Outside, the clouds were gathering, and the breeze was beginning to get stronger. The trees swayed with the wind, and the scent of the sea wafted in from the distant shore. There was a storm coming, and everyone in the village knew it. Whether today, or tomorrow it would come no one particularly cared.

Dr. Roberta Carter sighed as she walked back to her tent. It had been a long day at the makeshift clinic today. Even though the population of the village was small, it seemed every day that there was a new batch of problems that the people here came up with. Like it was some kind of competition or something.

Not just the normal ailments either, especially since this was Costa Rica. All sorts of exotic diseases appeared in these people, nothing like she'd trained for back in Chicago. She shook her head again as she passed her jeep parked in front of the tent. Hell no, it had been a long day and she was just too damned tired to think of anything else right now.

As a young med student just finishing up at County General, she'd had her choice of hospitals she'd wished to match to. However, the day-to day stress of the hospital had never really impressed itself upon her and she had quickly grown discontent and disillusioned. Instead Carter had opted to take a year off to Costa Rica for her first year as a licensed doctor. To say she hadn't been prepared for that was quite the understatement indeed.

But this wasn't Bahia Anasco, and this village was nowhere near the shore. Still being back in the country brought back some memories that she'd rather forget, that had never really left.

Opening the flap to her tent her first thought was maybe she still had a beer or two left in the case. Everything had to be flown in this damn village so it was hard to get a good drink without the exorbitant prices at the bar. Hell, everyone here probably owed that bar man favors at this point. Not Carter though, she'd been a professional long enough to know that owing something to other people was the worst idea possible.

However as she looked inside she swore. There was a man sitting on the chair right beside her cot, his hand wrapped in a tattered shirt. She'd told the locals again and again that she didn't make house calls unless it was serious. Hell, if it was serious there probably wasn't much she could do anyway…

"Listen," she said placing her pack on the cot. "It's getting late and I'm damn pissed so maybe you could get out-" She stopped as the light shone on the man's hand, and she could see it was covered in blood.

He turned to face her and Bobbie Carter instantly recognized him. He was that man that lived on the hill near the barn. The locals generally avoided talking to him, considering him somewhat of an outcast. She'd barely spoken to him in the month or two since she'd arrived here, barely seen his face.

In this light, Carter could tell that the man had once been heavyset, but had lost weight either due to fatigue or exhaustion. He was from a nearby village everybody said, had arrived here not five or six years ago.

She sat down on the cot, gestured for him to do the same. "Senor Torres," she said, for that was his name. Gandoca Torres, the strange man on the hill. "I can't help you unless you sit down."

The man sat down, and extended his arm to her. It was still wrapped up in the cloth, and Carter carefully began to unwind it. She had already turned on her electric lamp so that she could see well in this dim light.

The wound had not been cleaned very well, and it was only the fact that this man had thought to cover it up that it wasn't contaminated more. Still, Bobbie could easily see that the rags of the shirt were darkly stained and not just with blood. It smelled of something fetid, she couldn't quite place it. It smelled familiar, but not quite.

As Bobbie took each strip of cloth off, she looked at the man's face. Still, there was no emotion, even though she knew the wound must be very painful. This much blood… She shook her head, wondering if her field kit would be enough.

Probably not, she thought as the last strip fell to the floor. The light highlighted the full extent of the wound for the first time. There was a large gash across the back of his hand, blood-obscuring most of her view. However, she could see that some bone had been exposed, although thankfully it hadn't pierced it.

She bit her lower lip, knowing that action had to be taken quickly. Signaling to Torres to stay seated, she quickly took out the disinfectants and cloths from her pack. Setting them on the cot, she went to work cleaning up the wound. She was careful to only clean the area around the wound and not risk aggravating the wound itself.

Daubing the area with Gauze, she wondered how the man could stay so still. It was like this didn't even faze him. As the blood was wiped away, Carter frowned. Alongside the current wound she could see many scars on his hand, leading on to his upper arm. Some recent, but others looked as if they had been there a long time.

All of them bore the same signature pattern, of the wound.

As she carefully got the stitches ready, her mind was racing. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask him how he got these scars. But then again, if he barely spoke to the locals what were the chances he would talk to a white woman, a stranger in his country?

In the hospital she'd had her share of difficult patients. The residents just told her to listen to them, see what their problems really were. The hardest ones weren't the ones that would talk the loudest though; they were the ones who wouldn't talk at all.

Slowly she turned to look him in the eye as she threaded the first needle in. She could hear the rain pouring outside and the wind rustling through the trees. She could hear the sound of the approaching helicopter, once again coming in a stormy night. But this time it could wait, the more urgent matter was here and now.

