CHAPTER FIVE

August 26, 1978

"Hi," the boy greeted with an equally familiar smile. "Are you mom's boyfriend?"

"James, step back." The blonde-haired boy ducked under a middle-aged, heavyset woman's arm and into the room. "Can I help you?"

Face stared at the woman, but no words came. Child? Mom? Boyfriend? He struggled for coherent thought, and held up the purse, dumbfounded. "Uh..."

Suddenly, the woman smiled broadly. "Oh! Thank you!" She was a little too enthusiastic, but he was still too stunned to respond in time. "Please, come in! Come in!"

"Oh, uh, no," he laughed. "No, I'd better not."

He was prepared to put both hands and both feet on the doorframe to brace himself against any attempt to get him into the house.

"Oh, just for a minute," she urged.

"No, really," he protested. "I left the car -"

Without even a chance to finish his sentence, Face stumbled over the threshold with a firm hand on his arm. The woman's grip was somehow more effective than a well-aimed punch to the gut. Off balance, mind still reeling, he found the door closing behind him with no regard for the fumbling protest about the keys in the car.

"Would you care for some tea?" she prodded. "I just made cookies."

"No, uh..." His eyes were scanning for that boy. Like a passer-by at a car wreck, he couldn't help the morbid curiosity. Had he really seen what he thought he saw? "No, I can't. I left the car running. I really should..."

The boy peeked from around the corner, much further away than the first time he'd seen him. "Momma, can I have another one?"

"One more," the unfamiliar woman answered. "Then it's bedtime."

"He's uh... your son?" Face asked, hopeful.

"Oh, no," she laughed. "My grandson." His heart sank deeper. "Everybody calls me Momma. Every kid on the whole block calls me Momma. His mother is a 'mom' but I'll always be Momma."

He opened his mouth - to question, to protest, or maybe just to gape at her; he wasn't sure. If that boy wasn't hers, it meant that he was Jessica's. But before Face had a chance to figure out his next words, footsteps on the stairs caught his attention.

"Momma, did you take the towels out of the -" Jessica stopped abruptly on the steps as she saw him.

"Yes, I washed all the towels in the bathroom, dear," Momma answered. "You'll have to get yourself a clean one."

"Templeton, uh..." The look on her face immediately convinced him she hadn't left her purse on purpose. She was as shocked and horrified to see him as he was to be there. "What uh...? What are you doing here?"

"You... um..."

"You left your purse, dear," Momma said, taking the purse and walking the few steps to where Jessica stood on the steps. "Now, I just made some fresh cookies. Why don't you two sit down and -"

"No!" The protest was simultaneous from both of them.

Face blinked a few times as he fumbled for an excuse. "I... have to go to work tomorrow," he stammered. It was the first thing that came to mind. "I need to get some sleep."

"And I uh... have a surgery in the morning," Jessica added. "Seven a.m., bright and early."

Momma put her hands on her hips. "Jessica, tomorrow is Sunday. You have no such surgery."

"Oh, but..." Jessica was floundering. "Sunday... I um... I have to get the kids to bed because we have church in the -"

"I'll put the kids to bed," Momma interrupted. "You just get your pretty self down here and sit."

"No, I really need to go," Face protested, backing towards the door. "Really." He locked eyes with the woman and forced a smile. Those powers of persuasion didn't work as well when he couldn't think straight. "Some other time."

"Oh, what a great idea!" Momma cried enthusiastically.

Damn it! Why did he say that? He wasn't used to being so off guard.

"How about dinner tomorrow?" she suggested.

"No, Momma, really..." Jessica protested, pleading desperately.

"Oh, please, we'd love to have you." Jessica's mother was practically hanging on his arm by now. "I'm making chicken. You'll love it. It looks like it's been a while since you had a good home cooked meal." She jabbed at his ribs for good measure.

"Uh..." He looked to Jessica for help, but she'd run out of protests, too.

"Good, then it's settled! How does three o'clock sound?"

Shit.

September 15, 1968

"You alright?" Cipher asked warily. He could tell Face was drunk off his ass by the blind stare. The fact he couldn't walk straight just made it that much more obvious.

Distracted by the attempt to answer, Face nearly fell over, grabbing Cipher's arm for balance. "I think..." he started weakly. "I gotta siddown a minute..."

Cipher chuckled, steadying him. "Don't worry Face, I know CPR."

Off the street and tucked into the narrow alleyway between buildings, Face slid down the wall until he was sitting on the filthy ground, hunched over his knees. "Sorry," he slurred.

Cipher leaned against the opposite wall, and made a dismissive gesture in regards to Face's apology, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. Holding his knees tighter for balance, Face looked up at him pathetically. If he hadn't already emptied his stomach, Cipher would've expected him to turn and heave all over the alley floor.

