SOMEONE'S WATCHING YOU

Author: Sparrows Mistress
Rating: R
Pairing: You/Sands
Categories: Romance, Action, Suspense

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it. Not Johnny Depp, not Agent Jeffrey Sands, or anything to do with the movie Once Upon A Time In Mexico.

Summary: After being in a relationship with Sands for a year he gets sent Mexico on an assignment. After waiting on his return call one night and not hearing a word from him for a month later, you receive a letter from the CIA confirming your worst fears. Now, two years later with your own career with the FBI, you start to get the feeling that someones watching you but when you turn around no ones there. Your job isn't the safest but you're determined to find out who it is, before they catch up with you. Little do you know, that it can't be such a bad thing when the past comes back to haunt you.

Note to reader: The first chapter of this story is set the before Sands leaves for Mexico just to give you a little build up to the actual story.

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CHAPTER 1 - One For The Road

September 27th, 2003

You watch from the doorway as Sands packs his black leather bags for his newest assignment. Mexico, not as hot as Brazil, but still he hated going south. Shorts, lots of shorts. T-shirts. Dark blue jacket, he checks off the list in his mind. He sits the small, black bag on the bed that contains his inflatable arm along with its different sleeves to match his clothing. His metal case that contained his guns and ammo sits by the door.

"How long are you going to be gone this time?" you ask, leaning against the frame of the door and watches as he packs. You always hate to watch him leave.

"As long as it takes," he says, his tone short and rude, as he stuffs another shirt in to the bag. "You know that."

"Don't give me that Jeffery, I just asked. I never know without asking," you snap in reply. "I don't have a crystal ball shoved up my ass that tells me everything."

Sands smothers a laugh at the idea of the crystal ball and you raise an eyebrow in irritation. You hate when he laughs at something you say, especially when it was intended to be mean. He knew you could never hold a mean tone in your voice and when you try, it puts him in stitches.

"Sugar, I know. Just gotta lot of shit runnin' through my mind. This is probably one of the biggest assignments I've been sent on and I'm goin' alone. I'm doin' four peoples' work by my self," he tells you over his shoulder as he runs down the list again.

"What do you mean?" you question and walk towards the bed. "Why aren't the guys going with you?"

Sands knew there was a lot of money involved with this and he really didn't feel like sharing it this time around. "I don't know why, (        ). Guess it's too risky with a lot of people going. Besides, I've already contacted a couple of men down in Mexico. Everything should be ready by the time I get there."

Sands zips the bags shut and lifts them onto his shoulders. He walks out the door and puts the bags into the back of the SUV and comes back inside. You had gone into the kitchen upon stealing one of his hand-rolled, brown papered cigarettes. Sands watches from the breezeway as you smoke the cigarette. You only smoke when you are stressed.

He notes the look in your eyes as you stare at the stream of smoke that comes from your lips when you exhale. Yep, you were stressed and he was the cause.again. There were some assignments that you smiled and waved from the door when he left, and then there were the few that you stressed over and wondered if you'd ever see him again. He knows you too well, knowing that you won't voice your concern aloud. You always feel that it isn't your place since he's had the job before you.

"I'll be fine," he tells you. "I promise."

"That's one promise you can't keep Sands so don't make it," you say, your voice flat and toneless. "When you get back, I want to talk with you." You run the dying cigarette under the tap to extinguish the burning end and toss it in the ashtray.

"About?" he asks, moving into the room to lean on the bar. He pulls a cigarette of his own out and lights it. When you don't respond, he asks again. "Is something wrong?"

"No Sands," you say, leaning forward to the bar, coming eye to eye with him. Damn but you loved those eyes, those deep chocolaty eyes. "Nothing's wrong."

"Sure? You've been acting weird lately," he comments.

"I promise, nothing is wrong with me." Except I'm going crazy not telling you that I love you damn it!!

"Look," he tells you, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray next to yours, "I'll call every chance I get. Will that help? I know you worry about me" he says, cupping your face in his hands.

