Author's Note:  hey, it's still Thursday my time, so I am very proud to post this in the hour before Friday.  : )  Hope you like, hope you catch the POV changes – they may be a little confusing.  I cleaned them up the best I could though.  *shrug*

One thought before I stop rambling.  How is it that I manage to get an average of two new reviewers with every chapter, yet no chapter has more than five reviews?  *scratches head*  Oh, well – can only hope people are still reading.  *sigh*  (I'm pathetic, aren't I?  : ))

Author's thanks at end.

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Tess spent the majority of her day cleaning.  It wasn't something that needed to be done, but rather something she did out of nervous habit.  Tapping her nails was fine for smaller worries, but with as much on her mind as she had now?  No . . . that required cleaning.  Unfortunately, there was little in her sparse house to clean.  She dusted what furniture and surfaces required it, swept and mopped, washed all her dirty clothes, and scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen until her arm told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't stop soon, it was going to rebel.

   The woman had managed to stop long enough to feed the children, who had woken between ten and eleven in the morning.  But minutes after seeing that the dishes were washed, Tess found herself tapping her feet and drumming her nails against the kitchen counter.  Fine.  More cleaning.  With that thought, she had ushered Marcos into the bathroom, telling him to wash and then make sure René and Alma followed his example.  Selena she took into the kitchen and placed in a sinkful of warm water.  Once the baby was dry and clean, Tess had managed to wash her own hair in a haphazard manner; it was a difficult thing to do well when one only had one arm that they could raise above their head.

   Noon came and went and still she felt the need to clean – as if the very act of making her house and all under its roof clean would sweep her jumbled thoughts into order.  And now that she and the children were as clean as they were going to get, it was time to turn her attention to her patient.  He, while cleaner than he might have been under other circumstances, was getting a bit ripe.  The only difficulty standing in her way was convincing him to let her help him clean up.

   At the thought of that ordeal, at the thought of spending even more time with a man who so easily unsettled her, Tess almost went outside to wash the windows.  The only thing that stopped her was the thought of someone catching her in the act of cleaning windows in what was supposed to be an abandoned neighborhood.  Arms akimbo, she surveyed the rest of her house – there was nothing left to clean.  It was nearly clean enough to perform surgery in. 

   Surgery.  The word echoed through her head.  Even since Logan had called that morning and awoken her with his news, she had been on edge.  What had started as simple annoyance had turning into a conversation that held hope.  Hope for her, that this last act of repentance would ease her mind and heart, and hope for her patient, that he might be able to see again.  It was a crazy, half-formed, and easily discarded hope . . . but it was more than 'Giovanni' had had since coming here.  More hope than she had had since she could remember.

-Thwap, thwap, thwap-  Sands had come to recognize that sound of bare feet on a hardwood floor.  Not that he had a lot of people dying to visit him – just the woman and the kid.  The other kids stayed out unless Tess was there, either too shy or too scared to come in themselves.  Even the youngest kid stayed out, preferring to stay with its siblings.  Sands thought Tess might have said that the baby was a girl, but he couldn't remember.  He was having a hard time remembering anything other than the time he had spent in this bed.  Real life, a life where he could see things, was already fading.  If you're going to be blind, might as well go all the way.

   -Thwap . . . thwap, thwap-  It was the hesitation that gave her away every time.  She would come in walking with a determined stride, but somewhere around the midpoint of the room she would pause, unsure if he was awake or what her welcome would be if he was.  Why is she nervous?  It's not as if I've actually hurt her yet.  He brushed off the memory of holding what felt like a delicate wrist in a tight grip and the near-desperate plea of a woman who found herself trapped.  That had been different.  That had been business.  He'd had plenty of opportunities to shoot or hit her, and he hadn't.  Surely semantics had to count for something.  "Most people actually try to be quiet when they're trying to enter a room unnoticed, niña.  And other people, when they're afraid of disturbing someone when entering a room, either don't come in or they announce their presence."