"How is it," he managed weakly, "that you're the one who wants to go out drinking... and by the end of the night... I'm the one who ends up too fucking drunk to walk?"

"Mmm, I'm no amateur." Cipher grinned in amusement, clinking his Zippo closed and dropping it into his pocket. "Besides, it's good for you to let go every once in a while."

Face frowned deeply and turned his head away. If he'd even caught the dig, he didn't bother retaliating. "You know, I can't think of even one way that this is good."

With a shrug, Cipher dragged on his cigarette and dropped his head back against the wall behind him. "You should've bought a few more rounds with that girl."

Face started to shake his head, but it apparently made the vertigo worse. Seeking something to grab on to, he clawed at the wall, steadied himself, then leaned forward again, head resting on his knees. Someone could've dropped a bomb on the building behind them and Face probably wouldn't have known the difference. It was a damn good thing Cipher was still mostly sober.

"What we just did..." Face slurred. "It's... wrong."

Cipher rolled his eyes at the weak attempt to argue for some deeply ingrained moral high ground. He'd only known Face for about a year, and it hadn't been long enough to get all the dramatic details of his background and upbringing - details Cipher frankly couldn't have cared less about. But he knew enough to identify the man as Catholic. Whatever he'd grown up believing, it had apparently given him one hell of a "good kid" complex that he still carried. He could talk a woman into bed and smile afterwards, but paying for it left him with some kind of fucking moral dilemma.

Pulling deeply on his cigarette again, Cipher cast a long look in every direction before sliding down the wall to sit comfortably. "Seriously, Face," he sighed, "what is it about letting go for a bit that terrifies you so much? You're not a fucking schoolboy anymore, trying to hide shit from the grown-ups."

"It's not that," Face said, his words muddled, spoken into the space between his knees and chest. "This just isn't smart."

Cipher laughed freely, shaking his head. "Look around you, man," he replied, gesturing abstractly at their surroundings. "This is fucking Vietnam. None of it's smart."

"I could've died yesterday."

Cipher was caught off guard with the sincerity ranging in the drunken slur. Like a slap to the face, it sobered him, and any lingering buzz he might have felt came crashing down instantly and brought Face's meaning into perspective.

"We all could've died yesterday," he clarified. "And Hannibal was the one who got shot, in case you've forgotten."

"Yeah," Face whispered. "But I surrendered."

Cipher said nothing, studying him intently. Hunched over and making himself as small as he could, Face looked even more like a kid than he really was.

"I didn't have a plan, Cipher," he continued quietly. "I didn't know Hannibal was there; I thought he was… bleeding out. Or already gone."

"But he wasn't," Cipher reminded. He could understand that the kid was having a moment after his brush with death, but they all faced that fear down every time they crossed the wire. Nothing was different about this time.

"I'm not sure that's enough," Face admitted.

Cipher raised a brow. "Enough for what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Face drew in a long, slow breath and sat up, dropping his head back against the wall. "We had orders," he said quietly. "Fucking stupid orders, but okay, I get it. He took those orders and he made them even more ridiculous." Face's head dropped to the side as he looked lazily at Cipher. "He knew we didn't have time. He knew when we should've been done and he wouldn't stop."

"That's Hannibal," Cipher answered seriously, as if that was enough. Quite frankly, it should've been. Did Face not know what he was signing up for when he joined this team?

With fumbling hands, Face found a cigarette and lit it silently, closing his eyes and resting for a moment. "You know, I said those words," he finally murmured, "and I thought, this is it. I'm going to die in one of those god-forsaken camps." He opened his eyes slowly and stared straight at Cipher. "And nobody's going to give the order to come for me."

Cipher looked away, jaw tightening. "Ah, so that's what this is all about," he realized. "It's got nothing to do with what happened in the jungle yesterday; it's about what didn't happen." He shook his head in disbelief, drawing on his cigarette again. "I swear to fucking God, Face, you need to learn when to let it go."

Face laughed tightly, without humor. "They're dead, Cipher; it's not about them." He paused for a pull on his cigarette. "If I thought there was a chance in hell they were still alive, I'd still be fighting for them, but they're not. This really is…" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is more than that."

"More than what?" Cipher snapped. "You're here. You're fine. Hannibal's gonna be fine. You got scared. Get over it."

Face looked at him again. "How long you think it'll be before we end up in a POW camp?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Cipher answered firmly. "I don't think about shit like that."

"When it happens, you still gonna be so laissez-faire about forgiving him?"

"Forgiving him?" Cipher repeated, staring at Face in amazement. "He's your CO, not your girlfriend. He doesn't answer to you. Sure as fuck doesn't need your forgiveness for doing his goddamn job, even if it does get you killed."

Face took another slow, shaky drag from his cigarette before whispering, "I'm not ready to die."

