CHAPTER SIX

August 27, 1978

Face knew this wasn't a good idea. He felt the way he always had when he was about to drop into enemy territory - his heart beating in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins. There were a thousand ways he could've avoided this. A thousand reasons why he should've. Only one reason why he shouldn't - his curiosity about Jessica's ex-boyfriend - and suddenly, it didn't seem worth it. But he was already here, and he'd already rung the doorbell. He was trapped.

He shook the sudden and unexpected thought of the boy from the night before out of his mind before it had any chance to put down roots. That was nothing. He was imagining it, surely. If it had been anything, she would've told him. She hadn't even mentioned she had a child, so it had to be nothing. Just his eyes playing tricks on him. Besides, who knew how many partners she'd had, even in Vietnam? It could've been anyone's child. At least, that's what he'd keep telling himself. His sanity depended on it.

What the hell was he doing here?

Jessica answered the door in small-belled jeans and a plain green T-shirt, only a few seconds after he'd hit the doorbell. He smiled politely as she opened the door wider and they touched cheeks, sharing a careful, uncomfortable embrace. She didn't want him here any more than he wanted to be here, and was probably cursing him for coming, for not making up an excuse.

The entire house smelled like warm food. Quiet piano music drifted from the phonograph in the corner of the practical and efficient living room. The furniture was old, the TV was an ancient black and white, and the rug was fraying and badly stained - not really what he would've expected from a doctor's house. The baby in the middle of the rug - probably only a year old and stacking blocks - also made him do a double take. She had another kid, too? The place felt like a home, warm and inviting, and Face felt completely out of his depth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in an atmosphere like this, or when he'd been so uncomfortable in such a quiet, pleasant, safe place. Why was his heart pounding in his ears as if he were in a combat zone?

"James! Give it back!"

Face was almost knocked over backwards by the two children running helter-skelter through the living room. "James," Jessica warned, with a tone only a mother could masterfully use.

"He has my -" The girl finally tackled the boy Face recognized from the night before and with one arm around his neck, wrestled him to the floor. " - doll!"

Jessica sighed deeply as Face blinked in surprise. It was hard to tell whether the girl was older or younger; they looked to be about the same age. She couldn't possibly be older, could she? For a moment, Face considered that maybe he was reading too much into the boy's familiar looks.

Jesus, she had three children? How had she neglected to mention that? Of course, it hadn't really been much of a date, but he never would've guessed. His eyes lingered on the dark-haired baby again. At least he knew that one had absolutely nothing to do with him.

"James, give her the doll back," Jessica ordered. "What on earth are you doing playing with her dolls in the first place?"

"I wasn't playing with them," James said indignantly.

With hands on her hips, Jessica towered over the boy. "Well, then, why was it in your hands?"

"Because she threw it at me!" he cried, as if sensing he was about to be unjustly punished.

"I did not!" the girl retorted.

Momma stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, and immediately hefted the baby onto her hip. "Why don't you kids go wash?"

Easily distracted, both children sprinted again through the living room only to be met with a sharp rebuke from Jessica. "Walk!" Hands still on her hips, she balled them into frustrated fists. "If you can't behave yourselves, you're going to be headed straight to bed. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am!" two voices called back in chorus as they walked quickly toward the bathroom, both trying to edge around each other to be first.

Jessica hid her face. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "We just got back from the beach about a half hour ago and they're still all wound up."

Face nodded. "It's alright." He hesitated a moment, studying Jessica carefully. "You uh... didn't mention you had children."

"You're not scared, are you boy?" Momma teased, interrupting the response that hadn't quite formed on Jessica's lips. Holding the baby on her hip with the practiced ease of a mother who'd been doing it for decades, she smiled broadly at him. "If you can survive the whole Viet Cong army, surely you can survive a baby and a couple of eight-year-olds."

He laughed nervously as the words hit his ears. Twins. Eight-years-old. He did the math, and felt his stomach flop. Suddenly, the thought crossed his mind that he would rather be facing the Viet Cong army than Jessica and her children.

