Chapter Warnings: Moderate to heavy gore, depending on your tolerance level, FEEEELZ
"Cover my eyes, cover my ears, tell me these words are a lie…" Tears of an Angel (RyanDan)
Hannibal strode up the walkway to the VA doors with an air of confidence he was well used to displaying. Face walked along with him, and he could tell the kid was nervous, more nervous than usual, but circumstances weren't exactly routine and Face had been through the wringer lately, what with round-the-clock surveillance and planning and hardly any sleep due to nightmares. Hannibal sympathized with his young lieutenant on that last point. He suspected they'd all had more than their fair share of bad dreams over the last few nights. Hopefully – no, definitely – that would change tonight.
"B.A. says he's in position," Face reported, speaking under his breath as they waited in the entry for the guards to check their IDs. "He's tapping into the camera feeds now." Face and Bosco would be wearing mics and earpieces so they could hear and talk to each other. The colonel, however, had refused the earpiece. Wearing one to a talk with a psychotic serial killer didn't seem like the best idea to Hannibal since extra voices would only distract him and it wasn't a good idea to be distracted when chatting with a madman.
Face had convinced him – ignoring any and all attempts at reassuring the younger man that he would be fine and didn't need any monitoring – to wear a mic hidden in the collar of his shirt. The kid had claimed the mic was there so they could listen for any hints the doctor might drop regarding Murdock's location or condition but Hannibal knew that was only half the truth. Hannibal wasn't sure if he should be touched or annoyed that his team worried so much about him.
The guards returned their IDs and ushered them inside without question. Remarkable considering the fact that the cards had been modified only hours earlier using the printer and computer built into the back of B.A.'s van. Hannibal could see some of the tension leave his young lieutenant's shoulders as they passed through the doors and into the VA lobby.
Step one complete. On to step two.
The guards seemed to have been informed of their intended visit because one stepped forward and addressed Hannibal.
"Doctor Brenner is with a patient right now, sir. But I'll let him know you've arrived." Hannibal nodded, then turned to Face and gestured to the right-hand corridor.
"You can begin there."
Just as Hannibal had expected, the guard frowned and eyed Face warily.
"What's he gonna be doing?"
"His job." Hannibal fixed his best 'superior officer' glare on the young man as Face side-stepped him, nodding once before moving on down the hall. "And I suggest you do yours. I didn't come to admire the décor." The guard nodded with a hasty "Yes, sir!" and practically scurried off in search of Brenner. Thankfully, Hannibal didn't have long to wait before the doc himself came striding down the hall. The man was older than the picture in his file, his thin frame deceptively frail looking but the Colonel's well-trained eye could see the danger behind those sharp eyes, a sort of danger that didn't need muscle in order to harm. Brenner was talking with an orderly, giving some last minute orders before he stopped a few steps from his visitor and forced a smile.
"Agent Kyle, I presume?" Brenner waved the orderly away and beckoned Hannibal to follow. "We can speak in my office." The man's voice was deep and his British accent less noticeable than Hannibal had expected of a man born and raised in England. Hannibal followed without a word, analyzing the doctor from behind as they went.
He was about an inch shorter than Hannibal, wearing a plain brown business suit. It was only under the lights of the man's office though that he saw the really interesting details: the dark bruising, only partially hidden by poorly applied makeup around the left eye, the neatly-trimmed beard that did little to hide the second bruise along the jawline and the dark marks of fingers around the throat that the man hadn't bothered to try and hide.
Hannibal ignored the office itself, which was a simple thing, just a front, looking like you'd expect any doctor's office to look with the dark wooden desk, the bookshelves with medical journals and certificates, the filing cabinets against the back wall, and the stupidly inspirational poster that hung by the door like a last parting joke about the sincerity of the place. Hannibal found it equally irritating that the thing was a picture of a grizzly catching a salmon in its jaws at the edge of a small waterfall, with a quote beneath that read, "CHALLENGE: Through effort and determination comes success." Anyone with basic knowledge about both creatures would know there was more effort and determination on the side of the salmon and look what it got him.
Turning back to Brenner who had positioned himself beside his desk, Hannibal decided to give his boys something positive to hear first.
