PART 8

A dull shroud of mist hung over the streets, blocking out the sun as it rose lazily to start a new day. It was hot already, dew rising as steam from the grey concrete added to the vision of a vaporous mysterious world. Only an odd cab punctuated the silent emptiness, interrupting the vision which would remain for at least the next two hours until the rush of commuters would claim the streets with the madness of the mundane.

Peck liked this time; when the potential of the forthcoming day was pure with promise and yet to be sullied by the stain of future failure and frustration. It gave him chance to think, to plan and to file away into the relevant areas of his mind the things that worried him, the barriers that stopped him from achieving. And as he had grown older he had surprised himself, especially when recalling his youthful aversion to physical exercise remedied as so many things had been by his Colonel, and found that the best time to put his mind in order was when he was running. While running he could logically see his path past all obstacles, be they real or imagined. Often he started to run weighed down by all manner of worries but by the time he slipped into a refreshing shower at the end, all was once again right with the world.

This day he had woken while it was still dark, the dream of dying once again forcing him out of bed; his limbs had craved movement just as much as his mind wanted relief and within minutes he had left the motel, leaving Murdock sleeping peacefully, to pound the streets.

There were many issues forcing themselves into his mind, and a few in particular that he had ensured he did not allow in in the first place for he feared it would be too painful, but now he opened himself entirely, preparing to think through every problem, confident he would be able to find a way to resolve them all.

He started with a relatively painless one – how the hell had the drug runners known they were going to turn up at the warehouse? Drake had, of course, been the first suspect but Peck had been convinced by the boy the day before. If he was lying, he was damn good at it and knowing both his mother's and his own set of values Peck tended to feel that was not likely. So who else? Nobody came to mind immediately because no one else had known. But somebody had to have done it and it was linked through the drugs to Stepford.

Stepford! Peck had scammed his way into the hospital ward that Amy had given him the details for the day before, the previous evening. The experience had brought frighteningly painful memories of the night he had gone to see Hannibal for that final time. As on that occasion Peck had donned a nursing orderly's uniform and conned his way into the room. Fighting back the memory he had seen Stepford in much the same state Hannibal had been in – pale, grey, almost lifeless, hooked up to so many machines with connecting pipes protruding from all parts of his body.

Peck had stood motionless as he bit back his emotion, forcing himself to glance at the patient's notes. He did not need seven years at med school to ascertain that Stepford was on the way out – exit stage left with no chance of an encore. A sense of relief had washed through the conman then. It looked like one of his problems was about to die, at least. Stepford was in no state to worry about the existence of one Templeton Peck; he had bigger negotiations pending with St Peter!

Peck had slipped out of the hospital. He needed to make some calls, see who was the man inheriting Stepford's criminal empire. He had to make sure that he was off the hook; Amy would be able to help him with that.

Face listened to his own soft footfalls on the broad walk for a while, simply enjoying his body's physical exertion. He was proud that he had kept himself in such good shape that he could run like this. And thinking of good shapes brought his mind to Lorelei. She really had it bad it seemed. For, since the phone call that Murdock had overheard in the car, she had left another five messages on Face's phone, all beseeching him to call her back.

Peck had not told Murdock; didn't see the point in disturbing the pilot still more. Sure he was flattered that a beautiful, young woman could find him that attractive. Part of him considered taking her up on her offer but he could not get passed the fact that when he had gone out with her it had not been an enjoyable experience for him. When he confided in Amy he had told the truth; something about Lorelei, although she was attractive, set his alarm bells sounding.

And, of course, there was Murdock. Peck did feel bad about hurting him. He had taken a big step on the beach six months ago- they both had, one he had never dared to take for the preceding years of his life. Maybe he was growing up, finally as Amy had put it. Maybe he did need something more than the one night stands that had punctuated his life in the past. Whatever, Murdock was the only person who had ever allowed him the chance – he could not fuck it up, not again.

He remembered the complete soul numbing fear that had arced through him when he thought Murdock had been mortally wounded. A vision of his bloodied body flashed before Peck's eyes….. stop! He forced it away with difficulty, could not pursue it, even while running. He had purposely shied away from the events at the warehouse because they scared him just too much. And in pushing the whole experience away, he had also ignored the redeeming fact that he had quite selflessly risked his own life to save that of his lover. Instead he dwelled on his inadequacy and crucified himself mercilessly.

What the hell had happened? How could he lose it so completely? Could he ever trust himself again? The harsh question that he had ignored since it happened came to bombard him now. Hannibal would have helped him, Hannibal would have known what to do but the Colonel was gone and Peck had to find a way through this without him.

Did he have the courage? Could he face his fear? And the pressing dread of his dreams what had he forgotten? Why would he believe that his own death would be just punishment for him? What was waiting for him just down the road?

He gulped then, suddenly feeling the muscles in his legs tighten; the memory of the bullet exploding his chest apart creating a physical reaction. Hannibal was in that dream. Hannibal, telling him 'Don't be afraid,' and 'Accept.' What did that mean? Hannibal was more than his friend; Peck had trusted him with his own life on numerous occasions and had never been proved wrong. Surely he should listen to his Colonel now – he would not lead him false.

