Best-Laid Plans

[notthatcrazy]

It was supposed to be an easy job. At least that's what Hannibal had said, with his usual bravado. All they had to do was tail the guy who'd been stealing corporate intel from their client and report back when they found his base of operations - at least that was the plan, until they'd been spotted and he'd gotten the drop on them before Face could take him out.

So now he's got a possible concussion and a probable - ow, no, make that a definite broken arm and a very worried partner to deal with.

Comments

[notjustaface]

Thinking about tomorrow in Face's mind means thinking about the job that's been royally fucked up and how they're gonna make it right a man down. Not exactly making half-assed plans for a beach hut-slash-animal shelter and kids that he's pretty sure they wouldn't be able to have even if they weren't federal fugitives.

Still, for Murdock's sake, he flashes his best smile and murmurs; "You're right, man... I'm just, you know. In my head." It's an excuse, and a weak one at that, but it's the best he can muster.

[notthatcrazy]

He knows it's unlikely, but he still hopes. It's gonna get his heart broken one of these days.

"Hurts..."

[notjustaface]

He's honestly not sure if Murdock means what he's implying is hurting or if it's the actual pain talking - either way the only way he knows of to fix it is to try and keep his mind off it.

"Remind me next time we have a plan that involves a pick-up to schedule them to show up way earlier."

[notthatcrazy]

It's a little of both, really. He takes a deep breath, trying to stay conscious at least a little bit longer.

"... You ever think about the future?"

That's a loaded question, he knows.

[notjustaface]

He knows it's best to answer honestly, and that if Murdock's breathing doesn't get a little more regular he's going to be the one panicking and trying to dig deeper into his basic knowledge of concussion triage.

"Sometimes," he mutters, "but it's a little tough when I'm not even sure where I'll be sleeping tomorrow."

[notthatcrazy]

If he were properly conscious he'd really have something to say about that, but as it is there's not a lot he can offer.

"Sometimes... ya just gotta have faith."

That's a lot to ask, he knows.

[notjustaface]

"I have faith in the team," he replies in all honesty; "and probably too much faith in this." He waves his bloody hand between them, squeezing Murdock's good one again.

"But you can't trust the future. Shit happens, I mean I'm still working out how we're gonna get around the odds of feds popping up at the hospital tonight."

[notthatcrazy]

"You can't trust the future, 'cause you're too used to bein' the one in control."

He's getting a little too worked up, and has to stop to get himself together again.

[notjustaface]

"I don't call the shots, man. I just make things happen."

It's true enough in his mind, he doesn't make the plan - it's not his job to make the plan - it's his job to adjust the plan accordingly as things go wrong and it starts to spiral into something a whole lot closer to damage control. He's the follow-through. In a way, they all are - even Hannibal after his insane but brilliant plans hit a snag that's supposed to somehow catch up with itself.

"I'm good at pulling together what I have to work with."

[notthatcrazy]

"You are," he agrees "And you're good at thinking on the fly, but you've still gotta be second in command."

He's fading in and out, dancing on the edge of unconsciousness.

"Even when you let someone else take the lead, you never let yourself get too far behind."

[notjustaface]

"Because I trust the people that have my six." He says without pause, squeezing Murdock's hand again.

"I couldn't do this without you..." he hesitates, letting the thought stew a second before finishing; "you guys."

[notthatcrazy]

Even in his hazy head-injured state he catches the moment of hesitation, and the stab of fear that goes along with it.

"I know, baby."

He's tired. Tired of talking, tired of being in pain, just plain tired in general.

[notjustaface]

He can hear the heaviness of Murdock's tongue and raises his voice slightly; "Stay with me."

Face shifts slightly, leaning to check his somewhat unfocused eyes with a fear of his own - the moment, the reality of the situation.

"Tell me about the future," he offers; "what do you see?"

[notthatcrazy]

"You and me... nice little house somewhere. Maybe not on the beach but somewhere far enough away no one'd bother us."

He smiles a little sadly. "Maybe kids, maybe not, but even if we don't have our own, we'd be the best uncles."

And now there's a new ache alongside the physical pain.

"'M so tired."

[notjustaface]

"No... no... kids, great..." he replies, squeezing his hand again. "Let's talk about kids. What about a girl, you think?"

He's panicking, it's the only reason he'd follow that road.

[notthatcrazy]

"Temp... it's okay."

He's pictured them with a little boy, or maybe a boy and a girl, but he can't bring himself to freak him out any further.

"How much longer 'til the others get here?"

[notjustaface]

It's not okay. It's very much not okay, Murdock's not okay.

"Couple hours..." At least. They don't even know, and he's more or less hoping on some sort of psychic connection to tell them please hurry.

"Talk to me, babe. Anything. Anything you want to talk about."

[notthatcrazy]

"Can't... hurts too much."

He's trying, but everything he's said has only made it hurt worse. He doesn't know himself if he's talking about physical or emotional pain because it's all started to blur together.

"Talk t'me instead? Tell me a story, anything..."

[notjustaface]

He really, really doesn't like the tremor in Murdock's voice.

"Okay, just listen to my voice and focus on keeping your eyes open. I am not about to lose you, man. I... I can't."

[notthatcrazy]

"I'm listenin'..."

He catches sight of the scar on his arm that Face had pointed out earlier, remembering Germany.

Why won't anyone tell me why I'm here?

It was funny, in a way... In his mind he'd been calm, rational even. In reality he'd been screaming so loud his throat hurt later.

Fine... You won't tell me, I'm outta here.

After they'd stitched him up, they'd moved him to a room without windows.

[notjustaface]

His mind scrambles for something, anything, to talk about that might keep Murdock's interest.

"Did I ever tell you that I wrote you letters while I was in prison?"

[notthatcrazy]

It's like he knew, somehow. He tries to force his mind back to the present.

"No, you didn't tell me."

[notjustaface]

"I did. I guess I thought at first maybe it would help me work shit out, just writing it all down."

He laughs a little awkwardly, it feels overly-sentimental and romantic... but the things he wrote at the time he knows he only did because they'd be destroyed before anyone could see them. Letters specifically written not to be sent.

"I didn't know what to say at first so I just wrote things like; 'I'm thinking about you and I miss you like crazy and I swear I'll fix everything.'"

[notthatcrazy]

"Yeah?"

The takes his hand again, running his fingers over the ragged scars on his knuckles. They'd both been through the wringer in those six months.

[notjustaface]

In a way, it was good. It gave him time to think, time to prioritize. And, you know, work on his abs.

"Then I started just writing about the day, you know? Like you really cared that I managed a real bed and VIP status."

And sometimes he even apologized for the things he did to get them.