"Are those marks from enemies or patients?" he asked, gesturing to the bruises decorating the man's neck and face. Brenner's forced smile returned, this time looking more like a sneer.
"In my line of work, the patient is often the enemy, usually only to himself but occasionally to others as well. But I think you didn't come because of your concern for my wellbeing."
"No," Hannibal agreed. "So why don't you give me your report and we can be done here." Brenner seemed to appreciate his bluntness, clearly distracted and wanting to get the meeting done as quickly as possible. Hannibal had been counting on this. The fake nose and dyed hair could only do so much and if Brenner's ultimate goal was to meet him, the man was bound to have seen his picture at the very least. But with the doctor hardly caring to look him in the eye, and with the disguise, it seemed to be enough to conceal his identity. Further proof Brenner wasn't as clever as he thought he was. The doctor gave a small nod before retrieving a file from one of the cabinets behind him. He passed the file to Hannibal, speaking as the Colonel flipped through the pages.
"He was a promising study but ultimately weaker than I'd expected…" Hannibal scanned the papers quickly, seeing enough to confirm his suspicions. They were worded vaguely, referring only to 'persuasion' and 'techniques' but nothing specific that would give him some idea of what they would be dealing with injury-wise when Face found Murdock. The lack of photos was at once frustrating and relieving. Hannibal wasn't sure he could keep up his cool façade while looking at images of his boy's torture. Brenner continued in the background, "I'm afraid I was unable to procure any information from the patient regarding this team your Lynch was so interested in before my methods became too much for him." At that, Hannibal stopped reading, and hoped the mic wasn't strong enough to pick up his heartbeat because it had just doubled in pace.
"What are you saying?" he asked, channeling his fear into a professional sort of irritation. Brenner just shrugged, gaze wandering around the room in a bored sort of way.
"The patient is dead. He died a few days ago. I'm surprised you hadn't heard. I thought the CIA knew everything that happens in America." Brenner smirked, obviously pleased with how that particular rumor turned out to be false. Hannibal pretended to finish reading the papers, wildly trying to arrange his thoughts into some coherent order.
"I'd like to verify that if you don't mind," Hannibal said, ignoring the quip about the CIA.
"There is no need for-"
Hannibal tossed the file back onto the desk beside him with an air of superior disinterest. "This tells me nothing and you have told me less than nothing. So… either you take me to the patient or I go find him myself. Which will it be?" There was a pause and Brenner's glare grew dark but before he could answer, the phone on his desk beeped. Brenner sighed and leaned over the desk to snatch up the receiver.
"Yes?" He said it slowly, patiently and with a grating sort of calm that gave Hannibal the impression that the doctor had been through a lot lately with whoever was calling. There was a pause and Hannibal watched closely as Brenner's expression changed from irritation to disbelief, to rage in a matter of seconds. "Why was I not told immediately?" Sharp grey eyes flashed to Hannibal then back to the glowing light on the phone, as if he could intimidate the caller just by glaring at it. "Get all of the patients into their rooms now and find him!" The doctor slammed the phone back onto the base and fumed for a few seconds, hands braced on his desk and eyes burning a hole through the floor. Finally, he lifted his head, took a deep breath and made for the door.
"Something wrong, doctor?" Hannibal asked as Brenner brushed past him.
"An intruder has been sighted in the building. Nothing we can't handle." The reply was cool and collected but Hannibal could tell the man was still seething. He followed Brenner into the hall and called after him.
"What about the patient?" Brenner stopped and turned on his heel, eyes flashing with murderous intent.
"The patient is dead, agent. That is all your Lynch need know. I followed his instructions, I delivered my half of the bargain, now he is to uphold his or he will make an enemy of a very angry, very resourceful man." The doctor jerked his head at two burly guards nearby. "Escort the agent out." And with that, he turned and stormed down the hall and out of sight. The guards were approaching and Hannibal reviewed his options.
Fight? Too many guards and too suspicious, if they hadn't already discovered the faked IDs and information, they'd certainly check again if he acted unusually. Run? Halls too long, too clear, guards trained with handguns, injury maybe even death likely.
