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notjustafaceIt 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."
"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."
no subject
Date: 2013-05-06 09:04 pm (UTC)It's going to be fine. He'll be up all night, waiting for Murdock to stop breathing or for them to have to make a run in the middle of the night in equal parts, but at least he's got good company as soon as he can bring himself to work his way out of Murdock's clingy embrace long enough to swap over the tapes.
"You know, this is all right." He whispers, knowing he won't be heard. "I protected you, I did my job." And it feels good to know that he's served his function. But deeper than that even, part of him feels like he's balancing out the inevitable pain he'll cause some day down the road.
"I'm sorry if I ever make you want to hurt yourself, and I'm sorry it's my fault I didn't realize things were bad before they got this bad. I kind of feel like an idiot for not putting it together sooner, I guess I just expected your crazy would involve trying to land a chopper on the roof or embarrassing the cashier at a doughnut place or something. I guess I really don't know what I'm doing here."
Rambling feels good, talking to himself without the filter of judgement.
"Well, I kind of know what I'm doing. I mean, I'm pretty much just rolling with the punches until I do something stupid and you figure out that you're better off without me."
With a soft sigh, he brushes a kiss against Murdock's temple and then worms his way out of bed to dispose of his trash and maybe find something sweet while he watches another tape. It's gonna be a long night.