Jean poked Murdock in the shoulder and gestured for him to be quiet and look into the living room. He did and almost laughed at what he saw; Faceman had gotten settled down in a rocking chair and had about fallen asleep, with both arms tucked into the bib of his overalls.

"You know," she murmured to him, "I think he's more at home like this than he's willing to admit."

"Could be," Murdock quietly replied.

He noticed a slight tremor run through Jean's shoulders and saw her clasp her arms against herself. "What's the matter, you cold?"

"It's 84 degrees in here, who can be cold?" she asked, "Even the food's going to melt soon…"

Murdock followed her gaze up to the high ceiling and looked at the lights hanging up there.

"There's something about this old house, I don't like it," Jean said.

Murdock pointed over to a far window to indicate the neighbors across the way.

"Not just that," she shook her head, "I don't know what…but I just don't like it."

Jean took off her glasses, closed her eyes and pinched the corners of them as her fingers bypassed the bridge of her nose completely.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Just tired," she answered, "I'm going to go up to my room and lay down for a while."

"Okay."

He watched her go to the hall and slowly climb up the stairs, then he turned and realized she'd left one of her books in the living room. He started to call up after her but decided against it, if she was going to sleep she wouldn't need it anyway. So for the meantime he sat down in an old wingback chair and started to read it himself.

Too damn hot, that's what it was, Jean decided as she reached the top of the stairs. It seemed nearly impossible to get any kind of air flowing through this house, least of all that any difference could be noticed. Why couldn't Hannibal make friends with somebody who had a working air conditioner? She went into the bathroom, stripped down, picked up a pitcher that had been left on the sink's counter, stepped into the bathtub, turned on the cold water, filled up the pitcher and poured it over herself, and repeated a couple of times to cool down. Then she got redressed, headed into her own room and laid down on the already warm bedspread and pillows. Never did Jean ever think that she could possibly miss the cold weather of New York, but she was starting to wonder if it might be worth going back in the fall to get out of this heat.

Hannibal was right about one thing if nothing else; here in this room, in this part of the house, the dark glasses could come off and she could roam freely, no need to remember that she was supposed to be a blind woman here of all places. She couldn't explain it, but she would be very happy when this job was over and they could go home and could leave this house. Of course she hadn't said anything about it to Hannibal because he'd think she was even crazier than she already was, as usual, Murdock was the only one she could confide in; but there were times when she was sure even he thought she was losing her mind.

There had been another reason she'd cut out from the others downstairs, but she wasn't about to tell any of them that. There was no change of weather predicted, no upcoming storm, no Human Barometer act, just a typical migraine that she knew would only go away if she slept through the rest of the afternoon. Not something she was about to admit to the others, not even to Murdock, she'd managed to swallow a couple of pills when nobody was looking but even that wouldn't do much good if she stayed awake. After a while, Jean managed to fall asleep in the hot room with the warm breeze blowing in through the window, and aside from breathing and the occasional turning over in her sleep, she didn't move a muscle for several hours.

Murdock had not known that something was wrong with Jean, nothing any worse than just simple fatigue anyway. After about an hour he went upstairs to check on her when he noticed how eerily quiet the house had become. He tiptoed down to Jean's room at the end of the hall and noticed the door was ajar, he poked his head in to take a look and saw she was out cold; immediately he stepped back quietly to make sure she didn't wake up, but at the same time, he got an idea. He could barely contain his amused grin as the idea hit him, and as quietly as was possible, he tiptoed back down the stairs taking them 2-3 at a time so he could get to work on his plan.

Jean slept clear through the afternoon and couldn't be awakened even for dinner. Hannibal decided it was best to just let her sleep since he'd seen her go through bouts like this before; so the others left her alone for the night and kept about their own business downstairs. They'd spent the day on the ground floor watching their new neighbors and making sure their neighbors hadn't been watching them too much in return.

When night came, things started to cool down slightly, the breeze coming in through the open windows included. By now, Jean had come out of her dead sleep, and though she was still more asleep than awake, she could hear the wind blowing the shades and the blinds back and forth against the windows. Another thing that she noticed was that her back was sore from sleeping on her stomach all afternoon so she rolled over in her sleep and let out a contented sigh when she felt the mattress press against her back.

Absentmindedly she raised a hand enough to feel over her head, and apparently was pleased that her migraine was gone finally, all the same she was in no rush to get up; without even opening her eyes she knew it was night, and no doubt late at that. If she could get through the remainder of the night without having to see the others or explain what had happened, so much the better.

