Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Personal

Face sat up slowly—as slowly as he could—but the pain won.

He tried to muffle his groan. It didn't work. The groan emerged regardless.

"Lieutenant! Did I or did I not tell you to stay put?" Hannibal's sharp voice carried through their temporary house with a soft echo.

Obediently, Face ceased trying to sit.

It hadn't been such a good idea anyway. Hannibal was already unhappy with him, which meant as soon as Face could endure a lecture, he'd be receiving one. He'd also be placed on restriction. Scrap that, he was already on restriction. Not allowed to sit without permission.

"That was a question, Lieutenant."

Face grimaced. "Yes, sir," he answered and didn't try to hide his bitterness.

He turned his head toward the back of the couch to avoid confronting the shocked look Amy shot his way. She was around them a lot. She knew a lot about them—more than most—but the side of them she saw revolved around their banter, their planning... the occasional domestic dispute. She never saw the full military protocol. It just wasn't done in her presence.

And since none of them had ever been known as conformists, even while on so-called 'good standing' with the army, the rigorous formalities of military relations were rarely practiced among them at all. But, when it came down to it, the colonel was still a colonel and somehow always remembered how to pull rank. It was rare enough that when he did, Face didn't mess with it. None of them did. There was too much there too mess with. Too much history. Too much respect. The understanding was that in their unit, and on their team, Hannibal commanded. He'd earned the right to do so. They didn't take those things lightly.

Besides, Face didn't want to add any more fuel to Hannibal's fire. If a shocked look on Amy's face was the consequence, he'd have to live with it.

Maybe later, when his body and head weren't aching so much, he'd be able to laugh about this. Shocking Amy wasn't something they could easily do these days. She'd seen too much. Become cocky and jaded. If he'd known a careful 'yes sir' from him was all it was going to take to widen her eyes again, he might have pulled it out sooner.

"Ah!" he hissed softly, as cold hands lifting his t-shirt startled him out of his reverie.

"Murdock," he grumbled.

"Sorry, Face-guy, heat-pack, Colonel's orders." The cold hands across Face's stomach shifted, settling a warm compress in place.

"I didn't get hit that hard," Face muttered, low enough for his commanding officer not to overhear, loud enough to get a concerned and warning look from Murdock. Guiltily, they both turned to check Hannibal's position. He was conversing with BA in low grunts and whispers on the far side of the room. He didn't act like he'd heard them.

Murdock cleared his throat softly. "Yeah, well, when you provoke your attackers to keep hitting you, you're bound to spark a bit of over-protection from the head honcho." Murdock's voice was gentle as he readjusted the heat pack and replaced Face's shirt.

Despite his protest, Face was grateful. The warmth felt good, cutting the edge of pain off the throbbing.

"He'll let up on you in a bit," continued Murdock, eyes serious, "but for now you've got to ride it out. And for the record, it looked like you got hit pretty hard from where I was sitting. What got into you?"

Face rolled his eyes, but the concern in Murdock's voice and the complete lack of crazy in his demeanor told Face how serious Murdock believed this to be. "Nothing," Face answered, feeling frustrated. "Nothing got into me. I'm fine. And you'd think he'd at least wait until Amy was gone before turning into Mr. Commanding Officer."

Murdock's dubious expression told him his deflection tactics weren't working.

Face shook his head, opened his mouth without saying anything, and then closed it again.

"Go to sleep," Murdock said finally, patting his shoulder before looking away.

"Hannibal, we have a problem." Amy stalked into the house with unusual demand. Trailing behind her were two dirty and tattered looking kids with a disheveled woman in tow who might have been anywhere from sixteen to thirty-six. It was impossible to tell through the strain around her eyes.

Face lifted his head from where he'd dropped it on folded arms across the kitchen counter in a vain attempt to tune out Murdock's melodious recounting of 'The Day the Earth Stood Still.'

Amy stopped short when she realized none of the eyes now staring at her were the ones she was looking for. "Guys, where's Hannibal?"

"He went to get groceries," Face explained, getting up from his stool to greet their guests. "Can I, uh, offer your friends something to eat?" All three strangers looked slightly emaciated.

"We have sandwiches in the fridge," piped in Murdock, following Face's train of thought, already moving to get them.

BA, who'd been tinkering with something electronic in the corner, stood up also, advancing toward the newcomers, then detouring to stalk around the kitchen table, dragging chairs back as he went. When he stepped close, the kids huddled away from him until BA leaned his head down a little and smiled, beckoning them. Instantly, they grinned in return, surging forward with more confidence, taking the seats BA indicated without hesitation.

The woman was less easily won. She hung behind, watching warily.

Amy settled a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her nearer to the table. "It's okay," she soothed. "They can help. I promise."

Face raised his eyebrows skeptically.

Amy pointedly ignored him.

Cautiously, the woman moved. She stood by the table, but didn't sit, hovering near where the children were sitting, eagerly reaching for the glasses of milk Murdock placed before them.

Face smiled at the children blandly, guessing their ages to be somewhere between five and seven. One of them—the smaller one—was trying to gulp his milk so fast, he was sputtering and coughing it down his chin.

"Slow down," BA instructed, reaching to help hold the cup. "There's plenty more where that came from." The boy darted wide eyes at BA's easy smile, then eased his shoulders, tilting the cup more slowly, taking a long, easy gulp.

As he watched, something expanded in Face's chest, almost causing his lungs to hitch. Something wide and dark. He held his breath to counteract it and kept his eyes glued to the innocence on the grubby faces. Familiarity tugged at him, needling at something in his memory.

The sound of plates clacking down on the table shook him back to reality. Murdock was pulling plastic wrap off platters of tuna fish sandwiches, muttering something about aliens having stolen all the peanut butter and jelly.

Face took a cautious breath and shoved the semblance of memory away before it could clarify itself, before it could make him lose his feet, or swallow him whole. Fixing an unaffected expression on his face, he put a casual hand in his pocket and sidled closer to Amy's side, turning her toward him with a gentle tug on her elbow. "Ah, Amy…not to dampen your enthusiasm, but we kind of already have a job right now."

"I know we do," she answered. "They're part of it. Trust me. When will Hannibal be back?"

"Right now," Hannibal announced jauntily, invading the low-toned conversation, having somehow come through the side door without making it squeak—an impossible feat for any other person in the house.

"Hannibal," said Amy, sounding relieved. She glanced toward the table where the woman had finally taken a seat with the children and was tentatively biting into the sandwich Murdock gave her. Sighing, Amy stepped to the far side of the room, waving at them to follow.

They did. Face flashing his distinct "I know nothing" shrug in answer to the questioning glance Hannibal threw at him.

"I went to the police station like you asked," Amy started to explain.

"Did they buy your human interest story?" Hannibal questioned, grinning.

"No." She waved a hand in dismissal, looking impatient. "I told them I was writing a story that highlighted police departments that have most effectively tracked white collar crimes."

Hannibal and Face traded impressed looks. "Their egos must have been positively bursting," said Hannibal. "What'd they give you?"

"I'm pretty sure they gave me everything they had," she answered. "But there was nothing that implicated Guerin specifically. There were two old complaints sworn against his company, both made by former employees, but both had been withdrawn, and I couldn't find the contact information for either person listed on the complaints. Disconnected phone numbers. That was it. It's like they both just vanished."

"The plot thickens," said Hannibal, thoughtfully tapping his fingers, assimilating the information. "Good work, kid."

"So," asked Face, "what do they have to do with this?" He gestured to the table and the people there without looking at them.

Amy glanced over, then back again. "While I was down there, that girl was at the police station trying to make a missing person's report but the police wouldn't listen to her."

Hannibal frowned. "Who's missing?"

"Three kids from the homeless shelter near Drier Bridge."

"That's less than two blocks from Mr. Guerin's office buildings and the warehouse pier," said Face.

