The day had managed to go from bad to worse, Ali realized in a split second when she heard the thud. She'd seen the man out of the corner of her eye but hadn't been paying attention, even though she'd been driving very slowly through the parking lot. She immediately put the car in park, turned off the ignition, grabbed the keys, and slowly got out of the car. With trepidation she approached the hunched over figure.

The thought initially struck her as she looked at him, that it was only a homeless man, but when she realized he was in obvious discomfort, compassion overwhelmed her. She moved to him, dropped to her knees, touching his shoulder.

He gave a start at her touch, and looked up at her, his eyes somewhat glazed over. The compassionate feeling dissipated as the realization struck that this man was most likely an addict.

"Are you OK?" She had no desire to deal with this at the moment. She just wanted to get home to her empty apartment and feel sorry for herself. And eat her probably melting ice cream. She didn't want to feel sorry for someone else, even if she was somewhat, all right, totally responsible, for what just happened. She looked around the parking lot. Probably no one would notice if she drove away from the supermarket. It was business as usual - self absorbed folks involved scurrying in and out of the food store with their purchases.

The man mumbled something intelligible, and looking at him, Ali couldn't help but feel pity for him. He couldn't have been too much older than she was, unkempt, stinking, and obviously down on his luck. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't drive away. Yes, she might be out of a job as of today, but she had severance and possibilities. This man had nothing.

What was she supposed to do? She sighed, sitting on the curb. She couldn't just take off; she had a moral obligation to do something. A memory suddenly flooded her, of a kind stranger giving a young girl a cup of hot chocolate, and her mother a cup of coffee and some hope. It had been a new beginning for the two of them after some very bad times. The realization hit her rather uncomfortably - it was her or nobody.

"Hey, Mister. Are you OK?" she repeated. "I'd like to take you to a clinic down the road. Think you could get in my car?" Without waiting for a response, she got to her feet, opened the passenger door, and then struggled to get him to his feet and moving the few steps to the car. He didn't appear to be in pain, she thought, which gave her a sense of relief. At least she hadn't managed to break any bones.

He stumbled, but she managed to keep both of them upright, and lowered him to the seat as gently as possible and shut the door. As an afterthought she grabbed the backpack and bag that had been on the ground beside him, picked them up, and threw them in the back seat.

The car would probably need to be fumigated after this, she thought.

She'd managed to get the stranger into the clinic, explaining she wanted to pay for him to see a doctor. The receptionist gave her forms to fill out which was a joke. He was actually whisked away to a treatment room almost immediately, which was a relief to Ali. She'd felt rather helpless filling out the paperwork, as he'd said nothing in the car that made any sense except a few phrases... in Spanish of all things. So in the end she wrote down the name Pedro Gonzalez, a fictitious address, no phone, and put N/A in every other blank, including the insurance information. This man was not going to become a dependant of hers if she could help it!

She finished the ice cream, got up to throw the container away and went over to the receptionist, who seemed to have nothing else to do but watch the television.

"If my friend comes out, have him wait for me, ok?" Ali asked. "I'm going next door to get some carryout." The girl nodded, and gave her a rather dubious look, making Ali laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not skipping out on his bill. I'll be back," she promised.

Ali sighed in relief as she walked outside. The heat of the day had dissipated, and there was a slight breeze blowing that made her feel better. Food, she decided, would make her feel even better.

In the Chinese restaurant she ordered a double order of beef and broccoli. She sat and waited for it, and also bought two drinks.

When she walked back into the clinic, she looked around and saw her new friend slouched in one of the chairs with his eyes closed, while the receptionist picked up the phone and pushed a button. She raised a finger to her as if to say wait a minute and said into the phone "she's back", and hung up. She lifted some papers up to the counter, along with two prescription bags, which Ali turned and looked at.

Ali set the carryout bags on the counter, glanced at the prescription bags and at the charges as she pulled a credit card out of her wallet. Not too unreasonable, she thought, considering. She signed the receipt, relieved this was over, and felt like she'd done her good deed of the day.

