AN: ACK! I meant to have this up a couple days ago, but my laptop needed a new transformer and it took a lot longer than I thought to get it sorted. Anyway, back now!

mrswolfie: Thanks :D Ah yes, Face's trouble is...actually, on second thoughts, I think I'll keep it to myself for the minute ;)

Kayley: Thanks, glad you like it :D

mlpsunflower: I tried replying to your PM, but it said you'd disabled them. I guess actions speak louder than words anyway, so here you go!

Axiana: Your wish is my command, read on ;)

"Oh, thank god! Thank god someone's here!" Face took hold of Hannibal and drew him forward. "Please, you gotta help, some kids knocked this old guy down and stole his wallet. He cracked his head on the sidewalk." He turned the colonel around to display the cut on the back of his head as Exhibit A. "I was gonna take him home but he couldn't tell me where he lived. I think he may be concussed, or, I dunno, more likely he's just senile or...look, do you have a phone I can use, call for help?" He spun Hannibal around again, supporting his weight as the colonel clutched at him with a convincing groan...although there was a hidden gleam in his eyes that said a certain lieutenant was going to regret senile.

The men exchanged glances, and Hannibal knew full well what was going on in their minds. Face was extremely good at making people question themselves and their motives; even thugs like these wouldn't be comfortable opening fire on a young man who was just trying to play the Good Samaritan.

Heck, any minute now they'll be offering to take us to the hospital themselves.

One of the guards pulled out a radio unit.

"Mr Markham? We got ourselves a couple trespassers here. Apparently one of 'em's been mugged, they want to come in here and call for help...Yeah...Uh huh...Okay."

He slid the aerial back into the handset and clipped it onto his belt.

"Bring him inside."

Their escort led them into the entrance hall, which was bigger than many people's apartments, then left them with a curt, "Stay here."

Glancing around at the lavish surroundings – wide marble staircase, expensive looking pictures on the wall, thick plush carpet – and wondering just which of the small, expensive-looking little knick-knacks lying around on its each individual pedestal Markham would be least likely to miss, Face grinned.

"What'd I tell you? Piece of cake. Losing my touch...!" He snorted derisively and studied a marble figurine with a little too much interest.

"Senile?" Hannibal said in an undertone.

The lieutenant at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed as he answered, "Yeah, well...you're probably old enough."

"Oh, is that right? For your information, I'm not as old as you think."

"Never said you were," Face pointed out, then not quite under his breath, "Never thought you could be."

Hannibal paused in his examination of Renoir's The Bathers (or at least a very good copy) and turned a hard stare on Face.

"You wanna say that to me one more time, lieutenant?"

"...No."

"You sure? I mean, like you said, I'm old, I'm senile, my hearing's not so good—"

"Oh c'mon, Hannibal, that's not true." Face paused just long enough for Hannibal to see it coming, then added, "You can hear just fine."

"You're pushing your luck, kid."

"Right." Face moved up next to Hannibal to study the picture. "Is it me, or does that girl seem a little...mmm....outta proportion?"

The colonel raised his eyebrows. "I thought you liked women to be 'a little outta proportion'."

"Well, yeah, but the other way around!" Face turned away from the offending picture and his gaze fell on the door next to the grandfather clock. As doors went, it was quite small – Hannibal and Face would both have to duck in order to pass through it – and looked oddly out of place.

"Does that door look normal to you?"

Hannibal gave the door a long look, and Face an even longer one.

"It looks like a door, if that's what you're asking me."

"Yeah, but...shouldn't it be more ornate? You know, we got marble stairs, plush carpets, expensive pieces of art...I'd've at least expected solid gold doorhandles or something. What do you suppose is inside?"

Hannibal grinned. "I've no idea, Face. What do you say we see for ourselves?"

It turned out to be darkness. The colonel could just about make out three or four wooden steps going down before they were swallowed up by the blackness. The cool, earthy smell of a cellar wafted out and Hannibal listened, straining his ears.

Nothing. No breathing, no crying, no snoring, nothing. But still...they had to start their search somewhere. Maybe if they went in there and closed the door, it might fool whoever came back into thinking they'd left.

He turned to put this to Face, only to see the lieutenant was completely rigid and staring down into the darkness, face so white his lips had a bluish tinge.

"Face? Face!"

No response. Hannibal gripped the lieutenant's shoulder and turned him away from the door.

