Chapter Warnings: Minor swearing, violence (though not from who you'd expect ;) )
"No mercy, this fury, like a war machine that keeps turning…" Wolves (Sam Tinnesz)
Face made his way around the kitchen as quickly as he could, weaving through the chaos of cookery and gathering up another tray of food he swore he'd force down his best friend's throat if need be. He hadn't thought it would be possible for Murdock to eat any less than he had been the past weeks, but the pilot seemed dead set on proving him wrong and it was driving Face mad with worry. He'd caught Murdock a couple times roaming the halls at night, the click-thump of the crutches the only thing that had given him away. He wasn't sleeping, was hardly eating… What else was he hiding? Had he decided breathing was too much trouble too?
Tray in hand, Face turned the corner and was halfway down the hall when the low growl of a familiar voice made its way to him from the door up ahead.
"… a while to find you. You got pretty far for a guy with only one working leg." There was a thump and a clatter and Murdock's voice answered back, too low for Face to hear but the tone suggested it hadn't been small talk.
"Shut up, freak! You know, I could kill you right here…."
The words sent a shock of adrenaline down Face's spine and he broke into a run, bursting through the door to Murdock's room just in time for his friend to crash into him, knocked back by a vicious kick to the chest. Both of them landed in a heap, the tray of food falling aside and Face hardly had time to register what had happened before a rough hand dragged him up, a strong arm twisting his right behind his back. Face hissed in a breath between clenched teeth as pain flared and spread from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers but he didn't dare struggle because before he could kick himself for blowing his chance to surprise the enemy, a knife was pressed to his throat and that familiar voice spoke again, husky and angry in his ear.
"Don't move or you'll be smiling out your neck the next time your boss sees you." The way the man spoke, snarled the word 'move' like an animal, brought back images of Murdock stumbling along a padded white wall, blood trailing behind him and Face finally recognized the voice.
"Hayes," he grated out, feeling the knife twitch against his flesh. Murdock slowly got to his feet, eyes wide and staring at the blade. But that shocked, helpless look faded just as quickly as it had come, replaced by a dark, dangerous rage.
"Good guess, 'agent.' I think we met in the hallway, right?" Hayes laughed in Face's ear. "I was hoping I'd see you again. What do you think, freak?" he snapped, addressing Murdock again as the battered soldier's eyes flicked between the knife and its wielder, fear and fury readily visible in his gaze. "It'd be pretty good payback to just kill him right here."
The knife pressed closer and Face winced as it nicked his flesh, feeling a small trail of warm blood slip toward his collarbone. Murdock's gaze was hard and steely, his voice deliberately level, though Face could hear the barely contained fury behind the calm.
"I'm the one you want. Let him go."
"Oh, shut up! I know what I want! I want you dead!"
Hayes' hands shook and Face sucked in a breath, managing a strained, "Why?" before the knife was in place again, firm and unyielding despite Face's grip on the thug's wrist. If he could just get Hayes talking, get him going and keep him distracted till Hannibal or Bosco came. He knew they'd be about due by now, that someone would come check on Murdock after the scene they'd made back in the kitchen. At any other time, he would've counted on his and Murdock's combined training to get them out of this but with the way Murdock was holding himself, slightly hunched and pale, Face couldn't be sure the pilot wasn't badly hurt. All he could be sure of was Hayes' rage and the promise of violence in his friend's gaze.
"You wanna know why?" Hayes chuckled darkly in his ear, voice lowered once more. "'Cause he cost me millions. Millions. 'Cause he marked up my face and made me an easy target, too easy for that doctor to have along when he ran for it. I got good money makin' people disappear or convincing them to pay up to the sharks but hell…. Never money like that."
Face took in a breath to speak but was cut off as Hayes wrenched his arm further, making sparks dance in his vision and a groan escape his lips.
"And he killed my partner. Me and Ray worked together for three good years. Now, I'm gonna make him pay…." Face could hear the smile in Hayes' voice as he addressed Murdock again. "Tell me, freak…. You regret it yet?"
