reference notes: There is a large Marince Corp camp in northern San Diego county. San Onofre is the location of a nuclear power plant (near parts of that camp).
Hannibal looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Commanding officer," is what every inch of it said to him. It wasn't his clothes - he was dressed in khaki pants and a long sleeved shirt with the top two buttons undone for air. He wasn't wearing any visible weapons, dog tags, or even gloves today. He supposed the combat boots and the precise trim of his hair might hint at his military background.
But really, more than anything, it was his stance and grim expression - a more fanciful man might also have said "aura" - that gave away his Army past. A lifetime in the Service and decades in command had given Hannibal an air that mere months on the run could not undo.
Today, however, that wasn't a bad thing. With one last, cool glance at the authority figure in the glass, Hannibal turned briskly on his heel and strode out the door of his room, grabbing and pocketing his wallet on the way. Down to business.
"Mornin', Boss," a deep voice rumbled from the kitchen as Hannibal walked through the living room. Well, there was step one of the plan out the window already. He'd planned on leaving a note on the fridge and getting out without any questions. That was a bit hard, though, with BA staring blearily at him over a bowl of cereal. Still, the incongruous sight of his large, mohawked comrade sitting on a pink beribboned cushion at the lace-covered kitchen table never failed to make Hannibal smile.
"Good morning, Bosco," he replied naturally, hoping the man was still asleep enough not to notice that his former CO was fully dressed and ready to head out. I may actually be in luck... BA's gaze had returned to his breakfast, which he regarded with far more intensity. Hannibal took the opportunity to pick up a set of keys and slip out the door and into the early morning sunshine.
Ah, the Los Angeles underground never looked so good, he thought ironically, looking around the clean, bright suburban neighborhood they were currently inhabiting. Technically, it was Orange County, but he wasn't about to argue with the smog-free air of Costa Mesa over boundaries. Face has really outdone himself this time. He eyed the elegantly pruned rosebushes in front of the tidy house as he made his way to the Buick parked next to BA's van in the driveway. Even got the old lady to leave us the keys to her car.
His tentative good feeling deserted him as the amusing memory of his former lieutenant convincing the elderly widow that owned this house that they were a crack team of housesitters morphed into a pathetic image of Face crying in his sleep. The younger man had been having nightmares almost every night for the last week. Hannibal hadn't been sleeping with him - had in fact been avoiding most intimacy with him - since that disastrous night, but he could still see the signs in the morning: reddened eyes shadowed below by dark circles and within by vague, lingering fear.
This ends. Today, he promised himself and his lover as he shoved the key into the Buick's lock and savagely turned it.
"Where ya off to, Bossman," a rich Southern drawl interrupted him before he could get in the car.
Well at least Face is capable of sleeping in... "Good morning, Murdock. What's got you out so early?" Chaff deployed.
"Taking Billy for a walk," the pilot replied, apparently taken in by the decoy. He walked up the driveway, right hand posed as if it held a leash.
The imaginary dog again... There was another cause for worry... maybe. Murdock had started talking about "Billy" a few weeks after the events in the harbor. Hannibal didn't know if Billy was like an imaginary friend and therefore a sign of stress and alienation, or just a new delusion for a new environment. "Well, make sure he doesn't mine the front lawn."
"Will do. Now, where are you headed?" The chaff had failed after all. The missile was unavoidable.
"I've just got a bit of business to attend to," he replied vaguely to Murdock's question, not wanting to lie outright. "I'll be back well before dinner."
"Aren't you going to wear a disguise?" the pilot asked as he came up to stand beside Hannibal. "You're starting to get real good at them."
"Don't need one today." He was heading south, where the DOD was represented by the thankfully few and the overly proud. No danger there.
"Ah, not even the cowboy hat from that rodeo getup?" Murdock looked genuinely disappointed. "Faceman sure couldn't take his eyes off you in that," he added coaxingly.
"HM." Hannibal's voice was pitched low, serious and it had an immediate effect on his companion's expression. "Keep an eye on Face. Please."
"Sure thing." Murdock didn't ask why. "Drive safely, Boss. And watch out for the radioactive mutant jarheads 'round San Onofre."
Hannibal grunted noncommittally, got into the car, and, with a last wave to the pilot, backed out of the driveway. He felt a little guilty about being evasive, but what Murdock didn't know, he couldn't be smooth-talked into telling Face.
Not that Hannibal driving down to San Diego to meet Face's former foster brother had to be a secret, but... It's easier this way. For me. He'd tried to think of other ways of finding out about Face's past. However, even if Hannibal had the skills of a hacker, old CPS records and school report cards weren't something one found online. And, while a person signed away their privacy when they enlisted, that didn't extend to the Department of Social Services, so even if he weren't a wanted fugitive, a phone call or office visit were out.
