Title: Textbook Abandonment Blues

Summary: Seeing Leslie again has opened old wounds in Face that go much deeper than sophomore year in college. Takes place after "The Only Church in Town"

Warning: Some creative liberties with Father O'Malley's character and Face's background, discussions of religion, and some rude language.

Face went to the random bar that evening with the express intention of getting drunk out of his mind. A large city. Anonymity. That was all he needed to hear before he was out the door. Out the van, technically. He took the 'vette, and took off. He didn't know if any of the others followed him. Didn't care. He needed this.

He rubbed his fingers roughly across his forehead, bringing his drink to his lips for another swig. It burned going down, but that was always what alcohol did. What it was supposed to do. His mind went back. Back to Ecuador. To that orphanage. To Leslie. Face scoffed.

"It's Sister Theresa now," he muttered to himself. "No more Leslie, Leslie's left the building, ladies and gentleman."

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" the bartender came over to him and reached out to lightly prod a shoulder. Face smiled wanly and raised his drink in a poor parody of a toast.

"Can't you tell?" he drawled. "I'm fantastic." The bartender gave him a skeptical look but seemed to get the hint, moving away from him without another word. Face's lips untwisted out of their fake smile and he sighed heavily, taking another drink from his beer. No cheap wine he could at least pretend was somewhat fancy today. Just beer. All-American beer. It was disgusting.

Face scoffed again, shaking his head and just barely convincing himself not to bang it onto the table. No telling where these tables had been. What other types had been drooling on them before him, and he did not want any of that muck in his hair. Or on his face. No pun intended.

Why did she have to become a nun? Why did it have to be a goddamn nun? Woops. Face mentally and sarcastically corrected himself. Why did she have to become a gosh darn nun?

"Sorry, Big Guy," Face grumbled. He could see the Reverend Mother in his mind, shaking her head sternly at him, fixing to sit him down and give him a good talking to about taking the Lord's name in vain and all that. The question still stood though. Why'd Leslie have to go and nunnify herself?

Why'd she have to stand him up in sophomore year? Why'd she keep this from him the whole time they were together? Why'd she let him in if she'd been planning to take the path of chastity and spiritual obedience all along? Why'd he have to fall for her? Why, why, why? It was all anyone ever asked in this world, wasn't it. First thing the nuns and priests spit out at you to qualify their beliefs: "Now you may have questions, my son. You may be confused and scared and find yourself in ignorance of God's way, His path. But remember, He knows as you don't, and He will lead you back, even if He gives you no answers." Whatever the hell that meant. Oops.

"Sorry again."

This wasn't really working out, was it? Face looked angrily down at his drink—his third bottle—, annoyed with its betrayal.

"You're supposed to make it easier to deal with, get everything all nice and out of focus, not sharpen it all up," he accused the beer. "Traitor."

"Oh, now Faceman, let's not go accusin' that poor innocent bottle of treachery. Why you should know that loyalty runs deep in the fermented veins of—"

"Hello, Murdock." The wan smile was back, and this time Face turned it on his friend, but with a bit of a softer edge to it than before. Better Murdock prying into his deepest darkest drink-inducing secrets than some bartender he didn't know.

"Well, hello, young Face Guy, you are looking very spry and spritely on this fine evening," Murdock's voice deepened, accent smoothed out, the sound of it oddly soothing to Face's muddled ears, especially as the pilot rolled his R's perfectly. Face offered a token chuckle, but it sounded empty to him. If Murdock caught the emptiness of the sound, he didn't comment. He continued seamlessly.

"Hi," he said, drawing the word out as he slipped into one of his many, many personalities. "I don't know if you remember me? Vern, veterinarian? Yes, hello." He held out his hand, clearly expecting Face to shake. The conman obliged indulgently. After the apparently necessary introductions, Murdock leaned a little closer to Face and lowered his voice politely.

