Personal

Part 6

The carpet shag rubbed rough-smooth against the skin of Face's feet. Toes pushed out, the coolness of the fibers whispering at him.

Murdock's stew sat on his knee, hours cold. Face held the handle, tipped it slightly sideways, then rebalanced, letting the spoon slide around like he was still contemplating putting some of it in his mouth. He wasn't hungry. His stomach felt hollow, carved out and replaced with rocks, heavy and weighing him down.

He was thirsty, when he thought about it.

And he had a headache. Not just from the hit he'd taken above his ear, though that ache was there too - had crawled down into his neck and knotted itself up with a sense of permanence - but from something else. Stress, he guessed. Thinking too much. Dehydration maybe. It sat low behind his eyes and pricked at them, turning them dry and drained.

He swallowed roughly.

A flutter of passing car lights shifted over the window, casting patterns behind the filmy curtain, trailed by a slight rattle of the panes. It seemed to nudge something in his memory, reminded him of curling up motionless as a kid, trying to fall asleep somewhere, somewhere with passing lights, somewhere he maybe wasn't supposed to be, maybe trying not to be found. He remembered staying still, listening to the steady shudder of moving trains, or passing cars. He didn't know where, and he didn't know when. Didn't know if he was alone or with people. Didn't know if the flashing impression was even real. Because the last few days, everything seemed to nudge at his memory.

Everything.

And none of it really seemed real, so maybe none of it really was real. And maybe it didn't even matter.

He sighed air out of his lungs and clenched his eyes closed, a stiff grit to his jaw.

He just wanted it to stop.

He just wanted it all to stop.

Fingers—warm, dry fingers—folded over his hand and took the mug from his grip, replacing it with a glass of water. A cold glass of water.

Face opened his eyes. "Colonel," he said. His voice felt scratchy.

Hannibal set the mug on the end table, a quiet, solid quality to his movements. "Lieutenant," he acknowledged. He reached a hand forward, tipped Face's chin to the side, angling his head into the light like BA'd done. "How's it feel, kid?"

"Fine."

Hannibal breathed out slow.

Face watched him then cleared his throat. "Sore," he amended.

"Stomach? Ribs?"

"Yeah."

Hannibal's hands shifted. Face held himself still, waiting, wincing slightly when his shirt was eventually eased back into place. "Drink that," Hannibal ordered, pointing to the water. He set two pills in Face's other hand as Face obeyed, then sat back, taking up a relaxed position on the edge of the easy chair, watching. Ubiquitous. Face didn't exactly feel ready to talk but Hannibal back again felt like relief.

The water tasted like heaven, easing the pulse below his eyes. Dehydration then. He drank it all.

The colonel cleared his throat, rolling an unlit cigar between his teeth.

Face jiggled his knee a little. Sniffed. He found the spot on the filmy curtain he'd been staring at earlier and held it in his view. He opened his mouth twice before he could get anything to come out of it. "I don't know what happened," he eventually began, not a deflection this time, just an admission. His voice was soft, but felt too loud. "I don't…"

Hannibal shifted his cigar but didn't say anything.

"Guerin was just standing there. His goons. His guns. Right in front of me." Face eased a breath in, and flashed his eyes over at Hannibal. "Then the team. Murdock hanging from the fire escape and… the kids. Guerin wasn't going to let them leave that alley. Or us. Not without trying something. And I was there. Right there. Close enough to Guerin… close enough to do something about it, I guess."

Face licked his lips. He couldn't read the expression on Hannibal's face. He wanted to look away again, but didn't, wouldn't, now that he was determined to do this.

He met his CO's eyes steadily. "And I wanted to hit him," he admitted. "He was standing there, right in front of me, and I wanted to hit him. So I did." I just wanted to. And I figured better me than them, he thought, but there were some things he couldn't physically get himself to say to Hannibal. No matter how much he wanted to.

Still, Hannibal said nothing.

