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Hannibal had a pet theory about Tuesdays. While Mondays got a bad rap, it was his contention that Tuesdays were substantially worse. He didn’t have a typical 9-5, never had, even if you counted his stint as a soda jerk in his teens, but the weekends still retained some of that special weekend feeling, the end of one thing and the start of another, the lazy Sunday attitude of not really having to do anything. He understood the Monday blues, coming out of a break and looking down the barrel of another full week ahead, but for him Tuesdays had it beat. Monday would have sapped the last of the Sunday energy, and there you were not even halfway through the week. Tuesdays were a chore, and everything bad that ever happened to him happened on a Tuesday, which was not even remotely close to true, but there was no law stating humans had to be rational. Especially on a Tuesday.
This particular Tuesday wasn’t even half an hour old and Hannibal was beginning to have his doubts about it. He’d been waiting up, not particularly to upbraid Face when he finally rolled in, but to quell the disquiet at the back of his mind that told him Face should have been back hours ago. There was nothing unusual about Face staying out late, or even just all night, and it was his prerogative to do so. If Hannibal could schedule a month’s filming, or BA accompany the youth centre Little League team to the state finals, then Face was allowed to carve out his own private life whenever possible.
It still didn’t quiet the feeling in the pit of Hannibal’s stomach, though.
For all his foibles Face wasn’t unpredictable, at least, not to Hannibal. He didn’t really try to be, either. Face didn’t really care what he was allowed to do, but he did care about other people, and he didn’t usually set out to be a pain in the ass. That didn’t mean he wasn’t, but Face was, at his core, a good person who wasn’t out to hurt anybody.
Hannibal tried not to watch the door.
______
Face wished he’d worn his gun. He didn't like to wear it ‘casually’, but sometimes he felt like someone was trying to give him a sign. The men had come prepared for a kidnapping and cuffed him, and now he sat opposite one of them, his back against a mesh screen that had been installed behind the cab. They were clearly used to taking people somewhere they didn’t want to go, and since they’d taken Face in lieu of the woman they didn’t seem to picky about their victim. Face wasn’t sure if that was more or less worrying. He’d heard her screaming and rushed in, no questions, and he took some comfort from the fact she’d escaped, but it still left him in the back of a van going god knew where.
He also wasn’t sure how long they drove, but it felt like an age. When they eventually stopped and the men hauled him out it was dark, and the cool air smelled of earth and pine. They were, at any rate, well out of the city and into a forest. The trees on either side of the road were barely visible in the moonlight, though up ahead a few orange lights burned in the darkness.
The tarmac ended just past the van, and Face was marched up a gravel track towards the lights.
If, for some reason, one of Hannibal’s scripts had called for a ‘sinister scout jamboree’ then Face would be the ideal location scout. The lights had turned out to be fires lit in designated areas between long log cabins, though the people sitting around them were adults. They were all dressed in matching green overalls of the kind the mechanics wore in the army, and their hair was cropped short. Face got an odd shiver of unwelcome familiarity. They all turned to watch in silence as Face passed.
They continued through the camp to a path that wound into the trees, lit by intermittent lanterns tied to the branches. Face tried to discreetly test the cuffs but the men’s grips were almost painful on his arms. He’d most likely end up injuring himself to no effect on his captors. There was also the small matter of where he’d go. Running blindly into a dark forest was hardly a great escape plan. For all he knew it stretched a hundred miles in each direction, or it was just outside of LA and he could run in the opposite direction, or break his leg and die within ten feet of the highway and never know it. And who knew, maybe the kidnappers just wanted to surprise him with ice cream cake. Stranger things had happened.
He was brought to a cabin that stood alone in the darkness, the edges of the closed shutters glowing softly from firelight within. The branches of the surrounding trees groaned and whispered in the breeze that shivered across the back of Face’s neck.
It was never ice cream cake.