Before Murdock could respond, and before the pilot turned again to self-sacrifice – a quality he'd seen far too much of lately – Face spoke, pulling Hayes' wrist and the knife away from his throat far enough to rasp out the words.
"He might… but I sure as hell won't regret this." With all the force he could muster, Face jerked his head back into Hayes' face, feeling it connect with a satisfying (if somewhat painful) impact. Hayes yelped, grip weakened in surprise, the knife clattering to the ground, and Face twisted free, turning to add a right hook to Hayes's jaw as well… but instead he froze, staring at the barrel of a handgun pointed right between his eyes.
"Too slow, man," Hayes chuckled, and again Face found himself held hostage, this time with a fist at his collar and the gun pressed hard against his temple. Across from him, Murdock's expression still held that glint of dangerous fury that Hayes seemed blind to. Face saw Murdock tense as Hayes stooped to retrieve the knife, gun still aimed at Face's head and he raised one hand very slightly, just enough to signal to his friend that he was fine. He wasn't hurt. Not yet. Don't do anything stupid.
Behind him, Hayes straightened, tucking the knife in his belt and tightening his grip on Face's collar.
"Keep those hands up, 'agent,'" he sneered in the lieutenant's ear before addressing Murdock again. "Let's take this outside." He tugged Face back a few steps, just enough to make room for Murdock to pass them and exit the door first.
He did, but with a stiffness in his movements and a heavy limp without the crutches that made Face wince to look at. If Hayes had hit him hard enough, he could've rebroken ribs… reopened the wound on his leg…. But Murdock was walking, if unsteadily, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other supporting himself along the wall as they moved into the hallway and down toward the door at the end that led to the back lot.
Outside, wind whipped through his hair, pulling at his shirt as the storm predicted for that evening bore down on them, gusts rippling between the sturdy brick buildings. The sky was dark, smoky clouds obscuring the light and thunder rumbled strong enough to shake the ground they stood on.
Face stepped through the doorway expecting to have to pull some quick on-the-go plan out of his hat, but his foot had hardly cleared the doorframe when a flash of lightning lit the sky and everything changed. Murdock straightened, turned, and surged forward. In an instant, Hayes's hold was gone, his startled curse drowned out by a clap of thunder as Murdock pinned him to the brick wall beside the door with an ease Face hadn't expected of him.
At his best, Murdock was a great fighter, a 'real soldier' as he put it, and he'd beaten Face plenty of times in their playful tussles around camp, but the rigid force the pilot was using now was more fitting for a robotic Terminator than an injured man. Murdock's eyes were dark with rage, the knife snatched from Hayes' belt held solid and unmoving against his throat, the pilot's other hand keeping the thug's wrist and the gun firmly against the wall.
"Murdock," Face stepped forward but Murdock ignored him, instead addressing the choking, red-faced man in front of him in a voice like a wolf's snarl.
"You don't touch them… You hear me?" The rain began, pattering down across the roof, and pouring over the eaves to soak into the collar of the pilot's shirt, but still Murdock didn't even flinch. He just snarled, "Drop the gun. Now."
Face was still frozen, debating whether or not to step in. Murdock one hundred percent, for sure, deserved this moment of vengeance, but at the same time, the pilot was still injured, and Hayes was still gripping the gun determinedly even if his expression was one of absolute terror.
Then the choice was made for him as Hayes hid terror behind anger and rammed a kick into Murdock's wounded leg, dropping him with a sharp cry torn from the pilot's throat. That sound lit a wildfire of hate in Face's chest and without thinking, he tackled Hayes to the ground. Thunder boomed overhead as they grappled for the gun, skin slippery and vision compromised in the torrential downpour. A fist struck his jaw with enough force to knock him to the side and Face blinked dazedly through the rain, shaking his head to clear his vision as Hayes rolled to retrieve the gun.
A situation that should have been the end of him, due once again to his rash tendency to act first and plan later (or not at all), appeared to be ending the way they all did, with Hannibal Smith bursting on scene just in time for a lifesaving maneuver and a well-rehearsed lecture. But before Hannibal had even taken in the scene, before he'd registered the gun moving to take the lieutenant's life, Face saw the lightning in the sky mirrored in the glint of a knife… and thunder rumbled low like a predatory growl as Murdock took two firm steps forward, dropped the gun from Hayes's hand with the crunch of a broken wrist under his heel, and slammed the blade into the fallen man's shoulder.