"Kid, look at me." He snapped his fingers a few times under Face's nose. A few seconds went by, then the lieutenant shifted his gaze to Hannibal.

"What?"

"You back with me? We have to start searching this place before Markham's pet heavies come back." Hannibal jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the open door behind him. "Let's go."

Face swallowed. "Uh...tell you what, Hannibal, why don't you, uh, why don't you check down there and I'll keep looking around up here?"

Hannibal gave him a quizzical look. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"No!" Face answered, but in the tones of one who doth protest too much. "I just...well, we'd get a lot more done if we split up."

"And if those goons get back here then I'm going to need you with me." Hannibal gestured towards the dark room again. Previous experience had taught him that Face was more than capable of sneaking away if you turned your back on him. He had no idea what had caused Face's sudden reluctance, but, callous as it sounded, he didn't have time to baby the kid along just then. "After you."

Face edged back. "Hannibal..."

"Let's go, lieutenant." The colonel allowed a touch of steel into his voice. "I'll be right behind you."

It was intended as reassurance, but in his current state of mind, Face took it as a threat that Hannibal would be cutting off his only line of escape if he had to bolt suddenly.

"I don't think that's a good—" he began.

"Face, we don't have time to argue about this!"

Face glanced over his shoulder, as though frightened of being overheard, then lowered his voice.

"Okay. Fine. But you go first."

"Alright." Like he'd said, there wasn't time to argue. He'd just have to trust the lieutenant to follow him.

And Face did. Reluctantly, and as slowly as he dared, but he followed him. Hannibal could hear the younger man's rapid, rather shallow breathing and paused. This wasn't Face's usual reluctance to get his hands dirty; something about this place was genuinely terrifying the lieutenant out of his wits. Quite what that something was, Hannibal couldn't figure out, but still...

What the heck, I'll let him go. He's too drunk with terror to be any use down here if things get nasty. Better get him out now before he's too far gone even for that.

Hannibal opened his mouth. "Look, Face, if you—"

That was as far as he got before the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut and plunged the entire place into blackness.

There was a clumping sound as Face took the stairs three at a time, followed by a banging as he hammered on the door. "Hey! Hey, let us out!"

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, the expression unfortunately lost in the darkness.

"Sure Face. That'll work."

Thinking back to the night before, he remembered Face mumbling something about the dark room. Maybe a little more light wouldn't be a bad idea.

Pulling his lighter out of his jacket, he flicked it on. The tiny flame danced in the darkness, barely illuminating more than Hannibal's face and, with a little searching, a light switch. Hannibal flicked it and a single bulb dangling from the ceiling sputtered into life. The light was erratic and partially obscured by dirt, but it was better than nothing. At least now they could see where they were locked up.

A wine cellar? Hannibal stared around him. He and the team had been locked up in some pretty unusual places – including a fireworks factory, which was like giving the henhouse keys to the fox – but never before in a wine cellar.

The light didn't seem to reassure Face; in fact, the only difference it made was the lieutenant gave up pounding on the door and leapt to the ground, searching the cellar for another way out.

When he was seven, Hannibal had snuck off the army base where his father was stationed and gone out for a day's exploring. He hadn't found what he was looking for (namely dinosaur bones) but one thing he had found was an Alsatian dog in a cage no more than eight foot by three. That dog had been moving and pacing around the inside of its tiny confinement in the same restless, almost frenzied way that Face was doing now.

Hannibal massaged his forehead tiredly.

This isn't working.

"Templeton!"

Pure shock caused Face to stop mid-pace as though he'd hit a wall. Hannibal had never called him by name before; it had always been kid or lieutenant in the POW camp (or Peck if he pissed the colonel off) until Murdock had rechristened him Faceman.

"Right." Hannibal moved in front of Face and seized his arms. "Now that I've got your attention, will you get a grip! Whatever's wrong with you, either tell me and let me help you through it, or keep your mouth shut and work through it by yourself, but right now we need to focus on dealing with the problem!"

Face swallowed hard, then nodded. "Sure. Okay. I'm good."

"You sure?" Hannibal didn't release him; there was a wild look in the lieutenant's eyes he didn't much like. He didn't think that Face would attack him again, but neither did he think that the younger man was under control.

"Sure I'm sure. No problem." Face pulled back and this time Hannibal let him go. "I just...I can't stand being locked up here."

"You've been locked up in plenty of places before, kid. How is that any different to this?"

"Because the other guys left the lights on!"

