Author's Note: yea!  Next chapter up inside a week!  Whoo-hoo!  Hope you all enjoy it.  I do kinda skip around time wise, but I think it manages to flow without losing too much impact.  Quote sources, various explanations, and author's thanks at the end.

I'll see what I can be done about posting by Thursday.  : )

I'd love to hear from anyone actually reading this . . . .

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Sands had been hoping that Tess was going to be able to convince him that it had been the cartel staking out his motel – but no luck.  If what she was saying was true, then it had probably been CIA taking shots at her.  The CIA really liked their silencers; they liked being able to pretend that they melted into the shadows everywhere they went.  He had always preferred to blend in with his surroundings.  Or to appear so foolish that no one gave him a second look.  He let these thoughts occupy him until he heard another hiss of pain come from the woman in the room.  "You seem to be making an awful lot of noise for someone who claims that they aren't seriously hurt."

   "While I realize that you're doing your best to be helpful, you still haven't managed to point out anything that I didn't already know for myself.  Since that would be the case, I'd appreciate it if you would kindly return yourself to my bed before you collapse."

   "I can assure you that if I do collapse, it will be after I've been in your bed for some time, chiquita."

   "Mmm.  I appreciate your attempt at levity, but what I'm trying to say is, go away."  Tessa's voice was tight with pain, her grip on her temper fraying.  She already knew that she had done something stupid and was well aware that she was paying the due price for it.  She didn't need smart aleck commentary as she contemplated the best way to get her shirt off without breaking her wound open again.

   She cursed silently, wondering if the injury could be more inconveniently placed.  It was on the under part of her upper right arm, and to get the t-shirt off she needed to raise her arms above her head.  There wasn't a chance of that happening without causing the wound to start bleeding and throbbing again.  Realizing she needed help, Tess started to grumble under her breath.

   "I didn't quite catch that, chiquita."

   Sighing, deciding she might as well humor the man so he would go to bed, Tessa replied, "I was just saying that I really didn't want to wake one of the children to help me, but apparently I don't have much of a choice.  I can't get my shirt off by myself without making things worse."  She tried to leave the small room, but Sands was blocking her exit.  "Excuse me."

   "Nope."

   Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "What do you mean, 'nope?'  I need to tend to this shot as soon as I can, and then I should probably take another look at all your injuries before bedding down in the hallway."

   "The hallway?"  Just when he thought that the girl couldn't come up with another outlandish idea, she managed to do so.

   "Yes.  The hallway.  That corridor that connects the back of the house to the front of the house.  I want to be able to hear the kids if one of them needs me in the night, and I want to be able to hear you if you happen to need more painkillers.  Will you move now?"

   Sands decided to ignore for the moment – that he was cohabitating the same house with a woman who apparently had a lot of knowledge, but no sense whatsoever.  "Nope."  He crossed his arms across his chest, leaning more firmly against the doorjamb.  "Those kids need sleep.  Besides, how much help are they really going to be?"

   "So what do you suggest I do?"  Sands showed his teeth in what might, under different circumstances, resemble a reassuring smile.  Tess realized what a stupid question that had been.  She shook her head, unaware that it wasn't helping her make her point.  "Uh-uh.  If you're suggesting what I think you are, the answer is no.  I can do this myself."

   If he had had eyes, Sands would have rolled them.  "Then stop whining and get to it."

   Tess stood in a misery of indecision, a sudden wave of modesty washing over her.  It didn't matter that he couldn't see - he still had hands.  He could still feel and should he decide to, he would probably be able to overpower her and do just that.  Don't even consider it, Teresa.  You wouldn't stand a chance against him.  Helpless, that's what you would be.  And you know how much we hate being helpless.

   But I need help getting my shirt off.  I can't do it myself without making things worse.

   It's not worth the risk.

   Silently, Tess gave way to the voice.  Deep inside she feared it was right, but she knew it was wrong.  She needed help.  Giving up on the internal conflict, she swallowed hard and said, "Will you please go into the other room?  I'm not used to undressing in front of strange men."

   "But you don't mind undressing them?"  For the first time in several days, Sands might say that he was actually feeling a bit of amusement.  La chiquita was getting modest about stripping in front of him.  He had no eyes - it wasn't as if he was going to be ogling her or anything.

   "That's different.  I'm a doctor."

   "What are you suggesting?  That only people with a medical background can be clinically detached when it comes to the human body?"  Silence.  "If that is what you're suggesting, then let me just say that I went through several courses of advanced first aid.  And I sincerely doubt you've got anything I haven't seen before."

   "I thought that was supposed to be my line." 

