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A Walk in the Forest

(An insert in Communication Breakdown S2E8 - after Chance gets rid of Hector Lopez in the forest in South America, and before Ilsa and Chance reach San Francisco.)

Chance and Ilsa continued their walk through the forest, hoping to reach the village that Chance had detected a signal from, on the receiver earlier in the day. Ilsa guided Chance through some bushes and indicated she needed to rest for a little while.

They sat on a large boulder by a tree. It was still dark, quiet, with only the sounds of insects rattling in the bushes.

Ilsa looked at Chance and lightly touched his shoulder, "Is your vision better?"

Chance shrugged, "Not too bad, a good rinse with water will really help."

Ilsa sighed, "Well at least Hector Lopez isn't on our heels - good riddance to that scoundrel! Maybe we will find a village soon."

Chance shook his head, "We think we have Lopez off our backs; never assume you are rid of someone until you have seen the body in a bag."

Ilsa smiled slowly, "Mr. Chance, are you telling me I should never assume to have seen the last of you until your funeral is over?"

Chance grinned back, "Especially me; I don't go down that easily." Then in a more serious tone, "How about you, think you can make it a little longer bare feet and without any water?"

"Well, as long as we aren't going around in circles... my eyes and your sense of direction, hope it's a partnership that works!"

Chance got the message, "We have been doing fine so far today, don't you think?"

Ilsa sighed, "Yes, maybe it takes having your plane crashed and being stranded in a forest in South America ...to learn to... get along with someone..."

"Hey, see this as a retreat! Isn't that what they do in couple's therapy?"

Ilsa nodded, "I guess some good can come out of this mishap." She paused for a moment, "Mr. Chance can I ask you a something?" Chance nodded. "So, what is the deal with you and spiders? Never seen you react so strongly to anything else ever,... other than me!"

Chance laughed, "It's just one of those inexplicable fears people have - mine is of spiders - actually only of Banana Spiders. They are very common here, in Latin America. Over ten years ago, I worked with Maria here for many months and had my first encounter with them - she loves to tease me about that."

"So,... you and Maria,...you saved her and her husband...are you okay with everything?" Ilsa inquired gently.

Chance shrugged. "Maria will always be a good friend. But there hasn't been anything serious between us in years."

Ilsa looked at him shrewdly, "You mean you broke up with her?"

"No, not really."

"Oh, she broke up with you!"

"NO."

Ilsa shook her head and asked again, "So what happened?"

"I left," said Chance simply.

"Well that usually is one way of breaking up, Mr. Chance. Not the most gallant way, of course."

Chance was affronted: "Well, it was hard!"

"What was hard? Your relationship or the decision to end it."

Chance was starting to get annoyed. "The latter, of course."

"So why did you do it?

"Because,... it was the right thing to do!"

"Breaking her heart,...and yours, was the right thing to do?"

"NO!" Chance was flustered. Ilsa just wouldn't let go of the matter. "It's complicated!"

Ilsa thought for a moment. "Yes, I guess it must be. When you're busy seeking redemption, the norms of regular life must seem complicating."

"ILSA!" Chance warned.

Ilsa finally backed off. She was silent and thoughtful for a while. Then, in a conciliatory tone she explained:

"I just meant to ask if you were all right? You are obviously very fond of her. It would be perfectly normal to feel something!"

"Ilsa, I am just fine - that's all water under the bridge." He stood up and stretched his hand out for her, "C'mon let's move."

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Chance held her elbow and they walked a while in silence.

"You do pretty well - bare feet," Chance commented.

"Well, it isn't more painful than wearing high heels, I assure you," Ilsa responded.

Chance laughed, "So why do you wear them?" And before she could answer, he added "Let me guess - following the norms of society!"

Ilsa glared at him, but then smiled since he was right.

As they continued to walk, Chance slowed down trying to hear something at a distance.

"What's wrong?" Ilsa asked, a little concerned.

"I think there must be a stream trickling down, somewhere near."

Ilsa was excited, "Think we can get to it without diverting too much? You could rinse your eyes!"

"I hope so, let's walk a little further, I think we are getting closer to it - it probably runs parallel to our path around here."

They walked with a newfound bounce in their step. About quarter a mile later, Chance stopped abruptly and looked around.

"Hear that?" Pointing towards a bush, "That way somewhere!"

Ilsa rushed in that direction, moved some branches, climbed up, and tried to look for signs of a running stream. She scuttled forward until she found a streamlet. It was small, but there was sufficient water flow for them to clean up in. She turned to go back down to fetch Chance:

"Mr. Chance, there is a little stream right here... OUCH!" Ilsa slipped on the wet ground and went sliding down to the bush where Chance was waiting.

Despite his impaired vision, Chance could see llsa fall gracelessly at his feet. He couldn't help grinning as he observed her disheveled appearance in the moonlight, even though he couldn't see the details: Her look of surprise and shock was comical, to say the least, with specks of dirt sprinkled all over her face, hair, and clothes; leaves tucked in her hair like a Hula dancer; and her bare feet smothered in mud.