In the astonished silence, Hannibal saw Face's expression change from so there to oh crud. He'd seen it a few times before; it usually meant that the lieutenant had said far more than he'd meant to.

"What?" Hannibal stared at him, baffled. "Face, you're not seriously trying to tell me that you're afraid of the dark!"

"No! No way. It's just...the other guys left the lights on."

Hannibal folded his arms. "Does this have something to do with that dark room you kept going on about in your sleep?"

Face went so white Hannibal thought he was going to pass out, then abruptly spun, took the stairs in two bounds and hurled his entire body against the door, which shuddered but held firm. It might not have been ornate, but that door was still a damn good door, in Hannibal's opinion. Any door that could stand up against an assault like that one deserved combat pay.

This time Hannibal didn't waste time trying to talk to the frantic lieutenant; he simply waited until the younger man's pacing brought him within arm's reach again and slapped him. He put a little more force into it than he intended (his head was still throbbing angrily where Face had slammed it onto the sidewalk) and the slap not only connected, it knocked the lieutenant off his feet.

After a minute or two, Face stood and dusted himself off. Calm. Rational. There was something unsettling about the speed with which he'd yanked his emotions back under control.

"Thanks." His voice was very quiet, almost inaudible.

"Anytime, kid. Now let's think this through." Glancing at the locked door, Hannibal added, "You got a lockpick?"

"No." Seeing Hannibal's surprise, Face added, "I didn't take one with me when I went out for my walk and you didn't exactly give me any time to pack a bag before sending me to the van."

Hannibal straightened up and jabbed a forefinger into Face's chest. "I didn't send you anywhere, lieutenant; you thought I was going to tell the others about your nightmare and you bolted. Why, I've no idea; there's nothing wrong with having a bad dream."

Face glanced around at the wine cellar, then back at Hannibal. "Are you going to tell them about...well...uh." He coughed. "You know. When you. Back in the van. Uh. And—"

"Oh, you mean when you fell asleep on watch and then tried to strangle me? I'll warn them to keep their distance when they're waking you up, if that's what you mean by telling them. I can't give them any details though, since you're still refusing to give me any."

"Is that all that's stopping you?"

Hannibal met the lieutenant's gaze without flinching. "I'm not a gossip, Face."

"No." This time it was Face who looked away. "I know."

"Right." Hannibal studied him for a minute longer, then let it go. "Then let's get outta here and find this Markham guy."

Face raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'm open to suggestions, Hannibal. I mean, that's a pretty strong door up there. Believe me, I know."

That was a point. If the door had been sturdy enough to withstand Face's determined assault – and the lieutenant packed more of a punch than most people thought – it wasn't going to be easy to break down.

"Besides, we don't have to leave right now, do we?"

Hannibal glanced at Face. "Five minutes ago you were doing everything you could to bust the door down, kid."

"Hannibal." Face shook his head, a pitying expression on his face. "That was before I found this."

He pulled a bottle of champagne out of the racks and held it up. Hannibal stared at it for a few seconds, then chuckled.

"Nice, Face."

"Well, Krug Prestige '76...I mean, we couldn't let this go to waste, now could we? I doubt Markham even appreciates what he's got and since, you know, it's here and we're here, well, might as well lubricate the Hannibal Smith wheels of thought, hmm?"

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "The day my wheels of thought need lubrication, kid, will be the day they bury me."

"Ah." Face gestured towards the ceiling with the champagne bottle. "Well, in a way, they, uh, they have. I mean, we are underground, Hannibal, so whaddaya say? We might as well wait in comfort."

Hannibal grinned. "I say that's a very good point, Face."

A little searching turned up a corkscrew and a dusty tray of glasses, both of which Face appropriated before Hannibal had a chance to.

"I'll open it." The colonel reached out, but Face jerked away.

"No you won't! I still have nightmares about the last bottle of champagne you opened!"

"Is that what caused them?"

"Yeah, sure. Now back off and I'll open it!"

Hannibal obeyed, grinning at the memory. "C'mon Face. It wasn't that bad."

Face paused in his struggle with the cork to glare at him. "Hannibal, you bloodied the waiter's nose!"

"He took away my cigar," Hannibal retorted, in tones which said that not only was this grounds for justifiable homicide as far as he was concerned, but that he couldn't see how anyone else could fail to see it the same way.

"We were in the non-smoking section!" The cork gave with a soft pop, and Face poured some into both glasses. "The poor kid was just doing his job. You didn't have to fire a champagne cork at him."

