A/N: I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this :) I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I tried to stay true to Face's character as much as B.A.'s and Murdock's. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own

Warnings: One curse in this chapter. I don't like cursing...but it was necessary.

Face: Chilled Eggs
StriderX

There's only one way to put it. Hannibal was exhausted. With two week-long missions back-to-back, he felt like he'd either fall asleep sitting up or pass out into the dashboard. Either way, he didn't really care, so long as he was home. He almost chuckled, almost. What even was home anymore? They all (with the exception of Murdock) had a tendency to pick up a new place every couple weeks. This last condo was just one in a string of many, but inside was a bed, a box of cigars, and his favorite coffee. These days, that was all he needed to feel warmth again.

He'd been glancing at his team, like he often did, throughout their trip home. B.A. was snoring softly from the backseat of the van, his shot foot making driving an impossibility for a few weeks, much to the wheelman's dismay. Hannibal smirked when he remembered the big guy's expression when Doc Sullivan told them the news.

Murdock was sprawled out on the squished floor space, feet tilted oddly on the chair; the sound of his humming a far off tune in his sleep rocked the van like a lullaby. To this, Hannibal's head shook…what'a guy.

In the back, Amy Allen was curled up on the cushion dozing off even as her pen scribbled over her reporter's notebook. Hannibal had to admit, the kid had spunk. If there were ever to be a female that belonged with them, she was it. She'd been a trooper the whole week; not a single peep or whine, not even when an arrow grazed her left arm. He sighed. This marked the first time she'd been injured under his watch. Part of him wished she'd stop coming with them…he couldn't bear losing her; she'd become nearly as much of a child to him as the boys.

Letting his gaze wander front, he caught Face just finish a deep yawn from behind the wheel. Shaking his head, the Lieutenant lightly smacked his cheeks, apparently trying to keep himself awake. They were ten minutes from home now at ten-past-two in the morning; otherwise Hannibal would've forced the kid to stop for the night. Vaguely, Hannibal noticed how worn the Lieutenant looked. Under the black and blue hollowing his cheekbones and stitched gash over his right brow, the kid looked like he'd been going seven days straight. What worried him is he knew it wasn't far from the truth.

Two weeks ago Face had whined of a cold and for a while; he'd had the nasally voice to prove it. Of course it went away within a few days, but the slight glisten of fever never completely faded. Now, in hindsight, Hannibal wondered if he'd pushed the kid too hard…again. He really didn't know why he always felt the need to push the poor boy so close to his limits. Maybe it was because he'd known him so long—he knew the best way to keep Face happy was to keep him challenged, leave no time to stop and ponder what should have been or could have been. Hannibal shuddered as he remembered when he first met the barely-legal private tumbling into war full-speed ahead with desperation flooding his eyes. To this day, Hannibal was sure the kid would be dead if he hadn't been assigned to his command.

It certainly wasn't because the kid was weak though, despite whatever he may have led Face to believe. He may not be the best in a fist fight compared to B.A. or Murdock, but man, was he fast and clever. Hannibal had learned a long time ago that while Face may put on a weak show in order to get out of getting dirty, there was nothing weak about the man. He proved it time and again in Vietnam; one time in particular when he was lost behind enemy lines for seven days. When they'd finally found him, he was carrying a man twice his size, half-dead with starvation and delirium and shot in three places, but still standing, still fighting.

By the time Hannibal snapped out of his memories, Face was pulling the van into the parking lot outside Hannibal's condo. They'd agreed earlier in the night that the Colonel's place was closest and had the most space. They'd all crash there tonight.

As Face turned off the van and stretched, Hannibal turned around, regretting having to wake his kids. "Rise and shine, kids. We're home," he called just loudly enough to rouse them.

"Aw, Hannibal…" moaned Murdock. "Can't we just sleep here? I don't wan'na get up."

"It's getting cold, Murdock. Come on inside where there's some heat."

It was true. Without the heater running in the van, the temperature was already dropping rapidly. The point was proven when Face yanked open the van's side door in order to help B.A. The big guy scowled at the cold.

Hardly a word (at least intelligible) was spoken along the short trek to the condo. Sleepily, Hannibal unlocked the door and flicked on a dim light for his team to see by. First Murdock with eyes closed, then Amy looking a little pale, then B.A. limping along as a silent Face supported him. Before rooms could even be called, the kids were crashed. The guest room found two twin beds filled, one with Amy, the other with Murdock. B.A. passed out on the couch; he'd gone as far as he could.