"I said… you don't touch them." Hayes' panicked curses went entirely ignored as Murdock bore down on him, leaning more of his weight on the knife and ignoring the first bark of his name as Hannibal strode forward.
"Captain, stand down!" Hannibal ordered again and Murdock's eyes ticked over to the older man and he hesitated for a long moment before he jerked the knife free with a frustrated growl, leaving Hayes to groan on the rain soaked street. Face got to his feet quickly and shifted instinctively between the torturer and his furious friend, trying to catch Murdock's eye. All it would take was a look and Murdock would be at the man's throat again, and Hayes was clearly not bright enough to avoid confrontation.
And that point was exactly why he should've been watching Hayes.
Behind Face, came an enraged shout, and that might've been all it was. Hayes was being hauled upright by Bosco at this point and Face was sure that his friend, being the bigger of the two, would have no trouble restraining the injured thug. But however futile it would prove to be, that shout had heralded an attack. As he regained his feet, Hayes rammed his shoulder into B.A.'s gut and made for the gun lying only a few feet away.
Even then, Bosco probably would've caught the man before he got far enough to shoot any of them, but before the colonel could do more than shout B.A.'s name, a flash of metal shot through the air skimming a line of blood across Hayes' cheek before sticking solidly in the wood of the telephone pole several feet behind him.
The kitchen knife wavered where it had struck, rain already washing the blood from its blade and Hayes brought a hand to his cheek, staring down at his bloodied fingers in seething shock and cursing.
"What the-... What did you do?"
Face only just managed to catch his friend by the shoulders before Murdock could throw himself at Hayes again.
"I missed, you-"
The rest of the pilot's words were drowned out by another roll of thunder, but Face was fairly certain Hayes could fill in the blanks well enough to get the picture.
"Inside. Now," Hannibal ordered, and Face tugged Murdock's arm.
"Come on, man. He's not worth it."
To his surprise, Murdock turned and went with him back to the comparative quiet and calm of the shelter hallway where he immediately began to pace like a caged tiger, jaw tight, rain dripping from his soaked hair and clothes, and one fist clenched in the fabric of his shirt over his ribs. The others followed them inside and Hannibal left Hayes to B.A. for the moment, demanding, "Is everyone okay?"
He caught Murdock's arm but Murdock jerked away sharply, accidently slamming his elbow into the wall with a dull thump. Face raised a hand to calm his friend, shooting a worried look at Hannibal across the way. The pilot was clearly rattled, shaking with anger or cold, his breathing fast and a sharp edge to his voice as he pointed a finger at the man Bosco was holding firmly.
"I want him put away, boss. Locked up where no one'll ever find him!" The last words were shouted across the few feet to where Hayes was catching his breath, and glaring death and vengeance on them all.
The scar-faced man muttered something decidedly unfriendly and it took all three of them to keep Murdock from lunging for his throat.
"That's enough! Captain, I ordered you to stand down!" Murdock stopped fighting. He eyed Hayes with open hatred, the thug's rigid glare unwavering as the pilot shrugged off their restraining hands and returned to his restless, hobbled pacing. Face glanced at Hayes and felt his blood boil at the way the thug's attention moved from his own injured shoulder to Murdock, lips twisted in a sick smirk, watching Murdock limp up and down the hallway with an air of professional satisfaction.
"What do we do with him, boss?" Face asked, clenching his fist against the curses he wanted to hurl at the man Bosco was holding firmly. "'Cause I think letting Murdock take him apart bit by bit is a pretty good plan." Murdock let out a short laugh at that, looking more and more agitated the longer his torturer was present. To Face's surprise, Hannibal echoed the pilot's laugh, short and humorless, fixing a gleaming gaze on their prisoner that had the word 'vengeance' written all over it in shards of razor ice.