"I know." Amy nodded, folding her arms across her stomach. "Apparently, the missing kids were down at the pier last night. Stacy told me there's a spot down there where the kids have caught fish before and she thought that was what they were doing, but when they got back to the shelter they told some of the adults that they'd been in the warehouse and seen something weird going on and that men had chased them away, almost all the way back to the shelter. Stacy said most of the adults thought it was just a game the kids were playing, some game of pretend, but this morning all three kids were gone."

"Any specifics on what they saw?" asked Hannibal.

"If there are, no one at the shelter is talking about it. Stacy's the only one who was willing to push for the authorities to be involved, but the police didn't want to hear it. They kept telling her they couldn't do anything because the kids hadn't been missing for more than twenty-four hours. When I overheard her at the police station I decided to bring her here."

"That's the guideline for missing adults," said Face, feeling the darkening chasm try to open in his chest again, "not children."

"I don't suppose they differentiate if you're coming in off the street," Amy answered sourly.

When Face awoke, the room was silent. He was still on the couch but someone had removed his shoes and thrown a blanket over him. He still wore his jeans and t-shirt but the compress that'd been placed under his shirt before he'd gone to sleep was missing. It was disconcerting to him that he'd slept through so much.

He ran a groggy hand over his eyes. Overall, his body felt less sore. His ribs weren't screaming and the spot above his right ear that'd been pulsing with his heartbeat was no longer pounding.

A sudden creek in the room had him instantly alert.

Carefully, he turned his head, craning his neck to scan the space behind him. Less than a yard away sat Hannibal, tipped back in the leather recliner, reading a newspaper.

Face nearly groaned aloud but caught himself before it escaped. If the colonel had been sitting with him, it meant he deemed it necessary to keep an eye on him. It meant the man was still worried, or angry, or both, and wouldn't be letting this go any time soon. He would lecture, and reprimand, and push for explanations Face wouldn't give. Because he couldn't.

And what would happen then?

From the silence leaking through the rest of the house and the unusually loud-sounding clock on the far wall, Face surmised that he and the Hannibal were alone. Maybe that was a mercy. Now they could, at least, do the full military protocol in private.

Sighing, Face set his palm against the couch. "May I sit up, sir?" he questioned. Dry sarcasm laced his tone.

Hannibal didn't answer. Instead, he put down the newspaper and moved to sit on the sofa near Face's hip. With his forehead creased and without saying a word, he moved the blanket down and the t-shirt up. Face held himself still, trying not to flinch as his sore muscles were examined, his likely-cracked ribs, and the tingling lump along the right side of his head.

Looking less than satisfied, the colonel finally eased the t-shirt down and sat back, regarding Face seriously. "You ready to tell me what happened back there?"

Face swallowed. "No," he quipped sullenly, but the question was rhetorical and he knew it.

"Face," Hannibal said simply, calmly.

Face stared at the ceiling.

"Lieutenant."

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed, shifted his elbows, and prepared to sit.

He didn't want to have this conversation laying down.

tbc

Chapter Text

Personal

"If we want to get to the kids, we'll have to play this a little differently," said Hannibal, swiveling the van's front seat around so he could face the whole team. He had the "I have a plan and you're all going to hate it" spark in his eyes.

The team collectively groaned—with the exception of Face. Face stayed uncharacteristically silent. He should have groaned also he realized, a moment later, but he couldn't summon the voice for it. He was feeling impatient and itchy and was just happy Hannibal had already come up with something.

Hannibal, being Hannibal, let a theatrical silence stretch past the final complaints about his addiction to the jazz, holding his cigar at attention with a patient smile on his lips. Face could usually out wait his commander's theatrics, could usually play his part as the dramatic cynic, but in this silence he leaned forward, clenched his jaw a little and tapped his foot anxiously.

"Different, how?" Amy asked carefully.

Sitting straighter, Hannibal magically produced a building plan and spread it out between them, blessing it with a security overlay.

Face frowned down at it. The layout was a nightmare, the positioning of personnel well thought out. It would be a true challenge for them to get past security unnoticed. He glanced up at Hannibal's focused eyebrows and waited.

The anxious tapping of his foot increased.

Murdock shot him a suspicious glance. Or was it annoyed? Face noticed what he was doing with his foot and stopped, lacing his fingers together and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles instead.

"Different because we'll have to adjust our usual style," explained Hannibal bluntly, theatricality temporarily abandoned.

The inhabitants of the van looked instantly dubious, with groans and coughs and lifted eyebrows. The latter from Amy.

Hannibal shrugged, meeting their eyes in turn. "Even the A-Team can adjust. Now listen." He smiled and gestured at the layout. "This time, we're going to try a little subtlety."

"Great," said Amy. "We're doomed."

Face felt his own complaint spider up his spine. "Subtlety?" he scoffed, growing inexplicably annoyed. Annoyed in a way that made his skin feel tight. Annoyed in a way that made him feel just a little insane. The anxious tapping of his foot was back.

Two days ago when Michael Carter contacted them with accusations about his former employer's hidden activities, adding the mystery of the missing video tapes holding the proof they required, Face had been bored. The case was too typical, too easy, too much like what they always did. They'd take the job, they'd finish it, and in another month they'd be looking for their next client. They'd never give Guerin Enterprises another thought. If Face were lucky, he'd have enough in-between time to convince Ronda to front his health club idea.

Now it was... different.

Except that it wasn't. Not that different. Not that big of a deal. Missing kids ratcheted the investment up for all of them, sure, and that's all he was feeling. He wasn't the only one.

He wasn't really insane.

The gap in his chest wasn't anything personal. It was just…

It was just…

"Subtlety," confirmed Hannibal with a grin, chomping down on a lit cigar with B-movie flare.

Face locked his teeth together, swallowing hard. He felt a sudden surge of adrenaline charge up to his skull. After all the times Hannibal had opted to go through the front door, to make half-pincer movements inside guarded perimeters, to go for the full frontal assault, now he suddenly wanted to drag his feet?

From the corner of his eye, Face saw Murdock throw him another suspicious look. He glanced down and saw his toe still taping. Jittery. He stilled it without looking back at Murdock. Three seconds later he found himself fidgeting in his seat to compensate.

Hannibal cleared his throat.

Face refocused.

Hannibal was looking at him, a quirk in his eyebrow that made Face feel transparently sure that Hannibal could see his sudden insanity. But when Hannibal's lips twitched, Face realized he was expecting something, a reaction of some sort, expecting Face to play along with his gleeful announcement or somehow offset his reckless enthusiasm.

In response, he coughed tightly and fixed a bland smile on his face. It was about all he could muster, but he lifted one eyebrow with the expression and held it still, re-lacing his fingers lazily with elbows on knees.

It must have met expectation because Hannibal smiled in return, grin wide with the jazz, and continued detailing his plan. Sometimes for Hannibal, the more bad the bad guy, the more the jazz came out in him. "We have two objectives," he reiterated. "The missing kids, and Mr. Carter's tape. The kids come first, but I don't want to compromise either objective if we don't have to. BA will be our pointman."

"BA?" Murdock sputtered. He'd been holding the Captain Belly Buster cap Hannibal had given him months earlier, flapping the attached wings while making alien noises out the side of his mouth. Somewhere along the way Face noted Murdock's latest delusion had something to do with pod-people, intergalactic government conspiracies, and convincing BA that the secret antennae covertly implanted in the cap's wings were there to facilitate communication with Saturn. But he let it all go to comment on BA's pointman status. "Hannibal, BA doesn't seem suited to your plan of subtlety. Our big angry mudsucker's got all the subtlety of a football team in a pet store."

Face tapped his fingers impatiently against the crest of his knee. Couldn't everyone be serious for once? At least long enough for Hannibal to finish explaining the plan?

"Pet store?" asked Amy.

Face rolled his eyes, scrubbing his molars together. Amy should know by now when to leave well enough alone.

