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THE LESSON LEARNT Author: Becca Disclaimer: I do not own Agent Sands or any other characters, locations etc. portrayed in Once Upon a Time in Mexico. The rest are of my own imagination and as usual I am putting copyright into play here so no stealing, I mean that in the nicest possible way of course, I am sure you guys wouldn’t plagiarise someone else’s work :) Summary: Pre-OuaTiM. Every agent learns a lesson that hardens them against the world, gives them the vital skill of distrust. Who knows if the guy around the corner is going to shake your hand or put a bullet in your skull? This is Sands’ lesson, one that you find yourself being a key pawn in as you join the CIA after a certain debacle with MI6 that has forced you to leave England for America. The issue is, can you work your way around Sands’ cocky exterior and teach him what he needs to know? * * * * * CHAPTER 1 “I am not going to tolerate all your fucking about anymore, this job is important and if you cant keep your dick in your pants for five minutes then you might as well leave now.” Sands rolled his eyes as his ‘superior’, Agent Whitcomb, continued with his verbal chastising. “You know you have been with us for what, three weeks and already you have managed to make all the female agents furious, and all the male agents either worship you or want to wring your bloody neck, Sands this whole thing of winning women over may work well when you’re out on the pull, hell, it might even come in handy when you’re in the field, but here, at the offices it’s a no-no, you just cant go around screwing with every woman we make your partner.” Whitcomb finished, running his hand down his face in a weary fashion. “What can I say, I'm just so goddamn irresistible.” Sands replied as he lazily leant back in the chair, his feet propped up on Whitcomb’s desk, a cheeky grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That may be so but it doesn’t mean you have to prove it by screwing every last female in the whole of the CIA.” “Aw come on Bill,” Sands implored, using Whitcomb’s first name just to rile him up a little bit before the final blow, “It’s not every female, your wife is still a CIA agent isn’t she?” he finished, his eyes danced with mischief, just waiting for Whitcomb’s response. “Enough!” Whitcomb cried, slamming his fist down on the desk. “I really don’t give a fuck about you screwing all these other women but you are not to talk about my family like that, you’ll see Sands one day if you ever find yourself a woman to keep that it isn’t all about the in-out-in-out, sometimes there is this little thing called love and it isn’t to be fucked around with, so stop trying to screw me about and just do your fucking job and then we can all be happy!” Sands’ eyes were wide at his boss’ little seminar on the love of a good woman but he half expected something of the sorts and not one to leave without having the last word, he still managed what he thought was a witty comeback. “Your wife wouldn’t be..." he muttered quietly though not so quietly that Whitcomb couldn’t hear it, then again it was planned that way. “Sands?” Whitcomb asks although the question was more a statement. “I would love to fire you right here, right now, but you’ve hardly been here long enough, and there is something in me saying that you could prove to be a good agent despite the fact that you are such a moronic bastard.” Sands rolled his eyes yet again and proceeded to pick some dirt from under his fingernails. “There is a very specific assignment I want you on okay, if you do it well you can stay, but if not, well my trepidation against firing you shall be removed.” Sands looked up from his nails and studied the man before him. He took in the older mans slowly greying hair, the creases along his forehead and the bags under his eyes. Maybe I should at least try to give him a break once in a while... he thought momentarily, but a split second later he had mentally laughed off the idea. Whitcomb was too high-strung for his own good, he needed to loosen up and Sands was just the guy to show him how it was done. Whitcomb was also studying the opposite man, wondering if he really was going to make agent material. Sands was an attractive guy which had led to many unwanted inter-office relations, his chiselled jaw and cheekbones teamed with those dark brown eyes which set of his dark brown hair so perfectly set the ladies fluttering their eyelashes and practically dropping their knickers at the sight of him. It was a skill he might find useful as an agent if he learned to control it, something which he hadn’t seemed to have managed yet himself, and he was far too cocky for his own good to even try. That’s where Whitcomb had managed to find an answer, a safe partner for Sands who would never let him get away with anything and would ultimately teach him those vital lessons every agent needed to know. Realising that silence had made an appearance Whitcomb proceeded with his plan. “I have a partner for you, a very good partner, she’ll be accompanying you with the assignment and hopefully keep you out of trouble.” Sands eyebrows shot up as Whitcomb referred to the agent as a female. Surely he’d be keeping the women away from him after the previous lecture? “She?” he asked, leaving but one eyebrow raised in a cocky fashion. “Yes Sands, she. Agent Hunter is a woman, but don’t expect to get anywhere with her...” “Lesbian...” Sands grumbled. Then again, if she had a girlfriend that could be fun... “No.” “Married?” Well married women had never been a problem before... “No.” “Nun?” Now that would be a new one... “No Sands for Christ’s sake! She’s a regular girl, Emily Hunter, you may have heard of her.” “Can’t say I have...” Sands replied lazily, going back to the intense operation of cleaning his fingernails with a pocketknife. “Well that does surprise me, she is considered a very beautiful woman, rich, daughter of Lord Hunter, used to work for MI-6 over in England but after a certain palaver her family moved to America and she joined the CIA a few months ago, this will be her first large assignment with us too. Been known as quite a seductress, I really am surprised you haven’t heard of her.” Truth be told Sands had heard of Emily Hunter and had been hearing about her for quite some time. She was known to be a bit of spitfire and generally hated men unless she had something to gain from it, and even then she tended to kill the said men once she got it. “Mantis...” Sands muttered under his breath but put on an innocent look when Whitcomb raised his eyebrows questioningly at him. “You are to be meeting with her this afternoon at 5pm, here in my office, don’t be late for once. You’ll know more about your assignment then.” Sands nodded his agreement and as Whitcomb started shuffling some papers on his desk, in the process trying to motion for Sands to take his feet away, Sands stood up. “5pm, no later.” Whitcomb called as Sands headed out of the door. Sands nodded once more and started to walk down the corridor. Now was it Alexis or Sandra who said they had their lunch break now... * * * * * CHAPTER 2 In your mind there were two definitions for the word late. You could be fashionable or downright rude, you had chosen the former, your supposed new partner had chosen the latter. 