_____
‘The most important thing is act like you’re supposed to be there,’ Face’s voice was in BA’s head, that gentle, calming tone he always used when he wanted you to think he had everything under control. BA did not particularly feel in control, his palms were damp and his heart was beating a little fast. ‘Remember,’ Face’s memory continued, ‘most people are too busy with their own shit to worry about you.’
BA wasn’t a character guy and usually he wasn’t expected to be. He didn’t mind backup, standing silently behind Face or Hannibal or even Murdock, glowering silently at every question directed his way so he wouldn’t have to think of something on the spot and spoil everything. He was occasionally jealous, the others made it seem so easy, and there he was sweating like a pig at a BBQ as he passed through the front doors of the VA, but he’d long come to terms with the fact that his brain just didn’t work that way. BA just had a different kind of intelligence, one more suited to logic and reason, ideal for building a light aircraft out of abandoned machine parts in a barn while under fire, less so for undercover missions.
They were their own little continuum, the four of them, himself at one end, Murdock on the other. Secretly BA thought Hannibal was more towards Murdock, Face more towards BA, and together they made the perfect team for dealing with just about anything. When one of them was out of action it made things harder. Not impossible, but like trying to work with a broken arm.
It would have been Hannibal but Hannibal was trying to scam people over the phone, something BA was even less good at then cover work. Murdock was better at it than Hannibal, but he was stuck in the VA, and it had fallen to BA to get him out. Face would have been ideal, but if Face was around none of this would be happening anyway.
In light of BA’s limitations as a scam artist they’d gone simple. It was just an envelope. All BA had to do was get it into Murdock’s hands and Murdock would do the rest. So he’d dressed in blue overalls and had a faded blue baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. He tried to keep his head up.
‘Don’t look like you’re trying to inconspicuous. The more you look like you’re trying to hide, the more obvious you’ll get. You’re supposed to be there,’ Face’s voice soothed. The lessons had taken place a long time ago but BA clung to them. The last time had been much more complicated, and BA had been the only one who could do it. Face’s voice had literally been in his ear, then, over an earpiece just in case things got difficult. Face had never, to BA’s knowledge, been forced to design and build a functional tank out of sports equipment on his own, and he was fairly sure Face could probably make something that looked like a tank. Murdock would create something that looked nothing like a tank but somehow functioned as one. Hannibal would make a tank that worked precisely once before it exploded, but he’d make that once count.
The nurse at the front desk looked up as he approached, barely reacting. She looked tired and bored, not surprising since she’d probably sat there all night and was getting ready to go home at 7am, which was in roughly five minutes. BA was sympathetic, he’d been woken by Hannibal at 1am and hadn’t slept since.
‘Be polite’, Face’s memory cautioned, ‘don’t give anybody any reason to remember you. And be quick, don’t give them time to remember details’.
BA was difficult to ignore, he made an impression and he knew it. Most of the time that’s what he wanted, but now he wished he could fold up on himself until he’d all but vanished.
“Good morning,” He smiled politely, holding up the envelope, “I got a delivery for Captain H. M. Murdock.”
“Just leave it on the desk,” The nurse replied, gesturing vaguely to an in-tray.
“Um, sorry ma’am, special delivery,” BA pressed, “it needs to be in his hands by 7am.”
The nurse’s eyes flicked up to the clock on the far wall and then back to BA, “Sorry, we can’t allow non-authorised personnel into the hospital. Just leave it here, we’ll get it to him.”
BA shifted, hesitating. This is why Face did this, he would have just glided through security doors like he owned the hospital and nobody would even blink.
‘You’re a busy man, you have places to be. They’re busy people with better things to do than argue with you’, Face’s voice urged, ‘keep going, they’ll do anything to get rid of you’.
“I really need to make sure this gets to him,” BA pleaded, “I’m not supposed to leave it anywhere.”
The nurse heaved a quiet sigh and studied him a moment, then looked at the envelope.
‘And remember, everyone hates their boss.’ Face’s voice said.