"Yeah, pet store. See, I knew this guy—linebacker—nearly three hundred pounds and all of it muscle. He went to a pet store to pick out a mascot with his team, but he hadn't ever told them he was afraid of mice and—"

"Murdock," Face cut in. "Can we hear the story another time?"

"Oh, but it's a good one, Face, a real—"

"Shut up, Murdock, Hannibal's trying to tell us the plan."

Murdock was silenced, and Face was abruptly grateful for BA's powerful surliness. He spoke up before Murdock could get going again. "Hannibal, Murdock does have a point. BA's not the first person I think of when the center of the plan involves... uh... subtlety."

BA glared.

Face shrugged apologetically. Forcing his expression to stay casual, he ran shaky fingers over a loose string on his jeans, and willed his insides to calm.

Hannibal's eyes were on him again, readying to reply to his comment, and Face was smart enough to sort of stop lying to himself, to realize that this case was getting to him. He was smart enough to realize that if he couldn't feign casualness for the mere planning of the mission, Hannibal would start to think something was really wrong with him, or worse, see him as a liability. Hannibal relied on him to be the voice of reason in the maddening crowd, the level-headed and cautious backup for his crazy ideas. If Hannibal thought for a minute he couldn't do it he'd…

Well, Face wasn't actually sure what approach Hannibal might take, but this job needed to be their priority. Rescuing these kids needed to be their focus. And Face needed to be a part of it.

He could handle it. Was handling it.

What he wouldn't be able to handle was a round of The Hannibal Inquisition. Not on top of everything else. Not when they had a job to do. Not when three kids were missing. Not when nobody else probably even cared.

And definitely not when he hadn't been able to tell what was wrong yet for himself.

Hannibal's hand rested solidly in the center of Face's chest, keeping him from moving. "Sitting is not a good idea right now, kid."

Face breathed out tiredly, giving up the attempt. He hated this.

He hated having lost control. He hated having to explain. Most of all, he hated having to be the image of Face all the time and the ridiculous expectations that came with it. If BA got a little wild during a fight no one would turn it into an event. No one would badger him until he explained himself. No one would look at him as though trying to put together all the pieces in a complex puzzle.

No one would look at him as if he'd gone insane.

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant," said Hannibal. The reference to Face's rank meant he'd just lost whatever favor he might have gained through Hannibal's sympathy for his apparent insanity.

"Does it really matter?" Face asked, half hoping his commander would accept it, half hoping he could deflect his way out of this.

Hannibal's answer was found in the grim set of his jaw, reinforced by the hand he kept clamped on Face's shoulder, keeping him pinned to the sofa.

Face forcefully relaxed his body, but felt his mask slip, frustration curling around his eyes. He lifted an arm, twisted fingers into his hair, and stared at the white speckled ceiling instead of Hannibal's face.

The colonel kept his hand on Face's shoulder a second longer before moving it back to his own knee.

Face kept himself still and didn't try to sit again, even though...

...it wasn't like he'd been planning to run the Boston Marathon or anything. He'd just wanted to sit up. This would be hard enough to explain without having to do it with Hannibal's face looming, stern and commander-like, two feet above him.

BA looked ridiculous, standing before them in a three piece suit, the bright white collar boldly contrasting against his dark neck and colorful feather earrings.

"Wow, BA, you look mag-ni-fic!" Murdock purred, pausing to bask in his suited-friend's scowl, reaching to smooth his hands over the black jacket, then changing his mind at BA's growl and drawing them back carefully.

"I don't like suits, Hannibal!" barked BA for the twelfth time in as many seconds while Amy nervously tried to straighten his three hundred dollar tie.

"It's for a good cause, BA," said Hannibal, moving close enough to drop an arm on the sergeant's shoulder while winking at Face. "I explained all this. We need someone imposing enough to distract the security personnel while the rest of us extract the tape from Guerin's office and learn where the kids are being held. None of the rest of us fit that description."

"I don't like suits!" BA persisted.

"I don't mean to question either, Hannibal," Amy spoke up from where she'd moved to check the reception on their mini-microphones, "but he does have a point. If you want him to look imposing and get security's attention, why not just have him go in with what he usually wears, or for that matter, wearing something more threatening than a three piece suit?"

"Because, Amy," Hannibal said patiently, and Face could tell he was getting annoyed that no one else seemed to understand the intricate genius of his plan, "we want security on their guard, not on the job. BA walks in wearing street fatigues and Guerin's security guys will go straight into action. BA walks in wearing a three piece suit and not a single security guard in that building will take their eyes off him until he leaves or they figure out what he's there for. It's the time they spend trying to figure him out that will give the rest of us what we need."

"What if they don't go for it?" Amy asked. "Or what if they immediately swoop down and treat BA like a threat anyway?"

"That's what Face is for," smiled Hannibal.

Face tugged his jacket on and smoothed back his hair while Amy stared. The designer jeans he wore were comfortably worn but nice, matching the casual blue of his t-shirt and the cracked-brown of his leather jacket. "I am Harrison Williams the Third," he announced suavely. "The slightly rebellious son of Harrison Williams the Second. To the annoyance of my father, I refuse to conform to the family business expectations, but in a valiant effort to reform me he's sent me to learn a few tricks of the trade with his business advisor," Face paused to indicate BA, "and to hopefully work out a deal with Mr. Guerin and his associates regarding investments Guerin very much needs. Due to my negligent choice of attire, I'm supposed to wait in the car."

"Who's Harrison William the Second?"

Face had to admire Amy's persistence and realized somewhere along the way she'd missed a team meeting, probably when she took that other phone call from Stacy, who had talked to the other residents of the shelter again, who had told her absolutely nothing.

"I am," said Hannibal. "We sent a magazine with an article on the very wealthy and very pretend Williams family to Guerin's office yesterday—complete with pictures, and put out word that Williams is looking to invest in Guerin's next venture. Face will be waiting outside. If BA gets into trouble, Face will be on hand to bail him out, just in case. And if not, Face will move to phase two."

"What's phase two again?" Amy asked, handing them each their microphones.

Face cleared his throat. "Phase two is the part we get to make up as we go along."

"Right," she said. "Of course." She turned her head. "You know, Hannibal, it's always the details of your plans that impress me most."

Hannibal grinned, then turned serious, checked his watch and dropped his arm away from his still-scowling sergeant. "It's time."

"I still don't like suits, Hannibal," BA reiterated, blocking Hannibal's path to the van.

"Noted." Hannibal stepped deftly around him. "Now let's get going."

Amy climbed into the van with Hannibal, while Murdock—playing chauffeur—fixed his hat and jauntily moved around Face to the driver's seat of their appropriated limo, ignoring BA's barking claim that he should be the one driving.

While they argued, Face waved casually in the van's direction as it pulled out—nothing to see here, business as usual—then turned around to climb into the limo. As soon as his fingers touched the door's lever he was startled to feel BA's hand clamp down on his wrist.

He looked up in puzzlement.

BA's furrowed eyebrows framed piercing and serious eyes.

"BA?" Face questioned hesitantly.

"Face," BA's soft voice didn't match his scowl and he seemed to hesitate—something he almost never did. "You okay, man? You ain't been acting like yourself."

Face swallowed, a heavy lump rising abruptly to his throat. He felt his hand start to tremble and gripped harder at the limo's sleek handle to still it. "I'm fine," he said, carefully, and cursed himself because he almost stuttered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

BA's scowl deepened, but he let go of Face's wrist. He stalked around the rear of the car, climbed in the other side of the vehicle and slammed the door with a forceful clap.

Face watched him stupidly—stunned that BA had asked the question. Stunned, because he'd been pretending so well that he was okay, he'd almost started to believe it himself.

