A/N: Big thank you to everyone's patience for this chapter. I was deployed out on the wild fires for the past three weeks and had no internet access.

Chapter Twenty

Leslie once again found herself looking at Templeton and offer up a silent prayer to God. For the past few weeks he'd been losing weight, his handsome profile changing to hard edges and steep valleys. The perfect California tan was gone, leaving him looking sallow and worn. But what worried her most, even more than how sick he looked, was how he seemed to stop caring. It was like he gone off looking for his watch and come back a ghost.

They had agreed to meet here, but when she'd arrived, her knocking woke him up. Glassy eyed and groggy Templeton had stumbled off to the bathroom, leaving her to her own devices. She sat on the edge of Templeton's bed, knees together, ankles crossed, just like the nuns at St. Stephens had taught her. There was something very wrong and all she was doing was working her thumb and forefinger over the gold cross necklace her mother had given her for her Confirmation. Finally, Templeton returned in different clothes, but the new ones were just as dirty as the old ones. Even his beautiful hair was greasy and barely combed. When was the last time he'd even showered?

She'd asked Father Matthew for guidance, he'd suggest a novena to St. Joseph. Father Matthew said St. Joseph would intercede for the sick and those in doubt. Templeton was both. He'd been raised by Nuns, but felt abandoned by God. It broke her heart to see the pain in his eyes, the pain he tried so very hard to hide.

Leslie loved him in a way that scared her. For the first time ever she wanted to know a man. She wanted to know everything about Templeton, to ease his pain and sooth his troubled soul. One smile from him was all it had taken for her to feel what all the other girls in high school had been giggling and dreaming about. In all of her fantasies she'd never imagined it would be this frightening.

"Templeton? Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah." Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he looked somehow both relaxed and uneasy at the same time. Dropping to his sides, he pulled at the tattered cuffs that hung too far over his hands. "I'm good. Just a long week." He dropped his eyes away from her, almost choking on the last of that sentence.

"Templeton, you're not okay." Leslie never spoke out of turn or contradicted people. Especially a man; she'd been raised proper. So why was she letting go of her cross and leaning forward, trying to get him to look at her, to get him to see that it was okay to need help and that she could help. "Please, go to the campus medical office, or even a doctor in town. Something, anything, before…" Leslie stopped before she could finish that. Death wasn't a topic young ladies should speak of. She could feel her hands clutching the worn bedspread while she silently and desperately prayed for Templeton ... most loving father, ward off from Templeton every contagion of error and corrupting influence; our most mighty protector, be propitious to him and from heaven assist him in his struggle with the power of darkness... The familiar words didn't bring the usual comfort and peace.

"Before what?" He snapped. But, he didn't snap, that was part of why she liked him so much, he was soft and quiet, but there was more in his eyes that she couldn't place and a hard edge. "I'm sorry." He stepped back, shaking his head, looking at anything but her. "I'm fine, I really am." Why did it look like he couldn't stand being near her anymore? All the places he had been so smooth had somehow been replaced with jumpy and strained.

It had to be her. He wouldn't talk to her, he couldn't even look at her. What ever was wrong, she was somehow making it worse. Knowing that had her stomach tightening and made it hard to breath. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, she didn't want to see the anger in his eyes when she wouldn't accept his lie.

"No, no you're not." It was so hard to say, she had to fight to get the words out and even then it was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry Templeton, but you are not okay." Standing up Leslie made herself to look at him. He was a good man, he deserved that much. "I don't know what's wrong, but there is something wrong, and I seem to make it worse." She should have been able to do better or be better or at least offer him solace.

His eyes were closed. "You don't - " he shook his head, "No, no you don't, Leslie." He seemed to mean it, his voice almost urgent about it. "I'm just trying to figure some stuff out, alright? I promise I'm okay."

"What do you need to figure out?"

"Nothing Leslie. I just..." There was a sadness and urgency, almost a plea, but not quite... she couldn't quite place it as he talked. "I need to get my head straight, figure out some cash and get some sleep."

He was out of money? When her Dad had been audited all he did was stay up and pace and yell. Guilt rushed through her, what kind of woman was relieved that her boyfriend was having money problems? "Is there anything I can do to help?" Leslie knew better than to ask what had happened to the money. It wasn't a woman's place to be so forward.

