Author's Note: I'm suffering from a bout of writer's block on my Secret Window story and have been listening to the "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" almost non-stop.  Writing this was inevitable.  It's a total excuse to have some banter with Sands and get him into bed with a chick.  Totally not a Mary-Sue and I'm really not taking it too seriously, but if I didn't write something, I was going to burst.  I've gotten a few laughs out of it – I hope you do the same.  Oh, it gets pretty far out there too – just pretend that the government would do anything in its power to not have to deal with Sands.  Pretty please don't flame me for this, I've never so much as lit a sparkler around anyone's fics.  Thanks!  Oh, my Spanish is reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally rusty, so let's just pretend it's all grammatically correct.  ;-)

***

Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands remained slumped against the wall of one of the buildings in the center of town.  The drugs from his "operation" now wearing very thin, the damage to his body was causing him excruciating pain.

            "Señor Sands," the young boy said frantically.  "Vamos!"

            "Not gonna happen, kid," Sands replied through gritted teeth.  "Fucking town's deserted at the moment…guess interagency cooperation wasn't all it was cracked up to be or I'd be in a fucking hospital right now."  He once again mashed at the buttons on his cell phone, but it was dead.  "Damn it!"

            The boy spotted a woman down the street a ways.  It was the first person he'd seen since Jorge left.  "Señor Sands, una mujer."

            "I don't need a woman right now, I need a…Oh…yeah, go get her."

            The boy ran down the street as fast as his legs would allow him.  He caught up to the woman just before she rounded the corner.  "Señorita, ayúdame por favor!"

            The woman turned, startled.  Oh crap, Spanish.  Of course I am in Mexico.  O.K., either this kid wants something or…  She thought back to the years of Spanish in high school and college.  Wow, I really didn't learn more than swearing and…wait, ayúdame comes from ayudar, which means…help!  Ooo, I got it!  Help me, please…  Shit, now what do I say?

            "Señorita, por favor!"

            Nothing, I just follow and hope I don't get killed or something.  Day of the Dead – literally.  She followed the boy down the street to where Sands was now fully on the ground, groaning in intense pain.  Holy shit…  Her eyes were wide, but she was silent.

            "Señor Sands, tengo la mujer!"

            Her thoughts were frantic.  Have the woman for what?

            "O.K., and this is helping me how?"

            The boy shuffled his feet.  "Yo no se."

            "Well, me neither," the woman replied, understanding what the boy had said, "but you're American, so yay for that.  What happened to you?"

            "What didn't?" Sands answered coldly. 

            "O.K., bad question.  Is there a hospital around here anywhere?"

            "Si," the boy answered.

            The woman was puzzled.  "He understands English perfectly, but doesn't speak it?"

            "Don't ask," Sands said, "it keeps things moving."

            "OoooooooK…where?"

            "We're pretty far from it.  You don't see a car just laying around unattended, do you?"

            "Uh, lots of ancient jeeps."

            "That'll do."

            "You want to just take one?"

            "Do you really think anyone here's going to fucking mind?"

            "Hey, watch it, buddy," she said, offended by his attitude and language.

            Sands grunted.  "Lady, I'm having a really bad day."   

            "Obviously," she said sarcastically.  "Drug deal go bad or something?"  That got Sands to his feet, as she hoped it would.

            "Fuck you!"

            "Hey, I got you up, didn't I?  I can't exactly carry you.  Now watch your mouth or I'll leave you here."  She put an arm around Sands waist and helped to steady him.  The three walked to one of the jeeps and she helped Sands inside.  "So, um, can you tell me where to go?"

            "He can," Sands replied.

            "I do hope you'll at least translate for me so I don't take five minutes trying to figure out what he's saying."

            "Fine, whatever, just go!"

            She turned the key that was left in the ignition and began to drive, the boy saying directions, and Sands repeating them in English.  The road was bumpy, and the woman had never driven a vehicle even remotely resembling this one, so the ride…was a rather unpleasant one.

            "Jesus, woman!"

            "I'm doing the best that I can.  Ugh, ungrateful bastard."

            Sands couldn't help but laugh.  "Ah, you know me so well already."

            She shook her head and continued to drive and, within a few rough minutes, she pulled up in front of the hospital.  There was some sort of commotion going on, but she helped Sands inside.  "Um, sit here and we'll go, uh…are hospitals here anything like the ones at home?"

