CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

December 7, 1968

"Face?" Hannibal's voice was not entirely unexpected. After all, he had to come back sometime. And of course, he would be the first one who came to greet Face as he pulled up in the sparkling, red, 1953 Cadillac convertible. Face could only hope Cipher would be right behind him. He was far more interested in proving he'd won the bet than having another altercation with his strung-out, sleep-deprived CO. Hannibal couldn't have been back for more than an hour or two. By the look of it, he hadn't even showered yet.

Face stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him. "Yeah, Colonel?"

Hannibal was staring, stunned, as Face walked past. "Where did you get that car?"

Face just smiled, slipping the keys into his pocket. "Where's Cipher?"

As if on cue, Cipher stepped out of the building. Boston was only a half-step behind him. "Christ, Face!" Cipher laughed loudly. "How the fuck did you do it?"

Face smiled as he watched Cipher inspect the car. "Just make sure you don't damage it," he warned. "If I don't take it back in one piece, it's my ass."

"Sergeant!"

Face locked eyes with Hannibal, surprised by the abrasive tone. "Colonel?" he replied innocently.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "I asked you a question. Where did you get this car?"

Face turned fully to face him. "I borrowed it," he said confidently.

"Borrowed or stole?"

"Borrowed," Face clarified, eyes narrowed slightly at the blatant accusation. "With permission from the owner. And I have every intention of giving it back. Is there a problem?"

Face could tell by the flash in Hannibal's eyes that there was a very big problem. Realizing he was about to come under attack, Face pushed his shoulders back and stood straighter as Hannibal took a few steps closer to him.

"Who does this car belong to?"

The car was attracting the attention of passing soldiers as well. A crowd was gathering, and Face watched them out of the corner of his eye as he kept his gaze locked on his commanding officer's. "That's the beauty of it, Colonel," he answered with a slight smile on his lips. If Hannibal was trying to get a rise out of him, it wasn't going to work. "It doesn't matter."

"How so?"

He overtly looked away from Hannibal, and his smile grew as he caught Cipher's gaze. "Anything, anywhere, anytime."

"No shit," Cipher mumbled, running a hand over the leather interior. Apparently, the stare-down and the mounting tension between the two officers was lost on him. "This is gorgeous."

Hannibal did not seem impressed. As he stepped closer, crouching in on Face's personal space, their eyes locked again. "If you didn't steal it," Hannibal said darkly, "that leaves two options. Either you bartered for it, or you called in a favor from some old friends that you're not supposed to be having contact with anymore."

Face hesitated, recognizing the bait for what it was. "If I'd bartered for it, I would own it," he answered, carefully watching his words and his tone. "And I would've had a hell of a time calling in a favor when my reputation isn't what it used to be."

"Unless you're rebuilding it," Hannibal suggested. "I understand your reputation means a lot to you."

Face blinked, caught off guard by the open accusation coupled with the candid threat Face heard loud and clear. Not only did the suggestion that he'd started rebuilding his contacts lack subtlety, it lacked sense. Hannibal could not possibly think that he was rebuilding his connections with the underground. He had way too much to lose, and nothing to gain; he wasn't stupid. Besides, if Hannibal had any indication that he was going down that road, there were far more effective ways to shut him down than to accuse him outright; Hannibal wasn't stupid either.

It wasn't a real accusation. It couldn't be. Hannibal was just pushing buttons. And if he kept pushing, sooner or later he was going to find a trigger. In front of all these people, that seemed very unlike him. Face wasn't exactly surprised; he'd expected a retaliation of some sort after their encounter the other night. But he was a little caught off guard by how forward - and how public - Hannibal was being about it. This could get very messy, very quickly. For both of them.

Muscles tense, Face proceeded very carefully, testing the waters uneasily. "You wanna take this somewhere a little more private, Colonel?"

"Why? Do you think I have something to hide?" Hannibal's eyes narrowed into slits. "Or do you just not want to share with the entire camp who you had to fuck to get that car?"

Face felt a flash of anger. But it was quickly forgotten as Face considered the irony. It almost - almost - made him smile. Hannibal had clearly meant it as an insult and it did, in fact, make heads turn. But the amused look Face wore was in direct contrast to the anger simmering in his colonel's gaze.

"You find this amusing, Sergeant?"

Apparently he hadn't hidden the smile well enough. "Terribly."

Hannibal's eyes flashed. "We can see how amusing you find a court martial, if that's the direction you'd like to take this."

Heads were beginning to turn. Among them, Cipher and Boston were watching him in bewildered surprise. "For what?" Face challenged with a laugh. "Borrowing a car? I was on my time, off the base with permission, and I haven't broken any laws."