If she'd fallen back into a deep sleep or not, she didn't know, all she did know was that after a while, she saw, or thought she did, maybe it was only part of a dream, a light, a dim light off somewhere, as if it was just out of her reach. After a while, a familiar scent started to fill her nostrils, melting wax, burnt wick, candles, that's what was making the light, but where were they? She felt herself start to roll over onto her side but she didn't have it in her to complete the move so she flopped onto her back again and was content to just stay in that position until her body was willing to move further.

Another scent soon followed…this one smelled more like roses…was the wind blowing it in from the outside? But Jean couldn't remember if there were roses growing out there or not…and if not, then where…?

A sound got her attention this time, a small breath…there was someone in the room with her. Ordinarily this would be the point where she would shoot up in the bed looking around but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.

She'd heard no footsteps but the next thing she was aware of was a hot breath on her skin as she heard someone talk in a hissing tone, then she realized that it was thick with an accent, possibly German, and then actually sounded like whoever was in the room with her was speaking German. This was definitely one of the weirder dreams she could remember having.

Then a hand reached out from somewhere and touched her, and she about jumped out of her skin. The fingers were spread out wide from each other and she felt the whole thing grip her shoulder firmly, then felt a thumb pressing against her neck, not enough to squeeze the cider out of her Adam's apple, but enough for her to take notice and know that this was no dream, this was really happening.

"Ah," she heard this time clearly in English, "What a lovely throat…" she felt the hot breath on her stronger now as the hiss continued, "Soft…delicate…nice and pale…"

Even without looking Jean could feel a set of teeth drawing closer to her neck, her eyes flew open and she saw the figure standing over her.

Hannibal had been pacing around the living room checking his watch against Hector's grandfather clock to determine which was closer to the right time when he and Face heard a scream from up on the second floor. They both instinctively looked to the ceiling, and then ran for the stairs.

"Jean?" Hannibal called as they raced up, wondering what had happened, had the people next door managed to get the drop on them?

B.A. had been out on the front porch when they heard the screams and he came tearing in the front door and up the stairs behind them.

The three men came busting into Jean's bedroom at practically the same time and initially there was too much confusion for anybody to know what was going on. Then when everyone calmed down they were able to assess the situation before them. The lights had been thrown on haphazardly, the bedside lamp had been knocked over and the shade had rolled across the floor, the pillows from the bed were strewn over the sides, Jean was on her feet and standing next to Murdock who had shed his cap and jacket somewhere and was wrapped up in what looked like a set of black drapes from one of the windows, and he had his head hunched down as he had a set of blood soaked fingers curled over his nose.

"What happened in here?" Hannibal demanded to know in his typical unfazed tone.

"Professor Van Helsing's got nothing on me," Jean said somewhat proudly as she folded her arms against her chest and nodded towards Murdock, "Didn't even need to break out the holy water or the garlic for this oversized mosquito."

"Oh great," Face groaned, "We're getting into that weird section between them again."

B.A. snorted and replied, "That's every minute of the crazy fool's life."

Hannibal turned his attention to the Captain with the bloody nose and asked, "Well, Murdock?"

As best as he could Murdock tried to look coy about the whole thing and said sheepishly, "Aw gee, Colonel, I was just trying for a little love bite," and clicked his teeth together a couple times as if to emphasize his point.

Hannibal shook his head but it was obvious for everyone to see the smirk on his face as he struggled not to laugh. He managed to win that battle as he, in the best commanding voice he could muster, said, "Murdock?"

"Yes Colonel?"

"Didn't I tell you to stay in your own room tonight?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes, Colonel," Murdock replied, a little wind let out of his sail.

"And did you do that?" Hannibal asked.

Murdock looked down and replied, "No, Colonel."

Hannibal shook his head again and asked, "What are we going to do with you, Murdock?"

"How about sending him back to the booboo hatch one way?" B.A. suggested.

"Come on, Murdock," Hannibal said as he went over to the pilot, "Let me take a look."

Hannibal blocked the others' view so they couldn't see what was happening but the sounds the two men made as Hannibal examined Murdock's nose were nothing short of humorous. Jean elbowed Face and murmured to him, "Sounds like the time my dad tried to fix the vacuum cleaner."

That statement took him by surprise and he couldn't resist getting a small snicker out at Murdock's expense.

"You got lucky, Murdock, nothing's broken," Hannibal told him.

