5th August, early morning

And now she burst out laughing fully, though she quickly covered her mouth and tried to repress the laughter that might wake the rest of the house. When she had recovered herself, she said "Maybe you could not speak at all. And always stay silent."

Christ, she was beautiful.

"Silencioso?" he laughed, "Aye, I think I can manage that." He shoved one of the orange wedges in his mouth and nodded. "Silencioso."

She nodded back, grinning, and put another piece of her own orange into her mouth.  "Just always have food in your mouth when you talk," she added in an orange-muffled mumble of laughter.

He had no idea what she was saying but he almost choked on the orange laughing. Maybe that was the trick. He put another piece of fruit in his mouth and tried repeating several Spanish words. "Better?"

"Much better," she mumbled, laughing.

Paol grinned and bent his attention over the plate, finishing the last few wedges of orange, but the fruit was no sooner gone when there was the sound of footsteps above them. He stilled, the mirth slowly draining from his face. The old woman. He hadn't even given a thought to the consequences for Manuela for their brief bit of nonsense should they be discovered.

Putting the piece of bread into his left hand, he pushed to his feet. Everything felt heavy and clumsy as if he was wearing an overfull pack. The feeling was familiar enough, he only noticed it so sharply now because for that brief while he'd forgotten how tired he was. Even the now constant throbbing in his arm had seemed less noticeable.

"I should go," he told her, picking up the bucket of water from the floor where he'd left it.

She was a little disappointed, but he was right. It was sensible that he should leave before her aunt saw them behaving like children together, or interacting amiably at all. So she nodded and rose from the table to start making the coffee. "Later, then," was her brief farewell with a smile.

"Gracias." The word was woefully inadequate, but hoped she understood, at least a little.

He moved quietly in his bare feet, but he could not make himself invisible and there was no avoiding the old woman at the top of the stairs. He could feel her eyes on him all the way up, though he never raised his head to meet her gaze, only mumbling a quiet, "Señora, as he passed her.

Once back inside their little room, he set down the bucket and sank to the ground before the door. He could not tell if Charcot or Bright were awake, but he kept quiet all the same. He needed to think.