   Hello!  Bare feet on the floor.  If that's not announcing my presence, I don't know what is, because I certainly know that you can hear me.  Still a bit irritable from her lack of sleep and anxious over the news she carried, Tess was not in the best of moods.  But rather than reply so rudely when she knew that's the response her patient was angling for, she simply said, "The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began.  Now far ahead the road is gone and I must follow if I can.  Pursuing it with weary feet until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands meet – and whether then, I cannot say."

   Tiredly, Sands asked, "What does that mean?"  He wondered if she ever spoke in anything other than quotes and riddles, and if she didn't, then what had led her to speak like a madwoman.  He had met people with personality quirks before – had met some extremely peculiar people in the course of his work – but this woman left them all in her dust.  An absentminded hermitess that took in strays and dangerous men alike out of what appeared to be guilt, although he couldn't figure out what she had to be guilty about.  Other than her apparent abundance of naïveté.  But that's hardly a crime punishable by death.

   Stopping just out of reach of the man on the bed, Tessa replied, "That means that I'm tired, I've been working since this morning with no end of work in sight, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing after this.  After today."  Her eyes started to gaze right through Sands as she continued in a lost voice, "I can feel the paths in front of me, but I can't see them.  I know I need to go somewhere but I don't know where or how to get there.  Circumstances demand action, but I can't make up my mind over what action to take.  One decision leads into another, but how can I make many decisions when all I can see is the present?"  She laughed bitterly, wondering why she was telling this man this.  She needed to confide in someone, and instead of calling Logan back, she was telling a man who didn't know her and most likely didn't care about her beyond what she could do for him.  What I can do for him.  "Men at some time are masters of their fates; the fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings."

   The laugh of a delighted infant brought Tessa back to herself, back to the room that she shared with a man who couldn't see her and most likely thought she was loosing her mind.  He was half right; she had lost her mind ever so long ago, even before the schizophrenia had made itself known.  "Don't mind me.  My problems are not yet yours, and I'll do what I can to keep that from being a lie."

   Sands heard the loneliness in Tessa's voice, but pushed it aside.  So what if she was lonely?  Everyone was lonely.  If she wanted someone to talk to, let her get a cat like normal people did.  "Was there a reason you came in here?"

   "Believe it or not, there was."  The blind CIA agent heard the rattle of a tray as it was set down on the nightstand by the bed.  "I thought we might try getting some food down you before I have to start giving you nutrients by IV.  Do you think your stomach can handle some soup?  If it can, we'll try some solids this evening."

   She had a point.  As much as Sands hated being treated like an invalid, he had to admit that up until this point the pain he had been feeling had been making his stomach queasy.  It wasn't a new sensation; he had once broken his collarbone and hadn't been able to eat anything other than club crackers for three days.  Of course, he had refused to take the painkillers, too.  With the painkillers that Tessa had talked him into taking the night before still in his system, he thought that he might be able to keep some soup down.  It certainly smelled good.  "I was beginning to wonder if you were trying to starve me."

   "No, just saving the both of us the ordeal of having to deal with a stomach under active revolt."  Tess picked up the bowl of soup in one hand and touched the back of Sands' right hand with the other.  When he raised it, she carefully touched the side of the bowl to the palm of his hand.  Making sure that he wasn't about to dump the liquid over them both, Tess picked up the spoon and placed it in his other hand.  She looked up just in time to see Sands smile.  "Que?  Que es comico?"

   Sands shook his head and simply said, "Just wishing for a third hand.  You have no idea how many uses a third arm can have."  His response left Tess confused.

Half an hour later, Sands was no longer smiling and Tess was wondering if her (extremely sketchy) plan was going to work.  It hadn't taken Sands long to figure out that eating soup was not the easiest thing to do when one was newly blinded and was not sitting at a table.  Tess, to her credit, had not offered to spoon feed him.  If she had, he would have thrown the soup at her, whether she deserved it or not.  The woman had, however, eventually taken the bowl from him when the amount of soup on him had exceeded the amount still in the bowl.  She had murmured something that had probably been an apology, since that seemed to be what she enjoyed saying the most.  He hadn't quite caught what she had said, but had been grateful for the napkin she had thrown on his chest as she had left the room.  Minutes later she had returned and handed him a heavy earthenware mug filled with more soup.  After that, his meal had proceeded ever so much more smoothly.  However, he still smelled of chicken soup.

