At home {Closed}

[shooting_blind]

Sands stands at the oven in his flowered, pink, robe. It's a nice one, really. Silk and goes to his calves. The sleeves are full and rolled up so as not to catch on fire. He took it from Elise and has so far refused to give it back claiming it's far too big for her anyway. The combat boots and dog tags he wears with it gives him that nice Clinger

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[el_maraichi]

El sits back in his chair and keeps a steady eye on Sands. The more time that passes, the less worry there is that the man will set the kitchen ablaze while cooking, but El still watches. This could be because Sands is a complete spectacle with whatever he does. There's also a need to keep his eyes on the ash of that cigarette, hanging perilously over his cooking meal like the sword of Damocles. EL considers it possible that Sands only smokes when he cooks to allow for that tension.

The long cylinder of ash becomes too much for him.
"You should put that out if you are going to cook."

[shooting_blind]

Sands smiles with the cigarette between his teeth. At the very last second he removes it, dropping the think black thing into his almost empty cup of coffee with a hiss.
He'll relent, obeying El because it amuses him to do so sometimes. Although the man is half right about why he smokes as he's cooking.

"You put so much tabasco on your eggs you wouldn't be able to tell if I farted in them.
I know because I did once and you said nothing."
He figures the eggs are done and pops some toast down.

"Be a dear and check on my bacon." The agent looks as if he's holding back an adolescent giggle when he says that.

[el_maraichi]

The horrible thing about Sands' jokes is that there's always a strong possibility he isn't joking at all. This is not a thing a person should be forced to get used to.
"Anything you may have done made your eggs no worse."

Fixing breakfast with a man in a flowered robe is no place for a quiet, Mexican gunslinger, but this is where life has led El. He stands and rolls his eyes with a sigh, moving to check that the bacon hasn't been iredeemably burned. Sands' timing on things is really rather impressive, and he moves the pan from the burner.
"Do you ever tire of playing house?"

[shooting_blind]

He was joking about that but will not share the information with El. Destruction of perfectly good food is a personal sin for him.
"Ha fucking ha."

He shrugs. "Not at all. It relaxes me. If you play your cards right I can be a spectacular housewife for you. But I insist on a flawless and expensive diamond."

He carries the frying pan to El's place setting, scooping the eggs onto his plate and then giving himself a half serving. He enjoys cooking more then eating. The pan is instantly rinsed off and placed in the sink before he serves up the hash browns and toast.

[el_maraichi]

The wounded look and the sulking are like mariachi kryptonite. El has only two options, really: He can just walk out and leave the sad little CIA agent to his self-pity, or he can accept the bait and all the consequences that come with it. ...El should really learn to walk away more often...

He moves closer in front of Sands and crosses his own arms over his chest. The same posture, but the effect is entirely different on their contrasting frames.
"So, is that what this mood is about?"

It's actually a relief to know that Sands hasn't done anything indecent with the boy he keeps company with. El doesn't want to think Sands would do anything...but he has no reason to think the man incapable of it.

[shooting_blind]

His lip twitches, knowing how El is standing by the sound of the fabric of his clothes, how close he's standing, and because he knows El. His poker face can't compare and while the average person will think they saw nothing Sands knows the man caught that tiny smile. Drat.
This is totally what his mood is about. He gets like this whenever Elise is upset with him but he's unwilling to spill his girl problems to El. He's sure whatever the mexican has to say about it he doesn't want to hear.

"No. I'm menstruating. The cramps drive me to insanity. Which we both know is a short trip."

He takes a deep breath, switching the cig to his mouth so he can run hands through his hair.
"I'm just moody. No reason."
There. He was being a bitch and El noticed something was wrong. He acknowledged it and that's all Sands needed. He may seem strange and random to most people but in Sands head his moods make perfect sense.
He ashes in the coffee cup deeming this problem over and done with.

[el_maraichi]

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. A short trip, indeed. It might be an interesting experiment to plot Sands' mood swings on a calendar. Maybe it is cyclical?

"Ah. No reason. I should leave you to it, then."
Sands' need for attention seems endless at times. El is fairly familiar with how little is necessary to feed this, though, and he thinks it's better for Sands if he doesn't go too far. It will only make the man more needy.
He uncrosses his arms and moves away to return to his chair.

[shooting_blind]

It would be interesting but any pattern would be a coincidence.

When you're the center of your own world it's a little hard to keep things in perspective. Certain people that he fails to see as separate form him at times, Elise, Jack, and El- get 90% of his attention at all times and it's exhausting.
It's especially difficult for him when it's El who has his attention because of his constant need to talk.
He feels ignored if he's not speaking or being spoken to. This is how he's been since a small child. It's just a personal quirk.

Feeling that he's pushed El enough for this morning Sands retrieves his precious phone and calls several informants. He paces in the living room, turning the tv on to a news channel, as he does this- stopping in the open doorway to the kitchen every now and then.
Sort of a male way of spending time with El as he works.