sweat glistening on his brow, his breathing rapid and ragged. He raised the automatic and aimed it at Cam, his hand uncharacteristically shaky.

"Just stay away from me motherfucker. I…" Sands seemed to stop for a moment, as if battling with himself. "I’ll blow you straight to fucking Broadway."

"Alright, alright," Cam said, trying to sound calm as he backed up a little more. "Listen to me Sands. You’re in your apartment. About a month and a half ago you returned to the US after your operation rolled up in Culiacan, Mexico. Don’t you remember? You were injured," Cam said, then took a silent step to his left, removing himself from Sands’ line of fire.

"I can’t remember. I…I can’t… I can’t see…" Sands trailed off feebly. He looked frustrated and confused, his gun still trained on the spot Cam had just vacated.

"Sands… The Barillo Cartel…"

Sands jumped in surprise at the sound of Cam’s voice, and took an unsteady step away from him, caught off guard by his stealthy change of location. The hand clutching the gun faltered, and he didn’t attempt to correct his aim as he continued to try and grasp what Cam was telling him.

"…the Day of the Dead. Armando Barillo… Ajedrez…" Cam continued to prod.

Suddenly, Sands turned the gun on himself.

Cam’s eyes widened in surprise at the one thing he never expected. "Please, Sands! Just… just put the gun down."

Sands began to laugh, a twisted and crazy sound that chilled Cam to his core. "I won’t tell you what you want to know. I won’t tell you anything! The Company will not stand for this! I’ll willingly take myself to hell before compromising my operation," Sands went on. His laugh became a choked sob while the gun remained pressed against his temple.

"There’s no operation Sands! There’s nothing to compromise!"

Sands shook his head. "I called him. I… I did call him. I spoke to him. He spoke to me. I recorded it. God damn it! I recorded it!" He shouted, struggling to catch his breath. When he spoke again, his voice came out haggard. "I’m a loyal officer to the Company."

"Of course you are Sands."

Cam watched him with something beyond fear in his eyes. There was no doubt about it, Sands had completely lost it.

Sands backed himself up against the dresser, then slowly slid down to the ground with the gun still at his temple. "I’m a loyal Officer," Sands stated, sounding weak and tired as he sank down. "I made those calls … and I’m a loyal officer."

Cam could wait no longer. He dove towards Sands in a desperate attempt to pull the gun off its target before Sands could pull the trigger.

Cam dove for the gun and his hands grasped it. Sands let out a yelp of surprise as he felt the gun being pulled away from him.

"Goddamn it. Let go of the gun, Sands!"

Sands let out what could only be called a growl as he tried to regain his grip on the only thing he felt he could control.

When his position finally allowed him to, Cam grabbed hold of Sands’ wrist and twisted hard, and Sands gasped as he was forced to drop the gun to the ground. But Sands was never one to admit defeat, even now when the mighty mistress had her deathly fingers around his neck. He immediately acted. Just as Cam tried to kick the gun away from Sands, Sands shoved Cam hard against the dresser and turned his attention back to the floor, his hands groping around in the place he’d heard the gun drop as he muttered urgently.

"Restore the balance. Set them up and watch them fall. Just watch them fall. Watch them fall."

Cam shook his head, trying to clear it, as blackness threatened to close in on his vision. It was by sheer will - and terror at the sight of Sands fingers brushing against the gun lying on the floor - that he managed to fight off the encroaching darkness and lurch forward to stop him.

When Sands’ fingertips brushed up against the gun, he grasped it quickly. "Watch the mighty fall," Sands whispered, as he started to raise the gun to his temple again.

But Cam had the element of surprise on his side and grabbed hold of Sands’ arm before he could take accurate aim, slamming the gun and Sands’ hand against the dresser just as a shot went off. Sands shouted madly, but as soon as the shot rang out his body went rigid. His hand released its hold on the gun and it dropped to the floor.

Not willing to take any more chances, Cam immediately scooped the gun up and unloaded the clip. Watching Sands out of the corner of his eye as he lay against the dresser, pale and breathing heavily, he tossed the unloaded gun onto Sands’ bed and tucked the clip inside his jacket.

"Sands?" Cam asked. He crouched next to him and, after some hesitation, laid a hand on Sands’ shoulder. Sands’ body and mind appeared to be totally spent, as if they both just came to the agonizing conclusion that there was no way to win the battle. "Jeff?" Getting no real response Cam grabbed hold of Sands’ shoulders and gave him several hard shakes, raising his voice a few levels higher than normal. "Listen to me you crazy son-of-a bitch!"

Sands eyebrows drew together as he finally turned his head to face Cam. Cam heaved a weary sigh as he allowed his body to collapse next to Sands on the floor. Attempting to keep the tiredness and worry from lacing his voice, Cam continued. "Jeff, you’re in your apartment with your ex-partner in crime, Eric Cameron. Cam." Cam paused for a second, making sure Sands was comprehending him, before asking, "Are you following me, cowboy?"

