"Where's Ashley?"

Hannibal wasted no words as he walked up the steps to the second floor motel room. Face was standing against the balcony, braced over it with a cigarette between his fingers. It was his fourth in fifteen minutes. "Inside," he answered, not looking up.

"Everything okay?"

He held back a borderline-hysterical laugh. "Just great."

"We brought takeout if you're hungry."

The thought of food made his stomach flip-flop. "No. Thanks."

As Hannibal disappeared into the room, Murdock finished trudging up the stairs. "Thought you were done smokin' them things."

Face didn't answer. He just took another long, slow, full drag. He held it for a long moment before breathing it out again. A few feet to his right, Murdock leaned on the railing. After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. "They won't release the body yet," he started quietly.

"Why not?"

Murdock shrugged, eyes down. "I don't know. Hopefully we can have it by next weekend. We told her we'd pay for the funeral. 'Cause she don't have the money."

"Ashley's pregnant."

Murdock blinked. "Ashley's what?"

Face took another hit off the cigarette, and turned to look at his friend. "She's pregnant," he said seriously.

For a long moment, Murdock stared at him, jaw slack. Then he gave a nervous laugh, and clapped his hand over Face's shoulder. "Woah, Face, that was a good one," he chuckled. "You almost had me goin' there for a minute 'cause I really thought you just said that – "

"I did," Face cut him off, no hint of humor in his voice. "And she is."

The hand on his shoulder turned into a shove. "Are you kidding!" Murdock cried. He shook his head, eyes wide in horror. "Is it yours? Tell me it ain't yours, Face."

"I don't know," Face admitted. "She thinks it is."

If Murdock's eyes could get any wider, they did. "Is there something wrong with your brain that you suddenly stopped doin' what you need to do to make sure that doesn't happen?"

Face's eyes narrowed. "I do!" he shot back. "I mean..." He sighed deeply as he turned toward the rail again. "I normally do."

Murdock's eyes were wide, jaw dropped. "What the hell made her so special?"

"It wasn't planned," Face sighed. That explanation did nothing to take the look of shock and horror off of his friend's face. He groaned as he turned and gestured in the air. "Come on, Murdock, it was... in the shower and it just... you know..."

Still, that look of horror remained in place. Face waved him off as he turned back to the rail, leaning forward on it as he brought the cigarette up to his lips again. "Forget it," he mumbled. "Just... forget I said anything."

"That's... easier said than done seein' as what I'm supposed to be forgetting."

"Well, what am I supposed to do, huh?"

"Ain't it a little late to be askin' that?"

Face glared at him. "Lay off," he warned.

Murdock put up his hands and took a step back, noting the threatening tone. He watched as Face turned away again, and took another long drag. After a long moment of consideration, Murdock rubbed the back of his neck, shifting nervously. "Um... How you gonna tell Hannibal?"

Face sighed deeply. "Probably the same way I told you."

Murdock laughed loudly. "Somethin' tells me that ain't the best idea you ever had, kimosabe..." The tension was palpable. "Not if it could actually be your fault."

Face shot him a brief, sarcastic look, and finished the last of his cigarette before tossing it out into the parking lot. "You got a better idea?"

"Well, I think I'd at least - "

"Can I ask a stupid question?" The conversation stopped immediately at the interruption of Hannibal's voice. Both men turned suddenly, both wondering just how long he'd been standing there.

"Yeah?" Face managed as Murdock looked away, shifting uncomfortably.

Hannibal took a breath and held it briefly, before he spoke. "Where exactly is Ashley?"

Face blinked in surprise. "She's not in there?"

Hannibal shook his head. Without stopping to think, Face pushed past him into the room, checking the bathroom, where he'd just left her. But it was empty. "She was just here. I just saw her right before you showed up!"

"Maybe she went to get ice or somethin'," Murdock offered with a slight shrug.

Face stared at him, dumbfounded by the thought. Had he been so deep in thought that she would've been able to move past him?

Thank God, Hannibal didn't ask. "We need to find her," he ordered.

Both men were already moving, Murdock to the left towards the ice and vending machines on that side and Face down the steps and toward the office. Hannibal headed to the machines on the other end of the building. Face reached quickly just to make sure that his weapon was still strapped firmly to his side. But surely he wouldn't need it. Surely she'd just wandered off, stupidly, and would be easily found. Surely she hadn't gone far, and no one could've come for her so quickly. Surely this would be over in a few minutes. His body didn't even bother to kick in the adrenaline. There was nothing to be concerned about. This was nothing but a minor inconvenience.