"I know," was his nasal response.

"Come on," Hannibal put a hand on his arm and guided him to the door, "Let's get you cleaned up."

"D'okay," Murdock replied as he resumed pinching the bridge of his nose.

Once they had left the room, Jean fell back in a chair and brought her hands up to her face as she started to laugh uncontrollably.

"Are you alright, Jean?" Face asked, still trying to make some sense out of this whole mess, if that was at all possible.

Jean leaned back in the chair and cackled like a chicken, it took her a few tries to be able to speak coherently.

"Yeah," she was finally able to reply, "I'm fine," before she burst into a fit of laughter again.

Face looked to B.A. who stood by the door and just shook his head, and he told Face, "We gotta get outta here soon, Face, can't take being enclosed with all that fool's crazy, it's gonna get contagious in here."

Face chuckled to himself as he followed B.A. out the door, leaving Jean alone. She got up and set the lamp and the pillows back into place, and went over to the dresser and blew out the candles that Murdock had lit earlier, and it was there that she found a single, long stem rose set out beside the candles. She lifted it up by a place where there weren't any thorns and looked at it; it didn't look like any that grew on the bushes outside, the shape was too bulbous like a professional florist's, wild roses grew out here in a flatter widespread shape like a saucer. She didn't know where it came from, but it did give her an idea.

Hannibal had helped Murdock get cleaned up and change out of his shirt that was covered in blood, that was going straight to the laundry room, and into his pajamas, and also unwrapped him from the drapes he'd stolen from the dining room, and then, though Murdock insisted he could do it himself, Hannibal took the liberty of tucking Murdock in bed, emphasizing, "Nice and tight so you stay in your own bed tonight."

"Yes, Hannibal," Murdock murmured.

Hannibal smiled down at him, he pressed a hand on the pilot's head and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, "Goodnight, Murdock."

"Goodnight, Hannibal," Murdock replied as he turned on his side.

Hannibal left the room and shut off the light, and closed the door behind him, Murdock pulled the covers up to his nose and fell asleep twisted on his side, his breathing muffled and heavy against the plaid blanket.

Murdock felt himself linger somewhere between total unconsciousness and semi-consciousness, he didn't know if he'd actually fallen asleep but he became aware of something touching him. He felt a hand stroking over his head and through his hair, over, and over, and over, when it hit him that he wasn't dreaming he opened his eyes and started to sit up, asking, "Who, what…wha…"

His answer was somebody pushing him back down and a whispered, "Shhhh…"

He opened his eyes wider and let them adapt to the darkness, and he saw Jean hovering over him with a sly smile on her face.

"What're you doing here?" he whispered.

"I've come for you, Count Duncula," Jean said as she poked him in the chest.

"Oof…if Hannibal catches you in here…"

"He won't come in here," Jean told him, "Not if you be quiet." He realized she was on her knees and leaning back on her heels on the bed, she looked down at him and said, "You really had it all planned out, didn't you?"

Murdock shrugged tiredly, "Can you blame me for trying?"

"Maybe not, but you forgot something," Jean told him and pulled out the rose and laid it down against his chest, "You remember the significance of this?"

Murdock threw his head back against the pillows and weakly thrashed back and forth, hissing, "I'm paralyzed, I cannot rise up from my coffin, hhhhsssss!'

"Just the way I want you," Jean said with a smirk, and slowly lowered herself against him, rolling the rose up towards his neck.

Murdock continued to weakly thrash and hiss as slowly he felt her full weight come down against him, and then she kissed him.

Hannibal opened the glass door to the face of the grandfather clock, pushed the minute hand ahead five minutes and made it midnight on the clock to match his watch, and closed it again. The clock struck the hour and he heard somebody coming down the stairs, it was Jean. She entered the living room and met his eyes, offered no explanation for what had happened that day, said only, "Sorry…"

Apparently he understood what she was apologizing for and said in response, "It's alright, kid."

"Where're the others?" Jean asked as she looked around and realized they were alone.

"B.A.'s out patrolling the grounds, Face is in bed," Hannibal told her.

"So," Jean said as she made her way over to a chair and sat down, "What do you make of the neighbors?"

"The Bakewells?" Hannibal shook his head, "I don't anticipate them being much of a problem, an annoyance if nothing else."

"They must've been more than just an annoyance to drive your friend away from here," Jean said as she propped her feet up on the coffee table and picked up a book to read.

