The Long Way Home

By

E. S. Young

Chapter One: Twisted Sister

Well . . . what is there to say except that this is my first 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico' fic and that I don't own any of the characters save for any new people who might show up? And I just said all of that so there really isn't any more to say. .; o.o It is weird, though, cuz I've had a Jack Sparrow-head-voice much longer than I've had an Agent Sands-voice and I only just saw OuaTiM, whereas PotC has been going through my head since it came out in theaters. I guess it's cuz OuaTiM kinda leaves more of an opening for a sequel than PotC does. Or maybe I'm just lazy .;;; Umm, anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as I do writing it. Much thanks,

Sidney/ESY/Cerridwen III

VVV

Lynné was bored, not to mention impatient. Though the former was the only thing that showed as she absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the table. The table in that stupid little restaurant where he was suppose to meet her and now he was . . . seventeen . . . nearly eighteen minutes late. And that pervert at the bar counter was checking her out. Lynné rolled her eyes.

'Yeah, as if you'd ever have a chance with ME, buddy.'

Fed up, she gave into her thoughts and glanced around the room. Perhaps he had walked in and was attempting to sneak up on her just to get a laugh. But no. Sands knew she wasn't easily startled, so he wouldn't try anything. Besides, their meeting was to have been serious. Strictly business.

'Not if he brings that bitch with him,' Lynné thought sourly as she took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri. God, why was he even seeing her? Ajedrez was an all-around pain in the ass that thought she was something, and Sands hated people like that. Maybe he thought he could get something from her.

'That could be taken many ways, some very suggestive.'

She scowled down at the wooden table before her. Where did she GET ideas like that? Well, giving whom she had grown up with, it wasn't a surprise.

Lynné was about to turn around in time to see the same man at the bar give her a sleazy wink. Resisting the urge to flip him off, she distracted herself by fishing the strawberry out of her drink.

'These things are harder to get out than you'd think . . .'

Three minutes later, she was just about to leave when she heard gunfire sound in the streets outside. Lynné instantly realized why Sands had not shown up. Instinctively her hand went to the gun strapped to her hip, though anyone would think she was just getting out her wallet. She quickly hailed a waitress and once her check was brought, she paid her bill and left, almost forgetting the sleaze at the bar. Said man was not about to let her go as easily as she would have wanted.

"¿Dónde está usted lejos a en tal apuro, la miel ?" he asked. (Where are you off to in such a hurry, honey?) And he grabbed Lynné by the shoulders as she walked out the entrance of the restaurant.

"If I pay you, will you go away?" she sighed, not understanding a word he said, but getting the idea that he thought he could score. Fat chance.

"¿Qué?" (What?)

Letting her disgust show, Lynné reached into the pocket of the black, lightweight blazer she was wearing and pulled out a large sum of money and held it out to him. "Savvy?"

The man grinned and reached for the cash, but Lynne stopped him abruptly.

"Leave – me – ALONE." She motioned for him to get lost. The man may not have understood English, but he got the hint. Throwing another sleazy grin her way, the man took the money and was gone.

"Well," Lynné muttered under her breath once the man was out of sight, "there went one I didn't have to kill."

And with that, she took out her gun, and headed off down the street and towards the gunshots.

VVV

'Huh. I got off better than I thought I would.'

It was around noontime in Mexico and the fight was starting to die down. The Day of the Dead, El Día de los Muertos, had not contained the type of excitement it had last year. Last year it had just been a big celebration for the citizens of Mexico, but this year . . . all hell had broken loose. And Lynné had been there to witness it. So what if she had shortened a few lives, big deal. It wasn't as if she hadn't done it before. 'Restoring the balance.' That was what Sands called it. And speaking of which . . .

'Where the hell is that bastard, anyway?' she thought, remembering that she had yet to see him since early that morning. At first she was just annoyed, annoyed that he had kept her waiting. No long since had that feeling been replaced with worry. Hastily brushing a strand of long, dark brown hair from her face, she scanned the streets for something, anything familiar. Then, she saw something.

There. Lying in the dusty street, just a few feet ahead of her, was a figure. Ajedrez. Lynné's eyes narrowed from behind her rap-around sunglasses when she saw the woman, who was obviously in pain. A lot of it, from the looks of things. With no trace of sympathy, Lynné walked over to the prone woman lying on the road, intent on at least figuring out what had happened to her, only to be met with an insult.

"Usted ramera." (You bitch.)

"English, if you don't mind," Lynné requested calmly, "I'm in no mood today."

"Then go away," hissed Ajedrez through clenched teeth.

"What happened to you?" asked Lynné, ignoring what the woman had said.

"Ask your bastard brother, he'll tell you." She smiled cruelly. "If he's still in the condition to, that is."

If looks could kill, this woman would have been dead on the spot. However, she was probably going to be in a few minutes, anyway, so Lynné didn't want to waste her time arguing.

