Author's Note: sorry to leave you all on the edge for so long, but I was fighting with Sands over how he was feeling.  I wanted to know, he wouldn't tell me, and I had to threaten to replace all his lovely cigarettes with herbal substitutes.  And once I could see out of my left eye again, he finally gave in.  Not sure how well I managed to translate his thoughts though . . . .

Author's thanks, as always, at the end. (YEA!  Y'all help me hit 50 reviews!)

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The silence was as oppressive as the stagnant air of a humid summer day.  Tess was fighting hard against her survival instincts that were demanding that she run.  There was too much of the predator in her patient; she was afraid that if she ran, he'd come after her, never mind all that was wrong with him.  Deep breaths, deep breaths.  Stay calm.  "He took his vorpal sword in hand:/Long time the manxome foe he sought – /So he rested by the Tumtum tree,/And stood awhile in thought."  No, no.  Focus.  She still stood by the sink, watching the man who sat across the room, ready to bolt like a frightened rabbit should he give any sign of lashing out.

   Nothing.  Minutes went by, perhaps even hours, as they stayed unmoving in their own private tableau. -Taptaptap, taptaptap, taptaptap-  Tessa's fingers rang out an agitated rhythm against the porcelain without her notice or direction.  All of her efforts were concentrated on keeping her own "manxome foe" at bay while she dealt with reality.  Later she would be able to collapse into a puddle and recover from the tension this issue had created.  But if it worked, if he could see again . . .

   The clock in her living room struck the half-hour.  Had that much time already passed since she had broached the subject of transplants with her guest?  I thought time was only supposed to fly when you were having fun, she thought distractedly.

   "Señora Tessa?"  Tess turned from her half-hypnotized study of her patient to find Alma in the doorway to the bathroom.

   "Yes, Alma.  What is it?"  Even as she asked the question, Tess knew what the problem was, having finally heard the thin wails of  an unhappy baby coming from the living room.

   "I think Lena needs to be changed." 

   The girl was watching them curiously, aware that something was wrong but unsure what or who had caused it.  The look on her face made it clear that she was uncomfortable – that the tension in the air was making her just as tense as the two adults.  Tess didn't question this – it's how she would feel if she had suddenly lost her home and the stranger she was dependent on was acting strangely.  And I'm not exactly helping her feel secure by just standing around like a lackwit.  Children can only feel safe if the adults they're around make them feel safe.  If she's uncomfortable, it's my fault.  So, fix the problem.  Do something that will take her mind off all the strange things going on in this house.

   "I'll be right there, Alma."  The girl nodded and scampered off, apparently only too glad to escape the room.  Tess wished she could leave just as easily, but knew she couldn't.  She couldn't leave until she knew what her patient's state of mind was – until she knew whether or not she had made things any worse by her unstructured rambling.  But how do you tell someone who's lost their eyes that they can gain a new set, but only if they volunteer for experimental surgery?  There's not exactly greeting cards for that sort of thing.  Ignoring her inner doubts and conversations for the moment, Tess worked up the courage to address her guest.  Doing her best to infuse her voice with all the calm she could muster, Tess quietly said, "Señor?  If you like, I can – "

   "What I'd like you to do is go look after those brats and leave me the hell alone."

   Tess was taken aback by the vehemence in the man's voice.  He still sat on the closed toilet lid, his shoulders slumped and his head tilted forward, but his voice transmitted barely-contained rage.  For the first time Tess wondered if his silence had less to do with shock and more to do with the urge to cause her bodily harm.

   The thought was too much for her fragile peace of mind.  Walking backwards so that she could keep Sands in her vision, Tess backed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.  Once in the bigger room, she paused, unsure whether she should stay and try to make amends, or if she should do as her commonsense was demanding and run for her life.

   "I don't hear you running, señorita."

   Tess quickly left the room, refusing in this last moment to give him the satisfaction of hearing her flee.

Sands remained in the cramped bathroom for several minutes after Tess left him.  His head was pounding so severely that his entire body echoed with the throbs.  He was hanging to control by a thread, slowly convincing himself that he couldn't simply kill people for being stupid.  Stupid and arrogant?  Yes.  Stupid and clumsy?  Sure.  Stupid and treacherous?  Absolutely.  But Tess was none of those qualifiers – she was merely stupid.  Or perhaps stupid and too compassionate for her own good.

