The other version of the same story--I was looking over "the only one left" and realized Murdock should get his say as well. And here it is--not as good as the original, I think, but it shall suffice. Better keep those tissues around.
Leaving
(Murdock's POV)
I woke up one morning, unable to breathe. I couldn't think beyond the pain. I thought I was gonna die, right then and there.
But it passed. For the most part anyway. I managed to get dressed, having to stop every so often to catch my breath, to relax and will the pain away. And then I faltered over to my neighbor's, knocking on her apartment door.
Ashley opened the door, a concerned look crossing her face when she saw me; I never came over so early in the day, definitely not without an invitation first. I tried to give her one of my smiles, one of the really goofy ones that makes everyone either laugh at me or get scared of me, but it took too much effort. She smiled back at me warmly anyway. She was a good kid; she worried too much about her foolish old neighbor. Maybe that's why I liked her so much. At least she cared. There were so few people left who really cared...
"Hi, Mr Murdock," she said, taking my arm and slowly leading me to the chair nearest her front door. I hadn't been in her apartment much, actually; normally she came over to mine to spend time with me. She loved to play with my cat Billy, but Billy died a couple weeks ago. I think she might even have liked listening to me ramble on about my past, about my friends. Hannibal, BA…Face. At least, she didn't seem to mind my silly old stories.
I'd told Ashley dozens of times to drop the mister, to just call me plain old Murdock like everyone else, but she always forgot. Or maybe she didn't. I hadn't known there were still such old-fashioned people left in the world.
"Hey there, angel," I replied, hating my breathlessness. "I was wondering…if you could…do something for me."
"Of course," she frowned in worry, standing over me. I took a moment to just breathe before I said the next sentence. I didn't want to say the words. I had to.
"Take me to the hospital?"
She bit her lip, paused for a moment, and nodded.
* * *
I hate hospitals. I didn't use to, but that was years ago, when I spent all my time in them. When they were my home. So of course the gods of irony would have me now dying in one. But at least I was alone. No one to worry or care--other than my next-door neighbor, but she only knew me as a silly old man. Ashley would forget about me soon enough. It was better that way. I knew from experience. It was always hardest on the ones left behind. It was better to die alone, no one grieving.
And then he showed up.
* * *
He slipped in, silently shutting the door behind him, as if he'd just snuck past the nurses and was gonna spring me out of the VA hospital again. I almost reached over to grab my baseball cap and Billy's leash before I remembered.
He turned around, holding a monstrosity of a bouquet of flamboyant flowers. A look of shock crossed his face when he got his first good look at me, but it was quickly replaced by a big, charming grin, one I recognized all too well. The famous Faceman smile, designed to relax the most paranoid and mistrusting. "Hey, Murdock," he said cheerfully, coming over and carefully setting the flowers down on the dresser next to my bed. There was nowhere else to put them. The room was bare, colorless, ugly as hell. Perfectly appropriate for a hospital room, perfectly appropriate for how I felt. He paused, unsure now what to do with his hands. He glanced at me covertly, then quickly looked around the room. "Long time no see."
No, really? My heart was settling down now, back to a slow, regular rhythm--it had seemed to stop, plummet into my stomach, and then try to leap out of my body when he had first entered the room. I couldn't believe he'd found me. After all these years of losing himself, of running away, he went and found me in the hospital. Again. The gods of irony really didn't like me. "What're you doing here, Face?" I asked, not looking at him but rather at the blanket. There was a fuzzy stuck to it; I tried to pull it off. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a subtle flinch in his eyes at my use of his nickname. Of course. He didn't go by that anymore, did he? Why should he anyway? It was our name for him.
"Well, I dropped by to see you, but you weren't at your apartment," he told me, also unable to look at me, instead focusing all his attention and nervous energy on the flowers. It gave him something to do, something to concentrate on. I could understand. They really were the gaudiest flowers I'd ever seen. He definitely had me in mind when he bought them--he'd have bought himself a tasteful dozen roses or something. "Your neighbor--she's quite a looker, isn't she?--told me you were here."