5pm had been Agent Whitcomb’s strong order, you were to be meeting with him and another agent, in his office at that precise time to discuss your upcoming assignment and he had assured you that he would not tolerate any messing about, especially when it was your first day. You needed to make a good impression after all. Impressions were over rated, good ones anyway, and you had as usual decided to keep with your routine of arriving ten minutes later than your designated time and therefore making a much more noticeable entrance, even if it wasn’t pleasing to the superiors eyes. However your plans had been for nothing as when you had entered the room Whitcomb has sat alone at his desk with nothing other than the quiet whirring noise of his computer for company. You’d very much expected the new partner to be there already, Whitcomb had assured you he was very professional if a little misguided and you’d hoped that your grand entrance would give this new character some idea of what you were like. You weren’t about to abide by the rules, you weren’t going to take any shit from anyone, and you certainly wouldn’t bow down and act like a simpering young lady. You weren’t Miss Power-to-women-if-a-guy-comes-near-me-I’ll-chop-his-balls-off but you also didn’t agree with the universal concept that men were better or superior. Yes the revolution had been and passed, women had gained their rights and a level of equality had been announced but, in the CIA, MI6, FBI, any kind of agency where you might be put into severe danger, women were usually left to do the more intellectual, back office jobs. Very rarely would they be sent on assignments and if they were they would be accompanied by several other agents, usually men, and would be withdrawn from the task if they so much as broke a nail. This was something you were putting a change to and this was supposed to start now. Sitting in the chair across the desk from Whitcomb you stared idly at his drab décor, cases of books, plastic plants and a single personal item of a photo of his family it seemed on his desk. If this was supposed to be your superior then it seemed that the CIA were in actual fact worse than MI6, something you had really hoped wouldn’t be the case after your previous debacle. At least there you’d had someone who actually seemed to find enjoyment and satisfaction in their job, unlike Whitcomb who instantly had come across as weary and tired of the whole facility. “I'm ever so sorry Miss Hunter, Agent Sands should be here shortly, he’s probably been held up in traffic or something.” Whitcomb says causing you to flick your gaze to him quickly taking in yet another apology and feeble attempt at an excuse. “Held in traffic for an hour, I didn’t realise it was so busy around here.” You answered. ‘Held in traffic my ass’, you think. Whitcomb had already said Sands would have only gone a few minutes down the road, probably only walking distance and even if he had ventured further this was not a particularly busy area being as it was on the outer edges of Mexico. If you’d heard correctly the whisperings and mutterings of your female colleagues in the toilets then it was most likely that your upcoming partner would be out screwing some woman or another. ‘Men!’ you think with a roll of your eyes. You’re suddenly pulled from your musings by the door to the office being pushed open and who you suppose to be Agent Sands walking through it. “Sorry I'm late, caught in traffic.” He says as he shuts the door behind him and takes off his shades. “That’s exactly what I was just saying to Miss Hunter here Sands.” Whitcomb says rather grumpily, standing up in recognition of Sands entrance. “Miss Hunter?” Sands asks in a seemingly confused fashion turning to look at you. “Ah yes, Ellie is it?” “Emily.” You correct, offering your hand to be shaken. Sands takes it and proceeds upon bending to place it to his lips. “Charmed.” He says, an odd mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm sure.” You say with no attempt to hide your already apparent disdain for the man. Taking your hand away you do not hesitate to wipe the back of it on your trousers, an action that Sands doesn’t seem to mind at all. He does instead take a seat next to you in the remaining chair and proceeds to put his feet upon Whitcomb’s desk. “Sands could you please at least show a little respect.” Whitcomb says through narrowed eyes. The day seemed long enough already and being kept waiting by Sands was always a sure fire way of getting Whitcomb to the end of his tether, especially when he was late for a meeting as important as this. With a roll of his eyes Sands removes his feet from the desk and crosses one leg over the other, looking from Whitcomb to you as if waiting for someone to fill him in. “So now that you’ve finally arrived shall we get on with our little meeting?” you ask, glancing to Sands meaningfully to show him that you did not approve of his antics and so far he was off to a bad start in your books. From the cocky smile you get back from him it seems that this action is wasted and he doesn’t particularly give a damn. “Indeed, we’re late enough as it is to begin so we’ll just have to scratch it down to the basics I'm afraid.” Whitcomb agrees as he shuffles some papers on his desk. “Sands, I take it you’re paying attention now?” “To you Whitcomb? Always.” Sands replies with yet another cheeky grin. Whitcomb rolls his eyes and makes an apologetic glance towards you. You smile your thanks and allow him to start what was to prove to be a most discouraging first impression of your assignment. * * * * One and a half hours have passed since Whitcomb started drawling on about your upcoming mission and you are beginning to wonder if Sands is even awake and also pondering how you actually are. The man that Whitcomb had assigned to be your partner in your first task for the CIA was sitting, slightly more slumped in his chair with his shades now covering his eyes. As Whitcomb’s voice goes on and on about CIA policy, rules and regulations, how one was expected to perform in the field and in the office, you take the time to study Sands features. He seems attractive enough, dark hair teamed with dark eyes that you had noticed a depth to earlier, and a firmly sculpted jaw and cheekbones. All in all he was nice sight to behold, it was just a pity about his personality. All ready you had become acquainted with Sands quick comments, smart remarks and jokes and general air of flirtatiousness. If you could remove all of that from him you would have quite liked him and might have even looked forward to working with him but from what you had seen so far your alliance was going to be nothing more than tedious. He had no care for the rules, just like you, but this is where the similarities seemed to end. He was downright rude whereas you at least tried to be polite and tactful and he was far too cocky for his own good. Whitcomb had warned you in your previous conversation on the phone that Sands might try something, that he had more thoughts in his head about fulfilling his sexual needs rather than anything assigned to him by the CIA, but he’d also said that this attitude was not irrevocable. You had agreed to take on this asshole of an agent due to the fact that you had not yet been allowed to do any fieldwork since joining the CIA and if this is what it took to get some respect around here then so be it. Work from the bottom upward, it may be a slow process but it was a far more stable one. A slight snort from Sands makes you jump slightly and Whitcomb doesn’t seem to appreciate it too much either. “Will you just hit him or something?!” he growls and you can’t help but laugh at the superiors decidedly peeved tone. Now that certainly wasn’t something you’d expect from the tired man that sat before you! “Hit him?” you implore, making sure that you heard right. “Yes, hit him, make the bloody bastard wake up. I’ve had enough of this, I apologise for my lack of decorum Miss Hunter but I am reaching the absolute end of my wits so please, relieve some of my misery.” You grin, not needing to be asked twice as you bring your hand to slap Sands firmly around the chops, it was something you certainly weren’t going to have any qualms in doing. Before your hand can connect with Sands visage he has a tight grasp of your wrist and with the other hand has pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. “Now Whitcomb, instructing Miss Hunter to do something so vile is really quite