"Now, I understand that I'm not exactly qualified to help with these kinds of issues, Mr. Peck, but I do happen to have a companion who is very, very good at… well, at connecting with others, so if you'll just hold on a moment—" Face, in the middle of giving Murdock a very unimpressed look, turned his gaze to the hand Murdock lifted up between them, caught in the pilot's sleeve. Murdock smiled professionally and gestured to the hidden hand.

"My dog, Socky," he said, "is very adept at connecting on a personal level." In the next moment, Murdock's hand popped out of his sleeve, sockless and bare. Murdock gave it a shocked look, as though not expecting what he saw.

"Oh," he breathed quietly. "Well…" He chuckled nervously and swallowed, looking up at Face, an expression of exaggerated confusion coming over his features. "This is, uh—this is quite the embarrassing situation I seem have found myself—that is, I seem have… have misplaced my companion—"

"Excuse me, Vern, was it?" Face interrupted with a blank smile. Murdock immediately snapped to attention, his eyes wide and locked on Face in what he apparently thought was understanding. He nodded seriously. Face went on.

"While I appreciate your, uh, concern, I really think it would be a… a bit better if you could go find Murdock for me, perhaps?" He shrugged and made a flippant gesture with his hand. "Just a thought." Murdock's face was struck with realization.

"Oh, of—of course," he agreed immediately. "Of course, I understand, Mr. Peck. My most sincere apologies. Here, let me—let me get Mr. Murdock for you." Murdock turned around on the barstool for a moment and then turned back around, wide smile on his face as he leaned his chin into his hand.

"Well, hi there, Face," he greeted cheerfully in his usual Texas drawl.

"Hi, Murdock," Face said, greeting his friend for the second time that evening. He waited for a beat, giving Murdock an expectant look until Murdock got it.

"Oh," he said seriously, his expression turning solemn. "Face, I told him not to do that, I swear. Now, I said to him, I said, 'Vern, now don't you do this to Faceman, you will just embarrass yourself,' and lo and behold…" He trailed off purposefully, gesturing to the air in front of him as though that would explain everything. Face nodded wearily, really not in the mood for this. Really, really not in the mood.

"Murdock," he said. "Could we not, uh…? Could we just not?" He gave Murdock a meaningful look and took a sip from his drink. That seemed to sober the pilot.

Keyword: seemed.

"You know, Face, the best way to deal with negative emotions is to talk about it," Murdock urged in that 'because the VA said so' voice of his. He smiled a secretive smile, leaning in to Face as though they were sharing a secret. "I got it all figured out, Faceman. We gotta get you a signal beam right from your soul. Get in touch with your feelings, Face. To be able to articulate one's inner feelings is one step closer to understanding oneself, you know." He nodded almost eagerly at Face, and the taste in Face's mouth got a little worse.

Keyword: seemed.

Face turned to Murdock, expressionless mask—one of his many, many faces—securely in place.

"See, Murdock, it's interesting that you've been talking about issues so far tonight, and negative emotions," he said, his voice hard and almost cold. "Care to extrapolate a bit? What issues, Murdock? Why do I have to be feeling negatively to be enjoying a few drinks at a bar?" The tone in his voice and the way his words fell from his lips seemed to freeze Murdock for a moment and the man didn't immediately answer. His eyes flickered to the bottles on the table by Face, and Face's own gaze followed, falling on the bottles as if seeing them for the first time that evening. Murdock opened his mouth and closed it, looking back to Face. Face raised his eyebrows in slightly mocking expectation.

"Nothing, Murdock?" he asked, suddenly feeling frustrated and irritable. "Oh, really, I'm disappointed, Mr. Murdock. No prognosis? Not even a thought? You know, professionally?" He paused. "Well, nothing a little group therapy won't heal up, right?"

"Now, wait a minute, hold on there, muchacho," Murdock jumped in, hands up, face drawn in serious lines. "I's only trying to help. You know, cheer you up a little—"

"You know, I didn't ask you to follow me, Murdock," Face pointed out acerbically.

