Sands wearily entered his apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him. He’d just returned from his sixth DLSC. The acronym was mercifully better than the full title; Disabled Living Skills Class.

It was degrading to him, to need such a class. Yet he saw no way out of it. He had to take the classes if he was to have any hope of staying on at the Company and what was worse, he found that the classes did help him to live better on his own. He was finishing his second week, and already he’d learned some useful skills.

Still, it didn’t help Sands’ mood any. He craved revenge. Not revenge against the cartel, that had already been done, but revenge against the traitor within his own agency. The agency that had been his miserable life for over 10 years. Yet here he was, going to these classes because… because why?

He disgusted himself.

Sands threw his coat and cane down in a corner of the entryway and made his way into the kitchen, feeling an intense need to shoot something.

Opening the cabinet that contained the tequila, Sands poured himself a rather large measure of the liquor, then opened the fridge and fished in the fruit drawer for a lime. Unfortunately the fruit drawer was empty and Sands found himself and his friend El Tequila lime-less.

Sands downed the drink quickly and set the glass down heavily on the counter, refusing himself another shot of the drink. He walked into the living room running a hand through his hair, but he felt too antsy to sit down.

Sands desperately needed to do something, to stop thinking.

Suddenly he got an idea, and he smiled at the thought.

Reaching into his pocket he got out his cell phone. It wasn’t his old companion - that still seemed to be MIA - but he supposed it would have to do.

Cam had only visited once since their little encounter two weeks ago. During the visit Cam had entered his number into Sands’ cell, setting it as speed dial three, much to Sands’ dismay.

After dialing Cam’s number on speed dial he waited as the phone rang. Cam picked it up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Quid agis, medice?"

"Huh? Wh… Sands?" Cam asked, sounding caught off guard and a little shocked that Sands had called.

"The one. The only."

"Is everything alright?"

"Groovy. Except I seem to be developing a possibly fatal case of itchy trigger finger and seriously need to shoot some lead into some shit. So, I thought before I go next door and shoot one of my neighbors, I’d give you a jingle and see if you were up for it."

"Are you offering to shoot me instead?"

"Hmm, tempting, tempting," Sands said as if contemplating the idea, amused, but showing little sign of it in his voice. "Are you offering?"

Cam was silent, obviously trying to think of something to say. Sands snorted and continued. "I didn’t think so… well since my human target doesn’t seem to be willing, what do you say we go down to the range? You can paste a picture of Officer Lake’s head on my target. It’ll be better than a visit to the shrink."

Cam laughed, and was relieved to hear Sands sounding more like himself… even if it was just because he was happy about the prospect of shooting something, it was refreshing to hear.

It was Sands.

The nurse at the hospital, Crystal had been keeping a sharp eye on Sands when he came in for his physical therapy and check-ups and had told Cam that Sands had seemed even more detached than normal (which was saying something) and that it could be a sign that he was depressed. The news certainly wasn’t surprising considering Sands’ situation.

Actually, what was more surprising to Cam was that Sands hadn’t completely lost his mind. He certainly hadn’t had a firm base as it was, and a lesser man would have given in by now. Briefly Cam wondered what he’d be like if the same happened to him… he didn’t think about it too long.

"Sounds like a plan. I’ve just finished up some paperwork… I can probably make it over there in about forty-five. Sound good?" Cam asked him, thinking that perhaps Sands was finally starting to warm up to another human being.

"Peachy," was the quick reply, as Sands hung up the phone and smiled at the thought of feeling the power of an automatic in his hand again. It had been far too long.

The thought that perhaps he was beginning to develop a less-than-hostile relationship with another officer never even crossed Sands’ mind.

---

Sands had just finished changing when his phone rang; not his cell, but his home phone. He stiffened slightly, as very few people ever called him, especially on his home phone.

"Ah shit." Sands swore under his breath as he walked over to the phone, damning the fact that he could no longer read his caller ID.

"Yeah?" he answered in a bored tone, as if he was already tired of a conversation that hadn’t even started yet.

"Officer Sands?" The voice on the other end asked, all business.

"The one and only," Sands stated before thinking, ‘deja vu.’

"This is Officer Douglas…"

"I’m calling to inform you about the progress of the investigation."

"Oh well, glad to hear you all stopped farting around. There may be hope for OOS yet," Sands commented sarcastically. "So, have you found out who cluster-fucked the operation?"

"Perhaps… Officer Sands. I regret to inform you that you’ve been suspended indefinitely, pending an investigation into your actions during your operation in Culiacan, Mexico."

Sands whole body froze, his breathing stopped, his grip on the phone becoming so tight his knuckles turned white, as he forced himself to answer and maintain his ever-bored drawl.

"Just for my own edification, why the sudden shift in suspicion? Last I talked to you, you seemed to agree that Martin was the rat."

"We found your phone Officer Sands," Douglas answered, then paused, waiting for a reaction from Sands.

‘If they found the phone, then shouldn’t they be delivering this call to Martin?’ Sands thought, suddenly confused.

Douglas continued in the face of Sands’ silence. "There are no recorded phone calls to your superior, Officer Martin, in your cell phone, nor is his number in your recent calls archive. There is no record of you ever calling your superior, Sands."

Sands opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say and no sound came out.

"You are free to continue your DLSC and physical therapy at OMS while we investigate further. However, you are suspended from any type of active duty and you will be arrested if you attempt to leave the state. For the time being, consider yourself a civilian. We will notify you further at a later date."

With that Douglas hung up, not even waiting for a reply and Sands just stood motionless as the dial tone buzzed in his ear and into his brain like a swarm of hornets. His temples pounded as his phantom eyes began throb with pain. Over and over his mind raced in circles.

‘I made those calls. I made those calls. I did make those calls…’

Sands’ breathing became quicker as his sense of reality began to crumble. Still he held the phone to his ear, the sound of the dial tone the only reminder that he was standing in his apartment at this moment… alive and in the US… just stripped of his title by a one-minute phone call from a weasel of a man who’d sat in a cozy office all his life and didn’t give a shit. 
A sorry-you-wasted-eleven-years-of-your-life-with-the-Company-and-
got-your-eyes-ripped-out-but-tough-shit-and-guess-what-we-don’t-give-a-damn courtesy call that took away the last thing he had left in his miserable existence.

Sands began to feel dizzy, the pain in his temples and the thoughts in his mind affecting his equilibrium in ways he didn’t know were possible. His thoughts became fogged over, confused, as his breathing quickened and his head spun out of control. Suddenly he didn’t know which way was up or down, left or right, front or back. His eyes burned, mere phantoms to torture him.

Then there was more fog, and the ground seemed to tilt.

And as ridiculous as the thought was, Sands tried to open his eyes.

He let out a strangled sound as an arm snapped out in reflex, groping for anything within reach. Yet his fingertips hit nothing but air, and Sands staggered hard to the right, finally dropping the phone from his iron grasp. It fell to the floor as the dial-tone turned to a beep.

The sockets of what were once his eyes pounded mercilessly and the pain echoed in his skull.

Sands staggered again, reaching out with the other arm for something to hold on to. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Just black surrounded by deeper black.

Sands right hand reached down to his side for his gun at the sound of that voice, but again, there was nothing there. The movement was enough to cause him to lose his balance and he felt his still recovering left leg give way, then the right.

"I am Sheldon Jeffery Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency" Sands muttered, trying to keep a grip on his slipping hold on reality. As his knees hit the carpet that same black was eaten away by the deeper black and he quickly slipped out of consciousness as his body hit the ground.

~*~

Quid agis, medice? - What’s up, Doc?