despicable. I would have thought better of you I really would, and you, Miss Hunter, I wasn’t really under the impression that you particularly paid attention to orders, why are you starting now especially when you know it could really prove detrimental to our forthcoming relationship?” Your eyes widen slightly with surprise at the fluid speed of Sands movements but manage to return your face to its steely appearance within a short moment. “I felt it would be necessary if I wanted not to be the only one who knew what was going on with this assignment we are to be undertaking.” You reply, removing your hand away from Sands reach as he lets go of your wrist. “Well you see you’re not the only one, Whitcomb knows too.” “Yes he does but he won’t be with us in the field.” You reply, trying to remain calm and collected even though Sands seemed to be quite efficient at stoking a raging inferno inside of you that was just screaming SLAP HIM!!! “He won’t no, how unfortunate. As much as you may think me incompetent sweet cheeks I do know what we are supposed to be doing and I do know the jist of what’s going on so if you would please now refrain from using your own little tactics to make me pay attention when I already have been then we can wrap this meeting up and go our merry separate ways. Comprendé?” You roll your eyes and look to Whitcomb who seems utterly bemused by Sands little speech. It wasn’t very often that Sands would say anything without including a witty remark but it seemed that there was something that you ignited in him too and he was actually trying to make some kind of effort to seem intelligent. “So Sands, could you please tell me what your assignment is, just for verification that you do know what’s going on.” Whitcomb asks, feeling quite confident that Sands would not be able to recall anything he had said in the past hour. Sands shuffles in his chair slightly, sitting up slightly straighter though still in a slouched, lackadaisical position. “Our mission is as follows: Miss Hunter and myself are to be travelling to a small town named Sal Amradés on the outskirts of Guerrero. There we shall be staying for two weeks whilst we gather information about the latest shipment of cocaine being sent to LA from Raoul Alvarez’s own personal plantation. Miss Hunter here shall work her feminine charms to gain such information and I shall be doing all the heavy work.” You scoff at this, this seriously was typical. Not only do they put you on an assignment with a chauvinistic, flirtatious pig, but this pig is also stating that he is going to be doing the hard work whilst you flutter your eyelashes. Not a chance. “During the two weeks we shall keep in regular contact with our handler, Agent Cranbrook if I remember rightly, and a plan shall be formed as to how we shall intervene the delivery and capture Alvarez. This shall be carried out and then we shall be on our merry way home. Do correct me if I'm wrong.” Whitcomb stares at Sands in utter shock, it seems that he is quite taken aback by the fact that Sands actually knows what he’s on about. Sands however just sits with that ever present cocky smirk on his face, glancing to you quickly only to receive not the slightest of reactions. You weren’t going to show him that you were surprised yourself, nor that you might have an inkling of admiration and respect for him forming. As it was it still didn’t make much of a difference to how you thought of him, it just showed him not to be quite as stupid as you originally thought. “Well… that’s about the jist of it yes.” Whitcomb stutters as he regains the ability to speak. You shall be leaving for Sal Amradés in two days so I would advise you both to go home and get everything ready for your departure.” “Already done.” You announce quickly, causing Sands to raise his eyebrows in a fashion that you just know means he’s laughing at your eagerness. “Ah, good. You have been through all the training necessary, correct?” “I have, I was in MI6 Agent Whitcomb, I did actually go on some field assignments, they didn’t keep me stuck in offices.” “Yes Miss Hunter I am quite aware of that but you haven’t been part of MI6 for many months now and I am aware that some skills may need some fine tuning. I do not mean this as a snub upon your own personal capabilities but we do need utmost efficiency.” “Then why are you assigning him to it?” You snap, suddenly the feelings of being thought of as a weakling woman returning. Sands however just chuckles besides you and Whitcomb draws a long breath. “I'm sorry, I'm not insinuating anything, I just wanted to make sure that you felt you were ready to be taking this task on hand.” “If I didn’t think I was then I wouldn’t be here.” Whitcomb smiles and manages to make you soften your cold gaze at him. He didn’t seem all that bad, it was just Sands you might have a problem with. Silence ensues for a moment until Sands abruptly gets up from his chair. “Well, if that’s all I think we’re all sorted and I would rather like to get out of this shit hole you call an office, apologies Whitcomb but your taste in décor leaves a lot to be desired.” He says, looking to Whitcomb with that smug, satisfied smirk as he rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’ll be all Sands. Please just make sure that you are ready, you’ll both be meeting here at 5am Friday morning.” “Have faith in me!” Sands chuckles. You roll your eyes, doubting that any faith entrusted in him would be put to good use, and stand up yourself. “Well if this meeting is adjourned then I shall return to my hotel. Thank you for your… hospitality Agent Whitcomb, you won’t be sorry that you’ve assigned this job to me.” You announce and hold your hand out for Whitcomb to shake as he stands up also. “Ah, how pleasant.” Sands drawls and with a flick of his wrist in a gesture that might resemble a wave he leaves. “I truly am sorry Miss Hunter but I do think he will be a good partner, ignoring his less pleasant attributes.” Whitcomb says as he shakes your hand. “Such as the cocky, flirtatious, asshole manner that he exudes?” you ask mischievously. “Exactly that. Feel free to contact me about anything, I will be updated regularly as you carry out the assignment but you’re quite welcome to contact me before you depart.” “Thank you.” You reply with a smile and a nod, withdrawing your hand from his grasp. “I shall be sure to keep that in mind.” With that you bid your goodbyes and you leave Whitcomb to unceremoniously plonk down in his chair as you shut the door behind you. “Need a lift?” a familiar voice drawls as you look to the owner leaning against a wall. “No, thank you.” You say coldly. “Are you sure? I'm sure I could be going your way if you needed me too, we could have a chat.” You raise your eyebrows at this. So here it seemed was the side of Sands all the women were in such a flurry about. “A chat? About what exactly?” “I don’t know. You, why you’re here, things in general.” “Things in general huh…” “I'm quite interested to know why it is you got chucked out of MI6…” you slit your eyes at this. You knew he had to be up to something; even he didn’t seem stupid enough to be making a pass at you. “Well that Mr Sands is something for me to know isn’t it, now if you don’t mind I am going to go and call a taxi.” “Cab darling, you’re in America now.” “Mexico actually.” And with that you turn on your heels and walk down the hall towards the lifts with as much confidence as possible, whilst trying to ignore the fact that you know a pair of eyes are fixated firmly upon your posterior. “Mantis… definitely.” Sands mutters and walks down the hall in the opposite direction, he didn’t need to be home yet and Katherine could usually be found hanging about the labs around now… * * * * * CHAPTER 3 5am Friday morning finds you repeating the antics of the day not long ago as you wait in Whitcomb’s office for Sands to arrive. It was true you had not been waiting