"I do not," you lie but he can see straight through it; your eyes reveal everything.

"Yeah, okay," he says with a short laugh. "I'll call tonight when I land."

"If you want to," you say, trying not to smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Believe me, I do. The last thing I need is to worry about you, worrying about me while I'm gone" Sands say, leaning across for a kiss.

His lips are warm on yours, tasting and teasing, languorously slow. The same tingle that itched in your fingertips every time he kissed you is there and you want to beg him not to go. His tongue runs between the parting of your lips and you opened to him like a flower, allowing him entry and you moan. A year together and you never got used to the feel of him.

Sands' hand grabs your arm and pulls you around the bar and into his arms. The feeling of being in his arms is so secure that you know nothing would hurt you as long as you are in his embrace. He lifts you easily, like lifting a feather, onto the bar and begins to kiss your neck.

"Sands?" you question breathlessly. He grunts in reply, not wanting to release his lips from your skin and you laugh, low and throaty. All thoughts of wanting him to take you to the bedroom diminish as his fingers work at the buttons of your pink shirt. His hands pull at the fabric, tugging it from your shoulders and down your body, kissing every inch of skin as it is exposed.

Without loosing much contact, he pulls his black polo over his head and tosses it across the room. His fingers fumble with the cannabis belt he often wore and once he was free of that, his khakis soon followed. Your hand drifts down quickly to grasp him, knowing full well that the man never wore anything under his pants, and he grows harder in your hand.

Your white lace bra comes next and as soon as it is free of your body, his mouth took possession of your nipple. He tugs it hard into his mouth and brings a cry from your lips. He bit gently down on the peak, causing your head to fall back and you body arches against him. Sands jerks on the white pants you still wore from work that day, finally exposing your body to his gaze. The cold marble bar is freezing against your skin but you pay it no mind. All you can concentrate on was him.

Sands grabs your hips and pulls you forward quickly, your wet warmth colliding with his shaft. He moans at the feeling of the intimate connection of your bodies and hastened to ravish the other breast, wanting to be inside of you.

You feel his fingers on the inside of your thigh, brushing lightly against the sensitive skin and your muscles at your core tighten at the sensation of him being so close. Your hips buck against him, sliding your self up and down against him and Sands pushes himself home.

Your tight passage stretches around him until he's fully inside, pressing intimately against the spot he's grown to know so well. As he moves inside of you, pulling you closer and farther down onto him, you already feel the pressure building inside. Sands feels it also, and starts to drive faster and faster into you, pulling forth the moans and gasps he loves to hear come from your lips.

"Sands," you gasp, so close to falling over that beautiful edge that he always takes you to before he goes over himself.

Sands pulls you tightly down and against him has he spills his life deep inside of you and he smirks when you tighten at the same time, pulling every last wonderful drop from him.

It takes several minutes for your mind to form a thought. "You're gonna miss your flight," you whisper, your breathing still erratic.

"Don't care," he mumbles, his face buried in your neck but he knows you're right. He withdraws from you, and you growl at the loss. "I'll be back soon. Promise" he says, kissing you.

As he pulls away, you watch him dress. You're still feeling wonderfully used and lay back onto the bar.

"Damn it woman," he says, eyeing you as he fastens his belt. He can't help but take in the view of your naked body lying across the cool marble, your hair spread out under you with that hungry look in your eyes. "Really? How do you expect me to make it to the door with you there?" he asks.

"That's the point." Grabbing onto your foot and stretching it towards the ceiling, you give him an intensely excellent view of the place he'd just visited. He responds with a sharp, playful smack to your bottom and he kisses you again as a hand wanders over your body.

"I'll talk to you tonight," he says against your mouth, still unable to leave. Damn, why couldn't they have sent Ty or Connor? He thought. He'd gladly give up the money to stay right here with you.