It was nothing until he heard the gunshots, and spun so fast on his heel that he barely had a chance to regain his balance before he was running. A woman's scream, a few more shots, and he saw Hannibal bolt from the corridor between buildings. Face's eyes shot to the direction he was heading. And very suddenly, the adrenaline - the panic - kicked in. In front of him, no more than twenty yards away, he saw Murdock fall three stories... and land in the windshield of a pickup truck.

"No!"

He'd never run so fast in his life - three seconds to close a gap that should've taken at least ten. There was blood pouring from Murdock's chest, and from the back of his head. Acting on instinct rather than what he knew about moving an injured person, Face grabbed his arm and pulled him up and out of the glass, setting him down on the pavement between the cars. "Murdock? Murdock!" He barely recognized the frantic tone in his own voice. "Look at me!"

Murdock's eyes were open, wide and panicked, but he was staring off into the mid-afternoon sky. Face ripped his shirt apart, looking for the wounds among the blood. "Look at me!" he ordered. Two holes from two bullets. But they were too high to have gone into his heart. His eyes flashed back and forth between his friend's face and chest, wrestling his own shirt off over his head and using it to press down on the wound that was bleeding the most. "Murdock, look!"

Murdock's eyes shifted, slowly, still wide with pain and shock. But he met Face's stare. His breathing was staggered, gasping. "Somebody call an ambulance!" Face yelled at any and all of the hotel rooms behind him. Where the hell was Hannibal? "Somebody call...!" He cut off as Murdock's eyelids fluttered closed. "No!" he cried, holding the shirt to Murdock's chest with one hand and using the other to slide under his head. There was more blood there, hot and sticky against his fingers. "Nononono... Murdock stay with me!"

Gunshots and squealing tires. To Face, they sounded like they were in a dream, somewhere very far away. On a television set, maybe, in one of the rooms. "Open your eyes, damn it!" he screamed at the broken, bloody figure lying on the pavement in front of him. He wanted to shake him. But he knew it would only make his injuries worse. "Murdock!"

His eyes fluttered open once more, and Face felt his hand move. Jerky, hesitant movement that warned of broken bones and excruciating pain. Face set his head down carefully, and took his hand, squeezing it tight. "Just stay with me," he pleaded. "Just stay with me, Murdock, just look at me. You'll be okay."

He shook, just slightly, damaged muscles trembling with the shockwaves of the pain. Face held his eyes as he worked his jaw a few times, trying to make words. "No no no, don't talk," he pleaded. "Just stay still. Just look at me. You're going to be okay."

"I...mmmm..."

"Murdock, look at me."

His eyes were sliding closed again. "Mmsorry..."

"No!"

But this time, no amount of yelling or pleading was going to open his eyes again.

***

"His name is Murdock," Face said weakly, not watching the men in the back of the ambulance as they prodded and poked at his friend. The screaming machinery made Face's own heart stop as Murdock flat-lined for a second time, and he closed his eyes as the charge lifted him up from the stretcher.

"Murdock? Can you hear me?"

"I've got a pulse."

"Let's see if we can keep it this time..."

"Pulse is steady."

Every bump, every turn of every corner in the racing ambulance made Face's stomach lurch. Five miles to the hospital felt like fifty. He didn't know where Hannibal was. At the moment, he didn't have the sense to care. Shirtless and bloody, he was lost, his thoughts a blur, so hazy and confused that he hardly even noticed the hand on his knee. "Hey..." a compassionate voice started.

He looked up, and blinked a few times at the woman sitting across from him. She seemed as oblivious as he was to the noise around them, though probably for a different reason. "I'm Sharon," she started quietly, offering him a towel.

He stared for a moment at her outstretched hand before taking the towel and using it to clean the blood from his hands. "Dan James," he answered, using the first alias that came to mind.

"Were you there when this happened?"

He shut his eyes and swallowed hard before nodding. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know," he hesitated. "I don't know who it was."

"Mr. James, I'm not with the police," she stated. "I'm sure they'll want to talk to you later but right now, I need to know what happened to him so that the doctor can have all the information possible."

"He was shot. And he fell three stories." Face dropped the towel on his lap and hung his head in his hands. "He landed on the windshield of a pickup."

"What's your relation to him?" she asked. "Is he a friend?"

"He's my," he hesitated, glancing at the bloody figure on the cot, "brother." Why did he say that? It was an unnecessary lie. "Step-brother," he corrected himself, recalling the alias he'd given.

"I need to know his name, his address, and his next of kin."

Face swallowed hard again, forcing back the bile that had crept into his throat. " His name is H. M. Murdock. All his medical records are on file at the VA hospital in Los Angeles. He's…" He trailed off, and it took him a few seconds to refocus. "He normally lives in the psych ward."

"Do you know his doctor's name?"

"No. He has several."

"Are you his closest relative?"

"Yeah."

"Do you happen to know his blood type?"