"Here ya go, Pedro," she said, dumping one bag with food in it in his lap, and a soda at his side. "Para ti. Adios!"

His eyes opened suddenly, she guessed from the warmth of the food and his instinctively reached for the bag as he sat up. While they looked tired, his grey eyes didn't have the same glazed over look as before, and the studied look he gave her startled her.

"Pedro?" he echoed. "No -"

"Miss?" called a voice behind them interrupting. "You can't leave him here. We'll be closing shortly."

Ali spoke as she turned, eyeing the white coat that said Michael Coster, M.D., on it.

"Hello Dr Coster, but I can. Mr Rodriguez - "

"The form said Gonzalez," he interrupted, confusion evident in his voice. Ali flushed.

"That's exactly my point! I don't even know the man's name. I - " she was about to say she hit him with her car and thought the better of it - "I don't know him. He looked like he needed medical attention and I brought him here. He looked hungry and I bought him food. Now I am leaving!"

The doctor sighed, picked up pencil and paper to write something down.

"Could you at least do me a favor then? And drop him off at the shelter at the following address? And walk the meds inside to the nurse? He has a raging sinus infection and a day or two of antibiotics should make him feel like a new man."

He had been very quiet in the car as she drove home. He'd opened the carton and eaten the first few bites of food hungrily, and drank, and then sighed and took a break. Ali had glanced over to see if he was sleeping, but, no, just staring out the window.

He looked at her like she was crazy when she informed him in Spanish this was her home and he could stay here for a day or so until he was feeling better, but he managed to mumble a contrite gracias, and almost equally as crazy when she showed him to Peter's former 'office' as he had called it, during the time he lived here. He was already fast asleep in there, the decongestant already working on him, hopefully the antibiotic too.

Ali sighed. And locked the bedroom door and pushed a chair against it for safe measure. She might be foolish, but she wasn't stupid.

"Ah so sleeping beauty awakens." She smiled. He didn't look dangerous at the moment. "How ya doing Jose?"

The man leaned his sinewy frame against the doorway, ran fingers through his hair and rubbed his forehead and muttered one word.

"Why?"

Ali poured him a glass of orange juice, and got the medicines out of the bottles and handed them to him. His skin felt hot still as though the fever hadn't quite abated.

"Just because." She told him the rambling story - in English - she didn't remember enough Spanish from her childhood - of a little girl and her mother who'd left an abusive home, a transient time of living in several shelters before someone took a chance and offered them hope in the form of a cup of hot chocolate and a cup of coffee and the difference it made. Whether he understood it or not she didn't care, but when she was done she had tears in her eyes, and looking over at him she realized he was staring at her, and he had tears in his too. It touched her that whether he understood or not, he got the point.

"Sit," she told him. And she gave him the eggs she'd made for herself and it felt good.

"Can I use your phone?" he asked a bit later. She looked at him in amazement.

"Sure. So I guess it's not Pedro nor Jose, hm, Jack?" She thought she noticed a flush over his still feverish complexion. He looked like he was trying to hold back a smile.

"No, guess not," he replied, and she went into the living room while he made his phone call, tripping over his backpack that was in the way. Curiously she thought felt something vibrating as she righted it. What did he have in there?

Later she went out for a walk, as he lay nearly dosing on the bed, first leaving him some fresh towels, and one of Peter's forgotten razors and small shaving cream.

"Thank you" he said. "You don't know what this means to me."

She wasn't gone that long, but on Ali's returned, the apartment was empty. She felt strangely lonely for the first time since Peter left. The medications weren't on the counter, his backpack and bag, gone. She felt a strange sense of betrayal.

"Hello?"

"Hi," said the voice, "this is not Pedro, Jose, or Jack, and I apologize for leading you on. I was doing some research. And what you taught me was beyond measure... compassion."

There was a pause.

"Might I buy you a cup of coffee...now?"

Ali smiled before replying,

"You betcha, Carlos. Just tell me where."