   Sands could still hear the nervousness and weariness in her voice.  "Look señorita, we could stand here all night and . . . converse . . . or we can get you out of those bloody clothes so you can keep enough blood in your body to be able to function tomorrow."

   He was right.  That was what it came down to.  It was silly to think that any man she came across would take advantage of her if she let her guard down.  Her mind was screaming at her to reconsider, but she had made up the part of her mind that she had control over.  "Ok, but I only need help getting my arms out of the sleeves.  After that I really do want you to go lie down."

Tess couldn't believe what she was doing as she turned her back to Sands, watching in the mirror as he stepped up behind her.  She had been in this type of situation before and it had turned out badly for her - although not as badly as for the man also involved.  She'd been traumatized.  He'd been killed.

   When Sands reached out a hand and touched her back, she jumped, nervousness getting the best of her.  At least I didn't shriek.  The thought dropped like a block of ice and broke on the floor of reality as Sands lightly ran his hand up her spine to her shoulder.  It was too much, too familiar.  There were simply too many unpleasant memories triggered by the touch.  Unable to stop herself, knowing she either had to protest or face the memories, she stepped away and said in a shaky voice, "Please don't.  This was a mistake.  The shirt is already ruined.  I'll just cut it off."

   "What's wrong, niña?  Don't you trust me?"

   "Don't you trust me?"  The touches grew rough, making her gasp in pain . . . .  Slamming what was left of  her shaky control over the can of worms this had opened up, she said, "No.  Not particularly."

   Sands realized that he had reached the limit of how far he could push her before things turned unpredictable.  He wasn't in any state to handle unpredictability right now.  Maybe in a few days . . . .  "Smart girl," he murmured.  "Relax.  I'm not going to bite."  Remembering that she had said that the gun shot was on her right arm, he decided to free her left arm first.

   Holding in a sigh of relief as the touch turned from a light brush to a no-nonsense, impersonal guide, Tessa turned her left side towards Sands as he pushed on her right side.  Sands gripped her left sleeve with both hands as she withdrew her arm through the hole.  Easy part done.  Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Are you sure I can't just cut the shirt off?"

   The comforting reply was, "Stop being a baby."  Sands slid a hand across her shoulders to her right arm with determination.  "Ready?"

   "If I said 'no' would it matter?"  Gritting her teeth, Tess slowly pulled her right arm inside her t-shirt exhaling abruptly as the skin around the injury stretched and pulled at the seared edges of the wound.  She hated gun wounds with a passion.  Whoever had invented them ought to be taken out into the street and trampled by horses.  No, better yet, whoever had invented gunpowder ought to be thrown over the side of a ship located right over the Mariana Trench.  Yes, that would be good.  Too bad such a fate is improbable since gunpowder has been around for several thousand years or something like that.

   Hey, a girl's gotta dream.  Her arm was all the way inside her shirt.  They were done, although she was not.  "Thank you.  I think I can handle everything from here."

   "An expert at tying bandages one handed, are we?"

   She was never going to get rid of him.  That was it.  She had made some unspeakable mistake by taking this man in, and now the cosmos, the very Fates themselves, were aligning to punish her.  There was no other explanation.

   You're absolutely right.  Someone is clearly out to get you.  Perhaps he's just waiting until you let your guard down, doing what he can to make you lower your defenses.  And then tonight, while you're sleeping, he'll come out into the hall and . . . .

   "Shut up," Tess growled under her breath.  Glancing at her patient, who was obviously taking that comment as a reply to his sardonic statement, she continued the thought silently.  No one is out to get me.  I have nothing to be paranoid about.  Once he's asleep he won't stir until morning.  It's late and his body is still recovering from yesterday.  There's no reason to think that I won't be perfectly safe tonight.

   Especially if you give him something to make him sleep.  He's blind.  He'd never know.  Get him before he gets you.

   I will not give in to paranoia!  I won't give in to you.

   But it's tempting, isn't it?

   No.  Pulling her shirt over her head faster than was wise, Tess opened her medicine cabinet and pulled out several bottles and her booster.  Quickly opening the tops, she swallowed the pills without any water, then gave herself the injection.  It might not have been the wisest thing to do since she had already given herself one that morning, but the thought of having a schizophrenic episode terrified her.  She was willing to risk the migraine and nausea she'd have in the morning, if only she could stay in control of herself. 

   "Something wrong, señorita?"