Sands took a deep and shaky breath; not really sure of what had just happened, but attempting to focus on what was going on now. He felt dizzy and weak, and he couldn’t seem to get his own body to stop shaking.

Finally, Sands nodded a slow response in the affirmative.

It was slowly seeping into Sands’ mind now, what had happened in Mexico, and what had happened… what was it? A minute ago? Thirty minutes ago? An hour ago? A day ago? It had been almost two months, yet the thought struck him hard, suddenly, without warning.

A small and unwelcome flow of air escaped Sands’ lips, as his lungs emptied out their supply in defeat.

A minute passed in which they sat in complete silence, Cam letting Sands get his wind back and sort things out in his mind. Cam leaned heavily against the dresser behind him, deciding to be patient and let Sands make the next move.

Slowly, the fog within Sands mind cleared. It took with it the feeling of confusion, but didn’t pay him the courtesy of also removing the feeling of depression he was experiencing.

After another minute rolled by Sands pulled himself away from his internal conversation, remembering Cam was likely still in the room.

Finally Sands broke the rigid silence.

"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker."

Cam let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and laughed in relief. "Alright John McClane, I think you’ve had enough action for one day. Why don’t we make our way into the living room? I’ll fix you a stiff drink. You look like you need it."

Sands let out a frustrated groan and leaned his head against the dresser.

"Fuck off Cam. Just leave me alone," Sands snapped back, irritably. He didn’t know what was going on with himself, and he’d be damned if he let Cam figure it out before he did.

Cam rolled his eyes as Sands seemed to go back to his normal self, his annoyance tempered with great relief.

"There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here alone in this condition."

"I don’t need your help!" Sands growled, as he slapped Cam’s hand away and tried to stand on his own, failing miserably.

"Of course you don’t, asshole. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. But I’m already here and I really have nothing else better to do, so you’re getting my help anyway, like it or not."

A long silent moment passed between them before Sands emitted a short grunt.

"Friggin’ pain-in-the-ass," he grumbled as Cam grabbed hold of his arm and helped him up roughly.

"Oh yeah, and you’re not?"

Sands allowed himself a small smug smile as he regained his balance. "That’s right, I’m not."

Cam gave him an incredulous look, before Sands continued. "I’m a royal pain-in-the-ass."

"Well, I can’t argue with that."

Cam led Sands to the couch and sat, or rather pushed, Sands down on it.

"Sands, your skin is clammy. I think you have a fever. Please, just sit there for a minute and try to take some slow, deep breaths. It will help clear your mind."

Cam could swear that even without eyes, Sands had managed to fix him with his nastiest glare. Sands opened his mouth to say something no doubt equally nasty but Cam cut him off.

"Don’t even start your shit."

Sands snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Cam watched Sands sit there in complete silence as he obviously tried to withhold an outburst. Cam noticed that Sands wasn’t breathing quite as quickly as he had been before and his body was shaking a little less. However, he still seemed exhausted, and when Sands was too exhausted for a good comeback… well, then something was seriously wrong.

After a moment, when it appeared Sands was starting to get a grip on things again, Cam walked into the kitchen and poured them both a good measure of tequila. Since Sands seemed to be out of limes he brought the drinks out as is and approached Sands, who was bending over with his hands covering his face.

"Sands, drink this. It’ll help to relax you," Cam said as he sat next to him.

Sands lifted his head, readjusted his crooked sunglasses, sat back against the couch heavily and reached for the drink. Cam put it in his hand and watched as Sands took a long pull from the glass, ending it in a weary sigh. "Where’s a lime when you really need one?" Sands mumbled into his glass, and Cam allowed himself a slight smirk. Sands seemed to finally be getting back with it, at least to the point of coherence.

As Sands finished his tequila, Cam finally asked, "Sands, what happened?"

"Shit," Sands swore, setting his now empty glass down in front of him on the coffee table. Cam waited for him to continue, but Sands didn’t elaborate any further.

"Care to expand on that thought? You sounded fine when I talked to you earlier. What the hell happened?"

Sands leaned back against the couch, shifted his weight and reached a hand into his pocket, coming up with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Sands lit one up and took a drag before answering in his most nonchalant tone, "Nothing."

"Don’t give me that bullshit Jeff. You don’t make a habit of losing control… of anything, least of all yourself."

He knew that being too kind to Sands would result in a bullet in the head or at least a shove out the door, actually probably both. "I know you too well."

"I agree on that last statement."

"Don’t start your shit with me. You can’t give me the brush off. You think I can’t tell what you’re trying to do?"