If BA had noticed that he was off... had Hannibal? Had Murdock?

tbc

Chapter Text

Personal

The limo ride to Guerin's office was long and silent, if you didn't count Murdock's attempts to bait BA from the driver's seat, which Face didn't. And even those eventually stopped. BA found the control to the partition between them and closed the dark divider right in the middle of Murdock's theorizing that BA was, in reality, the result of alien-human hybrid technology.

Face wished it would have continued. The antics were a distraction, at least, from the pitted and hollow feeling growing in his stomach, and from BA's unexpected anger. With the partition closed, there was no more buffer, no more mechanism to siphon off the weird energy between them. Nothing to make the sudden crazy in his own head feel less loud. With the partition closed, everything wrong and confusing in Face's gut seemed to suddenly want out of him, seemed to want to crawl out his ears and dance jigs on his shoulders. He fiddled with the buttons on the console to his left, stole glances at BA, and started to wonder what he'd done to make the sergeant believe there was something wrong with him.

It was a natural enough question for a conman to ask himself.

He was careful not to twitch or shake his foot, or do any of the other things he knew he did when he worried.

He was careful to ignore the raw tingling of his nerves.

And he was careful to think of all the ways he could convince BA that this concern he had was all in his head. The Faceman was fine. Nothing was crawling up from his gut... no jigs on his shoulders. All systems go. The Faceman was acting exactly like himself.

BA's worry was a misunderstanding. It was just BA… misinterpreting the facts… jumping to conclusions... as it were.

More than once Face opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he moved, BA would scowl, eyebrows lowering over warning eyes, and Face would start to worry that instead of picking up on something he was doing, BA was picking up on something he wasn't doing, and he'd close his mouth without saying anything at all.

By the time they were in range of Guerin's building, Face was certain he was becoming irrevocably neurotic. When Hannibal's radio squawked from the seat beside him, he snatched it up in stark relief. "Colonel?"

"You guys in position?"

"Not quite, but we're close," Face answered.

"Good. When you pull up, wait for us to signal before you move forward."

"Copy that." Face glanced at BA who nodded tersely to show he'd heard the order.

"And tell the others, Stacy called again from the shelter—she's found a witness. One of their not-always-sober regulars says he saw three men in a service truck waiting outside the shelter and talking to at least one of our missing kids."

Our missing kids, Face thought.

Our missing kids…

Hannibal made it sound like they'd actually met these kids before. Made it sound personal and possessive, yet casual and dismissive at the same time.

Our missing kids.

Face snorted. They'd never met these kids. No one was even making a fuss that they were missing, and if it weren't for the woman who'd tried to report them missing, the team would still just be after some stupid tapes. Stacy wasn't even the children's mother. For all they knew these kids belonged to no one—their own parents too scared, too drunk, too cynical, or too absent to make the missing person's report themselves.

These were nobody's kids.

BA cleared his throat.

Face looked over, then back at his radio. "He see anything else?" he asked, knowing Hannibal would have told him otherwise, but he needed to say something, to sound in control. His throat felt tight. The effort he made to sound controlled came out over-exaggerated.

From the corner of his eye he saw BA punch the partition's control with his index finger, rolling down the divider so Murdock could hear the conversation Face was having.

"That's all we have for now, yeah, but it gives more credibility to Stacy's assumption that Guerin actually has the kids and they're not off playing in a warehouse somewhere. We can at least assume we're not going to be following up on a wild goose chase."

BA snatched the radio from Face's hands. "What about Carter?" he barked.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, how we supposed to know if his information is right? Man, how we supposed to know these kids are even still alive?" BA's scowl deepened with every word.

A feeling, raw and itchy, crawled across Face's arms. Every other part of him felt suddenly heavy. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until another of BA's pointed scowls caught him in a glare.

He expelled the air in a rush.

Murdock glanced back from the steering wheel, looking at Face with a raised eyebrow.

"We don't," answered Hannibal honestly. "Carter's given us as much information as he can. He's made his best guess as to where Guerin would put them. We'll have to go with it and hope for the best."

"Right." BA handed the radio back to Face, who let it fall to the seat between them.

"Gentlemen, we have arrived," Murdock announced using a cheerful approximation of a British accent that grated on Face's raw nerves.

Face picked the radio back up. "Hannibal, we're in position."

"Us too. Looks like we're ready. Remember, Face, wait five minutes before moving unless signaled sooner. We got the rest of it."

"Right," he said, and swallowed. As antsy as he felt, five minutes would feel like an eternity. He heard another crackle from the radio. Hannibal seemed to be waiting for something. Face pushed the button and lifted it to his lips. "No time like the present," he quipped woefully.

Hannibal signaled his reply.

"You're on, BA," said Face.

BA exited the vehicle, throwing Face one last piercing look.

Too late, again, Face realized his foot was tapping mutely against the carpeted floorboard.

The growl grew low in Face's throat. "I wasn't trying to get hurt. I wasn't being suicidal. I wasn't anything," he said tightly, expressing as much anger as one could while lying flat on a couch.

Hannibal's stern and concerned commanding-officer expression only deepened.

"Sir," Face added forcefully, not sure himself whether he was using the respectful term as a sneer or a plea.

"Try again, Lieutenant." The colonel spoke calmly, apparently unfazed by Face's tone of voice. But the undertow of his years as their leader echoed past the short words, past the now tiring reminder of rank, and past Face's hope of getting him too fed up to keep asking the questions. This wasn't just protocol. Hannibal was genuinely concerned.

"It's not my fault they went to me three on one," Face muttered. It was a final attempt to sway the situation back into their regular relationship of sarcasm and banter. Besides that, the statement was true. All of it was true, Face reasoned to himself. Hannibal would have to accept it.

He didn't. He crossed his arms and waited. And Face knew Hannibal could wait a long time. He was the only one who really could wait him out. Murdock would go to lengths to talk it out of him. BA would scowl or grunt and use other not-subtle intimations of intimidation. Face could counter both approaches, but with Hannibal it was different. With Hannibal it was all in the glare. The steadiness. The determination. The wait.

"Okay, you're up, Murdock, or, I'm sorry, Captain Spock," said Face, checking BA's progress through the massive windows curling around the front entrance of Guerin's building. BA was still standing in the lobby, having not yet been invited to sit.

He'd only been in the building two minutes, but already two extra security guards had appeared on the floor. They're focus was centered completely on BA's surly and suited figure, just as Hannibal predicted.

Face fleetingly grinned. It was fun to watch BA play a role. Even if he always insisted he hated doing it.

"I am not Captain Spock!" Murdock protested, using an accent Face placed somewhere between mad scientist and Hogan's Heroes. "It is you all who are the aliens, not me. You've sucked me into your world and—"

"Murdock, just get going, okay?"

"Sure, muchacho, all you had to do was ask." Murdock checked his watch and winked back at Face. "I'm going for a walk. Keep an eye on the big guy, if they find out he's an alien, they might try to dissect him."

"I'm on it—get going."

"Sir, yes sir!" Murdock snapped a salute, slipped out the car door and began a casual stroll toward the building's west side. Face could see the pier and the ocean blinking beyond him in the distance.

"Hannibal." He clicked on the radio. "Murdock's coming around."

"Good, we're set here. Mark the time. Three minutes."

"Three minutes," Face repeated, checking his own watch. He'd been right before. This felt like an eternity.

"Where are the others?" Face asked suddenly.

"Face," warned Hannibal.

"I just want to know where everyone is."

"They're out," Hannibal answered simply. He rose to his feet, pacing the length of the silent room, fingering an unlit cigar.

"Out where?" Face persisted.

"It's not important. Until I know what's going on in your head, and what you plan to do with that information, the actions of this team are on a need-to-know basis.

"So… a few punches and I'm off the squad, huh?" Face looked away, setting his gaze on the greenish pattern running over the upholstery he lay on. He hoped his sarcasm had outweighed the bitterness he wanted Hannibal to pick up on.

