Do We Dream When We’re Dead, Lazarus?

Copyright 2000
Author: emmastark
Rated: R ~ m/m slash (Face/Murdock), adult situations, language.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and Universal.
Archive: Yes
Warning: Slash, adult situations, language.
Comments: Please
Summary: An answer to the A-Slash Missing Scene Challenge #1, Scenario 3: When Murdock is reunited with the team, he hugs and kisses BA, and he shakes Hannibal’s hand warmly. But when he goes down to greet Face, Face holds out his hands to fend Murdock off. Why does he do this? At this point, the episode cuts away from the two men, so what happens next?

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Do We Dream When We’re Dead, Lazarus?
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…And when he thus had spoken,
he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth!
And he that was dead came forth…

~John XI, 43-44~

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It was over, but it wasn’t over.

Hannibal sat in a hard chair, chain-smoking cigars, one after the other. The air in the front room was thick and heavy with smoke.

BA had the shakes. He was sitting at the dining table with tools spread out all around him. He’d destroyed a toaster oven when they got to the place, throwing it against the wall. Now he was trying to put it back together, but he kept dropping tools. The pieces of the toaster oven, the wires and the racks and the metal sides clattered in his hands. Just adrenaline, wearing off. They all knew that. Biological. They’d fought and flown a thousand times. More than that probably, and lived with what came after. But it wasn’t always easy.

Murdock was exhausted, but there was no sleeping. No sleep. He lay on the couch, attempting to memorize the terrain of the plaster ceiling. Plot a course from the light fixture to the smoke detector, avoiding the earthquake crack valley and hook mountain. The rest of his attention centered on Face.

Face couldn’t sit down. He circled the room fast, angrily, like it was a cage. It felt like a cage to all of them, but Murdock suspected any place would be too small for Face today. His body was taut, his movements jerky. He kept running into things, bashing into them, careening off, moving, moving, moving. He’d been doing it for two hours.

Murdock wanted to shake him. Scream at him, grab him, shake him, hold him. They’d come so damn close to losing everything. His heart couldn’t take it. He swore it couldn’t, but he could hear it beating still, pounding in his ears. Traitor heart.

Murdock wanted to hold Face in his arms.

Face wouldn’t let Murdock touch him.

He pushed him away.

BA muttered angrily under his breath again and threw a piece of the toaster oven across the room. It clattered against the door, dropped to the floor.

Face stopped.

There was a terrible look in his eyes, like when you’ve hit a dog with your car and you get out of your car and look into the dog’s eyes and it doesn’t understand what’s happening to it, only that it hurts. And it looks at you.

Murdock stood up.

"Face," Hannibal said. But he didn’t know what to say.

BA pressed his hands, black with grease, into his temples.

Face bolted into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Murdock followed, wrenched open the bedroom door, and plunged into the darkness.
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The room was black. Murdock stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Listening.
When Face crashed into him, he wasn’t ready, and they tumbled to the floor.

Face was on top of him, then, scrabbling on top of him, pressing into him. He tore at Murdock’s clothes. Murdock’s t-shirt ripped, and Face’s mouth was on him, kissing, not kissing, pressing hard into him, into his cheek, his throat, his chest. That wet mouth was not tender.

Murdock reached up for Face. He could see a little now. There were stars outside the window and maybe a yard light. He could see Face’s eyes. He reached up and tried to grab on to Face, tried to help him get closer, because it seemed like he wanted to be closer. Wanted to be all over him, on him, in him, suddenly.

Murdock could feel Face’s cock, hard, hard, through the tough fabric of his jeans. Face was pushing with his hips, shoving himself into Murdock, making small, desperate, unintelligible noises in the back of his throat.

Murdock tried to stroke Face’s back, touch his cheek, ease him a little, but he was frantic. He was all hands and tearing. His shirt was half off, and he pulled off one of Murdock’s sneakers. It hit a lamp when he threw it and the lamp shattered. Murdock’s jacket was gone.

Abruptly, the pressure of Face’s cock against Murdock’s thigh eased. Face wailed like he’d lost something, then started pushing into Murdock again.

They were both gasping.

Face kept pushing into Murdock, but that noise, that desperate noise, kept coming from his throat, and there was something about his eyes, how they gleamed in the dim, reflected light.

Murdock grabbed Face’s wrists. He wasn’t really stronger than Face. They were pretty evenly matched when it came to strength. But Murdock did have a few inches and about fifteen pounds on his friend and lover. He used it.
He hooked one leg around Face’s legs and flipped him over on his back. Then he held him there, pressing his wrists into the floor over his head, letting the weight of his body work against Face’s struggling.
Face bucked, but Murdock held on.

After awhile, Face was still beneath him. Taut, rigid, but still.

Murdock breathed. His nose was tucked into the crook of Face’s neck, and he could smell some kind of harsh, disinfecting soap on his hair. From the prisoner’s last shower. Cold sweat.

"I can’t even…" Face started, but his voice broke a little.

"Shhh…" Murdock murmured. "Shhh…"

"Better trade me in for a new model. One who can keep it up for more than two minutes at a time."

"Stop it, Face! Stop…"

"Maybe it’s just the circumstances. That are getting me down. So to speak. Maybe dying will do that to a person. Someone should do a study. Impotence before execution. Impotence after execution." Face laughed hollowly.

"Baby," Murdock said softly, desperately. "Darlin’…"

"While I was dead, I dreamed about you."

