Thanks to rozzy, Mariel, anmodo, and Hayley (welcome!) for the reviews. Here's another chapter at your request. ;D

Hayley: I think I'm mostly done with the Spanish. Sorry if it was confusing. "Cómo atrévasele los trae en esto!" translates roughly into "How dare you bring them into this!" The words "Yo los traigo en esto salvar su alma" mean "I bring them into this for your soul." Hope that clears things up!

(x)

Danny cried for what felt like an eternity. The tears flowed in torrents from his eyes down into his outstretched hands. He had hoped the tears were over, at least for awhile, but here they were. That's what tears did, Danny had decided. They hid in violent emotions like anger and resentment. Like the best enemies, they were patient. They waited until the opportune moment (in this case, until he was alone with Fr. Jorge in confession) to strike.

Before Danny knew what was happening, sorrow snared him by the foot and yanked him under, leaving him struggling to pull up to the surface. The sorrow did not drown him, not as he feared it would, but the ordeal left him exhausted.

When the tears stopped, Danny found himself drained of energy. He stayed as he had for the past twenty minutes, hunched over like someone who feels faint, with his head in between his knees. His hands, filled with warm wetness, covered his face.

He didn't want to lift his head up. He didn't want to face anyone, not even Fr. Jorge, not even after breaking down in front of him. He felt lost in something of a daydream, his mind like a movie camera that couldn't stay in focus. For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He didn't feel capable of saying anything. Fr. Jorge didn't say anything either. He granted Danny time to pull to the surface, time to come to grips with whatever the hell had happened.

In the quiet after his breakdown, Danny found something he hadn't expected. The best thing – perhaps the only good thing in Danny's opinion – about crying his eyes out was the feeling of relief. The feeling that he'd plunged as low as he could plunge and hit rock bottom. He didn't worry that he would lose everything sacred and important to him, because he'd already lost it. He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because today had brought it. His other problems – Rafael, Bryce Layman, his drinking, his anger – now all seemed like unimportant figures in an unimportant landscape. In a sense they had ceased to be problems at all.

In lethargic movements, Danny sat up on the couch. As if understanding instinctually that Danny needed his space, Fr. Jorge got up and picked up Danny's mug of tea, which by now had gone cold. Fr. Jorge returned shortly from the kitchen with a fresh cup, steam visibly curling up from the mug. He set the tea down next to Danny and sat back down in his recliner.

Danny remained quiet for a long time. He couldn't tell how long. Somewhere between blowing up at Fr. Jorge and finding himself hunched over on the couch, he'd lost touch with things as concrete as minutes and seconds. Though Danny had only been in confession a grand total of forty-five minutes, he felt as though he aged fifteen years.

When Danny did begin to talk, his voice sounded hoarse and flat and strange. It didn't sound like his own voice at all. It was like listening to himself on tape for the first time.

"This morning when I read the headlines, I thought I was going to lose it. I saw Jordan, Jason, and Rachel's names. I read what happened to them, and I thought – this is it. I'm done. They'll find me on the floor. They'll suit me up in a straight jacket, and I'll be fresh meat for the loony bin." Danny laughed sadly, as he was fresh out of tears.

"Then it passed." He shrugged as if to say 'imagine that'. "It was gone. I was thinking clearly and I was holding up my end of the conversation over the phone. I sounded so confident, so sure of myself … that I started to believe it."

Fr. Jorge propped his elbows on the armrests. He leaned his chin against his folded hands. "You did not cry, eh?"

"No way. Not even when I was alone in my apartment. It didn't even occur to me as an option. I just put on my suit, picked up my briefcase, and went to work. Like it was just another day. I remember thinking – after all these years, I've done it. I beat the system. I don't have to worry about losing it any more. If this can't even get to me… then what can? Nothing. I'm invincible."

Fr. Jorge looked at him knowingly.

Danny shook his head and continued. "After that, I had myself convinced that I would find them by early morning, afternoon at the latest. After all, it made sense, right? I was focused. I had the motivation. I'd earned their trust, so it would only be a matter of time before I had them home."