"No, Face. I have something in mind that's even better than that." Hayes had the good sense to look at least a little worried for his wellbeing then, but it didn't do him any good. Hannibal turned to his sergeant, snapping "Take him out to the van and have a little talk with him, B.A." The big man grinned and nodded his understanding, turning to leave but jerking his head from Face to Murdock and fixing the conman with a warning glare. You take care of him, I'll take care of this, it seemed to say and Face nodded back.
In a low voice, Hannibal added to B.A., "Ask him what he knows about Brenner's whereabouts. When he last saw him, where he was headed, I want all the details." Bosco just uttered a quick, "You got it, bossman" then shoved Hayes ahead of him down the hall and back outside where rain pounded down across the concrete.
Hannibal turned to his remaining two men and took in their bedraggled appearance with a sigh.
"Face, go ask one of the sisters for some supplies and a couple towels."
The younger man looked reluctant to leave, but he nodded, muttering a quick, "Be right back, buddy," to Murdock before he went. Hannibal then turned to his pilot who was making a marked effort to stand still, but his weight was shifting back and forth from one leg to another and despite catching himself a few times, his fingers still managed to slip up into his hair, raking through the locks and clenching tightly into fists.
"Come on, Captain," the colonel urged, shoving down the feelings of rage and fear that had arisen with the sight of the man who'd caused so much terrible harm to one of his boys. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Murdock followed him into the room after only a moment's hesitation, stumbling over to the bed, the one against the right-hand wall… the one that wasn't decorated with mashed potatoes and greens. Hannibal wondered briefly why Face's first instinct was to launch the contents of a perfectly good dinner onto a clean bed sheet rather than setting the tray on the small table right by the door… more training was needed on split-second decisions apparently. Still, it didn't really surprise him that the first thing Face would think of in a tight spot was 'bed'….
Shaking his head, he turned away from the mess and back to his young pilot. Murdock was seated on the edge of the bed, soaked through and trembling slightly, though he suspected that it was more from pain than cold. The younger man kept one arm wrapped around his middle, lines of strain around his eyes as, no doubt, his ribs protested the hunched posture. The anger that had been sharp in his every movement in the hall had dulled to a stiff discomfort and his eyes darted sharp and over-alert to Hannibal as he approached.
"You all right?" Hannibal asked, pulling a small chair over where he could sit in front of his captain.
"Yeah, m'fine."
The response was too quick, too jittery, said with no eye contact and his good leg bouncing restlessly. Murdock sniffed once and wiped his face clean of the trails of rainwater that spilled down from his soaked hair. He wasn't obviously injured by Hayes's actions apart from a split lip and a mark of red on his cheek that would slowly darken to a proper bruise with time. But broken ribs were nothing to laugh at, and internal bleeding wasn't something the sisters here were prepared to deal with.
It took only a little coaxing and slow and steady movements for Hannibal to get the pilot to let him check his chest and leg. The older man did a cursory survey, knowing the sisters would be able to do more when they arrived, but it was enough to satisfy him that nothing was broken or bleeding internally, and the bandage around his leg had stayed tight through the deluge of rain. It would need to be changed, but that could wait. Something was off in his boy's eyes as Hannibal sat back in his chair. Murdock's fidgeting had only increased, his breathing too quick and every sound making him jump and tense all the more. Finally, Hannibal broke the silence with a calm and gentle tone.
"Talk to me, Murdock. What are you thinking?"
"H-He's found us."
"Who has?"
"E-El Diablo."
Clenching his jaw briefly against a flare of protective fury, Hannibal forced his voice to remain calm and level, being the cool logic that Murdock couldn't yet access in himself.
"Not real. Try again."
Murdock let out a frustrated huff.
"N-Not real? He l-… he looked pretty damn real when he killed you!" Tears were forming in the pilot's wild eyes and Hannibal's heart twisted. Determined to cut this off here and now, he shifted his chair closer and forced the pilot to look him in the eye with a gentle hand raising his boy's chin before resting on his shoulder.
"Hey. Eyes on me, soldier. We are not dead." He emphasized the words with a light squeeze. "I can prove it again if you need me to," he added with a smile, relieved that Murdock shook his head right away.