"No, you never ask anyone," Murdock said, leaning forward some more, serious in a way Face had rarely seen him since 'Nam. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't be followin' you to make sure you don't get yourself in trouble." Feeling himself flush in anger and embarrassment at the barely veiled condescension, he leaned forward aggressively, narrowing his eyes.

"This was before the war, Murdock," he hissed. "You and the others have no part in this, you weren't there."

"No, but that doesn't mean we can't help," Murdock persisted. Face didn't answer for a moment, his eyes scanning Murdock's face, sharp and clear despite the alcohol still pulsing through him.

"You know, somehow, I sincerely doubt that," he said in a low voice. His tone, which would have been dangerous to anyone else, only seemed to cause Murdock to dig his heels in.

"Why?" Murdock always had this weird ability to throw a curveball when Face would have expected a fastball right down the plate. Face blinked and pulled back immediately, his mind telling him that he would lose in this engagement if he kept going, that he should just throw the towel in now, get out before he gave away too much, before he committed himself to this damn therapy session.

"Why, indeed, Murdock." Face said with his slickest smile, raising his drink to Murdock and tilting his head just slightly, avoiding the man's eyes.

"Face."

No. No, he wouldn't answer. He wouldn't give in. He didn't want to! Why couldn't Murdock have just paid attention to his unspoken question before he'd left, his request to have this one moment, this one night to himself? Why did Murdock have to be here, testing his limits? Pushing and pushing like he'd done in 'Nam, like they'd all done in 'Nam? Why did he have to be doing that damn perceptive thing he always did when someone just really didn't want to deal with that shit?

There you go with the 'why's again, Templeton. Will you never realize that you're not going to get answers to those questions? Well, you always have been hopeless, I guess.

"…Face."

"It's always an orphanage."

The words were out before he could stop them and he turned to Murdock, an expression of self-disgust on his face. "There. Are you happy, Doctor Murdock? Maybe you could ask Vern, veterinarian, what he thinks. What do you make o'that." He snickered mirthlessly and shook his head. His drink felt light but painful as he gulped it down.

"It's always an orphanage," he repeated, softer this time, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. He sighed out shakily, letting his head fall forward, catching it before it hit the countertop. "It began there, it ends there, it just—I can't escape the—" He lifted his head and raised his hands, as though shaking something in frustration. "I can't escape the damned orphanage!" He chanced a look back over at Murdock, looked away before he could decipher the look on the pilot's face.

"You know, Father O'Malley, he was the one who gave me the note from Leslie," Face went on painfully. "He was the one in charge of the orphanage when I was sent there. You know, I—" He broke off to laugh bitterly. "My first memories of him are of the times I fell asleep during his sermons." His shoulders slumped. "Best memories, I think, too." Murdock was silent and Face could feel his eyes, couldn't ignore the feeling of Murdock's eyes stabbing into him, ripping into him, and all Murdock was doing was looking at him. Face shook his head.

"…A nun, Murdock. A nun. And I—and she doesn't even think to tell me when we were dating!" The words were coming out faster now, his voice getting higher and louder, but Murdock didn't stop him. "No, she-she-she, she just leaves, up and… runs out when I'm about to give her something that I—I was never serious about anyone before her, and I was never serious about anyone after! Murdock, I mean, what—" Suddenly, out of breath, Face cut himself off, staring at the countertop, his mind millions of miles and years away.

"I just…" he shrugged. "I don't understand." He could see Murdock's blurry form out of the corner of his eye but he didn't turn. Didn't want to see the look of pity that would no doubt be twisting up his friend's face.

"Don't they say God works in mysterious ways?" Murdock's voice penetrated Face's thoughts and startled a small bark of laughter from the conman. He turned to Murdock with amused incredulity.

"This coming from the skeptic?" he exclaimed. Murdock shrugged unrepentantly, but without any defiance or self-assuredness.