"No," said Hannibal easily. "We're just hoping to keep you alive and sane for the next round."

"Oh? I didn't know we had a sanity clause. How's Murdock get to know anything?"

"Our only clause refers to the lieutenants of the team who normally prefer to avoid getting injured yet suddenly and deliberately goad three large men into beating him half to death."

"I didn't… I wasn't… Hannibal, this is ridiculous." Face moved to sit up again, even knowing he shouldn't.

This time it wasn't the colonel that stopped him.

The bruising in his stomach and ribs sent a warning pain through his body that caught him off guard. His head throbbed with warning and he caught his breath. Having no choice, he dropped back to the couch, gasping, surprised at the sharpness in the ache.

Face checked his watch. Three minutes down. It was time.

He clicked on his radio at the same time he reached for door handle. "Hannibal, I'm set."

"Okay," Hannibal replied. "Ready. Let's go."

Smoothing his hair down, Face strode across the way toward the wide front doors of the building and opened them with a demanding flourish.

The security guards on the floor turned their eyes away from BA to look in his direction but snapped back to BA within seconds. BA's job was being done well.

"Mr. Bracken," Face spoke loudly. "What is the holdup?" He stepped completely into the building and strode purposefully to BA's side, giving a dismissive glance to the important looking man the sergeant was speaking to.

"I told you to wait in the car," BA growled, beautifully in character.

"I got tired of waiting in the car," whined Face, indignant and snobby. "You've been here in the lobby for over five minutes and they clearly haven't even invited you to sit, let alone contacted Mr. Guerin to let him know you're here. I've been watching. If this is the way they do business I don't think we want to do business with them. My father's only interested in investing, not desperate to save this place from drowning."

The important-looking man looked insulted, just as Face desired. "And you are?" the man questioned snidely.

Face looked over as though just noticing he was there. "Harrison Williams the Third," he said, indifferent, immediately turning back to BA. "Let's get out of here. I may not be president of The Harrison Williams Corporation yet, but there's no way I'm allowing us to invest millions of dollars in a company this shabby."

"Shabby!" The important man was indignant, but he was starting to get a clue. "I assure you, sir, we are not a shabby company in any respect. If you'll have the patience to wait a few moments more, we'll tell Mr. Guerin you've arrived."

"We arrived ten minutes ago. No offense, but I'm not in the mood to wait any longer—"

BA cut Face's tirade off with a front-handed grip to his bicep. "We'll wait," he growled. "But make it quick. We didn't come here to spend all day staring at your tiled floors."

Face grinned. He did love to see BA in action.

Guerin's representative snapped around quickly at BA's command, nearly tripping as he rushed to comply. The plan was working perfectly, Face thought, releasing a small, relieved sigh.

He shifted on his feet, and it was then he realized BA hadn't let go of him yet. Suddenly self-conscious, he tried to step sideways a pace but only felt the grip tighten and with it, the reality of the case crashed back down on him. He felt a surge of anger, felt his face get hot, prickly with emotions he couldn't identify. For a second, he'd been able to forget, but now…

He drew a slow breath through his nose, counting, calming himself, forcing rational thoughts back into his head. BA was just keeping in character and his continued grip on Face's arm had nothing to do with their earlier exchange. It didn't mean anything. Face could break the hold if he wanted to. BA was just being a professional, as was Face.

They were both just playing parts. None of this was based on anything real.

A tremble started up in his hands. He bunched them and shoved them in his pockets. He didn't look at his teammate.

BA's hand tightened slightly.

Face's rationales looped more swiftly through his brain. It worked for a moment, but with Mr. Importance out of range, his own character role faltered. He found himself not knowing what he should do next. If he met BA's eyes… If he made a big deal about how BA could let him go now… If he did any of those things he wasn't sure he should do, he might crack, even if it was just role-play.

BA would see through him, would see all the parts unraveling.

Face opted for staying still. Inaction could be the wrong action but he had nothing better. He kept breathing, counting, kept looking toward the elevator where the man rushing to get Guerin had disappeared, hoping his clearly avoidant stare would be better than letting BA see directly into the growing madness in his eyes.

But it wasn't better. BA's grip shifted, seemed to tighten even more, and Face knew he was proving BA's suspicions, that he wasn't acting like himself, because he was again doing what he usually wouldn't have done… or not doing what he would have… and he knew BA knew it, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out—couldn't remember— what his 'usually' would have been.

He stared at the elevator, following the lights that showed what floor Mr. Importance was traveling past, pretending not to care, pretending to be unaware of his teammate's deepening glower.

He was grateful when Hannibal's voice invaded through the tiny microphones tucked into their left ears. "We're in and Murdock reports that Mr. Guerin and his associate are heading down to your position now. Move to phase two."

Oh good, Face thought. The part we get to make up as we go along.

tbc

Chapter Text

Personal

"Face!" It was his name, not his rank, but said with the warning tone, it might as well have been.

In two long strides Hannibal was at the couch's side, glaring down with a concerned scowl.

Face sucked air through his nose, panting through the wrangle of fiery nerves, expression twisted, emotions exposed. He hadn't realized how hurt he'd really been or how much his body would protest. It brought into stinging clarity the reasons for their current stance—the reason Hannibal was standing over him demanding answers.

You're a fool, Face thought. The great con artist of the A-team, giving everything away in a bid to sit upright, betraying everything he'd wanted to keep hidden, even from himself.

Fool.

Hannibal's frown deepened, hand set to Face's chest. The whisper of numbers was on his lips, counting a breath rate. Face bit the inside of his cheek and tried to bring the pain down, to control his response to it, to get his inhales and exhales to relay something even and steady.

After another minute and two fingers on Face's pulse, Hannibal sat back. "Face," he started, but the sound of the opening front door interrupted whatever lecturing tirade Face was about to hear. "Stay put," commanded Hannibal with a quick grip to both shoulders and a catch of his eyes.

"Yes sir," Face said, not playing with sarcasm this time.

Nodding, Hannibal released him and stood, moving away to speak with whomever had just come in.

Face took two additional breaths then twisted his head enough to see Murdock and Amy whispering with Hannibal in the entryway.

Murdock saw him looking, said something to Hannibal, and started toward him only to be stopped by the colonel's hand on his chest. He paused, gave Face a resigned look, apologetic and uncertain as he turned away toward the kitchen, taking a confused and concerned-looking Amy away in route.

Hannibal stepped back into the room and his presence seemed suddenly overwhelming. An oddly comforting yet dreadfully ubiquitous presence Face knew he couldn't escape and wouldn't really want to even if he could. Why was it so hard for him then, to just give Hannibal what he wanted?

But Face already knew the answer. It bordered on irrational, but... how could he even explain it? He still didn't know what happened himself. And if Hannibal figured that out... If he saw Face as... cracked... or changed. If Hannibal thought he'd changed—changed the rules of team engagement or even changed the depth with which the others viewed him—would Hannibal's comforting, ubiquitous presence change as well? Would it go away? Could he reconcile himself without it? What if he couldn't give Hannibal what he was asking?

Tensely, nervously, Face waited for Hannibal to say something.

He didn't. He picked up the newspaper he'd discarded earlier and settled back into the recliner.

"Colonel?" Face said hesitantly.

"Get some rest," Hannibal ordered. "Debriefing resumes later."

Debriefing, thought Face. He might have snorted if it weren't for the sore hitch still tied under his ribs.

This was much more than debriefing.

If not for BA, Face might have stayed staring at the elevator for an eternity, or until Mr. Guerin and his front man actually came back out of it. In itself, that might not have been a bad thing. It may have invited Guerin's security men to see him as a little off kilter, but that might not have been a bad thing either.

At the moment, Face didn't really care what Mr. Guerin or his security guards thought of him. He was tired, and he was tired of acting like he wasn't tired. Why not just go with it? It couldn't hurt the plan that much. And after all, he was off kilter. Why not make it work for him? Hiding it was proving too stressful and only seemed to be increasing the force of BA's crushing grip on his tender arm. He loosened his stance and felt a cavalier expression rising to his face.

