"IT"
by the Chronicler
----------
Ch.5-- "HOLD"
----------
All he had to do was hold on. Just HOLD on a little longer. Have a chat with the doc, get rid of him, then relax. All he had to do was HOLD on until then.
HOLD on, hell!
Getting through dinner was a struggle in itself. He started to reach for the butter knife to spread a little on his roll, and half a dozen hands snagged it out of reach.
What? They expected him to start sawing on himself right there at the table?!
Deep breath... just HOLD on. Keep it together. Don't snap at any of them. Just make it look as if everything was as it should be, everything was alright, that he was holding up just fine.... not that he wasn't!
Face paced behind the couch, glancing sharply across the room to where Dr. Richter sat, watching him that way docs watched. Damn, that man was annoying, telling him what he was supposed to be feeling, what he was supposed to be doing, what he was supposed to be....
'Course, the doctor hadn't even opened his mouth yet. Just watched him, chewing on that damn pipe, watching....
Just HOLD on. Swallow the anger, get it over with, get out of here, back up to his room where, he knew, Murdock would be waiting, where he was always waiting, and just HOLD on.
"Would you like to have a seat, Lieutenant?" Richter spoke up suddenly, startling the young man.
"No!" Face snapped, before he had even completely recognized that it was the doctor who had spoken. But, hey, he started, might as well finish. "I do not want to sit down! I do not want to talk to you! I do not want you here! I do not want to talk about IT! I do not want... don't..." Damn. He ran out of things he didn't want to do! With a growl, he smack the back of the couch.
Richter's face remained unemotional. He took the pipe from his mouth and motioned to him with it. "May I see your wounds?"
Face's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he growled.
Richter chuckled. "No need to be bashful. I am a doctor, you know."
Face smirked, an evil look when he wanted it to be... which he did at that moment. "Not a medical doc, if I do remember correctly."
Neither smirk nor reprimand seemed to have any effect on the doctor. He should of known. This man has seen it all.... after all, Murdock was his favorite patient.
Damn, again.... just HOLD on.
Richter crossed his legs. "Indeed, true. But, do you really think that Colonel Smith will agree to me just walking away if I haven't even seen the source of his concern?"
"There's nothing to be concerned about! I'm fine! There is nothing wrong with me!" Face protested, maybe just a little too vigorously.
"Alright." The doctor rose to his feet and picked his coat up off the back of his chair.
The conman stared at him in shock. That was it? Over that fast? that easy? That was what he was holding on so desperately to get through?
Dr. Richter hesitated. His arms folded before him, his coat slung over them. "Prove it." he said monotone.
Face stared at him. "What?"
"Prove to me that there is nothing wrong."
"How?" Damn his guard was down. Get it back up! Up! Up! Damn it, if he didn't HOLD on tight, this doc was going to drive him nuts... if he wasn't already slipping. HOLD ON!
Richter set his coat down on the arm of the couch as he stepped behind it to face Peck without an obstacle between them. "Show me the cuts and tell me what you did. If you can do that..." He shrugged.
Face glared at him. But if that was all it was going to take....
With a sigh, he grabbed the tails of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head.
Eyes closed, he waited for the gasp, the curse, the grunt of disapproval. Despite expecting them, he anguished at the thought of hearing them. Even if he did hate this man, that disapproval, that shock at what he had done to himself was almost unbearable. His brain screamed at him `How could you do this? What's wrong with you? You carving some damn turkey?' Shame. Guilt. Agony. Insanity... he was losing himself in them.
HOLD ON! Almost over. If he just held on a little longer, he'd never have to think about it again. Just run up stairs and wrap his arms so tight around his lover, and HOLD on.
Just HOLD on.
Dr Richter didn't gasp, didn't curse, didn't grunt. He simply watched. At first he glanced over the cuts, taking quick stock of the damage, then he turned his attention to the young man's face. The emotions he was going through was obvious, even if only to the trained eye. Richter had seen it time and time again. If this boy hadn't been a fugitive, on the constant run from MPs, he'd have probably had the room next door to Captain Murdock's. At least for a little while. Templeton Peck wasn't lost yet. They could still save him from himself, still pull him back from that edge. If he could just get him to understand.
The doctor ran a light finger over a scar on the inside of the man's arms, noting how, though his muscles stiffened with control, Face did not flinch. "Tell me about this one." Richter said softly, careful not to make it sound like a demand. Experience and common sense both told him that this man would resist such a tone. Had to step careful, don't frighten him, don't overly intrude, least he shuts down. "How did you make this mark?"