With a heavy sigh, Hannibal took the final option: play along. Ducking his head, he whispered a quick, "Time's up, Face. Get out and get to the van," before allowing the guards to lead him outside. He hoped Face would obey. Something was dragging at Hannibal's mind, pulling at his chest and threatening to break him down. A small voice whispered in the back of his head as he walked down the path toward the street.
You're too late. He's dead.
We don't know that, he argued back but the voice was persistent.
Yes, you do. What reason would Brenner have to lie? The plan should've been quicker. We should've been faster. Hannibal cut off the rambling thoughts and turned down a side street, taking a roundabout route back to the van parked just outside the hedges to the VA building's left. He'd meet up with B.A. and see what information he'd gathered from the cameras. Then he could make a plan and get both his boys out of that nightmarish place.
"His job." Hannibal's voice beside Face reminded the younger man vividly of his basic training and he couldn't help a small smile. Poor guard was getting the 'superior officer' glare too. Face side-stepped him, nodding once to Hannibal before moving on down the right-hand hall. He switched his attention to the earpiece, listening for Bosco's instructions. As soon as the big guy hacked into the cameras he could give Face some idea of where to start looking. Until then, the lieutenant tried to appear casual, strolling down the halls and peeking through a door's window into a room now and then. He knew these rooms were patient's living areas, not treatment rooms, but he checked anyway. Murdock's room was on the other side of the building. He'd have to do a loop around the back, follow the hall all the way around to get there. He suspected Hannibal had ordered him this way to avoid suspicion. If he ran straight to Murdock's room, the guards patrolling the hallways would find it mighty suspicious.
It took until Face had reached the hall along the back of the VA for Bosco to speak again and when he did, it nearly made Face jump out of his skin.
"Okay. I'm in."
"Jeez, Bosco, you trying to give me a heart attack?" Face whispered back, pausing in the hall and giving a patrolling guard his best 'mind your own business' glare. The man moved on and Face returned his attention to Bosco who'd elected to ignore his whispered comment.
"I only got treatment rooms, halls, an' offices, though. They don' have cameras in the patients' rooms." Face nodded to no-one.
"They've got the halls covered at least. Can you see me, big guy?" Face glanced up at the camera watching him from its perch on the wall.
"Yeah, I got you… but that ain't all." The gruff voice in Face's ear became low and angry. "Looks like they been keepin' our man in one a'them padded rooms." Face felt his heart do a leap but forced himself to keep moving at the same regular pace rather than run like every inch of him wanted to.
"Where is it? Can you give me directions?" Before Bosco could answer, Face found himself asking the question that had been buzzing in his mind for days. "How… How does he look? Is he okay?"
"He ain't there, Faceman. An' I ain't seen him on any've these cameras yet." Bosco sounded strained and Face paused again, letting out a breath slowly in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
"Okay… where's the surveillance room? Is that on the first floor?"
"Yeah. Two halls down. Fourth door on your left."
"Copy that."
"An' Face?"
"Yeah?" Face waited a beat as B.A. sighed in his ear. "What is it?"
"There's… There's a lotta blood in that room." Face frowned, momentarily confused before he realized which room Bosco was talking about and his throat clenched up, making his voice rasp when he spoke.
"How… How much?" Face could picture the dark head swinging from side to side as Bosco answered.
"Too much, man… Floor ain't hardly white no more."
Shoving down a wave of nauseous horror, Face managed a hasty, "Copy that. I'll find him, don't worry," before he ducked into the surveillance room. The two guards on duty turned instantly but a line or two about a security check had them turned back to the screens in front of them. Face watched from behind, scanning each screen in turn as it flicked through its assigned cameras. None showed anything out of the ordinary. There was one in the upper left-hand corner that was shut off, though and Face swallowed down his nerves, turning to one of the security guards.
"Why is this one off?" he asked in a way he hoped was authoritative. The man didn't look at him, just muttered, "Doc's orders." After a brief battle with hesitation, Face continued. "Turn it on," he ordered, flashing his badge when the man frowned at him. The move worked, the guard flicking on the image with a willingness likely born out of curiosity. After a brief static hum, the image wavered into view.
One of the guards voiced Face's thoughts with a whispered curse. Face had to turn away seconds later because the amount of blood covering the padded floor was way, way too much. He was running out of time.