BA had other ideas, and going with the flow of it all didn't seem to be one of them. Yanking Face around a little too harshly, he directed the two of them toward a plush leather couch several feet to their left and would have dragged Face there had the lieutenant not been all too willing to follow. Going with the flow, he thought to himself. To outsiders, Face decided, all this would look normal. Being manhandled by BA would look in-character. BA manhandling anyone in any situation would look in-character. Period.

BA jerked his head and pulled down on Face's arm.

Face sat.

BA sat next to him. He finally let go, but made releasing him a mute point when he leaned close and growled, "You ain't okay."

"If you say so," Face low-toned, sounding snide, feeling snide. He didn't look at BA as he said it. He'd found a spot on the Oriental rug beneath his feet to focus on instead. It was only slightly more interesting than the elevator doors.

"I say so," BA persisted, in spite of Face's condescending snark. "We got to get you out of here."

"What?" Face swung his head up, meeting BA's eyes for the first time in the last half hour.

Other than a cursory acknowledgment of Face's attention, BA didn't meet his gaze in return. He glanced at him briefly, eyes hard under a heavy scowl, then looked out at the room. He was moving his lips a little, seemed to be thinking out loud, talking to himself, and small beads of perspiration were dotting his forehead. BA only got like that when he was dealing with airplanes or something else especially unusual for him. "I got to tell Hannibal what's going on."

Face bristled, anger prickling up his spine. "You can't," he growled, low in his throat, acutely aware of the guards standing around the perimeter of the lobby, watching them warily. He tapped his ear with his index finger in a sharp gesture. "One way mics, remember? Radio is in the limo."

BA growled back.

"Besides, what would you tell him? I'm fine. You're seeing things."

"You ain't fine, Face," BA rumbled, but now, he too was staring at the Chinese carpet. "I don't know what's up with you, man, but I know that. You ain't connin' me."

"Great. You can take that story to Hannibal... when we see him."

BA opened his mouth but didn't get a chance to say whatever he was going to. The ornate elevator doors opened. Out strolled Mr. Guerin and the man who'd been talking to BA when Face first came in. Face snapped his heels into the ground and bounced his knee a little. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and had the abrupt feeling of wanting to just jump in, both feet, take his role and run with it. He started to rise, reckless smile stretching his lips.

BA's fingers hooked back around his bicep, crushing his arm as they stood. "Don't do nothin' stupid, Face."

Face ignored him, stepping forward with square shoulders. "Ah, Mr. Guerin, I presume?"

"You are correct, ah, Mr. Williams?"

"—The Third. And this is Mr. Bracken, my father's financial adviser. We were under the impression you'd be making time for us to discuss some... investing?"

Mr. Guerin shook Face's hand firmly, then reached for BA's only to be stopped by his scowl. "Ah, yes," Guerin said, stepping back slightly. "Allow me to apologize for the wait. We didn't get the information that you were coming. A mix up on our part, I assure you."

"Of course," Face answered blandly, twitching the corner of his lips up maniacally. Despite the rush, he wished he could see what progress Hannibal and Murdock were making. There was a wiggling in the back of his mind that made everything he said aloud to these men sound like fingernails on a chalkboard, and a little voice wiggling with it, telling him that, somehow, things were going to go very, very, wrong. 

Face hadn't thought he would fall asleep again. But he did. A heavy dreamless sleep that made it difficult to crawl back to consciousness. So deep a sleep it was, he wondered if Hannibal had drugged him, but knew that wasn't possible. He remembered staring at the ceiling for nearly an eternity, wondering how long the colonel was going to make him rest. Sleep only stealthily taking him after.

The house wasn't quiet like it had been when he'd awakened the first time. And Hannibal wasn't sitting with him anymore. Yet, he was there, somewhere near. Face could tell—could feel his lingering presence lurking—even if he couldn't find his voice amongst the ones that drifted toward him.

He blinked, rubbed clumsy fingers into the sleepy crust sticking into the corners of his eyes, then tried to get himself awake enough to evaluate things better.

The house wasn't quiet, but it was dark. No more daylight angling in through the front windows to help him gauge time. The voices threading toward him were hollow and hard to track until he sniffed a couple more deep breaths. It sounded like Murdock, and maybe BA. He still couldn't hear Hannibal, but still knew he was nearby. And every once and a while he tracked a voice that was feminine and curious and probably Amy's.

The voices weren't in the same room as him but they were talking about him. He could tell just from the tenor of their speech, and as his brain began to defog, he discovered the acoustics of the house allowed him to pick up almost the entire conversation.

"Maybe Hannibal should let up on him a little." Amy's voice. Ever the protector of the weak. Face never thought he'd fit into that category. Amy probably never thought he would either.

"No." BA's short growl. "Fool almost got himself killed. Hannibal can't let that pass. Besides, Hannibal knows what he's doin'."

Face lifted an eyebrow at that, then dragged more sleep from his eyelash. Did Hannibal know what he was doing? For a moment Face wanted to rise to the challenge, prove to the colonel that he was a problem that couldn't be solved by neat technique or suave planning, but the thought made him feel more crazy than just about any other thought he'd had that day.

This wasn't a game. He respected the colonel too much to turn it into one. Hannibal was…

Hannibal would…

Face, too, knew his teammates well. Knew Hannibal as much as anyone could, but he didn't really know how this was going to play out. He didn't know what Hannibal was thinking about him, or what he was planning to do. What would Hannibal do here?

He kept plucking at his eyelashes, and finally pulled one out, staring at the unidentifiable line it made against his hazy finger.

"I've just never seen Hannibal act so… restrictive," Amy continued.

Face could tell she was choosing her words carefully—the reporter attempting not to judge until she'd been given the whole story. He blew the eyelash off his finger and stared back up at the dim ceiling.

"These are sides to both of them I've never seen before." Her voice was damningly curious, but Face recognized that tone too. It was a tone he liked to hear from her—the tone she used when she stepped back and didn't ridicule them for being guys, when she let them open the door for her, keep her out of harm's way, or help her get through a challenging situation by accepting death. It was one of the reasons she fit in so well with them—she didn't pretend to know things she didn't, was open to seeing things from a perspective that wasn't hers, and yet wasn't afraid to put her own thoughts into any plan.

"Yeah, normally Hannibal ain't the restrictive type," piped in Murdock. "It's not his style. But, in the end, he's still our colonel." His voice carried farther than the rest. Face pictured his expression, imagining the light lines around his eyes, his deliberately casual demeanor, and knew it meant he'd calmed some but was still worried or frustrated about what Face had done. The tone of his voice bordered on sane—the tone Murdock adopted when he casually or unintentionally allowed his genius to show through.

Murdock the evaluator.

Murdock the psychologist.

"It's true, the Face-guy doesn't normally require the colonel part of our fearless leader. But, a good colonel keeps his troops together, knows what they're thinking… keeps 'em grounded in battle. Now, Face is usually the epitome of grounded all on his own… but today… whatever he was thinking, Face scared our head honcho and our head honcho doesn't like being scared. The result is, Face has to put up with the colonel part of Hannibal for a while… maybe even needs it."

Scared? Was Hannibal scared? Face hadn't considered that. He'd been too preoccupied with his own uncomfortable fear.

"Guys, let me in on it," Amy pushed. "What happened to him today?" She was nothing if not persistent. Cliché, Face mused, but true.

Silence settled.

Face felt the stretch of it and wondered what his teammates would say. Wondered how they would answer her. He could imagine them looking at each other, silently conferring on what to tell her. He imagined the traded confusion and wariness in their gazes. Amy wasn't an outsider, but she hadn't been through what they'd been through together and it wasn't like they even had an answer to give her. If Face didn't have it clear in his own head, how could they?

