Face tried to convince himself he was jealous Murdock took that young lady to bed so easily. He tried to believe that Hannibal's and B.A.'s occasional good-natured teasing about losing his seat as the team's lady's man was the reason he had a hard time looking directly at Murdock, and why he made excuses to leave the room if the pilot came in.

(In reality, it was because he realized those late night impromptu memories of Murdock's voice and movements while he was with that young lady that his brain insisted on repeating and repeating AND REPEATING turned him on. He could do something about it in the middle of the night, but during the day when Murdock clapped him on the shoulder or leaned against him comfortably on the couch it was much more difficult to hide a hard-on)

(In reality, it was easier to pretend jealousy than admit the honest truth)

(In reality, the visions in his head morphed that young lady to himself. Murdock whispered increasingly dirty suggestions to him, not her; Murdock's throaty chuckle tickled his ear, not hers; Murdock's accent became deeper when he told him how he wanted him on top, not her; Murdock's gasps and moans and encouraging little cries were for Face, not her)

Face struck the mattress beside him with a closed fist. No sleep again tonight. No use lying here in a cold bed when his brain conjured up hot images that, in reality, didn't include him.

Face got up.

He wandered to the first floor of the rental, wondering if he was a good enough to scam and get some of the downers they occasionally had to slip to B.A. Hannibal kept those tight to his chest—they were illegal, after all—but maybe, just maybe he could convince the Boss he needed them too. Then he could see if they'd dull his brain enough not to think or dream or at least remember.

The TV would be too loud, there were no books he wanted to read. It was nice, here in the dark and quiet. The crickets outside were loud, and Face walked to the sliding glass door to the patio. Carefully he popped it open and stepped outside, drawing chilled night air into his lungs.

The air cleared his head.

"Evenin', Facey."

Murdock's drawl startled him.

(That sudden clarity evaporated)

"Evening, Murdock," Face choked out.

The pilot was on one of the lounge chairs, under the open sky. In spite the chill, he was shirtless, with only worn pajama pants on, and no socks. The pants were so thin Face could see the outline of Murdock's legs and a suggestion of his, of his—

(Cock)

—groin in the moonlight.

"Nice night. Clear. Pull up a chair an' join me."

How could he not, without being horribly rude to his best friend?

Face sat tensely in the canvas chair beside Murdock. Murdock, usually so intuitive, didn't seem to notice his discomfort and stared up into the stars above them.

"It's nice to have a place further out from a city so we can see the stars. Not as much light pollution out here, you know? Would the stars miss looking down on us if there was so much light pollution and regular pollution that we couldn't see them and they couldn't see us? Are they souls? Are they fey? Do they care? Do we?"

(Don't stare at his chest, don't fall into his voice, don't lean over and put your mouth on his nipple)

"I care, Facey. I don't want the stars to go away. I have a piece of blue goldstone—blue goldstone sounds an oxymoron, doesn't it?—that looks like the stars above, all glittery like a tiny galaxy—"

(Don't think about him, it's stupid, you're stupid)

"—I'll show it to you sometime, Facey. It's like holding a tiny galaxy in your hand. What's up with you, lately?"

The abrupt change of subject caught Face off guard.

"W-what? Nothing! Everything's fine, everything's—"

(Liar liar pants on fire)

Murdock snorted, cutting Face off. "If that's your best con, you're getting rusty."

Face stopped trying to lie.

Murdock swung around on the lounger to face him. "What's going on, Face? Why're you all wonky?"

There was very little color out here in the dark. Moonlight made everything black and white and varying shades of grey. But Face knew the color of the darkened eyes pleading with him. When he dared to glance into them, he saw Murdock's lips lift in a slight smile and those eyes crinkle a bit at the outer edges, the way they did when Murdock looked at someone fondly—

(Like that young lady, like all young ladies, like he always has, he's straight, he's straight you stupid idiot)

"Face?" Murdock asked, more gently this time.

Face dropped his hesitant gaze. "I'm jealous!" he blurted out.

"Jealous?" Murdock repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if it were new.

"Yes! Jealous, jealous of—"

(Careful there, Faceman, this is a straight guy in front of you. Don't ask, don't tell, don't hit on breeders unless you want the shit beat out of you)

"Aw, no need to be jealous of me, Facey, no matter what Hannibal and B.A. tease—"

"I'm jealous of that girl!"

(Oops)