In the background, a softly accented voice came through the earpiece.
"Agent Kyle, I presume? We can speak in my office."
So, Hannibal was in and the doctor was distracted. He needed to find Murdock now. The white tape label underneath the gruesome scene in the left corner read 'Subject 21' but none of the other labels matched. If Murdock had been kept somewhere other than the horrible room, it wasn't indicated on the panels or screens. Forcing himself to remain calm, Face watched the cameras flick from scene to scene, using every bit of his concentration to find something in the jumble of images that would lead to his friend.
Bosco saw it before he did, speaking urgently through the mic.
"There! First floor, hall three."
Patient doors were either shut tightly or propped wide open. Every door followed this pattern except the one to Murdock's usual room which was ever so slightly ajar. Face turned to leave but paused at the door, eyes drawn to a disk lying on a nearby shelf. 'Subject 21' it read across the front.
"What's this?" he asked the men on duty, one of whom spared him a brief glance, most of his attention still held by the gory display.
"Security feed. Doc wanted it." Short and to the point.
"Why don't I take it to him, then? Save you two a trip to see the boss?" One man gave Face a look of open relief, the other nodding as if he didn't care, but some of the tension had left his shoulders at Face's words. Brenner ruled by fear, then, Face thought, tucking the small CD case into a pocket on his vest. He left, not even bothering to add a final parting quip to the guards like he usually would have. Bosco's voice greeted him again in the hallway, a distinctly threatening tone entering the deep rumble.
"Face… what'r you doin?"
"I'm not going off plan, B.A., don't worry."
"Then why you takin' discs from security rooms, huh?"
"Look, I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it, okay?" He heard B.A. swear softly in irritation. Hannibal's voice was the familiar background noise to Face's search as he went from room to room, pretending to do a quick inspection by peering through the tiny windows at sleeping or bored looking patients. The boss said something about marks on Brenner and he felt a brief surge of pride in his buddy. Murdock could be deceptively child-like at times but he really was a full-fledged Ranger when he wanted to be. Face hoped some of those marks scarred. He'd just turned the corner onto Murdock's hall when the doctor's voice said something that made everything come to an abrupt halt.
"The patient is dead. He died a few days ago. I'm surprised you hadn't heard…."
Face didn't hear the rest.
The world had just dropped from beneath him and his mind was reeling. Dead? He couldn't be dead! But it fit… nobody in the padded treatment room, no sign of Murdock anywhere… all that blood. Face could feel panic rising in his chest, making his heart pound and his head spin. A guard rushed past him, snapping him back to reality. Murdock could still be alive. Hannibal's voice didn't sound convinced and Face sure as hell wasn't going to take Brenner's word for it. Another guard approached from down the hall as Face got moving again, pulling the earpiece off and tucking it in a pocket. He didn't need or want to hear whatever else Brenner had to say.
The burly guard stormed down the corridor, his bald head and neatly trimmed beard and stash making him look like a movie villain if ever there was one. And Face couldn't help but stare as the man passed because there were several long cuts across his cheek, his forehead and the bridge of his nose, only half-healed and some still bandaged. The guy was looking into every door-window as he passed but he stopped when he saw Face.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Face flashed a badge and kept his expression firm as he spoke.
"Security inspection. I'll handle this hall if you'd like to move along." The man looked irritated but like a true underling, he respected the badge and nodded, moving on down the hall. Face let out a relieved breath and turned to the room behind him… Murdock's room. Face waited until the scarred man turned the corner then he took a deep, steadying breath, sent a quick prayer up to whoever might be listening… and stepped in.
The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the open window and the setting sun beyond. Orange splashes of light lay across the floor, already changing to darker red and purple as the evening wore on. Everything looked normal… dresser, desk, side table covered in model airplanes. But the banality of the surroundings did little to dampen the shock of adrenaline that raced up Face's spine at the sight of the motionless form lying on the bed. He was on his side, facing the window, with his back to Face, and he looked thin, too thin, but it was him. It was Murdock.