It had just happened.

It was…

Nothing.

Why couldn't Hannibal respect that and let them move on?

BA broke the silence, but it was hesitant, like he was still debating the words as they formed in his mouth. "Face… grew up in an orphanage."

"Right," said Amy. "But I've already known that. He talks about growing up in an orphanage all the time. I've seen the orphanage. I've talked to the nuns."

"Before that, we think he went through some… rough times." Murdock's contribution was even more hesitant.

"He don't ever talk about it," BA continued, bolder this time, "but he was on the streets… couple different times. Can't say for sure, but I think them missing kids was bringing up memories for him."

Face swallowed hard. He felt an uncomfortable stirring in his gut.

"How long was he on the streets? How did he end up in the orphanage?"

"We ain't sure. He don't ever talk about it… pretends his life was all turkey and roses." BA had been building momentum. Now he just sounded angry.

"Turkey and roses?" Murdock and Amy both, speaking in unison.

Unexpectedly, Face felt a smile rise to his lips. He set a hand against his stomach to keep himself from laughing and jarring his ribs, and to keep the uncomfortable stab of confusing whatever in check. But the smile had already won out over it. He was surprised. It felt foreign. It was not his fake smile. It twisted a light on against the black background of his brain.

BA growled.

And there must have been something else said that Face missed because suddenly Murdock was saying, "Hey, don't worry, chiquita, Hannibal's on it." Then he adopted his universal scientist accent, playful, trying to goad the others into relaxing. "So vee vill do vhat ve alvays do… trust Hannibal."

"Trust Hannibal," BA repeated. From the sergeant's lips it sounded like an order.

Face had always trusted Hannibal. But this was different. This was confusion. This was mystification. This was too clouded for anyone else to get. This was too… 

...everything.

tbc

Chapter Text

Personal

"Nothing on the kids yet," Hannibal's voice informed them, tiny and tinny in their ears. "And no tapes in the office." Face let his eyes slide fleetingly to BA, then looked back at Guerin, watching his hazy mouth moving, discordant with Hannibal's voice. "We're moving into the hallway now," Hannibal continued. "Keep 'em busy, guys."

A lightweight feeling inched into Face's head and seemed to fill it up as Guerin's voice increased sharply in volume. "I think it would be prudent if we were to sit and discuss the terms of your investment," Guerin was saying, smiling facilely at Face, and then BA. A genial-looking smile Face knew well because he'd used it himself, thousands of times, for a thousand different cons. "Perhaps you'd like to come up to my office?" Guerin gestured back to the elevators with a manicured hand, a hand soft and delicate and clean, free from the calluses that stayed stuck on Face always, even in the fanciest clubs.

And Guerin had so much more to hide than Face did—drugs and money and tapes with evidence of his criminality. Embezzling and trading and selling, killing and hurting.

Missing children.

He should have calluses, Face thought. It should show on his body somehow.

Somehow, it should.

Face bounced on the balls of his feet. "No," he replied, clasping his hands behind his back with an exaggerated reflection of Guerin's smile. "I don't think so. Offices are so stuffy. Terrible places for doing business. Really, who can get anything done in an office?"

BA's scowl was deepening, Face could tell without looking.

Guerin appeared momentarily flustered, annoyed, and seemed to suck his teeth together throughout his entire next sentence. "We have a board room that's quite comfortable," he suggested tightly. "Or," he eyed Face's casual attire, "or a rather spacious break room. Perhaps that would be more to your… comfort level?"

"Still nothing," Hannibal's voice cut in. "Two rooms to go."

"You know what's throwing off my comfort level?" Face said, stretching his smile wider as he unclasped his hands and snapped his fingers in the air, like he was trying to think of it. He lifted his eyebrows as he gazed around the room, then stopped both motions abruptly and looked at Guerin. "You know what I think it is?" He laughed a little. "I think it's your security."

BA's fingers bruised where they gripped his elbow.

Face ignored them. He cocked his head sideways and leaned forward. "Seriously, can't help but notice that they uh… seem a little tense. Expecting trouble, Guerin? Because, gotta tell ya, it doesn't exactly make for a welcoming environment." He jerked his elbow from BA's fist and spread his arm over Guerin's shoulders, lowering his voice to a faux whisper. "Confidentially, just between you and me... it feels a little like we just walked into the headquarters of the Spanish Inquisition. I only call it to your attention because, well, security like this might make valued investors like us think you have something to hide."

BA gave a succinct nod when Face looked at him for agreement, gaze flickered up with Guerin's, but his angry expression stayed the same, worry lines drawn deeply into his forehead.

"Well," Guerin began, looking uncomfortable.

A tingle of energy, of focus, rose up Face's spine. It felt good. It felt really good. It felt like the jazz but better. Much better. He clapped his hand down on Guerin's shoulder. "You see," he continued, "it's just… the only businesses we've worked with that invest in this level of security are those that deal heavily on the, uh… illegal side of things. Mr. Guerin, you're not involved in anything of that nature, are you?"

"What is this?" Guerin leaned away, starting to shake free of Face's arm.

Face smiled, felt the calm feralness in it, felt the way it came out his eyes… felt the undertow of BA's fingers itching for his forearm.

Right then, a blare of sound wound over them, the lobby lights beginning to blink, alarms clanging out with them in an offset rhythm.

Guerin's eyes shot up, darting around.

"We got the kids," reported Hannibal, breathless. "We got 'em. We're heading down the back fire escape. Go. Get out, guys. Go. Go."

"What is this?" Guerin repeated, louder, colder, eyes ticking back at Face, at BA, at Face again. "What did you do?"

"Bet you wish you'd killed them when you had the chance," Face whispered, barely audible over the blare of sound.

BA shot his hands out, gripping Face's shoulders, clenching into his jacket and yanking him away. "We're leaving," he barked. "We're leaving, now."

"Check upstairs!" Guerin shouted, eyes filling with murderous comprehension. "Check the damn kids!"

Security agents were already shaking into action.

BA was still pulling, but it wasn't necessary anymore. Face was moving. Moving fast. Feet pounding against the pavement the minute BA pushed him out the door. Legs pumping. Chest heaving. BA's heels striking down less than a pace behind.

The back alley. They had to get to the back alley.

Hannibal and Murdock would be coming down the fire escape.

Amy would be there waiting with the van.

It wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't be fast enough.

The clank of gold rattling against itself shook Face from his haze. Not sleeping, just far away in his thoughts. He'd shoved the blanket off to the floor and bent his knees up, soles of his bare feet flat against the cushions, gaze fixed deep in the off-white ceiling. He blinked slowly at the soft sound, and peeled his eyes to the left. "BA?"

"Got food for you," BA said gruffly. But it didn't look like food. Just a mug of something. Steam rising out the top, spoon clanking against the side as BA adjusted it around.

Face lifted his eyebrows. "Does this mean I'm allowed to sit?" he asked brightly—too brightly, surge of sarcasm all too evident.

"Shut up, man," BA growled, thunking the cup down on the end table.

That's right, BA was mad with him. He was the fool who'd almost gotten himself killed. He swallowed carefully and didn't say anything more. He set his palms on the couch to either side of himself, thinking about how to get his elbows underneath to lever himself up without jarring his ribs.

"Wait," BA rumbled. He slid his arm below Face's neck—way too gentle, way too close—then wedged it down under his shoulders, going slowly as he edged Face upright, easing his legs off the couch with his other hand, till he got Face sitting like a normal person. Face wrapped an arm across his stomach, tipped his head against the upholstery, and breathed through his nose while the strain of it all settled down.

BA clicked on the lamp, flooding the room with a dark yellow light, then leaned back, frowning at Face grouchily.

"BA," Face started, no sarcasm. He rubbed a hand over his hair, wary of the pulsing lump above his ear and how it was starting to ring down into his teeth. But he had nothing else. No more words would come out of him. I'm sorry. You were right. You can start bunking me with Murdock. 