“My boss is already on my ass,” BA said, making puppy eyes, “He’s looking for any excuse to put me out of a job. Please?”
The nurse tutted, sighed, and sucked her teeth, “Look, how about I take it to him myself, ok?” She looked at the clock again, then stood. “I’m just about to finish my shift.” She held out her hand for the envelope, “I’ll hand it right to him, I promise.”
“Well I… ok, I’m sure that’ll be ok,” BA smiled, as relieved as she was to get out of there, “thank you ma’am, sorry about the trouble.” He handed the envelope over and touched his cap, walking out as another nurse arrived at the front desk.
“I just have to take this to Murdock,” The first nurse told the second just as BA was leaving. He let the doors fall closed behind him and hurried back to the van.
Ten minutes later the sound of alarms heralded Murdock throwing open the passenger door and flinging himself inside the van.
“Hit it!” Murdock said, grinning wildly as he slammed the door closed.
BA accelerated away, grumbling, “Real subtle, man.”
“Well sorry, usually I have a little help,” Murdock replied, glancing into the back seats, “so uh, where is Faceman and why am I suddenly getting the jeebie heebies?”
BA didn’t immediately reply and Murdock sighed deeply. When BA moved to speak Murdock lifted his hand.
“No, no, wait,” Murdock took a slow, deep breath in and then blew it out slowly. He lowered his hand, “Ok, let me have it.”
BA hesitated, then explained what had happened. There was a brief silence in the van.
“Face has been missing for 10 hours and I’m only just hearing about it?!” Murdock suddenly burst out, startling BA so much he almost swerved into the oncoming lane. Fortunately nothing was on the other side.
“Jesus!” BA exclaimed, throwing him a glare, “there wasn’t anything you could do!”
“Well- why…” Murdock half turned in his seat, scowling, “why didn’t you tell me?!”
BA paused to take a calming breath. It was easy to get heated, but BA knew he wasn’t shouting because he was angry. “Hannibal figured at least one of us should get some sleep.”
_____
Face wished he’d tried harder to escape. He’d tried, obviously, but now he wished he’d risked a broken arm, or getting lost in the woods, or running right into a bear. He’d been taken to a metal shed just large enough to stand in, a bar across the door locked in place with a padlock. By lantern-light he’d been forced to his knees while a blank eyed woman gripped him painfully by the chin yanked his his head up. One of the men pulled his head further back by his hair as the woman forced his mouth open, pressing the rim of a bottle to his lips. She gazed down into his eyes, nothing in her expression as she tipped the flask and the thick, sour liquid poured into his mouth. It slicked down his throat and he gagged, bringing some of it back up over her hand, but she didn’t react at all, just continued to slowly pour the rest in. Once it was empty she held his mouth shut to force him to swallow the last of it. Then she turned, removing the heavy bar across the shack door and Face was pulled to his feet and thrown inside.
Inside the shack it was cold smelled like mould, the metal walls were damp to the touch. There was barely enough room to turn around. The taste of the stuff was still in his mouth, his tongue was tingling and his lips were numb. He’d considered making himself sick, but that could cause more problems than it solved. He could hear the bar scrape across the metal door, setting his teeth on edge. All he could do was wait.
____
Hannibal had been on the phone for hours. He tried to massage away the headache settling behind his eyes to no avail. He breathed slowly, waiting out the loop of Clair de Lune that sounded like it was being played on computer doing an impression of a kazoo.
‘How do you do this?’ He silently asked Face, who wasn’t there and who he desperately wished was, and not because he usually handled the bureaucracy. He imagined the smug little grin Face got when his brilliance was being acknowledged, and the casual little shrug he did to pretend like he didn’t work hard and it didn’t really matter anyway.
