notthatcrazy | Best-Laid Plans

Best-Laid Plans

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.

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"They'll be here..." he tries to be reassuring, but it's not exactly his strong suit.

"Hey, after this is all over... you know what? We're getting ice cream. You like ice cream."

"Do I get a lollipop if I'm good for the doctor?"

At least being wounded in the line of duty hasn't fully dampened his snark reflex.

"You can have all the lollipops, babe." The concern in his voice is obvious and he knows it, but there's no use hiding it.

"Anything you want. Just keep it together for me, okay? For me?"

"I'm tryin'..."

He raises an eyebrow at him.

"You weren't s'pposed to take that seriously, y'know."

He can't help it, at this point he'd do just about anything to keep it together. For both of them.

"Hey, I always take you seriously." Even when he's being silly because deep down he knows there's something to it. Sometimes. More often than people give him credit for.

"Yeah."

He appreciates it usually, but he could do with a little less serious right now.

"Keep talkin', okay?"

Right. Well...

"Okay... right... how about this?" He lets go of Murdock's hand and rolls back his other sleeve past the elbow before showing him the inside of his wrist where a faded scar normally hides under his watch band.

"Guess how I got that little bad boy."

"Rogue mongoose bite?"

It's a little hard to tell if he's joking or if he's so far out of it that the idea actually makes sense to him.

It's nice to smile, but hard to laugh.

"I tried to field strip my service weapon after half a dozen tequila shots. Managed to catch my wrist in the slide assembly - to this day I have no idea how it was even physically possible."

He chuckles dryly; "First time I met Hannibal, he was friends with the medic who told him he 'had to see this' before dousing it with rubbing alcohol."

"Ouch," he laughs softly, able to picture Face's wounded pride all too well.

"'Member those chickens I mentioned earlier?"

He holds up his good arm, indicating a small, roundish scar near the elbow.

"Hens're okay, but roosters are mean l'il bastards."

Leaning forward, almost on some strange instinct, he kisses the old mark.

"I got chased by a rooster once, I think it was in Mexico. Really didn't help me convince the girl I was trying to hook up that I'm a macho guy."

They're terrifying, and are best put to use in a pot pie.

"Don't blame ya. They're scary."

There are so many horrible jokes he could make here if he were feeling better. As it is, the gentle touch is weirdly comforting.

"The hens were okay... some of 'em would let me look at their babies in the nests as long as I didn't get too close."

He's not really sure why he's rambling about chickens, but at least it's keeping him awake.

Face buries his grin against the side of Murdock's face, half-shaking his head.

"I'm sure you would make a great chicken-daddy. And a much nicer rooster."

Baby chickens are cute, is all.

"Well, you know how it is... you get chased by a cock once, you never forget it."

Hey, looks like he can still make jokes after all.

And there's the laugh he was holding back, right against Murdock's cheek like some silly chick flick move. He can't help himself.

"That... that is terrible." He chuckles, kissing his cheek. "I love you."

Which was exactly the reaction he was hoping for, naturally.

"You know it."

He reaches for his hand again, holding it tight.

"Love you too, baby."

It's a nice moment, the sort of sweet thing he sometimes forgets that they're prone to when watching their thing from the inside.

Which of course means he has to up the ante to get out of seriously cute territory.

"Speaking of cock..." he grins, probably a little too wickedly.

He snorts back a laugh, not even caring that it makes his head hurt worse.

"That is terrible."

He pokes him in the side with the hand that's still linked with his own.

"You're terrible."

... He means it with love, really.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He shifts again, and then manages his fly open with his free hand.

"Seriously, I can't believe you never noticed this..." Shamelessly, he pushes down the waistband of his shorts to show a perfectly round, white scar roughly an inch from his package. "That's a scar you never forget."

"I was otherwise occupied every time I was in that general area," he grins.

"You gonna tell me how you got that one, or is that another thing I don't wanna know about?"

True enough... he does take great pride in keeping him occupied. Still, he pulls his shorts back up for the sanctity of the moment.

"Drunk ex plus high heels plus finding out that I sort of may have slept with a waitress while we were dating."

He flashes an almost sheepish smile, it wasn't one of his prouder moments.

"The guys at the ER took pictures before stitching it up as a cautionary tale to future idiots."

"You're a walking cautionary tale, baby."

He wouldn't have him any other way, really.

"Any other injuries you wanna tell me about?"

"Nah, just the usual stuff - you've seen most of it." His smile softens slightly and he knows Murdock's really feeling the knock to the head just as much as the busted arm.

"Wanna try some concussion karaoke?"

"Sure..."

He's not sure if it's shock setting in (he can't have lost that much blood, can he?) or simply his body trying to deal with the pain, but things are starting to go kinda numb.

Face only chuckles again, not really far enough gone to try that route.

"How's your arm? Still hanging in there?"

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