long yet as it was only five past but even you had scrapped your usual rules about lateness in order to maintain a professional stance on the job. This was a time when things really couldn’t go wrong and everyone had to work as a team and play the part they were assigned. Efficiency was the biggest priority but one that had so far seemed to slip Sands mind. You had hoped that when you arrived you would find him there, maybe disgruntled as you didn’t figure him to be a morning person but it would still show that he could be punctual when he was needed to be; your hopes had been dashed. “This had better not be an omen of things to come.” You mutter as you stare at the door just waiting for Sands to step through it. “I must admit Sands has superseded even my expectations of him, I thought he might actually make an effort for once.” Whitcomb replies, also looking to the door in an almost longing way. “Do you really think that he is the best person to send on this assignment?” says the male voice of Agent Cranbrook who had been in the room when you had arrived. “I honestly don’t know to be honest but I think Agent Hunter here should be a good companion for him and keep him in check.” Whitcomb replies. “If he turns up at all.” You add wryly. Minutes pass on, dragging by as you know you’re getting closer to the time of departure, the point when you’re supposed to be in the damn car and on your damn way to Sal Amradés with that damn cocky bastard you’re beginning to dislike more and more. “For Christ’s sake Whitcomb they’re supposed to be leaving in ten minutes, if he’s not here in five then I’ll call Agent Brearley, he’s staying in a hotel not far away and he’s a good agent…” Agent Cranbrook begins but stops as Whitcomb holds up a hand. “I know your distaste for Sands and I realise that so far he hasn’t done anything to disprove it but I think he’ll be good on this job and to be honest he needs it. He’s an asshole, you know that more than I do but I think with Agent Hunters help he can be better. I think he also needs to be given an assignment that will actually set his mind to work and will give him experience, I think this could be good for him.” “Again, if he turns up…” you mutter receiving a huff from Whitcomb as it seems your remark is not appreciated. To tell the total truth though you couldn’t give a flying fuck as you were getting pissed off with waiting around too. Sands might one day become a good agent and you would quite like to teach him some lessons but if he doesn’t damn well turn up for his first big assignment then he just seems unwilling and unbothered. A tremendous sigh runs through the room as the door opens and Sands makes his usual lackadaisical entrance. “Not too late am I?” he asks, seemingly completely unaware of how fuming Whitcomb and Cranbrook actually are, nor how much he is going to get his ass kicked by you as soon as you get the chance. “Funnily enough I am really not going to entertain any of your stupid comments as we really don’t have the time.” Whitcomb says sharply causing Sands to furrow his brow. It seemed to have hit him a little that people were a wee bit pissed off… this was not a good start; maybe he had gone a step too far? “Right we have to be as brief as possible so that you may at least set off at the appointed time, we have a car ready and waiting for you both in the car park. Your weapons though I hope you won’t need them are…” at this point Cranbrook picks up a large case you had seen sitting by his chair, places it on the desk and opens it. “A Sig Sauer P229, 357 caliber pistol and a Glock 9mm 26, please only use them if it’s absolutely necessary, this is supposed to be discreet.” He says as he hands Sands and you one of each weapon and an extra magazine for each. “You shouldn’t need them as you’re really only there to get information but things can be unstable and Alvarez will have paid for protection, if he gets wind that you’re there you’re going to need to watch your backs. We have arranged for you to stay in a motel in Sal Amradés named El Horizonte Azul.” “The Blue Horizon, how romantic, do we get to share a room?” Sands asks glancing to you with a smirk. Rolling your eyes you turn your attention back to Cranbrook. “Oh you do know some Spanish then?” Cranbrook asks wryly. “I would be a bit useless on this mission if I didn’t wouldn’t I.” “Don’t think just that deems you more than useless.” You mutter, pleased as you actually receive a slight huff of indignation. “As I was saying your rooms” at which point Sands lets out a dramatically disappointed sigh “have been arranged. As soon as you get there I want you to call me and you shall be informed of how to find the answers we’re looking for.” “Can’t you tell us now?” Sands all but whines. “No, due to your late arrival Agent Sands we have run out of time and you need to be leaving.” Whitcomb snaps and stands up. Sands rolls his eyes yet again, puts the P229 into a holster on his right side and shoves the Glock in his pocket. “Unless you want to shoot yourself in the foot Sands I would think twice about putting it there.” Cranbrook adds, glancing pointedly to the bulge in Sands pocket. “Well actually Agent Cranbrook I am quite aware that the safety catch is on and the likeliness of it being fired is pretty remote. Plus I don’t have anywhere else to put it at the moment.” “Stop being an idiot Sands, you can put it in your luggage.” “Well I suppose we’d better be off then.” Sands replies with a sigh as he removes the Glock from his pocket. You can’t help but notice a slight tone of deflation in his voice, and when he turns to you he bares an expression similar to that of a kicked puppy. If he hadn’t pissed you off so much already you’d almost feel sorry for him, but only almost. “Yes, you can actually leave on time.” Whitcomb agrees and nods towards Sands to go out the door. Sands does so and you stand up, putting the P229 into your own holster and the Glock into your small handbag. You head out the door leaving Whitcomb and Cranbrook to follow behind you. Stepping out into the hall your rucksack and holdall remain where you’d left them and seem to have been joined with Sands luggage, also packaged in the same way. Picking your belongings up as Sands puts the Glock inside his backpack and does the same you follow Whitcomb and Cranbrook who have already started heading down the hall towards the lifts. As you walk you can feel Sands eyes on you as he walks alongside and the silence seems thick enough to cut with a knife. Making it to the lift you step inside as the doors open and wait as Sands does the same, the doors close and the lift starts to move down to the basement level of the car park. No one seems to want to speak for one reason or another, you guess that Sands is too fixated with looking thoroughly bored with everything and Whitcomb and Cranbrook are too pissed off for words. You find yourself feeling very thankful as the lift doors open with a small chime of a bell announcing you’d reached your floor and you all step out into the car park. You’re surprised to see a fair number of cars accommodating the space but then again the CIA never slept; there was always someone there. You let Cranbrook and Whitcomb lead Sands and yourself onwards still in silence and stop as you reach a fairly battered looking Jeep. “This is our car? Please don’t say this is our car…” Sands mutters in utter disgust. You could definitely understand his viewpoint; it looked as though it wouldn’t last five minutes on the road. “Yes this is your car, despite the outer appearances it runs smoothly and it will fit in with your surroundings, funnily enough a BMW or Ferrari would look slightly out of place in Sal Amradés don’t you think?” Cranbrook replies. “Fine.” Sands huffs as he makes his way to the boot, opens it and shoves his luggage in. You walk round to the back also and are surprised when Sands quite roughly snatches your