Face dropped his chin a fraction. "You wanted to know what was going on in my head, Colonel, well, that was it. That was all. I know it was… I guess it was… crazy. But, it made sense at the time." And it had. It had made sense. It still did when he remembered it. The calm. He remembered the calm from that moment more than anything. He remembered being… so… calm.

A small tremble started up in his hands.

Hannibal leaned forward. He took the water glass from him and set it next to the mug.

Face lifted empty fingers to his head, ran them through his hair, felt the jittery edge of them against his scalp. "It worked, didn't it?" he whispered.

Hannibal's teeth moved, clamping down on the cigar harshly before his hand lifted to remove it. It was held motionless for a moment, then tipped into the air like a casual punctuation mark. "If by worked you mean we all somehow got out of there alive, then, yes," Hannibal said, "it worked."

Face flicked his gaze up.

Hannibal leaned elbows on knees. "We could have protected the kids without you getting your insides smashed up," he said.

"Maybe."

"You atoning for something I don't know about, kid?"

Face's eyes flashed. "Don't pretend like you never read my file or that you haven't done your own side investigations into my life," he growled.

Hannibal's expression stayed steady. "Yes, Face, I know some things about your past, but not everything. I'm pretty sure that you don't even know everything. I think you've hit the same brick walls looking into your past that I have, and I think that may be part of the problem here."

"Colonel—"

"When did you know you were having a problem?"

Face felt his insides twist. I wasn't having a problem. No problem. Everything was fine. I wasn't… He wanted to scream, wanted to say it, shout it, wall it up in front of him. Like instinct. But it wasn't true and he knew it. Everyone knew it. "I don't know."

Hannibal cleared his throat, gentle in execution, but a commanding sound all the same.

Face swallowed. "After the kids came," he said. "After Amy brought Stacy over with those kids from the shelter. Or when we were planning to get them back, maybe. I don't know. It wasn't… It wasn't specific." He shrugged.

"What were you thinking?" Hannibal pressed, voice quiet. "Do you remember that?"

"When Amy brought the kids by?"

"Yes."

"I don't know." Face wasn't used to Hannibal playing therapist. That was Murdock's gig. It made his palms itchy.

"I need to know what triggered this, Face."

Face wanted more water. His mouth felt dry.

"Before the orphanage found you," Hannibal continued, "you don't know where you were, and I'm thinking you were maybe in the same situation as those kids Stacy brought over with her. That maybe they sparked something. Were you remembering?" There was an edge to the way Hannibal said it, like he needed to know, like this was personal for more than just Face.

"I don't know, exactly. It just felt like… like I was them. It felt like I was them. In the alley, too, it felt like I was them. Maybe I was remembering something, I don't know… nothing specific." He looked over, straight on, and lowered his voice. "I just wanted to hit him, Colonel."

"But before that, you knew you were having a problem."

"Maybe."

Hannibal shifted. "We could've handled the situation as a team. Have you thought about that?"

"In the alley, I just—"

"I don't mean in the alley, Lieutenant. I mean before. Before we got there. I'm not saying I don't understand, but we could have worked out something better if you'd spoken up about it."

"Like leaving me behind for backup?" Face derided.

Hannibal shook his head. "I think if you'd spoken up about it, maybe we could have controlled what was going on, instead of it controlling you."

Face shrugged.

"You spoke up about Leslie Becktall. When she was in trouble. You got us to help you, then. You made us help you."

"That was different." Face shook his head tersely. "And you all thought I was crazy." Even though I wasn't, but this time…

"How was it different?"

I wasn't in trouble, Face thought. She was. He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "She was in trouble, but it was still a case. And I knew what was bugging me. It was tangible, I guess. I knew I could help her… I knew we could help."

Hannibal sat back.

When Face looked up, something was changing in Hannibal's eyes, comprehension dawning, too quickly, too carefully. Face felt transparent, like Hannibal was suddenly seeing right through him. "Hannibal—"

"Face, it's been personal for us all at one time or another. That's why we're a team. One can pick up where the other leaves off. It doesn't mean you're a liability."

The twist of rocks in Face's gut shifted uncomfortably.