"I am not they," he said simply, placing a hand on his chest in a play at arrogance, mouth pulling up into a grin. "What I say about the Man Upstairs is not what they say about him, and I was only parroting them." Face was hard-pressed not to return that smile, so he allowed his lips to twitch upward and nodded his head.

"Touché, Murdock, touché," he conceded. Murdock nodded gracefully, accepting his victory with a little spark in his eyes. Face shook his head fondly and turned back to his drink, not sure where to go from there.

"And what about you, Face?" Murdock asked, serious again. "You just admitted to me that you didn't understand why someone became a nun. I'nnat a little skeptical for a man who believes?" Face immediately shook his head, forgetting he had the beer bottle in his mouth, and chocking a bit in his rush to put it down.

"No, no, no, no, Murdock," he explained, holding up a finger and wiping his face with his free hand. "That is exactly what someone like me is supposed to do." At Murdock's mildly disbelieving but expectant look, Face continued.

"Murdock, we are not supposed to understand," he said, placing a hand on his chest in a mimicry of Murdock's earlier gesture. "That is not for us simple laypeople. No, we are supposed to be lost sheep, the strays that are-are rounded up and brought back to the herd. We are supposed to not understand, supposed to question and then be told later that we're wrong. That, Murdock—that is what believers do. And if we can admit that we don't understand, well…" Face held up his hands as though in prayer. The look of almost bitter resignation ruined the effect a bit, however. "One step closer to Heaven, my friend."

Murdock was watching thoughtfully, a crease in his brow, "mhmm"ing to himself occasionally as he listened. He placed a hand at his chin and scrunched his face up, trying to get a picture of something in his head.

"Wow, Face," he said. "That is just—man. And people say I'm nuts." He paused. "Well, I am, but—" He shook his head and leveled a hard stare on his friend. "That is some heavy stuff, right there." Face lifted up his bottle, disheartened to find it empty. He signaled the bartender for another.

"Tell me about it," he deadpanned. "I mean, the rituals and the traditions, that's—that's all bagged together in one corner, but when you get into the actual philosophy of the whole thing?" He looked over at Murdock wryly. "Man, talk about shit hitting the fan." Murdock nodded in contemplative agreement, his expression becoming something unreadable as he scrutinized Face. Eventually, Face couldn't handle it and looked away. His mind drifted again.

"…I mean…" He took a breath and released it heavily. "I don't know if she just—I don't know, threw herself in with the Holy Folk because she actually believes the stuff they preach, or if she just—" He waved his hand, trying to come up with an alternative to offer but his mind came up blank. He let his hand drop, mouth thinning in frustration.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just—I—I can't compete with that." He turned to look at Murdock, for one moment, his face reflecting the flayed and raw state of his emotions right then. He gestured weakly to Murdock, slumping closer to the countertop. "It's like you said. She left me for another man. She left me for The Man, and I can't follow that act. Don't even think I was given a shot for runner-up."

And she hadn't given him that shot. Or at least… not in the way Face had been hoping to be considered. He swallowed hard.

"Face—"

"It got me through 'Nam," Face said abruptly, his mind whirling—tripping and stumbling—over itself as he spoke. Murdock blinked and gave him a confused look.

"Well, not—you know, not that whole… act—following…thing," he specified inelegantly. He threw his hand forward to aid his explanation, almost hitting one of the empty bottles. "It was—it was… the philosophy, I guess. I don't know if I—Well, you know." His head fell to his hand and he groaned, unable to sort through his thoughts. He must look like an idiot. He knew he was drunk, but what was he supposed to do about that? It felt good; numbing everything, finding a way to ignore it, get past it. Except his brain and mouth didn't seem to want to shut up, so that made the ignoring bit kind of hard. He turned, gave Murdock a helpless look, and then kept the hell going. Because what else was there to do?