"Oh, and what’s that?" Sands asked nastily, his patience spent, as he took another puff of his cigarette and filtered the smoke slowly out through his nose.

"You’re trying to lock me out, push me away. You’ve always had a problem with people - oh you can manipulate them wonderfully - but you’ve always had a hard time connecting."

"Wowza, listen to all that crap you can spout Doctor Phil," Sands spat sarcastically as he started to get up, not wanting to hear anymore.

Cam quickly stopped him from getting up, and pushed him back into a seated position, determined to make Sands hear him out.

"You’ve always been like that to a certain extent, but I can’t for the life of me understand why you’ve completely given up on people. You’ve only gotten worse. Why? Is it because of what happened to…"

Sands interrupted him, furious, "Mention them and I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll…"

"No you won’t Jeff."

"You do realize how irritating you are, don’t you? My trigger finger is just itching to shoot something, so don’t tempt me."

"If you were going to shoot me you would have done it by now. Besides, you know I’m right."

Sands smiled mercilessly. "I wouldn’t be so sure."

"But I am."

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you, Jeff. Either you tell me what’s going on or I’m picking up that phone and calling OMS and telling them to come get you," Cam threatened. He knew it was an empty threat because, as tough as he was being with Sands now, he knew he couldn’t be responsible for Sands being committed to a sanitarium.

"Would you do that?" Sands asked, in a tone that betrayed nothing of what he felt.

"I just watched you have some sort of mental episode and go so far as try and kill yourself. You want to try me?"

Sands sat there for a long time, saying absolutely nothing as he smoked; his breathing seemed to be back to normal and his skin was a little less pale. Cam didn’t know what to think, but stayed silent, knowing he could really only push the man so far, and that he was already stretching his limits.

"Well, I suppose I’ll never get any peace until I tell you."

Cam waited for Sands to continue.

"Congratulations Cam! I didn’t know you had it in you," Sands sighed and stubbed out the last of his cigarette on the table.

"Director Douglas was kind enough to inform me that I am nothing but a throwaway to the Company."

Cam closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly.

‘That explains a lot.’

"What did he say?"

Sands thought back. The whole situation was beyond frustrating and he felt the urge for another cigarette; he didn’t deny the impulse and promptly lit another. So many things were pulling him apart. He used to have control of his life, yet now it seemed that he had lost that power.

Sands cleared his throat, "Just to give you the overall gist of the delightful convo I experienced earlier.... Douglas informed me that I’m a person of interest. I’m to consider myself a civilian until they delve further into the operation in Culiacan. Oh, and I’m not allowed to stray too far from home, either."

Cam thought for a moment. "So… you’ve been suspended?"

"Congratulations, you win a plush toy."

"But you haven’t been terminated from employment yet, there’s a possibility they’ll find your phone and prove that-"

"Doubtful Eric," Sands interrupted, not realizing that he was starting to call Cam by his first name. Sands’ head still throbbed painfully, the result of having been taken off the major painkillers. He also suspected that he might have smacked his head at some point because one side of his face hurt like hell, and his sunglasses were biting into his skin.

"They found my cell."

"Then… shouldn’t you be in the clear?" Cam asked, confused.

Sands laughed softly, but there was no humor in the sound. "Well that’s what I thought too. However, according to Douglas there is no record of my having ever called Martin."

Cam raised his eyebrows in surprise. "But you did call him?"

Sands nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, I called him," He said aloud, and it served to convince himself as well as Cam.

‘I’ve been totally irrational about this whole situation.’

He’d made those calls, yes, of course he had. And damn it, if the CIA couldn’t or wouldn’t find proof that he’d been burned by Officer Martin, well then he’d have to find it himself.

Without much warning, Sands felt a trickle of wetness slide down his cheek, coming from the side he’d hit. "Ah shit," Sands said under his breath, and turning farther away from Cam, removed his sunglasses.

"What’s the matter Sands?" Cam asked, worried.

Sands brushed his fingers across his cheek and felt the all too familiar wet, sticky substance… blood.

‘Well that explains why I’ve got pain shooting through my skull.’

Sands replaced his sunglasses, stubbed out his second cigarette, and stood up, using the couch as support. As Sands started towards the bathroom he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder that quickly spun him around.

"What are… oh, Jesus, Sands." Cam said as soon as he got a full view of Sands’ face, seeing the flow of blood running down his cheek. Before Sands even registered it, Cam had removed his sunglasses.

Sands reached out to snatch them back on reflex, but then, realizing what it must look like, stopped almost as quickly. He held out his right hand and demanded dangerously, "Give them back to me."

Cam, realizing what he’d done, immediately handed them back.

"Don’t you ever do that again." Turning around abruptly, Sands stalked to the bathroom without another word and closed the door.

