Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

Part Seven

Peck was sinking into a sea of crushing colours condensing crazily in his mind. He needed to think, needed to ground himself and come to terms with everything he had learnt but his mind was like a rotten bucket springing leaks constantly. When he rallied to block one drip a further hole appeared elsewhere. There was no way he could control himself, not after the drugs they had given him. He felt as limp and lifeless as a dishcloth but something deep inside him would not allow his whole self to let go and give in to the release, something inside him clung to his consciousness.

Vaguely he recalled what had happened after James Stephens had revealed his true identity. Stepford had gloated about his past accomplishments, the need to change his name and his increasing wealth with his illegal activities.

What became clear to Peck was that Stepford was operating outside the constraints of rational behaviour – a hardened criminal he had already been dealt his death sentence and he did not care who he took with him. No, that was not entirely correct, he did care and he was quite explicit that Peck would be going down with him.

Face had tried to argue, tried everything he knew to placate the man but he knew it was never going to be enough especially because of his apparent guilt at the ongoing scam. And that had sent his mind reeling in a whole new direction. If Stephens was Stepford, who the hell had set him up? Did that person know of the previous link between the pair of them and understand just how much trouble Peck would be in when Stepford exposed him?

Peck wanted to think it all through. He needed his mind to be at its incisive best but, as the criminal left and laughing manically, Stepford had instructed his goons. Peck had struggled violently but he had been held firmly and the first heavy had injected something straight into his jugular. It had only taken a second before Face began to feel its effects – his muscles began to quiver and then relax until all his control was gone.

The goons had laughed at his discomfort and untying his bonds had thrown him across the room to land on a damp, sagging mattress in the corner. Now as he lay there, helpless as the drug induced spasms rushed through him and the sweat ran down the indentation of his spine. He gasped as he tried to mentally hold onto the spiral knot of his strength, knowing only that could pull him through the fear.

As he tried to hold on to his control he was not helped by his senses as they revealed a nightmarish vision of the world to him. Peck knew he was hallucinating badly, but that made the whole experience no less terrifying for him. There was the taste of metal, hard and dry on his seemingly bizarrely large tongue filled his mouth as his skin crawled. He groaned and his voice sounded distant, indistinct as if passing through water and overlaid by a deep buzzing in his ears. The walls of the room were shivering, bowing first out and then inwards and the floor was moving. Colours, vibrant and rich as blood, streaked across the greyness where they had no place to be. All was hazy, blurred and surreal.

Into this lurid landscape there appeared a dark figure that Peck became aware of, black against the vibrant colours. He squinted through moist, badly focusing eyes and his heart lurched with disbelief. As the figure approached Peck perceived first the grey hair.

"Hannibal," he breathed, frightened by the abnormality of his own voice.

The confident smile was immense. "How you doing, kid?" Smith beamed warmly.

Peck could not look away, could not conceive of anything but his Colonel shining out to him like a constant beacon through the shifting mists. Hannibal moved to him, knelt down beside him and ran a cool, refreshing hand over Face's unhealthily sweaty brow. An indistinct recollection lingered in the back of Peck's mind of how ill Hannibal had been the last time he had seen him but in this bizarrely inconsistent world he found himself where nothing was as it should be, it was easy to overlook.

"Hannibal," he repeated more strongly this time, hoping that in speaking his name he could anchor his Colonel into reality.

"You got to keep it together, kid," Smith said. "It's very dangerous for you now."

Face gulped, blinking rapidly. "I can't…." The words were floating through his drugged mind like pretty butterflies, so difficult to catch. "I can't…."

"You have to Face," Hannibal's smile was wide and safe but his tone brooked no dissent. "I trust you kid. I always have."

He placed his hands under Peck's shoulders and very gently lifted the shivering man to his feet. Peck stumbled and would have fallen but Smith held him upright. Face clutched to him desperately as he gulped in air, blinking to try to clear his still shimmering vision.

"I feel…" he began but did not finish the sentence as he began to retch weakly.

"It's OK, kid," Hannibal supported him. "Get it out; it's doing you no good." Face felt a little stronger and was able with Hannibal's help to move to the door. "Stepford is a fool," Smith's calm voice soothed. "You will always get the better of him; you always knew that and his goons are next to useless. They can't keep you here; keep you caged when you were born to fly!"

As he spoke, he lifted Face's hands and pressed something into them. More by feel than through his faltering sight Face knew it was his lock pick. He was still wearing the nursing auxiliary uniform from earlier, he had put his wallet in the pocket when he changed and even now he always kept a pick in it. Using only his instinct, as his rational awareness was floating away, he let Smith direct his hands to the lock and he gently turned it. The door popped open with a soft click.