"Well, maybe not," Hannibal conceded as he took his glass, his grin broadening, "but you gotta admit, Face, it was a heck of a good shot. Anyway, I got there ten minutes late, remember? How was I supposed to know it was non-smoking?" He sipped at the champagne, then raised his eyebrows. "Mmm. Kinda nutty."

"Isn't it?" Face raised his glass. "Here's to staying out of jail, Hannibal."

Hannibal returned the gesture, smiling. "And to many more encounters with our good friend Decker."

He waited until Face had finished choking before adding, "Oh, and the A-Team, of course."

"Right."

By the time they got to the end of the bottle, they'd toasted each other, Murdock, BA, Billy, Tawnia, the A-Team van, Mike the skunk and finally the hope that they'd be able to think of something else to toast by the next bottle.

"So," Face drained his glass, "you got any ideas yet?"

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "Sure, Face. I just didn't want to tell you before we'd had a chance to finish the bottle. Head down the far end, see if you can find anything metal or heavy wood. I'll start moving the wine out of one of these racks."

"Mm-hmm." Face reached into Hannibal's jacket and pulled out the colonel's gun, smiling pleasantly. "Or you know, we could just shoot the lock off."

Hannibal took the gun back and tucked it into his shoulder holster, then slung an arm around the lieutenant's shoulders, wondering if he'd imagined the younger man's sudden stiffness.

"Now, Face." He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Where are your manners? Markham was kind and generous enough to supply us with all this equipment. Think how hurt he'd be if we didn't use it to escape."

Face took hold of Hannibal's hand with the tips of his fingers and did his best to return it to its owner, while thinking that Markham was likely to be far more hurt if they did use it.

"Hannibal—"

"C'mon kid." Hannibal clapped the lieutenant on the back. There was no imagining it this time; Face had definitely flinched away from his touch. "Let's get to work."

"What do you have in mind?"

Hannibal grinned broadly, and told him.

Jack Markham settled down in a leather recliner, studying the footage from the security cameras that covered his extensive wine collection, which had a market value of around half a million dollars. He was a small man, barely five foot two. Unlike many small men, he didn't resent the fact and had spent time developing what he had. Although he paid bodyguards, he was more than capable of taking out an enemy himself if he had to.

"Who are they?"

"The A-Team." Victor Holdness, who wasn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree but who could generally be trusted to punch anyone Markham wanted punched, had copies of the Wanted poster all over his room. It was something of an obsession for him. Bold as Markham was, he'd still never quite dared ask why.

"That there's Colonel Hannibal Smith. Leader of the gang."

Markham wasn't quite convinced that it was a good idea to describe one of the most legendary combat teams in 'Nam as a gang, but he let it slide. Victor obviously got a kick out of being in the know.

"Who's the guy with him?" Not that he didn't already know, but still...it paid to keep Victor sweet. Unlike most men in his position, Markham had learned very early on that if you wanted to earn and keep the respect of your men, you had to at least pretend to respect them a little in return. He could never believe some of the other men he dealt with, men who felt like they had to bully and intimidate their employees as well as everyone else in their orbit. Markham's philosophy was to be firm, authoritative, but always completely fair, give credit where credit was due and make sure each and every one of his workers a decent salary. Quite apart from encouraging better work, it also helped ensure that they were far more reluctant to betray him.

"Lieutenant Templeton Peck. AKA Faceman, or Face to his friends. He's a scam artist; whatever Hannibal needs or wants, Face gets. Count your fingers after he shakes hands with you."

"Alright, but what are they doing here?" Markham was fascinated as he watched Hannibal pass half a dozen bottles to Face, who, Markham was relieved to note, treated them with the reverence they deserved. He didn't really object to their drinking one of the bottles – especially as Face at least seemed able to appreciate it – since having two members of the A-Team in his house was well

worth the cost of a vintage, but if those two started just smashing them, he'd have to send Victor in with a shotgun.

Victor didn't answer, although he was wondering the same thing. Military fugitives didn't go in for social calls. Markham didn't exploit any of his workers, he wasn't trying to steal/burn down some small family-owned business in order to put up a hotel/mall/leisure centre, and the last person he'd had badly beaten had been pushing drugs on his fourteen year old niece, and somehow he thought that the only reaction he'd get from the A-Team for that would be a standing ovation. Well...an ovation, anyway.

"Should I call the hotline?" Victor asked.

