CHAPTER FIFTEEN

August 29, 1978

"You said you knew where Paulie went to gamble," Face prodded as the team wandered casually back toward the van.

"I said I could find it again," Jessica clarified. "That's not quite the same thing." She paused, and looked directly at Hannibal before declaring with conviction, "I will be going with you."

Hannibal frowned. "That may not be such a good idea, Ms. Summers," he answered firmly. "They were sitting outside your house. Chances are pretty good they'll recognize you."

"This is my problem," she declared for the umpteenth time. "I'll stay out of sight, but you could need me."

"What about your kids?" BA asked.

"Yeah," Murdock agreed. "What would happen to them if something happened to you?"

"No worse than what could've happened if that explosion had happened a few minutes earlier." She looked around for support, but found none. Finally, she switched tactics, taking a step forward and resting a hand on Hannibal's forearm.

"Please," she said softly. "I made this mess and I want to fix it. I really can help, and I'll do whatever you say. Just let me see this finished. I need to know it's over."

Hannibal studied her for a long moment, reading her. Then he smiled. "You don't think we can pull it off," he realized with a grin.

She blinked, startled. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." He reached into his pocket for a cigar and bit off the end. "You want to come with us so that even if we fail, you'll have the opportunity to negotiate with these guys, face to face."

With a caught look, she took a step back. "I -"

"But it doesn't work like that," Hannibal interrupted. "If anything, it's quite the opposite. We don't exactly have a delicate touch. If you've got a way to fix this then by all means, exhaust your options first."

She laughed tensely. "If you're going to make this a... a suicide mission on my behalf, why should I trust you at all?"

Lighting the end of his cigar, Hannibal regarded her with an amused look. "Say you pay them off," he offered with a shrug. "Do you expect these people to wipe the slate clean? Consider your ex-husbands debts paid?"

Hesitating with uncertainty, she shook her head. "I don't... I mean, I'm not sure," she admitted.

"Well, if you do," Hannibal continued, "and if you have that kind of money, then it doesn't sound like you need our help at all."

"We don't have that kind of money," Momma said firmly, with a glare in Jessica's direction.

"And even if you did," Face added, "how long do you want to keep checking over your shoulder while you work to rebuild the life that was stolen out from underneath you and your children?"

"You make it sound like you're the answer to all my problems," she said, shaking her head. "But I still don't know exactly what you plan to do."

"I got a few ideas," Hannibal answered with a grin. Jessica either didn't notice or couldn't make out Murdock's smiling mumble about Hannibal being on the jazz. Brow furrowed, she stared in confusion. "In the meantime, let's pack up this camp and get your kids and your mother to a safe house."

"What about me?" Jessica asked tensely.

"Get your stuff together," Face directed, resting a hand naturally on the small of her back. Hannibal distinctly hadn't said no to her request about tagging along. "You can ride with me."

"It's okay if I come, then?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Not really," Hannibal admitted. "But we've taken clients with us before in situations just as risky. And like you said, you could prove useful."

November 20, 1968

"You did good, Face," Hannibal said with a smile, thumbing through the freshly developed photographs. "These will make a convincing story if we should ever need them."

"It won't work twice," Face said with conviction. "I'm pretty sure they were weighing the cost-benefit ratio of cutting us all down where we stood."

"Locke's men recovered most of the weapons they left out in the field," Hannibal continued, ignoring him.

"Where they died?" Face clarified.

Hannibal cast him a curious look. "Don't forget, Face, those weren't the good guys."

"No, of course not," Face agreed. "It was a deal with the devil that happened to work in our favor this time."

Hannibal's curiosity turned to a frown. "Problem, Sergeant?"

Face shook his head and heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh as he realized his aggressive tone. "No," he relented. "Plan was brilliant and it worked. I'm just tired."

"Why don't you take a few days?" Hannibal suggested. "I have to go down to Saigon and see Westman. You can come if you want. Or take a pass somewhere else. I can't imagine it would be too hard for you to catch a ride."

Face considered it for a moment. He couldn't think of anywhere in particular where he wanted to be. But he certainly didn't want to stay in this hell hole. At least there were women in Saigon. And places where he could be as anonymous as a foreign soldier could be in a country like this. "Yeah, alright," he muttered. "Saigon."

He didn't share Hannibal's enthusiasm as the colonel headed out of the TOC to pack up. Vaguely, Face wondered where everyone else would find themselves this weekend. They all hid it well – especially in the field – but he knew every one of them was in need of a few days off. Now that he knew for certain the hammer wasn't about to drop – Sandgone hadn't even said a word about the fiasco at the DOOM club – he'd be sleeping a bit easier at night.