   Then again, maybe she's just trying to justify moving you to another location for her profit – trying to keep you from becoming suspicious over a sudden road trip.  You have only her word that she didn't meet up the with cartel last night.  Perhaps she did and now she's been instructed to take the nosy, incompetent, blind American elsewhere.

   No.  Sands refused to give into his paranoiac nature.  It was better to think things through than to blindly believe what the darker, more cynical part of his mind tried to tell him.  That doesn't fit in with any of her previous actions.  The cartels would be just as happy with a dead body as with an injured, breathing, interfering bastard.  It'd save them the time and hassle of killing me.  No, she's not the type to betray anyone.  If she told me about her 'friend' and his miracle procedure, it was with good intentions.

   Yeah, well, the road to hell is lined with good intentions.

   I'm already in hell.

   Then why are you so upset over the possibility that she might be telling the truth?

   Sands had no answer for that.  He didn't know why he was upset.  Just that he was.  God, my head hurts.  That settled it.  This was no time for introspection – that could wait until his head stopped feeling as if it were a ball being used for the NBA playoffs.  A draft blew through the room, raising goose bumps on his arms and chest.  Right, getting dressed might be a good idea.  Truthfully, now that he thought about it, he wanted to change his clothes.  He was afraid that if he stayed in this same pair of boxers any longer, they'd graft themselves onto his skin and he'd never be rid of them.

   Making his way out of the bathroom, leaning on the wall as he went, he tried to remember where he'd heard Tess set down his suitcase earlier in the day.  She hadn't been in the room for long, and he hadn't felt like letting her know that he was awake.  It had been too much of an effort to talk at the time.  Besides, it was a longstanding habit of his to gather more information than he shared anyway.  So he had laid in her bed and listened as she had set down a case, just as he had listened as she muttered to herself about what she should do.  It had seemed as if she was leery of waking him, but wanted to find out more about him – or at least that what he had understood from her one-sided conversation of muttered Spanish.  Someone has been living by themselves for a little too long, he had thought to himself, knowing that if she tried to pry into his business he'd have to speak up or something.  But in the end, la niña had let him and his belongings be.  "But where was she standing?"  Memories weren't much good if one couldn't learn anything from them.

   After much deliberation, Sands decided that Tess had placed his stuff somewhere at the foot of the bed, most likely against the wall so that it wouldn't be underfoot.  So, when he found the medium sized case some five feet away from the bed, he wasn't really surprised.  For a moment he wondered if it was such a good idea to bend over or kneel down, but it had to be risked.  He might let that female help him walk, eat, wash, and even sleep, but he'd be damned if he couldn't manage to get himself dressed.

   Carefully and laboriously, Sands managed to find and dress himself in a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt.  He briefly pondered the possibility of also donning a pair of shorts, but dismissed the idea.  His head was spinning, his legs were shaking, and it was too hot anyway.  What is this? he briefly wondered.  I thought it was November around here – not the fucking Forth of July.  Getting back to the bed, he settled into the pillows that Tess had piled up to keep his head elevated.  He hated the how it was necessary for him to spend long periods of time in indefensible unconsciousness, but knew that without sleep it would take longer for his body to heal.  And healed was what he was going to have to be before he decided where and do next.

Tessa spent the rest of her day tending to the children.  For a short time after leaving Sands and changing Lena, she had tried to dig some of the bullets from the driver's side back door of her car; it was a pointless exercise.  All she could tell was that whatever gun had fired the bullets had been incredibly powerful and the shooters had been elevated.  The bullets had gone right through the car door, through the seat and, as far as she could tell, through the car itself.  But she might be wrong; the bullets could be lodged in the chassis.  Tess supposed she should be glad that none had hit the gas tank, but she was too irritated at her lack of information to care.  When people were shooting at her, she generally like to know what organization they were from and why they wanted her dead.