"No." Markham spoke absently and Victor's face fell. "I want to speak to them."

"I'll go and—"

"No!" This time it was a lot sharper. "Heavily armed military police haven't been able to grab and contain even one of these men. You'd never handle two of them by yourself." Markham settled back more comfortably. "Besides, if his reputation is anything to go by, then no doubt Hannibal Smith's been working overtime thinking of a creative way to escape. I imagine he'd be rather hurt if we spoiled it by simply opening the door for him."

"Are you sure this is gonna work?"

Hannibal paused mid-construct and put on an injured look. "Face, I'm surprised at you! You doubt my planning capabilities?"

"I just have several memories of your plans, Hannibal. They all start out original and unique, and great, sure, but they all tend to end the same way: with knuckle sandwiches all round, and I don't just mean for the bad guys."

Hannibal put a hand on Face's shoulder. "Now Face. We're in a nice, stately home, this little device is a battering ram, not a weapon...what makes you think this is going to turn violent?"

The lieutenant pretended to consider for all of three seconds before answering, "Well, it's partly because someone who locks a pair of guys in his cellar isn't gonna think twice about giving them a knuckle sandwich, partly because we've gone four days without getting in a fight and we're about due for another one, but mostly because you're wearing your gloves again."

Hannibal raised his hand to admire one of the gloves in question, black leather with steel sewn into the knuckles. Not that he couldn't fight without them, of course, but any advantage in combat was always useful.

"Good point. Pass me that rack."

Face, who had spent the last ten minutes emptying and unscrewing the rack in preparation, managed to yank it out from the wall and hand it over to Hannibal.

"And the bottles."

The lieutenant balked. "Hannibal, you can't be serious! Whoever this Markham guy is, he's got some pretty rare vintages! You can't add them to this...thing."

Hannibal glanced down at the thing in question.

"Alright, then, see if you can find anything heavy."

He and Face had found a set of old-fashioned beer kegs tucked away at the far end, and had taken the second largest (the largest was too big even for the two of them to carry, almost big enough for a person to walk right into it) and dragged it to the foot of the stairs. A little improvising with the corkscrew had enabled them to unscrew some of the wine racks and put them together again to make a crude but strong frame. Once they'd done that, Hannibal had started taking everything else in the cellar apart to pack it into the barrel. The end result was a crude but potentially effective battering ram.

A little searching turned up a few bricks and what looked like the remains of a chair, but that was it. Groaning, Face surrendered to the inevitable and started hunting among the bottles for the least valuable vintage.

"I still say we could just shoot the lock off!"

"I want to save the ammo."

Selecting a bottle of 1962 Brut, Face strolled back. "Well, we could at least have taken this barrel up the stairs before we weighted it down."

"No, we need momentum." Hannibal, who didn't know a great deal about wine and cared less, grabbed three bottles at random and placed them inside the barrel.

A pained-looking Face retrieved two of them, replaced them with two presumably inferior vintages and added three more of his own. It took another thirty bottles before the barrel was full and heavy enough to work, and by then it took the combined efforts of both Face and Hannibal to lift it and haul it up the stairs.

"Ready?" Hannibal said through teeth gritted with the effort.

"For a hernia?" Face grated. "Sure, why not? I'm about overdue."

"Alright. On three. One. Two. Three!"

The makeshift battering ram crashed into the long-suffering door - which finally surrendered and let itself be burst open - and, since Hannibal and Face had both let go of it, continued on until it hit the far wall with a crunch of splintered wood and broken glass.

"Quite ingenious."

The voice came from off to the left and both Face and Hannibal swung around, the latter drawing his gun.

"And you are?"

"Jack Markham. I was on my way down to release you when...well, you obviously pre-empted me. May I?" Markham reached out to examine what was left of the battering ram. Behind it, Face glanced at Hannibal, unsure what to do. Polite curiosity wasn't a reaction the A-Team got very often, and certainly not to one of Hannibal's plans.

"Yes, quite ingenious. I have a feeling that if I locked you in an empty bunker, you'd still find something to help you escape." Markham pulled out the remains of a bottle with a single delicate move, read the label and sighed. "Yes. Though I do wish you hadn't used the '78 Rhone." There was no real anger or resentment in his voice; he sounded like a teacher grading a science project.

Hannibal, who was taken aback but not fooled, kept the gun pointed at Markham. "Chrissy Allen. Where is she?"

Markham shrugged. "There is nobody named Chrissy Allen up here."