"Lieutenant, we're a team. The A-team. You're part of the team and we work as a team. We would have helped you."

A lump rose in Face's throat. He nodded slowly, looking down, feeling stripped. Sometimes he was glad his colonel knew him so well. Other times, he wished he didn't know him quite so much.

"Next time," said Hannibal. "Speak up."

Face nodded again.

"We clear?" The question had a stern edge to it.

"Yes sir," Face responded dutifully.

"Okay." Hannibal clamped the cigar back between his teeth. "Two weeks restriction. That's about how long it will take for this case to be concluded and for us to get on our way. I don't want you doing anything else stupid and I don't want you alone. I know where you are, when you are, and who you're with at all times. And you're on medical restriction until we can get you x-rayed."

Face let his displeasure be known in his grunt of acceptance. But there was something about the verdict, the official nature in the way Hannibal issued it, that felt comforting, reliable. It settled something down inside of him. "Can I ask what's happening with the case?" he ventured. "The kids?"

Hannibal grinned. "Guerin and several of his security officers are in custody. The cops have taken sworn statements from the kids regarding what they saw in Guerin's warehouse and are currently providing adequate protection for them and the homeless shelter."

"And what did they see, exactly?"

"Packing crates filled with very large and very illegal guns."

"But we're not done with the case?"

"We're going in again for the tape. Carter is still sure it's there. We didn't have time to get to it after we set off the alarm last time. I want to make sure the case against Guerin has no loop holes when it goes to court."

"And what's the plan for that?"

The colonel smiled. "That's something we can talk about tomorrow. Tonight, I think we've covered enough." He stood.

There was a moment of silence, then Hannibal stepped closer, pausing by Face's knee. He touched his fingers to the top of Face's head, a gesture rare for the pure tenderness of it. "You should have told me you were having a hard time," he said gently.

Face closed his eyes, frozen still. He swallowed. Half the time he felt like all he could do anymore was swallow. He worked his eyes open again and nodded.

"There was one good thing that came out of this," Hannibal said, letting the moment pass, easing his hand away carefully.

Face quirked a questioning eyebrow.

"I think you freaked Amy out. I've never seen her look so shocked. And here I was starting to think we were going to get boring to her."

"Somehow, Colonel, I don't think that will ever happen."

Hannibal smiled his on the jazz smile. "Now," he said briskly. "You need to get some more sleep, Lieutenant," he started to order.

The front door banged open. Amy stepped into the foyer, juggling something in her hands. Cartons of ice cream, Face determined. Murdock followed, busy explaining the finer points of jamocha almond fudge and the classified technology related to its development. Amy was dutifully rolling her eyes.

They both paused when they saw Face and Hannibal watching, then traded looks, sensing, maybe, a shift in the tone.

"Hey," said Murdock with a smile. "Ice cream." He lifted the carton up for Face to see. "Got your favorite." His eyes shifted. "Can he have some, Colonel?"

Hannibal took the cigar out of his mouth, fingering it for a moment. "Don't see why not," he said before shifting it back to his teeth.

Murdock grinned.

BA shuffled in from the kitchen, pulling the paper bag from Murdock's grip. "You better have remembered the milk, sucker."

"BA," Murdock started, indignant. "Of course I remembered the milk." He winked at Face before following BA back into the kitchen.

"Skim?" BA's voice rang out. "Hannibal, crazy man got skim milk!"

"Now, BA, the vitamins and minerals found in—"

"This ain't milk, fool!"

Face felt the smile win his lips again, felt something else inside him shift and settle. It was the farthest thing from it, but it all felt so… normal.

Hannibal ginned at him, then turned, following where the rest of the team had gone, ostensibly to break up the pending bloodshed.

Maybe they were all truly crazy, Face mused while listening to the background drama. Whatever it was that had stretched up from his past, he knew, now, it wasn't strong enough to take him. He had people to help him. People who'd never failed him. Not when it really mattered. People who made him stronger.

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head into the couch and let the comforting argument wash over him.

The End