Struggling to keep a straight face, Chance held out his hand to help Ilsa up. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," sighed Ilsa as she got up. Hands on her hips she winced as her bottoms hurt from the fall; from the corner of her eye she spied on Chance's amused look.

"Glad to provide some comic relief on a day like this!" Ilsa snapped at him. "Now shall we try to wash your eyes a bit? Although your vision, right now, seems pretty good if you ask me!"

Chance tried his best to look contrite, and let her guide him up through the bushes, to the stream. Ilsa tore a piece of her jacket-lining and used it to filter the water for Chance, as he rinsed his eyes. If he was surprised by her resourcefulness, he showed no signs of it, and followed her lead. After Chance was done, Ilsa used the wet rag to wipe some of the blood stains on his neck and forehead.

"Feel better?" she asked him, looking around his face for any more cuts or scrapes.

"I'm good, you better clean up now."

"Well, I am not going to be able to live up to your trophy-wife image of me, I'm afraid; this stream isn't big enough to clean up my mess!" she retorted in good humor as she tried to rinse her feet.

Feeling a little sheepish about his earlier remark, Chance said nothing, but helped her flick off the dirt and leaves from her clothing and hair. Then arm in arm they continued their way through the forest.

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They had covered a couple of miles. It was day break: The chirp of birds began filling the silent forest and the early morning sun-rays began filtering in through the thicket of trees.

Ilsa sat down, a little out of breath from the brisk walk.

"We should be able to get a village soon, now that the sun is out." Chance panted.

"I hope so. Without water I don't think I can keep this up for much longer."

Chance patted her shoulder, You've been doing a great job Ilsa, just a little further. Once we get to a village we should be able to find our way into the city and seek help to get back to the States."

Ilsa waved her hand, dismissing his concerns, "My staff in London should have been notified by now that my plane crashed. They will be looking for me and will have another plane ready for us soon as we make contact."

Chance looked impressed. "Well then, I guess we just need to get in contact with the closest aviation office around here. I can smell smoke in the air, so a village is near." He pulled her up and gently nudged her on.

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It was a sparsely populated village. A child chased a hen down the street as Chance and Ilsa reached the village center. An old man with a shopping bag stopped and stared at Ilsa and Chance incredulously. Ilsa felt self conscious knowing she must look a mess. Chance put a protective arm around her and addressed the old man. The man took them to a cantina nearby.

Ilsa escaped into the women's room to clean up while Chance talked to the owner. When she returned Chance was sitting at a table with food and drinks ready for them. Her eyes widened with appreciation as she sat down, ready to devour the meal when she stopped abruptly. Chance gave her a puzzled look. She stared at him for a minute and then smiled. She put her hand over his and said earnestly:

"Mr. Chance, I should thank you for all you have done today. Despite our squabbles, you saved my life and helped me to safety.

Chance shook his head, "You don't have to thank me Ilsa, you did your bit in getting us safely here. Eat up, we are still some ways from being assured of our next meal."

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A dilapidated truck screeched its way to the cantina. Ilsa coughed as the truck spew thick diesel fumes from its exhaust pipe. Bales of hay were heaped in the rear of the truck along with some gardening tools. Ilsa shook her head and looked at Chance:

"I assume this is our ride to the next town?"

"Sorry, there was no limo-service available. This is the best they could do. But..."

Chance pulled out a small package from a bag and gave it to Ilsa.

"Para tí" he said with a smile.

"For me?" Ilsa looked puzzled but opened the package quickly. Her expression quickly changed to a smile, and then to laughter as she pulled out a pair of rather large, but sturdy footwear from the bag - Chance had managed to find her a pair of locally made slippers - unattractive but functional nonetheless.

Ilsa quickly slipped them on, "These will give my heels a run for their money! Thank you."

Chance smiled, "I promise I will not take any pictures of you in them."

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It was a bumpy ride on the back of the truck to the nearest town. There was a Police Station there, where Ilsa could contact her staff in London and arrange for transportation back to San Francisco.

Ilsa sat on a bale of hay, leaning back on another pile. Considering their ordeal she looked fairly rested and calm.

"So tell me Mr. Chance," Ilsa started, "Did you honestly never consider leaving me to my own devices in the plane, after the crash, considering our altercation before we took off."

Chance grinned and said noncommittally, "You sure have a lot of questions for me. I think it's your turn to answer some of my mine."

"Sure, fire away," Ilsa promised.

Just then the truck screeched to a halt in front of the Police Station. A couple of other cars were parked in front. It was obvious - a search party was out there for Ilsa.

Chance sighed, "I'll save the questions for later. Your staff seems to have wasted no time sending out their people to the closest towns from the plane crash. They must be very efficient."

Ilsa shrugged, "They get paid well. And, since Marshall's death everyone is on high alert."

Chance jumped down from the truck and put his hand out for Ilsa. "Okay, let's go meet the gang!"

Ilsa put her hands on Chance's shoulders and let him carry her down. For one fleeting moment he held her close and gazed at her with an unguarded look that left Ilsa's heart racing. A nanosecond later, he flashed her a charming smile and turned to greet the two detectives who were rushing down the driveway to greet them.

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