Face's eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at the indicated mark. Oh, yes, he remembered that one. He'd been hiding in a safe box, waiting for Hannibal and B.A to come back for him. But, when the lid was pulled back, it wasn't his friends... After the rescue and the rush to finish the job, keep bad guys in jail, put more bad guys in jail, and save the fire lady's station, in that moment of peace at the end of a mission that never seemed to last long enough... it suddenly hit him how close he came, how close to dying he had been. And his hands shook... shook so much the cut had been more perforated than one long, smooth cut.
"What did you use?" Richter asked when he saw the boy remember.
Face blinked. "A... a knife... a fireman's knife. It was in the coat." He smiled slightly. "The whole time I had been wearing that coat, I didn't even notice it. But, then, right then, when I needed it..."
"There it was." Richter finished when Face had paused. He leaned a little closer. "How did you do it? Show me."
Face stood, staring at him, looking a little lost.
So, the doctor took his hands. He held the arm out while holding the cutting hand over the scar of subject. "Show me." he repeated.
When they were released the hands shook... shook like they had that day when he needed that knife, when he felt himself losing control, felt himself slipping, falling, losing himself into that panicked insanity that was always just... just...
Just HOLD on! HOLD ON!
Face dropped his hands to his side. He glared at the man before him and growled "I took a knife and did it! I was completely in control. I kept it clean, I bandaged it, and I made sure that it was just fine. It is only a slight scar now and soon it won't even be that. Nothing at all to worry about."
Richter smiled a well practiced smile of comfort and trust. "What is it?" he asked.
Face frowned. Now that was the stupidest question he had ever heard. He threw his arm out at him. "That is it!" he snapped.
"That has a name. It is called cutting. It is a form of self-mutilation. And self-mutilation is an addiction." the doctor answered harshly. They were on topic, time to drive it home. "Say that: self-mutilation! Cutting of one's own flesh!" When Face would only glare at him, Richter took a deep breath, and went on in a calmer tone "You have an addiction, a very dangerous, self destructive addiction. You need to admit to that before you can ever get over this. You have a problem and you need to fix it."
Face leaned close, snarling "I am fine. I do not have an addiction to anything. And I'll be damned if you are going to make me admit to anything when I have nothing to admit to!" He spun about and took a step toward the door way.
"Lieutenant." the doctor called after him. "There are other things in this world you can hold onto that won't leave a scar. They're called friends. And, in case you haven't noticed, you have three very good, very concerned ones always in easy reach."
Face paused, glancing over his shoulder at the man. Then he hurried out of the room and up the stairs.
Hearing the commotion of their team mate's exit, Hannibal and B.A. came in. Seeing the doctor standing alone, Hannibal frowned. "That was quick." He demolished the end of a cigar between his teeth. "How's he doing?"
"He's holding on for now." Richter sighed. leaned against the back of the couch and proceeded to chew on his pipe. After a moment, he glanced to the staircase. "Captain." he called, stopping Murdock who was half way up intending on checking up on his friend and lover. "Please come in here a moment."
Murdock gave an exaggerated moan. Dragging his feet, he made his way down the steps and into the room. "I've already taken my meds, doc." he protested, sure that, as he always did at the hospital, Richter was checking up on him.
But the doctor smiled gently at him. "I'm sure you didn't, H.M. but that is another subject." He turned to Hannibal. "Can H.M. sleep in one of your rooms for tonight?"
Murdock blanched. "But... doc..." he wined.
"H.M. Face needs some time alone to mull over and try to understand what is happening to him." the psychologist explained. "With you there, he won't be thinking about what he needs to be thinking about. He will use you as an excuse to think about anything and everything BUT what he should be thinking about. And that will do neither, him, you, nor your relationship any good. Understand?"
Murdock pouted, but nodded. He turned his attention to the egg he cradled so gently in the crook of his arm.
Hannibal also nodded, understanding. "The Captain can bunk with me." he offered. He wanted to keep an eye on the pilot anyway. He couldn't help but feel he could of seen this coming, that he, as their commanding officer, should of done something to avoid this. Though he knew he couldn't make it all go away, he had no intentions of missing anything else.
"I gotta get my stuff." Murdock mumbled to his egg.
Richter nodded. "Go ahead, Captain. But be quick. Let him know you won't be coming back tonight."
