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]

Things are still pretty awful, but at least now he's starting to let himself think that things might be okay after all.

"Hmm?"

He takes the cup, sipping the soup gingerly. It's a light meal, but he doesn't want to take any chances.

"It's...hard to describe."

He'll do his best.

[notjustaface]

It's better than nothing, he'll take what he can get.

His thoughts linger briefly back on the file, the words the doctors - and there had been a lot of them, going back as far as he could read without fear of getting caught. Disorganized, bitter, angry, hallucinations, voices, self harm... things he doesn't fully understand without context.

He has to move some papers to set down his own food and finds the angry looking drawings. "You did these?"

[notthatcrazy]

How do you explain something that's so very much not you and yet is an undeniable part of you?

"Yeah.... kinda takes my mind off wantin' to hurt myself."

[notjustaface]

He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to draw attention to it, but he also doesn't know how to not ask the lingering question.

"You, um..." he licks his lips, lingering near the edge of the bed. "Did you?"

[notthatcrazy]

He deliberately avoids looking at the faint scars on his arms. The ones he's never mentioned and Face has never asked about.

"I haven't, in a long time..."

He's starting to draw in on himself again.

"But I can't say I didn't think about it."

It's hard not to, when your brain keeps coming up with images of bruised, broken skin and telling you how easy it would be to just make the pain go away.

[notjustaface]

Giving a short nod, unsure of exactly where to file away that information that makes him ache in ways he's not used to at all, he glances over the scribbled pictures and then sets them aside. He never asked, never even suspected really - and it hurts a little that he never put it together.

"You feel like watching something? I picked up a few videos the other day and Hannibal seems to think we're going to be able to stay tonight."

[notthatcrazy]

"Sure."

He seizes the distraction gratefully, thankful that they're not going to have to pick up and run, at least right away. As much as he rationally knows it not to be true, he still feels like he'd hold everyone back.

"C'mere and sit with me?"

[notjustaface]

"Wouldn't have it any other way..." he replies quickly, digging into a stack of tapes behind the old VCR and plugging in the first one before turning the television on.

"I'm starving, man... nothing like a good scam to bring up the appetite."

He settles into the bed, leaning against him as he snatches the bag of mostly warm fast food.

[notthatcrazy]

He doesn't even wait for him to stop eating before he nestles against his side like a particularly clingy barnacle. He's still tearing up a little, and it's a bit disconcerting having his emotions so raw and exposed, but he knows it's how things have to be.

"What'd you get?"

[notjustaface]

"Mmm, usual drive through garbage." He smiles reflexively, finishing a small handful of barely-warm fries. He unwraps a burger and offers it; "Bite?"

[notthatcrazy]

He shakes his head, making a face. Too much, too soon.

"What videos?"

[notjustaface]

He can understand, he thinks, and digs in on his own - still pressing close against him.

"Mmm, personal favorites." He chuckles under his breath, nodding toward the screen when the familiar music starts to play. "It's time to play the music... time to light the lights..."

[notthatcrazy]

That brings out his first real smile in days.

"Perfect."

He's still exhausted and overwhelmed and probably doesn't smell too great considering how long he's gone without showering, but this feels like an improvement. His hand reaches toward his chest, where the rings they'd exchanged lie on a chain around his neck.

"Face... how much of it did you see?"

There's no use denying it. He'd have to have looked at his file to know what meds to grab.

[notjustaface]

"Hmm?" He raises both eyebrows, brushing a somewhat greasy kiss in his hair. "Every episode, man. Everything I can get my hands on."

He's not really sure that's what he's asking about, but when in doubt playing dumb's a good option.

[notthatcrazy]

"Not that." He punches his arm, a touch less lightly than he normally might.

"I know you already knew what I take long-term but you wouldn't mess with the emergency stuff unless you knew it'd work."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not mad... I just wanna know."

[notjustaface]

He lowers his eyes and lets out a soft sigh as he swallows another large bite. There's a lot of answers to that question - most of them the truth.

"Enough," he replies quietly worming his arm around Murdock's waist to find his hand - lacing their fingers together. "Mostly just medication, the notes from when you were in the hospital where we met. You, uh... you had a similar incident and that's what they used for intervention."

[notthatcrazy]

That answer seems to satisfy him as he leans back against him.

"I was pretty manic when we met."

Obviously, what with the whole 'lighting you on fire' thing. How the Colonel trusted him enough to let him fly that day, he'd never know.

"Knew you'd be good for me, though. Even then."

He's quiet for a while after that as the show unfolds, occasionally feeling bold enough to sneak a few fries out of Face's bag.

[notjustaface]

It could have been worse, if what he read was any indication it could have been a lot worse.

"You're good for you." He smiles slightly when Murdock looks at him, kissing his forehead. "I'm just... here."

He's not sure if he's good or not, he does what needs to be done - and he hopes that's good enough for the both of them.

[notthatcrazy]

At least he was fairly lucid then, and not screaming, fighting or catatonic.

"You're good too. 'Cause I say so." He pokes him in the arm again.

"...I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

[notjustaface]

"It's okay." He squeezes his arm tighter around him, resting his chin on his partner's head.

"I was mad..." he whispers, "but I guess I kind of understand. It's like when I busted my wrist and didn't tell anyone, right?"

[notthatcrazy]

"Something like that."

He can sense another ride on the emotional rollercoaster on the horizon, and he leans into his side.

"I just... got scared."

[notjustaface]

Not even the Muppet Show can turn away his obvious pause before quietly asking; "You were scared of what? Of... of me?"

He'd considered it, in the long minutes waiting outside the VA for things to pick up where he could slip in with less chance of being recognized. Thoughts of why Murdock wouldn't tell him or even let on what he was dealing - and he kept coming up empty-handed.

[notthatcrazy]

"I don't know..."

He waves a hand, as if that will help shape his thoughts into some coherent form.

"You just... you never seemed to understand before."

And if I'm this tired of dealing with this, how much longer are you gonna be able to

[notjustaface]

He's quiet again, probably too long but he can't pull together anything that makes sense.

Finally, he murmurs; "Look, I'm not going to pretend I understand... but you matter to me." His fingers tighten against Murdock's squeezing firmly. "And even if I don't understand that doesn't mean that I don't care about what's going on."

[notthatcrazy]

He doesn't know how to explain it any better than that. He knows all this, but it's hard to feel like you matter when depression digs its claws in.

"I'll try not to do it again."