"Here," he says, finally breaking the contact and walks into the bedroom. "Put this on and come walk with me outside," he asks, handing you your robe.

Following him, you carry his metal case and small bag out with you to the Denali. He loads everything into the back and sits on the edge of the vehicle, pulling you between his legs. Sands never can get over how beautiful you look in the moonlights glow, your hair a mess from his loving and the slight flush to your cheeks.

His arms encircle your waist as he hugs you; just the feel of you body pressing against his has him ready to go again but he knows he's going to be cutting it close to get to the plane.

"Be careful," you tell him, taking in the smell of his hair and skin. The flowers that grow in the garden next to the driveway vie for the attentions of you but you brush them aside without another thought. Nothing comes between you and Sands before he leaves.

"Sugar, how else do you think I manage to make it back each time?" he teases and you smack his arm.

"I'm serious Jeffrey," only using his first name when you mean it. "I want you home in one piece."

"As long as I don't loose him," he says and looks down at his crotch, "I'll always come home."

You glare but kiss him one last time and he moves to shut the hatch. "I'll call you later tonight," he says as he pulls from the driveway. "Watch your back while I'm gone," he calls, and you watch until he is out of sight. You walk back into the empty house alone. Now, all you had to do was pass the time until he returns.

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CHAPTER 2 - Needing A Reminder

November 1st, 2003 - First Day of The Celebration of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead)

Being an FBI agent had its perks; you'd gotten the job shortly before meeting Sands. The travel was bound to be the best, when you are allowed to. You swear Sands makes them keep you inside the country unless it was an emergency. As you ride the elevator up in the prison to the floor where your temporary office was, you check the gun at your side; safety was on. The two cell phones on the other side; both on vibrate. The set of handcuffs sat in their holster at the base of your back. Criminal Profiling was a relitivly safe job but you never let your guard down inside the prison walls.

The best perk was that it had been where you'd met Sands. He had been part of the team assembled between the CIA and FBI to transport you, among many others, down to Brazil in search of a criminal. Ever since that trip, you and Sands had dated on and off when he was in town but soon after, it was exclusive. He started having you move things into his house, staying the night which led to two nights, then three and before you knew it you were living with the man.

You smile as you think about him. He'd been gone for over a month down to Mexico to set up Barillo who was attempting to murder the president of the country and you really wish that he would come home. Counting the days since you last spoke, he should be calling either today or tomor---. The thought trailed off as one of the phones vibrated against your hip and you smirk. You hate when he does that.

"Andrews," you answer, still walking down the hallway. You always answer with your last name, it's was easier.

"Hello Sugar," comes his smoky voice through the phone. He is walking around the town of Mexico in his faded but favorite CIA T-shirt, shorts, and black sunglasses. His hair is still down from his shower that morning, wet and cool against his neck and brushing against his shoulders. "God, I hate this fucking country; too hot and those fucking bells. What are you doing?" he asks, keeping an eye on every person at once. He never could be too careful.

"Just walking my beat," you reply and you hear him laugh in his throat.

"You know that's my line, right?" he questions, stopping to lean against the side of one of the buildings. He is close to the heart of the city and knows that the phone call is going to be a short. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Don't know at the moment," you tell him as you scan your ID and enter a room you use as an office. "I just want to get out of the prison alive and in one piece at the moment. I'll worry about tonight later."

Sands frowns at the thought of something happening to you. Not that he would voice it aloud, yet, he still worried. "Well, if you didn't have plans I was going to try and give you a call back tonight but if you don't want to." He smirks as he hears the growl on the other end. He knows he'd get that reaction from you.

"I don't have plans Sands. I don't even have a life anymore," you tell him dryly.

"Okay, then I'll call you tonight," Sands replies. "Oh, start thinkin' about vacation. After this, I'm gonna need one."

"'Kay," you chirp with a smile. Maybe this time around you will go to Aruba.

"Okay. Until tonight Sugar," he says.

"Tonight," you whisper.