"No, I know you're not, it's jus'…. Hell, Hannibal, you could be!" The pilot's arm was still wound around his middle as if he had to hold himself together or else risk being shaken to pieces. His breathing was still fast, his voice cracked and shaky and a glint of fear in his eyes that Hannibal hadn't seen there for a long, long time, not since they were split up at the Court Martial. An attempt to catch the younger man's eye sent that fearful gaze skittering away, pouring instead over the ripples, little hills and valleys in the hand-stitched quilt spread across the bed.
"H-Hayes found us, followed us here an' he could've killed somebody. He… He could've killed you instead of coming after me or… or he could've killed Face." Murdock's voice was hardly above a whisper, unwilling to put such terrible thoughts into clear speech. He looked up again, gaze settling somewhere on the colonel's chest rather than looking him in the eye. "He could've killed Face an' it would'a been m-my fault."
"That's enough," Hannibal said, firmly but not unkindly. "We're a team. We take care of each other and you did that. You stopped Hayes from hurting us. You protected us and we will do the same for you."
Murdock sniffled again, eyes downcast and shoulders shivering with tension and it drew a pang of fatherly concern from Hannibal's heart, urging his hand forward to brush a few still dripping locks of hair from his boy's face.
"Face says you haven't been sleeping," Hannibal murmured, more to keep the pilot talking than to actually address the issue now. He didn't want the younger man closing in on himself, closing them out and trying to cope on his own. Murdock shook his head wearily.
"Can't sleep. Ev'ry minute it's like they're there, right outside the door or…" The younger man's eyes moved to the door frame, his voice distant and faint. "…or crawlin' underneath it… all black an' sh-sharp like blood."
A hand on his boy's shoulder drew him back from whatever nightmare he was revisiting and Hannibal met the exhausted, green-eyed gaze with what he hoped was a firm and encouraging look, though he could feel a hint of his own nagging worry in the tension at his brow. For a moment, he just looked, taking in the shadows under his boy's eyes, the pallor of his skin and the way the damp t-shirt hung on his too-thin body. How had all of this happened on his watch? The man was utterly spent, his strength, once so boundless as to seem inexhaustible, had somehow left him. The excitement, the mischief, the joy that was perpetually in this young man's eyes had been extinguished by fear and night after night of sleepless, restless vigils… defending his home from a threat that should have been put to rest long ago.
This had to end.
Hannibal had been waiting, watching, planning in the hopes of coming up with the perfect revenge, the ultimate justice. But now, sitting by his wounded man, realizing how much he could have lost and all because his vision had tunneled into blind vengeance, Hannibal knew that his own feelings had to be set aside. Any justice was enough, any simple plan that left Brenner and his accomplices in the depths of prisons they would never leave would be enough. Theatricality and poetic finesse were not needed here, were doing more harm than good as the days had become weeks and his vendetta blinded him to his boy's need for safety, closure, an end to this terrible chapter in their lives.
In his heedless quest for vengeance, he'd abandoned his post, and it had almost cost him the lives of two of his boys tonight. The sick horror of that thought must have shown on his face because Murdock frowned at him, a flicker of concern penetrating the anxiety that was apparent in the man's tense frame.
Face entered then, with the Mother Superior hard on his heels and Hannibal quickly found himself bustled off to one side as Sister 'No-Nonsense' Angelica arrived behind the pair with soft white towels and clean clothes.
"Ma, really, I'm fine!" Face protested, with a hint of amusement coloring his tone.
"Is this what passes as 'fine' in your renegade lifestyle?" Mother Margaret snapped back, her words softened by a gentle touch as she examined the traces of blood on Face's neck.
"Yea-No! Come on, I can do that." Face attempted to take the alcohol swab from the woman's hands but she was having none of it, swatting his hand away and sharing a glance with Sister Angelica. The stout sister left her load of towels and clothing on the side table and rested her fists on her hips, fixing an admonishing look on Face.
"Is that blood on your collar, a pair of crutches on the floor, and my good potatoes chucked on the blanket that Sister Winifred hand-quilted herself?"
Face was silent a moment, eyeing the mess on the bed past the Sister's wide hips and the crutches still lying on the hardwood flooring.