"Sergeant, go with him. Make sure it's quick." Hannibal ordered. His two man snapped to at the command in his tone, then hurried to obey. Once out of the room, Hannibal turned his attention back to the doctor. "What are we looking at, doc?" he wanted to know.
Richter shrugged. "He's cutting."
Hannibal ground his teeth together. "Gee, you think?" he responded dryly.
"He knows what he is doing, even feels guilt over doing it, but he won't admit it. And, as you are surely aware of, the first step in taking care of a problem is admitting that there is one."
The Colonel scratched his head. "And how do we do that?"
"Show him that he doesn't need to cut any more."
Damn, he made it sound so fucking easy. Probably never accord to the physiologist that Hannibal might not know the slightest hint of how to "show him..." So, Hannibal repeated "And how do we do that?"
Richter smiled that doctory I'm-smart-and-you're-not smile. "Right now, the face is using the cutting as something to hold onto... an anchor if you will. He's afraid of losing himself, so he reminds himself that he is real, that this is reality, by cutting himself."
Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "You got all that out of that little chat?"
"A combination of my talk with him, watching him, my knowledge of your team, and Murdock's descriptions of Face over time." Richter answered. "What we need to do now is constantly remind him that this topic is not going to be forgotten and that, when he needs something to latch onto, he can latch onto you three. Either you or Sergeant Barracus need to go over his body at least once a day, checking for any new cuts. And make a big deal of it. Let him know that you will not tolerate any more cutting. Again, Murdock can't do this. Face will take his attention as an opportunity to distract him from the original task."
Hannibal nodded. "Anything else?"
"Treed carefully, Colonel." Richter warned. "Breaking any addiction is a traumatic event with all the ups and downs the human mind can muster. In the highs, he may seem his good, old. energetic self that you love to love. But, it is a momentary high. It isn't really and he'll try to convince you that he is fine then. In the lowest of his downs, suicide could be a very real danger. It is not such a far cry from one cutting only slightly, and one cutting deep into his wrists."
Hannibal's gut twisted sickly. Careful to keep his voice controlled, he asked "Is he ever going to get over this, doc?"
"No." Richter answered without hesitation. "But it can get better. This is like any other addiction. It will always be there. But he can be strong enough to fight it, to survive it, even to flourish in spite of it. He just has to HOLD on."
John Hannibal Smith sighed, running fingers through his hair, feeling suddenly very old. "We all have to just HOLD on."
----------
Face glanced up as Murdock entered the bedroom. he instantly felt better. Smiling his best, he stood up to greet his lover with open arms.
But Murdock stopped short. Not looking directly at him, he mumbled "I have to get my stuff."
Face's heart stopped. "Where are you going?" he asked, suddenly breathless. `He's leaving! He's leaving and I won't have anything to HOLD on to!' his mind screamed.
"Doc thinks its best you get some think' time." B.A. suddenly interrupted from where he stood in the doorway. "Fool's gonna bunk with Hannibal so's you can think on what ya gotta think on."
Damn! Damn! damn! That damn doc just had to get in the last deed! Ruins his whole day! Now he's gonna ruin his whole night! Damn, all he wanted to do was hold on to Murdock and be left alone.
"Come on, Fool! We're wastin' time!" growled the big man.
Face could feel the panic building up in his chest, crushing his lungs, sending his heart racing. He quickly stepped up to his Murdock and grabbed his arms. "You don't have to leave, H.M. You're not at the V.A. You can do anything you want." His tone turned to a desperate beg, not caring that B.A. was hearing every word, seeing everything. "Stay here. Stay with me! We can have a fantastic night! You'll see! All night, playing under the covers, loving each other, holding on to each other until the stars fade..."
Murdock smiled at the thought, but his eyes drifted down to his lover's still bare arms and chest. He gently reached out and traced a recent scar with a feather light touch across his chest.
Suddenly the pilot stepped back and out of reach. No... I... I am doing what I want. I think you need to be... alone too... for tonight." Feeling weak, he spun about and hurried passed B.A. and out into the hall.
"H.M..." Face cried, but it was too late. He was gone.
B.A. scooped up Murdock's bag beside the door. "It really is fer the best, man." he assured, but he could tell from the hurt look on his friend's face that he did not believe him. And there was nothing the big man could say to convince him otherwise. So, he simply turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Face stared at the door, shocked and hurt.
HOLD on. He just had to hold on.
He slipped down to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.
All he wanted was for Murdock to HOLD him.