As Cam heard the faucet run in the bathroom he returned to the couch and sat down, rubbing his face repeatedly in an effort to wake himself up. This day had turned out way more stressful and exhausting than he had ever imagined.

"You know," Cam called out to Sands from the living room, "When you called about getting a little target practice in this afternoon this was not what I had in mind."

After a couple moments of Cam’s attempts to lighten the mood, he heard Sands shout back, "Yeah, well next time I shoot my bolt I’ll be sure to let you know I plan on wigging out beforehand."

After a few more minutes Sands came out of the bathroom, his face washed, his hair brushed and his sunglasses back in place. He looked much better, his color slowly returning along with his strength.

Sands’ returning strength echoed in his voice as he spoke to Cam in his distinct ‘I’m going to start some shit’ tone.

"Cam, there’s a mole in Mexico and the rat wants to off me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him win."

Cam watched Sands walk into the kitchen and grab a bag of chips off the counter. It amazed him how one minute Sands could be on the verge of suicide, and the next minute he could be talking to him as if none of it had ever happened. Cam knew that there was no way that Sands could be completely over it all so quickly, but Sands was a master at, among other things, hiding his humanity.

"You still think Martin is the traitor?" Cam asked Sands as he returned from the kitchen, chips in hand.

Sands shook his head. "He’s involved somehow. Now it’s just a matter of finding out exactly how deeply his rabbit hole goes, and who else is helping him dig it."

"You don’t think it’s just him?"

"Not a snowball’s chance in hell. He doesn’t have the balls… and I don’t mean the snow kind. He’s either working with someone or for someone. It all comes down to who."

Cam thought silently for a moment. He tended to agree with Sands. Martin was not a good field officer, which was the reason he sat behind a desk and ran things. However, he wasn’t even terribly good at doing that. For quite some time there’d been rumors to the effect that Martin was going to be replaced by another officer; there still were. As a matter of fact, now that Cam thought about it, Sands’ name had even been one of those mentioned as a possible replacement… at least, before the coup.

"Sands, were you aware of the rumor floating around the Company that Martin was going to be replaced as supervisor?"

Sands eyebrows lifted, and his expression became one of mild curiosity. "Really?"

"You hadn’t heard?"

"No." Sands said, putting on his bored façade. "I was a little too busy in Culiacan to stop and get all the latest scuttlebutt from you ladies. Besides, that’s probably just what it is. He hasn’t been replaced."

"Perhaps not. But it’s an awfully big coincidence that your name was tossed around as being one of those up for promotion, to replace Martin."

Sands snapped his head around to face Cam, caught off guard by his words.

"What?"

"I’m saying that there were those within the Company who believed you were going to replace him as supervisor. Now, I’m not the one sitting in this room with a Masters in Psychology, but it seems to me that it might make an awfully good motive, if Martin was corrupt enough."

Sands smirked a little. "I take it you believe my story then."

"Of course," Cam said, without hesitation.

For a minute there was silence. Sands cocked his head slightly to the side and when he spoke it was with a casual air. "You know… I’m not to be trusted."

"But I do trust you."

Sands didn’t seem to know what to do with that admission, and shrugged as he crunched another chip. "Your funeral."

Cam grabbed a handful of chips out of the large bag of Ruffles beside Sands before answering.

"I’m not saying that I believe you didn’t cross the line in Mexico, Jeff. I know you’re a cowboy, as does the Company. I’m quite sure you took part in some less then honest dealings in Mexico to get your job done… probably even had something going on the side. Even so, I’ve known you since you started out and you’re no traitor to your country. You are a loyal officer, I’ll give you that." Cam snacked on a chip before continuing. "I’m not naive enough to think that the Company isn’t aware of how some of its officers get the job done, and I definitely know you’re aware of it. I swear I may never understand why, and yes, I might be a total idiot for it… but I trust that what you’ve told me about this whole screwed up operation is the truth."

"You trust me?" Sands repeated, more than a little surprised, but doing his best to hide it.

"Yeah."

Sands contemplated his words as he swallowed another chip, ‘He actually trusts me? How did that happen? How could I let that happen? More to the point, how could Cam let that happen?’

Sands couldn’t understand it, but in the end he decided his head was pounding far too much for him to think terribly hard about the fact. He surprised himself and Cam when he laughed an honest laugh, something he hadn’t done in a very, very long time. "And you think I’m crazy, Cam."

"You are."

Sands smiled properly for the first time since Cam arrived. "But who’s crazier? The crazy man or the man who trusts the crazy man?"

Cam answered laughing as well, "I’d really rather not answer that." Sands’ smile remained, as he simply shook his head in disbelief.

He couldn’t figure Cam out. He couldn’t figure out why the man seemed to trust him, why he’d gone to all the trouble of pulling him out of Mexico that day, and damn it, he couldn’t figure out what had possessed Cam to give him that gift in the hospital. That one really ate at him.