Next to the colonel, Face raised his eyebrows. "Then you won't mind if we search the place."

The man gestured around. "Please, be my guest. The only thing I ask is that you leave this—" he indicated Hannibal's makeshift battering ram— "where it is. Many of the pieces in my home are quite valuable and very delicate, and wherever this girl may be, I promise you she has not been stuffed inside a Ming vase."

It took two hours of thorough searching before Hannibal was prepared to admit that the man was telling the truth, that Chrissy was nowhere in the mansion. The colonel couldn't even accuse him of sneaking her off while their backs were turned, since Markham had accompanied them on their search, unlocking all doors that Hannibal wanted to look through, answering each and every one of his and Face's questions with the same unfailing courtesy.

As they were shown to the door, Hannibal paused and turned. "One more question."

"Yes, colonel?"

"If you don't know anything about Chrissy Allen, then why were you so determined to stop Rita putting up those Missing posters in the store?"

Not a muscle twitched on Markham's face. "I never said I didn't know anything about her, colonel; merely that she wasn't here."

"Then where is she?"

The man chuckled. "Oh, I beg your pardon, colonel, but that's two questions and I really must be getting back to work. It was a pleasure meeting you both."

He held out his hand to Hannibal, who, nonplussed, shook it automatically, then did the same to Face.

"If it's any consolation to you, gentlemen," Markham added, "wherever the girl is now, she's probably a lot better off than where she was before. Now you will, of course, forgive me for being so rude as to close the door in your faces, but I have a premonition that if I don't, you'll kick your way back into my home and I really have no more time to spare you at the moment."

He closed the door. Even that was done with an air of politeness.

Face glanced at Hannibal. "Well? What now?"

Hannibal didn't answer. He was, for one of the few times in his life, feeling at something of a loss. Guns, fistfights, intimidation...all those things he understood and could handle. Like back in the wine cellar, Markham's courtesy had taken the wind out of his sails to such a degree that he wasn't entirely sure how best to proceed.

"Hey!" Face snapped his fingers under Hannibal's nose and the colonel jumped. "Are you trying to develop X-ray vision, Hannibal, 'cause I don't think staring at this guy's front door is going to help much otherwise. Look, I say we go back and regroup, then we pay this guy another visit and see if BA can't get him to talk."

That was the problem, in Hannibal's mind. Markham had talked; he'd answered every single question except the last one fully and without attempting to evade or change the subject. The colonel honestly didn't know what more Markham could tell them, even with BA's influence.

Well, he could tell us where she is, for a start.

"I mean, let's face it, Hannibal, the only reason we thought she might be here is because Markham stopped Rita putting up those posters."

"Exactly!" That was another question Markham hadn't answered, now that Hannibal thought about it. He'd just slid out from under it in a move that was worthy of Face himself.

"Whaddaya mean, worthy of me? C'mon, Hannibal, that guy was an amateur and I still say we oughta sic BA on him!"

The colonel – who hadn't realised he'd voiced that last thought out loud – glanced at Face. That was another thing; maybe when they were back at the apartment he could persuade the lieutenant to open up a little.

Yeah. Find out what's upsetting him before he loses his mind completely, Hannibal thought as he studied Face intently.

"What?" Face's voice was as light as ever. "Did I cut myself shaving?"

That wasn't possible, Hannibal knew, as – for the first time since they'd met – the lieutenant hadn't shaved at all that morning. It wasn't so much the lightness of the tone that bothered Hannibal; it was the fact that Face had been able to yank a mask across his fear so quickly earlier on. He supposed it was one of the lieutenant's talents, but still...there was something creepy about seeing someone snap from mind-numbing terror one second to complete normal the next. Granted his slap had probably helped speed up the process, but even so...

"Hannibal, you're really starting to freak me out now."

Hannibal, who hadn't realised he'd been staring at Face all this time, blinked.

"Sorry kid." Jerking his head towards the van, he added, "Let's get going."

"Right." Face broke into a jog and opened the door, swinging himself into the passenger seat.

And that was it, Hannibal thought. Face's facade was smooth, polished, and if you really looked closely, you might be able to make out something lurking underneath. It was like ice on a pond.

And like ice on a pond, Hannibal had a horrible feeling that it could shatter again at any moment.

Okay, so once again, sorry about the wait! Now that I've got my laptop back, things should be going a little faster ;) In the meantime, hope you liked this chapter and if you read, please review!