Disclaimer: Still don't own Human Target. Still waiting for those reviews folks...

Author's note: Don't really know where I'm going with this, I'm just enjoying writing Junior and Guerrero together. Hmm, there might be slash ahead. Any objections?

Guerrero drifted off into a chemically induced sleep soon after Junior tended to the wounds on his wrists. Junior listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed down to a barely audible snore and smiled at the reassuring familiarity of the sound. Guerrero always swore blind that he didn't snore and the sound was so muted that Junior could almost have let him get away with insisting that he was a silent sleeper, if it weren't for the fact that Guerrero always complained that Junior snored like an out-board motor whenever they had to share a room.

Junior sat in the chair beside Guerrero's bed and watched him sleep for a while, trying to focus on the fact that he'd found him and he was alive, whilst trying to avoid dwelling on the possibility that his friend's sight could be irreparably damaged. Guerrero was a lot of things to Junior; a comrade, a friend, a brother, but he hadn't realised quite how much he relied on him until he'd gone MIA on a job that the Old Man had refused to discuss.

He'd tried to get Joubert to tell him where he'd sent Guerrero and what his mission entailed but he always shrugged and told him that he'd be back when the job was done. Junior had pushed the issue as far as he dared, even refusing to accept assignments until he heard from Guerrero, but the Old Man still refused to give him even the slightest hint as to where he was or what he was doing. Guerrero had worked plenty of jobs on his own before but Joubert had never been so tight lipped about when he'd return and something about the situation just didn't sit right. He'd never actually worried about Guerrero's wellbeing before, and usually the very idea would be laughable, but the cold hard knot in Junior's stomach told him he had something very real to worry about and he decided to take matters in to his own hands.

But he'd found him though and, with Kelly's help, he'd got him out of that hellhole. He tried to ignore the nightmarish images that his mind seemed determined to torment him with of what Guerrero might have been though . He was too damn tired to think about why Joubert had just abandoned one of his most valuable men in a foreign jail. That was something he'd have to figure out after he'd caught up on some of the sleep he'd missed out on since Guerrero's disappearance, and when Guerrero was awake and alert enough to tell him what exactly the mysterious job that landed him in jail actually was.

Junior's eyes grew heavy and he was dimly aware that really he should crawl into his bed in the next room and finally get a decent night's sleep but he hated the idea of Guerrero waking up alone and not being able to see that he was safe in Junior's apartment and not still locked up. Also he found the sound of Guerrero softly snoring strangely comforting and eventually the familiar noise lulled him to sleep, slumped on the chair beside Guerrero's bed.

Junior woke with a start when something large and soft hit him hard in the face. He was reaching for his gun before he realised that the missile was merely a pillow that Guerrero had thrown from the bed.

"Dude, I'm blind not deaf. You couldn't fuck off to your own room and let me get some sleep?"

Junior rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch.

"If you've only just woken up, you've been out cold for the last nine hours," Junior said. He was genuinely surprised. That would mean he'd got at least six hours of sleep himself, which did at least explain the crick in his neck from falling asleep with his head at an odd angle.

"Well at least that quack did something right," Guerrero said begrudgingly. "He gave me the good stuff. I haven't slept like that in a while."

"How are you feeling?"

"Hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"So why ask?"

"Guerrero, you know that's not what I meant. The doc said you had four broken fingers and a couple of cracked ribs as well as… you know…the thing with your eyes."

"I'm pretty sure my ribs are only bruised," Guerrero sighed, as he resigned himself to the fact that Junior was likely to insist on a full rundown of his injuries. "The fingers of my left hand could be broken but unless that quack had x-ray vision I can't be sure of that. They don't feel too bad."

"I think the doc would have strapped them up for you if you hadn't have hit him."

Guerrero shrugged.

"What about your eyes?"

Guerrero was still lying down with the wash cloth covering his eyes. Junior saw him tense up in response to his question and wondered if Guerrero had even tried removing the cloth to see what kind of shape his eyes were in.

"Don't know," he muttered eventually.

"How do they feel?"

"Sore. Like my eyeballs have been rolled in a mixture of sand and hot sauce."

"Let me see."

Junior gently lifted the wash cloth from Guerrero's face making him take a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were still closed and Junior realised that he was reacting to light, which he took to be a good sign.

"Can you open your eyes?"

"They're kind of crusty," Guerrero complained and reached up as if to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Junior grabbed his wrist to prevent him rubbing his eyes.

"Hang on. That's probably not a good idea."

Guerrero grunted and dropped his hand. Moments later he heard the sound of Junior breaking the safety seal on some kind of jar or bottle.

"Okay, this is probably going to feel a bit weird but try and hold still."

He felt the bed dip as Junior sat down beside him and a slight change in the light burning through his aching eyelids warned him a split second before a cold liquid was carefully dripped over his eyes. Then he felt Junior carefully swab the line of his eyelashes with a q tip and carefully remove the dried crustiness that seems to be gluing his eyes shut. He worked slowly and gently, almost too gently as Guerrero had to fight the urge to shove him out of the way and just do it himself.

"Dude, can you hurry it up? That tickles."

Junior didn't reply but Guerrero suspected he was smiling. Apparently satisfied with clearing away the crud from Guerrero's left eye, he began to work on the right. Guerrero sighed impatiently but he knew Junior wouldn't be rushed.

Finally Junior soaked the corner of the washcloth in whatever solution he'd been using and gently wiped around Guerrero's eyes.

"You done?" Guerrero asked, sounding a bit more ungrateful than he'd intended.

"Think so."

Guerrero slowly peeled his eyes open and although the hot sauce and sand feeling was still there so too, apparently, was his vision. The first thing he saw was the blurred image of Junior's face.

"Well, I don't think I'm gonna need a white cane just yet," Guerrero said. "But it may be a while before I can wear contact lenses again."

Junior breathed a loud sigh of relief.

"You're lucky you weren't wearing your lens when they threw that shit in your face. It could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah, well if I had the damn lenses at the time they might not have gotten the drop on me but there's only so long you can wear contacts in that heat without saline solution."

"Well you're gonna have to wear glasses for a while at least. You've got to give your eyes a chance to recover."