It was fucking maddening really, because he didn’t think he was being any less of an asshole than usual.

‘I still hold fast to the assumption that he’s trying to kill me with kindness.’

"I hate to ask this, Sands, as I’m sure I’m not going to like the answer, but what exactly are you planning on doing?"

Sands smirked and grabbed another handful of chips.

"That, dear Cam, is for me to know and you to find out."

"What, don’t you trust me?"

Sands raised an amused eyebrow; "I don’t trust anyone."

Cam frowned a little and was about to say something when Sands continued. "However if I were to give a man my trust, you are most likely the man I’d deem trustworthy… which perhaps by default makes you worthy of my trust. However you may not be able to trust my trustworthiness so my trustworthiness I trust to you."

"You want to try repeating that?"

"No."

"You want to try telling me what you are going to do now?"

Sands gave a somewhat over-exaggerated groan of dismay before deciding to answer him. "If you absolutely must know, I plan on jet-setting to Mexico on the next available flight."

"What? What for?" Cam asked, knowing very well that if Sands was under investigation he was probably confined to the state and his ‘jet-setting’ would not make the Company very happy.

Sands shot Cam a "duh" expression, "For a friggin’ siesta under the baking Mexican sun. What do you think I’m going there for?"

"One can never tell with you, Sands."

Sands smiled a bit at Cam’s words. "I feel it’s time to once again unleash my famous savoir-faire… Mexican-style, get decked out and kick some serious ass."

"Sands, I don’t think that’s the best move…"

"Well then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion."

"Jeff, how do you intend to find your way around and scout for information when you’re still not… adjusted?"

Sands jaw tightened and his voice became dark. Cam knew immediately that he’d just said something that put Sands in one of his instant bad moods. "I’ll do just fine," Sands all but growled, but his mind was thinking just the opposite.

"You’re pushing too hard and too fast Jeff. I’d hate to see that be your undoing."

Sands stood up quickly, his temper flaring. He was sick of his own weakness getting in the way and that had to end, now.

"I’m going, damn it, and I’d sure love to see you try and stop me," He sneered at Cam, showing the anger that he rarely let others see.

Sands didn’t care anymore if this was a good idea, a bad idea, or even a feasible idea. All that mattered was that it was an idea. He’d be a fuckmook if he just sat here on his ass waiting for the Company to nail his hide to the wall. It was time to show them all, from every son of a bitch at the Company who’d betrayed him to every last asset in Mexico who’d abandoned him like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Just who did they think they were fucking with when they tried to burn Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands?

No one fucked with him and got away with it. Sands was, as far as he was concerned, completely un-fuckable.

Cam’s voice interrupted Sands’ thoughts. "I can’t stop you. But the CIA will. They’ll arrest you as soon as they find out you are out of the state, and knowing them it won’t take ’em too long to find out."

Sands was standing beside Cam, angry and frustrated and seriously craving revenge. Yet still, deep down he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt that he owed Cam an explanation, and he sighed, feeling torn between his inner asshole and his inner… well, he wouldn’t call it a conscience, he had lost that long ago. Still, whatever it was, it was in the way of his inner asshole, and he really didn’t like that. However, in the end Sands found himself giving in to the side of him that usually remained deathly silent.

"Eric, you don’t seem to understand. The Company is going to arrest me either way. I can sit here defeated, and wait for them to do it, or I can go to Mexico and uncover all those little secrets Martin is keeping and possibly save what’s left of my career. Now, which do you think I’m going to choose?"

Cam closed his eyes in frustration as he realized that Sands was trying to level with him. Sands really was in quite a mess, and it was going to take a gigantic miracle to clear him if those within the Company had turned against him.

"But how the hell are you going to do it alone? For God sakes, you’re not the Lone Ranger, Jeff."

"How do you know?"

"What if…" Sands started, trying to think of the right way to say it. No matter how he tried to justify it to himself, what he was about to say, well, it really was against everything he stood for.

"What if… I was to ask you to be my partner, Officer Cameron?"

Cam sat there startled for a moment.

‘Did he just ask me to come with him?’

"Sands, I can’t go. I’m only in between assignments. Who knows when they’ll call me back for active duty; it could be anytime. Besides, if we were caught it would be the end of…" Cam stopped himself before he said it. God, it was selfish as hell, but he was thinking of his own career. And why not? Wouldn’t Sands do the same?

Perhaps it was just his guilt but Cam could swear there was a quick flash of hurt disappointment in Sands’ face before it was efficiently covered up by Sands’ familiar, indifferent stony mask. "Why don’t you finish Cam, or shall I? It would surely be the end of your illustrious and reputable career in the CIA."

