So you're having a breakdown / So you're losing the fight

[notjustaface]

It was only a matter of time, at least that's what Face tells himself when Hannibal corners him in the kitchen of a one bedroom apartment they've managed to scam for the last few weeks since tumbling into Chicago on a job. They'd been running almost a year without any major setbacks, sure they'd had their snags but everything was going well enough. Funny how a little thing can turn into a big problem.

"We need to talk about Murdock." Hannibal states flatly, twisting a spoon through his coffee with just enough sugar to kill the bitter bite of BA's strong brew.

Face already has files laid out in front of him on their mark and his associates, carefully making notes on a page of stationary from some motel in Boston. He doesn't bother looking up, assuming it's about to become another lecture on the dangers of mixing work and pleasure. "I'm listening."

"In case you haven't noticed, he hasn't eaten in two days."

He looks up from from his notes, going over the last couple days in his head - had it really been two days? It's hard to tell, they'd all been so busy getting things together to make their final move on a scumbag pimp that a cop friend of Hannibal's couldn't pin charges on. "I brought him breakfast a few hours ago, but he was sleeping."

"He's been sleeping for the last ten hours."

"So? That's a good thing, God knows I could use a good night's sleep."

"We all could. When's the last time he managed more then four or five hours?" Hannibal sets aside the spoon, but doesn't drink.

Face considers the question and then shrugs; "So, you think he's sick?" It's a possibility - they've been on the move almost nonstop for over a month before landing the gig and spent most of it sleeping in the cargo truck they'd bought with stolen salvage papers and living off fast food - it's enough to kill anyone's immune system.

"When was the last time he filled his prescriptions?"

Filling prescriptions was a laughable matter that over the last year has meant one exceptionally brief stay as a John Doe in an emergency room and a rather shady deal with a black market supplier. "Guadalajara. But those were really big... like dispensary sized bottles." Easily enough to cover him for a really long time.

"And when was the last time you counted them?"

He could see where Hannibal was going, and he didn't like. "Counted them? What, am I his mother? He's not off his meds."

"You're supposed to keep an eye on him, Face... when you decided that suddenly you two were..."

"Don't even go where you're going, man." Face pushes up from the table, glowering. "Just because we're together that doesn't mean it's my job to be his doctor!"

"It's your job to take care of him!" Hannibal shouts, drawing a low growl from where BA was sprawled across the sofa in the living room. "You took on that responsibility."

"I..." Face sighs, shaking his head. There's not even anything he can say to that - in all fairness, he more or less was taking care of him. He just never considered things like Murdock going off his medication without telling anyone.

Without further comment, he heads to the bedroom where Murdock's still curled on the bed with his untouched breakfast beside him.

"Wake up, man..." he states firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed behind him. "We need to talk."

Comments

[notthatcrazy]

It's been a long few months, from the high of the cruise to the lows of scrambling to make ends meet and stay ahead of the authorities. He's always had his head in the clouds, but he needs something solid to brace against.

I tried to tell you things would get worse.

"Hm?"

[notjustaface]

"Hey..." Face forces a smile, cupping his palm first on Murdock's forehead and then his cheek. No sign of fever, at least. "How you feeling? You want some coffee or something?"

He's trying, his eyes searching for symptoms & finding nothing but cold eggs and a few days scruff and sweat.

[notthatcrazy]

It's not something most people would know to look for, but the usual spark of liveliness in his eyes is dulled and muted, his usual tendency to talk a mile a minute buried as he tries to focus on Face.

"No."

[notjustaface]

He doesn't like the lifeless tremor of Murdock's voice, but he's not quite ready yet to assume the worst.

"You getting sick on me, babe? Headache? Bellyache?" His hand drops, rubbing gently over the same t-shirt Murdock's been wearing for a few days.

[notthatcrazy]

"No, nothing like that."

He curls up tighter under the blankets.

[notjustaface]

And that's enough to get his worry up significantly, because to the best of his knowledge they aren't fighting and it's not like Murdock to hide from him like that.

