After a year and almost two months FINALLY the last chapter is here! I am so very, very sorry it has taken me this long. All of you have been so patient and encouraging. I feel a little rusty, though, so here's hoping this last chapter isn't too disappointing!

XxXxXxX

Face wasn't sure how long Murdock's enthusiastic flurry of affection had lasted, but he was ninety-three percent certain he now had chocolate in his hair.

Rubbing at the sticky spot along his part, Face wandered down the hall. Angie had sent him ahead with instructions to wait for her at the reception desk. No direct explanation had been offered as to why she needed to stay behind, but the jangle of keys in her hand had told Face all he needed to know. The soft, too-knowing look in her eyes had told him even more.

Quickening his pace, Face strode out of the hall into the reception area. There he wavered, torn between the desire to rush back and stop what he knew was about to happen, and the sudden, almost burning need to run as far away from this place as he could. In the end he did neither. Just stood there shifting on his feet as adrenaline he couldn't decide how to use slowly leeched out of his system.

With a sigh, Face braced his hands on his hips—and shuddered as the quiet snick of the lock behind him mingled with memories of slamming iron in his head. There hadn't been much left of Face's spirit or his sanity by the time they'd been sent to the stockade; but what little there had been had threatened to shatter every time he'd heard that sound. The Team had been free for almost two months now, and still that sound—that feeling—haunted him.

Which was why just the thought of Murdock being locked away here made his stomach churn.

But this wasn't a prison. It wasn't. And staying behind had been Murdock's choice. Face didn't like it, but they'd all been denied far too many choices in their lives for him to ever willingly add to that list. So, if staying here was what Murdock wanted, well... Face would just have to find a way to live with it.

No. He would have to find a way to make it a win. For both of them.

Starting with giving the man something more to hold onto than a second-hand baseball hat. Photos of the Team were out of the question for now, but the four of them had a lot of history together. A cigar box, with a collection of milk tops and a Saint Christopher medal inside would mean just as much as any photograph. A tangible reminder that he wasn't alone. That he hadn't been forgotten. A record of Gene Autry singing You Are My Sunshine and a collection of The Beach Boys greatest hits would help, too.

Face smiled to himself, mentally adding record player to the top of his acquisition list. And books. Murdock had to have books. There was a new release climbing its way up the best seller list—a collection of short stories about a veterinarian caring for animals in Yorkshire—that Face was certain the pilot would enjoy. He'd have to get his hands on a copy. Maybe a special edition of Treasure Island, too. That had been a childhood favorite for both of them. Add in the back issues of Murdock's favorite comics and maybe some Shakespeare, Robert Frost, or Hemingway. There was a bookstore downtown with enough variety to satisfy even Murdock's eclectic tastes. And right next door was a novelty shop that made custom T-shirts.

Face's smile grew as he imagined some of his friend's finer designs recreated in bright colors rather than bleach and permanent marker over olive drab. He wouldn't even have to blackmail the laundry staff here to keep the shirts out of the burn barrels, like he'd had to do back in 'Nam. At least, he hoped he wouldn't. Perhaps he should look into who their soap suppliers were just in case. Nothing motivated launderers quite like the threat of cutting off their soap supply.

Assuming Murdock was even allowed to keep the shirts. Or anything else for that matter.

The unexpected thought that anything he sent might simply be confiscated, set Face to pacing. They wouldn't just take it all away, would they? Surely Murdock would be allowed to have something of his own, even if—

"Alvin?"

Face spun around, pinning Angie with a look. "Can he have things?"

"Have things?"

"Personal things," Face clarified. "Belongings, clothes, furniture. Things for him and nobody else. If I sent him things like that, no one would take them away, would they?"

"No, Alvin."

"Because that room is so sterile you could operate in it. It's no wonder no body ever leaves these places. If they aren't crazy when they get here, they will be after living in a hole like that. I don't know how—" Face cut himself off as Angie's quiet answer finally registered. He froze, abruptly realizing he'd been pacing again, and stared at her. "Wait, you mean it's okay?"

"Of course."