"Maybe…. But-" Whatever else Face was about to say was knocked from his lips with a gentle cuff upside the head from Sister Angelica.
"Then you're not fine at all, are you?" she chided. Face turned to Mother and Hannibal had a brief glimpse into what the kid's childhood must have been like as he practically whined, "Ma…" as if with that one word he could convey all the unfairness of his situation and draw some amount of sympathy from her. Before Hannibal could interject, he was halted by an unexpected sound.
Murdock chuckled.
A soft sound, but surprising all the same as Hannibal realized how long it had been since any of them had really laughed. A significant look passed between Face and the sisters, only a split-second long, but enough for Hannibal to see the light in his lieutenant's eyes and the smile tugging at his lips.
Then Face was off on a completely insincere rant about how smothered he was here among over twenty mother hens. Hannibal just watched, helping the sisters as they cleaned Face's cut and rebandaged Murdock's leg, but mostly watching his boys. Face was blustering, filling the silence and drawing Murdock into the banter slowly but surely. When had Face become so subtle, so coaxing and patient? Every glance, every half-smile, and muttered quip from the pilot made the younger man's eyes twinkle and his barely suppressed smile grow.
Hannibal had been away from his post and Face had stepped up, filled the void of the calm, comforting presence. In his own way, teasing and babbling and flirting with nuns over twice his age, Face had filled not one but two roles on their small team. He'd become both the support and the laughter, stabilizing his friend and lightening the pilot's heart with a skill and precision that Hannibal hadn't expected of him.
Sister Angelica, bless her heart, had just cuffed Face upside the head again, lightly, the smile quirking at her lips clear evidence that she knew full well what Face's intentions were in this game of charades. Face's reaction was to pause mid-sentence and turn to Murdock with one hand out gesturing to the sister with that 'Do you see what I have to deal with?' sort of look he was so good at. Despite the unwavering expression, the kid's blue eyes were alight with a smile that soon graced his features as Murdock laughed. It wasn't the ecstatic, almost child-like laughter the pilot was known for but it was a genuine, if short, laugh and it drove home the need for such things, for such company, for the simple, normal things that had come to mean home in their hectic, nomadic lifestyle.
Face held back a grin, worry still churning in his gut. It was like cool water on a burn to hear his friend's laugh but the adrenaline was dropping away now that Hayes was taken care of, leaving Face shaky and disoriented. It scared him how close they'd come, how they'd almost lost everything, again. The fact that he wasn't Hannibal was being shoved in his face over and over as missing the little things - like locking the back door - became deadly. They couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep doing this, playing Hannibal while the Silver Fox plotted and planned and spent hours in front of a computer hashing out the details and staying up all night to do so.
Had any of them gotten a good night's sleep since they got here? Face didn't think so. He knew he hadn't, his mind spinning web after web of worry and self-doubt until he realized he'd spent the whole night trying to think up new ways to get Murdock to eat. They were exhausted, all of them, and it wasn't getting much better.
Wounds bandaged and trauma shoved to the back burner by light quips and even a little laughter, Face considered his job well done for now. That back burner was going to be addressed soon, though. He was sick of not being able to rid his friend of that haunted look Murdock got far too often. Face frowned as Hannibal and Mother Margaret shared a look, the sisters finishing up and stepping out with a promise to return to check on them soon. Sensing a lecture incoming, Face took a moment to scrub his hair mostly dry with one of the fluffy white towels. If he was going to get a stern talking to, he might as well look good for it.
Hannibal took his place in the chair, sitting in front of them like they were two school kids brought to the principal's office and Face broke the momentary silence by draping his towel over Murdock's head as he sat down beside his friend on the bed.
"Hold this a minute," he said, ignoring the pilot's sputtered, "Hey!" and leaning over to snatch a pair of t-shirts from the pile of clothing Sister Angelica had left. When he turned back, Murdock was holding the towel, fingers plucking at a loose string, that lost look seeping into his eyes again as if it had been waiting for Face to turn his back so it could pounce. Hannibal broke the silence before Face could come up with another weapon from his rapidly dwindling arsenal to shoot that look out of the sky.
