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2020-11-04
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2006-03-26
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Sands Through The Hourglass

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 that is, if there is a conspiracy.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Killer Choices

Chapter Text

By Scarlett Burns

Movie Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico or any of the recognizable characters that appear in the following story. Once Upon A Time In Mexico, the script/screenplay and characters belong to Robert Rodriguez, Troublemaker Studios and Columbia-Tristar. This story has been written without their consent. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this story.

CIA Note: This is fiction, and although the CIA slang, terminology and technology I've included w/in this story has been researched, the actual situations and the way the CIA is portrayed and does its job is completely fictional and in no way reflects on the image or reputation of the actual Central Intelligence Agency or its officers and agents.

Huge thanks to my beta, Stella, who made this story monumentally better by volunteering her valuable time, expertise, con-crit and insight.

Author's Notes:
This story takes place immediately after the movie.
Italics are mental thoughts.

What can be found at the end of each chapter:
-Translations for any non-English languages included in this story.
-Terminology for CIA/Spy slang.

 

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Chapter 1: Killer Choices

Dark.

Everything was so dark.

It was like a black hole that seemed to suck all his thoughts, feelings, beliefs and actions into it. Confusion circled his mind as he leaned heavily against the stone wall behind him, the only thing currently keeping him upright at this very moment. He was only vaguely aware of what was going on, what he'd just done, and what horrors this day had unexpectedly brought him.

"¿Está bien, señor?" The little boy asked him worriedly. The same little boy he'd told to 'fuck off' what now seemed a lifetime ago. The same little boy he said he never wanted to see again.

'Got your wish, didn't you?'

Sands' head limply bobbed from one side to the other. He could tell that a good deal of drugs still ran through his system. He was disoriented and confused and most of all... terrified, a feeling that he was very unaccustomed to. It all felt like some hideous nightmare, one that he hoped to wake up from immediately, now if at all possible.

"No lo sé." Sands replied back in a strained voice, accidentally revealing to the kid that he did speak Spanish, quite well actually, when he chose to. More often then not he only spoke English so his enemies would develop a loose native tongue around him, assuming he couldn't understand.

It amazed Sands how stupid those mother-fuckers could be sometimes.

"Lo estará."

Sands sighed. Although he admired the kid's optimism, he doubted that he would make it through the night. But then, he wasn't sure he wanted to make it any longer than that anyway.

How much time had passed? One hour? Two? Four? Sands couldn't focus his mind anymore, the darkness, blood loss and pain taking their toll.

The pain was slowly crawling to the surface, starting as a dull ache that he knew would eventually end as screaming pain.

The drugs Barillo and his bastard daughter Ajedrez had pumped him full of were starting to wear off.

'Oh, fuck.'

Once the drugs wore off, things were going to start getting really ugly, really fast.

'Start? Oh, that's a laugh. I've got legs and an arm full of lead and two gaping holes where my eyes used to be. I'm in fantastic shape.'

Sands tried to move his injured arm with little success, the drugs wearing thin and his adrenaline long gone.

'Yeah... I'm ready to take on Broadway, baby.'

The thought made Sands chuckle out loud, and Chicle Boy stood beside him somewhat surprised.

"¿Por qué se rÃe?"the boy asked, clearly bewildered.

The boy didn't see anything funny about the situation, but then Sands had always had a fucked up and twisted sense of humor.

"Señor?" the boy half whispered as if afraid to disturb him further. It was enough to pull Sands out of his thoughts.

Deep down Sands supposed that he was touched that the kid even cared. But he was never one to let his emotions get in the way, and quickly became annoyed that the boy wouldn't just leave him be and let him bleed to death in peace on this dusty, deserted side street in Culiacan.

"Yeah, yeah... fuck off kiâ€""

Sands stopped in mid retort. 'What the hell is wrong with me?' Sands thought to himself. 'I am Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency. '

'I do not give up and I do not lose.'

Sands took a deep breath and tried to stand up without the aid of the wall he was leaning against. He gritted his teeth to prevent the moan that wanted to escape his lips as pain shot through him. Sands silently damned the asshole who had had to shoot him in both legs. He quickly fell back against the wall, his legs simply unable to support his own weight by themselves any longer.

'Just where do you think you're going to go, anyway? You have no friends - just the way you like it I might add - and you're fucking blind, fuckmook. Are you just going to wander blindly around town until you get a stray bullet in the head or you unsuspectingly wander into the path of an oncoming truck?'

In the middle of his own mental rant a thought occurred to him... more than a thought actually, an answer.

Sands sat down at the table and quickly ordered his favorite meal and drink; slow roasted pork with a tequila and lime. He handed the waitress the menu without even bothering to open it. Waiting until she walked away he pulled out his cell and quickly punched in a familiar number. He was infuriated at being fobbed off during his last call by his 'superior' and the result was that he punched in the numbers a little harder than was actually necessary.