   Ok, time to move onto the next step.  "Umm . . . I was thinking that you might want to . . . uh . . . clean up?"

   "Was that an offer to climb into the shower with me to scrub my back?"

   "No señor.  You can't take a shower, not with those stitches.  I'd prefer to keep them dry for the time being."  Tess had to admire his persistence at acting like a hormonal teen, but was glad that his innuendoes were so obvious and easy to brush off.  If he knew who I really was, who my father was, he wouldn't touch me with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole . . . and that's without knowing I'm nuts.  "I was thinking more along the lines of a sponge bath and a thorough washing of your hair.  There's still blood in it."

   "Ooh, even better.  La bonita chiquita is offering me a sponge bath.  I'm not sure life gets any better than this.  Aside from being able to watch it, of course."

    "Mmm."  Tess shook her head in private disbelief and glanced around the room.  "Life may not get better, but it does get worse.  I'm afraid that you're perfectly capable of giving yourself a sponge bath."

   "You are no fun whatsoever, you know that?" Sands complained as Tess took his arm and helped him out of the bed.  He weaved and wavered once upright, and she had to work to keep them both from falling to the floor.  As they staggered towards the bathroom, Sands said, "You might have to reconsider your position on helping out."

   Looking up from her study of the floor passing under her moving feet, Tessa studied his face and was surprised at how pale he was.  He had seemed healthy enough, except for the lack of nutrients and slight effects from blood loss, but the expression on his face was decidedly unhealthy.  "Headache, upset stomach, or various pains in your extremities?"

   "Headache."  How long ago had he lost his eyes?  It seemed like weeks, but it had only been twenty-four hours, and 'headache' didn't even start to describe the pounding in his head.  And his legs were loudly reminding him that they had recently been filled with lead.

   "Your stomach isn't upset?"  Tess really didn't want to have to deal with vomit.  Her own head and stomach were complaining, albeit not as loudly as they had that morning.  But if she had to cleanup a mess, she was liable to lose her own lunch.

   "A bit, but I think that's a secondary effect."  God, when had he become so docile?  When had he decided to actually depend on this woman?  He hated to appear weak before anyone.  But even he had to admit that Tess wasn't the worse person to let nurse him back to health.  She managed to help without making him feel as if he were completely incompetent, supported without knocking his equilibrium off-balance.  He got the distinct impression that she would be happy to let him do as much on his own as he could, and only stuck around to make sure that he didn't undo any of her previous handiwork.  "So, about that sponge bath . . . ."

   "You are such a pig.  You do realize that, right?" she asked dryly.

   "Absolutely.  Self-absorbed bastard, that's me."  There was a distinct lack of remorse in this statement.

   Why was I expecting differently?  Oh, that's right, he keeps confusing me.  "Alright, but this is going to stay G-rated, you got that 'Giovanni?'" 

   "You've crushed all my hopes and dreams.  My reason for living is destroyed."  Sands was discovering how much fun it was to annoy the heck out of Tessa.  This was the first time he had managed to find a topic that had actually managed to do it.  Sure, some of his earlier attempts had produced some kind of reaction, but they paled in comparison to how she was responding now.  Gone were the cool responses, the studied indifference of the past two days; her voice was getting dryer by the moment.  Any moment now and she would have to drink something to re-hydrate herself.

   "I doubt I've crushed anything other than your fragile male ego."  Tess wasn't sure why she was playing along with this.  She knew that she was responding awkwardly, unsure of what she was doing or how to play this game.  The flirtatious advances of the college boys she had known had been easy to ignore – this man was playing on a totally different level though.  It was like the difference between pulling a splinter out of someone's finger and setting a compound fracture.

   And then there was the added complication of the man's character.  Yes, he was cute enough for some good-natured, going-nowhere flirting (had she known what she was doing), but he was not a nice person.  He was the kind of man who wouldn't have second thoughts if he decided he had to kill her.  That doesn't fit with what you saw yesterday.  When you saw Marcos asleep at his side.  The words of her voice were suppressed by her medications, but Tess could feel it trying to speak – knew that if it could have made itself understood, that's what it would have said.