"He's AB negative," Face mumbled, eyes sliding closed again.

She scribbled quickly on the pad of paper in front of her. "Is he married?"

"No."

"Well, then, for right now... until we can get a hold of his doctor... we have to rely on the closest relative that we can contact." Face looked up. "And that would be you."

His eyes shut. Whatever that meant, it went in one ear and out the other. He shook his head again, confused. "Whatever you need me to do," he mumbled. "Just..." He opened his eyes again and stared at her, pleadingly. "... fix him."

She smiled back, and reached out to touch his knee again. "We'll do everything we can," she assured.

***

The waiting room was almost silent. Quiet whispers and a few shuffling papers. Tension and hopeful expectations. Face sat still, oblivious to it all, elbows on his knees and hands clasped out in front of him. His head was hung low between his shoulders as he waded through the haze in his mind, coming back occasionally to look up at the clock. Another ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty.

The police had come and gone, and he hadn't offered them much. No, he didn't know who would want to kill his brother. No, they weren't from around here; they lived in LA. No, he didn't have a description of the person who shot him. No, there was no other family to notify.

"Excuse me," the nurse at the station called, holding a phone in one hand with her other hand over the receiver. Every head turned in her direction. "Is there a Mr. Peck here?"

Face's attention piqued at the name. Immediately, he stood and walked to the desk. "That's me," he said quietly.

The woman smiled. "Phone call for you."

"Thanks." He took the receiver and leaned forward on the counter as he put it up to his ear. "Hello?" There was only one person it could be.

"How's Murdock?"

He was too tired, too drained to afford any reaction to the sound of Hannibal's voice. "He's in surgery. Where are you?"

"At a payphone about a mile south of you," he answered. "I want you to go outside. I'll be there in a minute."

Face held his forehead in one hand, eyes closed. "I just told you Murdock's in surgery; I'm not going anywhere. Where the hell have you been?"

"It'll only take a minute," Hannibal stated. "Just come out here."

The phone went dead in his hand, and he sighed deeply before handing it back to the nurse with a tired smile. "Thanks."

"No problem," she smiled back.

He glanced at the swinging doors that led into the corridor that Murdock had disappeared down. He didn't want to leave. But he didn't have the strength to argue with Hannibal right now, even if he thought it would actually get him somewhere. He took a step away from the desk, then turned back. "Hey, uh..." The nurse looked up again, and met his gaze with a polite smile. "My brother's in surgery," he gestured back over his shoulder. "They told me he'd... probably be in there for quite a while. I'm going to step out for a few minutes but if... there's any word..."

She nodded. "When you come back, just check in with me and I'll let you know if there's been any change."

He smiled, grateful. "Thank you."

"No problem."

He turned and headed down the long hallway, stopping briefly for a drink at the fountain, and stepped out into the cool, cloudy day outside, immediately looking around for the rented car Hannibal would be driving. It only took a few minutes for it to appear. But he didn't pull up to the entrance. Instead, he parked in the furthest corner of the lot. Face sighed, and started toward him at a slow jog.

"How's Murdock?" Hannibal asked as he came closer.

"In surgery," he answered. How many times did he have to say it?

"Is he going to be okay?"

Face sighed, recognizing the concern in Hannibal's voice. "I don't know. His heart quit twice in the ambulance and they brought him back both times. As soon as they got him here, they took him back." Face glanced back towards the doors of the emergency room. "He's beat up pretty bad. Took two shots in the chest before he fell. But I don't think they were anywhere near his heart."

After a long pause in which Hannibal sought to process all of this, he reached into the backseat and pulled out a white button down shirt and sports coat. Face caught them with his free hand as they were tossed at him and smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"I brought you a pair of jeans, too," Hannibal informed, noting the blood drying on the knees of the pair Face was wearing.

"Is that what you wanted me to come out here for?" he pressed, slipping his arms into the sleeves and starting on the lowest buttons. "Because it would've been just as easy to bring it inside..."

"Ashley left the motel in the backseat of one of the three cars parked out back," Hannibal explained, walking to the trunk and jingling his keys. "It would appear she went kicking and screaming..."

"It would appear," Face answered dryly, watching the cuff of the shirt as he adjusted it until it fit comfortably. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal shove the key into the lock and turn it. Face grabbed the jacket and transferred it to the backseat of the car. "But I did manage to retrieve this when it was all over."

In the trunk of the car was a man, gagged and handcuffed and apparently unconscious. Face paused for a long moment, staring at him. "Fascinating," he finally mumbled, looking away as he tucked the shirttails into his jeans. "What is it?"

"This, Face, is the driver of the third car."

Face's eyes narrowed, scanning over the blue jeans and T-shirt that the man was dressed in. "No black suits this time?"