Sands pushed the call button and the line rang twice before someone picked up.

"Martin here."

"Yeah, listen, I need a new line." Sands told Martin matter-of-factly.

"Sands," his superior stated, as usual not sounding happy to hear from the renegade officer.

"What's the problem? Why do you need a new line?"

"This one's been compromised."

Officer Martin sighed into the phone, clearly agitated, and making sure Sands was aware of it. "Fine, this line will be cut as soon as we're finished. Where are you? I'll send a man over."

"OK. Thank you," Sands drawled, indicating that he was really anything but thankful. "I'm waiting here at la Vaca Volando."

"La Vaca Volando?" Martin could almost have laughed at the ridiculous name, that is, if he had had a sense of humor.

"That's right. The Flying... Cow."

That was it. He'd go back to the Flying Cow. A fellow officer was going to meet him there, and there was still a good chance he'd be waiting - after all, the CIA was nothing if it wasn't thorough and they'd want to make absolutely certain an officer was gone before declaring him dead or MIA.

"Oye, niño de la bubblegum... ¿todavÃa estás aquÃ?" Sands asked as he cursed the darkness that made him feel so helplessly lost.

"SÃ." The kid answered quickly, wanting to be of help somehow.

"Bien. Listen kid, get a taxi and bring it here. I don't think I can walk very far... Comprendes?"

"SÃ."

Sands listened carefully. He heard the kid's footsteps retreating, then the bell on the child's bike as he rode away. Leaning heavily against the wall he listened to the mixture of sounds around him, a few distant gun shots, the noise of vehicles, and the rustle of paper banners from the Day of The Dead celebration gone bad as they blew in the breeze. His hearing, touch and smell were all that he had left now.

'Don't! Don't start thinking about that... aut vincere aut mori.'

'No.' He wouldn't think about that now. He... couldn't think about it now. Yet the thought was there, in the back of his mind, tugging at him like the pain from the hollows of what were once his dark brown eyes. It relentlessly reminded him of the horrors this day had brought him and the finality that would hit him later when the drugs wore off and his mind was clear.

'Well, I really fucked up this time,' he thought to himself. 'Even before today, I was blinded by a hot piece of ass, blind to the fact that things had spun so far out of control and now I really am...'

Ajedrez's words burned in his ears and echoed in his mind cruelly...

"You really didn't see it coming, did you?"

He'd never forget those words. She was dead and gone, but those words would stay with him forever. The worst part was that Ajedrez was right and he knew it. The great and all-powerful CIA Officer hadn't seen it coming. Sands had let his masterfully manipulative mind, with its years of CIA training and experience, fuck up.

And in the CIA, one fuck up was all it took.

Yet he knew he could never give up. Give up? He didn't know the meaning of the phrase. He'd killed Ajedrez, killed those men, and managed to still stand here now. Even if he was a bit shaky, he was still standing.

No, he'd live with the consequences of today. If there was anything Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands was not, it was a coward, and he wouldn't take the cowards' way out.

The heat of the day struck him, and he remembered that he was wearing all black. The one thing he shouldn't be wearing under the blistering Mexican sun while he lost massive amounts of blood.

'The price one pays to look like a bad ass.'

Sighing, Sands heard the rumble of a car approaching. A door opened and closed. Small, quick footsteps approached, and a familiar young boy's voice called to him.

"¡Señor! ¡Señor! ¡He traÃdo el taxi como usted me lo pidió!"

Sands breathed in deeply to ready himself for the move he must make and was instantly rewarded with lungs full of fine dust swept up from the road by the wind and the newly arrived taxi. The pain was starting to eat away at him now, getting worse with each passing minute. Sands realized he needed to hurry, or he was going to bleed to death right here on the hot, dirty, dusty, deserted street in this god-forsaken town.

Somehow he found the strength to stand, though he wobbled unsteadily, his black-gloved hands in front of him, reaching blindly for the kid. He found his target and, transferring most of his weight to Chicle Boy, managed to make it the short distance to the taxi.

Landing on the backseat in a heap, the kid beside him, he told the driver to take him to the Flying Cow.

It occurred to Sands, right before he passed out from pain and blood loss, that he might not be making the smartest choice, rushing back into the waiting arms of the CIA. He had no idea how much they knew about his crooked dealings and unnecessary target practice, but he didn't see that he had any other choice.

 

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Spanish Translations

¿Está bien, señor? - Are you all right, Sir?

No lo sé. - I don't know.

Lo estará. - You will be.

¿Por qué se rÃe? - Why do you laugh?

Oye, niño de la bubblegum... ¿todavÃa estás aquÃ? - Hey, bubblegum kid... you still here?

Bien. - Good

Comprendes? - Understand?

¡Señor! ¡Señor! ¡He traÃdo el taxi como usted me lo pidió! - I have brought the taxi like you asked!

Latin Translations

Aut vincere aut mori- Either conquer or die.