   Ignoring the battle her mind was trying to start about the character of the man at her side, Tess maneuvered them both into the bathroom.  Now was not the time to argue over temperament, disposition, or moral fiber. 

   Making sure that her patient was sitting down and out of danger of falling flat on his face, Tess turned on the bathroom taps, waiting for the water to heat up.  Once it had warmed to the point where she would have considered taking a shower in it herself – if it weren't for the new bullet wound in her arm, of course – Tess plugged the sink and waited for it to fill.  As she waited, she got a clean washrag and a fresh bar of soap out of the cabinet next to the shower.  Turning back to the sink just in time to stop it from overflowing, Tess submerged both rag and soap in the warm water.

   Wringing out the piece of cloth, Tessa thought, Ok, here comes the hard part.  You can do this.  Just take deep breaths and stay calm.  It's that simple.  No one is going to hurt you.  He's not going to hurt you.  He's already had better chances to do so, and nothing came of them.  She glanced at the wrist that had found itself imprisoned in an unbreakable grip the day before; it had a sickly green bracelet of bruised skin surrounding it.  Still . . . he could have done worse.  The memory of a hand holding hers as spasms of pain caused it to flinch only fueled the conflict inside her.  How was she supposed to relate the two different sides of this man to each other?  What did the side that spoke so casually of death and killing have to do with the side that leaned on her shoulders and let a little boy rest next to him?  In the past Tess had been hurt by people stronger than her, and because of that, she didn't like becoming physically close to people she felt were a threat.  Tessa knew that this man could hurt her . . . but he hadn't.  Not really.  What can I do?  He needs me to help him and I promised us both that I would do what I can.  It's only just that I do what I can to see him whole, even if it does mean putting myself in danger.  But I don't think he's going to hurt me.  Not now at least.  Conflict resolved, she approached the man and asked, "So, where do you want to start?"

Sands tensed as he felt the warm, rough cloth begin wiping over his cheekbones.  He thought he had managed to hide his apprehension before the blasted woman had noticed, but he hadn't.  She noticed, and her touch became even gentler.  The woman noticed every freakin' thing.  It was no surprise that she had gone into medicine – she obviously had a nurturing character.  Sands thought she was probably the type of woman who would have been perfectly content to stay home and cook for her man, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.  The kind of woman who would cradle and caress her lover until all the stresses of the day left his body . . . the kind of woman who took quiet joy in sex.  Not that he had ever known anyone like that.  It was dangerous to know women like that, because they could make a man believe that he could live a normal lifestyle when he wanted nothing like that at all.

   The cloth distracted him from his thoughts as it ran down his chin and neck and over his shoulders, the heat and moisture doing their best to both clean and relax at the same time.  When the material left his skin, he almost missed it.  Out of all the things that had happened to him recently, this was actually a pleasant ordeal.  Not that he planned or was in any condition to take things further (to his disappointment).  Sands was willing to take what pleasure he could from this and store it up against the pain that was sure to start again sooner or later.

   As Tess worked the cloth down and over his body, Sands could feel his muscles relaxing, the pounding in his head backing off.  He nearly groaned in relief as the quality of the darkness he saw changed in some indefinable way, as it became lighter in some sort of sense – less opaque.  If only this was all it would take to make the pain and the smothering darkness stay away . . .

At some point during what she had sworn was going to stay a G-rated mission of mercy, Tess found herself flushing.  It wasn't everyday that she found herself in such close proximity with nearly naked men.  And it certainly wasn't every day that she found herself bathing said nearly naked men.  Normally she had a member of the man's family around who could perform this chore, but that wasn't an option now.  She didn't even know if this man had family that should be contacted.  I really should have thought about that earlier.  What if he has a family around somewhere awaiting news of his safety?  Inside, Tessa doubted this.  Men like "Giovanni" didn't usually for close relationships with anyone other than maybe a close friend or two.  If she was correct, he was borderline psychotic, but psychological assessments had never been her forté.  "Señor, I should have asked this before, but is there anyone you would like to call?  Anyone who should know that you are safe?"  The questioned helped take her mind off of her uneasiness.