Still chasing the girls. Even when they were way too young for him; I knew Ashley was still in college. Some things really do never change. But I didn't want to find out how else he'd stayed the same, how he'd become different since we'd last had a real conversation, long before Hannibal had even died, back when we had been an actual team. I wanted to be left alone now. "You shouldn't have come Faceman," I told him, knowing I sounded grumpy but unable to stop myself. I was scared he would stay and I'd have to explain. I didn't want him to see me like this.
"Murdock," he said chidingly, as if he were coaxing me into another one of his cons, "you know I couldn't do that. I had to at least see how you were doing." He looked worried then, dropping his fake cheeriness for a moment. He looked scared and uncertain, like he was still the kid I'd met back in 'Nam.
I couldn't tell him. Not yet. So I changed the subject. "Why're you here anyway? Where've you been the past few years?" I really was curious about what he'd been up to all these years, without us, now that he was back, if only for a moment's conversation. He looked like he'd done well enough by himself, still wearing an impeccable suit, his hair still styled. It seemed wrong to see him so old. But at least he still looked as handsome as always, even...distinguished now. I just felt old and decrepit in comparison.
He hesitated, then shrugged and started checking out the room, once again distant, his defenses and cons up again. "I've been...travelling. Around the States, Europe mainly. I was in the area when I realized I'd completely lost touch with you, so..." He stopped speaking, pausing restlessly by the window and then stilling, his attention caught by something I couldn't see. Lost touch? The last time I'd seen him was at BA's funeral, the time before that Hannibal's. Yeah, I'd say he'd lost touch. But it sounded like he'd finally gotten the life he'd always wanted, had always been conning anyway. "How've you been Murdock?"
I paused uncertainly. But it didn't matter; he wasn't paying me any attention. Still I couldn't tell him. Why hadn't he left me alone? "Okay, I guess. Until now...Billy died a few weeks ago." I was grasping at straws, anything to keep the conversation away from why I was there, in that room.
His response was slow in coming and I couldn't tell why. I couldn't see his face, what he was thinking, with his back to me and his intent gaze outside the window. "Billy huh? I'm sorry, Murdock. He must have been a very old dog."
I was confused at first, my head caught between the distant and nearer past. And then it cleared; it always does, these days. "No no," I corrected him. Of course he wouldn't know. "My cat." He swung around, looking at me in surprise, and I had to smile at him, for the first time since he'd stepped into my room. I was suddenly glad he'd come back, happy to be with my oldest friend again. No one else knew me like he did, understood me. Or my past. He'd shared so much of it with me. It was good to finally see him again, to talk to him. I didn't feel so lonely. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Facey. No, I had this cat for only a couple years--it was already old when I found it on the street and took it in."
He gave me a warm, genuine smile, not one of his fake, charming ones. His real smiles invariably made me feel better, because they were so rare. "Well, I know you took good care of him, Murdock," he said, still too far away from me, still standing by the distant window. There was a time when he wouldn't have turned his back on that window. "And I'm sure he loved you."
"Actually, it was a she," I informed him, and he laughed appreciatively. Billy had been the last thing left for me to care about. When she'd died, I'd realized that. Realized I was really alone at last. And suddenly the pain was hitting me again, and I remembered this wasn't the VA hospital and the psychiatrist ward anymore, and Face wasn't going to get me out of this one this time, and both Billys were dead and gone, and I looked away from him, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in my face.
Damn. He always knew me better that I wanted him to. He was giving me another concerned look, and he slipped away from the window, finally sitting down in the visitor's chair next to my bed. He wasn't going to run away again, I suddenly knew, as soon as he took that seat. He was back for good this time. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful or resentful. "Hey Murdock," he said, a frown creasing his forehead. "What's wrong anyway? Why are you in here?"