"Father O'Malley," he went on. "You know kids, they… they pick at stuff. Everybody knows that. You know, they—they don't get something, even if it's plain as day, and they bombard you with questions, asking why this is or why that isn't, you know? It's-it's what they do, you know?" He thought he heard a huff of breath that sounded suspiciously like a hidden laugh from Murdock's direction, but he ignored it.

"Well, I asked a lot of questions, Murdock, I was that kid," he said, leaning over to bump Murdock's shoulder. "I, ah, I was the one who always asked why we had to brush our teeth seven times a day because it wasn't in the Bible, you know? If I couldn't find it in there…" He trailed off, figuring the rest was obvious. "And one day, Father O'Malley, he-he sits me down, and he tells me, he says, 'Templeton, let me tell you something. You know that big book we keep having you read? That grand ol' thing? You know the one?' And I say, 'Father, do you—do you mean the Bible?' And he says, 'Yes, son, that's the one.'" Face paused to run a hand over his forehead and reached out to take the fresh beer placed before him into his other hand. He opened it—a little clumsily—and took a swig.

"And I say, 'What about it, Father?' And he says, 'Well, I hear you've been having some trouble with it.'" Face chuckled and shook his head, lost for a minute in the vague memory shining, oddly clear, in his mind. "And I don't—I don't say anything to that, I… don't quite know what to say to that, so he keeps going. He says, 'You know, son, it's not just something that's thumped around by us Holy Fellows and quoted every time we need you to quiet down and do your studies. No, son, the Bible's a—' Oh, God, what'd he say?" Face brought his hands up to his temples and rubbed gently, trying to jumpstart his brain into giving him the Father's exact words.

"He said, um, he said that, uh, the Bible's a—a record," Face said slowly, the encounter clearing in his memory. "A record of-of human suffering. That's what he said. He said that it holds the questions of people exactly like me—like us—who don't know shit about why the hell they're alive when other good men die or why they got no family or—hell—why they're girlfriend stood 'em up in sophomore year at college." Face broke off as soon as he heard the first quiver in his voice. Dammit. He blinked his eyes rapidly and roughly dragged a hand across his face because this was getting to be too much. Why was he even pulling all of this stuff out of his brain anyhow?

"Now, if I believe in a God, then I believe He doesn't give a damn about me," Face declared ruefully. "Because what kind of God would let—it's either that or He just doesn't exist.

"But those words… Those words, the idea that-that God's Holy Book was written by a bunch of confused human beings who just—who didn't get it, who were as confused and lost as I was, it—" It was selfish. Face winced as his own thoughts cut him off. It was selfish to feel contentment and relief at the suffering of others because it eased his own. But it was—

"It got me through," he uttered softly. "In 'Nam, on all those missions, it was… It was knowing that I wasn't alone in that—in all that confusion. Sure, I was lost, maybe, I was suffering, hurting, dying even, but it—it wasn't alone." And now the memories of Vietnam were creeping up on him, encircling him and trapping him again in their vividness; the memories of men dying next to him, men he had to make a decision to sacrifice to get other men out, men who he had to kill to get his men out.

"No, it wasn't." Face almost fell out of his stool. He'd all but forgotten that Murdock was there. His head snapped around to survey his companion and his gaze got caught up in Murdock's almost immediately. Deep, deep brown eyes held his, and in them such a wide intrinsic understanding, something that Face had never had but with the members of his team and a select few in the army. It ensured that Face couldn't look away while Murdock spoke. "It wasn't alone. You had us, too, amigo. Us an'those words." Murdock held Face's gaze a moment longer before Face had to look away. Had to find some contradiction because he always had to. Nothing could be good for him, nothing was good for him. He didn't deserve 'good.'

"Not when she left," he admitted under his breath.

"What?" Murdock asked. Face inwardly groaned.

"Not when she left," he repeated louder, directing his ire and longing at his best friend. Funny how his mind circled back around to that. It made sense, he supposed, in a depressing and pathetic kind of way. His life before her, his life after her, his reaction to seeing her again, his petrifying fear of being alone. Right now, it was all one big wound that she'd managed to tear open, too far down for him to lick clean. It was festering, infected, and disgusting. It began and ended with her, just like it began and ended with orphanages.