"It’s not that I don’t want to, but…"

"It’s fine, Cam," Sands interrupted in a cool, yet calm tone. "You’re just looking out for number one, and believe me, that’s something I can relate to. Now get out of here. I’ve got shit to do."

"Sands, I-"

"Don’t bother to explain. You owe me no favors, so just get out of here and forget I asked," Sands said, continuing in a tone way too casual for the situation. When he didn’t hear Cam leaving he continued, putting the bag of chips back in the kitchen, "I didn’t need you. I don’t need you. I’ve never needed anyone. Now I’m sure you have something waiting for you at the Company, Flash priority no doubt, so you’d better high tail it out of here."

Feeling torn, Cam could only nod and mutter an unenthusiastic "yeah", thinking that Sands had said the word ‘need’ one too many times for the words to be believable. Not knowing what to do, Cam wished Sands luck and was already walking out the door when Sands called out to him from the living room.

"Cam, you do realize what your next assignment for the Company is likely to be, do you not?"

Cam’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he stood there for a moment nonplussed.

Sands’ extended his arms in a sweeping gesture, his palms facing upwards. "Me, of course." He paused for a beat and tilted his head. "If there is one thing I know, it’s how the Company works… so predictable, really. They’ll ask you to bring me down, because you’ve worked with me before, because you know where I’m going and why, and because the Company will believe that you know me better then any of the other officers."

‘Oh lord.’

Cam hadn’t thought of that. If that happened, that meant the next time they met, they could be enemies. He didn’t think he could take that.

Could he really take an assignment that would mean Sands’ demise, a demise dealt out by his own hand?

At Cam’s silence Sands dropped his arms and turned his back to Cam, but as he walked away he half turned his head and mumbled, seemingly against his will, "Non illigitamus carborundum."

Of course Cam had no idea what it meant, and after a moment, a bit unwillingly, he let himself out of the apartment while Sands disappeared into his bedroom.

However, Sands knew what he’d said, and as he began tossing things around in his closet searching for his suitcase, it not only became something he’d said to Cam, for who knows what reason, but it became his own mantra as well. One that he repeated over and over and over in his mind as he tossed the empty suitcase on the bed and began chucking things in it haphazardly.

‘Non illigitamus carborundum. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’

Sands had finished throwing a little bit of everything inside his medium-sized suitcase. He knew what articles of clothing he had, but had no idea which shirts and pants he had chosen from his somewhat large wardrobe, as he pulled things out of his drawers at random. After his frustrating packing session, he decided that he needed to make some necessary arrangements with an old acquaintance of his.

Luckily, Sands had used the man several times before and knew his number by heart. He was in need of the man’s talent to set up a flight that even the CIA wouldn’t know about… at least, not right away. Without the man, getting to Mexico in a decent amount of time would pose a problem. Driving was obviously out of the question. And he could hardly take an Air America flight to Mexico, at least not until he’d cleared himself. Any attempt to use public transportation would mean that his name would be flagged instantly. Setting up a false ID and passport that he hadn’t already used would waste too much time. He decided that going to his old… pal would be the best course of action.

After an extremely brief chat with the man, Sands had arranged for a flight to Mexico for the following morning. He was a little disappointed that it couldn’t be sooner, but his body was rather tired from his mind’s brief vacation from reality and he figured a night’s sleep probably wouldn’t hurt.

Wandering back into his bedroom, Sands shut his suitcase and set it on the floor as he traded places with it, now reclining on the bed. He lay down even as his mind continued to work at a hundred miles an hour.

Sands sighed as his head hit the pillow.

After all, he was a born killer.

In an attempt to get more comfortable Sands punched his pillow a couple times before he rolled over on his side, and was rewarded for his troubles when his sunglasses dug into his face. Grunting and realizing he was alone in the apartment, he took them off and set them on the nightstand.

It seemed odd to him, just how vulnerable he felt without them now.

In his opinion, it was much more fun being predator than prey, and if anyone was going to be the prey, it was going to be those bastards at the Company that had betrayed him.

He had a plan. Well, he sort of had a rough idea of a plan. He supposed that that would have to do.

Somewhere though, in the back of his mind, was the nagging belief that everything he was doing now was in vain, and an evil little creature whispered in his ear.

‘It’s hopeless…’

As sketchy plans for his personal covert operation ran through his mind, his breathing became rhythmic and he found himself in a deep slumber before he’d even realized that he was falling asleep.

When Sands awoke again, he felt much better. Much, much better.

Air filled his lungs as he breathed deeply, still lying on the bed. He stretched out his stiff arms, and froze in surprise when his right hand made contact with another body.

A body lying beside him on the bed.

That’s when it - she - spoke. The voice took his breath away, but he wasn’t sure why.

"Are you awake, Shelly?"

