didntseeit: (princesa on the run)
[personal profile] didntseeit
The air is dead when she steps through, dead and filled with sounds and smells of modern battle; smoke, blood, gunpowder, screams, and the dull cracks of bullets. This isn’t Milliways, or Texorami. This isn’t even the Mexico that El had taken her.

This, blood and rubble and all, is her Mexico.

And she’s three steps into it before she realizes where exactly she is. Mexico. Home. Even with the gunfire and the twisting fear that made her run out here, her movements are slow as she starts to turn around. Home, home, smoke and dust and she’s home and-

And she stops


(a crumpled figure along the wall)


(Beatriz Barillo Trejo was always going to be too late.)


(because even if time passes a minute for a month, it’s still passing)

Without thinking she runs forward and falls down on one knee. She takes her father’s hand and presses it against her mouth and she can’t fucking breathe let along think. He’s….he’s…he can’t, not after she betrayed, not after she gave everything up at his word because he’s her father and he can’t be…

Perdón, Papa,” she whispers, taking a ring from his hand (he hadn’t given them all to that double) and sliding it onto her thumb. The gold is still warm, but she’s feeling too dizzy to notice. For a moment she just bows her head and then she lets her father’s hand fall, getting to her feet and feeling ancient. It’s then that she catches sight of Sands.

Sands. Dressed in black and sprawled out against the worn cobbles, moving slightly in agony as the painkillers wear off and he’s there.

stand and shoot

Without thinking, she starts to walk forward and doesn’t stop until she’s squatting next to him, perfectly balanced. She tilts her head and looks at him, and for all the emotion on her beautiful Aztec face, he’s nothing more than a butterfly impaled by a pin. He’s not her boyfriend, ex or otherwise. Not the love of her life or the ruin of it or anything else. Just an exotic insect, wounded and still buzzing.

Without quite meaning to, she picks up his sunglasses and puts them back on. “Fucking little monkey,” she says quietly, and her voice is full of wonder even as she lightly slaps him. Slowly, she brings the gun up and rests the muzzle under his jaw.

sands sands i love you im sorry i hate you fucking bastard you killed him you killed them ruined everything why why couldn’t run don’t you see bound by love and duty never understood did you really expect me to go with you i should have god oh god i should have i should have theyd be alive my fault my fault traitorous bitch


Of course she pulls the trigger. What else were you expecting her to do?
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didntseeit: (Default)

October 2007


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