"…I had nothing then. I was—I was completely alone." Face's expression became contemplative then, an anguished kind of contemplative, marveling over everything he'd felt then, the medley of emotions her departure had stirred up in him. "No words, no—" He quirked an eyebrow in Murdock's direction. "No team, no—no nothing. Just—a big spot. Splotch of nothing." He snorted, looking down and noticing that he'd somehow managed to go through yet another beer. What did alcohol poisoning feel like? Face shrugged.

"And that sent me to the war." He remembered Murdock again. "And you know the rest." Silence followed his words and Face looked down at his empty beer, contemplated asking for another. He was going for drunk, right? All or nothing?

"The end?" Murdock asked, his voice always penetrating that fog in Face's mind. Face snickered and nodded.

"Yep," he confirmed. "The end. I know." He turned to look at Murdock, slick smile in place. "Not very exciting, right?" Murdock didn't answer. He didn't say anything, just sort of sat there and swayed. Or maybe that was Face… Face couldn't really tell. Maybe he should ask?

"Whoa," he exclaimed as Murdock did one hell of an impressive dive from the stool to the ground and back again. Face blinked hard. "You should not be doing that, fella." He blinked again, and realized belatedly that, no, that was not helping. His eyes caught sight of the bottles and he pointed lazily to them. "How many of those did I have?" Murdock swayed again, but this time the movement was accompanied with touch and sound.

"Hoo boy, slow down there, muchacho," Murdock's voice sounded closer than before, strong hands looping under Face's arms and pulling him up. "I think the answer to that question would be, 'enough', my good buddy ol' pal. Now, c'mon, let's get you up." Face grunted as Murdock pulled him to his feet—had he fallen off the stool?—and hooked an arm around his midsection. There they went, supporting each other's weight again, as always. Except this time, it was more literal than figurative.

"'Ey, Murdock, Murdock, can you let me go?" Face asked, not really noticing how much he'd lost the conman's edge and taken on more of a childish lisp. "I can walk on my own, c'mon." Murdock shook his head resolutely and shifted his arm around Face.

"No can do, muchacho," he answered easily. "Y'see, I understand this, this desire for independence, I do. When those bullets go flyin' into your batter, you gotta prove your worth and manliness by divin'a' right in after 'em. Ohh, yes, I understand, Face, I understand." Face directed his confused look at the floor, since he really couldn't turn to direct it at Murdock without losing his balance. Bullets and batter?

"It is easier to go out in a flash of glory all by your lonesome after you've given it everything you darn well have than admit that ya need some help in the first place, yessiree Bob," Murdock went on, and even drunk, Face could tell what his friend sounded like when he was pulling this stuff out of his ass. He reined in his drunken retort, waiting for the pilot to finish the snarky comment, but Murdock was quiet for a moment, and Face's brow furrowed. What was he waiting for again? A soft chuckle right by his hair had him turning his head quizzically toward Murdock, spinning room be damned.

"Thing is, Face—" And was it just him, or was Murdock's voice actually a little softer now? "Thing is, kinda ruins the effect when you are wasted outta your mind." Face blinked and caught a bit of Murdock's knowing amused expression before his head lolled away. "So I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with all this." He gave Face a tug to demonstrate his point. Face jostled in Murdock's grasp and he shot a halfhearted glare at his friend in response.

"Oh, well, I guess that's what you're here for, huh?" Face snapped, a little dismayed at the lack of real sting in his voice. "Pulling me back in when I get too far out, right?" Murdock's grin was both infuriating and comforting at the same time.

"No, Face," he answered patiently, his arm secure and unmoving. "Pulling you back up when you get too far down."

And in response to that, Face let out a laugh, an honest to God, right from the belly, laugh.