Cipher flinched. They didn't say things like that; it was best not to even think them. He didn't even know what the hell to say. "Well, you're in the wrong unit, then."

Face shut his eyes and swallowed. "Yeah."

Cipher lifted his cigarette again, and shook his head before settling his gaze in the opposite direction from Face. He didn't handle playing camp counselor very well. But he'd gotten himself into this conversation, and now he had to get himself out.

"So get out," he said simply. "Your status is voluntary, just like mine. You want to go home, all you gotta do is say the word."

Face sighed audibly. "I can't," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Why?" Cipher demanded. "They got you over a barrel for all the stupid shit you did? You've always got a choice. Your options might be shit, but if you're afraid to die, you got safer places than this."

Face didn't answer. As the silence stretched, Cipher put out his cigarette on the ground beside him and sighed deeply. "Look, I don't know you," he said frankly. "I don't know why you came here and I don't know why you stay. But one thing I do know is you're not going home anytime soon, and not because you can't. You got as much a part to play on this team as I do. So do your job and figure out how to live with yourself afterwards. It's pretty simple."

"You ever think about... what it would be like to go back?" Face's wistful, drunken slur made Cipher sigh. He stood away from the wall, ready to leave. This conversation was going nowhere and Face probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. "To try and pretend like none of this happened? Like you aren't... who you are?"

"We've all thought about it," Cipher said dryly.

Face shook his head slightly. "I can't do that, Cipher," he muttered. "I can't go back. I can't live through this. And I..." He covered his face with his hands, trailing off.

Cipher rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Crossing the few steps to the mouth of the alley, he cast a long look up and down the street again, hoping Face might get the idea that they needed to get moving. "Either you want to live or you want to die. Take your pick."

Face dropped his head back again. "That's not what I meant," he sighed.

Cipher glared. "So what did you mean?"

Face shut his eyes and shook his head slightly. "I don't know," he sighed, resigned and tired.

"You're a man of words, Face; figure it out."

Face was quiet. Shifting uncomfortably, Cipher ran a hand through his hair and looked for an exit. Fuck, he hated this. Guessing his way around an emotional minefield was not his forte and he sure as hell didn't want to get in the middle of Face and Hannibal. Willing this conversation to be over, he took a step towards Face and held out a hand. "Come on, man. We can't stay here all night."

Face stared at the hand for a long moment, then finally reached up and clasped it, rising unsteadily to his feet. He lost his balance quickly and nearly fell right into Cipher. Wobbling on weak legs, he put one hand back to the wall for support as Cipher steadied him.

"Shit, I dunno if I can make it all the way back," he admitted.

Cipher held his shoulders, making sure his footing was sure. "You don't have a whole lot of choice. It's not like we packed sleeping bags."

Face groaned. "How the hell do I let you talk me into this shit?"

Cipher couldn't help but crack a smile at that, glad to be past the dramatic part of the conversation as he put an arm around Face to help him walk. "That is for me know and use to my advantage."

August 26, 1978

Face stood at the window with a glass of wine in one hand and a cigar in the other, staring out at the shadows of the empty city. This section of town was dead after dark, with no bars or clubs to attract the night crowd that flooded the streets of other neighborhoods. Alone in the bare, cheap apartment with only the droning sounds of the radio and the whirring of the ceiling fan, Face closed his eyes and rested his head on his forearm. He was still reeling from the effects of those few moments in Jessica's house and the brief glimpses of that boy. How old was he? Six? Seven? Face had last seen Jessica in 69. That was too far back, wasn't it? But damn if that boy didn't look familiar!

Maybe he was reading too much into it...

It certainly explained a lot: her inexperience with dating, the long and secretive silences, the way she scrutinized him. She was protecting her son. For over an hour now, he had been running through every line of conversation from the evening to reinterpret all of the mixed signals in light of the missing pieces he now had. It seemed unlikely, in light of the brief conversation he'd witnessed, that she was anything but the doctor she claimed to be. He should've been relieved. Instead, he was confused. What else didn't make sense from the evening? Was there anything she'd said or done that couldn't be explained by the massive, shocking realization that she'd failed to tell him she had a son?

He didn't have to go to the Sunday dinner her mother had arranged. Without even trying, he could think of a thousand ways he could talk his way out of it. One phone call, a deep and heartfelt apology, and he never had to see her again. It was safe, and simple, and he couldn't think of one good reason why he shouldn't just pick up the phone right now.

The unexpected ringing sound made him jump, splashing wine onto the already-stained carpet. With a deep sigh, he quickly put his meandering thoughts aside. Setting the glass down carefully on the window ledge, he crossed the living room to the counter that separated it from the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Well, you answered your phone," Murdock greeted in a familiar, playful tone. "I guess that means it didn't go as well as you'd hoped with the pretty doctor."