Hannibal noticed Face lingering by the balcony door for just a moment before falling into a recliner and sighing deeply. Hannibal's head shook. That wouldn't do at all.

"Come on now, Lieutenant. There's a king bed in my room. You'll be much more comfortable there," Hannibal moved toward him, but Face shook his head.

"'m good here, Hann'ble," he mumbled, already fading away. "Somebody's got'ta stay near B.A. anyway…"

Hannibal shrugged and walked away toward his room, trying to swallow the deep feeling that something was wrong that he couldn't see...

Eight a.m. came all too soon that morning. Sure, on normal circumstances, Hannibal could never sleep in so late, but today…just once he wished he could overcome his body's internal clock. He'd been ignoring it since 6am, but the pestering voice inside had simply become too much to bear. That, and the warm scent of eggs and bacon had been teasing his nose long enough.

Dragging his sore limbs up and down the hall, he peaked in the spare room. Murdock and Amy were still fast asleep: Murdock half hanging off the too-small bed and Amy curled into a loose ball under the sheets. As he reached the living room, he noted B.A. resting peacefully on the couch, what appeared to be a fresh bandage wrapped about his foot.

His brow furrowed when he glanced over at the recliner he'd expected to find Face curled in. He always smiled when Face slept. Tougher then nails and always the lady's man, his youngest never failed to curl into the tightest ball possible when asleep. It was only then that his true age showed. But not today…in the recliner, there was no Face. No blanket. The chair didn't even show signs of being slept in. This alarmed the Colonel.

Now fighting that old parental anxiety, Hannibal strove to maintain his calm when he noted the open-kitchen was empty; a used pan and egg shells the only signs of life.

Suddenly, as quickly as the rush surged, it ebbed and faded when his sharp eyes caught a tuft of blonde hair through the balcony doors.

Moving quietly, Hannibal slid open the glass panel and stepped into the cool autumn air. Face didn't turn to greet him, just kept staring out over the skyline from his place on the deck chair. There was a plate of food behind his feet, abandoned, untouched. Internally, Hannibal nodded. Definitely something wrong.

"A little early for catchin' rays, isn't it Face?" Hannibal tried to coax the kid out lightly, but he hoped Face picked up on the deeper questions there.

Face smirked like a ghost. "Not all rays are sunlight, Hannibal," his voice was deep and deafeningly silent. There was emotion there Hannibal hadn't heard in years…emotion he'd hoped never to hear again.

Instantly he pulled up another chair and sat close—not too close—to his youngest, trying to angle himself so he could see the kid's eyes; a feat Face wasn't making easy.

"You wan'na tell me what's been eatin' on you?" he hadn't meant it as a double meaning when he said it, but after the words came out, Hannibal noticed the signs of weight loss narrowing Face's features. The kid didn't have any weight to lose.

"Not particularly."

Hannibal sighed. If there was one fault Face had, it was his unhealthy refusal to let anything out until he was about to collapse (or already had). Absently, the Colonel wondered if Face was close enough to it to be broken down.

Maybe a different tactic, Hannibal pondered. "Good to be home, isn't it?"

Face snorted sarcastically. "Yeah, home. Sure is."

There was silence for a moment. Hannibal took the opportunity to take in Face's appearance in full. The kid looked terrible, even worse than last night. Judging by the look of things, he imagined Face never did really fall asleep. The bruises on his face were darkening to a putrid purple; from what he could see, his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. His hair was scruffy and lengthening. From the way his bangs stuck up at odd angles, Hannibal guessed he'd been running his hands through his hair again, like he always does when bothered. Looking down, he caught the carefully measured breath of a man desperately trying to stay in control. In slightly trembling hands, Hannibal noticed a crumpled piece of paper; he knew this was the key to the ailments of his boy. Somehow, he had to see that paper.

Lowering his gaze, he lingered on the untouched meal. He wondered now just how many meals Face had missed recently…behind the far leg of the chair he caught something he hadn't seen before: a liquor glass, empty.

Hannibal's heart sank. Face never drank hard liquor…not since Nam…not since that night.

He couldn't take the silence any more. "Com'on Face…please talk to me. I know something's hurting you but I can't help if I don't know what it is."

"I never asked for your help, Hannibal. So, please, just drop it. I'll be fine."

Face's lie was rather unconvincing and they both knew it.

Then, suddenly, Face sighed, and shot out a hand containing the crumpled paper. "I found this in my jacket after we left last week."

Hannibal took the ball and carefully unfolded it. Part of him was thrilled Face was cooperating; most of him was worried at what would come next.