Sands flips the phone shut and slides it back into his pocket. He had to hear your voice, even if it was for only a minute, just to keep him focused on what he was coming home to. As Sands closes his eyes, he sees his favorite memory of you. He can see you standing with your back to him, cooking. He can still smell the puerco pibil, a slow roasted pork, that you had found the recipe too that was his favorite. There was a glass on the counter; a Tequila with lime that is waiting on him. You turn around when you hear him set his bags down, the smile of adoration on your face, mixed with love that he is still reluctant on returning. He wants to more than ever too and now that he is down in Mexico, he wishes he had. Something tells him after this trip, nothing would be the same again.

You watch as the call ends and the picture of both of you at the Christmas party appears on the tiny screen. You had been dancing when your drunken co-worker Tiffany had taken your phone and snapped the picture. The smile on his face showed every emotion that he was feeling; happiness, passion, and love. Love: something that both of you had yet to talk about but it is there. It is in every touch, every embrace, and every kiss you shared yet something holds the words back.

Sands starts to walk down the street again and you go back to unloading your bag. Neither one of you realize that the phone call will be the last time you will speak to one another.

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CHAPTER 3 - Earth-Shattering News

December 17th, 2003

You haven't spoken to Sands and his goddamn cell is saying that the number has been disconnected. Something is wrong, you can feel it. It isn't like him to say that he is going to do something then not do it. You know Sands is a rogue agent; that is why they send him on the dangerous missions. He doesn't give a damn about anything but he is a man of his word. When he says he is going to do something, he does it no matter what.

There are always stories of agents that aren't exactly honest and you know for a fact from working within the government, that things happen and you turn your head. Sands, neither admitted or denied it when you had asked him about it and you left it at that; you know the truth and that is enough.

You don't even want to know everything about his job and he wouldn't tell you even if you did. Both of your jobs hold a great deal of confidential information. Regulation says that there are supposed to be locks on your doors to your offices but you have trust in one another. Hell, you share the same office most of the time. You value each others opinions, ideas, and help with cases. Besides, you both have worked on some of the same cases so there is no reason not to let him in on the information you gather.

The mail has probably gone since it has grown dark outside and you walk down the short driveway to the box. You pull open the mailbox, withdrawing the bundle that sits inside. Absently, you flip through the letters and junk mail as you make your way back up the drive. One catches your trained eye; no return address except for a name: Myers. You know that is Sands' boss and you rip it open.

Sitting down on the couch, you take the letter from inside and open it. A small paragraph sits in the middle of the page and you read it quickly:

Ms. Andrews,

C.I.A. Headquarters, Quantico

You reread the letter three times before it sinks in; Sands has been killed. He has been killed in Mexico. You stare at the wall, blankly. There is a sudden void inside of you, a feeling of complete helplessness. Tears flood your eyes and stream down your cheeks in rivers and your shoulders jerk with sobs. Sands' job came with the chance of causality but you never thought it would happen. God, how long had he been in the C.I.A.? He had been in for years before he met you and nothing, not even a flesh wound, had occurred.

The bed beneath you seems oblivious as you lay down tonight, clutching his pillow tightly to your chest as you cry yourself to sleep. The dreams come immediately, that your sub-conscious means to use to console you, but they only bring more pain. Everything you had done with Sands comes back to you, over and over again until you can't take it anymore.

In a sweat, you sit up in the bed, searching around the room for any sign that the letter has been a dream but know you'd come up empty. The bedding has been torn away from the mattress and strewn about from your trashing in your sleep. Running your eyes over his nightstand, you see the bottle of pills. After swallowing three sleeping pills that are his prescription, you fall into a deep dreamless sleep. Something you are looking for and the drugs keep the dreams at bay for the night.