There was something calm, almost tender in her voice. Something that left Face swallowing back an old, familiar longing. He wondered suddenly if Angie had ever been a mother.

"You can bring him whatever you like, Alvin. As long as it isn't harmful or hazardous, no one will take it away. You have my word."

Face closed his eyes, relief swelling in his chest. He grinned and huffed a little as a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Murdock whispered an 'I told you so'.

It's gonna be okay, Faceman. All of it. I promise.

A light touch on his arm brought him back to the present. Angie graced him with a smile as she slipped a hand through the crook of his arm.

"C'mon, Lieutenant. Let me walk you to the gate."

XxXxXxX

The pathway through the V.A.'s gardens was longer and more indirect than Face remembered. Though that probably had more to do with his flagging energy and the easy, almost hypnotic pace Angie had set for them, than anything else. It felt nice. Peaceful in a way few things were these days.

Being a fugitive had proven to be an exhausting and chaotic existence. Something slightly less harrowing than combat, and yet somehow more encompassing. Or perhaps more inescapable would be a better phrase. But here, strolling among the trees and slanting shadows, he could almost understand why Murdock had chosen to stay.

"So..." Angie tilted her head, drawing the word out with a sly smile. "Faceman, is it?"

Face felt his eyes widen. That name hadn't made it to the media, but anyone who'd come close to the Team in Vietnam would know it.

Hoping to disguise his sudden flutter of panic, Face ducked his head, feigning embarrassment. "Ah, yeah. Yeah, he um... that's just something the guys always... it's a nickname, you know? Murdock said that's what the girls in his high school would've called someone like me who was, um..."

"Drop dead good looking?"

Face rubbed at his neck. "Yeah, something like that."

"I can see why it stuck," Angie said, giving him another mischievous look. "But for what it's worth, I like Alvin even better. It suits you."

"Oh. Uh… thanks. I think." Mouth twisting with the sour taste of his bruised ego, Face told himself it was for the best. The more she thought of him as Alvin, the more resistant she would be to the possibility of him being someone else. But still. It suits you?

The arm Angie had looped through his, pulled him the tiniest bit closer.

"I meant that sincerely, Alvin. Don't you like your name?"

It was a simple question. One that should have been even simpler to answer. But there was a hidden weight to her words. Something that made them resonate far deeper than they should have. It almost made him want to lie. Almost.

Instead, he pasted on a smile and shook his head. "No, not really."

"I see," she murmured. "I suppose it isn't the sort of name young people would treat very kindly, is it? I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I don't mind if you use it." Would prefer it actually, distasteful as it sounds.

Angie gave him an enigmatic smile. The kind that left him feeling oddly exposed, as if she'd somehow read his mind.

"Has anyone ever told you what your name means, Alvin?"

"Does it mean anything?"

"Of course. Every name has a meaning."

Angie kept her eyes on the path as she spoke, her voice casual. It was probably the only reason Face didn't try to run the moment the back gate came into view.

"There's actually a word for the study of names and their meanings," she continued. "Etymology. I promise not to give you a lecture, but it's kind of a hobby with me. I meet so many different people. Learning about their names has become my way of remembering them, I guess."

"And somewhere along the way you met an Alvin who was absolutely unforgettable, right?" He played the words off with a crooked smile and dared to catch her eye.

She returned his look, pulling them to a halt a few steps from the gate. "Yes, actually. The first Alvin I ever met was quite unforgettable. He was ninety years old, a decorated veteran of World War I, and smart as whip." Angie arched an eyebrow. "Of course, he also happened to be a retired IRS agent who hated everyone and everything in this world except for chicken noodle soup with parsnips and a stray cat he named Lord Archibald Underfoot."

Face snorted at the unexpected picture. "Well, for what it's worth, I hate parsnips."

"Good boy." Angie patted his arm in approval, then moved to unlock the gate. "In his case, I must admit, I researched his name out of spite. I was certain it must mean 'ogre' or 'full of venom' or something equally appropriate. But as it turns out it meant something quite different."

Face watched in silence as Angie unlatched the gate and let it swing open. Then she stepped back, giving him plenty of space to come through. He could stay and listen or he could run. The choice was his.