He cried.
by the Chronicler
----------
Ch.5-- "HOLD"
----------
All he had to do was hold on. Just HOLD on a little longer. Have a chat with the doc, get rid of him, then relax. All he had to do was HOLD on until then.
HOLD on, hell!
Getting through dinner was a struggle in itself. He started to reach for the butter knife to spread a little on his roll, and half a dozen hands snagged it out of reach.
What? They expected him to start sawing on himself right there at the table?!
Deep breath... just HOLD on. Keep it together. Don't snap at any of them. Just make it look as if everything was as it should be, everything was alright, that he was holding up just fine.... not that he wasn't!
Face paced behind the couch, glancing sharply across the room to where Dr. Richter sat, watching him that way docs watched. Damn, that man was annoying, telling him what he was supposed to be feeling, what he was supposed to be doing, what he was supposed to be....
'Course, the doctor hadn't even opened his mouth yet. Just watched him, chewing on that damn pipe, watching....
Just HOLD on. Swallow the anger, get it over with, get out of here, back up to his room where, he knew, Murdock would be waiting, where he was always waiting, and just HOLD on.
"Would you like to have a seat, Lieutenant?" Richter spoke up suddenly, startling the young man.
"No!" Face snapped, before he had even completely recognized that it was the doctor who had spoken. But, hey, he started, might as well finish. "I do not want to sit down! I do not want to talk to you! I do not want you here! I do not want to talk about IT! I do not want... don't..." Damn. He ran out of things he didn't want to do! With a growl, he smack the back of the couch.
Richter's face remained unemotional. He took the pipe from his mouth and motioned to him with it. "May I see your wounds?"
Face's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he growled.
Richter chuckled. "No need to be bashful. I am a doctor, you know."
Face smirked, an evil look when he wanted it to be... which he did at that moment. "Not a medical doc, if I do remember correctly."
Neither smirk nor reprimand seemed to have any effect on the doctor. He should of known. This man has seen it all.... after all, Murdock was his favorite patient.
Damn, again.... just HOLD on.
Richter crossed his legs. "Indeed, true. But, do you really think that Colonel Smith will agree to me just walking away if I haven't even seen the source of his concern?"
"There's nothing to be concerned about! I'm fine! There is nothing wrong with me!" Face protested, maybe just a little too vigorously.
"Alright." The doctor rose to his feet and picked his coat up off the back of his chair.
The conman stared at him in shock. That was it? Over that fast? that easy? That was what he was holding on so desperately to get through?
Dr. Richter hesitated. His arms folded before him, his coat slung over them. "Prove it." he said monotone.
Face stared at him. "What?"
"Prove to me that there is nothing wrong."
"How?" Damn his guard was down. Get it back up! Up! Up! Damn it, if he didn't HOLD on tight, this doc was going to drive him nuts... if he wasn't already slipping. HOLD ON!
Richter set his coat down on the arm of the couch as he stepped behind it to face Peck without an obstacle between them. "Show me the cuts and tell me what you did. If you can do that..." He shrugged.
Face glared at him. But if that was all it was going to take....
With a sigh, he grabbed the tails of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head.
Eyes closed, he waited for the gasp, the curse, the grunt of disapproval. Despite expecting them, he anguished at the thought of hearing them. Even if he did hate this man, that disapproval, that shock at what he had done to himself was almost unbearable. His brain screamed at him `How could you do this? What's wrong with you? You carving some damn turkey?' Shame. Guilt. Agony. Insanity... he was losing himself in them.
HOLD ON! Almost over. If he just held on a little longer, he'd never have to think about it again. Just run up stairs and wrap his arms so tight around his lover, and HOLD on.
Just HOLD on.
Dr Richter didn't gasp, didn't curse, didn't grunt. He simply watched. At first he glanced over the cuts, taking quick stock of the damage, then he turned his attention to the young man's face. The emotions he was going through was obvious, even if only to the trained eye. Richter had seen it time and time again. If this boy hadn't been a fugitive, on the constant run from MPs, he'd have probably had the room next door to Captain Murdock's. At least for a little while. Templeton Peck wasn't lost yet. They could still save him from himself, still pull him back from that edge. If he could just get him to understand.
The doctor ran a light finger over a scar on the inside of the man's arms, noting how, though his muscles stiffened with control, Face did not flinch. "Tell me about this one." Richter said softly, careful not to make it sound like a demand. Experience and common sense both told him that this man would resist such a tone. Had to step careful, don't frighten him, don't overly intrude, least he shuts down. "How did you make this mark?"