"Hector's sharp as a brass tack, but one old man can only do so much against a whole houseful of drunks," Hannibal explained.

Jean cocked her head to the side against her shoulder and closed her eyes momentarily, but she opened them again and turned to Hannibal and said, "You thought…when you heard Murdock scream you all came running up, you thought they'd gotten into my room?"

"What I know, Jean, is that you are prone to having a lot of bad things happen to you," Hannibal said, "We heard someone screaming…"

"And you thought it was me," she said.

He didn't answer, said only, "Whoever was screaming, we had to know what happened."

"And now Face thinks we have an even weirder sex life than we already do," Jean said.

"I wasn't aware you had any," Hannibal commented.

"We don't," Jean told him, "That makes it even worse."

Hannibal chuckled and Jean just tilted her head down, closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

"This family knows too much about each other's private lives," she told him.

"Or maybe not enough," Hannibal remarked.

Jean gawked at him and said bluntly, "You're a sick man, Hannibal, you know that, don't you?"

"So I've been told more than once," he said.

The next morning, Hannibal found himself the last one into the kitchen and saw Jean was the last one still seated at the table. She already had her dark glasses on again but turned to see him as she said, "Rather boring last night, wasn't it?"

Hannibal sounded sure of himself as he went over to the fridge, "They think they're lulling us into a false sense of security, because nothing happened last night they think we think that nothing's going to happen tonight." He turned around and noticed Jean's plate was still full and asked, "What's the matter, aren't you hungry?"

Jean tilted the plate up so he could see it was full of scrambled eggs and she told him, "I hate eggs."

"What's wrong with them?" Hannibal asked as he went over to the table.

"Too many whites," Jean said, "If I taste an egg white, I'll throw up."

"Hmmm," Hannibal looked at the eggs that were evenly speckled yellow and white, and asked, "Who cooked these?"

"Face," she answered.

Hannibal chuckled under his breath and said, "That ought to get him a slap as sure as anything…I'll make us both some new ones."

"I told you, I hate eggs," Jean said.

"Bah," Hannibal replied, "You don't know what's good, the trick is to whip them and get them cooking before the yolks and whites can separate."

"And where did you learn how to cook? By your own admission your mother didn't know how," Jean said.

"Believe it or not you manage when you're living on your own and it becomes necessary," Hannibal told her. As he turned on the burner and poured some bacon grease into the frying pan, he asked her, "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Alright I suppose," she answered, "But I kept having a weird dream…you know that guy Renfield in Dracula?"

"Only too well," Hannibal replied.

"I swear I could hear him laughing all night," Jean shook her head.

"Hmm, maybe the movie was playing last night."

"Hannibal," Jean reminded him, "There's no TV upstairs…come to think of it, I'm not sure there's a TV in this whole house."

"Ah…well…" that certainly complicated things a bit.

"No TV, no neighbors, no connection to the outside world," Jean commented, "This must be what it's like to grow up in Montana." The slight smile dropped from her blank face as she deadpanned, "I'd shoot myself."

Hannibal just chuckled to himself as he cooked. Once the eggs were halfway cooked, he chopped them into pieces with a spatula, then turned them a few more times before dishing them up on two plates.

"Alright, try this," he said as he handed one to her.

Jean covered them with salt before taking a bite, and she looked surprised.

"I told you they were good," Hannibal told her.

"Okay, so you can cook," Jean said sarcastically, "But do you do windows?"

Hannibal chuckled but otherwise evaded the question. He took out a new cigar, bit off the tip and lit it, and as he did he looked across the table at her and observed in a somewhat condescending tone, "You look lousy, doll."

And she felt like it. She knew she didn't have any bags under her eyes but she felt like she did, and felt like the whole world could see them. She pressed her hand against one eye and stretched the lid out and commented, "Just slept hard," before letting her eyelid snap back into place.

"Hmm," Hannibal held his cigar in one hand and with the other reached over and felt her forehead, apparently that didn't satisfy him so he stood up from his chair, leaned over and kissed her on her forehead and commented, "Little warm but I don't think it's a fever."

Jean pushed her chair back and looked at him like he was nuts, "You make a habit of kissing people when they're sick?"

"Just the pretty ones," he joked.

"Oh boy Face must take his vitamins round the clock," Jean murmured, "I suppose I go back to playing the helpless blind woman again today?"

"Yes," Hannibal answered without missing a beat.