August 29, 1978

"You could've told me you broke out of prison, you know," Jessica said coolly.

Face watched the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the roof of the car, fingers tapping. "Well, now we're even," he answered, casting a quick glance in her direction.

She glared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't even try it," he said with a light laugh. "You know all about how hard it is to open up those tricky conversations."

"I had a good reason," she shot back, defensively.

"I had a better one."

For a long moment, she was silent, glaring out the windshield at the van driving ahead of them. "So is that what Cipher meant when he said you went too far?"

Face hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "That depends on the context," he admitted, reluctant to be having this conversation at all, especially when he didn't know what other cards she was holding. "Cipher and I had our issues before the war ended. We both went too far. As for the court martial, and everything since then, anything he knows is secondhand. He wasn't in on the mission."

"Why not?" she asked innocently.

Face glanced at her, not sure how much she knew or how much she would want to know. The one thing he did know was how much he didn't want to talk about it. "He was... injured," he said tersely.

She nodded as if she understood. "The shelling?"

Confused, Face frowned at the heavy traffic all around him. "Shelling?"

"Or was that later?" she asked lightly.

He shook his head a little, not sure what she was talking about and waiting expectantly for her explanation.

"He said it went off in the room next to him and put him right through the wall," she offered. "Messed up his face pretty bad. Broke his cheekbone and his jaw in three different places and his nose was completely shattered. He had to have pretty extensive reconstructive surgery. It was pretty bad."
Face stared at her so long, he almost ran off the road.

"Face!" Jessica cried, startled.

He snapped back to attention and looked back at the van in front of them, putting both hands on the wheel. "Oh," he finally answered. "That shelling."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she demanded, still gripping the armrest with white knuckles. "Jesus, I'm glad my kids are with Momma!"

"Sorry." He cleared his throat.

Slowly regaining her composure, she cast him a long, sideways glance. "I take it you didn't hear about that?"

Face hesitated. "I knew he was injured," he admitted. "I uh... didn't know how."

She smiled sadly. "Almost makes you want to go patch things up, huh?"

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Heh. Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" He wracked his brain for a change of topic.

"He's a lot different now than he used to be," she said quietly, reflectively.

He didn't want to talk about Cipher. But the statement begged the question. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't know him very well in the war," she said. "Our paths only crossed a few times. Well, you remember." Out of the corner of his eye, Face could see her blush. "But he seemed... happier."

"Happier?" Face laughed. Of all the words he'd been expecting to finish out that lingering statement, "happier" hadn't even been on the list. Cipher hadn't been any happier in the war than any of them.

"Well, more..." She trailed off, and sighed. "Like he had purpose. Something changed in him when he came back." She shivered noticeably, keeping her eyes away. "When I think about him now, it scares me."

Face desperately searched for something else to talk about - anything else. What the hell was there to talk about? "So where is this bar at?"

She laughed, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "Nice try. But since you want a change of topic..." She crossed her arms over her chest as she turned to him. "Would you care to explain to me the long story about how you escaped from jail?"

He sighed. That certainly wasn't the change in topic he'd been looking for.

November 27, 1968

"Hello?" Hannibal leaned on the front desk of the Saigon hotel and carefully eyed the man who stood to greet him. "I'm Hannibal Smith. I was told there would be a letter here for me."

"Hannibal Smith," the young Vietnamese repeated with some difficulty. He looked on the desk in front of him, and in the slats on the wall behind. "No. There is no Hannibal Smith."

"What about John Smith?"

"Oh! John Smith I have!" Hannibal stood a little straighter as the man reached into one of the slats. "It not letter. Key." He handed the key over with a smile. "Room 214. Have a nice night."

Hannibal stared at the key for a long moment before turning toward the stairs and slowly climbing to the second floor. There was no one in the hallway, and the doors were all closed. He found the room he was looking for without difficulty, and readied his hand on his pistol as he slid the key into the lock. He had no reason to suspect a trap. He had no reason not to.

Inside, the room was dark, he stepped inside slowly, letting his eyes adjust. The light switch didn't work. He slid his gun out of its holster.

"You're getting paranoid, Colonel."

He spun at the sound of the female voice. In the same instant, the bedside light flashed on, nearly blinding him. The fact that it was a woman speaking kept him from firing, but only just. As his eyes quickly adjusted and the voice registered familiar, he put the gun away.

"And you're getting stupid." He shut the door, and pulled the chain across. "I could've shot you."

"But you didn't," she pointed out.

"If I had, I might have some difficulty coming up with a reasonable explanation for how it happened."

The dim light from the bedside table cast long shadows across the room. Taking a quick look around at the surprisingly extravagant decor, Hannibal checked the view from the window before the glass bottle on the dresser caught his eye.