bags from you and shoves them in too, slamming the door down. This was not going to be a pleasant journey you knew that for sure. Instead of walking back towards Whitcomb and Cranbrook Sands proceeds to make his way to the drivers side and gets in. “Apologies but I'm not big on goodbyes and as you said we want to leave on time so if you don’t mind we’ll be leaving.” He calls. “Maybe you would like the keys then?” Cranbrook says with an utter look of contempt. Walking over to him you take the keys with a smile and proceed to get into the passenger side, passing them to Sands who instantly starts the engine. You wind down the window on the passenger side and Cranbrook steps forwards to talk to you. “Ok well make sure you call as soon as you get to the motel, remember we do have a schedule to keep to, we can’t afford to mess around.” “We know and we shall.” You reply smiling. Cranbrook looked as though he could be a nice enough guy and compared to Whitcomb he certainly wasn’t as lenient which when working with Sands would be a good thing, even if he was only at the end of a phone and not with you. He would provide some assurance that everything would go smoothly at this end of the operation and it was just up to you and Sands to do your bit. “I will be informed of what’s going on as you do so and shall see you again in two weeks.” Whitcomb pipes up from behind Cranbrook and you nod your head and smile at him in acknowledgement. “Right, well we’re off then!” Sands shouts as the car jerks forwards leaving Whitcomb and Cranbrook startled as you speed out of the car park and you feeling slightly bemused as ‘bye’ is left silently hanging on your lips. Speeding away out of the gates of the CIA headquarters you find yourself sitting mutely staring out the window, nothing had prepared you for spending time alone with Sands and now that you were… you didn’t know what to do. Glancing to him you see that a thoughtful and annoyed expression has formed across his visage and you cant help but wonder as to what had caused it, surely he wasn’t that pissed off because of the crappy car as so far it had proved to run well. “What’s wrong?” you ask finally, bored of sitting in silence and curious about Sands’ thoughts. “Huh?” Sands replies glancing to you, seemingly having been pulled from some sort of reverie. “I asked what’s wrong?” you repeat. “Oh… nothing.” “Then why do you look so pissed off?” “I didn’t realise I did.” “Well you do and there must be a reason for it.” “So…” “So I am asking you what that reason is.” “You’re quite inquisitive aren’t you…” “Its one of the things that makes a good agent but I don’t suppose you’d know that.” “Ooh, how that stings.” Sands replies sarcastically. As he receives nothing other than a roll of the eyes from you he takes it into his own hands to continue a conversation, though the topic had definitely changed to one that he enjoyed. “Your clothes, I'm not sure if they’re so suitable,” he says nonchalantly, causing you to look down at your attire. “The top is nice, especially the low neckline but the tight jeans, as much as they do define the shape of your ass you might find them a bit uncomfortable in the heat of Mexico.” “What was that? Are you complimenting me, insulting me or giving me advice about my clothing?” “Your choice,” he replies with a smirk. You huff your response and focus on the road before you, you were now on the very outskirts of the town and coming into the countryside, the barren desert like landscape appearing more and more as the suburbs disappear. Time passes on and silence has made its presence yet again so to alleviate some boredom you turn the knob of the old radio and get the crackling noise of a Mexican radio station only just coming into signal. Attempting to tune it more you find that nothing seems to be clear other than a station where a couple of men are talking in Spanish about the government. As much as this issue could interest you on occasions now was not one of them and the effort of translating their words in your mind was just too much this early on in the day. Switching it off again you hear a huff from Sands. “Don’t tell me you were listening to that” “I was, it’s in our best interests to know what people are saying about the government around here.” “And you actually do things that are in our best interests?” you ask wryly. “Oh for fuck sake what bit your ass this morning?” Sands replies with a growl. “Well the fact that some asshole kept me waiting for 20 minutes didn’t really help my morning mood, I'm very sorry!” “Well I have already apologised for that…” “Oh yeh, great and sincere apology it was too.” You mutter. “I had my reasons” “Which were?” “Nothing for you to worry about” You roll your eyes and look at Sands for a minute who keeps his gaze fixated on the road ahead. Looking at him you begin to notice his own attire, specifically the ruffled collar of his white shirt, smudged with something pink. “Lipstick on the collar, how cliché.” You mutter with a roll of your eyes, you seem to be becoming quite practiced at that. “Some people have a hard time saying goodbye to me” he replies and even without looking at him you know that there is a smirk pulling at his lips. “You know what Em, I would really like it if we could get along.” Sands announces to your surprise as you turn to look at him. “It would make things easier…” you agree, frowning slightly at the complete change of attitude and ignoring the shortening of your name. “You know, if you got to know me you would like me, I'm sure of that.” He continues, flashing a supposedly charming smile at you. “And if you got to know me very well…” he adds, letting the sentence trail off as he looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eye and a slight lick of his lips that you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been looking at the saucy grin already. Two can play at that game, you think to yourself and decide to begin the ass kicking you’d thought about earlier. “Oh yeh?” you ask, smiling coyly. “Yeh, a lot of women have found that to be true, some don’t like me at first but then… they all come round eventually.” He agrees arrogantly. “Well I suppose…” you begin and sigh as though defeated. “I suppose I can admit that you are an attractive man Sands.” “You can? Wow I thought I would have to work a little bit harder than this to get you to confess to anything.” “Well some men have good ways of persuasion…” “I didn’t even notice myself doing it…” “Well I suppose you wouldn’t, its subconscious really. The way that you look at me, especially just now… it just makes me feel…” you trail off and let your voice drop to a breathy whisper as you move your hand to gently stroke Sands’ thigh. “Makes you feel…?” he enquires after gulping quickly, seemingly surprised by your actions. You heave a breath slightly making your chest rise, an action Sands’ eyes pay great attention to. “It makes me feel like you should pay attention to the fucking road you idiot!” you snap, pinching Sands’ thigh hard causing him to yelp and swerve the car slightly. Luckily you’re on a deserted road so no harm comes from it other than Sands swearing like a madman and you feeling incredibly pleased with yourself. “Fucking hell woman!” he yells after setting the car back on track and rubbing the now sore spot on his thigh. “You did ask…” you reply quietly and slouch into your seat to stare out the window. “Damnit now I know why they said you’d be using your ‘feminine charms’.” He grumbles under his breath making you smile even more. You’d not lost your touch with men, that was for sure, you’d always had a way with them and knew how to use it to your advantage. Staring out of the window and listening to the pleasing sound of Sands swearing under his breath and grumbling about women you find yourself drifting off to sleep, the late night of before creeping up on you. * * * * Screams fill your ears as you