His laugh was hollow and made her stomach ache. Nothing like what she had known a few short weeks ago. "Unless you can float me your check, I'm on my own with this."

"How much do you need?"

"Like a hundred bucks will probably get me through the end of the month. I should be able to get things sorted out by then."

She didn't have that kind of money. Leslie had enough for school and her summer jobs held left her with a small safety cushion, but she'd lent that money to Templeton two weeks ago. She should have known he was having money trouble! A sudden and sad thought hit her.

"Have you been selling your things to get by? Is that where your watch went and your other things?" How sad was that? Someone as brave and kind as him, forced to have sell things just to make it by. If she hadn't been so worried about her feelings maybe she would have seen it sooner.

Taking a deep breath, he didn't answer for a long moment. Hands pulled into his sleeves, he buried them into his pockets trying to figure out what to say to that. It made his too big tattered jeans pull down on his hips, showing the ribs and bones. "Yeah."

In an instant Leslie knew what to do. It was as if the Holy Spirit was guiding her hands, under her hair, at the back of her neck, undoing the clasp on her necklace. Holding the cross, still warm from her body in one hand, Leslie pulled at his wrist with the other, tugging his hand free from his pocket. Before he could do more than stare at her, she dropped the necklace into his hand and closed her fingers around his.

"Here, take this. My Mother said it's eighteen carat gold. It won't get you one hundred dollars but it should get you something."

His fingers tightened around it and his simple "thank you" told her just how bad off he was. "I'll get it back to you. I promise."

"I know you will."

XXXXX

LA was hot, but not the heavy, damp, Vietnam smothering hot. It was a warmth that caressed your skin with varying degrees of intensity based on how hard the ocean breeze was blowing. It was paradise, exactly the sort of place a hedonist like Face would love.

Murdock tried to shove his hands in his pockets as he walked down the street, only to be reminded that his arm was still pissed about being shot. Without the sling he tended to forget. Then again he was forgetting lots of things lately. The little girl next to him chatted along in Vietnamese. He couldn't see her today but he could hear her laughter. It was easy at the base to pick it out as wrong, but out in the real world with all the noises and voices it was harder to push away. Murdock could head back to the base, but there was no reason to. As of oh-nine-hundred he was on leave. Murdock only had one mission, one purpose, and it was very personal.

Finding Face.

All Murdock had to go on was a PO Box at UCLA. That was more than enough. He would find Face. He was good at finding things. There was only one person he couldn't find, but that was a pain for later. Murdock could find his team in the dark in a hot LZ, finding Face in LA would be a piece of cake.

The campus was easy enough to get around, Murdock had no issues finding the P.O. boxes in the student union. He also didn't have any issues with the stares and comments from a few of the angrier hippy types. Compared to the ghost girls laughing, their taunts were harmless.

Looking around the hall full of shiny bright lives with promise and hope, Murdock saw just what he needed to find Face. The pretty little brunette working behind the counter at the information center smiled at him. Taking off his aviators, Murdock gave her his best Southern Gentleman smile.

"Pardon me Ma'am, I was wondering if you could help me?"

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her, but when she did, all the blood seemed to rush to her cheeks and cause her to smile and somehow try to look away. "I sure hope so."

"I'm sure you can darling." Murdock let the drawl go. She was cute and sweet and should feel special. The least he could do was make her feel beautiful. Just like Face would have done. "I'm lookin' for a friend of mine. A real handsome guy in a beach blanket bingo kinda way. Got a smile that runs about two million megawatts, his name's Templeton Peck."

"Hmm…" She contemplated that for a moment, cocking her head ever so slightly as she did. "You have a picture or something maybe?"

"Right here." He gave her his own epic smile and photo from his pocket. BA had taken it, a snap shot of Murdock with his arm around Face's shoulder, and Face with his shirt off, grinning and looking like he was ready for the beach. It was a perfect image of calm and friendship in the middle of hell. Funny that a man who could box a Wildebeest and win had such an artistic eye and pure soul.

