Heart Breaker

[notjustaface]

It was an easy gig, by their standards at least. They all had their assignments - Face was saddled with his specialty, scamming two days in a suite in Vegas that was well beyond their budget. There were a few ways he could go about it, before things got deep he wouldn't have batted an eye at the thought of seducing some high roller and swiping a key and credit card number. But, things were different. He had to work harder, to get as many leads as he could and carefully select his mark.

Tiffany Connors, a name he won't forget after what he did, came up the most obvious for the scam. Twenty-two, maid of honor for a wedding party that had gotten pretty out of control the night before. According to the night staff he'd hung out with at the blackjack table, being rather generous with cigarettes and drinks for a steady stream of information that seemed worthless to them, they were planning on kicking them out but her Daddy had a standing reservation that sat empty half the year - and they weren't about to lose his business over a daughter that couldn't stay in line.

Of course, they didn't know how to deal with her type - he was pretty sure he did. Sure enough that when he put on his good suit and brass tag calling himself 'Michael Ashton, Manager' he figured they'd be setting up shop by afternoon. If only things went that easily.

"Miss Connors?" He called, knocking loudly at the door with an air of polite authority. "Management, please open up." Several requests and a loud scream of annoyance later, she opened the door in a silk kimono that barely covered her pale, flawless skin.

"What?" She demanded, raking her fingers through her long, dark, bedraggled hair. "What the fuck do you want?"

Drawing on the authority of his assumed position, Face pushed himself into the room and closed the door behind him when she only glared. "Thank you, Miss Connors... I've, uh, I spoke with the night manager this morning and it seems there were a few complaints from other guests about the noise level in your suite last night..."

"Oh fuck them. My sister's getting married!"

"I understand, but the problem is that your father did not authorize charges for damages made on this suite and..."

"Come on... it's not that bad..." the young woman frowned, her shoulders slumping low enough to show the pink flash of a nipple peeking out from under black silk.

Forcing himself to remain on task - and definitely not to look - Face assessed the obvious damage he could see just from the entry way. It was time for the kicker. "I understand, Miss. I'll go ahead and contact your father about covering this... it shouldn't be more than four or five thousand."

"No!" She shrieked, grabbing him by the wrist as he turned to leave. An instinctive smile crossed his lips, she'd been even easier than he'd expected. "Please! You can't tell Daddy we were here... he'd flip..."

"I'm sorry, but someone has to pay for the damages." He turned back toward her, flashing steady blue eyes that had charmed so many.

The girl looked like she was about to cry, but instead she asked; "Just wait, okay? Go sit on the couch and I'll get my purse. I can pay cash."

"Of course, Miss Connors." He obeyed, casually sitting in the corner of the couch where various articles of clothing and an empty wine bottle had been tossed on the opposite end. Whatever they'd done the night before, it sure had been a hell of a party.

"Call me Tiff," she smiled, returning with a small pink clutch. "Look, I know this looks really bad... but you've gotta understand, my Dad's a real tight-ass..."

"Oh, I understand... no problem..." Face shook his head, his voice stopping dead in his throat when she unexpectedly straddled his lap, pushing him back against the sofa. "Miss... Tiff..."

"You're cute, you know that? You look way too young to be the manager..."

"You... you still have to pay for this, I can't make any kind of..." he stammered, fighting the combination of his confidence and suppressing his libido when faced with a mostly naked very attractive woman in his lap; "...deal..." his voice cracked, lifting high when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him.

"I'll pay..." she whispered, tossing aside her purse before sliding something thick and hard in his pocket. "I just want to thank you for keeping this between us without Daddy finding out..."

"N... no problem, no... no thanks needed."

Grinning like a tiger on it's prey, the girl let both shoulders of her kimono drop, showing the perfect slopes of her bare breasts without pause. "Come on, Mister... Ashton..." she flicked his name badge, grinding down against him hard enough to make him ache. "Let me thank you."

"I... I really can't..." he sighed, already feeling the rise of his cock as her small hands tugged at his pants. "I'm... I'm gay. Really. Really gay."

"So not gay," she rolled her eyes, yanking open his fly to grab his growing manhood. "Don't be shy, man... I won't tell if you don't."

"No..." he whimpered, biting down into his lower lip - knowing full and well things were getting out of control. "I... I have a boyfriend and I... love him so fucking much..." She squeezed his cock hard, stroking the cotton of his briefs over the thick shaft to draw out a silencing moan.

"Let me give you what he can't..." She grinned, grabbing his hand and forcing it under the fine silk. What he felt was softer than silk, softer than he ever remembered the warm slide of a smooth mound under his fingertips.

She was warm, wet... ready to have him even though he just walked in. "Jesus..." he moaned, flushing hot. "I... I really... really..."

"Want to fuck me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. His fingers shifted forward, stroking over her slit and she let out a soft, pornographic groan.

"God yes."