stare around you in horror, large flames lick up the walls and the heat seems to burn you though the fire does not touch your skin. Coughing and choking as the smoke courses through the room and into your lungs, oxygen only getting to your body in the most fractional amount you try to make your way towards the door. Sweat drips down your forehead and the bullet wound in your side is throbbing like crazy, even if it had only grazed you it was hurting like hell and making you want to wretch. Stumbling forwards your feet come into contact with a large mound on the floor that you narrowly avoid tripping over. Bending down to look closer you see the face, the eyes open in horror and the blood trickling down the forehead. You had heard the gunshot go off but had not realised where it had come from or what it had hit, now you knew, now you saw him lying there dead. The flames seem to come closer until they engulf your body but instead of the burning searing pain you expect it feels more like a light tickling. The flames reach up and lick at your face, the tickling sensation running across your cheek as you try to swipe it away. Over and over again you swipe at it, trying to extinguish the flame but every time it comes back. The smoke in the room seems to have changed and the smell of something different enters your nostrils. The aroma of burning no longer comes but instead the scent of smoky bacon reaches your senses and as you wonder in confusion as to what it is your eyes snap open. Looking around you take in your surroundings, Sands sitting beside you in the Jeep with a smirk on his face but his eyes on the road, the landscape of Mexico reaching out ahead of you. Frowning you shift your position to sit up fully as it seems you had slouched further into the seat as you slept. “Sweet dreams?” Sands asks, glancing to you quickly with a smirk. “No not really” you snap back not wanting to think of the images that had just run through your mind. “I didn’t think so, you were jerking about in your sleep and whimpering a hell of a lot.” “Well if you noticed that then why didn’t you wake me?” “I did.” “No you didn’t” you reply and slouch back into the seat, staring out the window and mainly away from Sands. Closing your eyes you feel the cool breeze rush over you through the open window and feel thankful for it. Though it had only been a dream the feeling of burning had seemed so real. Something tickles against your cheek and you yelp in surprise, your eyes snapping open again as you stare at Sands, only to see him holding out a long blade of grass pointing at your face. “I told you I woke you up” he grins and proceeds to chuck the blade out of the window. “You… damnit Sands there are better and thoroughly less annoying ways of waking someone than that!” you yell at him. “Well I didn’t think it would be wise to shake you as I'm supposed to be driving and I thought yelling at you might be a bit rude.” “You have an answer for everything.” You mutter wryly and glare at him. If you weren’t worried about having those dreams again you’d damn well go back to sleep to get away from the annoying bastard but that was not the case. From looking at the clock you can see that two hours have passed since you fell asleep and even if it wasn’t a pleasant or peaceful rest you still feel more awake than earlier. Yet again the smell of smoky bacon makes its way to your nostrils and you find yourself licking your lips hungrily, having not eaten breakfast before you went for the meeting at headquarters. Looking around you to find the source of the smell you spot a packet of smoky bacon crisps and instantly grab them, only to find the wrapper crumples in your hand lacking in any content. “Sorry, I got hungry.” Sands offers by way of excuse. “Where did you get them?” “I needed a piss and there was a little café about an hour back.” He replies with a shrug. You stare at him slightly dumbfounded. He had left you in the car, asleep, alone, so he could go and pee and buy himself food? This man knew no limits to being a complete asshole! Sands seems to notice your incredulous look and grins seemingly pleased with himself as he fumbles in the pocket of the car door. After a moment of rustling he brings out a packet of crisps and chucks them at you. “Plain, didn’t know what you liked and I thought they’d be a safe option.” He adds. You mutter your thanks and greedily open the packet, stuffing crisps into your mouth quickly. “I told you I wanted us to get along.” Sands says with a smile towards you that makes you feel the slightest smidgen of amicability towards him. You nod your agreement and continue eating, looking out at the road ahead of you as you do so until finally you find with disappointment that they’re all gone. Licking your lips and savouring the remaining salt left on them you find yourself to be thirsty and look around you to find a drink. “There are a couple of bottles of water on the floor in the back” Sands states and you can’t stop your eyebrows from rising slightly, surprised as he had seemingly read your mind. “Salt makes you thirsty” he offers by way of explanation as you twist in your seat to reach behind you and grab a bottle. Turning back towards the road again you take off the cap and gulp down the cool water that had been shaded from the heat and the sun by the seat. After drinking enough to feel contented the bottle is still half full so you hold it up in offering to Sands. “Want some?” you ask, shaking the bottle lightly so that the water sloshes against its sides. “I'm ok.” Sands replies and you place the cap back on and put the bottle behind you once again. Silence comes again as you sit in the car, watching the scenery go by. The land is almost barren, a few lone trees occasionally popping up every now and again. You see a few farmers herding lean looking white and brown cows onwards, on to somewhere where they can actually graze rather than the dry brown/orange sand and soil. As the car rolls along it kicks up the dust of the track you’re on so you close the window most of the way in order to stop it from getting into the car. “What were you dreaming about?” Sands asks, breaking the silence. “Nothing.” You reply, this really wasn’t a subject you wanted to talk about. “Well that was an awful lot of squirming for just nothing, you seemed terrified.” “Trust me it was nothing.” You say, silencing Sands’ efforts. Time moves on more and you almost regret closing the window so much, it was trapping the heat inside the car and making you feel incredibly uncomfortable. On top of that the half bottle of water earlier seemed to be catching up on you and the need to use the toilet was starting to make itself known. “I need to pee.” You say as you squirm in your seat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your bladder. “Well there’s a tree over there…” Sands replies, nodding his head towards said tree that stands about 100 yards away. “I'm not going behind a tree!” you say in indignation. “Why not?” “I'm not some animal that does their business wherever!” you reply your voice rising slightly. “Well you’re just going to have to wait until we get to a café or something then.” Sands says matter-of-factly making you grind your teeth. You huff your disapproval and continue to sit in silence, squirming every now and again. “How about we take your mind off of it” Sands suggests. You furrow your brow wondering exactly what methods Sands would come up with to do so. “And how do you propose we do that?” “Well we could talk about something, you know, have a conversation…” “About?” “I don’t know” “I thought you had all the answers” “It was you who claimed that not me.” “Fine.” You sigh in defeat. Silence ensues once again and you can’t help but think wryly that Sands’ plan wasn’t too great really, especially as it wasn’t being put into effect. “Ok, well I’ll start then seeing as you’re not making any attempt to” Sands pipes