None of it would come.

BA stretched out his hands, caught Face's wrist and moved it away from the bump. He tipped Face's head to the side, wide fingers touching gingerly above his ear, brushing lightly over the sparse scabbing. "Needs to be cleaned again," he said roughly.

"It's nothing," Face replied on automatic.

"It ain't nothing, Face." BA picked up the mug again, pressing it to Face's grip, letting go only when he was sure he had it.

Beef broth and potatoes. Carrots. Green beans. Murdock's stew. Face usually liked it but looking at it now made his stomach pinch. "I'm not real hungry," he said.

"Eat."

Face clanked the spoon around. "Where's Hannibal?"

"Why?" BA grumbled. "You actually going to talk to him?"

Face let go of the spoon with a sigh and slid the mug out on his knee. He felt the warmth from the bottom leach through to his jeans. "I'm sorry," he said. "Okay, BA? I'm sorry."

BA sighed. A heavy, burdened, pained sigh that inexplicably had Face flashing back to the job that'd ended them up in Badrock. The slug BA had taken in his leg. The doctor, the jail, the biker gang. The mantra Face is gonna pay, Face is gonna pay that BA'd breathed out endlessly throughout the whole ordeal.

Face eyed him cautiously.

"Faceman," BA started.

Face tightened his fingers on the mug.

"You gotta talk to Hannibal, man."

"And say what?" The abyss in his chest gaped wide. All the same confusion edging around it as before. His insides were knotted and jumbled. He didn't know what it meant, so how could talking about it get him anywhere but deeper in the hole? He started tapping his foot, a muted up and down against the carpet. He looked up at BA's scowl and repeated, "And say what?"

"Face," said Murdock, shoulder hooked against the wall near the entrance to the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hannibal doesn't expect you to have it sorted out. He doesn't want a story handed to him. He just wants you to talk to him."

Face ran a hand over his hair. He focused on a spot on the white filmy curtain across the way. He needed to think. He just needed to think.

Needed to think.

BA dropped a hand onto his jiggling knee, pushing down to keep it still.

"Stop thinking, muchacho," said Murdock. "No one expects… just… just stop." There was not a hint of crazy anywhere in his voice.

Face's eyes stayed on the curtain, but he nodded minutely.

BA stood after a moment, patted his knee one last time and they both left the room.

Face's hand touched asphalt as they skidded around the last corner to the back alley. He recovered quickly and kept going, sprinting down the stretch. The van was waiting on the opposite end, side door swung wide, the vague silhouette of Amy at the wheel.

Murdock and Hannibal and three rattle-thin kids were swinging their way down the fire escape, fast as they could.

"Hannibal!" BA hollered. He fisted a hand into the back of Face's jacket as they slowed to a stop near the bottom. "Hannibal," he said again. There was a tone to it, more than just urgency, but Face didn't stop to think about it. Murdock was riding the last rungs of the escape, weighing it to the ground when it jerk-clicked and stopped still ten feet up, Murdock nearly losing his grip.

"BA," said Hannibal, leg hooked over the railing on the last landing, grappling for a weapon. His eyes were behind them.

BA let go Face's jacket and darted forward as Murdock swung one of the children down to drop below him. A blond haired girl in an oversized jacket.

The arrival of company sounded with the cocking of guns.

Face spun around.

Guerin was approaching, his frontman behind his left shoulder and his goons on his flank, weapons lifted.

"Nah ah ah, stop right there," Hannibal's voice rang out. Face glanced up and saw he had his weapon lifted, pointed steadily, but also saw that above him, at the top of the fire escape, lurked another of Guerin's goons, angling a rifle through the slats, trying to find a clear shot down through the bars. Hannibal eyes darted briefly skyward before he spoke again. "You're going to risk a firefight in your own back alley?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't think so. Would be a little hard to explain, don't you think? A little too much attention from the authorities? If your alarm hasn't stirred enough attention to have local police units on the way, a firefight will. But no, go ahead. I'd love to see you try to explain it."

Guerin's eyes flickered.

Murdock was holding the second child by his wrists, a slight boy with brown hair and black eyes. The ladder rattled as he finished dropping the boy down, BA catching and shuffling him behind.

The whir of the alarm abruptly died. All else in the alley went silent.

Face felt his pulse beat in his ears, felt a frozen calm come over him, standing in the gulf between the goons and his team.

Guerin lifted his hand. His men lowered their weapons a fraction. "We won't let you leave this alley," he said.

"It doesn't look like you have much of a choice." Hannibal shuffled back a step, inching his leg down the first rung of the ladder, gun steady. BA had his weapon out also, aimed up past Face.

Murdock swung the last child down, another boy with bright green eyes and a sharp face, then followed cautiously, warily watching the goons, hands white on the metal before he let go and dropped the last few feet, landing with a sideways stumble.

Face watched him regain his feet, then turned fully to focus on Guerin. He was closer than he'd thought, less than a yard between them.

"Hannibal," warned BA, voice tight.

"Bet you really do wish you'd killed them when you had the chance, huh?" Face said.

Guerin showed teeth, reflecting Face's feral calm right back at him. "If you need to make them disappear," he informed Face distinctly, "they fetch a better price alive."

The cold calm crept down through Face's muscles. He stepped forward. A smile split his face.

"Face," he heard behind him, but it sounded like it was underwater, far away.

Guerin rocked back but it wasn't fast enough. Face's fist flew like lightning, smashing into Guerin's cheekbone. He hooked his arm and followed the blow with his elbow, riding the second hit with the same momentum.

"Face!"

Guerin went down hard. Face swung into the next closest person, elbow in the stomach, uppercut, and saw someone else strike ground.

"Lieutenant!"

He pushed the other way, felt his knuckles rattle teeth, felt his knee jab into something sharp. Saw a smear of red. Scrambled his hands. Jerked his legs. Kicked and twisted and swung wild, kept swinging, as a tangle of arms and legs came back at him.

He felt a blur of sensation riding over his ribs.

A wave of dizziness looped over him as something got his head.

There was asphalt under his cheek and a kick to his gut that stole his breath away but made him want to laugh.

Everything rolled to a haze, sharpening in color when the crack of gunfire sounded overhead.

Distant shouts.

Vague voices.

Arms looped under his chest, touched his head. There was blood on his neck, a fiery heat spreading from core to limbs, cold hands gripping at him, pulling, pushing. "Stand down, Lieutenant." The slide of the van door, daylight darkening, tires squealing, hands against his shoulders pressing him into a rough carpet floor. A low sound keening out his throat.

"Face."

He was laughing.

"Face."

He thought he was laughing.

"Templeton."

But then he breathed and the abyss in his chest exploded, started in his gut and swelled up to his eyeballs, stole his voice, turned everything to sparkling, twirling fireworks, then set it all to black.

tbc (one more bit to go)

Chapter Text

Personal

The shag carpet rubbed rough-smooth against the skin of Face's feet. Toes pushed out through the threads, the coolness of the fibers whispered under his skin.

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 somewhere he'd been 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. He 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 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 had done. "How's it feel, kid?"

"Fine."

Hannibal breathed out slowly.

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

Hannibal nodded, looking somewhat appeased. "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, and he hoped Hannibal could tell the difference. 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, no cover, 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, running them through his hair, conscious of 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, you included, then, yes," Hannibal said, "it worked."

Face flicked his gaze up.

Hannibal leaned forward, elbows on knees. "We could have protected the kids and made it out of the alley 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've 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 it, 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 maybe I'd been them. It felt like I'd been them and... In the alley, too, it felt like I was them, or like 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 anyway." 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 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, you don't have to have the answers all the time. 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. Maybe even imperfectly, but we would have tried."

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 further notice, and until we can get you checked out."

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 in the moment. 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 jamoca 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. "I 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