You awake to the doorbell ringing insistently. 12:49 p.m. the clock said that sat on the nightstand. Holy Shit! Those pills really packed some punch. What do you really expect? You'd taken them for the past four nights. Staggering to the door in your shorts and tank top, you pull your hair back from your face. After securing it with a band, you open the door. The three agents stood there, in civilian clothes, and you know them all. Stephen thought ahead and sent the three men that you know and trusted; Tyler, Connor, and Jake that are Sands' best friends.

The emotions, combined with seeing them, hit you all over again and you struggle to keep the tears in check. Unfortunaly, you are enveloped in the arms of Sands' friends and the dam breaks. Jake pushes the door shut to hide the scene from the wandering eyes of the neighborhood. No one on the street needs to know what is going on or why they are here.

"(        ), come on. Ty's gonna start packing up his work. Connor's gonna start with yours and I'm gonna make some coffee. You look like you need it," Jake says.

"Just leave his pictures," you mumble to Ty and Connor. "I want those." They already know that you would want them and know better than to touch them.

Jake leads you into the kitchen and you sit down on one of the stools as he makes the coffee, already knowing where everything is. The aroma filled the room but your face remains unwavering. What you really want is to go back upstairs and crawl back in bed, whether Connor is in there or not.

Jake sets down a steaming cup of black coffee, how you like it, in front of you and leans back against the sink to drink his own. With numb fingers, your hands encircled the cup and stare at it; the steam rises up gently from the liquid. The heat radiating from the mug doesn't seem to penetrate the coldness you have been unable to shake.

Ever since the letter, you feel hollow. There is nothing that seems to help either. Before the guys had arrived, you thought that you had cried all the tears you had been able to but you are wrong. A renewed supply seems to have appeared. You know that you are never going to get over the feeling of being.what is the word you want to sum it up...left behind? Hollow? Neither of those seemed to fit the feeling. Then it hits you: Abandoned. That sums it up just right. You feel so abandoned since his death, left with so many unanswered questions and no way to get the answers.

Jake watches you carefully, seeing the void in your eyes. He has never seen such emptiness in the time he's known you. You are always so happy, so alive and full of laughter but now with everything that has happened you're different. The well kempt woman he's known is gone and in her place was someone that he doesn't know.

What you really want to do is beat up something or break anything. Just the feeling of doing so will bring a release from the confines of the prison of unhappiness you've been in and will help to vent your frustration from the ordeal. Taking a bat to the person that shot Sands would do but that is impossible, though if you could, you would in a heartbeat.

Deciding on the only thing close at hand, you pick up the mug with one hand and send it flying across the room. The yellow mug shatters as it hits the wall, coffee and yellow shards of ceramic rain down to the floor. With one swipe of your arm, you clear the bar of its contents and everything cascades down. Your next target is the refrigerator, making the most recent note that he's left before going to Mexico and pictures joining the rest of the items on the tiled floor.

Jake drops his mug without a second thought and grabs you as you start screaming and crying, tearing at the counter tops and knocking anything in reach down to join the rest of the mess. You hear the glass smashing under his shoes from the glasses that had been on the counter before you had kicked them off. He holds you close as you fight to push him away, kicking and pulling at his arms around your waist. Connor and Tyler run into the room, seeing the disarray and seeing you, rush to help. They had expected you to loose it after Sands' death so nothing that is happening fazes them at all. After getting you into the living room, Tyler pulls you from Jakes arms and onto his lap, rocking you against him which seems to calm you.

"Calm down baby, it's okay," you hear whispered into your ear. "We're all here to help you."

"No one can help me," you whisper in return. "No one can bring him back. I didn't even tell him that I loved him Ty. I never got the chance to. He would never let me tell him."

Tyler looks up at both of the guys and with a nod of his head, they both leave the room to continue packing. All of them know that once you are out of the house and into a new one, one that doesn't hold any memories of Sands, you'll be better off.

TBC...

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As always, please review. This is the first You/Sands piece I have on the board and I'm still a little uncomfortable writing him. So if you would, let me know how I'm doing. Thanks! Kimmy

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