***

He stayed with her a few hours... a few long, really athletic hours that left him aching in more ways than one when he left to her promises that she'd be out of the room by two o'clock and nobody ever had to know that Mister Connors' room had been trashed the night before. Finding the last cigarette in the pack he'd brought to the tables the night before, he took his first puff in a decade to try and calm his frayed, guilty nerves.

An hour and three shots later, he texted Hannibal with the room number and location of the key Tiffany had given him to 'personally service the room'. He couldn't go back yet, he couldn't face Murdock and explain just how he'd not only scored an excellent room but a nice stack of cash to go along with it. He could smell her on him, the clinging reek of sex and shame.

Only strong whiskey could cover it up.

Comments

[notjustaface]

Face didn't have the faintest idea someone would even come looking for him. In his depressed daze, he assumed they'd continue on with the remainder of the mission and just leave him be. He'd blown off steam before, sure never for that long - not since Murdock anyway - and he'd always been a bit better for it.

But this isn't blowing off steam, this is trying to kill himself with alcohol and cigarettes despite the fact that his system keeps putting him down on the sweaty hotel bed before he can make it that far.

The hours blur together, night and day don't matter with the heavy drapes closed and a 'do not disturb' sign on the door. He doesn't know he's been gone two days when he's startled back into consciousness with the shock of cold water pelting him. The reality he wakes to is sitting in a bathtub in sweat-stained briefs reeking of whiskey and smoke with the shower on full cold - and a very angry Colonel staring down at him.

"Oh, good. You're awake." Hannibal draws heavily on his cigar, shaking his head.

"Am I dead?" Face croaks, eyes half-lidded and barely able to focus on his superior.

"Looks like you tried hard enough." Hannibal lifts a half-full bottle that was poised beside the toilet and throws it into the other end of the bathtub, splashing Face's feet with chunks of glass and booze.

"What the hell!" Face screams, startled a little more coherent; "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Grimacing, Hannibal wrapped a strong hand in the front of Face's undershirt, dragging him up with the strain and snap of cotton thread. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I've been looking for you for two fucking days." He tosses down his cigar in the small pool of water and glass and then slaps him hard across the face. "We've been worried sick."

Face groans, going limp when Hannibal drops him on the floor and turns off the shower - his head glancing off the side of the tub and splitting at his scalp. "Fuck, I'm bleeding..."

"Yeah, well if this little bug out is anything like the bullshit you used to pull in the service you deserve a hell of a lot more than a crack to the head."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He forces back a lump in his throat, grabbing for a towel to press against the wound as he scrambles into a sitting position. "I told Murdock I needed a fucking break, okay?"

"What'd you do?" Hannibal demands.

"Fuck off."

Aiming straight for his kidney, Hannibal doesn't pull a hard boot to the side - sending him into a fetal position on the floor. Call it tough love, call it knowing his ward a little too well, he knows there's a lot more to it than some drinking binge. "No, Face, see that's where we're different. I acknowledge my responsibilities - to my team, to the people I care about." Kicking him again, in the soft muscle of his upper thigh to minimize the physical damage, he asks; "What did you do?"

Crying out with the hard kick, the sob slipping out, he finds himself curling tighter - pressing the towel knotted around his fist against his hand as he lets the silent, drunken tears come. "I..." his voice cracks. "I fucked up bad."

Exasperated, but slightly less angry, Hannibal only sighs. "How bad?"

He doesn't answer right until he can fight back the tears, forcing himself to focus on the physical pain and not the fact that he's totally fucked. "Pretty sure Murdock's never gonna forgive me."

Sitting down on the closed commode, Hannibal's eyes drop lower - almost sympathetic. He'd thought it might be something like that. "He's a good man, Peck."

"Yeah, well..." Face pushes himself back up, wary of his boss' boots; "he deserves better."

"I won't say I disagree," the colonel replied bitterly, tucking a fresh cigar into the corner of his mouth. "But he chose you, and you're going to fix this."

"How do I fix it? I mean... I chose to sleep with her - I could have stopped myself and that stupid voice in my head just went 'God she's hot and she wants me and it would be so easy...'"

Hannibal cuts him off short, holding out a hand to help him up. "You are going to fix this. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"

Nodding slowly, head swimming, Face replies; "Yeah. Got it."

[notthatcrazy]

He hasn't slept since Face disappeared. He hasn't been alone at night since Germany, and it's far too easy to let thoughts and fears worry at his mind and keep him awake.

He's been waiting outside since Hannibal called to tell him he'd found him, and he stares as he pulls up in the van with his wreck of a passenger.

"Holy shit... What the hell did you do to yourself?"

[notjustaface]

Hannibal had at least taken the time to bandage his gash before pouring him into the van - but he still looks like a few days worth of hell as he stares out the window at Murdock, guilt twisting him instantly. Looking away, he mutters; "Whiskey."

"He needs a couple stitches and some pain killers, he'll be fine." Hannibal assures him, taking the keys with him into the hotel but leaving Face behind with his partner.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Face murmurs, looking everywhere but at the open window between them.