"Are you gonna talk to me or not?"

It's not eloquent, and probably harsher than he needs to be, but if he's not sick it's something they've got to deal with right away.

[notthatcrazy]

This is usually the point where Murdock would try to reassure him that everything's okay... except it's really not.

"Can't. Too loud in my head already."

[notjustaface]

That's definitely not good.

"You still taking your meds, baby?" He asks, trying to keep his voice soft and without accusation.

[notthatcrazy]

And this is the part where he clams up again, because he doesn't want to admit that he hasn't been, for a while. After the brush-off he got when he tried to talk about things on the cruise, there never seemed to be a right time to bring it up.

You're a burden on everyone.

[notjustaface]

"Murdock..." he sighs, leaning across him to brush a kiss to his forehead.

He pushes up and off the bed, opening Murdock's bag without asking, rifling through the contents for the large white bottles.

"Where are your pills?"

[notthatcrazy]

He didn't sign on to be your nurse. How long do you think he's going to put up with this?

Closing his eyes tight, he motions listlessly from under the blanket.

"Backpack. Bottom pocket."

... That's where the bottles are, anyway.

[notjustaface]

At least he's talking. It's not great, but it's talking.

Fumbling open the pocket, he digs out the large bottles - shaking them to find nothing inside.

"They're empty." He frowns, tossing them hard enough to bounce both off the far wall. "You want to tell me why they're fucking empty?"

He can't help the frustration, it's like Hannibal's knife digging in deeper. What else didn't he know about that he was supposed to be on top of?

[notthatcrazy]

He doesn't even know why he kept the bottles - big, conspicuous, filled under a false name by some sketchy pharmacist, all they are right now is a reminder of his weakness.

He shakes his head, the anger in Face's voice pushing him back to silence.

[notjustaface]

Right. Of course.

He sighs, trying to push back the frustration.

"How long, Murdock? Just tell me how long you've been off."

[notthatcrazy]

"Three weeks. Almost four."

Right around the time they were hauling ass across the border from the Canada job, and that wasn't exactly the best time to pop into the neighborhood CVS.

[notjustaface]

"Four..." he sighs loudly, leaning over him again, kissing his nose to try and sway the frustration with his narrow understanding. "Four weeks and you didn't tell me? Why... why would you do that? I could have gotten more."

[notthatcrazy]

Because I hate that I need them, I hate this thing that keeps showing up and taking over my life, I hate it when you look at me like I might break if you don't handle me just right and I especially hate that it might be true.

He raises an eyebrow at him.

"When?"

[notjustaface]

"Before it got this far." He spits back, holding his tongue from saying anything he might regret.

"Did you even think for just one second you should probably tell someone. I mean, it's kind of a big deal." He runs a hand through his hair; "What the fuck were you thinking?"

[notthatcrazy]

"You wouldn't have listened," he snaps back. "You never do about this..."

He pulls a pillow over his head, trying to fight off a fresh onslaught of dark thoughts.

[notjustaface]

"I'm pretty sure I would have listened to 'Hey, I'm almost out of my crazy pills', it's kind of important that you keep your head together." The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even censor himself, but there's no sense in taking them back - not when he's a frustrated as he is.

Stretching across the bed, part of him wanting nothing more than to curl up beside him and hold him - to comfort him even though he knows it won't help nearly as much as fixing the problem, he snatches his compact from under the pillow, checking the round in the chamber before flicking on the safety and tucking it in the back of his khakis.

"Don't do anything stupid until you give me a chance to fix things."

[notthatcrazy]

"You're not my nurse, or my knight."

He gnaws at his lower lip as he looks up at him.

"Where you going?"

[notjustaface]

Not a nurse, but there are times he does rather see himself as a bit of a knight.

When he looks him in the eyes, catching them dark and unfocused and not like he's even seeing him at all, Face swallows back a tug of genuine worry. He can't afford to worry, not when there's work to be done.