"You know..." The woman gave a deep, exaggerated sigh as she turned from her back to her stomach, lifting her head and crossing her arms underneath her. "It amazes me that the bottle of scotch on the dresser catches your attention more quickly than the naked woman on the bed."

Hannibal glanced at her briefly. "She caught my attention," he reassured her.

"Hmm. I wouldn't have guessed." Resting her head on her arms, she gave him a coy smile.

He took a moment to inspect the bottle closely, then set it back down. "She might possibly explain, however, what on God's green earth she's doing in Saigon."

She gave a little shrug, not lifting her head. "I was the neighborhood."

"Elaine." The patience in his voice was deceptively calm and unemotional. "This isn't a neighborhood you just happen to be in." He stepped closer, standing over the bed. "This is Vietnam. And in case you didn't notice, there's a war going on. You shouldn't be here."

She turned again onto her back, arching a little in a seductive pose. "Is that your way of telling me you're not happy to see me?"

"No," he corrected with a polite smile. "It's my way of asking why you came all the way out here. As I can't imagine you did it just for me."

She smiled knowingly. "If I did," she whispered, "wouldn't you feel just awful for standing there and giving me the third degree?"

Hannibal studied her for a moment, standing still at the side of the bed, hands in his pockets. Realizing he had nothing to say, she sat up on her knees, hands reaching for the buttons on his jungle fatigues. He didn't stop her as she set about unfastening them. "Life is always so dull when you're not around," she pouted, raising her eyes to his. "It's just not the same. I miss you."

He stood passively, neither helping nor hindering her as she pushed his shirt back, off of his shoulders. "I'm quite sure you could find other... engagements that would retain your interest."

"Oh, but none quite so interesting as you." She set her hands on his shoulders. "I want you to tell me about your adventures, John," she whispered excitedly. "Tell me what this war is really like."

"It's hell," he answered simply, coldly.

She pouted, her lower lip protruding noticeably. "You say that. But then you stay. I hear you're on a voluntary indefinite status. Do you ever intend to come back to the States?"

"Of course. When the war is over."

"I don't think I can wait that long."

"Tell it to the Viet Cong."

Her fingers trailed up along either side of his neck, then down his jaw to his chin. He watched her, still passive, as she sat higher on her knees and came closer to kiss him. Without leaning in, he returned the kiss, hands still in his pockets.

She was smiling as she withdrew. "I haven't been kissed like that in too long," she whispered.

"Oh?" he asked, not entirely surprised by how easy she was to please. He had been down this road one too many times to be shocked by anything she said, did, or felt.

A deep, heartfelt sigh escaped her, and a childlike pout crossed her lips. "No man has made love to me in over two months."

He gave a brief laugh. "How fascinating. Seeing as I've not seen you in four, it would seem that your other engagements are working out well for you."

"Are you jealous?" she teased.

"Over you?" He laughed. Then he turned, and sat down on the bed next to her, reaching down to pull off his black boot.

"Well, you should be," she declared with a pouty smile. "You should be madly in love with me. And you should be hurried and... and in a frenzy for that moment when you'll throw me down on the bed and ravage me mercilessly. Just like old times."

He smiled as he glanced up at her. "I see you've already determined your plans for the evening."

"Our plans, love," she grinned, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"Uh huh." He picked up the boots, and set them aside, tucking them under the bed. "Tell me," he glanced up at her quickly. "Does your husband know you're here?"

"Of course. He put me up in this nice little hotel." She smiled as she gestured around her. "It is nice, don't you think?"

"Oh, very nice," Hannibal smiled back. "But if he knows you're here, that means he could potentially come here to see you. In fact, he probably intends it. I wonder what would happen if he came through that door right now."

Her eyes danced. "It would be a very interesting conversation, don't you think?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "One that would probably end with me in prison."

She laughed. "For what?"

"Oh, I'm sure he could think of something."

Her laughter faded into a soft sigh as she leaned forward, holding the back of his head as she claimed his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He remained still for a moment, but then slid one hand up to her neck, pushing her away slowly. She was smiling as she looked up at him again.

"Don't worry about my husband," she whispered. "He is otherwise engaged. And he's not even here in Saigon. Not until tomorrow, anyway."

He debated arguing with her, but only for the amount of time it took for her fingers to trail from his throat to the belt around his waist. A subtle touch, but one that was meant to melt him. And it did a surprisingly good job. "Two months," she repeated in a low whisper. Her eyes darkened as she reached up and touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. "How long has it been for you?"

Without a word, he slid his hand from her neck over her shoulder, and held her as he pushed her back onto the bed.