"I owe you both an apology."
Both of them looked up at that, surprised and not a little confused.
"What for?" Murdock asked, his voice overlapping with Face as he asked, "Why me?"
"Him I get," Face added with a gesture at Murdock with one of the shirts, a movement purposely overshot so the collar of the shirt smacked the pilot's cheek. Face was unable to help a small smirk as Murdock took the bait, snatching the shirt from him with a barely concealed smile. "But why d'you owe me anything?"
"I'm serious, Face," Hannibal said, a smile softening his tone. "I've been neglecting you both."
"We're not houseplants, boss," Face remarked, rewarded by a soft chuckle, muffled by the shirt as Murdock changed out of his damp clothes. He did the same as Hannibal went on.
"You know what I mean, Face. I've been neglecting my duties as head of this team."
Face emerged from white cotton, straightening the shirt and tossing his own wet clothes on the floor by the door, only just catching the soft look in the Colonel's eyes.
"I've been a bit obsessed," the older man admitted, gaze bouncing between them as he spoke. "I've let my desire for vengeance overshadow everything else," a significant look at Murdock, "And that's left you, Face," the look turned to him, "to pick up the pieces and I am proud of how you've managed… though I am sorry you've had to."
Face didn't have a response to that. His heart simultaneously swelling at the praise and shying away from a compliment he thought was a little undeserved. He hadn't exactly been 'managing' as well as Hannibal seemed to think. Murdock's attempts to avoid eating were evidence enough of that. As if sensing his discomfort through some magical Hannibal sensor array, the Colonel stood and retrieved the fallen crutches.
"And returning to my post, my first order, Face…" He leaned them carefully against the other bed and turned, jerking his head to indicate the tray and quite a lot of food splattered across the bedclothes. His expression was something akin to a single father struggling to keep up with his three rambunctious children. "Is to clean up after yourself."
Face winced, nodded, and got up, moving to the bed with a mouthed "I got this." As he pulled the blanket free and bundled it up over the mess, Hannibal shook his head fondly and turned to Murdock, voice softened from Commanding Officer to concerned father.
"You, Murdock, are going to get some well-deserved rest."
"But I'm not-"
Hannibal held up a hand, silencing his Captain's protests.
"Your appearance says otherwise, Captain. Rest or food, those are your options right now."
Face paused at the door, setting the tray on the side table and carrying the bundle of messy bedclothes in one hand. He'd tried cons, tricks, bribery, even begging but he'd never once tried to order Murdock to eat. Mostly because he'd been afraid of triggering flashbacks to Hayes' brutal demands, but orders spoken in the Boss's deep rumble were familiar and welcome… and might just do the trick. Murdock looked down at the floor again, jaw tense and arms wrapped around his middle.
"M'not hungry for any've that stuff." He mumbled, gesturing vaguely at the sloppy tray left on the nightstand and Face felt his heart sink. Hannibal forged ahead.
"What are you hungry for?"
Murdock glanced up at him.
"Anything at all," Hannibal continued. "What sounds good right now?"
There was a moment of silence in which Murdock's gaze searched the grooves in the hardwood flooring as if the lines would point the way to some magical ambrosia that would taste good even on a queasy stomach. When he spoke again, it was so quiet and hesitant that Face couldn't make out the words. He had to force himself not to move closer, afraid any movement on his part would scare this breakthrough away like a frightened deer. Hannibal smiled at the pilot's timid look, clapping a hand on Murdock's shoulder and turning to Face.
"Take that to the laundry and fish us up a plate of toast points, lieutenant."
Face felt all the tension in his body vanish in relief, his surprise audible in his voice as he said, "Yeah! Yeah, that's- I'll just…" A faint smirk was hovering around Murdock's lips as Face shut his mouth and cut his losses, scooping up the wet clothing to add to his laundry pile and retreating to the hall before he babbled himself to embarrassment. He was happy (thrilled, exhilarated, relieved beyond measure) to just be following orders for a while.
Author's Note: For those having difficulty picturing Murdock livid, I used pics from the movie "Open Grave." I'll include a pic in my AO3 posting of this chapter.