"You know where he is, and you are going to tell me, or I'll start to refuse the generous feelings my supposed 'conscience' is emitting."

"What are you saying?" Ajedrez turned her head to look up at Lynne's looming figure.

"I'm saying . . . ." drawled Lynné, "that I considered killing you quickly and painlessly once you had given me the information I wanted, but you had to go and try my patience." She shook her head in dismay, laughing lightly. "And, lemme tell ya, that wasn't the smartest move on your part. I take it you're just about immobile right now, yes?"

"Bite me," she spat bitterly.

Lynné smiled slightly. "I'd say . . . yes. And . . . that doesn't go very well with fire ants. The things'll eat right through your flesh, if the sun doesn't fry your brain first."

She saw Ajedrez's eyes widen at these words as the woman realized there was an entire civilization of the bugs crawling out of the ground right beside her. Lynné's smile widened at this. Good, maybe now she'd get somewhere.

"So," she continued coolly, "Either tell me where my brother is, because I know you know, and I'll off you right here, or refuse and let yourself become a human buffet. The choice is yours, dear."

"Go to hell..." Ajedrez gasped through the pain.

"Last chance," warned Lynné calmly, "Where is he?"

At thought seemed to strike Ajedrez as these words left Lynné's lips. Her eyes lit up for a moment before she said:

"Oh . . . you'll be . . . seeing him soon enough, though . . ." She paused. ". . . I can't say the same for him." She had the nerve to laugh at what she said. Or rather, she tried to but it came out sort of choked. Still, this woman had done something to someone she cared about, and Lynné knew it. Not bothering to hide her anger, Lynné swung her leg, and kicked Ajedrez right in the gun wound going through her abdomen. The gasping laughter abruptly stopped, Ajedrez's eyes widened once again before she passed out entirely.

Wrinkling her nose at her as if she were a nasty bug and not a person, Lynné stalked off and left Ajedrez's lifeless body where she had found it.

"Scuffed my shoe, the bitch . . ."

VVV

It wasn't hard to find Sands. Just follow the bloody, dirt road, Lynné had thought with a small amount of amusement. But that all vanished the moment she saw him. Leaning aganst one of the many buildings in the area, in his all black attire, dark hair, and blood trickling down his face, Sands looked nothing short of a creature from a horror movie. But he was her brother and, foreboding as he looked, Lynné began her silent walk towards him.

There was a kid standing next to him. Why, Lynné could only guess, but this was Sands, after all.

"¿Señor, usted es bien?" Lynné heard the little boy ask she made her way towards them.

She could barley hear Sands' answer:

"Yo no sé . . ." (I don't know . . .)

The kid seemed strangely optimistic for the situation he was in, Lynné noted, for he confidently informed Sands that everything would be all right. Lynné wasn't so certain. Optimism had never been her strong point. Hell, she wasn't even content with herself. She counted three wounds, made by guns, obviously. And there was also the matter of the large amount of blood pouring down his face.

'Shit. Don't let this be what I think it is . . .' she thought wildly, 'Don't let me be right . . . I am fucking SICK of being right . . .'

"Señorita?" the little boy asked once Lynne had reached them, "Quién es usted?" (Who are you?)

Sands already had his gun out. Lynné put her hands on her hips and scowled at him.

"Put that thing away. It's only me."

Her voice was calm, bored, even. Her thoughts, however, were frantic.

'Why the hell wouldn't he know it was me . . .unless . .' Lynné looked up at her brother's face again. Damn those sunglasses . . . she couldn't tell . . .

"Lynné?" Sands wondered aloud, turning his head towards her. "What're you doing here?"

"Making sure this godforsaken town isn't taken over by pot selling hippies," she replied.

"The cartel, Lyn," corrected Sands. "Hippies aren't the type to take control of things. Especially not in Mexico."

"Riiight, my mistake." She turned to the kid, having forgotten he was even there. "Umm . . . gracias," she said uncertainly. Spanish had never been her strongest subject in school. That's why she had taken French. Hoping the kid understood English, she continued, "For . . . whatever you did . . . . He'll be all right now."

"You sure about that, Lyn?" Sands asked, looking at her questioningly.

"Shut up," was her 'brilliant' response. She was in no mood to think up sharp-tongued remarks at the moment.

The little boy seemed to have understood her, because he got back onto the bike he had with him and rode off. Lynné sighed and turned back to Sands.

"So, did you get anyone?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Just some random cartel members. No one important. You?"

"Same as you, and –"

"Ajedrez?" she asked unnecessarily, "Yeah, I figured that. She wasn't dead when I saw her, but by now she will have been long gone. I told you she was untrustworthy."

"No you didn't," Sands informed her.