"Oh, you mean Killer!" Her smile got even bigger at the sight of Face with his shirt off. "Yeah, he comes by every few days. He took me out for coffee after I helped him get set up with his mail box. Nice guy."

Killer? Murdock managed to not flinch. Face had ran as far as he could and reinvented himself. Some part of Murdock held on to the hope that Face had gone for bigger and better, even though he knew in his heart that Face would be in as bad of shape as Murdock was. The name Killer confirmed what he didn't want to think about.

"Now that sure sounds like my friend. Do you maybe know where I could find him?"

"Yeah, I've seen him hanging out at stupid Diz's dive of a place." The way she deflated with annoyance couldn't be good. "It's the third house off the South end of the campus. You can't miss it, it's the pigsty with the rusted out motorhome parked in front."

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am. You've been very helpful." Murdock tipped his hat to the girl. He could have asked for her name or number but what was the point. If things were as bad as he was afraid, he would fulfill the blood promise they'd made. After that neither Face nor Murdock would be alive to care.

He was pretty sure the laughter wasn't real.

A quick walk led him right to the place the girl described. The girl was right, it was a pigsty. No, not true, pigs didn't leave trash and shit all over the yard. It wasn't the unkempt, unwashed people milling in and out that got to Murdock. No, what got him was a the lost dead eyed look that reminded him of his sister and all she'd lost.

The closer he got to the house the louder the music and heavier the smell of pot became, not just pot, other things. God Dammit Face! Flicking his smoke to the ground, the smoke he'd never realized he had, Murdock headed up the termite infested steps and through the open front door.

The smell and sounds and black lights and lava lamps hit him all at once, making him want to lash out and crush all the noises crowding in his head. He didn't have time for that. He had to find Face. Grabbing the shoulder of the guy closest to him, Murdock yelled over the music. "Hey, where's Killer?" Assholes picking a name like that; like it was a joke to cut the life out of someone. The half alive kid nodded his head towards a back hall, without another word Murdock strode across the room and into the hall. The hairs on his neck stood on end when he saw the pile of filthy clothes and lank greasy hair. He knew what he didn't want to know and saw what he didn't want to accept: there leaning against the door, high out of his mind was what was left of Face, the best friend he'd ever had.

XXXXX

Eyes sliding close, Face let the back of his head lull against the wall of Diz's place, loving the welcome, warm pull of the heroin, right into its cottony fog. It hushed the noise from everyone else in the house and in his head until there was nothing but a muffled, entirely white hum. He wasn't hurting or thinking, or trying to get away from either. Just sinking into the wall behind him and letting the world roll on by like a powerful wave deep in the ocean. It felt so fucking good to not feel.

He needed this all the time. To forget it all. Sunshine, Hannibal, Murdock, Butch, Ivan, Marco… all of it, fading away to black and finding that peace that only a sting in his arm brought. It was as close to Father Maghill's promise of a state of grace as he'd ever find.

It was beautifully distant noise. All of it; the laughter and chatter in the room, the music, the bustling. The screaming and begging of the past locked away in his head, unable to get through the fog.

Hands were grabbing the front of him and pulling him upwards, making his head flop backwards, snapped him out of his sought after high. What? Instinct kicked into gear, forcing his eyes open and his hands to try and protest the assault as he scrambled to get his feet under him again. What the hell was going on? Muted thoughts making his limbs heavy and his words slurred "Get the fuck off me!" He tried to plant his feet on the ground, but his stupid legs were still enjoying the high. Whoever was on him was more efficient. Face couldn't fight his way free.

Without even managing to slow the guy down, Face was dragged by the back of his jacket, through the hall and towards the burning bright light from the front door. "Awe now don't be shy Killer." That voice grated, ringing bells he didn't want any part of. "Gotta take a little walk, can't talk when we're surrounded by shit. You should remember the value of securing your surroundings."

It was all garbled in layers of familiar and unwanted, wrapped in the need to get free and run. Adrenaline dumped into his veins, panic fighting the sedate lull of heroin. His efforts to break free had him bouncing off a wall and tripping over garbage strewn on the floor. "Fuck off, Murdock!" Murdock? Why'd his mouth know what was going on but he still couldn't put the pieces together?