   With an expressionless face, he answered, "You mean, is there a young wife and baby waiting anxiously to find out if I'm alive?  If there're loving parents waiting at home to have me over for dinner and hear all about my adventures in Mexíco?"  He snorted.  "No.  At the moment I'd rather have people believe I'm dead, if it's all the same to you."

   Well, that answers that question.  "What about an employer?"

   "No."  The lack of expression on Sands face was replaced by deadly seriousness.  Tess didn't fig any farther and decided to combat her discomfort another way.  Silently she started reciting the poem of the Jabberwocky.  The nonsense of the words had always comforted her for some reason.  "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!/The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!/Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun/the frumious Bandersnatch!/He took his vorpal sword in hand . . ."  What's a vorpal sword?

   Lost in her own thoughts, Tess was surprised when Sands interrupted her somewhere around his knees.  "So, what do you look like?"

   Distrustful of his motivations behind asking, she replied, "If I answer that, are you going to ask me to tell you what I'm wearing next?"

   The corner of Sands' mouth twitched as if he were trying to hold back a smile.  "Cool your jets, sweetie.  I'm just curious."

   "Mmm.  What's with the constant change of pet names?"

   "Variety is the spice of life.  Are you going to answer my question?"

   "What do you think I look like?"

   "I think you're someone's sixty-year-old grandmother who resembles a piece of jerky more than the fresh young girl she used to be.  I think your face has more lines than an improperly folded roadmap, and –"

   Interrupting him, Tess said dryly, "I think I get the point."

   There were about ten seconds of silence, before he inquired, "So, was I close?"

   Tess waited several moments before saying, "'Tis an old saying, the Devil lurks behind the cross.  All is not gold that glitters.  From the tail of the plow, Bamba was made King of Spain; and from his silks and riches was Rodrigo cast to be devoured by the snakes."  Shaking her head, she said less cryptically, "Appearances can be deceiving, but if that's what you want me to look like, that's what I look like."

   Somewhere around the point when she was gently toweling Sands' newly-cleaned hair, Tess commented, "There's one way that you could find out."

   "Find out what?"

   "What I look like."

   "Why, chiquita, was that a proposition?"

   "No."

   "Then what are you talking about?"  He was getting really sick of asking her that question.

   Biting her lip as she offered up a silent prayer for her safety, Tess slowly replied, "I mean that there might be a way for you to see what I look like.  Without using your hands."  She waited for his reaction, prepared to jump away if he misinterpreted what she meant and took a swing at her.

   Nothing.  Out in the living room, her clock rang the hour.  ­­-Bong, bong, bong-  Tess was surprised to find out that she had been in the same room with this man, touching him, caring for him for over an hour.  It didn't seem as if things had taken that long, but then again, her grip on reality and time wasn't a sure as some people's.  That's why she had a clock she could hear throughout the entire house.

   Still silence.  Tess hung the damp towel over the door of the shower stall and nervously walked over to the sink to drain the water from it.  Feeling enclosed all of a sudden, she looked up into the mirror and jumped when she found her patient standing less than a foot behind her.  God, he moves quietly.  She put a hand to her racing heart as the man asked in a low, dangerous tone, "What the hell do you mean there's a way for me to see that you look like?"  Tess swallowed.

"There's one way that you could find out."  Sands found himself once again wondering just what path her thoughts took before they made it out her mouth.

   "Find out what?"

   "What I look like."

   "Why, chiquita, was that a proposition?"

   "No."

   "Then what are you talking about?"  Sands was beginning to wonder what was so different about her cognitive process that made nearly everything that came out of her mouth sound like the prophesy of an oracle.

   "I mean that there might be a way for you to see what I look like.  Without using your hands."  He waited for the rest, sure that there she had some kind of pep talk waiting to complete this disastrous turn of the conversation, but she said nothing else.  He waited: the clock chimed, Tess moved around, water drained noisily down some pipes.  Was she going to leave it at that?  Was this some kind of twisted attempt to make things seem "not quite as bad as they appeared"?  Whatever it was, he wasn't amused.