Hannibal's gaze didn't waver. "Boston?"

"Colonel?"

Hannibal watched Face as he spoke. "Get over to the commo bunker and put a call in to Westman."

"Sir?" Boston sounded startled.

"Now! Tell him I need to speak to him right away."

Boston hesitated a moment, exchanging glances with the rest of the team before he slowly backed away. Face's amusement faded quickly, and he held Hannibal's stare, steady and unemotional. "You're actually serious," he realized quietly. "You really want to make an issue out of this? You know I didn't do anything wrong."

Now it was Hannibal's turn to raise a brow. "You gonna call my bluff, Sergeant?" He must have seen that consideration pass through Face's eyes. "Or are you gonna give me an answer? Where'd you get the goddamn car?"

Face kept his voice low, eyes narrowed. "I told you. I borrowed it from a friend."

"What kind of friend?"

Face hesitated. He needed an answer, something to level the playing field. "Come on, Colonel," he said flatly. "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

Hannibal took another step closer. "That's 'how stupid do you think I am, Sir,'" he corrected.

Face studied him silently. A dress down? He had to be kidding. "Nice way of avoiding the question," he answered. "Sir."

"I don't owe you an answer. Or an explanation. But you sure as hell owe me one."

"If you've got something you'd like to accuse me of, Sir, you might as well do it."

"Hey, Colonel?" Cipher's voice had never sounded so unsure. Out of the corner of his eye, Face saw him step closer. But he still kept a safe distance. "It was just a bet. A challenge - me to Face. Didn't mean to cause any problems."

Hannibal ignored him completely, never taking his eyes off of Face. "Where'd you get the car, Sergeant?" he demanded. "Alex? Tao? Some new friend of yours?"

Face felt his anger spark - inexplicable in its intensity. Eyes ice cold, he stared Hannibal down. "As I said," he answered flatly. "You want to accuse me of something, Sir?"

"Would it help to get my point across?"

Face nearly flinched at the familiar words, turned back on him. "It might," Face answered carefully. "Because for the life of me, I can't figure out what the hell you're expecting me to say."

"Hard of hearing, boy? I'm not going to ask you the same fucking question again."

Face's jaw clenched, but he kept his composure. It was a game. It was blatantly, and openly a game. And Hannibal was going to win this round. This boxing ring was too public for Face to defend himself unless he wanted to blow Hannibal's secret out of the water. Simply threatening to do so would accomplish nothing if he wasn't willing to go through with it, and Face still hadn't decided for certain if he was. Resigning himself to a temporary defeat, he put his eyes straight ahead as his posture shifted almost naturally to attention. But he didn't speak.

Hannibal wasn't stupid. Face hadn't done anything illegal; they both knew that. But proving that would be very difficult, and they both knew that, too. There was nothing Face could say that wouldn't incriminate himself. A car like that wasn't easy to come by. There weren't many people it could possibly belong to. And every one of them was on the list of people Face shouldn't be speaking to if he was truly maintaining a safe distance from his past sins.

"Nothing to say, Sergeant?"

He could feel the eyes on him - Americans, Yards, and Vietnamese. His own team and perfect strangers, some of them his own subordinates. That didn't seem to matter to Hannibal in the least.

"Then how about I do the talking?"

"Be my guest, Sir," Face replied coolly.

"Let's talk about your piss poor record, and what's going to happen to you if you so much as cast a lingering glance at heroin again."

Face's jaw was set, eyes out of focus. He couldn't see the reactions, and he didn't want to. His scarred record was not, in any sense of the word, common knowledge. His own team was unaware of the charges that were stacked against him, held at bay only by the conditional graces of Hannibal and Westman. Now Hannibal was making it public, and Face had to admit that it was the perfect place to stick the knife - his most vulnerable point by far. Ironically, whether Hannibal knew it was useless to threaten or he just didn't want to waste his time, he was willing to do what Face was not – showing his hand to everyone in the room.

"I never used heroin, Sir," Face replied flatly.

"No, you didn't use it," Hannibal shot back. "You sold it - to men, women, and children." He lowered his voice to a growl. "And you sold men, women, and children to get it."

Face's eyes narrowed into slits. "You're wrong."

"Oh, am I?" The challenge was clear.

"I never dealt with children. Under any circumstances."

"Oh, well, that makes it okay, then." He stepped closer, until Face could feel his breath on the back of his neck. But his voice was still loud enough for everyone to hear. "You should be rotting away in prison right now. Dishonorably discharged. You'd get to run home to Mommy when you get out in about ten or fifteen years."

Face didn't flinch. "You wanna put me in prison, Sir, you go right ahead. I can't change what I did before. Doesn't mean I'm doing it now."