As the paper crackled open, Hannibal gazed upon the short, handwritten note scribbled in the center.

Temp, it read. Or maybe your name's Ashley or Al or Faceman…whatever the case I know who you are. You LIED to me, you bastard. I know who you are and what you've done. I NEVER want to see you again. If you try calling me or seeing me, I will call the army again just like I did this morning. You are despicable…you DESERVE to be locked away.

Hannibal couldn't help the burn in his heart as the wicked words poured out…or the icy hitch to his breath as he read the end:

Yours truly, the woman you'll never have, Helena.

Tentatively, Hannibal looked up at Face, who seemed to be rapidly losing his hold. The kid shook his head, eyes fixed out to the sky; a trembling hand ran over his hair. "I'm sorry, Hannibal. I-I messed up again. She's the who called Decker last week."

So much had happened over the last seven days; Hannibal had almost forgotten the little scuffle they had before take-off at the airstrip. Searching through his memories, he remembered thinking Face seemed a little out of it, quiet and downtrodden. He remembered asking Face how the conman's condo scheme would hold up while they were away. The Lieutenant had sidestepped the question, saying he was tired of the view anyway.

Now, looking back, it all made sense. Hannibal sighed. Yeah, maybe it was Face's very-ex flame that ratted them out, but it didn't seem to him that Face really had anything to do with it, this time. It didn't matter anyway. Clearly the kid was suffering enough. He didn't know much about this Helena girl, but he knew it was the first time in a long time Face allowed himself to use the word "girlfriend". Relationships, complications; they were just something Face didn't allow for…normally.

"Aw, kid, I'm sorry…you two were going out a while, weren't you?"

Face sighed, deep and shuddering. "Three months, if you can believe it. I really thought we had something, Hannibal…" he paused for a moment, trying to find the words. "I think I…I hadn't felt that way about a girl since Leslie."

Hannibal frowned. That Leslie chick was the whole reason Face ended up in the middle of a war in the first place. He knew from experience: a broken-hearted Face was a landmine waiting to be trampled.

Face turned just enough for Hannibal to catch the tears building behind the younger sea blue eyes. "I'm just so tired of the lies, you know? Over ten years, Hannibal…" the kid snorted a cynical laugh. "Instead of waking up with nightmares of bodies and bombs, now every time I close my eyes I'm haunted by white picket fences and happy children. Pathetic, right?"

When he finally turned to meet Hannibal's gaze head-on, the Colonel suddenly wished he'd turn away. Those piercing crystal eyes; he was just as bad as Murdock…so lost, so hopeless. "I can't sleep…every time I eat I lose it. When will it stop, Colonel? What did we do to deserve all this?"

Hannibal felt his heart break. If only he knew. "I don't know, kiddo, but I do know that it will stop…one day soon, we will be free. I promise you that."

"How?"

The broken question hung in the air like a blizzard around March.

Carefully, Hannibal placed a gentle hand over Face's shoulders and sighed. "I don't know, kid. But we'll find a way. We've just got'ta hang on a little longer," he let the sad comfort hang for a long minute before squeezing Face lightly. "But you're going to have to start eating again, Face. And sleeping might be a good idea, too."

Numbly, Face nodded, running a hand over his eyes. "I know…" he broke in a sad laugh that came out more of a choke. "I'm so tired."

"Tell you what, nobody's up yet, why don't you go climb into my bed and get some sleep. I'll be here if you need me, and when you get up maybe we can see about a little food, huh?"

Face's expression seemed uneasy, but at least it was less desolate. "Thanks, Hannibal. Ha…sorry I'm such a baby," he added under his breath, but clear enough that Hannibal heard.

The Colonel smiled. Even in doubt, Face would always be Face. "Ha! Face, you're nothin' compared to what B.A.'s going to be when he finally wakes up. We never did tell him just how we got back to the van from Honduras."

It encouraged Hannibal to see Face smirk; even if it was sad and small…at least it was honest.

Then, for a moment, he lingered between the balcony and the living room. Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye; the last words Face uttered were always the heart of it. "I didn't even get a chance to explain…" came the broken whisper.

Hannibal nodded but said nothing. Maybe he'd lighten up on berating Face's skirt-chasing for a while…clearly love wasn't working out so well for the poor kid.

As Face meandered inside, forgetting his cold plate and empty glass in his exhaustion, Hannibal settled to peer out over the growing day. Pulling out a cigar he shook his head.

His boys.

TBC

A/N: As always, thanks for reading! Please review if you'd like. One more chapter to go...your sneak-peak: Hannibal.