Licking his lips in a nervous gesture he normally never allowed, Face hesitated. It wasn't like it really mattered. He hadn't gone by Alvin since he was eighteen. Getting rid of it had been easy. It had never felt like it belonged to him anyway. He'd only resurrected it tonight because he'd needed a name both Father Magill and Murdock would recognize if Angie mentioned it. But that didn't make it his, anymore than being innocent made him a free man.

Face stepped through the gate.

He almost kept walking; almost gave in to the lingering urge to escape. Instead, his footsteps stalled, boots seemingly rooted to the ground. "That name…" The one was as much a part of him as the court's guilty verdict, no matter how hard he tried to outrun it… "What does it mean?"

"Friend." With a soft smile, Angie latched the gate. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

XxXxXxX

EPILOGUE

It was dawn. An uncertain, gray sort of dawn that matched Hannibal's mood perfectly.

Shifting against the trunk of one of the V.A.'s trees, he puffed lazily on his cigar. The blend was exceptional. He'd have to remember to thank the kid for it—assuming the Lieutenant ever bothered to come out of the hospital.

There was a blip of static on the radio in his pocket, followed by B.A.'s voice. "He's comin', Hannibal."

Cigar clamped between his teeth, the Colonel peeked around the tree and down the slope. Sure enough, there at the back gate was his wayward Lieutenant. A woman Hannibal took to be the nurse Father Magill had told them about, stood close by. Based on the way she was smiling at Face, it looked like the kid had made another conquest. Not the usual romantic kind, perhaps. More like the 'let me make you cookies and feed you warm milk' kind. Hannibal could empathize. He was probably the worst baker around, but even he had felt the urge now and then.

Fishing out his radio, Hannibal pulled back out of sight. "How're we looking, B.A.?"

"We're good. What's the plan, Colonel?"

"I need a few minutes alone with him, B.A. Mind keeping watch a little longer?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

Hannibal smiled. There was a hint of approval in all that grumbling. Finally. The Sergeant had been an angry, brooding storm ever since Face had walked out on them earlier. Not because the Lieutenant had left—but because Hannibal had let him. The kid had needed space. They'd both known it. But knowing that hadn't made the hours of waiting any easier.

"He's headed your way."

There was nothing subtle about B.A.'s undertone this time. The unspoken message was crystal clear: don't mess this up.

Slipping the radio back in his pocket, Hannibal waited and listened. When the birds went quiet, he took a pull of his cigar. It really was an excellent blend. With great care, he tried to blow a smoke ring.

"You never were any good at that."

Lips twitching in a half-smile, he looked over at Face. "No, I guess I wasn't."

The kid matched his smile, but there was uncertainty in his eyes—and the occasional flicker of rebellion. It had been a long time since Hannibal had seen that particular combination from his Lieutenant. Not since the early days when the kid had been torn between longing to please and be accepted, while still trying to convince himself and the world that he didn't need anyone. That it wouldn't matter if the Team rejected him. The stakes were lower this time, of course. Face knew the Team would never leave him now. But it felt wrong to see him even a little uncertain of his place with Hannibal. Time to let him know he wasn't in trouble.

"Want a cigar?"

Face's smile grew just a little and his shoulders dropped. "Can I have a raincheck? If I smoke one right now I'm pretty sure I'll fall asleep before we get home."

Home. Hannibal didn't think he'd ever heard his Lieutenant use that word. The quiet way Face was staring at him said it hadn't been an accident either. He'd meant it.

With a nod, Hannibal patted his pocket. "They'll be here, kid. Just say the word."

"Thanks, Hannibal."

"No problem."

There was a beat of silence. It should've been comfortable—or so Hannibal told himself. But there was still one very important question he had yet to ask. One that hung like a weight between them.