Face rolled his eyes and reached for the ashtray, tapping his cigar. "What can I do for you, Murdock?"

Murdock gasped in horror. "Why, I'm offended at the implication that the only time I would call is when I want something."

Glancing at the clock and noting it was well after lights out at the VA, Face didn't bother to point out that there was precisely no chance that Murdock was calling without a specific reason.

"I left my hat in your car," Murdock offered after a moment of lingering silence.

Face frowned. As reasons go, that was fairly insubstantial. "Your what?" he asked, making sure he'd heard correctly.

"My hat!" Murdock cried. "You know, the thing that goes on my head."

With a sigh, Face massaged the bridge of his nose. "I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

"No, I need it tonight," Murdock protested.

"What?" Increasingly irritated by the nonsensical excuse for a phone call, Face looked again at the clock. "Murdock, it's almost midnight."

"But it's my security blanket!" Murdock whimpered. "I need it to help me fall asleep."

Face sighed and rubbed his forehead again, closing his eyes. Murdock was king of the ridiculous and absurd, but this was not his normal banter. Face could tell when he was having a genuine crisis, when he was simply amusing himself, and when he was using his baseline insanity as an excuse.

"I am absolutely not bringing your hat to the VA tonight," he said firmly, inviting Murdock to get to the point.

"What if it was my jacket?" Murdock tested. "You'd bring my jacket to me if I left my jacket in your car, wouldn't you?"

Face sighed. "I'm hanging up now," he warned.

"Okay, okay." Murdock paused for just a moment before arriving at the real reason for the phone call. "So how did it go with Jessica?"

Shaking his head a bit, Face turned and leaned back on the counter. He could've guessed as much. "I never told you her name," he pointed out. "Which means you've been asking about her at the VA."

"Aw, Face, now why would I do a thing like that?" He could practically hear the smile.

"That's a good question," Face answered dryly.

"Well, I'll answer it for you," Murdock quipped. "I'd do it because she looked kinda familiar. And it turns out I was right."

Face sighed at the dramatic pause. "Fine. I'll bite. What did you really call to tell me?"

"Three things," Murdock announced proudly. "First... I found out where I recognized her from."

"Lai Khe," Face finished for him. "She was out there training the CIDG."

"Okay, you know that one." Murdock sounded only slightly dejected. "But did you know she's an orthopedic surgeon?"

"Yes, she told me."

Doing his best to retain the role of the informant with all the big secrets, Murdock rambled for a moment about Jessica's skills with a scalpel until Face finally cut him off.

"Three things, Murdock," Face reminded a bit impatiently. "And this last one had better be good or I'm hanging up."

"Oh. Yeah. Heh." Refocused, Murdock's smile entered his tone again. "You'll like this one."

"Amaze me," Face invited dryly.

"Don't suppose she told you that a couple years ago, she had a lengthy relationship with another soldier by the name of Jack Harring?"

Face's eyes opened instantly at the name, and he stood up straighter. "Cipher?"

"Well, the name's not all that uncommon, but yeah, that'd be my guess."

With a deep frown, Face considered the possibilities carefully. He'd been expecting more meaningless gossip, and was caught off guard by real information of some significance. "How the hell could you know that?" he demanded, wary of Murdock's sources. "How could anyone know that when she's only been at the hospital less than a week?"

"She's got an old friend in x-ray," Murdock answered casually. "Pretty girl. Brunette. Surprised you don't know her."

Face shook his head to clear it. He couldn't place the pretty brunette in x-ray and didn't particularly care to try. His mind was running back over the only conversation throughout the entire night that had produced any substance. Jessica had asked about his team, focused on his background. Was she looking for Cipher? Or, perhaps more likely, she was looking to avoid him. Was there any chance that he had something to do with that boy at the door? The resemblance was uncanny, but that wasn't an absolute guarantee…

Murdock was rambling again. With no idea what he was actually saying, Face cut him off with a somewhat abrupt, "I've got to go," at the first opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

"A'right," Murdock answered lightly. "Bring me my hat tomorrow!"

He didn't have time to say good-bye before Murdock hung up. Shaking his head slowly, he replaced the phone, and leaned forward on the counter, staring at the ashtray blankly. Jessica and Cipher? As far as he'd known, Cipher had only met her at the same time Face did, and the two of them had hardly exchanged words after parting ways. How had they ever crossed paths again?

Maybe he'd go to dinner after all. Morbid curiosity was driving him to question why she'd failed to mention dating a member of his old unit. Especially given that she'd asked if he'd seen Cipher recently. It seemed like a perfect opportunity, and the question nagged at him – a fitting distraction from the question that made him far more uncomfortable. But if he went to her house tomorrow, he would have to make his intentions very clear. One thing was for damn sure: he didn't want to get any closer than he absolutely had to, especially if she was still on speaking terms with Cipher.