Hannibal slammed the trunk again just as Face retrieved his coat off the top of the car. "Apparently not. Your gun's in the backseat."

Face walked to the door and pulled it open. Underneath the white towel on the floor were several guns, not only his. He stared at them for a moment. "Where'd you get all these?"

"Out of the third car." He smiled. "Nice, huh?"

Face knew better than to pull them out of the car in plain view of the security cameras. But he looked them over as well as he could without picking any up. Two M-16s, three Browning P-35 pistols, and an M-21 sniper rifle. His eyes lingered on the last one for a long moment. But he left it alone. For now.

He grabbed own weapon and shoved it into the back of his pants, safely out of sight under his jacket. Then he grabbed the jeans off the seat before shutting the door again. Hannibal put the keys back into his pocket and started toward the doors of the hospital in perfect stride with Face. "I'm thinking that as soon as Murdock comes out of surgery," Hannibal said. "We'll take our friend outside the city and play a little truth or dare."

***

"Mr. James?" Face turned away from the bed where Murdock was sleeping as a middle-aged man in a white lab coat stepped into the doorway and offered a hand. "Hi. I'm Dr. Storeman."

"You did my brother's surgery," Face stated, not wasting words as he shook the man's hand.

The doctor smiled. "Yes. I did."

The doctor's eyes shifted to Hannibal as he stepped closer, and they shook hands. "John Smith," he introduced. "I'm a... friend of the family."

The doctor smiled politely and glanced down at his clipboard as he retracted his hand. "Well, I have some very good news... and some not-so-good news." Both men waited, expressionless, as he began. "The good news is, the bullets were not at all difficult to retrieve and they did very minimal damage." He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment before he continued. "He has a broken arm, several broken ribs, but his spinal column," he looked up, meeting Face's gaze, "is intact. Undamaged." Face let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm assuming something broke his fall before he hit the ground."

"Yeah uh..." Face wiped away the perspiration that had broken out on his forehead. "A car windshield."

"Well, that explains the lacerations. In any case, he was extremely lucky for that. Still not much of a landing, but I've seen patients who've fallen from a lesser height and were never able to walk again."

"What's the bad news?" Hannibal asked, his voice flat and serious.

Face glanced back at the doctor, waiting expectantly as the man shifted and took a deep breath. "The head injury that Mr. Murdock sustained..." he started quietly. "It's... going to be difficult to tell how extensive that damage is until he wakes up."

"Damage," Face repeated, watching him closely. "Brain damage?"

The doctor took a slow breath, holding his clipboard with both hands down in front of him. "It's possible," he said quietly.

Face felt as if someone had just hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer. He stared, his thoughts clouding over again with that haze of confusion. How was this happening? How could this possibly be happening?

"As his doctor," the man continued, "it's my job to inform you of all the possibilities. And that is one of them. But understand, it's not the same as a... cancer diagnosis, for example. We just don't know. And we won't know until he wakes up."

"How long will that be?" Hannibal asked.

Again, the doctor hesitated before he answered, very quietly. "I'm afraid we can't say with any degree of certainty how long it will be." He paused for a moment to let that sink in before continuing, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. "Maybe a few days... or weeks..." He waited a long time before finishing, making sure that both men would take the news without falling on the floor. "... or he may never wake up."

Face didn't fall to the floor. But he did lower himself slowly into the chair at the side of the bed. Dropping his head forward, he reached out and took hold of the hand lying on the bed, avoiding the tubes that ran into the back of it. The doctor was still speaking, but he didn't hear a word of it. He was aware of the world around him only vaguely, lost in his own private hell. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he even remembered he wasn't alone in the room. The doctor had gone, but Hannibal was still there.

"Come on," Hannibal directed.

"I want to stay with him," Face mumbled.

"Face, he's in a coma. There's nothing you can do for him right now."

"He could wake up."

"And I'm sure he will, but let's make sure we're not behind bars when it happens." Very slowly, Face dragged his head up, turning his eyes to the man standing over him. The expression on Hannibal's face was serious... but sympathetic. "They requested his files from the VA," Hannibal reminded. "It's only a matter of time before Decker shows up here."

"What are we supposed to do about that?"

"We're going to not be in this room, for one thing."

Face turned to look at the still, silent figure on the bed. There was a tube running into his mouth, and under the hospital gown, attached to his chest. Tubes everywhere. Tubes keeping him alive...

"Face," Hannibal said quietly, sympathetically. "Come on. You can't do anything for him right now. Let's go find the bastards who did this. We'll come back as soon as we see what our friend from the motel can tell us."

Face glanced up, then back, debating for a long moment. Then, finally, he rose to his feet. Without a word, he followed a few steps behind Hannibal, away from the sleeping figure.