"You think I won't put you in prison, boy?" Hannibal threatened. "You think you're different from everyone else? That you've got some kind of special immunity?"

"No, Sir," Face answered dryly. "But you'd have to make a case. And as far as that car goes, you've got nothing on me."

Hannibal stepped in front of him, eyes blazing as he leaned in threateningly. "I've got a stack of evidence on you a mile high. I've got a signed fucking confession, remember?"

Finally, at that, Face flinched. He cursed himself for it immediately, but he couldn't help it.

"Step out of my good graces, boy, and see what happens to you," Hannibal growled.

Face's anger flared at the threat. He bit his tongue, but only briefly before he couldn't hold back the retaliation any longer. "I'm not all that worried about it," he shot back. "I'm pretty sure that you can't do a whole hell of a lot without Westman's stamp of approval. And I don't think I'll have too much trouble getting you out of his good graces, if it comes to that."

"Maybe." Hannibal stopped directly in front of him, no longer circling. "But I can make your life a living hell from now until then."

Face's eyes flashed at the challenge. "Try it."

Hannibal didn't seem the least bit moved. Hard, cold eyes narrowed into slits and he took a step back. "On the ground, Sergeant," he ordered. "And count to a hundred."

Face raised a brow. He'd been expecting Hannibal to threaten, and to make good on whatever threat he made. But he sure as hell hadn't been expecting that. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he almost laughed.

"Do I look like I'm fucking kidding, boy?"

Face didn't move, gaping at him.

Taking just a half-step closer, Hannibal hooked one foot in front of Face's ankles, put one hand on his shoulder, and with well-aimed force, took the young Sergeant's feet right out from under him. Face hit the ground on his hands and knees.

Even though he was already on the ground, Face was debating the merits of non-compliance. He'd been through this kind of treatment in basic, and he wasn't fond of it then. It made his blood boil to think that Hannibal had the nerve to try it now, after all he'd been through. But the colonel's boot, heavy with warm mud, was resting on the small of his back before he could get back up. And under the force of Hannibal's foot, Face's knees slid in the mud until he was lying flat.

"You can start any time, boy," Hannibal growled. "I'm prepared to stand here all fucking day if that's what you want. But every minute that passes from now 'til the time you're done, you're doing fifty more. So I'd get started if I were you."

Face hesitated for a long moment, his pride fuming. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several wide-eyed soldiers back off and turn away. Every one of them had been through basic, and every one of them knew this routine, and Face doubted any of them had seen it enforced this side of the ocean. Men didn't dress down their own team members out here – especially not in public. Nobody wanted to participate in the abject humiliation. Pressed into two inches of mud, Face had some difficulty even sliding his hands into position and getting the stability to push himself up.

Hannibal's foot was still on his back, and he didn't make it any easier for Face to rise. With angry determination, Face held himself up, arms straight out, until Hannibal's push on his back shoved him back down into the mud, collapsing right onto his face. Rising back up was harder the next time - Hannibal made sure of it. Face growled angrily.

"I can't hear you, boy!" Hannibal yelled down at him.

It took several agonizing reps before Face fell into the pattern. Emotionally shut off, conditioned responses took over. He did know this drill; he'd been through it a million times. But between the mud, the heat, his CO's foot on his back, and the fact that he hadn't done so many pushups at once - or so fast - since his last PT test in the States, it was pure hell. By the time he'd finished, he'd done 250. If it had taken him five seconds longer, it would have been 300. Arms burning, shoulders aching, and covered in mud, Face collapsed, breathing hard.

Hannibal's boot lifted from his back and went to his shoulder. "Get up," he growled, shoving him as if to turn him onto his back.

Face didn't think about it. He just moved. Back to his feet, eyes dead ahead. He was covered in mud – arms, legs, face, chest, hair, back. Hannibal let him find his stance, and catch his breath, before he stepped in again. "Now get this fucking car out of here and get your ass back on base. And until further notice, you don't set foot outside of the barracks without my explicit permission. Do I make myself clear?"

Face's jaw ticked, but he didn't bring his eyes into focus. "Yes, Sir."

"If you have to take a piss, Sergeant, you'd better ask nicely. Because I am not putting up with any more bullshit from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Hannibal paused beside him as he walked past, shoulder to shoulder. When he spoke again, it was too low for the crowd to hear. "If you want to play outside of the rules, boy..." Face looked up and caught his gaze. Fire flew between them, white-hot and furious. "You should be aware that there are no rules. Think about it."

Face set his jaw, and didn't move as Hannibal passed him, heading to the commo bunker, where he'd sent Boston several minutes before. Feet planted firmly in the muddy ground, he remained still and silent as the crowd around the car gradually went back to their business.