When it was time to turn in for the night, Face and Murdock still didn't talk. They just nodded at each other as a good-night before Murdock turned out the light.
A long silence.
"No, Billy, you can't sleep in my bed."
Silence.
"No, leave me alone. You're too big to sleep in my bed. Go down!"
"Murdock, get your stupid dog under control," Face moaned tiredly.
"I'm trying, man, I'm trying! – And he ain't stupid. It's just, he won't stay out of my bed."
Face suppressed asigh, debated with himself, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't get any sleep if he let Murdock carry on about Billy. "Tell you what,", he said. "Send Billy over, he can sleep in my bed."
"You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
"Ok, but don't complain if you don't get any sleep tonight."
And maybe it was invisible Billy's doing that Face didn't sleep much that night. But more likely it was the sudorific nightmares that woke him again and again. After the last one, Face got up. It was shortly after four in the morning, and he declared defeat.
He sat up in his bed, staring into the darkness of the room, at the slightly lighter rectangle of their window, forcing his thoughts down cheerier avenues. For the most part it even worked.
"You awake?" Murdock's sleepy voice came over from the other bed a few minutes later.
"Yeah."
For a moment silence reigned in the room.
"Bad dream?" Murdock asked
Face looked over at him, hardly seeing him, just a few faint outlines.
"Me too," Murdock offered, sitting up.
Face raised his eyebrows in amazement. That Murdock could just admit it like that... "What do you have to have bad dreams about?" That was a stupid question, and more importantly, it was an insensitive question. Because Murdock had been a POW too. And something obviously has happened to him in the camp, and it had broken him.
"You."
"I what?"
"You, I have you to dream about." Murdock confessed in a small voice and uncomfortably shifted on his bunk.
"And that makes for bad dreams? Thanks so much."
Murdock cleared his throat. "Well, not necessarily, but... Well... It's complicated."
"Uh-huh." Face wished Murdock would go back to sleep, so that he could wait for daybreak in peace and get his reeling thoughts back under control. He needed to be back under control by morning.
"I've seen you." Murdock's voice was soft and raw.
Face started at the tone. "What? Seen me where, when? What?"
"That day, when they came to liberate us. A grunt carried you by." A strangled sound, probably a half-swallowed sob. "I thought I was... I thought I was just imagining it. You looked so..."
Face pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around them. He did not need to know what he had looked like - not too hot, he imagined. He had enough knowing what he had felt like.
For a while they both sat on their bunks in silence in similar positions, arms folded around themselves.
"... forgive me?" Murdock asked after a few minutes, his voice thick and sticky.
"What?" Face asked back, and there was a lot less emotion and compassion in it than he would have liked.
"Can you forgive me?" Murdock repeated a little more clearly.
"Forgive you for what?" Surprise helped to overcome the stunned silence.
Murdock didn't answer.
"Forgive you for what?" Face repeated. "There is nothing to forgive. You saw me, so what?
"I didn't tell."
"So?" Face failed to see the significance. "Nothing much would have changed."
"... don't understand..." Murdock whispered.
"What's there to understand? You are... let's be honest: you're crazy. You do have trouble distinuishing truth from fantasy, sometimes. It started even before... But with Charlie's treatment, I don't suppose it got any better."
Murdock shook his head. "No, not that, I mean, yeah sure, reality gets a bit wobbly sometime. But... I just believed that you were dead. How could..."
"How could you not?" It surprised Face, how easily it came out. He had given Hannibal hell for it, so why didn't he mind with Murdock? Was that the difference being the leader made? Or was he cutting Murdock some slack, because he was nuts? "Men died in there, Murdock. I was gone for months. Why not think I had died?"
"Well, you haven't," Murdock protested.
"Yeah, but you couldn't have known that." He got up, walked over to Murdock and after a moment's hesitation squeezed his shoulder lightly. "I probably would have thought the same."
"You can't know that."
"No, and neither can you."
"Touché."
"At least my theory is being backed up by numbers: Hannibal and BA also thought I was dead."
Murdock sniffed, wiped his face. "If you want to look at it like that..."
"I do. And now, can we go back to sleep? I'm here, I'm fine, so stop worrying." Face already got up, withdrawing his hand, but Murdock caught it.
"No."
"No?"
"You're here, Face, but you're not fine. You're about as fine as I am."
"I'm not..." ... crazy. But that would be mean. Face pulled his hand from Murdock's grip. "I may not be a hundred percent," he said, "but considering the circumstances, I'd say I'm doing mindboglingly well."
"Maybe, but that doesn't make you fine."
"Well, tough luck. Nobody over here is."
"Face..."
"No, Murdock, this is over. How I feel and what I do about it is none of your business, so quit."
"You are my best friend, that makes it my business."
"It doesn't," Face said, dead-pan. Then the other thing, Murdock had said, caught up with him. "Your best friend? I'm your best friend?"
"Yeah, didn't you know?"
"I assumed it would be somebody back home."
Murdock waved it off. "Nah. Used to be, but nobody there understands me. Here..." He chuckled. "Here nobody understands me either, but it seems to me that over here nobody understands nobody else, so I'm peachy."