Face's eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at the indicated mark. Oh, yes, he remembered that one. He'd been hiding in a safe box, waiting for Hannibal and B.A to come back for him. But, when the lid was pulled back, it wasn't his friends... After the rescue and the rush to finish the job, keep bad guys in jail, put more bad guys in jail, and save the fire lady's station, in that moment of peace at the end of a mission that never seemed to last long enough... it suddenly hit him how close he came, how close to dying he had been. And his hands shook... shook so much the cut had been more perforated than one long, smooth cut.
"What did you use?" Richter asked when he saw the boy remember.
Face blinked. "A... a knife... a fireman's knife. It was in the coat." He smiled slightly. "The whole time I had been wearing that coat, I didn't even notice it. But, then, right then, when I needed it..."
"There it was." Richter finished when Face had paused. He leaned a little closer. "How did you do it? Show me."
Face stood, staring at him, looking a little lost.
So, the doctor took his hands. He held the arm out while holding the cutting hand over the scar of subject. "Show me." he repeated.
When they were released the hands shook... shook like they had that day when he needed that knife, when he felt himself losing control, felt himself slipping, falling, losing himself into that panicked insanity that was always just... just...
Just HOLD on! HOLD ON!
Face dropped his hands to his side. He glared at the man before him and growled "I took a knife and did it! I was completely in control. I kept it clean, I bandaged it, and I made sure that it was just fine. It is only a slight scar now and soon it won't even be that. Nothing at all to worry about."
Richter smiled a well practiced smile of comfort and trust. "What is it?" he asked.
Face frowned. Now that was the stupidest question he had ever heard. He threw his arm out at him. "That is it!" he snapped.
"That has a name. It is called cutting. It is a form of self-mutilation. And self-mutilation is an addiction." the doctor answered harshly. They were on topic, time to drive it home. "Say that: self-mutilation! Cutting of one's own flesh!" When Face would only glare at him, Richter took a deep breath, and went on in a calmer tone "You have an addiction, a very dangerous, self destructive addiction. You need to admit to that before you can ever get over this. You have a problem and you need to fix it."
Face leaned close, snarling "I am fine. I do not have an addiction to anything. And I'll be damned if you are going to make me admit to anything when I have nothing to admit to!" He spun about and took a step toward the door way.
"Lieutenant." the doctor called after him. "There are other things in this world you can hold onto that won't leave a scar. They're called friends. And, in case you haven't noticed, you have three very good, very concerned ones always in easy reach."
Face paused, glancing over his shoulder at the man. Then he hurried out of the room and up the stairs.
Hearing the commotion of their team mate's exit, Hannibal and B.A. came in. Seeing the doctor standing alone, Hannibal frowned. "That was quick." He demolished the end of a cigar between his teeth. "How's he doing?"
"He's holding on for now." Richter sighed. leaned against the back of the couch and proceeded to chew on his pipe. After a moment, he glanced to the staircase. "Captain." he called, stopping Murdock who was half way up intending on checking up on his friend and lover. "Please come in here a moment."
Murdock gave an exaggerated moan. Dragging his feet, he made his way down the steps and into the room. "I've already taken my meds, doc." he protested, sure that, as he always did at the hospital, Richter was checking up on him.
But the doctor smiled gently at him. "I'm sure you didn't, H.M. but that is another subject." He turned to Hannibal. "Can H.M. sleep in one of your rooms for tonight?"
Murdock blanched. "But... doc..." he wined.
"H.M. Face needs some time alone to mull over and try to understand what is happening to him." the psychologist explained. "With you there, he won't be thinking about what he needs to be thinking about. He will use you as an excuse to think about anything and everything BUT what he should be thinking about. And that will do neither, him, you, nor your relationship any good. Understand?"
Murdock pouted, but nodded. He turned his attention to the egg he cradled so gently in the crook of his arm.
Hannibal also nodded, understanding. "The Captain can bunk with me." he offered. He wanted to keep an eye on the pilot anyway. He couldn't help but feel he could of seen this coming, that he, as their commanding officer, should of done something to avoid this. Though he knew he couldn't make it all go away, he had no intentions of missing anything else.
"I gotta get my stuff." Murdock mumbled to his egg.
Richter nodded. "Go ahead, Captain. But be quick. Let him know you won't be coming back tonight."