Peck stopped running, the comfort that physical activity brought him suddenly elusive. Breathing heavily he leaned against a lamp post, letting his head drop as his legs quaked, feeling the adrenaline pumping around his body.

"Shit, Hannibal!" he groaned. "What am I doing?"

A truck passed by, blowing up the garbage that had collected in the gutter. The wind of its passing caused the rubbish to dance animatedly for a few seconds before it dropped back into the drain to lie uselessly once more. Peck felt a strange affinity to the small heap of garbage – he had danced once when an outside force, namely Hannibal, had given him the confidence and the conviction to do so, now he felt as worthless as the pile of paper and plastic in front of him.

"Gotta get it back," he whispered. "Is that what you're telling me, Hannibal? Gotta find out how to dance on my own." He snorted. "Don't know if I can. How did you live with it Hannibal? All those people relying on you, waiting for you to come up with a plan. How did you live with all those expectations?"

He shook his head slowly. "You were some man, Hannibal. What did you see in me to believe that I could ever be worthy of filling your boots?" He was walking around slowly in a circle, arms on his hips as he spoke but as he finished he began to run again, up the sidewalk as before, only faster and with more purpose.

Running always put things into perspective and this time was no different. Though it had not given him all the answers it had helped him put things in order in his mind. And he now saw that his own selfish doubts did not matter; people were relying on him – Drake, Shannon, Mo and Murdock, of course. It did not matter whether he believed he could deliver or not, they did. He had to try to live up to their expectations. He owed them that at least.

And then there was Hannibal; Hannibal who had believed in him when everyone else had doubted. Hannibal who had helped him to dance when everyone else thought he deserved only to crawl on his belly. Peck almost felt his presence then, a support, a warmth so much more ardent than the sun through the smoggy clouds above. He quickened his pace, sprinting with renewed vigour back to the motel – there were things to be done!

He ran with the energy of a teenager, filled with hope and passion and belief. So set on his path that he failed to notice the black sedan, behind him and moving at a subdued speed that seemed to show that its occupant must be following him.

Murdock opened one eye lazily as Peck gently opened the door to their room. He groaned from the end of his toes and then stretched like a large contented cat.

"You look great in sweat, Face," he sighed. "You should go for the macho look more often."

Face snorted as he removed his shorts and top, even though they were stinking from his exertion he folded them neatly before placing them on the floor.

"So good!" Murdock moaned hungrily.

Face lingered for a second, his eyes twinkling with tantalising. "Shower," he breathed finally, wrinkling his nose. "You know how I hate to feel dirty." He ran his hand along the stubble on his chin pensively as he moved towards the bath room.

Murdock pouted. "I could make you dirtier!" he called. Face just made an unconstructive gesture as he disappeared.

Murdock dozed and by the time he had found the energy to lift his head from the pillow again, Peck was shaved and dressed and lingering in front of the mirror brushing his hair.

Murdock groaned. "You look good in jeans!"

Face's smile was confident and smooth. "Face it, Murdock," he drawled conceitedly. "I look good in anything!" He continued to preen himself shamelessly.

Murdock rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his own messy hair. "Wouldn't argue with that," he sighed as he stiffly rose off the bed and bumbled towards the bath room.

Peck was sitting on the chair intently cleaning his gun when the pilot came back into the room. "You look like you're preparing for business, Faceyman." Murdock pulled on his faded denims and a yellow T shirt that had a bright red arrow emblazoned across the front pointing to his left and the caption, 'I'm with handsome!'

"Yep," Peck breathed.

Murdock snorted. "Not good enough Face. You know I need more words from you. Don't go monosyllabic on me again – you know it makes me nervous!"

Peck smiled as he spun the gun barrel. He bit his lip as he concentrated on re-loading the chamber. Standing up he placed the gun in his shoulder holster and then reached for his jacket. He stopped halfway there as the boom of a loud speaker blistered through the quiet morning air.

"Templeton Peck!" The voice shouted. "We have you surrounded. Come out of the room with your hands up!"

They exchanged a worried glance. "Shit!" Murdock breathed as he finished fastening his belt. He moved to the window, and hid behind the floral drapes as he peered out. He let his breath out in a stunned rush.

Face moved too, to the other side of the window as he drew his gun. "What the…." He began but never finished the sentence, instead the words drifted away unaccompanied save for the thumping of his heart in his chest as his throat went suddenly dry.

The parking lot seemed full to bursting of black sedans, parked to create a barricade at the front of their room. There were men, shiftily peering over the cars, guns clutched in their hands and flashing in the morning sun that had finally pierced its way through the grey clouds above.

Face felt a sudden rush of fragility and forced himself to take a deep breath. The scene before him seemed to shudder and he closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall, he sighed.

"Cops?" Murdock queried.

As if to answer the unheard question the booming voice came again. "Templeton Peck; this is the police! You are under arrest. Come out now!"

Murdock rolled his eyes and looked towards his partner, wishing he could sweep him up in a comforting embrace and whisk him away for everything that threatened him. Instead his voice was calm as he said, "It's your call, Face."