Hannibal was relaxed but he wasn’t patient. He liked to prod, to provoke, to needle. He liked the cat and mouse, especially when the other person thought they were the cat. Face preferred to observe, to subvert, wait for his moment. A sniper, with a gun or with words. Moreover, when Hannibal put on a disguise he became the disguise. It was a character with a voice and a name and a backstory. When Face pretended to be somebody he became nobody, a name to forget, a half remembered face and a description along the lines of ‘uhhh, blond, maybe?’. Face could slip between roles like it was nothing because it was nothing, they were all paper masks to be used and thrown away. Hannibal needed time, he wanted people to remember his performance. Face only wanted to be remembered for himself.
Murdock was better at the scams than Hannibal was, he shifted between characters with ease, but left to his own devices he drew too much attention to himself, made himself too memorable. He was often the perfect foil for Face, though, especially as a distraction. Hannibal liked to take credit for his expert team assembly but even he, in the depths of his heart, knew it had been mostly a matter of luck. He was good at reading people, no question, but to read them you had to meet them, and he had been particularly lucky not only to meet three exceptional people but that they fit together so well. He wasn’t going to give them up without a fight, even if he found himself up against the most infuriating phone tree he’d ever encountered.
The receiver was hot against Hannibal’s ear, but it didn’t matter how long it took, he wasn’t going to hang up. He didn’t care if he had to speak to every employee of the DMV from janitor to director if it got him a name to go with a vehicle registration. Face’s dinner companion had seen the van leave with Face inside. Benny was a friend from the orphanage, a good kid who’d had a bad time. Face helped him back on his feet and into a job. Benny’s first paycheck was spent on a celebration dinner. Hannibal liked Benny, especially since he’d hauled ass across half of LA following the instructions Face had given him some time ago in order to get into contact with the team.
Then Hannibal had to wait for the DMV to open, and then waste even more time talking to them.
“And you say I never do the dirty jobs,” Face’s imaginary smug smile on his imaginary smug face was back, “I’d love to see BA trying to wrangle the DMV…”
“No you wouldn’t,” Hannibal answered accidentally out loud.
Imaginary Face shrugged like he wasn’t convinced. Hannibal had a sneaking suspicion Face would have had the names already.
“Of course,” imaginary Face said, “I’d have just called Cathy already and we’d be on our way.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “if you’re so smart why don’t you tell me where you are?”
“Sadly, because I’m not real, I’m only as smart as you.” Imaginary Face dropped onto to the couch, still grinning.
Hannibal frowned at himself, then closed his eyes and massaged his forehead again. The little brat was sassing him in his own head. He really needed to sleep. When he opened his eyes again the couch was still empty and the room was silent. He shifted the receiver to the other ear with a heavy sigh.
_____
Face’s stomach hurt. He was sweating, shivering, balled up as much as he could in the tight space as his muscles cramped painfully. His eyes felt like they were about to burst open. He breathed out a whimper that sounded distant, like his limbs were floating apart from each other. Everything felt strange and painful, he couldn’t be sure where he was. The darkness around him was infinite and the pain filled every inch.
“What was even in that stuff?” Murdock’s voice spoke gently to him, somewhere off in the darkness. Face forced open his eyes and saw nothing. He closed them again, and he could see Murdock sitting on his bed at the VA, Billy curled up asleep beside him. When Face reached out to him he punched the cold metal wall of the shed.
“Don’t do that,” Murdock winced.
“Help me,” Face begged, “let me out.”
“I can’t,” Murdock said regretfully, “you know I would if I could.”
“It hurts…”
“I know, buddy,” Murdock sighed, “it’s gonna be ok, I promise. You just gotta hold on until I get there.”
It didn’t matter if Face opened his eyes or not. “It hurts, please…”
“I’m just a hallucination,” Murdock said, “I’m sorry.”
Face broke into a strangled laugh that was nearly a sob, “aren’t I supposed to be seeing god?”
Murdock tutted, “I see how it is. You join one cult and suddenly we’re not good enough for you.”
“I didn’t join,” Face protested, whimpering as his stomach cramped again.
“Then why did you drink the magic syrup?”
Face attempted to glare, but he had no idea if he was really doing it of it it was a dream.