"You needed to believe it," Fr. Jorge said.

Danny brushed away remnants of tears from his eyes. "I did believe it, but it wasn't true. I lost it this morning the minute I read the headlines. I just took me until now to figure it out."

Fr. Jorge sighed in a thoughtful way. "They say the mind has a way of protecting its body. A defense mechanism for when the body is at its weakest. If you had broken down right then, maybe you and the straight jacket would not be so far apart."

Danny made a derogatory noise. "Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe I belonged in one."

"Dios prohibe." Fr. Jorge waved his hand, as if to deflect his words. "Do not say such things."

Danny didn't become excited when he spoke. He spoke the words as if they were a common truth. "It would have kept me out of the office. I was a danger to my team today. Just by being there, I compromised the investigation. They tried to warn me, but…I didn't listen."

Fr. Jorge squinted as Danny. Then he said, "If they wanted you to leave, do you think they would have found a way to get you out?"

It was an interesting point. Danny considered it. Knowing Jack… "Yeah. They probably would have."

"They kept you around for good reason." Fr. Jorge tapped his own temple for emphasis. "For what you have up here. And because you know Jordan and Jason better than anyone else in this orphanage."

Danny's eyes stared at the ground, before he whispered, "Yeah. At least, I thought I did."

Fr. Jorge leaned forward. He asked his question carefully. "But you didn't?"

Danny patted his lips. "I didn't know she was running drugs." The moment he spoke the words, Danny's face scrunched. He held his head in his hand before running it down his face. "Or maybe I did," he softly corrected. "Maybe I did, and I just didn't want it to be true…"

"I did not want to believe it myself. Neither did Rachel," he said. "Do you think that means we love them any less?" Danny sighed a frustrated sigh, and Fr. Jorge then added, "We have only known Jordan and Jason a matter of years, and even then only what they will tell us. We were not called to be parents, but we tried to be anyway. We can fault ourselves for many things, hijo. But not knowing the details of their pasts? We cannot fault ourselves for that."

Danny knew Fr. Jorge was right, as he so often tended to be. Even the best of parents did not know everything about their children once they hit thirteen or so. But Danny thought that he knew most things about Jordan, and what he didn't know, he assumed he could find out.

"Guess I'm finding out about it now," he murmured, more to himself than to Fr. Jorge.

When they became quiet, Danny picked up the cup of tea. It was cold again, but he drank it anyway. He only had a few sips before he said, "I feel a connection to a lot of kids in this orphanage. I don't know exactly what they're all going through, but I know what it's like to be lonely. To feel like you're on your own… I think a lot of them respond to that."

Danny stared down into the mug, like he might find the answers to all his problems somewhere in the bottom if only he looked hard enough. "But with Jordan and Jason, from the moment I met them, I knew it was different. I saw what they went through. Their father dying from that stupid fuckin' overdose. Their mother ditching them … I saw it all. I felt like I had this in depth look at their lives that no one else got to see."

Fr. Jorge listened intently to every word Danny had to say. He never interrupted. He seemed to want Danny to keep going. For once, he got his wish. Danny kept talking. "Because I saw that, I also saw where they were headed. It was like this never-ending list of possibilities. Drugs, prostitution, jail, homelessness, STDs, pregnancies…you name it – they had a tendency for it, just for being born to two fucked-up parents."

Somewhere in the back of Danny's mind, he wondered what was responsible for loosening his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he had volunteered this much information about himself. Maybe it was something in the tea. Maybe it was the privacy of their conversation. Whatever it was, he doubted he could have stopped if he tried. "But there were other possibilities, too – better ones. I could see them graduating from high school, graduating from college. Learning to make it on their own. I thought – all they really need is a positive influence in their lives. All they need is a role model, and it can happen.

"So, I set them up with Sr. Rachel at the orphanage. I started coming by once a week, then twice a week. Before I knew it, I couldn't get away from the place. It was like I was drawn here by a very powerful magnet, you know?" Danny shook his head as Fr. Jorge chuckled at the imagery. "Every time I turned around, I was in here."