   Oh God, please don't let him suspect anything.  Please.  "No.  Nothing's wrong.  I just thought that I would take some Ibuprofen before cleaning and wrapping this.  The sooner it kicks in the better."  Turning from the mirror, she realized that her patient had reached his limit.  He was pale and his face was sweatyclearly 'Giovanni' had overexerted himself.  "Sit down before you pass out.  And if you would be so kind as to contain your arguments?"  She ushered him over to the toilet, making sure the lid was down before he took a seat.  Amazingly enough, he did as she directed without any resistance or smart comments, which worried her.  She checked for fever by laying her good hand on his forehead.  He was hotter than she thought safe.  Tess doubted that his body had anything left with which to fight a fever.

   Don't be an alarmist.  Take his temperature first.  "Stay here."  Going out into the bedroom, Tessa dug her thermometer out of her medicine case.  She walked back into the bathroom, holding her right arm against her body to avoid jostling it as much as possible, and said, "Open your mouth.  I need to take your temperature.  I think you're running a fever."  Again Sands obeyed without protest.  Seconds after placing the instrument in his mouth, the thermometer let out a small beep.  Tess removed it and checked it to see just how hot her patient was.  100.8 degrees.  Ah, crap.

   "So, how bad is it doc?"

   "Mmm . . . you're running a temp, 100.8 to be specific."  Thoughtfully she said, "It's not bad enough that I'm worried yet . . . but I would like to give you some Ibuprofen to bring it down, and I want to check all your injuries to make sure that none of them are infected."  She scratched her head with her good hand.  "I have some of the more common antibiotics with me, but they're most effective if infection is caught early."

It turned out that Tessa had needed Sands' help to tie a bandage around her arm after all.  To give her credit, she had tried for some time to do it herself as Sands sat on the toilet and listened to her mumbles of frustration and muffled exclamations of pain.  Finally he had tired of her obstinacy and had called her by name.  Surprised, she had submitted silently as he had wrapped a bandage around her woundeven though she thought that he wrapped it a bit tighter than was necessary.

   "Thank you," she mumbled under her breath.  Sands ignored this and tried to stand up, his legs not quite supporting him.  Darting an arm around his waist, Tess managed to get hold of him before he fell to the ground.  They both let out hisses of pain; Sands because his head was throbbing in pain again, Tess because in catching Sands she had slammed the burn on her left side into her patient.  Once she could speak with a voice clear of pain, Tess observed, "We make quite a pair, don't we?  Both of us shot up, and neither quite able to walk confidently on our own."

   Irritated at having to be forced to depend on someone else for support, Sands said in a bored voice, "I'm sure you tried to inject some humor in that statement, but I'm afraid it escaped me.  Why don't you stick to saying that you can do things on your own?  That joke seems to be working for you."

   And you thought he was finally working his way out of that funk.  The thought feebly pushed it's way into her mind and rang just as faintly in her ears.  The medication was taking hold, putting it to sleep.  Giving a silent prayer of thanks, Tess kept her mouth shut and slowly maneuvered Sands out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

   Ignoring his own weakening protests, Tess efficiently unwrapped all of Sands injuries, starting with his eyes.  She had horrible visions of infection getting a decent hold there and spreading through the rest of his body until she could do nothing more than watch him die.  As she was removing the gauze, she could tell that he was finding this to be an unpleasant experience by the faint red flags of either embarrassment or anger highlighting his cheekbones.  Knowing there was nothing she could say to comfort or console him, she merely conducted an examination as quickly as she could.

   Nothing.  There was nothing; no sign of infection, no sign of current bleeding.  Dropping her head in relief, Tessa said, "Well, the good news is that if there is infection, it's in one of your other wounds."  No reply.  Taking time to rewrap his eyes in a fresh layer of cotton, Tess composed herself.  It was no more fun to have to examine those wounds than it could be to have someone examine them.  They were obscene; a perversion of what had most likely been a beautiful face – what was still a deeply attractive face.  Tess sincerely hoped that wherever Guevera was, he was paying for this and every other thing he had ever done.

   Deciding to simply work here way done his body, Tess next looked at the bullet wound in his left arm.  Ah, here was the culprit.  The skin around the stitches was pink, stretched, and oozing a clear liquid.  Laying a gentle finger to the side of it, she could feel that it was hot.  Reaching into her case, she pulled out two bottles – one of antibacterial ointment and one of penicillin.  Cleaning the wound, she wrapped it again and then managed to convince Sands to take one of the pills.

   "One of those three times of day, and soon you'll be feeling a bit more like normal."

"Why are you doing this?  What's the point?"  It was nearing three in the morning and Sands condition had worsened.  The fever was no longer a concern for Tessa; now, it was managing to lower her patient's amount of pain to the point where he could rest.  Tess knew that she too needed sleep that she was nearing the point where she was going to start making fatigue induced mistakes.  Mistakes that could not be afforded now.  "What are you trying to do?"

