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Meyers had a feeling that no good would come of this meeting. At first he had been appalled that Sands waned to go alone. It most likely was a trap he voiced his opinion on this.
Sands sat on his bed, facing Meyers' general direction. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag; he could literally feel the nicotine working on his frayed nerves. "I know. It's going to suck. The fact is everyone in The Company knows that Schmidt and Collins are two bullets in the same chamber. Collins ratted me out while I was in Mexico. He's attempting to make it look like I didn't follow orders, protocol or phone in for assistance when I knew my mission was going to hell in a hand basket. Somebody in a high rank is responsible for my being, shall we say, removed and I'm not resting until I find and kill the fuckmook."

Meyers had forgotten how stubborn Sands could be. He refused to believe that what happened to him was bad luck. He refused to believe that the events of November 2nd were just fate's way of serving justice to a man that double crossed the wrong people one too many times. He was stuck on this theory that people, The Company's people no less, were responsible for his downfall.
Meyers knew that he had pissed people off, that was clear. You didn't get stationed in crap-ass Mexico because you were a nice agent who played by the rules. You got sent to places like Mexico because you were labeled as a problem. His supervisors, who had put up with Sheldon's quirky style of doing things, had grown tired of his shit.

He had seen the assignment and re-assignment papers. All of his supervisors had signed the assignment that he get pulled off his cushy job and placed in Mexico. Meyers knew that Sheldon had no idea that the entire job was one great big set up. For this and a few other reasons he was glad that he was able to talk Sands into letting him accompany him when he went to talk to Schmidt.

Sheldon jolted Jack out of his thoughts. "Since we're both going together tomorrow, you could stay here tonight."

Under any other circumstances Meyers would have tried to think of as many reasons as he could as to why that was a bad idea but not this time. "Sure." He agreed because there was something in the way that he said it. It was the way that his voice quivered just slightly. That night was interesting for Meyers. He received sheets from Sands which he helped get out of the linen closet along with a pillow. He set himself up on the couch. He lay on the couch and inhaled. The couch pillow and sheets all smelled like Sands. It was slightly intoxicating.
Sands waited until he heard the couch creak under the stress of the body that was on it. He waited, stood still in the hallway until he hard Meyers' even breathing. He walked across the hallway. He knew it was 16 steps from his room to the bathroom. He was glad that he had taken the one nurse's advice and learned his way around his apartment without the aid of his cane. Once inside the bathroom, he did something that anyone would consider strange. Ever since his rape, he had this bizarre habit of walking around the room. The purpose of this was to ensure that the room was empty.

Meyers timed everything perfectly. While Sands was walking the perimeter, he got off the couch, soundlessly and walked over to the bathroom. He was just in time to see Sands standing at the sink. Sands pulled open the drawer and produced an eyedropper and a cup. He opened up the medicine cabinet and he ran his hand along the items there until he found the two that he needed. He poured a little of both into the glass and stirred it with the eyedropper. After that was done he reached across the counter and placed a cloth near the cup.

He took a deep breath and took off his sunglasses. He faced where the mirror was and put his hand over its cold surface. He put the sunglasses on the counter. He took another deep breath, obviously trying to mentally prepare himself for what he had to do. He used the eyedropper, filled it with liquid and tilted his head back. He took another deep breath, exhaled slowly and began to release the liquid into his empty socket. There was a sizzling sound and then Sands coughed. "Christ." He mumbled.

Meyers watched silently as he tilted his head forward and let the liquid slowly trickle down his face. Meyers thought that it looked like he was crying.

Sands took another shaky breath and repeated the process with the other socket. Then he used the cloth and wiped the liquid from his face. He hung his head, and his shoulders began to shake. As he sobbed Meyers wanted nothing more then to hold him. But he knew that was impossible. If he did that then Sands would know that he was there when he was supposed to be sleeping. He would know that he had been spying on him.

It was only a few minutes before Sheldon recovered from his near breakdown. He put his sunglasses back on, and walked back to his room. By the time Sands turned to leave the bathroom Meyers was back on the couch and breathing as if in sleep.

As Meyers lay there, breathing in even breaths, inhaling Sands scent and thinking about the private moment that he had witnessed, he couldn't imagine having to do that willingly, knowing that it was going to hurt. Although he knew Sheldon pretty well, he knew that when push came to shove he'd do what needed to be done with very little bitching. He tried not to think of what the next day would hold. He was just hoping that Sheldon would be on his best behaviour.

That morning Sheldon was up at 4 am. He had been tossing and turning in his bed. After enduring hours of re-living his nightmare over and over, he decided that it was time to give up. He quietly left his room and went into the bathroom. He showered and redressed. He disinfected his sockets and brushed his hair. Using the wall as his guide he walked into the kitchen. It took him a few minutes but he managed to find the filters and the coffee. He carefully measured the coffee and turned the coffee maker on. As soon as the coffee was finished, he sat at the table. He was in his permanently dark world drinking coffee and listening to the sounds of Meyers getting in the shower.

Later that morning, as he got everything he would need, Meyers watched him. Watching Sands was fast becoming his favourite activity. He watched the way his fingers ran over his cane to either snap it together or fold it. He marveled at the way his hair fell in front of his sunglasses and he never seemed to notice.