"To do what I would have done a month ago." He doesn't have a plan, but he knows as soon as he walks out the door Hannibal will.

He has to. Somebody has to have some sort of contingency plan for this sort of thing.

[notthatcrazy]

He feels the tears start to sting his eyes as he leaves. Face hates to cry, wouldn't understand what it's like to almost welcome it because at least it means you're feeling something.

Reaching for his abandoned backpack, he pulls out the first stuffed toy he can grab - the hippo, as it happens - and curls back up under the covers.

[notjustaface]

There's more to be said, but he's not exactly the one who can say it. Instead, he sighs and slams the door behind him.

"What's the plan?" He demands, catching Hannibal just outside the bedroom door. "He's been off for a month."

"What plan?" Hannibal shakes his head; "This was on you..."

He can't handle the blame game - the dance of alpha males trying to hash out who dropped the fucking ball when in the long run it doesn't even matter. "Fine, no plan. Good. Fine."

"We'll figure something out..."

Pacing back toward the kitchen - he withdraws the gun from his waistband, gripping the weight eagerly to help himself focus. "No, you're right. This is my mess... I'll sort it out. You just... just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"That bad?"

Face's lips go slack, his eyes burning as he squeezes the grip tighter. "The last time I saw a guy that looked like that was back in my first tour - right before he blew his brains out."

Hannibal frowns; "So what's your plan, then?"

It takes a long moment to come up with anything short of dragging Murdock into the emergency room. "I don't know. I could hit a pharmacy. Catch them when it's slow, right before lunch or after locking up. My rap sheet already looks like I belong on America's Most Wanted, may as well add armed robbery to the list."

"Don't be stupid."

"You got a better plan?" He sighs, letting out an anxious, frustrated laugh. "Because I'm kinda at a loss here."

"What about the hospital?"

Face snorts, pointing the gun at the floor as he strokes over the trigger guard. "Yeah, where the second they put his blood in the system he'll be handcuffed to federal marshals until they can lock him up in a ward so tight even the mice have ID."

"It's an option."

"It's a bad one. We're not going through that again, we've been on the run too long to just let him go back to being a prisoner."

But, Hannibal's been thinking and soon enough that soft shine of insight crosses his face and he walks toward the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee before stating; "Armed robbery is messy... too many ways it could go wrong. But if you could get into a hospital dispensary..."

"You want me to break into a hospital?" Face's brow wrinkles, but he sets aside the weapon in favor of the warm mug Hannibal's pushing toward him.

"Walk in plain clothes as a visitor, obtain a uniform and badge... some way to obscure your face from the cameras..."

His eyes widen slowly, drinking in the jazz more than the bitter coffee. "I could easily grab two or three months worth."

"You'll need more than that - his file should have some notes about what they used the last time he had an episode. We need the same thing."

"Fine, break out his file."

A slow, almost awkward smile crosses Hannibal's lips; "I haven't had his file since Germany."

"Then why bring it up?" Face sighs, staring down into the mug; "We'll just ride it out, detox until the meds kick back in."

"I'm not going to risk making it even harder on him." He pauses again before suggesting; "It'll have to be the VA, downtown. They'll have his records in the computer system."

"Wait, wait... so your bright idea is to waltz into a military hospital, steal a disguise, log into their computers to pull up his information without getting caught and then wipe out their pharmacy? Have you lost you mind? Why don't we just put up a big neon sign that says; 'Come Meet the A-Team'! I'm thinking armed robbery is a little less risky here."

Hannibal shrugs; "We'll skip town tonight."

"And the job?"

"We'll scrub the job and come back in a few weeks after the heat's died down."

[notthatcrazy]

He can hear the hushed voices and heated whispers, and he knows it's all on him.

By the time the door creaks open again, he's dug out a packet of crayons taken from the last cheap chain restaurant they ate at and is drawing wide red slashes on a sheet of notebook paper. Crayon doesn't work very well on skin, but it looks like he's tried to mark up his arms as well.