Before his common sense caught up, before he noticed the tense stiffness of the bony shoulders or the lingering, coppery scent that hung in the air, Face had rushed around the foot of the bed. He passed the window, sunlight glaring a bright orange in his eyes, re-entered the darkness, blinking the residual aura from his vision… and his breath caught in his throat.
Murdock lay there, unmoving, with blood soaked through his tee all across his chest and arms, blood making his hair stick up in wild clumps of light brown and dark red. Stubble darkened his chin and cheeks which were gaunt and pale. His hands were held up to his chest, wrists bound so tightly with the black zip ties that they'd bled, his fingers curled a little like he was flinching away from a blow… but his eyes…. his eyes were shadow-rimmed and only half-open… the blank, unfocused gaze staring right through Face's chest.
"No…" Face's voice sounded small to him and more like a pleading child than a man and a soldier. He cursed softly, feeling denial and pain battling for control as he turned away from the grisly sight. Breathing deep, Face pivoted, paced a few steps away, jaw tight, mind reeling. This could still be a fake, a trick, anything but the truth. Eyes squeezed shut and a shake of the head did nothing to dispel the image of that dead stare.
Face wavered, finding his hand moving instinctively to brush through his own hair, fingers shaking then clutching at the locks as a lump rose in his throat. He took a gasping breath and held the back of his hand to his nose as the scent of blood finally reached him, cloying and awful.
"No…" he croaked, throat tight and voice weighted with unshed tears. His legs felt weak and he stumbled to the bedside, dropping to his knees and hanging his head as he fought against the press of tears. But what good was it? He could feel the anger and shock, the grating, aching loss, but if he didn't look up… it stayed there, suspended in his chest. Waiting for confirmation. And he hated that he couldn't give himself even a few more minutes of ignorance, slowly dragging his gaze to the still form on the bed.
"M-Murdock?" Slowly, Face shifted closer, kneeling by his friend's side, his hands falling to his lap as he took in the sight. There was so much blood, far, far too much for him to have survived and there were tear tracks on the still, pale face, making silver trails through the rusty red.
He'd been crying.
He'd been crying when he'd… when he'd died.
Vision blurring, Face reached out and touched his friend's shoulder, the stiffness he found there making the lump in his throat grow. He leaned down and tangled the fingers of his right hand into Murdock's unruly hair, hating the blood caked in among the locks.
"No… no, no, no. Murdock.…" Face let out a sound that was half curse, half choked sob, and pressed his forehead against his friend's temple. Murdock's face was cold and it was all he could do to choke out the words, "I'm sorry…. I'm so, so sorry, buddy," before the hurt, the anger, the exhaustion and fear, everything he'd felt over the past few days was loosed in the form of grief-stricken tears. Face sobbed brokenly and hid his face against Murdock's shoulder in a feeble attempt to muffle his own miserable sounds.
Murdock was dead. He could still smell the blood, feel its damp coolness against his hand where he clutched at his best friend's shirt as if holding him and shaking him would be enough to change this, this impossible, cruel end. Another sob-stilted breath drew in too much of the stale, coppery odor and Face turned from Murdock's shoulder to his face, feeling dried blood crack and crumble, dust-like, under his cheek where it touched his friend's sleeve.
They'd killed him. Just killed his brother and left him lying there on his bed, thin and bloody and alone with those silver lines across his face like some horrible accusation. They'd been too late. He'd been too late and Murdock had died waiting for him, died crying and alone in this nightmare of a hospital. He moved to hold Murdock's hand with a desperate sort of pain, gripping the cold, still fingers until he feared they'd break, unable to stop the sobs shaking through him.
….
Ever so slightly… cold fingers squeezed back.
Face gasped, blinking the blurriness from his eyes to stare down at his friend's face as a single, fresh tear slipped free from the blank eyes, sliding across the bridge of his bruised nose to fall silently to the sheets.
"Murdock?" Face's voice was barely more than a strangled whisper but he thought he saw his friend's eyes move toward him, just barely. Then the not-dead fingers were moving, pulling closer to the blood-stained chest and shaking softly and all at once, Face felt a rush of warm relief followed by the stinging ice of adrenaline as a single thought repeated itself louder and louder in his mind. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive… and bleeding.