I tried to smile for him, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. I hurt too much. Besides, he deserved the truth. He was my oldest friend, my only real living friend, and he'd actually come back. "Not the usual, is it Face?" I knew I sounded bitter as I waved my hand around the private hospital room.
The frown deepened in his pale eyes as he got more confused. "I--guess not," he agreed slowly. I didn't know how else to say it, so I just told him.
"I'm dying Faceman."
I watched his reaction out of the corner of my eye, staring down at my blanket again. Saying the words aloud had made me feel even sicker than before. At first his face was blank, slack, like he was a computer waiting for instructions. And then he sorta slowly...collapsed. Internally. I could tell what he was thinking, just by the subtle variations of his facial expressions. I've always been able to--but then, he has an expressive face. Comes in handy in his line of work, when he manipulates it right. He felt guilty. Lost. Grief-stricken. Scared. He'd never had family, not really; BA, Hannibal, and I were his parents, his brothers. And now he was going to be an orphan all over again.
I felt so sorry for him. I didn't want to leave him alone like this; it'd been easier mere moments ago, when I didn't know where he was, when I thought I was alone. He caught my eye for an instant, the anguish in his face almost unbearable, and then he stood up and put a hand firmly on my shoulder, giving me one of his best, most charming grins. "Why don't you give me the keys to your apartment? I was planning on staying in a hotel, but I can clean your place up instead, take care of it for you. How does that sound?"
I certainly hadn't been expecting that reaction. The gods of irony weren't giving up on me quite yet. I shook my head in confusion. "Face, you don't have to, my neighbor said she'd take care of it..." And then I really looked at him and saw that he needed to do this for me. For himself. And I understood. I'd felt the same way when BA and Hannibal were dying, quietly refusing to be pushed away even when they only wanted to be left alone. I came to a decision. "No. Go ahead, Face. Please stay in my apartment."
I leant over, opening the top dresser drawer to extract the keys, deliberately almost falling into the monstrous bouquet of flowers. I caught the wan half-smile that crossed his face, and a small spark of happiness came to life and died in me. At least I could still cheer my old friend up, just a tiny, little bit. I gave him the keys and squeezed his hand, wanting to thank him for staying without having to tell him so.
He smiled at me brightly, forever the suave con man, and headed for the door.
"Thanks for the flowers." The quiet words popped out of my mouth just as he took hold of the doorknob. I couldn't stop myself adding, "I suppose I should stop calling you Face since you don't like it. Do you still go by Templeton?"
He froze, his back to me. I felt like I was punishing him, but that we both knew he deserved it. Only what any older brother would do to the prodigal son returned. He finally turned back to me and gave me another wide, bright, fake smile that would have fooled anyone else. "No, please, Murdock. Call me Face."
I nodded and watched him leave. But I knew he'd come back.
* * *
I'd been angry with him. He had run away from us, from all of us--I knew he hurt Hannibal when he ran, after Hannibal told him he was dying. Hannibal had told me afterwards that he had arranged to meet with Face for drinks, for a little reunion since they hadn't seen each in other in a couple years. When he told the lieutenant, Face had got up from the table and left. I knew Hannibal had understood that Face couldn't face that, but it had still hurt the colonel deeply. And it had hurt BA just as deeply when we couldn't even find Face when the big old mudsucker was sick. At least before Hannibal's death, we'd kept in touch with Face occasionally; we could find some way to contact the con man. But from the moment Hannibal had told him what was happening, he'd effectively disappeared.
I'd taken care of them both, the colonel and BA--despite BA's protestations. I'd watched them die. Face had run away, denying they were hurting, he was hurting, I was hurting. Unable to accept their leaving. It had angered me that Face hadn't even known BA was sick, let alone dying, until I finally tracked him down, with a helluva lot of difficulty--he'd learned very well through the years how to disappear. And I hadn't been able to find him until just in time for BA's funeral.
