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]

His scrawling slows somewhat as he looks at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye.

"Think I can do that."

[notjustaface]

Slowly, Hannibal nods as he lights his cigar - taking long, slow draws in the silent room.

After a long pause, waiting until they could both hear the door slam on the cargo truck before it drove away, he says; "You're not a burden, assuming that's why you neglected to let anyone know."

[notthatcrazy]

He shakes his head.

"It's...complicated, sir."

Defaulting to old honorifics is a sure sign he's stressed. Hannibal's usually... well, Hannibal, or Boss, or Colonel when a more formal address is called for.

[notjustaface]

It's certainly enough to prick up the Colonel's ears.

"Not that complicated," he replies casually, rocking his shoulders into a more comfortable position. "I've seen soldiers nearly dead because they refuse to hold the team back when they're bleeding out."

[notthatcrazy]

All that does is make him think of the risks Face is undoubtedly taking to get him what he needs. He abandons the crayons and scoots closer to Hannibal.

"I just... I needed him to see."

That's probably not going to make any sense to anyone outside his head. It's not even making much sense to him at this point.

[notjustaface]

Offering him a place to lean, he gently pats Murdock's shoulder.

"He's an idiot," Hannibal sighs out a gray plume of smoke, shaking his head. "He was supposed to keep an eye on you."

[notthatcrazy]

He leans back, looking like a kid seeking comfort from a parent. The smell of the cigar smoke is strangely comforting, a reminder that as much as it feels like he's building a house of cards on a seismic fault, some things haven't changed.

"He doesn't get it when I try to talk about it. He's still trying to fix it."

He might be able to fix the situation, but he can't fix him.

[notjustaface]

With a shrug, Hannibal shakes his head. As long as he's known Templeton Peck, far longer than he cares to admit, he'd been just that way.

"He's a soldier, Murdock. Give him an objective to chase and he'll take care of it."

[notthatcrazy]

"It's not somethin' he can fight or fuck away."

His language is unusually harsh, but they both know there's truth to what he's saying. He scrubs a hand across his face.

"I am kinda thirsty."

[notjustaface]

It's something he can't deny, Face is a simple man - if he can't deal with it through physical means it only serves to frustrate him. Which is likely why he's on his way to a VA hospital.

"I'll get you some water if you promise you won't check out on me."

[notthatcrazy]

Which would totally freak Murdock out if he knew what they'd had in mind.

"Promise."

He'd offer to go with him, but he's not ready to leave the bed just yet.

[notjustaface]

It's a long several hours at the apartment, involving a good degree of frustration when BA was informed they were heading out of state that night and multiple pots of coffee before Hannibal is comfortable leaving Murdock's side.

But, it feels even longer for Face - who does actually manage to get into the file and clear the hospital pharmacy of several large bottles of both his medications as well as a few syringes and a small vial of the drug used with his last break.

"How bad?" He asks, looking toward Hannibal as he paces through the kitchen and drops a full duffel bag on the table.

"He misses you." Hannibal answers, lips pursed; "He asked where you were."

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

Hannibal shakes his head. "How long do we have?" Which means the difference between simply being caught on video and actively running from police.

"They've probably noticed the medication missing by now... give it... a few hours before they start pulling security tapes? So... we should get him sorted out and either lay exceptionally low or get the hell out of dodge." He's already drawing the syringe and doesn't wait for any response before heading back to the bedroom.

"It's me," he says, turning on the lights in the dark room.

[notthatcrazy]

He's hiding under the blankets with the hippo again, though at least he's not curled up in a ball anymore. Several crayoned pages lie on the nightstand, evidence of his earlier attempts at coping.

"Hey."

[notjustaface]

The closed syringe clasped between his lips, he strips off his stolen lab coat before he's seen, and then closes the distance between them.

"This'll help," he murmurs, "anti-psychotic. But it's probably going to be rough." According to the notes scanned into his file, it'd been as bad as any detox he'd ever seen - fits, crying, lethargy... but at least it'd helped him pull up from his break.

[notthatcrazy]

He sits up, hair tousled like he's been tossing and turning. He's thankful that he's at least telling him what he plans to do, but he'd like some answers first.

"Where were you? And how long have we got 'til we have to get outta town?"

Whatever he did to get those, it's going to call attention to them, which is something they can't afford.

[notjustaface]

"Hospital," he replies automatically, tapping down a bubble as he prepares the syringe. "It's in the boss' hands now... we might stay but lay low for a while."

Crawling up onto the bed, he swallows hard and prepares himself to administer the injection. "You okay with this?"

[notthatcrazy]

"I think so."

He's ready for the dark and disturbing to stop, even if this is what it takes.

"Are you?"

This is more than he's ever asked of him before, and he's not sure he realizes just how bad it's going to be before it starts getting better.

[notjustaface]

He doesn't have a choice in his own mind - it's just something that has to happen. Something he has to divorce himself from as he kneels across Murdock's thighs.

"Yeah, yeah..." he sighs, once more clutching it between his lips as he takes hold of Murdock's arm and pushes down his sleeve - searching for a vein.

[notthatcrazy]

"Might be hard to find a place," he says quietly. Hannibal had gotten him to drink a fair bit of water, but he's probably still pretty dehydrated.

[notjustaface]

He's determined, and it shows - his thumbs stroking over the familiar pattern of muscle and thick veins that have sunk over the last few days of letting himself wither away.

"I think I've got you," he whispers, tucking the syringe back into his hand as he draws up the ghost of a main line near his inner elbow. "Breathe for me."

[notthatcrazy]

He does so, not looking at him as he prepares. It's easier if he doesn't see it coming.

[notjustaface]

Letting out a held breath of his own as he injects, Face holds his thumb over the spot after withdrawing and capping off the syringe - setting it aside for later disposal. "I'm sorry..." he mutters quietly, leaning closer to him and kissing his forehead.

"For the way I acted earlier. I was angry."

[notthatcrazy]

He leans against him, letting himself take what comfort he can.

"You were worried."

He understands... sort of.

"Sorry I don't make things easier."

[notjustaface]

"You can't help it." He murmurs, wrapping his arms around Murdock's shoulders. He still doesn't think that he understands everything, but reading over his file opened his eyes considerably. Some of the things he'd done... he couldn't believe half of them though they had to be true.

"I can." He sighs, "And I chose to let myself be angry. And I need you to forgive me."

[notthatcrazy]

"I always do."

He doesn't try to stop the tears when they come this time. Fortunately, crying quietly is a skill he's picked up over the years.