“You gotta be strong,” BA stood by the van, pieces of it floating around him, “when the going gets tough, the tough get tougher.”
“I can’t…” Face gritted, “I can’t. Please…” He hissed in pain, squirming against the damp metal.
“Of course you can, you been through worse than this.”
“I- please, B, please…” Face begged, reaching out only to hit the wall again.
“We’re coming for you, I promise,” BA said, “just hold on.”
“You don’t know that,” Face sniffled, “you’re not real.”
“I know it cause you know it,” BA said, “An’ when I get there I’m gonna show ‘em what pain really means.”
“I just want to go home,” Face said. He was hot and cold, shaking and unable to move. He felt like a drill was being bored through his abdomen.
“You gotta focus,” Hannibal crouched down in front of him, meeting his eyes, “if you want to get out of this you need to think.”
“I can’t,” Face whimpered, “I can’t, it hurts…”
“Sure you can,” Murdock said encouragingly, standing up to come closer. Billy lifted his head to watch him, wagging his tail. Murdock sat on the floor beside Face, “you’re the smartest guy in this forest.”
“When an opponent's bigger than you, you rely on your wits.” BA cast Face an appraising look, “an’ most guys are bigger than you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Face asked, frowning.
“It means my great aunt Clementine got more muscles than you do.” BA replied.
“Are we really gonna do this now?” Murdock asked BA.
Hannibal suddenly clicked his fingers in front of Face’s face, making him flinch.
“Think.” Hannibal said firmly. “What did I always tell you to do in interrogations?”
Face drew his brows together, trying to concentrate. “T-talk.”
Hannibal broke into a pleased smile, “Right.”
“Talk and- and don’t stop,” Face swallowed, “tell them anything except… except…”
“What they want to know,” Hannibal said.
“But they don’t want anything.”
“Everyone wants something,” Hannibal replied.
“They want to break you down, make you compliant,” BA said. “They don’t know you’re a commando.”
“And there’s no reason to let them know,” Hannibal said.
“As far as they’re concerned you’re a snappily dressed young professional, ripe for conversion.” Murdock said, “they’ll never see you coming.”
Face panted out a groan, “I can’t. I can’t!”
“Maybe he should just wait for us,” Murdock said, voice full of concern, “he’s hurting so much.”
“It’ll be worse if he doesn’t get himself out of here soon,” Hannibal said, clicking his fingers in front of Face’s face again.
Face flinched, “Can you not?”
“Then concentrate,” Hannibal said sternly, “what’s the first rule of a great performance?”
Face hesitated, “I don’t… what?”
“Ooh! I know!” Murdock threw up his hand, waving and waggling his fingers. Billy hopped down off the bed and trotted over to sniff curiously at him. “I know! I know, pick me! Me!”
“This ain’t about you,” BA admonished, “so shut up an’ let him think.”
“I am him!” Murdock protested, “I’m a projection of his own thoughts, a perception in the absence of an external stimulus that has the compelling sense of reality.” He paused, then grinned at Face, “You’ve been reading my books again.”
“I was bored.” Face said.
Hannibal huffed a sigh, “kiddo, I really need you to stop the side show and focus.”
“Hey,” Murdock scowled.
“How do you give a performance everyone will remember?” Hannibal urged.
Face frowned, panting through the agony in his stomach. “Give… give the people what they want.”
Hannibal grinned proudly, “and what do they want?”
“They wanna b-break me,” Face said, swallowing.
“And what’s the secret?”
“They can’t.” Face said, a tiny, trembling smile creeping over his lips.
“That’a boy,” Hannibal stood, smiling, “remember to project.”
Face took a deep breath and struggled upright, using the walls as support. He paused, panting, then drew another breath, screaming as loud as he could and hammering on the door. “Help! Help me! Make it stop, please!” He paused to breathe, “I can’t take it any more! I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything you want, just let me out, please! Please!” He stopped and slumped back while the apparitions gave him a round of applause.