Sands tried to keep his smile hidden as he attempted an irritated voice. "You know, I hate it when you call me that."

She laughed lightly, "I know. Call it sweet revenge."

He allowed a light smile to show through as he remained lying lazily beside her. "And here I thought you dug my little nicknames for you, sugar-lips." She rolled her eyes and his voice became serious. "Shelly is no way to start the day."

She laughed again. He loved to hear the sound of it. She laughed so freely, so easily. It was something that he’d never been able to do, although she had helped him with that a little.

Her hand found its way to his chest. "Are you going to keep your eyes closed all day?" she asked, sounding amused.

Sands cracked open one eye and groaned unhappily as the light rushed in. "I think so, yeah."

"Well, maybe you can stay here in bed all day Jeff, but I’ve got to go to work," she said as her hand left his chest and she began to pull herself up, only to find two strong hands pulling her back into bed from behind.

"You can’t escape that easily, sugar-dumplin’," Sands drawled as he pulled her down on top of him. He studied her in all her morning glory. She was his exact opposite. She wore a knee-length white satin nightgown and her long blonde hair was wild and un-brushed. She had fair skin and eerily light blue eyes that seemed to look right though a person.

Perhaps that was why she was the only person who ever understood him, the only person who could see past all the walls he’d built since he was a child and see him for who he really was.

He watched her as she smiled and leaned against him; the sun seemed to make her glow, and, even though he was happy, as he looked at her a feeling of sadness slowly crept up on him.

She noticed the slight change in his face as his mood shifted, and immediately dropped her smile.

"What’s wrong Jeff?"

Sands pasted on a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, the feeling of loss remaining.

"I don’t believe you."

Sands decided to change tactics, so he smiled and gave her a playful glare. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he let out a small growl. Quickly he flipped their positions, so he was hovering above her.

She gave him a suspicious look. "You wouldn’t be trying to distract me from finding out what’s bothering you, would you?"

Sands stroked her cheek gently. "Cecelia, it’s nothing."

"No, it’s something. You’re different today. I see it in your eyes."

Sands looked at her, disconcerted. He felt it too. The two of them together, it was so right, yet today it was so wrong at the same time. It wasn’t normally like this. He couldn’t explain why today was different, or why he felt different, he didn’t know.

Not knowing what to say, Sands made use of his fine command of language; he said nothing at all. Instead he leaned toward her and gingerly kissed her lips.

Pulling away slightly, he stared into her eyes, battling with his feelings. One side of him admitted that he loved her, but the other side refused to allow him to say so out loud.

He swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find those three words. Those three simple words that he knew he needed to say, and that she needed to hear. Every time he tried to catch those three words, they ran away from him like a thief in the night.

He looked away from her intense gaze and his brow furrowed in frustration.

He couldn’t say those three simple words.

He knew how he felt about her, but had no idea what to do with the feelings. But then, neither of them was going anywhere. He had time… eventually… eventually he’d be able to tell her.

Sands shook his head at the odd thoughts running through his mind and felt her cool hand under his chin, tilting his head up so he’d look at her. She smiled slightly; they’d been through this before.

"I know Jeff… I know. You don’t need to say it."

He looked at her deeply, longing for his emotions to come through in his eyes as he softly spoke, "Imago animi vultus est, indices oculi."

Her smile widened as she tugged him down closer to her. "Ah, my Latin lover has returned to me. Adsum."

Sands ran a hand through her hair, brushing a strand out of her eyes.

"Ex proprio motu?"

She looked at him, almost sadly, as if sorry that he couldn’t believe it for himself, as she nodded yes.

"Hic et nunc," Cecelia smiled lazily as one of his hands glided gently down her neck and she sighed contently. "Et in aeternum."

Sands could only stare at her and after a minute or so she shook her head slowly.

"Your eyes are different Shelly. They hold less hope within them. You’re not the man I married, today."

Sands nodded. "I feel it too, but I don’t understand it," he finally admitted.

She looked at him for another moment as he caressed her softly, and he noticed immediately when her body tensed suddenly beneath his touch and her eyes widened in… what was it? Shock or horror?

"What is it sugar-sweet?" he asked, as she stared at him and then looked down at her chest. His eyes followed hers, and he gasped at the sight of the red blood pooling and soaking into the white fabric of her nightgown. Sands looked back up at her in horror.

"Oh God, what happened?" he asked, willing himself not to panic. He looked back down to try and find her injury, but then realized that the blood was pooling on the top of her nightgown, it wasn’t coming from her.

That’s when he felt it.

He looked at her again, and she began to scream. He quickly moved himself away from her, and off the bed.

The blood. There was so much blood, and it was rolling down his cheeks in waves.

His eyes were bleeding.