[notthatcrazy]

"Tough shit, 'cause we're gonna."

He crosses his arms, holding his rings in a clenched fist.

"You gonna come out here or do I hafta pull you outta there myself?"

[notjustaface]

"Fine... just... back off." His voice is weak, and he's clearly still somewhat inebriated with streaks of dry blood on his face.

When he opens the door, he's slow to pour himself out and stumble toward the back entrance of the hotel.

[notthatcrazy]

"Just... tell me you didn't."

The look on his face speaks volumes, but he needs to hear what he has to say for himself.

"Tell me. What happened."

[notjustaface]

"It doesn't matter." He pauses at the foot of the stairs, considering the elevator - then considering being trapped in an elevator with Murdock to the top floor.

"I told you I don't want to talk about it."

[notthatcrazy]

There's a soft ding as the elevator arrives, giving him the perfect opportunity to take him by the shoulder and push him inside, turning him to face him as he hits the button for their floor.

"Talk to me."

He's really not playing around.

[notjustaface]

Face forces his back against the wall of the elevator, letting out a loud sigh.

"What do you want to hear, Murdock? We both know I'm an asshole." He's trying to stay tough and keep it together, but he can't move his eyes from the faux wood paneling.

[notthatcrazy]

"Yeah, you damn well are."

He's not letting him off the hook that easy, not by a long shot.

"Even besides the sleepin' around... did you even think about what runnin' off for days would do to me?"

[notjustaface]

"I didn't sleep around!" He shouts, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head and the look he knows is on Murdock's face.

"It was one girl. Once. Okay? You think it was easy on me to come back here?" When he manages his eyes open, it's only for a second and he blurts out; "I should have died in that fucking hotel room."

[notthatcrazy]

"Oh fuck no."

A metallic object hits him in the face, followed by Murdock's fist.

"I never figured you for a coward, but I guess I gotta rethink some things."

[notjustaface]

The punch catches him off guard and he crumples to the floor clutching his nose.

"Yeah... yeah I am..." he chokes, letting out a pained, shamed sob.

"Fuck I'm sorry..." his voice cracks, and he closes his eyes again. "I'm so fucking sorry."

[notthatcrazy]

"I know."

There's no forgiveness in it. Not yet, not when he hasn't earned it.

They're almost to their floor, and he hopes like hell the hallway will be empty when they reach it. He's not sure he can handle anyone else seeing them like this.

[notjustaface]

He won't cry, he's forcing himself not to outright cry but when he sees the rings between his feet through blurry eyes he can't help himself.

"I... I can't do this anymore." He swallows hard, an audible whimper closing his throat; "I'm sorry."

[notthatcrazy]

"Nuh-uh," he replies fiercely. "You're not getting out of this. We have come too damn far for me to let you throw everything away because of one stupid fucking mistake that snowballed."

And if he can't deal with that, it's just too fucking bad.

The elevator glides to a stop at that moment, doors opening onto a mercifully vacant corridor.

[notjustaface]

Face doesn't move, he clutches the rings tight in his fist - crouched in the corner of the elevator, sobbing silently.

"No..." he wipes his fist across his nose, coming back with a handful of blood. "Hannibal's right. You've always deserved better."

[notthatcrazy]

"Bossman doesn't exactly get a say in who I decide to be with."

He holds the door, looking down at him expectantly as he continues to avoid looking him in the eyes.

"C'mon, you can't sit there all day."

[notjustaface]

"Let me go, Murdock." He swallows hard, closing his eyes again as he squeezes the rings tighter.

"Please."

[notthatcrazy]

"Not gonna happen."

He means it. He'll sit in the damn elevator until someone makes them leave if that's what it takes.

[notjustaface]

Sniffing back blood, he gives up and balls his already ruined shirt against his nose.

"Don't put yourself through this, man..." he manages to look up with wet eyes, biting down on his lower lip behind the thin cotton.

[notthatcrazy]

He gives up for the moment, stepping back in the elevator and hitting the button for the lobby before sliding to the floor himself.

"You honestly think after everything we've gone through that I could stand to live without you?"

[notjustaface]

"I can't go in there." He shakes his head. "Damn it, I can't even look at you right now."

He sniffs again, pretty sure his nose is busted but not really caring.

[notthatcrazy]

"So we'll go somewhere else, and deal with this like the mature adults we occasionally are."

It's a bad joke, and it feels sour in his mouth as he says it, but he's not sure he can stand this much longer.

"We should get you to a first-aid kit, you're bleedin' all over the floor."

He sounds a bit contrite about that, though there's a finite amount of sorry he can be about it.

[notjustaface]

Thinking logically, let alone critically, isn't easy in his state but he manages to mutter; "Urgent care. I've got some cash... don't want Hannibal stitching up his handiwork."

He manages to look at him again, catching his eyes and seeing that painful look he knows he put there. "I didn't mean to do it. You know that, right? I wouldn't... I tried to stop myself."