up and you shrug your agreement. “Ok, well tell me something about yourself.” “Like what?” “I don’t know, how old are you for a start?” “24… you?” “26” “Hummm…” you murmur in response. You’d figured him to be around about that age, he didn’t look much older than you. “Where did you grow up?” “England” “I know that, whereabouts?” “Hampshire” “Never heard of it” “You need to learn some geography” Sands rolls his eyes. “Well I grew up in Kentucky, that’s in the USA, North America, northern hemisphere of the world.” “I said you need to learn some geography not me” “I was just showing you what I know” “Wow, enough to fill a textbook” “Hell you’re tetchy, you got PMS or something?” “No I just really need to pee!” “Oh… well that’s ok then.” “It's not ok I want to pee!” “Ok, ok, change of subject… why did you get kicked out of MI-6?” “My God it doesn’t take you long to get round to that question does it?! I have told you already that’s for me to know so mind your own bloody business!” you practically yell. You feel like slapping Sands as you hear him chuckle but refrain from doing so as you hear his next words. “Well darling here is El Horizonte Azul motel, fully equipped with the facilities you desire.” * * * * * Practically before Sands has stopped the car you’ve reached for the door handle and are stumbling out. The heat outside hits you and almost takes your breath away, but you have more important issues to tend to so you practically run to the main entrance of the dirty motel and demand your key, stating your assigned name in hurried Spanish. “ID?” Asks the man behind the counter. “Shit…” you mutter, having left all your belongings in the Jeep in your rush to find a restroom. Rolling your eyes you turn on your heel ready to run back outside, but almost walk straight into Sands in the process. “You might need this.” He says with a smirk, handing your handbag to you. Smiling briefly in thanks you rummage through your bag and locate your wallet, pulling out the fake ID card that states your name as being ‘Melissa Wells’. The man behind the desk glances quickly from the card to your face before handing you your key. With the lack of time it took him to check the details you rather wonder what the point of giving him your ID was, but snatch the key thankfully and rush out the door, only half listening to the directions to your room. A short sprint up some steps later and you find yourself in front of door 114, hastily shoving the key into the lock only to find the door jammed. Squeezing your eyes shut and praying for the heavens to open the damn door, you shove the door with your shoulder and almost go falling through as it gives way. You dump your handbag on the floor and rush into the one small room that is separated from the main living area. After finding your relief you walk out into the living area, glancing around at the shabbiness. You could understand the CIA certainly wouldn’t fancy putting you up in a five star resort, but you have to admit they seem to have gone to the greatest lengths to find you possibly the worst motel in the whole of Mexico. Looking around you can see paper peeling from the walls, and mould growing in patches in the corners of the ceiling. The brown carpet is stained in various places, plus your earlier fight with the door comes to mind and you realise that it also wouldn’t be too difficult for someone else to break into your room. Sighing you head out of the door, intending to get your luggage from the Jeep, but instead you find Sands making his way slowly up the stairs cursing under his breath as he carries both your bags. “I don’t know when I signed up for the part of baggage horse.” He calls to you as you lean against the doorframe, smiling at his efforts. “But I think I might like to withdraw my application.” “Well I didn’t ask you to bring my stuff.” You reply, causing Sands to roll his eyes. “There was me thinking I was being helpful.” “And there was me thinking you’d go out of your way not to be, it seems we’re both a little misguided.” “Fine.” Sands says with a sarcastic smile, and promptly shrugs your holdall and rucksack from his shoulders. Watching them thud to the floor you smile in amusement and almost relish Sands annoyance at being under appreciated. It’s about time he learnt a little of what it felt like to work hard and still be ignored. “If you’d asked I might have come to help you.” You say, walking slowly over to your bags and hauling them onto your shoulders. “But I suppose you’re too proud for that?” “I simply thought I’d better get into practice for doing most of the hard labour.” He answers quickly making you frown. “Then it’s good that I set the record straight now isn’t it? I am not going to allow you to do ‘most of the hard labour’. I’m quite prepared to handle this assignment equally and I do not want all the minor tasks to be palmed off onto me. We’re supposed to work together and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” “Fine by me.” Replies Sands. “I’ve always found working together with the ladies quite a pleasure, and I’ve not had any complaints from them either.” You roll your eyes and shove passed him, making your way into your room and dumping your luggage on the bed. You should have known he’d turn anything you said into an innuendo of some sorts, so why bother try talking to him like a reasonable human being? Your doorway darkens and you turn around to see Sands watching you as you start to unpack. “What?” you ask sharply. “Just thought I’d let you know that we’re right next door to each other, so if you need me at all…” “Sands I cannot think of any possible reason why I might need you, so kindly go to your own room and stop hassling me.” “Don’t we need to phone Agent Cranbrook to let him know we’ve arrived?” he asks. You roll your eyes yet again, almost amused by Sands change in attitude towards following instructions. “We don’t need to be together to do that. I shall phone in a moment as soon as you’ve gone.” “Oh, okay, I understand. You want to talk about me, not to me. Fair enough.” He answers with an arrogant wink before moving out of the doorway. You close your eyes and take a couple of calming breaths, reassuring yourself that you won’t let him get the better of you and scolding yourself for allowing him to rile you so easily. You wouldn’t normally get so cross so quickly, but with Sands around this isn’t a normal situation, plus you didn’t get much sleep last night. Moving to your doorway you poke your head out in time to see Sands disappearing into the room next to yours. By the sound of his quiet groan you can guess that his accommodation isn’t any better than yours, and you can’t help but smirk. From the way that Sands dresses (which you have to say is generally quite sharp) you don’t suppose he’s particularly keen on being housed in such a place where you know you’re most likely going to be kept awake all night by cockroaches and rats scurrying across the floors. Pushing the door closed you make your way back to your bed and sit down, picking up your handbag and taking your CIA assigned mobile out. There was a phone on the bedside table, but you had been informed not to touch it under any circumstance in case it was somehow tapped. Alvarez held unknown amounts of power over the people in Sal Amradés, so you could not take any risks or underestimate the lengths he would go to ensure the CIA were kept away. Scrolling through your phonebook you call the number to Agent Cranbrooks office and wait whilst it rings. After a few short moments Agent Cranbrooks comes onto the line. “Agent Cranbrook, it’s Agent Hunter.” You say in your most professional tone. “Agent Hunter, you’ve arrived I take it?” “Yes, a few minutes ago.” “I trust the journey wasn’t too…” “Difficult, irritating, annoying…” “Something along those lines…” “No, the journey was fine. Sands was a pain in the ass but I can handle him.” “I’m sure he’d like you to.” Agent Cranbrook chuckles. “Don’t you start.” You answer, rolling your eyes for the millionth time. “I get enough of that from him.” “My apologies, I guess he can rub off on you a little.” You bite your lip and try not to smirk, knowing that what Agent Cranbrook just said could be taken as an innuendo also. You’ve already spent too much time around Sands you’re sure. “And how is the accommodation?” Agent Cranbrook asks. “It’s… erm…” you try to find something positive to say about your room but are finding it quite difficult. “It’s good to be out of the car and away from Sands.” You finish, thinking that you’ve done well to be even a little optimistic about the situation. “Well don’t get too far away from him. We need you to keep an eye on him and ensure that he doesn’t blow his cover. We’re aware that the motel isn’t of very high standards, but it’s all the better to ensure no unwanted attention is brought to you.” “I understand, but I don’t think that excuse is going to wash with Sands very well.” You answer. “Well you’re only going to be there for two weeks, he’ll just have to live with it.” Agent Cranbrook snaps causing you to raise your eyebrows. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” You mutter under your breath. You hear Agent Cranbrook sigh in annoyance on the end of the line, and decide it would be better to steer conversation away from Sands as it seems he puts Agent Cranbrook on edge even more than you. You’re starting to form a theory that maybe their being simple work colleagues isn’t quite the complete history between them. “So what do you want us to do to begin?” You ask. “If you feel up to it you can go into the town tonight. There’s a dance hall that opens in the evening that a lot of Alvarez’s men frequent. You should be able to pick some information up from there, and also ascertain what you’ll be up against should you cross him.” “And the name of this place?” you query. “La puta risueña.” You think the words over in your head, wondering over the translation. You know that ‘risueña’ means laughing, but you can’t think of what ‘puta’ means. Mentally cursing yourself for being unable to translate you assure Agent Cranbrook that you will tell Sands the plans and will call him the next morning, if not before, to report on the evening’s events, and to establish your next move. Hanging up you put the phone back into your handbag and rummage through your rucksack for a change of outfit. The weather is humid and sticky and you’re already regretting not bringing more to wear as you’re sure you’re going to be getting all your clothes very dirty, very quickly. From your short walk/run from the Jeep the bottom of your jeans have been coloured slightly red as the muddy dust has stuck to them. Stripping away your clothes you walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. You’re unpleasantly surprised to find that the small trickle of water that comes from the showerhead is a mucky brown/orange colour, but after a few moments of waiting the water runs a little clearer and you hop in. Standing under the gentle trickle of water you do your best to turn your frame of mind into something that resembles the calm you usually keep for yourself. The previous night you’d had a phone call that had set your stress levels rising and your ability to sleep plummeting, and with the addition of Sands to the equation today you’re definitely not as composed as you’d like. Sighing you run your fingers through your hair and over your face. Mentally you begin counting down from twenty, a trick you’d learnt a few years back to help you keep your cool and not become emotional. You’d count down from twenty and by the time you got to zero you’d force all emotions from yourself, allowing yourself a fresh and peaceful state of mind so that you could continue with whatever task you were doing. ‘12… 11… 10…’ you think quietly, feeling all the stress and annoyance drain out of you… ‘9…8…7…’ you continue, almost refreshed and ready to start again… ‘6…5…4…’ “Just give me a shout if you need a hand!” a call startles you making you snap your eyes open and look quickly around you, doing your best to cover yourself with your arms. “Sands?!” you shout out, looking about trying to find him but to no avail. “Don’t worry, I can’t see you.” You hear his drawl but still can’t see him. “Although I’m sure it’s a very pretty sight.” Quickly turning off the water you grab a once white towel from a rail near the sink and wrap it around you, still searching frantically with your eyes. “Sands, if I find you looking at me now I’m going to kill you.” You grind out, your calming technique long forgotten. “I already told you darling, as much as I’d like to I’ve got no idea that you’ve just gotten out of the shower and that your hair is dripping water all down your shoulders, droplets running down your chest…” Your eyes widen and you pull the towel around you even tighter, spinning around on the spot. All your thoughts are on finding Sands and promptly throttling him, so you’re not exactly paying attention to your footing when you slip on a puddle caused by your dripping form and promptly fall on your behind with a yelp. Squeezing your eyes shut to force yourself not to whimper again, you breathe softly through your nose to try and block out the pain currently shooting up from your lower back. Instead of the throbbing sensation you think of how nice it would feel to kick, hit, bite, scratch or generally maim Sands right now. “Everything alright in there?” you hear Sands call from outside your door, a slight tone of concern edging his voice. Remaining silent you pick yourself up from the floor and pull your towel around you again as it had slipped away when you fell. “Emily…?” you hear Sands call, a little more urgent this time. You sigh quietly and go to your door, opening it slowly and keeping your gaze to your feet. You’re quiet aware that droplets of water from your hair are running down your cheeks and know that Sands instant conclusion will be that you’re crying. “Emily I’m really sorry, I was just messing around. “ he says as you look up at him with the perfect kicked puppy expression. “Really, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt…” he continues, putting his hand on your shoulder. You sniff lightly for effect and allow Sands to gently pull you against him, but before he can pull you completely into his arms you bring your knee up to firmly connect with his crotch. Smiling victoriously you watch as he stumbles backwards, doubling over with an expression of agony written across his face. “Serves you right you chauvinistic prick.” You spit at him before slamming the door and stomping over to your bed where you’ve laid out a change of clothes. You hear Sands slowly making his way back into his room and realise that he probably only guessed that you were naked as he would have been able to hear the shower running. Towelling yourself dry you gently rub your lower back, knowing that your first bruise of the assignment is going to be particularly uncomfortable. Pulling on your change of clothes you run towel dry your hair and draw it back into a ponytail before lying down on the bed. Glancing at your watch you gauge that you have enough time to just lie there for a bit before you go into town, and you figure that Sands won’t be running off anywhere very quickly. Closing your eyes you go back to your counting game, and allow the remaining stress within you to disappear. TBC... AN: It's kind of short, but the next chapter should hopefully be longer and also it should come around a lot quicker. I haven't written anything in quite a long time, so you'll have to excuse it if it's not completely up to scratch. I'm hoping I shall be getting back into the swing of writing, so you might see more of my stories being updated in the coming months. I always love reading reviews, so get clicking on the button below ;) |