Personal

Part 4

"Face!" It was his name, not his rank, but 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 on Face's chest. There was a whisper of numbers on his lips, counting the breath rate. Face bit the inside of his cheek and tried to bring the pain down, tried to get his air intake to relay something even.

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.

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 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 part of him wondered... 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 barkalounger.

"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 frontman actually back came 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.

And 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 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 in return. He glanced 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, 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 to consciousness. So deep a sleep 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 stealthily taking him.

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 ginger fingers into the crust sticking his eyelids closed, 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 the front windows to help him gage time. The voices threading toward him were hollow, 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 un-fuzz, 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 a neatly techniqued plan, but the thought made him feel more crazy than just about any other thought he'd had that day. Made him feel twisted and jumbled.

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.

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 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 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 something light 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… personal.

tbc