September 21, 1968

Staring down at the sleeping - recovering - Hannibal, Face was surprised to find he gained no satisfaction from the knowledge that the idiot had done it to himself. If he'd just listened to the rest of the team when they were telling him it was stupid to run into that clearing, if he'd had even half as much respect for them as they were expected to have for him, he wouldn't be lying there drugged out right now, recovering after the surgery that had fixed the gaping hole in his gut. In fact, maybe he would have been well enough to petition Westman for the lives of those four Americans who had almost certainly been moved by now. The thought set Face's teeth on edge, and it was suddenly impossible to feel sympathy for his languishing commanding officer.

The first indication that Hannibal was conscious came in the form of a soft moan. Standing beside the canvas cot, he waited for the colonel's eyes to open before speaking. "Welcome back," he greeted dryly.

Hannibal groaned, and closed his eyes again, turning his head away. Licking his lips a few times, he worked his jaw before managing a cracked, "Hey, Face."

Trying his level best to sound sincere, he asked the obvious question. "How are you feeling?"

Hannibal didn't answer. Instead, he cast a long look at the cheaply made plywood door. The room was small, but solitary. An unconscious and injured man from RT Cannon was bad enough, but it would be a thousand times worse for the higher ups if he should start talking in his sleep.

Disoriented, Hannibal shook his head, lifting his arm to stare at the IV tube running into the crease of his elbow. "How long have I been out?"

"Off and on about a week," Face informed. "They sewed up the holes, but you lost a lot of blood. You're not going anywhere for a while."

Eyes closed again, Hannibal breathed deep, in and out. Finally, he nodded weakly. "I suppose you're going to tell me how lucky I am," he said haltingly.

With a deep frown, Face crossed his arms. "'Lucky' isn't the word I'd use," he snapped back, but he bit back the urge to utter the term "hypocrite", in spite of the fact it was exactly how he felt about the whole damned thing. The man had accused him of pursuing his own interests above the team's not even twenty-four hours before his own pride and arrogance caused him to do the exact same thing. And Face had very nearly paid the price. The sound of surrender on his own lips was something he never wanted to hear again.

Face glanced up at the saline drip running into the colonel's arm. They'd cut out the morphine a few days ago. In spite of the fact he wanted to curse and chastise and scream, "I told you it was stupid to go out there!" at the top of his lungs, Face instead opted for a well-controlled, "How's the pain?"

"Fine," Hannibal lied. Face could see by the way he flinched at the slightest attempt to shift his weight that the pain was not fine. "Where's Cipher?"

"Not here," Face answered simply. "Why?"

"Because I want someone to talk straight to me about how bad this is."

"You'll be taking a few weeks off," Face said once again. "You took three bullets."

"Three?" Hannibal repeated, alarmed.

"One went through and out the front," Face relayed. "That's the one you remember because it was bleeding a lot. One lodged against your hip. That machete you had packed against your spine is the only reason why your back isn't broken in half by the third one. It took the force of it. The ricochet cracked a rib but that's about it."

Hannibal smiled weakly, though Face wasn't entirely sure what was so amusing. "How much morphine am I on?" he demanded.

"Why?" Face asked. "Do you need some?"

"No," Hannibal said stubbornly. "I just need to move around."

Face gave a quick snort of laughter. "Well, you can take that up with the doctor." Sighing, he grabbed the plastic chair against the wall and turned it around backwards before flopping down with his arms folded across the back. "I'm just here to make sure you keep your mouth shut. In the absence of your commanding officer, that is."

Hannibal smiled faintly, eyes closed. "I'm alright," he said reassuringly. "You don't need to babysit me anymore."

"Good to know," Face said dryly, reaching for his cigarettes. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"Too worried about me?" Hannibal teased with his trademark joking, patronizing tone.

"Hey, fuck you," Face snapped back, not returning the smile. Clinking the lighter closed, he took a deep drag and scowled at his superior officer as he blew out the smoke. "You nearly got us all killed out there," Face snapped. "The only thing I'm worried about is that you didn't learn anything."

"Yeah, but we didn't get killed," Hannibal said solemnly. He opened his eyes slowly, staring up at Face. "Any other team might have, but not us. Not you."

Face glared daggers at him. "You're really trying to justify this?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he sat back. "Go for it! Give it a trial run before you have to make the report to Westman. 'Cause I'm sure he'll be about as understanding as I am."

Hannibal's smile faded as he closed his eyes. "Always nice to hear your words of encouragement, Face."