   The bullets she had found in the alley hadn't been much help either.  They were typical of what she would expect to find after a military coup: cheap, numerous, and able to be loaded into more than one weapon.  So what?  That leaves Marquez' army, half the police force, and anyone on the street that can afford a rifle.  Nothing.  It was around four o'clock when she had decided this with bitterness. Once again, Teresa Adame, brilliant student yet all-around disappointment has collected useless items in her search for knowledge.  René was asleep on her left side and Alma was leaning on her right while Lena slept on a blanket on the floor and Marcos read a Hardy Boys book in English.  Tess had stopped her self flagellation in order to admire the boy for his persistence.  Yesterday he had come here seeking refuge, and today he was continuing on in his quest to learn English.  She ought to be ashamed of herself for sitting here on her bum in self-pity.

   "Señora Tessa?"

   Tess had turned her head to look at the girl.  "Yes, Alma?"

   "I'm bored."

   And desperate for distraction if the look in her eyes is any indication.  The poor kid was trying to be strong like her older brother, but the death of her parents had hit her hard, as was to be expected.  Tess knew that sometimes there were things just too horrible to think about until time had passed, and was willing to keep the girl busy for as long as she had activities to offer.  "Want to bake some cookies with me?"  The hottest part of the day was over, the temperature falling promptly with the coming of night.  They wouldn't get heat exhaustion if they turned on the stove now, and there were few things that comforted like cookies fresh out of the oven.

   Alma had immediately agreed with the suggestion, and the next hour saw them spilling flour and cutting out cookie dough figures.  Tess would have encouraged the snatching of cookie dough if they were in America – where food quality standards were a bit higher –  but didn't quite trust food that hadn't been thoroughly cooked here.  The last thing she needed was for her or one of the children to get e.coli. 

   Five o'clock came and went and when dinner time rolled around and the macaroni and cheese she had picked up was ready, she looked around for the other kids.  Alma had been devotedly helping her prepare the meal.  Selena was in the corner playing with some cheap plastic blocks that Tess had bought at the store.  René was busy eating cookies and coloring with the markers she had gotten him.  But she couldn't seem to find Marcos.  After checking the living room and the porch, she decided to check the bedroom that he was sharing with his siblings.  As she walked down the hall, Tess heard voices coming from her bedroom.  Unless 'Giovanni' is talking to himself, I'd say it's a safe bet that Marcos isn't in the other bedroom.  Just to make sure, Tess did poke her head in, but the room was empty.

   Carefully making sure that she walked as silently as she could, Tess approached the open door to her bedroom.  Peeking her head around the corner, she saw that Marcos was sitting on the stool she had left by the bed, leaning against the bed, while her patient apparently listened.  She stayed standing still for several minutes, listening as Marcos slowly and studiously made his way through several sentences, his English understandable but accented.  Eventually, he hit a word that puzzled him.  Watching his face carefully, Tess smiled as he made a face and silently tried to sound out the word.

   "Señor?  What does b-o-r-o-u-g-h spell?"

   To Tessa's amazement, Sands replied in a voice that was only mildly caustic, and if she had to bet, she'd say the harshness was caused by pain, not by irritation caused by his young visitor.

   "But what is a . . . a borough?  Is it a donkey?"

   Tess smiled again, glad that Marcos had caught onto the similar sounding words.  He was a smart boy, and she would be happy to see that he got the education he needed.  One way or another, she would see he and his family provided for.  That's something I need to give some serious thought to.

   "You can come out of hiding, niña."  Tess brought her attention back to the room's occupants to find Marcos watching her and Sands laying calmly, reclining against the pillows she had scrounged from around the house and lazily smoking a cigarette, his fingers holding the small roll of tobacco gracefully.

   She shuffled her feet nervously, embarrassed to be caught observing the pair.  "Marcos, go wash up.  Dinner's ready."

   The boy got up to comply, glancing back at his chosen friend before looking back at her.  From the look on his face, she'd have to guess that Alma had been spreading tales.  Knowing that he probably didn't like the thought of having his two adult friends at odds, Tess smiled reassuringly, and tilted her head towards the bathroom connected to her room, giving him permission to use it.  He nodded, set his book down on the nightstand, and went to do as he was bid.  Tess simply stood where she was in the doorway and waited for him.

   "What's wrong niña?  Afraid I'm corrupting your young charge?"

   Tess swallowed, unsure of what she was supposed to say – so she fell back on habit.  "In every American there is an air of innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning."