"Sergeant, go with him. Make sure it's quick." Hannibal ordered. His two man snapped to at the command in his tone, then hurried to obey. Once out of the room, Hannibal turned his attention back to the doctor. "What are we looking at, doc?" he wanted to know.
Richter shrugged. "He's cutting."
Hannibal ground his teeth together. "Gee, you think?" he responded dryly.
"He knows what he is doing, even feels guilt over doing it, but he won't admit it. And, as you are surely aware of, the first step in taking care of a problem is admitting that there is one."
The Colonel scratched his head. "And how do we do that?"
"Show him that he doesn't need to cut any more."
Damn, he made it sound so fucking easy. Probably never accord to the physiologist that Hannibal might not know the slightest hint of how to "show him..." So, Hannibal repeated "And how do we do that?"
Richter smiled that doctory I'm-smart-and-you're-not smile. "Right now, the face is using the cutting as something to hold onto... an anchor if you will. He's afraid of losing himself, so he reminds himself that he is real, that this is reality, by cutting himself."
Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "You got all that out of that little chat?"
"A combination of my talk with him, watching him, my knowledge of your team, and Murdock's descriptions of Face over time." Richter answered. "What we need to do now is constantly remind him that this topic is not going to be forgotten and that, when he needs something to latch onto, he can latch onto you three. Either you or Sergeant Barracus need to go over his body at least once a day, checking for any new cuts. And make a big deal of it. Let him know that you will not tolerate any more cutting. Again, Murdock can't do this. Face will take his attention as an opportunity to distract him from the original task."
Hannibal nodded. "Anything else?"
"Treed carefully, Colonel." Richter warned. "Breaking any addiction is a traumatic event with all the ups and downs the human mind can muster. In the highs, he may seem his good, old. energetic self that you love to love. But, it is a momentary high. It isn't really and he'll try to convince you that he is fine then. In the lowest of his downs, suicide could be a very real danger. It is not such a far cry from one cutting only slightly, and one cutting deep into his wrists."
Hannibal's gut twisted sickly. Careful to keep his voice controlled, he asked "Is he ever going to get over this, doc?"
"No." Richter answered without hesitation. "But it can get better. This is like any other addiction. It will always be there. But he can be strong enough to fight it, to survive it, even to flourish in spite of it. He just has to HOLD on."
John Hannibal Smith sighed, running fingers through his hair, feeling suddenly very old. "We all have to just HOLD on."
----------
Face glanced up as Murdock entered the bedroom. he instantly felt better. Smiling his best, he stood up to greet his lover with open arms.
But Murdock stopped short. Not looking directly at him, he mumbled "I have to get my stuff."
Face's heart stopped. "Where are you going?" he asked, suddenly breathless. `He's leaving! He's leaving and I won't have anything to HOLD on to!' his mind screamed.
"Doc thinks its best you get some think' time." B.A. suddenly interrupted from where he stood in the doorway. "Fool's gonna bunk with Hannibal so's you can think on what ya gotta think on."
Damn! Damn! damn! That damn doc just had to get in the last deed! Ruins his whole day! Now he's gonna ruin his whole night! Damn, all he wanted to do was hold on to Murdock and be left alone.
"Come on, Fool! We're wastin' time!" growled the big man.
Face could feel the panic building up in his chest, crushing his lungs, sending his heart racing. He quickly stepped up to his Murdock and grabbed his arms. "You don't have to leave, H.M. You're not at the V.A. You can do anything you want." His tone turned to a desperate beg, not caring that B.A. was hearing every word, seeing everything. "Stay here. Stay with me! We can have a fantastic night! You'll see! All night, playing under the covers, loving each other, holding on to each other until the stars fade..."
Murdock smiled at the thought, but his eyes drifted down to his lover's still bare arms and chest. He gently reached out and traced a recent scar with a feather light touch across his chest.
Suddenly the pilot stepped back and out of reach. No... I... I am doing what I want. I think you need to be... alone too... for tonight." Feeling weak, he spun about and hurried passed B.A. and out into the hall.
"H.M..." Face cried, but it was too late. He was gone.
B.A. scooped up Murdock's bag beside the door. "It really is fer the best, man." he assured, but he could tell from the hurt look on his friend's face that he did not believe him. And there was nothing the big man could say to convince him otherwise. So, he simply turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Face stared at the door, shocked and hurt.
HOLD on. He just had to hold on.
He slipped down to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.
All he wanted was for Murdock to HOLD him.
He cried.