After several miles of driving in the barren Mexican desert, Cameron heard Sands shift his weight slightly in the backseat, and the move prompted Cameron to try and get Sands to talk, hopefully a little more coherently this time around.

"Jeff, are you still with me back there?"

No reaction.

Cameron sighed and thought it best just to give up, but then an idea popped into his head. Cameron had to admit it was sort of an evil idea, something that would probably get him killed if Sands was his normal self, but he wasn’t… and if anything would get him to respond it would be that.

Cameron opened his mouth to say it, and then thought twice when one of Sands’ guns glinted in the sunlight. Sands might have been wounded, delirious and unconscious, but he was still Sands. Cameron, deciding it was better to be safe than dead, carefully reached back at the same time as he was attempting to steer, and began to divest Sands of his killing instruments. Slowly Cameron removed Sands’ guns from their holsters and placed them on the front seat, managing to somehow stay on the road during the process.

After the guns were safely out of Sands’ reach, he uttered the dreaded word.

"Sheldon?"

That did it.

Just as Cameron had anticipated, Sands’ hand went down to grab the most immediately available gun. It was more of a reflex than anything else, and Cam couldn’t help but let a small smile emerge when Sands started to mutter angrily under his breath. Cameron had known that if Sands was at all ‘with it’ he’d hear the name he absolutely detested and would immediately seek revenge on the one who had uttered it.

Sands could feel the sun on his face, the heat of its bright rays, yet nothing penetrated the darkness. ‘Except for the pain ripping through my skull… and, oh yeah, some asshole calling me Sheldon.’ That was something he couldn’t tolerate. If he was about to die, he’d be damned if they were going to be calling him Sheldon at his funeral. He’d instinctively reached down, only to find that he was weaponless.

‘Freaking out now,’ Sands thought to himself, as his body relaxed from loss of blood, without his permission, but not before he’d uttered a "Fuck off" for good measure.

"Are you still with me back there?" Cameron repeated, for want of something better to say.

And it was just like that. It struck Sands suddenly, where he’d heard that voice before.

Cam. His fellow student from the Farm.

A wave of dizziness washed over Sands as he took a deep, ragged breath and turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of Cameron’s voice. He attempted a snide snicker, and only half succeeded.

"So, Cam, did they send you in for a little Exfiltration Operation? About bloody fuckin’ time. Or did you just drop by for a tequila and lime?"

Cameron could tell by the sound of Sands’ voice that he was obviously in pain, but he was trying not to let it get in the way of good sarcasm. Cameron couldn’t help it when a small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as Sands seemed to return to his old, normal, bastard self. He had to admit that he occasionally liked the crazy SOB, for some reason that must have been equally as crazy as Sands himself.

"Yeah. I was told to meet you at the Flying Cow."

"Still trying to wrangle the Company Cowboy, eh Cam? I guess… some things really don’t change," Sands said, as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position, his legs and body at odds with each other.

"Just like old times, don’t you agree Jeff?" Cameron asked conversationally; the longer he could keep him conscious the better. He did remember that much from the Farm. ‘Keep them talking if you can, until you can get medical attention for them.’

"Mutatis mutandis."

Cam rolled his eyes, exasperated because Sands knew he couldn’t understand Latin, but always seemed to use it anyway. Yet another thing that hadn’t changed.

"Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. I’m not that far gone yet."

At his silence Sands continued, "Well gee, wonders never cease. Cam remembers something from Camp Swampy after all."

Cam rolled his eyes for the second time in a minute, not an unusual occurrence when one was around Sands.

"Jeff," Cam paused for a moment before asking the critical question "what the hell happened?"

Sands let out a short, sharp laugh, the kind that could send chills down someone’s spine. "Better to ask what didn’t happen; it would be a shorter answer." Sands laugh ended in a cough, the day’s events having taken their toll. "Shit. Forgot my own golden rule, the one commandment I swore I’d never break."

"It’s been thirteen years. You’ll have to refresh my memory."

With a visible effort, Sands propped his head up with his good arm as his head and body swayed heavily with the motion of the car.

"Still can’t remember? I guess in some insane way… that makes me feel better."

"You were muttering the number eleven. Is that what you meant?"

"You really weren’t payin’ attention, were you, Cam? I broke the eleventh fucking commandment," Sands protested angrily, then paused to see if Cameron got the message. He didn’t.

"Which is?" Cameron prodded.

Sands let out an odd, long, heavy breath before speaking. "Thou shalt not get caught."

The words hung in the air, neither one wanting to say anything more, and Sands let his head drop back down onto the backseat of the car. Cameron quickly got out his cell phone, and called Sands’ superior, Officer Martin, at Mexican Headquarters.

"Martin? I’ve seen Joe and he’s decided to visit. That’s right, and he’ll need a white coat and an escort to OMS as soon as possible. That’s correct. We’ll be there in 25." He hung up and looked back at Sands. He seemed to be breathing fine, but was obviously in a lot of pain. It did appear, however, that the bleeding from the bullet wounds had slowed down, which was small consolation.

"You were the Operation Controller, weren’t you?" he asked Sands.

Sands’ head made a slow up and down motion against the seat before he replied.

"Yeah… yeah, I was the controller."

Mutatis mutandis. - With the necessary changes.