"Yeah? Well, I meant to. You wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

Sighing again, she realized just how much of that she had been doing. It seemed like she had been sighing more and more ever since she had come to Mexico three years ago. And the sighs had increased ever since she found out she had been burned. Burned by the CIA, the people who had sent her to Mexico when she didn't speak a word of Spanish. Yeah, that had really restored her faith in the government. She pulled out her cell phone. Sands heard her.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a ride," she replied, dialing, "We can't stay here. They'll be after us."

"The cartel," said Sands.

"Or the Central Idiocy of America," suggested Lynné. "More than likely, both."

"I can't believe you're saying I shouldn't have trusted Ajedrez," Sands said after Lynné had finished phoning her partner, "when you trust someone like Liam."

"He was the closest thing to an actual friend when we were assigned to Mexico together. Besides . . . I trust you, don't I?"

Sands flipped her off.

"Sands . . ." Lynné sighed, ". . . what happened to you?"

"I got on the wrong side of the Barillo cartel members, they shot me a few times, the end."

"You never get shot." He knew she was looking straight at him. "What happened?"

Sands paused, considering. She was only twenty-seven, but about to become twenty-eight. However, she was still young, could still be corrupted. But she was his sister, so there was a good chance that she already was.

"I saw too much," he answered simply.

"Oh," she replied faintly, "I see."

"Yeah, funny thing but . . . I don't."

Another pause. Lynné had a retort, but it seemed wrong to say it, even for her. Instead she did something Sands wouldn't expect from anyone else but her.

"Let me see how bad it is," she commanded gently.

"No," he replied shortly, "Not here."

"I'll have to take a look some time, it may as well be now."

"Fine," Sands said after a moment in a 'you're-gonna-get-what-you- paid-for' kind of tone. "Just . . promise me you won't scream, freak out, or loose your mind entirely."

"Sands . . ." Lynné shook her head. "I've never promised anything in my life, and my mind's already lost."

Her brother smirked without amusement and removed the glasses from his face. All that showed where his eyes had once been were a pair of dark cavities and dried blood. Blood which stood out even more now that he had removed his sunglasses. Perhaps it was just the fact that something usually seen on the human face was gone, or perhaps it was the massive loss of blood, but Sands looked incredibly gaunt. And, for the first time, Lynné noticed how pale he was. 'Shit.'

She couldn't ask the question, 'why did her brother, of all people, have this happen to him.' He kind of deserved it. Hell, so did she. But Sands was the kind of person who would . . . she couldn't think of how to finish that thought. Sure, Sands had killed a lot of people, criminals and innocents alike, but it just didn't seem right. It was so sudden. He wasn't one to get caught, and if ever he did, he could talk or shoot his way out of it. That's the way it had always been. Except for now. For once he had let his guard down, he had gotten too far in and this had been the result.

'I saw too much.' The words echoed in her head. That was one of the main rules in the CIA. It was practically one of the Ten Commandments to the agents that worked there: 'Thou shalt not get caught.'

She felt horrible, possibly terrified. Something like this had never happened, and she had never thought it would. If she felt like this, Sands couldn't have felt any better. And on top of that, he had had his eyes drilled out and gotten shot three times. Apparently, she wasn't the only one having a bad day.

"Ajedrez made some sort of comment about 'seeing you' when I last saw her," Lynné told him once he had put his sunglasses back on. "I had hoped I'd been wrong in thinking it had something to do with . . . your eyes . . . .damn . . . I hate it when I'm right . . ."

"That makes two of us," Sands replied tiredly.

"Sands, I," she began but changed her words, "You're gonna hate me for this, but . . ."

He didn't even hear Lynné move forward. She was always quiet when she walked or even ran. All he knew was that she wasn't a horrible as everyone, including Lynné herself, made her out to be. Sands was a bit surprised when he felt his sister put her arms around his torso and rest her head against his chest.

This wasn't right. Lynné was a cold, distant person with no emotions outside hate, humor, and the occasional distress. She must be really out of it to do something like this. Especially to him.

Slowly, shakily from loss of blood, Sands managed to put his uninjured arm around her shoulders, unsure of what else to do.

VVV

Oy, everyone's an emotional wreck at the moment, aren't they? Don't worry, thought. I'm doing my best to keep the characters in-character and this isn't going to be incredibly angst-y. There's even gonna be a bit of HUMOR in chapter so come. And Sands isn't going soft, either. My Sands head-voice would kill me if I let that happen to him. Really. He told me this. o.o;;;

One more thing: This story title? It's actually the title of a song (number 11, I believe) on the new Norah Jones CD, 'Feels Like Home.' After hearing it a countless number of times, I figured it COULD be sung by a guy and that it definitely fits the characters in this story. And if anyone doesn't believe me, I'll be more than happy to send you an e-mail with a link to a site where you can get the lyrics. .

R&R! Praise, comments, helpful criticism -- anything but flames are welcome! This is my first 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico' story and I am ready and willing!

o