   Make the pain go away.  That's all.  Make your pain go away.  Make my pain go away.  Too many people hurt, too many left in pain.  Too many left dead.  Too much blood left on my family's account.  "What am I trying to do?"  She couldn't remember any more.  "I'm trying to make you well again."

   "Why?"  The question was accompanied by a gasp of pain.  Tess reached down and took Sands' hand, hoping to reassure and calm him.  To comfort a man who in all likelihood would have smacked her for the effort had he been in control of himself.  But he wasn't.  His pain was riding him, controlling him like falconer controls his falcon.  By using blindness and bindings.  In this state he could grasp her hand and cling to this pale example of human closeness.  Unfortunately though, comfort does not always drive away fear and suspicion.  "What are you planning?  To hand me over to what's left of the cartel?"

   "No.  I am not planning anything.  I just want to see you well, out of reach of death's shadow."

   "Why?" 

   The question was anguished, tormented.  Tess couldn't tell if this was because of the pain or due to other internal demons.  Demons she knew all too intimately herself.  "Because you didn't deserve this.  No one deserves this."

   "You might be surprised.  I'm quite the bastard.  Arrogant, insulting, shot men just to watch them die, that sort of thing."

   Tess was quiet, unsure of how to respond to such an admission.  She'd known too many men who could say the same to take his words lightly.  She wasn't a priest who could offer him advice on spiritual matters – she could offer no absolution.  But neither could she condemn him without condemning herself.  Ignoring his words would not make them go away, but accepting them seemed wrong as well.  As if there was no hope left for him.  No hope of change, no hope of redemption, no hope of tomorrow's dawn, which would come whether he could see it or not.

   "What's wrong, chiquita?  You don't have an answer for that?"

   "That's not the sort of statement that requires an answer."  His grip on her hand loosened as the latest wave of pain became bearable once again.  He would drop off into sleep and she would doze until the next one awoke them both.  The night couldn't go on like this.  She needed sleep to face the coming day.  "Señor, are you sure you want nothing to help with the pain?  To help you sleep?"

   "No."

   "Why not?  Sleep will help your body heal itself."

   As if he were explaining things to a young child, he patiently said, "Because my mind will be able to run unchecked if you drug me into unconsciousness.  That's not something I'm willing to put up with."

   This she knew.  The dreams that made sleep a living nightmare.  The terror that came when you realized that you couldn't wake up . . . that the dream would continue for all eternity until you went mad with it.  If you weren't already.  "The dreams?"

   With a bitter smirk, Sands recited:

 "'To die, to sleep -

To sleep, perchance to dream, aye there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause; there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.'

What say you to that, chiquita?"

   Tess smiled.  "I say, 'Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of the week.'  Although, I'm not sure that William Dement was right about that.  There's no such thing as a safe madness."  It was true.  Or maybe it was only true for those who were already mad.  Maybe for those who were sane, madness was indeed safe in dreams.  "Go to sleep.  You'll be awake again all too soon.  We'll deal with the pain as it comes."

   Sands shook his head, the side to side motion barely discernable.  He was probably afraid that any real motion would set off another round of pain.  "You should go into another room and get some sleep.  Those kids are going to be up in the morning.  I don't have to deal with them, or at least not politely.  There's no reason you should suffer alongside me."

   "Nobody deserves to suffer alone."

   "But some of us prefer it."  There was silence, then the woman let go of his hand.  More silence.  If she was trying to make him think she had left the room, she definitely needed sleep.  "I don't hear you leaving, chiquita.  I'm serious.  Buzz off."  Steps echoed weakly through the room as she left.  He wasn't sure if she ever made it past the doorway – sleep claimed him before he could be certain.  As he drifted off, though, he thought he heard the song that he had heard her singing earlier.  For the rest of the night, his dreams were filled not with the sound of drills, but with the sight of a mournful Ajedrez singing, Pray for us sinners.

Tess, asleep on the hallway floor and wrapped in a tattered blanket, was awoken rudely the next morning.  She had been deeply asleep, too exhausted to even dream, when the ringing of a cell phone broke into her mind, drilling relentlessly at her conscious.

   She moaned, and tried to ignore the sound, begging whatever deity was in control of her fate for a few more minutes of sleep.  Useless.  With every ring of the phone, Tess became more aware of the hard floor beneath her, of the irritating throbbing of her arm and side, and of the sun shining in her eyes. 

