Sands knew the keypad of his cell phone (multiple cell phones, really) by heart, so there was no need for him to bother grace for help…he was far more than thankful for that.  He dialed his boss' home number and waited.

"Hello?"

"Why, hello there, Mr. 'we're too busy to bother with the guy who had his eyes ripped from his head.'  How are you doing this evening?"

Harold chuckled.  "I was wondering when you'd get around to annoying me, Sands.  How's the baby-sitter?"

"Not well, Harry."

"Sick of you already?"

Sands couldn't help but smile to himself, though he chose not to say a word about his time with Grace.  "She had a visitor tonight that I didn't care for."

Harold sighed.  "Did you shoot him?"

"Not enough time to find my guns."

"But you would have?"

            "In a heartbeat – he fucking hit her.  So…I hit him back – damn good for a blind guy too.  He said I should've heard of him though."

            "Oh?"

            "Yeah, then Gracie – Grace – said something about rumors of the mob.  Look him up would you?"

            "Does he have a name?" Harold asked.

            "Michael Crivelli."

            "Cri…"  Harold started to speak when Sands heard muffled sobs come from Grace's room.

            "I have to go.  Call me when you know something."

            "Sands…"  The line went dead.

Quickly and carefully making his way to Grace's room, Sands wondered what was wrong.  He walked through the open threshold.  "Gracie?"  No answer other than soft sobs.  "Gracie, what's wrong?"  Still nothing.  He felt his way to the bed.  "Gracie?"  I couldn't have done anything.  He sat on the edge of her bed.  "Gr…"  Sleeping.  She's sleeping you moron…  He ran his hand gently along her face; it was moist with tears.  Life was easier when I didn't care.  Grace was on her side, so Sands began to rub her back.  "Gracie, wake up." 

Grace's eyes jolted open.  As soon as she saw Sands, she sat up and clung to him, her breathing rapid.  "Jeffrey…"

"Hope you weren't dreaming about me," he said, smiling.  "Unless you were crying due to mind blowing euphoria."

"Michael," she said.  "Not a dream – a nightmare."

"I'm having him checked out, Gracie.  You don't need to worry about him while I'm here, all right?"

Grace pulled back and looked at Sands.  His glasses were off and his eyelids open.  "Did you rush back here when you heard me?"  Sands nodded.  "Like you pretty much said you never would?"

He smiled again.  "Whoops."

Grace brushed his hair away from his face and kissed him – that's when he realized that his glasses were in the other room.  He pulled back and looked away.

"Sorry, I…"

"Jeffrey, it's O.K."

"How can it not bother you?  It's imposs…"

Grace smiled as she interrupted him.  "It doesn't define you…and you're really good in bed, the shower, the…"

Sands laughed.  "I could marry you," he blurted.  He quickly added, "If I were that type."

"Oh?  Just because your 'condition' doesn't freak me…"

"No, but it's not important since I'm not that type."

Grace rolled her eyes.  "You keep saying you aren't things or won't do things, but then you turn around and…"

"What's important, sugarbutt, is that you don't let Michael the fuckmook upset you when you're trying to sleep."

"Stay?" she asked, nuzzling into his chest.

            He sighed.  "I'm expecting a phone call."  He wrapped his arms around her.  "Christ, why can't I tell you 'no?'"

            "Because," she yawned, "I'm good in bed too."

            That should be the reason why, but it's not.  His cell phone in his pocket, he decided that there was no harm in staying with her.  He got comfortable on her bed and she snuggled into him.  He chuckled as he heard a sigh of contentment pass her lips.  "Comfy?"

            "Like you wouldn't believe."  There was a sharp intake of breath.  "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

            "Mm hm.  Wanna know something?"

            "Always."

            "Me too."

Author's Note:  Short, fluffy little chapter I know…but better than nothing, right?