Jean took her glasses off and looked at them and said with a huff, "Oh well, could be worse I suppose, could be I wouldn't even have to act for it." She gave the glasses another onceover and said under her breath, "World champion blind lady at your service."

They both heard a sudden and unidentifiable noise that made them jump in their chairs, then they realized as the door swung open and the other three came in, that the noise was B.A. experiencing a bad case of hiccups.

"Geez you know how to scare a guy," Jean said, "Sounds like something exploding."

"Hey it ain't any better from this—HIC!" B.A. grabbed at his throat as another spasm hit.

Face shook his head, "Hannibal, he's been like this for 10 minutes, I don't know what we're going to do."

"What about drinking some water?" Hannibal suggested.

"Already tried that," Murdock said, "The big guy about drank the pump dry out back."

Hannibal tried again, "What about holding his breath?"

"Hannibal, have you ever seen a blue mudsucker?" Murdock asked.

"HIC! Well somebody better figure out something because I-HIC!" B.A.'s gold jangled as his whole chest shot up, rattling all his jewelry.

"Maybe we could try scaring him," Face suggested.

"Take him to the airport?" Murdock suggested.

"Hey Murdock, you try that and I'm gonna HIC!"

"I think we better try something we can do here instead," Face told Murdock.

Murdock scratched his head and thought for a minute, then snapped his fingers, "I've got it…I'm gonna try something I saw on MTV." He started to walk past B.A. and then without warning, fell to the floor screaming and writhing and started rolling around from side to side, exclaiming, "My brains exploded! My brains exploded!"

"HIC!"

Murdock got to his feet with a disappointed pout on his face and told Face, "It didn't work!"

"It didn't work on 'The Young Ones' either," Jean reminded him. She went over to Murdock and murmured into his ear, "I've got an idea, I'm going to try something."

"Well what is it?" Murdock asked.

"Can't tell you," she replied, "I have to do it because he's not going to kill me."

"Oh."

Jean went over to the knife rack over the stove, grabbed one of the barbecue forks with a set of particularly large prongs, came up behind B.A. and jabbed the fork into the back of his overalls. The next sound to come out of B.A.'s mouth was a scream none of them had heard since Murdock had to bite his hands.

"Murdock! What did you do you crazy fool!?" B.A. asked as he started chasing Murdock around the table, "I'll get you, Murdock!"

"I didn't do anything!" Murdock tried to tell him, and wound up diving behind the Colonel for protection, "Hannibal, help!"

"Outta my way, Hannibal," B.A. told him.

Hannibal stood his ground and remained calm as he explained, "Now just hold it, B.A., for one thing Murdock didn't do anything to you, that was Jean…and second of all…" he shrugged and pointed out, "Your hiccups are gone."

"Huh?" B.A. asked, and then realized what Hannibal meant, "Hey, you're right."

Murdock felt his legs and his spine turn to jelly and he slid to the floor behind Hannibal and collapsed in a nervous heap.

They spent the afternoon out on the front porch rocking back and forth, Murdock, back in his country bumpkin persona, hawed to himself mostly as he rocked back and forth while snapping a large bowl full of green beans for supper. Jean sat beside him in a rocker that was barely moving and even with her glasses on, they could tell she was staring straight ahead at something, or nothing. Face occupied the porch swing as he assumed the role of storyteller today as was decided by Murdock, and read through some passages of The Vampire.

"Jean," Murdock said through the corner of his mouth, "What's the matter with you?" He held his bowl out to show her and said, "I nearly got my whole bowl snapped and you ain't touched a single bean yet."

"That's fine with me," Jean said as she rocked back, "I hate green beans, always have. If I never have to look at another one in my life it'll be too soon." She looked out to the property next door and added, "Seems awful quiet today…where do you reckon everybody is?"

"Oh," Face looked up from the book, "Probably out biting heads off of chickens or picking up some road kill for dinner or whatever's the latest in Hillbilly Weekly."

Jean laid her head against her shoulder and closed her eyes behind her black shades, "Why's it always so hot here? Why don't some rain come in and cool everything off?"

Within a few minutes her head had rolled back against the back of the chair and she was dead to the world, now it was just the two of them. Face looked around at the vast nothingness around them, just ground and bushes and trees and sky, he didn't like it.

"Hey Murdock," he said lowly, and when the pilot turned to look at him he asked, "Is it possible to feel claustrophobic in wide open spaces?"

"Something on your mind, Faceman?" Murdock asked as he continued to snap beans.