   Cursing to herself, she stumbled to her feet, seeing through blurry, barely open eyes.  Cell phone . . . cell phone.  Hadn't she smashed it yesterday?  No, that was another phone.  As she rose, her head started pounding and her stomach rolled – unpleasant reminders of the lengths she had been driven to the night before to subdue her voice.  Cell phone.  Where's the cell phone?  My cell phone?  Yes, my cell phone.  Oh god, my head hurts.  I'll skin whoever is calling at this time of the morning.  No, that's too pleasant.  I'll give them my headache.  No . . . I'll give them my voice, and then I can be normal and will feel like calling people in the morning.

   Stumble, stumble, catch balance, stumble.  Reach out, pull open desk drawer in the living room.  Patient?  Did he wake up?  No.  Asleep in the bedroom.  Push button, hold to ear.  "Hello?"  Her voice was rough with sleep, pain, and yet more weariness.  Sit on couch before passing out.

   "T?"

   "Yes, this is Tessa."

   "Oh, wasn't sure.  You sound horrible.  Are you sick?"  The voice on the other end of the line was cheerful.  Tess immediately took a strong dislike to whoever it belonged to.

   "Who is this and what the hell are you doing calling so early," Tess demanded irritably.  If she had to talk on the phone this early, the least her caller could do was make sense.

   "T, I'm hurt.  Don't you recognize old friends?"

   "What time is it?"

   "Umm . . ." there was a pause, as if whoever it was was checking a watch or clock.  "It's a little after eight."

   "Your time or my time?"

   "Our time.  This is Logan."

   Oh.  That explained it.  "Well, to answer your question: yes, I usually talk to 'old friends' like that after less than five hours of sleep and what was surely an overdose of anti-hallucinogens."  Logan was one of the few people she had let in on her little secret.  It had been kind of hard to hide after he had been there for her one and only breakdown.

   "Rough night?"

   "Rough week, it seems like."  She sighed.  Logan didn't call often, so if he was calling now, then it was probably important.  "But I have it under control.  Why did you feel the sudden uncontrollable urge to call me?  Thinking about dating someone new and want me to give my opinion of her based on what you say?  I think we're both smart enough to agree that that didn't help you so much the last time we tried it."  Logan had been one of her best friends at med school.  It had all started out because she had been the one in their study group willing to try anything at least once (after finally being free of her father's overbearing scrutiny), and he had been the guy who had suggested anything.  Tess preferred to think about their "escapades" as "bonding experiences."

   "No.  Nothing like that."  The excitement was creeping back into his voice.  "You know the experiments that I've been running?" 

   "The ones on that new transplant technique that everyone but your employer said was crazy?"

   "Yeah, that one.  Guess what?"

   "You've either been fired for daydreaming or spending all of your department's funds."

   "No.  I've gotten permission from the FDA to start human trials."

   Suddenly, Tess saw how she could repay the rest of her debt.

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Explanations:

1) when Sands has a fever at the beginning that is "100.8" that's about 38.2 degrees Celsius (not sure how many readers are on metric systems and all that.  The US certainly isn't, had to search for the conversion rate.)

2) when Tess gets the phone call from her friend, I'm assuming that Culíacan is in the same timezone as the LA area.  Might be wrong, but I really had no way of knowing for sure.  If I'm wrong, please let me know.

3) my deeply appreciated beta pointed out that I'm making use of a fairly large coincidence what with the doctor friend who's been experimenting with transplant techniques.  Yeah, I realized that myself, but decided to go through with it anyway, no matter how far fetched it seems.  Not even sure that it's even possible, but I'm going to work with it.  I'm a firm believer in the "coincidences are miracles that prefer to remain anonymous" school of thinking, and Sands could use one of those about now.  Don't like, don't read or send me a better way to go about this.  Just don't flame because I won't pay attention.

Quotes: Shakespeare's Hamlet, William Dement (which is odd, considering he was talking about insanity), and a minor one for PotC.  Points for you if you can find it.  : )

Author Thanks:  thanks go out to Merrie, Bitchy Little Pixy, and Kaliko for their faithful reviews.  I get a lot of encouragement from those.  Pixy – I'm going to miss you while you're in Ireland.  Hope you have a nice trip.  Thanks also go out to The Flaming Chia Pet, a new reviewer who's display of righteous anger over reviews made me smile when I needed one.  Hope to hear from you again.  : )  Lastly, but with more thanks and gratitude than I can say, I thank Ashley for being a willing beta who does a great job keeping everything on track even though she's got her own life (unlike me. ; )).  Many of the things that get explained are caught be her, since they make sense in my head, and I don't necessarily read things after I've typed them. *shrug*  "You complete me."