            "You talk too much – go!"

            She groaned, not understanding why she even bothered trying to help this mook in the first place.  She followed the boy, but looked back at Sands – he was having trouble finding where to sit…there were chairs all around him.  "What the hell?"

            "No tiene ojos."

            "Whoa, what?"  She understood exactly what he had said – it seemed that the language, or pieces of it, were coming back to her.

            "No tiene ojos."

            "That's what I thought you said."  She looked back again.  The dried blood on his face finally registered with her.  "Thank God for sunglasses, or I really would've freaked."

            "Que?"

            "Nada."

            Once at the desk, the boy explained the situation and a gurney was brought out right away.  The nurse handed the woman a clipboard before going back to her work.

            "Um, I don't know him – I can't fill this out and he…has no eyes."  The boy translated for her.  The nurse looked rather annoyed.  She spouted something off rather quickly, but the woman couldn't catch a great deal of it.  So, I'm shit out of luck then…I should just go.

            Seeing the look on her face, the boy said, "No vayas."  He looked scared and, for a moment, she wondered what exactly he was to the man she'd brought here.

            "What's your name?"

            "Pelé.  Y tu?"

            "Grace."

            Pelé smiled.  "Alojame?"

            "Sure, I don't have anything else to do."

            Grace sat in the waiting room with Pelé, empty clipboard in hand.  She got food from a vending machine to share with Pelé as they waited.  After a couple of hours, a doctor came into the waiting room.  He had a thick accent, but spoke English.

            "You are here with the man who has lost…his sight?"

            "Uh…yeah," Grace said unsurely.  "How is he?"  Wish I cared.

            "The bullets are out, and he is cleaned up.  We gave him medication for the pain.  It is the best we can do."  The doctor paused a moment, then said, "You may see him."

            "That's really not…"  Pelé took her hand and began to drag her to the recovery room.  "I don't…"

            "Documentos," he said, pointing to the clipboard. 

            "Oh…right."  Reluctantly, she followed Pelé, who was, himself, following the doctor.

            "He is groggy," the doctor warned.

            "Yet oddly coherent," Sands said.  Grace looked at Sands, his sunglasses where on his now clean face.  The doctor left, leaving the three alone. 

            "Como estás?"

            "Been better, kid.  Look, you should, you know, go home."

            "Todavía no."

            Sands groaned.  "Why not?"

            "Me ajetrearo."

            "Don't need to worry about me, kid."

            "Pelé," Grace said.

            "Huh?"

            "He has a name, you know."

            A slight moan of frustration escaped Sands' lips.  "So, you're here too?"

            "Yeah, it seems that there's some pesky paperwork that you won't be able to fill out.  I'll help you, then I'm gone."

            "Damn," Sands said sarcastically.  "And I was really getting to like you too."

            "Shut up."  She uncapped the pen she was given and started asking the questions, she wanted to leave as soon as possible.  "Name?"

            "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands."

            She stifled a laugh.  "You don't look like a Sheldon."

            "Next one?"  She asked his birth date, social security number, address, etcetera – then came employer.  "The Central Intelligence Agency."

            "O.K., if you're not going to take this seriously."

            "Es verdad," Pelé said. 

            Sands had a smug half smile on his face.  "Happy?"

            "Great," Grace answered, "killing you would be a federal offense."  She wrote down the rest of his information and left the room to return it into the front desk.

            After Sands was sure she was gone, he said.  "So, does she look as annoying as she sounds?"

            Pelé smiled.  "No.  Grace es…"

            "Grace?"

            "Si, su nombre.  Ella es muy bonito."

            "Well, too bad that information doesn't exactly have any hold on me in my…new condition."

            "O.K.," Grace said as she reentered the room.  "Your crap's turned in and I'm out of here."

            "Look, can you do one more thing for me?"

            She rolled her eyes.  "I haven't done enough?"

            "Pretty please?"

            "Ugh, what?"

            "Make a call for me.  The government may care about where I am."

            "I highly doubt that – they stuck you here, didn't they?"

            He smiled.  "Mexico's my beat, Grace."

            Grace looked at Pelé.  "Had to tell him, didn't you?"  He giggled.  "Fine, Sheldon, gimme the number."

            "Sands – never Sheldon."

            "Whatever.  Number?"  He told her the number and she scribbled it down.  With a final grunt, she left the room.