The man did not even flinch as the needle drew in and out of his skin. Dr. Roberta Carter had not seen anything like it. Her need to know got the better of her. "Los Sa Raptor?" Didn't know why she'd said it, but it was a long shot. At the very least this didn't look like any tool accident she'd seen.

For the first time the man spoke, and in his eyes Roberta Carter saw exhaustion that was beyond his years. He was gaunt, now that she put her finger on it. "No, Senora." Torres shook his head emphatically. "Los Pajoros."

Carter was confused, she knew a little bit of Spanish but she didn't really see how that made sense. "Hupia?" She asked just taking another shot in the dark, although this was a very long one.

The man's jaw hardened, as if he was suddenly exasperated with her. "The birds," he said, speaking in English for the first time. "I was feeding the birds."

Well if that was the story he wanted to stick too…Roberta Carter took a deep breath and looked back down. The stitching was complete, a rough job but it would do for the moment. Taking a pair of scissors, she cut the loose thread and let go of the hand.

She knew that often patients would deny that anything was wrong with them. They usually had the option of calling in psychiatric consults for those, but this was out in the field. She met someone that didn't want to be helped, there wasn't all that much she could really do.

"All done," she said, reaching for the bandages and some more gauze. "Now I just need too…" She frowned again as she saw the man was gathering his rags again.

Before she could say or do anything he was standing up. "That's fine for right now Doctor," the line came harder to her ears then the tapping of the rain outside.

"Wait," she said ineffectually, "the wound might get infected or open up again-"

Torres held up a hand and shook his head. "I think I have it under control, thank you very much." Nodding to her once, he walked out of the tent and vanished into the night.

Carter lifted the flap again, wondering if she should go after him. Normally she would never let a patient walk out like that, but something told her not too. He was probably going back to his barn, or maybe the bar, which was where everybody in this village spent all their time anyway.

As she was wondering what to do, she felt the wind increase along the way. Against the night she could see the helicopter leaving, meaning it had already dropped off its passengers. It rapidly disappeared out of sight over the trees.

A familiar figure was running through the rain towards her, and she recognized it as Robert Muldoon. The 'Other American' in this place as she called him sometimes, he was almost as much of a recluse as Torres was.

However, he'd opened up to her a little during her stay, if only because she was the only American around for fifty miles. Carter didn't know how much of it was because he was just a lonely old man, if you could call fifty years that old. He was mostly full of the same sort of stories that were supposedly used to impress women younger then himself. Tales of living dangerously on the African plains and facing lions with a pocketknife….

But if you ignored that, he was rather harmless. She still didn't know why he felt he needed a fence around his house in an isolated village like this… Her thoughts were distracted by the realization of what he was saying.

Muldoon had reached the tent and she realized that he was just barely catching his breath. Even though the landing site had just been out across the way, it hadn't actually been that far. She waited a minute for him to regain his composure so he could tell her the news.

"People," Muldoon said, shaking his head and breathing heavily. "Research group. An older guy and a kid- forgot the kid's name." He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway they just arrived. Americans by the look of them. Thought maybe we should go to meet them together."

Bobbie slightly rolled her eyes at that last statement but she did admit her curiosity was piqued. "Okay, just a second." She ducked back inside and got her jacket, the one with the hood. Hurriedly putting it on, she went back out. "I'm ready," she said, walking down the way.

She could see the landing site now, two figures walking towards here. They were carrying backpacks and she could see that yes one was definitely older then the other.

In the clearing behind them there were several larger parcels, presumably their lab equipment. They would probably go back for them later after they found a spot. Carter shook her head; she didn't envy anyone trying to set up camp in this shit.

Their paths met and the two parties each slowed to a stop. Roberta Carter removed her hood, feeling the rain pouring down her head but she didn't care. What mattered was seeing the man.

"Dr. Roberta Carter," she said, extending her hand. "I'm a medical doctor, here for Doctors Without borders." She took a look at the man; he was closer to her age, maybe in mid-thirties. Hispanic with a trace of stubble about him.

Thunder boomed in the distance, as she froze in mid-sentence. The man wasn't looking at her though, but staring straight at Muldoon. The glint of recognition in his face.

The silence that followed was pronounced, broken only by the sound of the pouring rain. Bobbie's gaze shifted between the newcomers and Muldoon, unsure of what to say or do.

Muldoon broke the silence, reaching forward to clasp the other man's hand.

Shaking his hand vigorously, he smiled, pearly whites glowing against the dark.

"Marty Guitierrez you son-of-a-bitch." The words came terse and measured. "What the hell are you doing here?"