Cursing softly, Face pressed his fingers to his friend's neck and felt a pulse thump against his fingertips. A lingering sob collided with a relieved laugh and came out in a stupid sort of chuckle but Face couldn't have cared less. He hurried to gently raise his friend, getting Murdock up enough for Face to join him on the bed and support the trembling captain with Murdock's left arm against his chest in a sort of sideways hug. Murdock remained stiff, his torso taut with tension and his head thumping rigidly against Face's shoulder. Only just realizing he'd been letting out a whispered chain of curses, Face shut up, hugging his friend's shoulders with one arm and using the other to scrub away the tears blurring his vision, then raise the soaked t-shirt.
He frowned. No puncture wound. The blood didn't seem to be coming from anywhere that he could see but the rapidly dwindling light showed a startling amount of dark bruising on his friend's skin. That, along with the stiffness was enough to make Face's already tight chest hurt sharply with fear. The bruises could be just that or they could mean broken ribs. They could mean internal bleeding. Had he coughed up all this blood? There was blood around his mouth too, more than there should've been if it was just a split lip or bitten cheek. Face felt suddenly light-headed and forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. It was harder than he liked but he managed to get himself breathing at a regular rate and he turned his attention to his friend's blank stare.
"Murdock? Hey, buddy? Look at me." No response. Swallowing hard, Face tried again, letting the blood-damp t-shirt drop and moving his hand to Murdock's face, tapping his cheek lightly. "Look at me, pal, come on." Murdock blinked slowly but his eyes remained dull and unfocused. "Man… this is bad, buddy. Really bad." He spoke, more to ground himself than anything else as he twisted, dragging a blanket free and tucking it around Murdock's frail form. Holding his friend upright with one arm around the stiff shoulders, Face dug in his pocket, pulling out the earpiece with difficulty and holding the attached mic to his face.
"Bosco, I need you at Murdock's window, now!" If his voice still sounded rough, Face didn't care. Murdock was trembling softly in his arms, scruffy head tucked under Face's chin and his breaths slow and shuddering. Face stuffed the earpiece back into his pocket and moved to rub some warmth into the cold fingers. His hand met hard plastic and a flare of anger swept through him as he remembered the ties that bound his friend's wrists. Pulling a small knife from his belt, he slipped it carefully between Murdock's palms, cutting the tie and pulling it away when the chilled hands remained in the same position, curled and tucked up to his chest. Sheathing the knife, Face took his friend's hands again, rubbing them gently so he didn't cause Murdock more pain.
Looking up at the window and waiting for Bosco's arrival, Face moved on to rubbing Murdock's arms, only just recognizing the things Murdock was wearing as pajamas. He brushed a lock of Murdock's blood-stiffened wild hair out of his face with his cheek, hands still occupied supporting and warming. Another glance down at the shirt confirmed it as the pilot's favorite Captain America tee. Face swallowed back the lump in his throat and began murmuring anything he could to fill the silence.
"It's okay, bud… I've got you. You're gonna be okay." Stupid, cheesy lines no one ever said except in movies and Face felt ridiculous saying them but he couldn't think of anything else. He could hardly think at all past the scent of blood and the feel of his best friend quivering in his arms like a scared kid. It felt like forever before he saw B.A.'s shadow at the window and the whirr and clunk of the grating being cut off seemed too impossibly loud for the guards to miss. No one came, though, and a quick wrench of a crowbar had the window open and Bosco leaning in, expression hidden by the shadows. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, there was a brief pause before the bigger man motioned for Face to come to the window.
"Can you get him over here?" The younger man nodded and shifted his grip on Murdock, tucking an arm under the pilot's knees and lifting him with an ease that Face knew meant several pounds lost from his friend's weight. He moved to the window, blanket still folded around Murdock's shoulders and, after a moment's irrational reluctance to let go, passed Murdock through and into B.A.'s waiting arms. He followed quickly, stopping only to grab Murdock's cap and jacket from the desk chair. They were never coming back here and Face couldn't bear to leave them behind.
Outside was jarringly quiet when paired with the urgency pounding in Face's brain. He ran along behind B.A., watching for any approaching guards but the only people they met on the way to the hedge were the two men Bosco had knocked out cold and Hannibal who held the bush's branches aside as they passed through.