"I don't know," Face was careful not to move his mouth too much as he said, "Just feels like for all we see, there's something out there watching us, and it can see us but we can't see it."

Murdock resumed his bizarre accent from the other day and repeated, "Enough shrubbery out there to hide a dozen assassins."

Face lightly nodded and remarked, "I'm starting to think you may not be wrong."

From behind the pitch black lenses of her glasses, Jean opened one eye halfway and gazed out at the property and had a look around for herself. But for all anyone and everyone else was concerned, she was dead to the world and completely unaware of anything that was going on, least of all this discussion that was taking place between the Lieutenant and the Captain. If Hannibal was right, and whatever was going to happen was to take place tonight, they were going to be ready for it. She listened to Murdock and Face talk among themselves for a while longer, than closed her eye and repositioned her head and really fell asleep, waited for her damn headache to pass.

95 degrees in the shade, 100 in the sun, 103 with the heat index, humidity a bare minimum of 80%. Jean felt sick, her stomach was turning like a rollercoaster, half of her was covered in sweat clear down to every pore in her scalp, the rest of her body was jabbed with a prickly heat. She never should've fallen asleep outside in the heat, she couldn't wait to get out of here and go home. She let the front screen door slam behind her and stopped in her tracks and covered her mouth as she felt her stomach do a particularly large flip. And leave it to that crazy ex-husband of hers that he could sit out there in the sun all afternoon and he was hardly even breaking a sweat, crazy indeed.

"Ha…" Jean waited for the acid to back out of her throat and make its way back to her stomach and tried again, "Hannibal?" No answer. The entire house was quiet as a tomb. She looked around and called again, "Hannibal?"

She knew that he hadn't gone anywhere, the car was parked in the driveway and she knew the van was still in the garage. Jean pulled off her glasses and went into the dining room; her eyes had adjusted too much to the darkness and she could hardly see inside, she reached along the wall and flipped the light switch on. Nothing. Jean looked up and saw the lights in the old ceiling fan; something up there was making a nerve wracking buzzing sound as the bulbs slowly came to life. They lit up, then grew dimmer, then lit up again, and about went out…and came on…and then went out.

Jean had heard about the electrical problems in the house but this just didn't gel with her. She looked up at those light bulbs as if she was expecting something else to occur, and when nothing did, she slowly picked up one foot and put it behind her, and took one step backwards, and another, and backed clear out of the dining room and into the kitchen, never taking her eyes off the bulbs.

On her last step she backed into somebody, the unmistakable feel of somebody's chest against her back, that unmistakable sound of two bodies bumping into each other, she let out a yelp and spun on her heel and saw it was only Face.

"Well," he said, "I guess even you can succumb to heat exhaustion, where's Murdock?"

"Still out there," Jean told him.

"Not still snapping green beans?" Face asked.

"No," Jean said as she stomped past him, "Now he's out crawling around in the grass looking for worms."

"Worms?" Face asked, "Even I know night crawlers don't come out in the daytime, especially when it doesn't rain."

Jean glanced out the window and absentmindedly remarked, "Get one good rain around here and Billy's gonna go nuts hearing them crawl around all night, even people can only take so much of that racket but dogs are the worst." She turned back to him and asked, "What's going on, Face? Where's Hannibal? Where's B.A.? Where the hell is everybody?"

"Well you got me," he told her, "Hannibal said he and B.A. were going to explore the back property and see if anybody's been out here recently, and they haven't been back yet. Before they left, he told me to stay here with you two."

"Well that's just great," Jean groaned. She went to the back door.

"Where're you going?" Face asked.

"You stay here with Murdock," she told him, "I'm going to go look for that nut you call a Colonel, I need to talk to him. And if I don't come back within an hour, then you two come looking."

"Aren't you forgetting something, Jean?" Face asked.

She turned to him and looked at him questioningly; without a word, Face pointed towards his eyes and Jean realized she'd forgotten her glasses. She went past him to the dining room and picked them up off the table.

"Aren't you forgetting something else?" Face asked her.

"I'm sure Billy's qualified as a seeing-eye dog," Jean said, "I'll be fine."

"Jean," Face pointed out, "An invisible dog can't be a seeing-eye dog." Then he realized what he was saying and he smacked himself.

"Are you kidding?" she turned back towards him, "What better candidate than a dog nobody else can see if I can't see either?" and with that, she was out the back door.

Face thought about it for a minute and conceded, "Well…she has a point…" he looked to the door and added, "I think."