Hannibal laughed heartily. "Thata boy! Come on, kid!"

Peck leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "Hannibal," he said weakly, stomach churning and mouth itching to vomit. "I can't."

"Sure you can!" Gently encouraging him, Smith manoeuvred the younger man through the empty corridors and out of a fire escape into a back alley. Peck was barely conscious as oblivion threatened to overwhelm him but he blindly followed on the surreal journey. The fresher air of the Californian night helped Peck clear his head a little but walking was still difficult and he found himself lurching from step to step as he leaned on to the wall. He stopped regularly gagging and needing deep breaths to recover. All the time Hannibal held him and whispered encouragement to him.

After an immeasurable passage of time Peck found himself staggering up the driveway of a small house somewhere in the suburbs. He found himself on the small porch. Hannibal knocked on the door and gently propped Peck up against the white washed wall. "You can do it, kid," he whispered encouragingly. "I know you can!"

The door opened and the woman peered out through the crack she had allowed the door to open to. She let out a surprised shriek. "Richard?" she breathed. "What the hell?"

The man Mo knew as Richard Bancroft lurched towards her. His face was pale and drained, his eyes widely dilated so that the pupils looked entirely black. He was shaking violently and stinking of vomit. She grabbed hold of him before he could fall as his legs lost all strength to hold him. Although his arrival at her door at this time of night was completely unexpected and his appearance was shocking, Mo quickly recovered herself. Her big heart would have reached out to help anyone in distress, but the fact that the dishevelled, swaying figure wearing a dirty nurse uniform at her door was a person she had grown fond of in the short time she had known him, just spurred her on.

"Oh my god, Richard!" she moved forwards and clutched hold of him, gently easing him into her home.

"Mo," Peck breathed, stuttering over his words. "I'm sorry, I…"

"It's OK, Richard," she soothed him as she helped him lay down on the couch. He coughed dryly. "God, you look awful. You need some water."

He was shuddering again, his teeth chattering and his vision going black very quickly. His stomach was churning and embarrassingly he thought he was about to heave again. He knew he was going to faint but he had to keep control and get word to Murdock before he would allow himself the release.

"Mo, I need your help." He reached out to her, hand shaking. "I need you to phone my friend Murdock and ask him to come get me. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded. "Of course, Richard." She was curious as to what was happening but wise enough to know that the only chance she had of finding out was to help all she could.

By the time Murdock arrived Mo had managed to clean up Peck a little and he was sleeping under a colourful blanket which accentuated the paleness of his pasty cheeks, on her couch. He was moaning slightly and still shivering as the drug sparked through his system but he had stopped retching at least.

"Hi," Murdock shook Mo's outstretched hand. "I think I need to thank you for finding my little stray."

Mo laughed. "I knew it!" she said as she watched the pilot enter the room and move to kneel beside the sofa. She noted the way this newcomer's eyes widened when they fell on Richard; his tenderness and concern as he reached out to the sick man. Mo could read the signs all right, "You must be his significant other!"

Murdock threw her a wide smile but his eyes appeared to be veiled with sadness. "Let's just say, I'm his best friend," he smiled.

"What happened?" she asked. "Is he going to be OK?"

"He's one tough cookie," Murdock replied. "He's been though harder scrapes than this." He turned back to look down at the sleeping figure. "Hey Facey," he whispered. "Come back to me."

Blue in blue eyes opened hazily. "Murdock." It was a sigh more than a statement.

"I'm here, Face." He gently squeezed Peck's hand. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Peck gulped; his face straining as he tried to recall and when he finally spoke his voice croaked. "Stephens is Stepford."

Murdock bit back his surprise. "Stepford!" he breathed.

Face's voice was so weak that Murdock sensed that Mo could not make out what he was saying. Still the pilot looked up at her expectantly, wondering how much she knew and how much he could allow her to know.

She took the hint. "I'll make a coffee," she said and moved out to the kitchen.

Murdock's eyes were sparkling as he moved even closer to the sofa. "What did he do to you?" he asked tenderly, wanting nothing more than to envelope Peck in his safe arms.

"Drugged me; couldn't control myself, turned me to jello." Peck gulped. "Wouldn't have been able to get out. Hannibal came and got me."

Murdock tensed. "Hannibal?" he questioned.

Peck licked his dry lips and nodded feebly. "How could he have done that?" he asked as the realisation of what had happened actually hit him.

"Oh Faceyman," Murdock sighed. "Whatever drug Stepford gave you was strong stuff!" Face looked at him blankly. He had been beginning to feel slightly better as the drug worked its way through him but his heart froze as the pilot's resolutely impassive voice continued, "Hannibal died last night."

TBC