   The corner of Sands' mouth twitched as if he were amused before he replied, "And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ; and seem a saint, when most I play the devil." 

   "Señor?"  Tess sounded confused.

   "Shakespeare."  He thought he was finally starting to understand Tess; whenever she was at a loss for what to say, or was nervous, or surprised, she resorted to quotes to either cover what she was really thinking or express it in a way that she couldn't.  The odd tidbits of literature seemed to help her bring order to her thoughts.  Now the question was, why did she need so much help?  What motivated her massive amounts of memorization?

   "That's not what I wanted to know, señor.  I was wondering if you would like to get up for a bit.  Laying in bed all day will make your wounds stiff and your muscles weak.  If it doesn't hurt too much, I think that it would be a good idea for you to get up and walk around for a few minutes."

   Marcos emerged from the bathroom just in time to hear this suggestion.  His face lit up and he eagerly said, "Sí, señor.  Come join us for dinner."

   Ok, that's not quite what I had in mind . . . Tess thought as Marcos went over to the bed and took the man's hand.  As she watched, she assumed that Sands would refuse – that he might lash out with that acid tongue of his – but he didn't.  He allowed Marcos to pull him up out of the bed, and even allowed the boy to guide him out of the room.

   Tessa followed them from the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen, all the while trying to understand what she was seeing.  It was almost as if there was too much cognitive dissonance in what she was seeing for her mind to grasp it.  Why would such a hard man treat a boy he barely knew with this amount of mildness?  What was the relationship that spurred the gentleness between the two?  Marcos had a good heart; that explained why he had befriended this companionless man. 

   But what's "Giovanni's" reason?  Exploitation?  That didn't make sense.  If Sands just wanted to use the boy for what he could do for him, then he would be ignoring Marcos by now because Tess could do more for the man than the boy could.  Pity?  Again, Tess had to discard the idea.  If what Marcos told her was true – and if she could believe the evidence of her own eyes – this strange relationship had been forged moments after the cartel had let their toy go.  Sands had no reason to pity the boy then.  But now that Marcos' parents were dead?  What if the bond was first encouraged by exploitation, due to "Giovanni's" blindness, and then . . . and then . . . .  Why am I worrying about this now?

   . . . jealous . . .  The thought was weak but understandable, which didn't bother Tess.  Danger came when the voice threatened to take over her will and common sense.

   That's ridiculous.  What have I to be jealous about?  No.  It's just that the better I understand him, the better I'll be able to help him.  The voice was silent, as if reserving judgment for a time when it had collected more evidence against her.

Dinner had been tense, and Tess knew that it was her fault.  Faced with the enigma that was her patient, she had become withdrawn and consumed with fighting misplaced irritation.  The day had started badly and from all indications, it was going to end on the same note.  But they had all gotten through the meal without injury and the children had dispersed to entertain themselves.  Well, Lena had fallen asleep and been put down for the night, but the two older children had involved René in a card game that made no sense to Tessa, but they seemed to be enjoying it.

   I'm glad that someone in this house is having fun, she thought wearily as she walked by her patient's side as he made his second loop around the small house.  At least I know why physical therapy never appealed to me.  It was boring and semi-degrading to follow a man who ignored her existence around her own house.  The only time she had even offered any help was in the first five or ten minutes when his muscles had been so stiff that they kept locking up on him.  Now, although he might be moving slowly, it was with a certain amount of grace.  And silence.

   "Okay, I think that's about enough for tonight," Tess said as she observed that his steps were growing a bit more uncertain.  "When we get back to the hallway, let's go back to the bedroom."

   "So eager, chiquita.  All I can ask is that you be gentle with me – I'm wounded."  Sands heard the woman at his side breath deeply, as if she were trying to absorb patience along with the air.  "Impatient?"

   "Yes, but not because you're driving me out of my mind with lust."

   "Pity.  What is driving you out of your mind?"

   "Nothing you need to be concerned with."  Tess laid a hand on her patient's shoulder blade to guide him around a pile of toys in the hallway.  "Now, I want you on the bed where I can check on those stitches."