Thank God for the age of social networking. A few remembered names, a couple searches, and an email exchange later, and a concerned CO was set to meet a curious foster sibling. Let's hope it's worth the drive. Apparently it was late enough to be hitting morning commute traffic. It was fine as long as he was on I5, but when he hit the 805 junction? Frankly, there were times when southern California freeways made Hannibal feel like he was still in a warzone, unsure who the enemy was and unable to predict his moves...
Enough nonsense, he chided himself. Plans were what he needed. Step 1: quietly leave the house and drive to San Diego. That was mostly done. Step 2: meet the foster brother (a man with the unfortunate name of Jebediah Jones) in some random Starbucks near the harbor. Step 3: See what the man remembered about Face.
That's not a plan - that's two teenagers meeting at the mall. Hannibal spent the remainder of the drive planning his conversational strategies. He toyed with various opening gambits and considered different tacks he might take if the other man proved tight-lipped.
It passed the time and kept his mind off certain images... for the most part.
And, by the time he'd left the Buick in a garage and arrived at what he supposed was the right Starbucks (hard to tell - he thought he might have seen another one a couple blocks away). He asked for the blackest coffee they had and a piece of whatever was least like cake. He still wasn't sure the coffee was black enough for the confection they warmed up for him.
"Colonel Smith?" asked one of the most timid sounding voices Hannibal had ever heard. The man sounded positively frightened and when the former colonel looked up at him, he seemed ready to drop and give Hannibal fifty.
"You Jebediah Jones?" He decided to play to expectations, keeping his back stiff, his voice harsh, and his eyes critical. The man looked as unfortunate as his name: pudgy, pale, and prematurely balding. He nodded nervously, fingers tugging at the hem of his suit jacket. "Then yes, I am. Have a seat, son," he added in a softer tone when Jeb just stood there.
"Er, so... You're T's commanding officer?"
"T?"
"Oh, that's what we called him, since Templeton was too big a name for such a scrawny kid."
Scrawny? Face? "Yeah. He's my XO. My second in command," he clarified.
"That's good. I'm glad he made something of himself. My parents always said-" Jeb swallowed the words like bad coffee.
"Go on."
"After he ran away, my parents always said he'd probably gotten himself killed in some gutter. I..."
"Son, just say whatever you have on your mind." The man clearly had decades old regret desperate for an outlet. With or without plans, he'd sing like a bird.
"You ever read Harry Potter, sir? Well, that's how my parents treated T, 'cept they got government money to take care of him. And I never thought to say shit about it until he split." Jeb was finally warming up, apparently.
"Mr. Jones, do you remember anything happening to him when you still lived together?" No point in dragging the meeting out. "Anything that might make Fa- Templeton... nervous in certain situations?"
"I don't follow."
"Recently, he's shown signs of some repressed trauma. There's nothing in his records," Hannibal lied easily, "and he doesn't remember anything, but... Something clearly happened to him when he was younger."
"I'm sorry sir, but I can- Wait... His sophomore year in high school, when I was a junior. My parents sent me to some study camp for SATs. When I got back, T was... different. Started skipping school and getting in trouble with girls. He'd spend all his free time working out and practicing martial arts."
"And none of his teachers did anything? Or Social Services?" Surely some responsible adult had noticed something.
"No one cared. Not even me, until..."
"Until?"
"I overheard one of his nightmares. You see, Colonel Smith, T was a scrawny kid, but he was never weak, or whiny. That... wasn't him. And it wasn't just that one night. For once, I decided to talk to my father about T. And you know what he did? Went into T's room, smacked him awake, and told him to 'be a man, goddamn it!' My father never blasphemed..."
Jeb was clearly experiencing more bitter emotions, but Hannibal had no pity to spare for him. Aw, kid, he said to Face in his mind, they did their level best to level you, didn't they. It was a wonder he'd made it to the military at all, let alone found his way to Hannibal.
"Thank you," he told Jeb distantly, though gratitude was far from his feelings now. The man hadn't told him anything he wanted to hear. "I appreciate you taking the time."
"It's no trouble. It's actually a relief to know T is well. And happy?"
Hannibal nodded firmly. If I have anything to say about it.
"I'm so glad he's got someone who cares about him."
"The whole unit cares about him." He was being fair, not defensive.
"Good." Jeb rose, smiling as if a weight had been lifted from him. Transferred to me... "You'll give him my regards."
"Sure, son. And thanks again," he said as the man left. He would have said "thanks for nothing," but... he had left Hannibal with something.
A headache and a bad taste in my mouth that has nothing to do with this coffee. And a time frame, he supposed.
It was time to talk to Face again.
Billy the imaginary/invisible dog is from the TV series. As he didn't make an "appearance" in the movie, I decided that he popped up after they went on the run.
Anyway, tbc, soon...