Peck gulped and worked on stopping the tremor that was racing through him. He had felt so good after his run but now the exhaustion was creeping into every muscle and sinew like an unstoppable virus. A pinprick of intense pain formed in the centre of his forehead and began to radiate outwards, he rubbed at it ineffectively with the back of his trembling hand that still held his gun. Murdock watched him, eyes wide with sympathy as he took in the hopeless stoop of the shoulders, the tautness of the frame, and the ragged breathing. How much more would Face be asked to bear?

The voice came from outside again; harsher and more forceful. Murdock knew they were running out of time. Still Peck hesitated, floundering with the burden.

"There's not many of them, Face," Murdock worked on getting his voice to sound reassuringly calm. "Maybe we should make a run for it – like Butch and Sundance!"

Face was gulping hard, trying to force down the acidic taste of fear as it bubbled up from his stomach. Leaving the pain in his head, his hand rubbed through his hair fretfully. He turned to look at the pilot, his eyes wide with a stormy glint. "I don't think so, Murdock, not this time," he said dejectedly. "Too many innocent bystanders. Besides they don't want you, only me."

"You are not going out there alone, Face!" Murdock moved towards him. "We don't know who these guys are and I don't see no cop cars!"

Peck smiled a whole million dollars of pure sadness. He reached out and gently pulled Murdock to him. He was trembling as he whispered. "I expect you to come get me. Come save me like you always have in the past."

"Face, you're not going out there." Murdock was frightened by the suffocating strength of Peck's embrace and by the undenying loss its intensity foretold. He tried to move away but Peck held him close. "Promise me, you'll come!" he said.

"Face, I …"

"Promise me!"

Murdock hesitated, mouth wide open to argue but unable to find the strength to reject his lover. "OK, of course," he gulped. Then his mind went into practical mode. "Wait, I got a tracker."

Face let him go with a sad smile of regret. The pilot cursed as he fumbled through his bag. He finally came up with a small electronic device and handed it over. Peck regarded it and then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Shoe or pocket?" Murdock asked.

"Gotta be safer," Peck muttered as he took up a glass of water from the table. In one quick moment he swallowed the tracker along with a big gulp of water.

"Face!" Murdock gasped.

"It'll be in me for twenty four hours," Face responded dully. "Find me by then or you might find yourself staking out a sewage works!" He took a short step forward then, took Murdock in his arms and planted a passionate kiss full of longing on to his lips. "I love you," he muttered so softly that Murdock wondered if he'd said it at all.

"Face, I…" Murdock blinked.

Peck moved away, giving him his tightest smile. "I'll see you when I see you, pal." He said. "Make yourself scarce – I don't want them finding you too. You're my only hope, Murdock. You always have been!"

He moved to the door. Murdock watched, motionless, his eyes stinging, and feeling strangely distant as if he was watching a movie.

Peck was silhouetted in the doorway, his hands high above his head.

"Throw the gun down!" the outside voice commanded. Peck did so. Murdock heard the faint dull clatter as it landed on the parking lot tarmac. "Keep your hands up and move slowly!"

Peck did not look behind but did as he was told. Murdock moved silkily back to the window, keeping his friend in sight all the time.

Hesitantly Face moved down the steps and out of the shade of the building in to the full Californian sun light. It caught the golden strands in his hair and glittered angelically. Murdock felt his stomach lurch as he peeped out. He knew he should hide but he was mesmerised by the moment and he could not take his eyes from his lover. He drank those beautiful, familiar features in thirstily as a man preparing for a long drought.

"Stop! On the floor, on your belly!"

Peck was halfway between the door and the cars; exposed and vulnerable. He hesitated again. Murdock fully expected Face to whine something about his tailor or his dry cleaning bill but he did not. Instead he slowly eased himself down to his knees on the warming tarmac and then down lower.

A figure peeled out from behind the cars and raced toward him. It knelt with its knee planted painfully in the small of Peck's back and pulled his outstretched arms together firmly behind his back. Murdock thought he saw a slight grimace of pain and the click of the handcuffs through the now charged but silent air was unmistakeable. The figure roughly lifted the incapacitated Peck to his feet and shoved him towards a waiting car. Face stumbled but managed to maintain his balance and continue forwards.

"Don't hurt him," Murdock breathed his pitiful prayer as he watched powerlessly.

Peck was bundled into the car, with a squeak of its suspension it reversed out of the lot and then sped away. Murdock was still rooted in silent desolation, watching as the other cars were filled by men in grey suits and squealed away. Very soon the parking lot was empty and the normal activities of the morning prepared to take control. It was as if nothing had happened, no disturbance had occurred.

Murdock shook his head sadly, he knew differently, of course. No one could alter the fact that the love of his life had been snatched away from him. He faltered for a moment and seemed to zone out as the deep well of sorrow within him sought to pull him down into its hopeless despair. But he was stronger than that and he pulled himself together, taking a firm grip on his sanity and forcing it to the forefront of his head. Face needed him, that was enough to chase all else away.

"Gotta get BA," he muttered. "Gotta follow Faceman. Gotta get him back………….."

TBC