Sands knew that he was being watched. He couldn't figure out why Meyers seemed to watch him all the time. He didn't let himself dwell on that for too long. He knew there was a lot to do and he had no way of knowing what would happen. He figured he better make sure that he was prepared for anything.

He turned so he was facing Meyers. "Come on Sugar butt. Let's move."

The building that they went into was almost an exact copy of any other CIA building in the country. Although the building was bigger then Sheldon remembered. He was guessing that the reason for that was because the last time he had been there he had eyes. That's why he was glad that Meyers had offered to go with him, without him he would have felt lost. Although Sands would never admit that, to admit that would be showing a weakness. He already, as far as he was concerned had one weakness that could be picked out. The last thing that he needed was some fuckmook thinking that he could get to him by relying on the fact that he thought he knew something about him. Hell no. He didn't need Meyers, Meyers was there because he volunteered to go.

Meyers grabbed him by his elbow and led him to the reception desk. In truth, he could have found his way there by using his stick, but he wanted to make a certain impression. That impression was like the mask he wore. He wanted to make sure that they thought that he wasn't dealing with being blind very well. When people thought that they had the upper hand, they were more likely to make a mistake.

He put his hand on the edge of the counter. "Sheldon Sands. I'm here to speak with Mr. Schmidt."

The secretary seemed to study Sheldon, almost as if she doubted that he needed his cane or his escort. "Could you spell your last name for me?"

"S-a-n-d-s."

"One moment please." Sands could tell that she typed something on her keyboard then she picked up her phone. "Mr. Schmidt, a Mr. Sands is here to see you. I see. And his friend? Okay." She hung up the phone. "Mr. Schmidt will see you alone, Mr. Sands. Your friend can wait here. Mr. Schmidt's office is the third door on the left."

Sheldon could tell by her tone of voice that she was sympathetic. She was just doing what her boss asked her to do. He had a feeling that if she wasn't so scared of her boss she would have offered to walk him down to the office. "Thank you." He slipped the wristband for his cane over his wrist and began to walk. It took him a few minutes to find the door. He knocked twice and then opened the door.

By the sound of his own footsteps as he entered the room, he guessed that the floor was tiled probably ceramic. He could also tell that the room he was standing in was huge. He had never been in this particular room before so he was feeling awkward. He wasn't sure where anything was so he stood.

"Have a seat Mr. Sands."

Sands used his cane and walked to where the voice was coming from. He found a chair and sat. As he sat down he smiled in Schmidt's direction. He could imagine that the asshole was smiling smugly as Sheldon had searched for the chair. Sheldon knew that something was off. Even if he had decided that smiling, as Sheldon tried to remain calm, that enough time had passed that even Schmidt should have been tired of gloating. He folded his hands in his lap. The wristband for his cane still around his wrist, with the cane lying folded and small in his hand. "Let's talk about Mexico." Sheldon smiled as he said this.

Ethan Schmidt was unimpressed by the way the conversation was heading. He had expected to have Sands broken to pieces over the shit that had happened in Mexico and everything that had happened afterwards. He had expected Sands to be different.

But Sheldon was by no means stupid. Being blind hadn't made him afraid of the world. If anything it had caused him to study his world carefully through touch and finely tuned intuition, as well as taste, smell and sound. If there was one thing that being a CIA agent had taught him, it was to adapt to any situation and adapt quickly. He had learned how to function without his eyes. Sheldon had known what Schmidt was expecting. He knew that his functionality had to be infuriating for Schmidt.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He tilted his head to the side. "I see. You never intended to talk in the first place. Your whole plan was to get me here, ensure that I'm alone and then kill me."

Ethan shook his head. "No. It's not me."

Sheldon took a deep breath. "No, it's not you. Collins you fuckmook."

Collins chuckled. "I always did admire your unique language. You were a damned good agent, but now. . ."

Sands smiled. He smiled his best-disturbed, psychotic smile. "Choose your words carefully Collins. One false word and you die."

Collins watched the former agent carefully. They were trained to tell lies as smoothly and easily as if they were truth. That's why he was having a hard time trying to figure out Sands' plan and if his words held any truth or real threat in them.

Those couple of minutes was all that Sands needed. He was confident that he could complete the task that he had set for himself. He non-chalantly shrugged. "Collins, if you're going to kill me you might as well do it at close range. Make it quick. I won't fight."

Collins wasn't stupid. He wasn't foolish enough to think that Sheldon didn't have a plan. The only problem was that he had no idea what that plan was. As Collins stepped forward he kept an eye on where Sheldon had his hands. Both of his hands were now at his sides and not in his lap. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Sheldon had known from the man's stance that there was no room for mistakes. He was fine with that; after all he lived for these kinds of situations. He also knew that Collins would underestimate him.

It was because Collins had the habit of underestimating Sands that he thought that he had the upper hand. The situation wasn't going exactly the way he had planned but he was sure he had the upper hand when he raised his gun. He aimed it at Sands and pulled the trigger.

Sheldon moved ever so slightly. The bullet missed him but caught Ethan Schmidt in the head. Collins was enraged. He had always thought that Sands was going to be trouble. Although he supposed that now he was really angry because the bastard had no eyes and he still managed to move out of the way of a bullet that was clearly meant for him. Forgetting that blind or not, Sands was still considered one of the most dangerous agents the CIA had ever seen, he stepped forward.