"You're an addict, you know that?" Face accused. "Addicted to the adrenaline and you don't care how many people you sacrifice in the meantime. And you're telling me that I don't put the team first?"

With a deep sigh, Hannibal turned his head and winced as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

"You knew it was a bad idea to take that last clearing," Face accused. "Not just a risk - a bad idea. But you did it just because you needed a fix and you damn near got us all killed. How the hell do you think that's okay?"

This time, Hannibal didn't answer. Breathing slow and deep, eyes closed, he gave every indication that he'd fallen back to sleep. With an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, Face finished his cigarette and stood, heading for the door. He desperately needed some air, and some space from the man who decided, on a whim and with virtually no accountability, whether they would live to see another day.

August 27, 1978

"Kids, go get your shoes on," Momma called, emerging from the kitchen where she'd just finished cleaning dishes from a delicious but very tense meal. Jessica had tried several times to join her only to be shooed back into the living room like an errant child. "We're going for ice cream."

An excited chorus of "yay!" answered her as the children scrambled for the coat closet.

"Ice cream?" Jessica asked, sounding uncertain. She took a small step back as Momma took the baby from her arm, as if to resist, but it was the only fight she gave. Momma continued as if she hadn't even noticed, taking the small and remarkably quiet child to the sofa to dress her for going out.

"Not for you," Momma corrected with a stern look at Jessica. She softened it with a smile in Face's direction. "You two can stay right here and talk. You have a lot to catch up on, I'm sure."

Arguing was futile, but Jessica tried it anyways. She kept trying right up to the point that Momma walked out the front door with the children and closed it behind her. Then, with frustrated fists balled up tight, she drew in a deep, audible breath. Face stared in amazement, half expecting her to stamp her foot and run up to her room like an angry teenager. How could the woman have three children and still be so completely unable to set boundaries?

Hugging herself tightly, she was the perfect picture of discomfort. Face sympathized, but he was much better at hiding his uneasiness. He'd spent the better part of dinner smiling and answering politely when spoken to. And watching - lots of watching. If he could handle thugs and threats from New York to Jakarta, he could survive a family dinner. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

"What's wrong with ice cream?" he asked when Jessica seemed at a loss for what to do next.

Jessica turned slowly. "They don't need that much sugar," she answered icily. "Especially Heather. She gets nightmares when she has too much sugar before bed."

Fairly certain Jessica was not overly concerned about the amount of sugar her daughter consumed, Face nodded his understanding of the bigger problem and glanced quickly at the clock. He spent a moment gauging just how many minutes he needed to remain before it would no longer be considered rude to leave. For the hundredth time since arriving, he wondered why he'd come in the first place.

He'd been driven by curiosity, he remembered. And to be fair, he had been warned of Momma's intentions before he'd met the woman. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about her efforts to push the two of them together. It felt awkward enough for Face; he couldn't imagine Jessica's discomfort. She was a grown woman with three children of her own and a mother who was still trying to play matchmaker. And why Momma was trying so hard, in and of itself, was confusing. Who was that baby's father? Had that been her last attempt at matchmaking gone bad or had Jessica done that one herself?

"So where did you say you moved here from?" Face asked cautiously.

"I didn't," Jessica replied curtly. "But it was San Francisco. About four months ago."

Face nodded. Four months was not five years. She'd lied. Why? More importantly, why did he care? "Must be hard to pick up and move like that," he pried gently. "Especially with three kids."

Shifting uncomfortably, she managed a tight smile. "I needed a fresh start."

She thought she was being candid, but he recognized the window of opportunity. Maybe his curiosity would be satisfied after all. "Bad breakup?" he asked innocently.

Although he glanced up in time to see her reaction, she offered surprisingly little as she walked to the piano bench and perched on the edge. "It was amicable," she replied smoothly.

The way she sat forward with every muscle tense, she reminded him of a runner waiting for the gun to go off. Briefly, he wondered if she was just looking for an opportunity to sprint from the room. "That was Sarah's father?" he assumed, glad he'd actually been able to catch the baby's name even though they'd not been properly introduced. Not that he felt deprived of that opportunity; he never knew what to do with babies.

Jessica folded her arms delicately and fixed him in a hard stare. "You talked to Carol, didn't you?"

Raising a brow in his best innocently confused expression, Face asked, "Carol?"