Danny grew more serious; his initial frown worked its way back onto his face. "And I saw how angry they were," he said. "Even Jason sometimes. Most people don't understand why kids get angry like that. Why they act out, try to hurt the people trying to help them.

"I did though," he whispered. Danny's eyebrows pent together as images and memories flashed behind his eyes. "When I was little, I remember being so afraid. So I got angry. When I was angry, I learned that I could be in control. I could decide what –I- was going to feel. When you're afraid, you don't get choices. But when you're the one who's angry, someone else has to be afraid. Someone else has to worry about what you're going to do next."

Danny paused. It was the longest speech he had given in years. "I never wanted anyone else to have to make that choice. I never wanted Jordan or Jason to ever have to make that choice."

Danny focused forward. He stared at nothing in particular, but his eyes were alive, incited with intensity. "Someone should have told them every day from the moment they were born, that they were good and that they were special and that someone loved them." The corners of his lips pulled down. "I remember thinking – I've never been that to anyone, and no one's ever been that to me. But maybe I could be that for them."

Danny blinked. He focused solely on Fr. Jorge now. "That's why I decided to bring them here. I thought they would get something different. I thought this might give them a second chance."

Danny raised his eyebrows cynically, before setting the mug of tea back on the coffee table. "Ain't it funny?" he said. "Surprise. They wound up missing anyway."

Fr. Jorge looked for a moment like someone had reached inside his chest and twisted his heart.

Danny saw it. "I'm sorry, Father," he said, shaking his head. "I just feel like every effort's been in vain." His voice grew in volume. "I just feel like they're being punished, and I can't for the life of me figure out for what."

At this point, Fr. Jorge was done with silence. "Again you think He is punishing them? You are always preoccupied with this idea."

Danny frowned. "Yeah? Well, what else would you call this? Bestowing His grace upon them? Last time I checked it looked a little different than this in Abraham's day."

"He does not want them to be in pain, hijo," Fr. Jorge swore softly. "You must believe that."

"Then why's He doing this? Huh? Where is He when his children need him most?"

Fr. Jorge breathed a difficult sigh. "You have asked me that before. My answer remains this same."

"He is everywhere? Alright, if He's everywhere, why doesn't He show himself? If He really loves them, then where is He?"

Fr. Jorge took time to think before giving his answer. "Dios shows himself in many ways, Danny. He was with you in that church. He is with us now, and He is with Jordan and Jason wherever they are. Even if you cannot be."

Danny looked away, frustrated by the lack of answers, and even more by the lack of blame Fr. Jorge placed upon God. When Danny turned away, Fr. Jorge took his turn to speak. "Dios has given them something else. He gave them you. By that, He shows His love for them."

Reluctantly, Danny faced him.

"You care for others first, Danny," Fr. Jorge said. "With that, you have helped return countless children to their families. You have helped build this church into what it is today. You have used your gift."

Fr. Jorge grasped Danny's shoulder as he spoke. "God is not blind. He will guide you, hijo. No matter what happens."

As Danny stared into the priest's eyes, he wondered – and not for the first time – what great force gave Fr. Jorge his faith. Danny couldn't remember the last time he felt faith like that – truly felt it. He imagined that he must have been very young. Now, Fr. Jorge at twice his age embodied a faith Danny could not remember seeing in anyone else. It was so strong that it reached him now, when nothing else could. He stared into the priest's eyes in awe, and once again found himself speechless.

Fr. Jorge smiled knowingly, as if somehow for a moment, he read Danny's thoughts as effortlessly as his own. "Someday," he whispered. "Someday, hijo. If you want it badly enough, you will know."

Danny found the interaction haunting, unnerving, and breath-taking all in the same instant. It didn't heal his pain. It didn't erase the terrible events of the day. Fr. Jorge had many things, but he did not have that.

Nonetheless, Danny knew Fr. Jorge had given him all the comfort he had to give, and that he gave with no thought of receiving anything in return.

It wasn't enough, but for Danny, it didn't have to be.

Danny closed his eyes. It was difficult not to cry. "Thank you, padre."

"De nada, hijo." Fr. Jorge squeezed his shoulder. "De nada."