Face seemed tired, but calm. If anything had gone with Murdock, Hannibal knew that wouldn't be the case. His Lieutenant would be wound up and edgy. But that didn't fit with the Murdock he'd seen less than a week ago. Because, yes, he had snuck into the hospital. Of course he had. Within hours of finding out where Murdock was, he'd marched through the back door of the hospital in a janitor's uniform, pushing a mop cart. Between his fake black eyebrows, heavy scowl, and shoulder length wig, most of the staff had given him a wide berth. He'd used that berth to his advantage, sneaking a look at Murdock's records before mopping his way to the Captain's door. He'd only caught a brief glimpse inside, but it had been enough. The sight of Murdock rocking in place on the bed, eyes completely vacant and body far too thin, had left him fighting the urge to vomit. It had been like staring at footage from their time in the Camp. He hadn't wanted Face to go through that. Not again. Not when there was no guarantee it wouldn't just cause him to lose the Lieutenant, too—for good this time.

But now, here they were; Face seemingly none the worse for wear. Which meant Hannibal had missed something. He must have.

Gaze shifting from Face to the hospital and back again, he took a breath. "So, how is he?"

To his surprise Face smiled—really smiled. "He's good. He's Murdock. We talked for a long time. He's going to try and get reclassified today as psychotic."

"Psychotic?" Hannibal sputtered.

"Why not? It's way more fun than near catatonic depression. Besides, Billy's tired of hiding under the bed."

"Billy."

"Yeah. And you know how irritable he gets when he's tired. The next thing you know he'll turn purple again and that was just…" Face trailed off with a shiver. Not half a second later, though, he flashed Hannibal a very proud smirk. "So, first thing this morning, Murdock is going to introduce Billy to the doctor."

Hannibal grinned. "That sounds entertaining."

"Doesn't it? But, ah, there is one thing…" The kid's attention fell to the ground. He shifted a bit on his feet, then looked up at Hannibal almost defiantly. "I'm coming back to see him. I know it's risky—for all of us." Face swallowed, a hint of guilt clouding his eyes. "But I won't leave him there alone. I can't."

Stepping forward, Hannibal wrapped an arm around Face's shoulders. With a gentle nudge he started them walking. "I know. And it was a mistake for me to try and keep you away. I had my reasons, but when you walked out on us before…" Shrugging, Hannibal glanced up at the sky. There were still some shreds of gray in the clouds, but there was light now, too. Faint pinks and just a few traces of silver. "Let's just say, I've been doing some hard thinking since then."

"Oh, no."

With a throaty chuckle, Hannibal clapped his hand even tighter around Face's shoulders. "Trust me, kid. You're gonna love it."

Face groaned.

"No, really. See, we've been going about this fugitive thing all wrong."

"We have?"

"Yes. I've been too cautious. Your experience here tonight proves it. A risk is merely an opportunity in disguise."

"Aww, Hannibal…"

"What we need is a plan. One that let's us get out more, you know? Let's us really start living again. Like they say, the best place to hide something is in plain sight."

"Uh huh. And when Lynch shows up with sirens blaring and half a platoon on his tail, then what?"

"That, my boy, is where things get interesting." Grinning around his cigar, Hannibal swept his free hand in a wide arc. "I call it, 'Having Fun On The Run'. Neat, huh?"

"Neat? Hannibal, are you nuts?"

Between one moment and the next, the sunrise became blinding. Whites and golds overtaking the last remnants of the night.

Grinning even wider, Hannibal tapped out a short code on his radio to let B.A. know they were ready to go. Then he nodded along as Face launched into a stream of objections. The complaints were lengthy; the logic behind them undeniable. But the Colonel just kept grinning. Because beneath all the bluster, he knew what the kid really meant.

He loved it when a plan came together, too.

THE END

Author's Note: Nine months ago my writing routine was derailed when my Mom ended up in the hospital. And again two months after that when my Dad also ended up in the hospital. Thankfully they were both home and fully recovered before the holiday season came. But then, of course, there was Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. In mid January, though, I began fighting hard to get my writing routine back. It's been a struggle and there are still some days where I get nothing done. But I am finally making progress again. Aside from finally finishing this chapter, I've also got the next chapter of "The Lies You Tell" in the works along with another stand alone fic for my POW series. Hopefully it won't be nearly so long before I post my next offering!