   Making sure to stand up and take the few steps towards her with all the silence he still possessed, Sands managed to get right behind Tess before she noticed how close to her he was.  He heard her jump.  Heard the small gasp that escaped her as she spun and turned to face him.  If he had felt like being amused anymore, he would have laughed, the sounds she made painted such a vivid comic picture.  Unfortunately, he wasn't amused.  "What the hell do you mean there's a way for me to see that you look like?"  She didn't answer.  Deciding to push a little further, Sands continued, "In case you hadn't noticed or had managed to forget, let me remind you of one little fact."  Leaning forward, he placed a hand on each side of her body, trapping her against the sink – unless she had managed to move as quietly as he did, in which case he was striking a rather tragic pose.  "I . . . have . . . no . . . eyes."

   "Ye-" the word didn't make it out of Tessa's mouth before her throat closed and she ended up choking on her own saliva.  Coughing, she turned back to sink, not wanting to shower the man before her in spit.  Breathing through her nose to contain the explosions, she managed to calm her protesting lungs to the point where she could once again speak.  "Yes.  I did notice."

   "Then what are you talking about, niña?  Or was that an incredibly ill-conceived attempt at humor?"

   She really should have made a bit more of a plan before broaching this subject.  "Well, you see," she cringed.  Hurrying on, she rambled, "I got a call from a friend this morning.  It was a guy I went to med school with, one of the few I've managed to keep in contact with.  But while I went into what is jokingly referred to as 'private practice,' he had always been more interested in the research and development side of things.  To make a long story short, or at least shorter, he ended up at a medical firm in Los Angeles with nothing more than what most of the medical community considered a crackpot idea.  But apparently the man who hired him didn't think so.  So anyway, I got a call from my friend this morning and he tells me that his idea, which had been successful in trials on rats, pigs, and a chimpanzee who had had an accident, he called and told me that he had gotten permission from the FDA to start human trials.  And he called me because he was excited, not that he knew that you were here, but I thought that you might be interested in meeting him and talking to him, and listening to his ideas."

   Sands backed away from Tessa when he heard the panic and innate goodwill in her voice.  She had no idea how to explain things so the majority of the population could understand what she was talking about, but she hadn't been mocking him or trying to patronize him.  That was what was important.  Once again sitting on the toilet, he said wearily, "While I'm sure that spiel had some kind of meaning to you, I'm afraid you left out any information that might clue me into what you're talking about."

   Had she?  Tess couldn't even remember the entirety of what she had just said.  When she had found that Sands had so effectively sneaked up on her and that he was angry and capable of controlling her movements, she had panicked.  It was gut reaction, nothing more.  And while she had probably made a fool of herself, at least he wasn't angry at her anymore.  "I'm sorry.  You just made me a little nervous."

   "A little nervous," he thought, finding her words woefully inadequate.  If she had been any more tense she would have shot through the ceiling like a cartoon cat who'd gotten her tail singed, or taken off like that feline that Pépé le Pew was always chasing.  "I'm still in the dark, chiquita."

   "I know.  I mean, I didn't mean that.  I meant that I was about to give a better explanation."  Crap, her nerves will still on edge.  "What I meant to say was that this friend of mine has developed a new technique for eye transplants.  And that he has gotten permission from the government to start human trials.  He's going to be looking for volunteers.  And I thought of you."

   Silence once again reigned supreme in the small bathroom.

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Quotes for this chapter: man, I managed to pack a whole bunch in this one.  In the order of their appearance they are from: Tolkien; Julius Caesar by Shakespeare; "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" by Dr. Seuss; Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll; Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes; and such a small one that it might as well not count from PotC.

Author's Thanks: thanks and many thanks go out to my loyal readers/reviewers Merrie and AshleyMerrie, you've reviewed every chapter, and Ashley, you reviewed even though you let me know what you like and think when you beta for me.  That is dedication my friend.  : )  Thanks also go to Blank and kinkyfrodo, my two new reviewers for the last chapter.  You guys have no idea how much your reviews are appreciated, treasured, and multiply read.  I hope to hear from you again soon.