A cynical laugh shot from Jessica as she stood. "I've been trying all night to figure out why you didn't make up some excuse about why you couldn't make it," she said pointedly. "You wanted to come because you needed to fill in the blanks."

Face smiled, more amused by her blatant accusation than offended. "Actually, it was your mother's cooking," he lied smoothly. "I've never been one to turn down a hot meal."

"Uh huh." She took a few steps closer, and leaned over the back of the sofa, smiling wickedly. "So does that mean you don't want to know how involved I was with Cipher?"

Face raised a brow. He hadn't even considered that those two dots might be connected. Was Cipher the baby's father? The shock wore off quickly into a frown. That was too much coincidence for his brain to handle.

"No," she corrected with a disgusted glare. He didn't even have to ask; she could see the question written on his face. "Sarah is not his. I haven't seen Cipher in years. Is that what you want to hear?"

Face shrugged. "There's nothing I particularly want to hear."

"So that's not why you came?" she asked, her tone mocking. "You aren't surprised to hear I was with him. Do you want to know how long, what kind of relationship we had? Is that why you're here?"

Impassive, Face stared back at her with an unassuming smile, determined not to laugh at the predatory look in her eye as she leaned closer and dropped her voice to finally finish, "You want to know how good he was in bed?"

Finally, Face couldn't help it. With a quiet chuckle, he shook his head. "Are you trying to make me jealous?" he asked lightly. He couldn't imagine any other reason why she'd imagine he might care about Cipher's performance in the bedroom.

She raised a brow, milking the "come hither" eyes and dark tone of voice for all it was worth. Unfortunately, she wasn't very good at it. "Is it working?"

"No," he answered simply.

"No?" she challenged in obvious disbelief.

He smiled and answered honestly. "I had you first."

She blinked, violently derailed from the remedial track by a response she'd not been expecting. Face almost felt sorry for her. She could play the game as long as he followed all the rules, but improvisation was far beyond her abilities. Ordinarily, he would've met her at the level she set, empower and persuade and broadly manipulate the conversation if not her. He knew full well that whatever meager resistance she still offered with the weak "hard to get" act, he could have her right here on this sofa before her mother and children came home if that's what he wanted. The only thing was, he had no such intentions.

"I should go," he said, rising from the couch with a polite smile. "Tell your mother dinner was wonderful."

Recovering from her lapse and accepting defeat with a sad sigh, she stood straight again. "You know she's going to ask when you're coming back."

He picked up his shoes from the carpet next to the front door and cast her a broad smile. "You're welcome to use any excuse that comes to mind."

Jessica said nothing, sitting down on the arm of the sofa with a look of worried disappointment, but Face was far beyond the limits of what his curiosity drove him to ask about. Whatever she had expected of this evening, however he'd let her down, her game was too complicated for his liking. The cost-benefit ratio simply wasn't worth it. Slipping his shoes on, he did a double take as he caught a glimpse of a moving shadow right outside the window.

"You're the one who's good at making up excuses," Jessica finally muttered, not noticing the movement or his interest in it.

Standing up straight, Face walked to the window and pulled the curtains back to take a better look. He expected to see a cat, or maybe some obvious trick of the streetlight through the tree in the front yard. Instead, he saw a man hurrying across the lawn, away from the house. In the dark, he couldn't make out any features, and the man was already past the sidewalk. Without looking back, the figure power-walked across the street and climbed into a dark sedan.

"Hey, Jess?" Face said uneasily, realizing only afterward that she'd been rambling about something. He hadn't heard a word, but noticed the sudden silence as she pulled up short.

"What?" she replied, hesitating only a beat.

He hesitated briefly, not wanting to alarm her although the warning bells were clanging loudly in his own head. "Do you know of anyone who would be watching your house?" he asked.

Rising quickly, she crossed the few steps between them and pulled the curtains back completely. "Where?" she demanded.

"He's gone now," Face answered, casting a wary look in her direction. She didn't sound at all surprised or even frightened. Instead, she suddenly wore a greater boldness than he'd ever seen in her before. "But he was -"

The sudden, deafening sound of an explosion rocked the floor under Face's feet. He would've ducked for cover if he'd had a chance. Instead, he barely managed a breath before scorching heat hit his face. Then there was pain, and sudden blackness.