“What if nobody’s out there?” Face asked.
“They’re out there,” Hannibal replied.
Face heard the padlock unlocking and the bolt being drawn back. The sunlight hurt as it streamed in, making him temporarily blind as he was dragged out of the shack. He kept promising them anything they wanted, selling his compliance.
Burning up, drenched in sweat and vomit, his clothes streaked in grime from the shack, when he was hosed down in cold water it was almost a relief.
_____
They’d got a name that led them to a man who pointed them to another man who’d told them about a cult in the woods. They made their own weird drugs up there, they said, but they were getting their supplies from somewhere. Benny had been able to point them in the direction of several people from his bad old days, and they’d followed the supply line until they’d found a location. Now Hannibal was staring at a map of a formerly abandoned camp ground in a national park spread out over the dining table.
Murdock sidled up to the table, BA following him. They paused at the edge of Hannibal's vision.
“So me and BA have been having a confab, a tete-a-tete,” Murdock waved his hands vaguely, “throwing around the ol’ idea meatball, if you will-”
“We got a plan.” BA interrupted gruffly.
Hannibal lifted his eyes from the map to look at them.
“Let’s say we, uh, well, I’m sure you’ve got some very elaborate something going on,” Murdock stirred his hand in the air over the map, “but let’s say we just drive right in, bust their shit up and take Face back by force.” He smiled hopefully.
Hannibal regarded them in silence for a long moment, then wet his lips, nodded slightly, and gave a tiny shrug. “Yup.” He nodded again and headed towards the front door.
Murdock shared a glance with BA.
“The man from Del Monte, he say…” Murdock echoed Hannibal’s small nod, “yup.”
BA replied by following Hannibal to the door.
_____
Back on the highway into LA, Face sitting dazedly in his usual seat, shirtless and wearing Hannibal’s jacket, everyone finally started to relax. The cult hadn't given them much resistance, save for a few overzealous guards who'd be nursing bruises for a while. A call to the cops later would ensure a drug bust that would likely break up the cult for good. Most importantly, Face was safe again and the cult would think twice before kidnapping anyone else.
“So what’s with the new tattoo?” Hannibal asked lightly, referring to the words ‘LUST’ painted sloppily across Face’s chest.
“Oh,” Face frowned down at himself, “That’s my official diagnosis.”
“Hm,” Hannibal nodded, “well, it’s nothing we didn’t already suspect,” he said sympathetically.
“Yeah, but it’s nice to have some official confirmation,” Face said, “plus it’s short enough to go on the business cards.” He sighed, “I was a little disappointed, actually, I was going for avarice.”
“You think a drugged out band of cultists squatting in the woods can spell avarice?” Hannibal asked.
“Plus it wouldn’t fit,” Murdock said, shaking his head, “they’d have had to hyphenate it onto your belly.”
“That’s the second time someone’s called me scrawny today,” Face protested, then paused, “or, wait, did they?”
“No, no, not scrawny,” Murdock said, “Lean.”
Face cast him a suspicious side-glance.
“They probably just flipped a coin,” BA said, “you must have maxed out all their diagnostic scores.”
Face chuckled, “Well I always did excel on tests.” He fell silent a moment, frowning at the van door, “Uh, Murdock… how do you know when the hallucinations stop?”
“Hm?” Murdock frowned at him, “you still seeing things?”
“Well…” Face shrugged a little nervously, “just how do I know this is real?”
“Hm. Well, can you see Billy?”
“No.”
Murdock shrugged, “then this is real. Billy’s invisible,” he added, as if Face needed reminding, “so if you can see him, that means something’s going wrong.”
“I saw him earlier.” Face said.
Murdock nodded. “See? It never fails.”
Face shuffled down in his seat. “I still feel like shit.”
“Well, if you see Billy again or you just need to throw up, let me know.” Murdock said, “we got you.”
Face smiled and closed his eyes, pulling the jacket around himself. “You always do.”