   Sands complied, holding in a breath of relief as he was able to take his weight off his legs.  For the last few feet there, he had been unsure of whether or not he'd be able to actually make it to the bed.  He'd love to despise himself for the lack of strength, but he knew that bullet wounds were painful and extremely slow to heal. He was lucky that he had stayed on his feet for as long as he had.  In another couple of days I should be ready to leave, he thought as he felt Tess carefully remove the cotton she had kept wrapped around his limbs for the past two days.

   Leave?  Where do you have to go?

   I haven't figured that part out yet.

   "Nice shirt."

   "What?"

   "Your shirt.  It says, 'Sayings on t-shirts suck.'"  He felt cool fingers folding his sleeve back.  "So, I'm guessing that you were able to find your suitcase."

   "Umm . . ." Her touch was distracting.  It was too light.  He understood that she didn't want to hurt him, but having her fingers feather over his skin like that was almost disturbing – it brought back the mental image of her as a woman instead of a nonentity that he was currently residing with.  Sands didn't like being forced to see people instead of puzzles.  People had rights – puzzles only existed to be manipulated.

Tess wondered what was running through her patient's head, but didn't spend too much time worrying about it.  Right now she was more focused on the call she was going to get in a few hours.  This morning she had told Logan that she didn't have much time to talk, but the truth was that she had wanted to discuss her idea with 'Giovanni' before talking more with her friend.  So far she had failed miserably in that department. 

   "I think we'll leave the bandages off tonight.  Allow them to get some air."  The holes in her patient's legs were healing well, and the one in his arm was losing the signs of infection that had plagued it earlier.  Tess gave a prayer of thanks that the antibiotics had worked so well.

   "You're the doctor."  To her surprise, there was no sting to the comment, which made Tessa suspect that she was being patronized.

   "I want to take one last look at . . . at your other wounds before we call it a night."  Sands didn't reply, so she assumed that he didn't object too strongly.  She knew he didn't like the idea by the way he set his shoulders, but she didn't have any other choice.  She needed more information, and at the moment the only way for her to get it was by observation.

   Gently, she unwrapped the cotton gauze from around his head, making sure that his hair stayed out of his face.  If a simple brush of her fingers, if the air itself, still caused him pain, she didn't want the strands to get inside and wreak havoc on his nervous system.  She turned on the bedside lamp for a bit more light during her covert inspection.

   "What was that for?"  Sands had heard the small click of a light being switched on.  It was bad enough the woman kept insisting on baring the permanent badges of his failure without having to shine a spotlight on them.

   "I need more light if I'm to tell if all is healing properly, señor."  Please go along with it.  You may not want to believe it, but there may be hope.  Don't slam the lid to Pandora's box shut before it can escape.  Whether he heard her mental cries or not, Sands made no more protests as she tilted his head towards the lamp.  "I'm going to conduct a little bit of an examination, señor, so please try not to move."  Gently, almost not daring breathe, Tess reached out and ran a light finger over Sands' cheekbone.  He flinched.  "Almost done with this part," she breathed, next running her finger around the bony edge of his eye socket, moving the tip of one finger counter clockwise over his lower temple and up over his brow.  She could hear his breath hitch in his throat and could see his white-knuckled hands gripping the sides of the bed.  There shouldn't be this much pain if the procedure had been carried out correctly, which means that old Guevara missed something.  But is it enough for Logan to work with?  "Ok, done with that part."

   She could see his face, could see the unasked, That part?  Tess knew he'd rather have her wrap him back up and risk the possibility of infection rather than have her spend more time looking into the gory holes that had once held the mirrors to his soul, but it was necessary to confirm her suspicions.  Guevara had been so incredibly sloppy – probably due to time constraints – and while this was causing more pain than necessary, it might also be a barely credible gift.  There, she thought as she looked into the pits, where his optic nerve would have connected to the eye . . . .

   "So doc, in your professional opinion, if the eyes are indeed the windows of the soul, does a man without eyes still possess a soul?"  Sands could tell the question had caught her off-guard when the hand on the side of his face twitched.  "Of course, now we're assuming that I had a soul to begin with."

   "Don't say things like that."  Tessa's voice was surprisingly fierce – almost protective.

