Chapter 29: Control

Sands didn't know what the hell he was going to do.

They were going to have to stop driving sometime soon; that much was for certain. He was quite sure Jackson couldn't hack another full day on the road without some sort of stop, especially with his recently injured foot. Much as Sands hated to admit it that needed to be patched up if he was going to be of any use at all.

Although truthfully, retiring for the night to an actual bed and getting off the brutally bumpy road was not the problem; he actually welcomed the thought. The real dilemma was finding a way of keeping El under his control.

Never before had he asked himself so many times, 'How do I gain control of this man?' and come up with nothing, nada, zip.

Before the Day of the Dead, such a problem hadn't been a problem. But now… now it was, for several reasons.

First off, Sands still wasn't certain that El had really committed himself to doing the mysterious job he'd been asked to do. It was possible that El intended to escape, despite Sands' threats. Perhaps El would even try to kill him.

Second, he needed to keep close tabs on El. If Jackson had possessed even slightly more worth than a wad of used tissue, he might have been able to scratch this one off his list. In the past, he wouldn't have had a problem, but now, despite the simplicity of the task, keeping a sharp watch on El wasn't such an easy thing to do anymore.

Which led him to his next predicament.

He couldn't hide it forever. He couldn't wish it away. He couldn't pretend it didn't exist. He couldn't change what had happened.

But it didn't sway how he felt about the matter.

He didn't want El to know.

Period. End of discussion. Case closed.

The thought of El knowing about his newfound weakness, the thought of him being privy to his stellar fuck up on the Day of the Dead…

The thought of El being better than him, stronger than him, when just a couple months ago they'd been an even match… it was enough to make him want to waste El, right then and there, if nothing else just so these thoughts would stop bombarding his brain.

He also didn't think that being blind fit into his whole bitchin' cool persona, either. It was bitchin' alright, but it wasn't cool.

Still, if he was to keep tabs on El without any helpers, El would have to be within earshot.

In which case, his newly inflicted disability would not be a secret much longer.

Illogical.

Still, it was a nice thought.

~*~

While Sands' mind ran away with him, the tense trio had traveled several miles in silence. That was, until Jackson broke it.

"Sands, I'm not feeling so hot."

Fighting down several primal urges after being pulled out of his thoughts by Jackson's pathetic whimpering, Sands heaved a tired sigh.

OK, so in hindsight, shooting Jackson in the foot wasn't the most brilliant plan he'd ever executed.

Still, it had felt damn good at the time. It still continued to amuse him, too, when he thought about it.

"Stop at the next rat infested torture chamber, then," Sands drawled. When Jackson didn't answer, Sands clarified the matter for him. "The next hotel. Stop."

El watched the exchange between the other occupants of the car with sharp eyes. The two didn't appear to like each other at all, so much so that Sands wouldn't even look at Jackson when he was speaking to him.

"Why is this man here?" El asked bluntly, motioning his head towards the driver's seat.

Sands seemed to be jarred from his musings as he turned towards El. "Say again?"

"What's with the driver?" El asked, also curious as to what had caused Sands to become so withdrawn within the last half hour.

"He's good target practice," Sands quipped, evading the real answer.

"Do you need practice?" El asked, sounding serious, but really anything but. He got the impression that Sands was fully capable of taking care of himself.

"Oh, he's not for me, El."

El snorted. He couldn't match Sands' wicked tongue, much to his dismay.

"So, are you going to untie me or am I to do the entire job with my hands and feet bound?"

"Ah, already brim full of ideas for the new allegorical story of El Mariachi, are we?" Sands asked, feeling the car slow down and turn to the right. "Can I trust that you won't try to scamper off?"

El pushed himself upright, head spinning momentarily as he did so. "Haven't we already been through this? I told you I'd do this job, and in return you promised to leave me alone, for good, after the job was finished. So stop toying with me and let's get on with it!"

"I just want to make sure we're communicating on the same frequency. I assume there's no static on your end?"

El rolled his eyes and stretched his stiff legs. "No."

"That's keen."

The car pulled to a stop, as Jackson announced their arrival.

Jackson faced Sands, dreading the moment when he would be forced to walk. "How many rooms?" he asked.

"Two," Sands said decisively, as he lit up his last remaining cigarette. Much to his dismay, he knew he'd have to keep El in close range, but he'd be damned if he was going to bunk up with Jackson as well. The mood he was currently in, Jackson would definitely be dead by morning, and he was running out of places to hide bodies.

"I'm not staying with him!" Jackson protested, as he jabbed a thumb in El's direction. El withheld a snicker at the man's obvious skittishness.

Sands smirked. "I don't think he fancies you, El!" he joked, as he turned to Jackson. "What's wrong Jackson? He's not your type? Well, not to worry, Tonto. As it so happens, you'll be having a room all to yourself. El stays with me. We have things to discuss… and I wouldn't trust you to keep watch over a garden slug."

"But you can't…"

"Finish that sentence and it'll be the last one you make," Sands interrupted, sensing that Jackson was about to let out his little secret before he was ready.

Shutting up, Jackson got out of the car with a groan and limped heavily inside the hotel to rent a couple rooms for the night.

"What happened to him?" El asked as he watched the man hobble inside.

"Got shot in the foot."

"By someone trying to stop you from taking me?"

"Does your ego ever need a day off?" Sands asked, before continuing. "No, El, I did the deed."

"By accident?"

Sands raised his eyebrows, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Do I look like I do anything by accident? Don't concern yourself with him. He deserved it."

When Jackson returned with the room keys, Sands stepped out of the car and stretched, before grabbing his bag from the front seat and setting it down next to where he stood. "Untie him, Jackson."

Jackson muttered under his breath, before opening the backdoor and freeing El from his restraints.

Sands silently prayed that he'd removed all of El's weapons as he heard him step out of the car, the familiar clicking accompanying him. Sands' hand instinctively brushed the butt of his gun, reassuring himself that the weapon was still there.

Cigarette dangling between his lips, Sands waited as Jackson grabbed his bag from the trunk, and El came up beside him.

"I'm surprised you untied me so soon," El said, with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Sands smiled. "Just don't do anything stupid, and I won't have to kill you." He bent down and picked up his bag, as he heard Jackson join them, grumbling all the way. 'I really need to put him out of his misery.'

As El watched Sands, it occurred to him suddenly, what was different about the agent. It was the way Sands moved. His movements were somehow altered since the first time they'd met. El couldn't explain how exactly. He was more measured and precise, perhaps. That was the only way he could explain it. It was subtle, almost nonexistent… but it was there.

There was another difference as well. During their original encounter with one another a few months back, Sands' eye contact had been focused and undeviating. Now, even taking the sunglasses into account, El couldn't help but feel that Sands wasn't making direct contact, even when he was looking at him. It was strange… as was Sands' overall behavior.

El knew that it wouldn't be difficult for him to take off if he really wanted to, but in all honesty, he was curious to see just what the hell Sands was up to.