But I didn't let him know how angry I was, either time I called him on the phone--once for Hannibal's funeral, once for BA's. It had been so good to hear his voice, but it had angered me even more to know he was still around somewhere, not with us. But when he'd showed up at the funerals, in dark formal suit, looking a little older and more careworn each time, I couldn't stay angry at him. He never stayed longer than the funeral and burial itself, just giving me a quick, guilty look and running away again before I could even talk to him. There had been something in his eyes each time…it had scared me. I couldn't blame him for leaving. We'd all been running most of our lives, especially Face. He just couldn't stop running. I couldn't stay angry with him. Even though I had sometimes wanted to.
And I knew he felt guilty now. Guilty for running away, for not being there for us. He felt like he'd let down the team. I didn't quite know how to tell him he'd been forgiven.
He stayed with me everyday. He showed up first thing in the morning, armed with a big grin and dressed in more casual clothes than what he'd shown up in that first day, and stayed until the nurses good-naturedly kicked him out. He was always ready with one of his easy, charming grins and an even more charming manner that people still couldn't resist. He watched cartoons with me without complaining (he would never admit it, but he really did like Looney Tunes, especially Bugs Bunny); we shared old stories, old memories, and told each other about what had happened in our lives lately (I wondered if he would ever give up conning); he slipped away when he could tell I needed to be alone because I couldn't control the pain enough in front of him. He seemed so young at times; I sometimes forgot where we really were, what was really happening. It almost felt like..."the good old days."
But we both knew it wasn't. We were a couple of old men and I was dying. We sometimes sat for hours in silence, the comfortable silence of long friendship. I would look at him, amazed at how much older he looked and yet how well he'd aged. He made me feel a hundred and two compared to him. He was still the best con man I'd ever met and he still cheated at cards.
But he had grown up. He wasn't just older in age and appearance. He was quieter, more thoughtful. He seemed...more genuine, even to me, who'd always seen beneath his conning facade. He wasn't out to charm everyone anymore just to make them give him whatever he or the team needed. Now he charmed everyone--the nurses and doctors and patients--merely by accident. By habit. He was such an old hand at it he didn't even notice.
I shook my head at him. "Hannibal would be proud of you," I told him one day.
He looked up at me in surprise. He'd been playing with the TV remote control, trying to find something other than afternoon soaps and cartoons. "What?"
I just smiled. His frown deepened. "Murdock...about Hannibal. And BA."
"It was peaceful for them both," I said quietly. "Which pissed them off no end."
Face reflexively smiled at that, but his eyes remained sad and guilty.
He sometimes brought Ashley with him. She really was a sweet girl who'd for some reason taken a liking to me. I probably reminded her of her grandfather, sadly enough for me. She would sit, perched on the windowsill or the edge of my bed, and be entertained for hours by Face and me. Face loved to tease her; I loved to make her laugh, watch her face light up. She really seemed to like Face—I know, what woman doesn't?—but she understood him, I think. Better than people usually do. Of course, I'd told her lots of stories about him. He can make for very entertaining stories.
And other times it was just Face and me, alone. He was determined to stay with me, to keep me comfortable--probably also to atone for leaving Hannibal and BA. But I was just glad to see him again, surprised by how much I needed to see him again. I had been so lonely, really afraid of dying alone, no matter how much I told myself that it was better that way. I wanted to tell him I was grateful to have him around, but it didn't seem right. He'd probably get angry--or feel more guilty.
But I've never been one to hold back. So I finally told him one day not to feel guilty. He'd just started to doze off, slumped over in the visitor's chair--his chair--I had startled him awake, dismay flashing in his blue eyes but quickly gone. "Guilty?" he asked lightly, probably hoping I'd drop the subject.
Like I would. I had to get it off my chest sometime; I've always been a worrier. "For leaving. When Hannibal and BA..."
"Running away you mean," he finished for me bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. I hadn't seen him do that in years. It was unnerving.