"Nope." Murdock tossed him out the door and into the beer can littered yard. Losing his balance, his feet got tangled in debri. Desperation had him trying to right himself, but his attempts to push himself up only lead to faltering and finally falling down. By the time he managed to stop flailing and get to his back, he saw with his own burning, watering eyes what his brain already knew. Murdock was here. Fuck.

"Well looky looky, Sergeant Peck's gone and got himself a new name and a new life. How about that? Tell me Killer, do you like being a heroin using waste of space, boy?"

"I'm not your fucking Sergeant."

"No, you're my fucking friend, moron!" Murdock was on him, pinning him to the ground, eyes blazing with rage and something Face fucking got high to forget.

"I'm not shit to you anymore you stupid fuck." Face didn't have time for this bullshit. He'd been discharged, packaged up all nice and tidy without word one about it. They could all fuck off and stay in Vietnam where they belonged. Grabbing whatever he could get his hands on, Face clawed, trying to get out from under the taller man. When the hell had Murdock gotten stronger than him? Finally he managed to pull his head back and slam it forward, smashing his forehead into Murdock's nose.

Blood poured down down. It always did with them. From Murdock or him, he couldn't tell and it didn't fucking matter. He just needed the stupid fuck to get off him, or to let up or something, but no. Fucking Murdock never could just stop. Bleeding all over both of them, Murdock balled his fist up into Face's shirt and lifted him a few inches off the ground, slamming him back down, bouncing his head off the ground.

"Liar! I'm your fucking friend! We made a promise!"

Face's ears recognized the sickening, hollow laugh as his own. White flashes in his vision that punctuated Murdock's attack. "I can't even kill myself, you son of a bitch."

Letting go of his grip on Murdock's jacket, Face shoved his palm up against the pilot's jaw, trying to make some space to get away, but the blood was making things slippery and the heroin just wanted to sleep again. "Why couldn't you just stay the fuck in Vietnam!"

"What's wrong, Facey? Can't stand the fact someone actually loves your sorry ass enough to track you down and pull you out of your little rat hole?"

There was a fist to the jaw, snapping his head back and diming the edges of his vision. Face rolled as much as he could under Murdock. He wasn't getting away. He was done, bringing his arms up to cover his head, the hollow laugh was back, echoing out of him. Only one person loved his sorry ass and Face'd rather die than go there again. "Do it, Murdock. Fucking kill me."

"You wanna die, Facey? Fine! You tell me that when you are sober and ain't dying for a fix and I'll do it." Face could feel Murdock's hands shaking, and hear how his voice had dropped to a whisper. "I mean it. I ain't going to leave you like this."

"Do it, man." Face didn't even know if Murdock could hear him through the ringing in his ears and the safety of his arms. "I'm five minutes into my high, as stoned as I can get." When more fists didn't rain down on him, Face peered out at a man he'd once sworn his life to in blood that had spilled from neither of them. "You think being sober is going to change my mind, you don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, I don't give a shit how much you think you know from watching Lanie chase that needle."

Murdock flinched and Face knew he'd hit home, just like he'd wanted. He needed to piss Murdock off, he needed him to end it. To put Face out of his fucking misery, to do what Face couldn't. He was so close to free.

Until Murdock put his head back and howled. Not anger, not pain, but fucking laughter. Dry and unhinged it echoed through the yard and off the two of them and out into the open and up to the cops who'd appeared with their guns drawn.

"The drugs sure wanna kill you, but I need to wait to talk to the real Face." The fucker was smiling when he said it. There was just a hint of emotion, the pain and hate and fear and misery in Murdock's eyes before the shouting of orders cut through. Hands were grabbing at him, pressing him to the ground, orders to freeze and handcuffs clicking, all before Face could piece it together.

They drug Face and Murdock to separate campus security cars. It didn't take long for the actual cops to arrive after that. Campus security was adamant they go to jail. They'd been having problems with that house, shocking as that was, and they wanted charges pressed on everyone. Fuck it. Face let his eyes slip closed. It didn't matter, it was more shit that could all fall on top of the pile of things that heroin made go away.

A/N: We did it! They're finally back together! A quick note; this last scene was one of the first written when exploring the basis of this book. It has taken us almost 5 years to see it published, and what a journey it has been.