Cecelia had stopped screaming and tried to choke back tears as she got up off the bed. "Jeff… I’ll… I’ll call f… for help," she stuttered, as she moved to the phone and dialed 911. Sands vaguely heard her speaking to someone as he turned towards the mirror in their bedroom. His breath caught in his throat as he saw all the blood that ran down his face, onto his clothes, forming a bloody pool beneath him.

‘Now I know why this whole morning feels so wrong,’ he thought as he walked slowly towards the mirror, watching as the blood flowed down and his eyes turned from their usual bright brown to a coal black.

He turned back around to see her still desperately trying to explain the impossible situation to a 911 operator.

More desperately than before he turned back towards the mirror, and shut his eyes tight, pressing the heels of his hands against them in a hopeless attempt to stop the blood from flowing.

He wouldn’t be able to see her anymore if he lost his eyes.

He couldn’t take losing her again. He couldn’t take losing his sight again.

But the blood still flowed and now he was completely covered in it. He opened his eyes again, and watched in the mirror as they seemed to suddenly lose their fire and die, becoming gray and lifeless.

"No, no, no!" Sands whispered desperately and his stomach turned as he watched his eyes begin to bubble and melt.

"No, not again. Not again!" he pleaded to everything and nothing in particular. Hi eyes ran out of his sockets and down his face, sticky and hot, and he gagged. This was worse than the first time, because he could see it. He could see it all happening, even as his eyes melted away he could see as if they were still there. This horrible nightmare was allowing him to see himself as he was now, as he must appear to others. Those horrible dark sockets that held nothing – no life, no fire, no feeling, no soul. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t look at it any longer. His breathing hitched and his heart thudded in his chest as he covered his face with his hands.

He didn’t know how long he’d stood like that, but when he felt her hands on his he cringed and tried to pull away.

"Look at me, Shelly," she demanded, but he shook his head and kept his hands over his face.

"I can’t."

She leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. "Your eyes are not responsible when your mind does the seeing." She pried his hands away from his face and forced his head up. The blood had stopped flowing now, and it clung to his face like tears. She looked at him sadly as she pushed some of his hair behind his ear.

"Now you see what I’ve become," he said in a whisper.

"And what do you think that is?"

He could still see her, and he was no longer sure if he was grateful for that or not.

"Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she cupped his face in her hands and moved closer to him, their bodies touching. "No, Shelly," she told him, in hushed tones. "You could never be that. Non illigitamus carborundum." Her arms gently wrapped around his body and they melded into a forgotten embrace. "Can you really tell me that you’ve never seen beauty in this life?"

Sands started to pull back, confused by the unusual question, but she held him in place with gentle firmness. He let out a soft sigh; "The only beauty I’ve ever known in life was you."

She smiled regretfully as her head rested on his shoulder, and they stood there holding each other. "I’ve heard it said Shelly, that no eyes that have seen beauty can ever lose their sight."

He said nothing, only held onto her a little tighter. She pulled away from him just enough to see his face; she stared at him as if she could still see his eyes, and her own became moist. "You’ve changed so much, been through so much, and you will go through so much more. Stay strong. You were always my strength, now let me be yours."

He began to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips and he stopped before he began.

"I know. You’ve never needed anyone." She leaned into him, her lips brushing against his as she spoke again in a voice so soft he was unsure it was even there. "So don’t need me… just remember me." Their lips pressed together and each opened to the will of the other, and the kiss was long and deep, desperate and hopeful, loving and lustful.

Then everything turned to black, and her touch disappeared and he knew that he had woken from a dream. He didn’t move at first, not knowing where the dream had come from. Never had he had a dream like the one he’d just had. It had been so completely vivid, the colors so clear and sharp, it was still fresh in his mind.

He’d tried to forget her.

A single tear slid down his cheek and he brushed it away so quickly that anyone observing would most likely have missed it. He was vaguely surprised that he could even cry at all. There was only one other time that Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands had cried, in rage and sadness, and that was the day he’d lost what small hope he had in the world and in others. The day his family had left him, the day that she’d left him.

"Shit, what is wrong with me?" Sands muttered, as he sat up quickly. First he’d lost his hold on reality when he was awake, and now again, when he was asleep.

He reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it hastily as he went over the dream again. It had been wonderful and horrible at the same time. He smirked slightly as he remembered what she’d said.

He chuckled a little, as he figured out why he’d said that phrase to Cam, seemingly against his own will. She had said it, and Cam had brought him the memory of her.

He took a long drag of his cigarette as his smirk turned into a grin.

He wasn’t going to let her down.

He got up with a new resolve and moved toward the closet that held his weaponry.

Officer Sands had some guns to shoot, disguises to wear, and slow-roasted pork to eat, and those bastards weren’t going to grind him down.

Go to Sands Through The Hourglass: Part 5 ~>