   What have I done to make her feel protective of me? he wondered bewilderingly.  "Rile your feathers, did I?"  No answer.  He had asked the idle question merely to take his mind off of the pain that Tessa's little examination was causing, but now he found himself oddly captivated by the topic.  "But this is a serious question.  I mean, without a soul, someone might as well be dead, right?  Or does losing your soul mean you can no longer die?"  He didn't think he could bare an eternity of darkness.

   There was more silence for several minutes, the quality of which made him think that Tess was gathering her thoughts.  Sands thought she would respond, little angel of death that she was, and he wasn't disappointed when she slowly replied, "I've met people without souls, señor."  Her hands left his face as her voice became quiet with contemplation and echoes of private horror.  "Barillo, Ajedrez, Guevara . . . others like them . . . people with no respect for life or guilt for what they do to the living.  When I think of someone as being soulless, I think of them, of the qualities they had: power, influence, tempting figures, persuasive and convicting words, great talent – and all used to the wrong ends.  Gifts twisted and made perverse by greed, corruption, and arrogance."  She let out a breathy laugh, "I knew Celia, Ajedrez' mother.  She was a sweet, gentle woman.  Too gentle for the family she married into. It's the memory of her that makes me sometimes wonder if it was entirely Ajedrez' fault that she ended up the way she did.  Perhaps she had no choice; perhaps the child of a monster has but half of a soul, and that half a soul isn't enough to save anyone.  I wonder if blood and heredity can overwhelm free will and compassion.  And almost every time I come to the conclusion that it can.  But at other times I decide that you can only lose your soul if you stop fighting to keep it."

   Sands hadn't expected this to become a philosophical discussion, but at least it was giving him some insight into the woman.  "If you're right about that, then it's just as well that I lost my eyes – they had nothing to show."

   "NO."  Again, the vehemence in Tessa's voice gave Sands something to think about.  "That pack of jackals that raised me . . . they were soulless, caring only for themselves.  You may think yourself damned, but at least you still care."

   "Ah, now that's where you're wrong, niña.  I don't care."  He had no idea why he was keeping this conversation going, but he was.  Resignedly, he blamed it on the drugs she was giving him; surely this conversation couldn't be an actual search for validation.

   That's right . . . why should you care?  Just go settle somewhere in the US and be the perverse blind guy who tries to grope women as they help you cross the street.

   And that's what you call a purpose in life?  That's just really sad.  Sands realized that his thoughts were going uninterrupted.  "Niña?"

   "Yes.  Sorry.  I'm done.  Just let me rewrap your . . . your . . ."  Her voice trailed off and as Sands waited for her to finish, he felt his eyes being covered in cotton once again.  "I'll be out of your hair in a moment, señor."  She was giving up?  For some strange reason, Sands felt cheated.  It had been a long time since he had found someone willing to debate with him things that other people never thought about.  "There.  I'm done.  If you need me . . . if the pain gets too bad, I'll be in the living room.  Just call for me."  And with that she was gone, and Sands was alone.

-Ring-  Tess supposed she ought to answer her cell phone.  -Ring-  The problem was that she didn't want to.  ­-Ring-  She had spent the last hour or so crying; the last few days had been long and full of suffering for those she knew.  -Ring-  Marcos and his siblings had lost their parents, her patient had lost his eyes and given up not only on hope but on himself as well, the voice in her head was struggling to feed off the chaos around her and take over . . . .  And she was contemplating something incredibly stupid.  -Ring-  But mostly her tears had been for the man in her bedroom – for all that he was suffering because of her family, because of her.  -Ring-  "Hey."  While she had muffled most of her sobs into a pillow, she hadn't tried to contain them.  She had allowed herself to sob herself hoarse so that she could move past the pity and grief.  Those weren't constructive emotions.

   "I didn't think you were going to answer."  The harshness of her voice mush have finally registered, because he asked, "Tessa?  Is something wrong?"  Logan's voice was full of surprise at hearing her sound as if she had been crying.  The woman he knew never cried.

   "Yeah," she whispered, feeling tears threaten again at the concern in his voice.

   "Are you . . ."  How sweet; he was trying to find a tactful way to ask if she were going mad.

   "No.  I've just had a lot to deal with lately."

   "Anything you want to tell me about?"

   "It's nothing that can't wait until I see you."

