Chapter Text
Face was still waiting for time to speed up four months later, as he threw the jack into the back of the van and narrowly missed getting his fingers clipped by BA shutting the door. He gave BA a tired glare that was returned with a grumpy snort. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I need my fingers for anything.”
“You won’t need them for anything if you keep at me like that, Face.”
“Boys.” Face sighed and at least BA shut up as Hannibal appeared out of the thicket of bushes, cigar already going as the last of shredded rubber was shed from Hannibal’s gloves. “Let’s try to have a pleasant drive back, all right?”
BA and Face gave each other a look. “He’s been off all day, Hannibal, gettin’ in the way, messin’ up the shot-”
Face narrowed his eyes because he was not going to take this. Not now, not after this mission, and not with BA’s full wrath staring him down. “I’ll have you know that it wouldn’t have been an issue if you had agreed to fly here in the first place instead of drive.”
“You know I don’t fly, Face!”
“BA…”
But Hannibal couldn’t stop Face now, not when he felt a headache coming on and an overwhelming urge to strangle the Sergeant, death sentence act or not. “Yeah, instead we drive for three days because, really, who wants to be eating dinner right now like a normal human being?”
BA growled and made to say something but Hannibal stepped between the two, shooting a drill sergeant worthy glare at them both and using that authoritative voice that they both knew so well from years long gone. “Face, BA, enough.”
Glares were exchanged, but they stood down, tension simmering back to where it had been all day. Hannibal sighed himself and ran a gloved hand through white hair. “We’ve had a long day and we have a long drive back. Whatever you have issue with can wait until we’ve stopped for the night in Portland. Understood?”
Two murmured assents came, prompting another Colonel-esque glare. “What was that?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was still tension, Face still caught the glare BA sent his way. But building a cannon from a hallowed out pine log and from various hunting cabin implements had worn them out for the day. It happened more often on these missions, Face found, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who could feel the strain of having a missing member, someone to step in and smooth things over with a laugh. Right now, however, the argument – whatever it was – wasn’t worth it, so they dropped it, BA grunting and disappearing to the front of the van as Face brushed off dust from his sports coat. Hannibal gave the con man a clap on the back, but it was half-hearted, just like morale. Face didn’t have the heart to make a jibe about his gun powder dusted clothing.
Hannibal noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Everything all right, Face?”
Face gave the Colonel a look, then ran a hand through his hair. He’d be washing gun powder and sap out for days. “Just a long mission, Hannibal.”
The Colonel nodded. “Long drive back, kid.”
He groaned, because he knew that very well. It had been a long drive up. “It would still be faster if we-”
But he stopped himself because they didn’t have the option to fly. Their pilot was five hundred miles South, probably finishing dinner right now after three hours of therapy. If he remembered right, it was chicken fried steak night. Definitely not MRE in the back of a van night. Or sit by Face and help make the drive more bearable night.
Hannibal understood, however, just like the older man seemed to understand that the desire to fly wasn’t necessarily limited to the convenience to the trip. “I know, kid, I know. We could have used him today.”
Which was also true. His side still hurt from that surprise goon that would have normally been covered by a right hook from his right hand man. BA was cranky and had no one to take it out on but him, and even Hannibal was worn out from not having a that extra jazz to count on. “Tell my ribs about it.”
“Any word on when he’s coming back?” Face could only shake his head and Hannibal gave a soft sight. “Right.”
The conversation, thankfully, ended there with BA growling from the front seat. But the entire ride back had Face sitting, alone, in the back, staring at the seat that normally belonged to a quick wit and smooth as sin smile. He would be lying if he denied that there wasn’t something there when it came to the pilot. It was a slippery, tricky feeling that was hard to pin down, however. Sometimes it seemed to simply be a deep sense of camaraderie that had him clapping Murdock and joining Hannibal in a smoke. That kind of sense of brotherhood that was ingrained after a century of gunfire, explosions, sweat, blood, and tears. There were other times, however, where it was undeniable that there was something more. Something that had niggled at the back of his mind since he breathed for them both in that chopper wreckage four months ago. A feeling that was definitely not brotherly or really even friend-like and had him pacing his apartment on the nights after a visit to the V.A.
Normally, he was an outgoing man. If he wanted something he went for it, and by God he usually got it. But this wasn’t anything normal by any definition of the term, at least not to him. He wasn’t sure what to call it. And he had been trained to tread cautiously in unknown territory, bullets or not, and so cautious he was.
Yet what do you do when the territory you need to scout out is your best friend?
Face wasn’t sure, and for that reason he was glad Murdock wasn’t with them on missions as of late. He couldn’t trust himself not to be distracted or protective, neither of which would help him figure out these emotions. And the last thing Murdock wanted was someone worrying over him. The man had told him so explicitly.
But while Murdock seemed to have no issues from that fateful crash beyond the fact he couldn’t walk straight, Face found himself up on more nights than not, reliving the events and that same crippling panic of exactly what the pilot meant to him. He needed to find out, and he needed to find out soon. Something hard to do when Murdock wasn’t with them anymore. The pilot would be back, he was sure of it, wouldn’t think any way else, but still.
Face had never been a patient man, and that included when it came to issues with people who were his friends.
Part of him asked if he should even pursue this at all, and he wasn’t sure what to answer. Chances are, these feelings were nothing but lingering protectiveness from the whole near-drowning thing. Yet he could still remember kissing the pilot, under water, true, but still. The feel of stubble, chapped lips, strength that he didn’t normally associate with a first kiss, all haunting him just as much as that look in the man’s eyes that last night at the small community hospital. Jewel of the Nile, Murdock had called him: was it true?
He had to know for sure.
Which was how he decided that knowing meant researching which, in this case, meant staying close to the man. More V.A. visits, longer weekend passes if he could get them, all of that he could do. But what was one way to be guaranteed to spend time with the pilot?
The answer hit him when a pot hole almost sent him across the van.
Flying.
Perfect.
Murdock hadn’t flown since the crash. They had been waiting until the pilot felt ready, but four months was a long time. Face was sure the man had to be yanking at the bit, ready to get back into the pilot’s seat, just like he was clawing at the door to spend time with Murdock outside of the structured life in the hospital. He had the ability to get a chopper or a plane to appease the Southerner, and Murdock had the ability to help him (if not indirectly) figure out why the hell his stomach jumped every time he spent time with the pilot.
And what was one way to stay even closer to the pilot? Flying lessons. Something Murdock would enjoy and something that require close quarters and honest conversation. Granted, it was a bit of work, but it would let him watch Murdock’s reactions to him up close. Let him be close to the pilot for long enough to decide how exactly he felt about the man.
Face leaned back and cracked a smile at his own cleverness. Hannibal noticed and raised an eyebrow at the first smile on the trip since they arrived, but Face just shook his head.
Soon.
Soon he would know, Murdock would be back, and maybe, just maybe, things would be right again.