"Yeah," I said frankly. We could always be honest with each other. "But it's all right Face. You already ran away before that. We understood. We'd all done it too. I just wish you'd kept in better touch." And it was the truth.
I thought he was going to cry. I didn't look at him, wanting to give him some privacy, some dignity. But he needed to know it was all right. He really could take the guilt thing too far. Maybe 'cos he was Catholic.
"I'm sorry I left you guys alone," he said quietly after he'd gotten himself back under control. He said the words with difficulty, as if he didn't want to have this conversation.
I looked up at him for a moment, then away again, shifting uncomfortably in my bed. The pain kept getting worse; the doctors could only give me so many meds. And I'd been drugged up and out of my head without drugs too much in my life to care for it. "It's too late to regret the past, Face," I told him tiredly. I felt like my entire past, along with Face's and Hannibal's and BA's, was pressing down on me, breaking me down. "And if you were going to regret it, there's so many other times worth regretting more."
"Yeah," he smiled desperately, "like that woman I met when we were working in New Mexico--do you remember her? I knew I should've asked her out. She had the most gorgeous green eyes and black hair..."
"Thank you for being here Face," I said quietly. I could finally say it. I felt better now. Just slightly. I'd gotten everything that had been incessantly bothering me off my chest.
He just stopped and stared at me, for a moment his face stripped bare, all pretenses, any cons completely gone from his mind. "Look, I might run away from you guys--we might all do that--but when you need me, I'm here. You should know that after all this time." He took my hand, blue eyes intense and sincere. "I will not leave you alone, Murdock."
It was my turn not to cry. He really had grown up. I reached forward to hug him.
* * *
They were shelling. I could barely get my helicopter up from the ground. But I couldn't let them die. My team needed me to get them out of here. They were not going to die!
Someone grabbed my flailing hand and held me down, away from the stick, away from control of the helicopter. Am I back in the VA? Is this just another hallucination? But the hand was warm and strong and callused. Not a nurse's hand. I felt safer, calmer, my disorientation and fear seeping out of me. My team didn't die. I got them out. We took care of each other.
Billy was being a bad dog--cat?--again. I wished Hannibal would take me to Captain Bellybusters. I was grinning at Amy, trying to cheer her up when she thought we were in serious trouble...again. BA was getting angry at me again--he's so easy to set off. It's fun sometimes, so long as I remember not to push him too far. He knows I'm only teasing, the big teddy bear. Face was leaving. I couldn't believe he was leaving. What would we do without him? What would I do? I tried to be like him, tried to pretend I was him, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be Face.
I reached out my hand blindly. I didn't want Face to leave me alone again. I didn't want to die alone.
Someone took my hand, the same hard, strong grip from before, when I'd been hallucinating about Vietnam again. And I knew Face hadn't left me. I felt better. It was easier to go now. I hadn't let my team down. They hadn't let me down.
"Thank you, Face." I barely managed to get the words out before the darkness shut in.
* * *
He stood over the freshly dug grave, a pained, panicked look buried deep in his pale eyes. "Good-bye Captain Murdock," he said aloud, his soft words carrying in the peaceful silence of the warm, sunny morning. "Lieutenant Peck would salute you but he hasn't been in the military in a long time... and somehow I doubt you'd care for it much," the old man added with a fleeting, irrepressible smile that quickly died away from his face, leaving it gaunt and scared and lonely.
"Good-bye Murdock," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. He knelt down and placed a picture on the mound of dirt covering the coffin and stood up again slowly, painfully. He stared down at the grave for a moment longer, body and facial expression frozen, a tear sliding down his cheek unchecked, unnoticed. "...And you're welcome."
The man walked away. A breeze blew some dirt over the picture he'd left, covering the smiling faces of the four people in the photograph. The four of us. All was silent.
I waved good-bye to my old friend, unseen by him, and watched him leave, my own heart breaking for him.