   "You're coming up to LA?"  The excitement in his voice was undeniable.

   "Yeah, I think I may have a candidate for you.  I just need to convince him of that."

   "How'd you find him?"

   "That's another story that will have to wait.  Tell me more about this technique you've perfected."

Sands stood in the shadows near the entrance to the living room.  He'd been standing there for quite some time now – longer than he cared to admit.  Long enough to hear sobs of despair coming from the couch.  At first he'd thought that one of the children had been having nightmares and had emerged for comforting, but when he'd heard a distinct lack of soothing words, he realized that it was la chiquita on the couch sobbing her guts out.  For a time he wondered just what she had to cry over, and he'd been about to leave when the cell phone had started to ring.  Deciding that information could be learned here, he had kept his place silently, making sure to lean against the wall so he wouldn't tire himself out too quickly.

   What he overheard was a one-sided medical conversation, full of phrases and questions never heard outside a surgical bay.  From what he could gather, though, his hostess was trying to learn as much about her contact's procedure as she could.  She kept asking question after question, and after about an half an hour she seemed to have heard enough.

   " . . . What?  Oh.  No, I can't tell you how my patient lost his sight.  If he wants to tell you, that's for him to do, not me.  I can tell you what I've observed though . . . . Why not?  Because it violates almost every rule in the medical profession, that's why . . . . No . . . . would you just listen to me?  From what I've seen, almost all his nerves are still intact, even part of the optic nerve is exposed . . . . Yeah . . . . Yeah . . . . That's what I thought you were trying to tell me.  So this drug of yours would first stimulate . . . umm . . . regeneration of the optic nerve and the you'd use the other to help keep the muscles from atrophying.  And then once . . . ."  Sands had heard enough.  He cleared his throat and the conversation stopped.  "Just a moment, Logan."

Tess swallowed as she wondered just how long 'Giovanni' had been standing in the shadows of the doorway.  The man moves so silently, she thought to herself as she fought to make out his form in the gloom.  Earlier Tess had left the lights out because she had felt the slow uncurling of another headache – now she wished she had turned them on to avoid something like this.  "Did you need something, señor, or was I being too loud?"  Too loud?  I could barely hear me.  There's no way I woke him up.

   Sands ignored the inquiry, walking into the room and stopping in front of her.  Still saying nothing, he held out one hand.  He wanted the phone. 

   For a moment Tess did nothing more than look up at him from her position on the couch.  She supposed that she should have found his posture and foreboding silence intimidating, but she didn't.  The tense feeling in the air that accompanied him when he was upset was missing.  Slowly, hoping that she wasn't doing something incredibly stupid, Tess handed her cell over to him.

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Quotes: "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll; A.E. Houseman; Insert Title of Play Here­ by Shakespeare.

Author's Thanks: first, shout out to my regulars – Miss Becky (who ff.n ate her last review ^_^ ), Merrie (who needs to update soon!), Blank, kinkyfrodo, fiondra (thanks for the quotes!), and Ashley my beloved beta (who doesn't really need to review, but does anyway).  Love you all.

Secondly, many yells of welcome and appreciation to new reviewers Scarlett Burns (go read her fic!), Logical Philosophy (I love that name!), Lunatic (who wrote such a nice review), Kim (who made me laugh), and Aurelis (who also made me laugh.  I wish more people reviewed because they had run out of chapters.).  Gods, I love you all.  ; )

A/N 2: Looking for a fic to read between my long updates?  Well, I just made a deal with my friend Sarah (rythmteck) that I'd promo her fic if she did the same for me, even if she does spell her name wrong.  ; )  Anyway, she writes PotC fanfic, if any of you are interested in that.  Our writing styles are REALLY similar (see my bio), so if you're enjoying reading this fic, you should like hers too.  She's got two – 'Inconvenient' (finished) and 'Caught by the Past' (in progress).

ALSO if anyone has quotes they want to send me that they think I might be able to use, please, please, please E-MAIL them to me at see_captain_jack_run@hotmail.com (see my profile).  I'd really like offbeat quotes, or even some genuine Johnny Depp quotes.  That would be cool.  No matter what the topic, I will probably find a spot to use them sooner or later.  Thanks all.

Sara