"Oh, I bet you were just waiting to pull something clever out of your hat like that," he remarked. Murdock's grin was getting a little less annoying now as they moved to the exit of the bar. Absently, Face wondered if he'd paid for the beers.

"Oh, absolutely," Murdock admitted unabashed and unashamed. "Wrote that one down before I came here, I think ya got my vibes before I arrived, Faceguy." Face laughed again.

"Dammit, Murdock, you are just-" He grunted as he tripped over a chair and almost sent both himself and Murdock toppling to the ground. Murdock managed to steady them before their introduction to the floorboards, though, and steered them both out of the bar in silence, concentrating on keeping Face away from any objects potentially dangerous to him in his completely hammered state. He brought them to a stop once they were outside and Face took the opportunity to catch his breath. Jesus, who knew walking through a bar drunk took so much out of a guy? Could Jesus even get drunk?

"Face, you do know that you always got us, right?" Wow, Murdock sure was being extra serious today. Face blinked and looked over at Murdock blankly. His friend's gaze was steady and level and somehow made Face feel a little more sober than he was two seconds ago, a little warmer too. A small smile turned up Murdock's lips and the pilot jabbed a thumb toward his own chest. "You know you always got me?"

Face returned Murdock's steady look. Thought back to 'Nam when he'd first met the pilot who was both nuts and a captain. To all the times Murdock had saved their asses, saved his ass. The times they'd almost died together, times they'd managed to find something to laugh about even in the hell of the Vietnamese jungles. Times they'd managed to ward off insanity, the time Murdock had finally given in to it, the times he'd pulled Face back from it. Millions of other memories of that war. And after. Years after. To this day. And probably beyond, way beyond. All that in one little tiny question. And there was really only one thing Face could do to answer.

He grinned stupidly and held up a hand, pinky finger extended.

"You gonna pinky promise on that, Murdock?" he asked in a teasing voice. Murdock's small smile morphed into a grin and he shoved Face's hand down, leaning into his personal space in a patented Murdock Maneuver. Breaking personal barriers and bubbles for as long as Face had known him.

"Seal it with a kiss if ya'd like," he joked. Face quirked a brow and lightly tapped his cheek. Murdock made a cooing noise and moved in to place a large smacking kiss right on Face's cheek.

"Aw, now would ya just look at this little baby face!" he reached out and pinched Face's cheeks between his fingers. Face scrunched his eyes shut and shoved away from Murdock, trying to dislodge the man's hands from his face. It wasn't exactly working. "Just like Gramma Murdock, Face. Now had she gotten th'chance to meet a handsome devil like you, she woulda' grabbed on tight with both hands and taken that bull by the horns." Mercifully, he finally released Face's cheeks and leaned back.

"Oh, really?" Face asked, wincing as he rubbed his sore cheeks tenderly. "No kidding." Murdock just looked at him smugly. The quiet that settled over them was comfortable this time, resting easily between them, not oppressing them or crushing them. Face rubbed the final residual stings out of his cheeks and looked over at Murdock.

"Well," he said, holding out a hand and gesturing to the busy city streets. Big cities like this never really slept, did they? "Shall we depart?" Murdock's grin was wide and unassuming and everything Face could ever need from any best friend to drag him out of the dumps and back into life, beautiful life. He scoffed at his own theatricality.

"The chariot of one BA Baracus awaits us over yonder hill, my boon companion, and I say let us go!" Murdock declared, pulling Face up and steadying him once again. Face leaned easily on his shoulder and let the cool air wash over him. He smiled as Murdock began singing loudly while they walked, and let all thoughts of Leslie and God and abandonment fall silently away. At least for the rest of the night.

First ever A-Team fic! Now that's exciting. It's a fun challenge writing Murdock, and I hope I did both he and Face justice. I'm open to constructive criticism, and if anything I wrote regarding Face's background doesn't make sense within the canon given by the show, shoot me a PM or a review and I'll try to get it fixed up.