Disclaimer: A dream is a wish your heart makes. Unfortunately, the only place I own Sands is in my dreams.

A/N: I hope you all had a lovely Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza/Yuletide. It is because of the holiday season that it's taken me two weeks to update. When you're home for the first time in a month, your parents don't like to share you w/ the computer. Apologies.

After consuming most of the contents of the brandy bottle, Sands felt his way back to bed and was able to drift into something vaguely resembling sleep. Just as he'd reached a somewhat soothing REM cycle, a sharp rap on his door jerked him into wakefulness.

"Cheerio and good morning," Adele said, swinging his door open. Sands groaned. Not only is she a sarcastic, irritating little wench…she's a morning person. Just my freaking luck. Groaning, he rolled over so as not to…face her? It wasn't as if he could see her, but it got the point across, all the same. Of course, Adele was equally eager to get her point across.

This was accomplished by the swift removal of his blankets. Sands let out an epithet that would have curled a sailor's ears and felt around blindly (no pun intended) for the warmth so rudely stolen from him.

"Get up, Agent Sands," Adele said tersely, "or I shall have to employ the ice bucket."

"I didn't hear an ice bucket," Sands muttered to his pillow.

"That doesn't mean that I'm incapable of obtaining one." Adele's voice held a note of sincerity. Sands sat up and started to grind his palms into his eyes, then reconsidered. Swinging his legs over the bed, he felt the pain of his bullet wounds return full force. He valiantly held back a grunt as he unfolded himself from the bed and stretched luxuriantly. Adele sniffed.

"What's wrong, sugarbutt, am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked with a slight smirk. Adele considered the sudden warmth in her cheeks and responded accordingly.

"Not at all, Agent Sands. In fact, you make me very comfortable, indeed. Would you like some help getting dressed?"

Sands opened his mouth for a sarcastic retort and stopped. True, all the things she'd pulled for him yesterday were black (at least according to her) but there was little chance that all of the apparel in the dresser was the same color. Chances were, he'd need her help so as not to look like a fruit salad. After all, most men preferred variety in their clothing. Like cheap wigs and bad touristy T-shirts. Sands smirked.

"I'd be much obliged, Adele," he said huskily, and took a step toward her voice.

"I'm not one to turn down a chap in distress," Adele replied in kind and slid past him, brushing shoulders with him. Her hair was long enough to caress his skin; he shuddered at the ticklish sensation. The scrape of drawers being opened echoed softly, followed by the light rustle of cloth.

"Red, today, I think," Adele murmured. "Dark red; to compliment your skin tone."

"You sound like one of those sales girls that flatter men into buying overpriced clothes."

"Hmm. Never thought you'd guess my former profession," Adele said dryly, handing him a shirt and a pair of jeans. "Now, socks and…a light jacket…" Drawers slid shut with a click and hanger hooks screeched across the rod in the closet. Sands finished dressing, squirming uncomfortably in the shirt. Somehow, it just didn't fit right.

"Brown," Adele muttered as she turned. "Something neutral to-" Her words were cut off by a sudden bark of laughter. Sands scowled, knowing it had something to do with him.

"What?" he snapped, still tugging at the weird shirt. Adele approached him, giggling, and brushed his hands away from the fabric.

"You've buttoned your shirt very…oddly," she informed him. He'd skipped at least two buttons at the collar, and missed one other on the way down. Adele grinned as she undid Sands' handiwork. He's still a crack shot, even blind, but he can't dress alone! The smile faded a bit. It must be difficult, she reflected. Even humiliating.

Sands, meanwhile, was doing all he could to keep his breathing steady. He was torn between being angry that she had to help him, and being flustered that she was this close. From the first, his flirtatious baiting had been returned with a zeal he hadn't expected. He wasn't certain if her reactions were instinctual or something more. I hate figuring out women, he thought acerbically.

Adele finished her task and arranged the shoulder seams carefully.

"Much better. There's a jacket and socks on the bed, then. I trust you can handle those on your own?" Her tone was lightly teasing. Sands smiled without humor.

"Yeah."

"All right. Shoes next to the door, breakfast in the kitchen. I'll leave you be."

Air pressure shifted as the woman turned to leave; Sands reached out a hand, his fingers just brushing her back.

"Adele…" he said softly. Hair brushed against his fingers as her head turned.

"Yes?"

"Thanks." The word was clipped, a whisper almost lost as the agent cleared his throat. The hair caressed his wrist as she nodded.

"You're welcome."

Adele slid twin plates of eggs onto the table, listening for Sands' approach. It wasn't difficult to judge; she guessed that his painkillers had worn off by the suppressed grunts and stiff movement. She placed a napkin with two small, blue pills on it next to his orange juice.

Moments later, the agent entered the kitchen, his face rather taut. He sat with some difficulty and felt around for his silverware.

"Painkiller's to the right of the orange juice," Adele remarked. Sands grasped the pills and swallowed them dry. Silence reigned until they began to take effect; then the real Agent Sands returned.

"So, a stray Brit and an eyeless American flying out of Mexico…not suspicious at all," he said dryly. "How do you expect to get out of this country without 'havin' a hurtin'' put on us?"

"Simple," a box clacked against the table, followed by the clink of something metallic. Sands fiddled the box open and touched its contents. Glass eyes? He felt for the metallic object…a ring…

"Oh, no! Not a chance this side of the river Styx, sugarbutt! No way am I traveling as anybody's husband…"

"I'd love to hear if you have a better suggestion," Adele snapped, "but I don't think they'd buy us as brother and sister; your accent would give us away."

"My accent…"

"Besides! They're looking for an eyeless American traveling alone, not a blind man and his bride! It's not as if we have to sleep together, or anything."

Sands smiled smugly. "That's not the part I was worried about, kitten. It's just that I'm not the marrying type."

"All the more reason for you to don the disguise," Adele urged. "At least put in the eyes."

"Fine." Sands reached for the box and touched the glass sphere. Rolling it around in his fingers, he realized there was no way to tell the front from the back...a man with no pupils; wouldn't that be a shocker?

"Adele," he muttered, "little help."

And, once again she was uncomfortably close, touching him with those firmly gentle hands. In an attempt to distract himself, a thought occurred to him.

"These little facsimiles are the same color, aren't they?"

"Of course," Adele answered, easing the second ball carefully past the bone, "they're a rather lovely blue, actually."

"I'd prefer brown," Sands muttered.

"Why? So that everyone will know for certain that you're completely full of-"

"That's no way to talk to your hubby, sweetheart," Sands cut in. Adele grinned and dropped the cool circle into his palm.

"I knew you'd warm up to me," she said smugly, and sauntered out of the room. (He could hear her sauntering; lousy Brit.)

Nostrils flared, Sands muttered to himself, "That's my line, too."