notthatcrazy | Best-Laid Plans

"Was a hard time for all of us."

But they got through it, and they're gonna get through this. As hard as it is to tell himself that when he hurts so much he can barely breathe.

"Tell me more."

"What, about prison? Man... those are stories you don't even want to hear."

Mostly because he did things he's not proud of.

"'Bout you. Anything."

He squeezes his hand, trying to scoot closer without moving too much.

"I wanna hear it all."

Clicking his tongue, Face quietly chides the movement - meeting it by pushing himself until they're as close as can be.

"Wow... all? That's a lot of history, man."

He half-laughs under his breath and then leans forward to slip out of his sleeve jacket before making a show of rolling up the sleeves on his bloody shirt. Satisfied, he lifts his elbow to show a very faded old white scar.

"When I was eleven I fell off a jungle gym trying to impress a group of girls that I hung out with."

"Ladies man right from the start, huh?"

He manages a chuckle.

"Bet you scared the life outta your folks."

"Hey, four stitches and all the girls were lining up to be my girlfriend... right up until Billy busted his leg on a skateboard." He laughs dryly, stroking his fingers over Murdock's good arm.

"I... uh..." It's not exactly something he's discussed, not because it hurts - he got over that a long time ago - just because it tended to make people feel sorry for him. Little Templeton Peck, the orphan boy. "I was placed with another family about a week later."

His laugh takes on a slightly more dour tone; "But if the string of parents between infancy and Saint Catherine's Military Academy was any indication... you're probably right."

"... Oh."

And some things suddenly make a lot more sense in light of this new information.

"Must have been kinda tough."

And that's normally his cue to lock up on the topic. He doesn't want to be pitied.

"It was fine," he responds casually, "hey, did I ever show you where I got shot on my first mission with Hannibal?"

"No, baby, you didn't..."

He squeezes his hand again, petting his arm.

"Didn't have parents around when I was kid, either."

He's about ready to drop trou and show it off when that soft remark kicks him in the guts.

"I had lots of parents, new set every year." It's deflection and he knows it, bitterness creeping in.

But, it hits a little late what Murdock's actually saying. "I never saw you as a past ward of the state."

"Wasn't quite like that."

His head's pounding, and it's all he can do to stay conscious and focused on his boyfriend.

"Never knew my dad, and my mama died when I was real little. Was just me and gramma and grandpa after that."

His fingers grip tighter and Face lets it sit with him a moment before brushing another kiss against Murdock's temple.

"They treat you all right?"

"Yeah, they did their best."

There's a somewhat wistful look on his face now.

"I wasn't the easiest kid to raise, y'know?"

"Oh, come on..." he grins, leaning against him as much as he dares. "I'm sure you were adorable. Probably had a whole unit of jet planes and helicopters out in the yard, right?"

It's a cute mental image, a little mop-headed kid running circles in a flying-ace cap on some well-manicured lawn.

The thought makes him smile. "Nah, but I wanted to."

He sighs, snuggling against him as best he can.

"Grandpa built me a tire swing in the front yard... used to stay out there for hours. They had to come haul me in at bedtime."

And that's enough to draw up a small chuckle.

"Probably so filthy they had to throw you in a tub to hose you down." He grins, lifting his free hand to wipe away a drip of blood on the other side of Murdock's temple.

"Gonna need a long one after this scrape."

"Yeah, pretty much. I was kinda a wild little kid."

He smiles at the touch, relishing it even though it hurts.

"'Course, then I turned into a teenager and things really started gettin' interesting."

He squeezes Murdock's hand tighter before quietly asking; "Tell me about it?"

It's not just to keep him talking, not even to keep Face of the subject of his own childhood, he's genuinely curious.

"Mmm. Hormones, y'know? They didn't always play nice with the old gray matter."

He still kind of feels bad for what his grandparents had to go through, even though it wasn't really his fault.

Hormones? Now that he's an expert on.

"What?" He grins almost shyly; "Like sneaking away to do crazy stuff with girls?"

His brain just functions in a very linear fashion.

"More like mood swings and hallucinations."

He says it mostly without bitterness. He's come to terms with his issues, for the most part, long ago, but some of the memories are still hard to bear.

"Got so bad I had to leave school... Gram tried to homeschool me, bless her heart."

And that sets him awkwardly quiet, because there's nothing he can really say to that.

After a few drawn out moments, he says softly; "Wow... I guess I always kind of thought it was Iraq, you know? That sort of scrambled your brains."

He means it with love, Murdock.

"I... uh... I guess I don't really know a lot about that." Or him. Or anything but living in the moment.

"Just made it worse. I was always a little off-center."

He knows he means well. Mostly.

"Wasn't all bad, y'know? Gram taught me to cook, and Grandpa was the reason I wanted to join up in the first place."

"Was he a pilot too?"

Face visually checks over the broken arm, trying not to dwell on the swelling or how much it must be hurting him.

"I took the exam when I was in high school, placed high enough for Navy intelligence but they said my record wasn't good enough for anything higher than the front lines - I was too much trouble." He chuckles dryly; "If my recruiter could see me now."

"The best kinda trouble, Faceman."

He's trying for a reassuring smile, but it comes out a little crooked.

"Yeah, Grandpa was an airman from way back. Even when he couldn't fly any more, he still loved it."

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