"Baby, you… you weren’t dead. Not really."

"You were flying. There wasn’t any plane or chopper or anything, just you, flying. You had your hands in front of you like Superman."

"Face…"

"There was a storm all around you. Black clouds and lightning and everything. Wind. You were flying away from me. I said I had to follow you, I had to catch up with you, I told Hannibal and he said ‘That’s okay, Lieutenant, I’ve got a plan.’ And BA built me these wings so I could follow you. But when I got up there, in the sky, you were gone. The storm was gone, everything was gone. BA and Hannibal were gone. I was all alone in the empty sky. And the sun reached down its fist and hit me and melted my wings and I was still alone and I was falling. You were gone, I didn’t know where you’d gone. And I was alone.
Falling."

Murdock kept hold of Face’s wrists. But he rubbed his cheek against Face’s cheek. "Ain’t alone no more, baby.

"Pretty stupid dream, huh?"

"Not stupid."

"Stupid. Fucking stupid. I asked Father Maghill one time, I asked him, ‘Do you dream when you’re dead?’ and he said absolutely not, no dreaming. We were reading about Lazarus. He was dead for four days before he woke up. I know all kinds of useless shit. The exchange rate for yen to pesos last Wednesday morning. How to strip an M-16. No, that’s useful. All the words to ‘Bad, Bad Leroy Brown’."
"Stop it! Just stop it!" Murdock lifted Face’s hands off the floor and smashed them back down again. "Stop, okay?"

Their breathing was loud in the empty room.

They’d stopped at a liquor store and got a bottle after. They’d all had a shot, straight from the bottle, even BA. More than a shot. They’d needed it.

Murdock could smell the whiskey on Face’s breath.

"So, where do we go from here?" Face asked quietly. His mouth was near Murdock’s ear.
"You could buy me an ice cream cone."

Face snorted. "Your great Casanova would have to borrow a quarter. Dead people don’t pay cash."

"What do you think I want from you, Face?"

"You should be able to expect…"

"Face, this is me! Me! Murdock the Mad, remember? Your lover? Your friend?"

"I’m not…" Face broke off, turned away.

Murdock readjusted his hold on Face’s wrists, held them still with one hand, used the other to turn Face’s gaze back into his own.

"Baby, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you scared, I’ve seen you crying. I’ve seen you sitting in your own shit, and I’ve cleaned you up. I’ve held your head when you were scarfing your cookies and I’ve cleaned you up then, too. I’ve seen you… hurt. Bad hurt. And you’ve seen me. Scared, crying, covered in shit, covered in sick, bleeding, out of my fucking mind screaming fucking scared shitless. You held me, bandaged me up, pulled me back from the edge. I remember, you know. The worst times. That was part of the problem, I couldn’t forget the worst parts. Everything else went in and out like a fucking kaleidoscope, but the worst shit was clear as water through everything. I could see it with my eyes closed."

Murdock closed his eyes. Rested his forehead on Face’s forehead.

"I remember when I was real bad, and you found me and took me out of that first place, because those bastards were… I remember. You carrying me through the lobby of the Continental drooling Thorazine, wrapped in a dirty white sheet. They had brown rugs. I remember I told you that it couldn’t be that good a hotel if they had brown rugs. You told me that the rugs weren’t brown, they were burnt sienna. Do you remember?"

Face didn’t say anything. But Murdock could feel him nod slightly beneath him.

"You carried me up the stairs and into your room. You took off our clothes and turned on the water. I couldn’t stand up. They’d been keeping me in restraints and I was pumped full of drugs. You laid me in the bathtub and washed me. I don’t know what I looked like, but I know what I must have looked like."

"Should have gotten to you before…"

"You were running. All you did was run, that first year. I know that."

"You were crying. You were so thin, I could see your ribs, just like in the camps."

"I was covered in shit and bedsores. My head was on Mars. Worse than after the camps. My head…"

"You were alone. We’d left you alone."

"You came for me," Murdock said.>
"You came for me," Face said.

Murdock nodded against Face’s cheek. They both needed to shave, and their cheeks rasped against each other comfortingly. "I came for you. Baby, you can’t do nuthin’ that could make me turn away from you. Did you turn away from me? I love you more than anything. Anything."

They laid there, on the bedroom floor. There was an odd shape under the bed, and Murdock wondered whether it was a big dust bunny or somebody’s old sock, left over.

"I know everything about you," he said softly. The words felt like they were pulled out of a deep, true place in his chest. "I know everything about you and I still love you. I’ll love you always, and because I love you, you will never be alone."

Murdock could feel everything start to hit him, then. He’d kept it together through everything. Relatively speaking. Now he started to shake, just like BA had.

He felt Face carefully untangle one of his wrists from his grasp. Face stroked his rough cheek gently with his fingertips.

"You okay?"

Murdock laughed a little. It was definitely a sock. Argyle. He could see the pattern in it. "I could hear the shots, you know. From the boat."

Face tucked an arm under Murdock’s shoulder, rolled them over on their sides. Held him close. The room was cool, they were feeling it now, and they pressed close to each other. Carefully. Gently. Face stroked Murdock’s thin, dark hair back, out of his eyes.

"I ain’t leavin’ you no more, muchacho."

"This isn’t… will they… let you stay?" "I’m not going back."

"I think Doctor Richter would miss you. You’re his… favorite patient."

"Would you miss me?"

Face nodded. "You’re my favorite patient, too," he said.

Murdock kissed Face’s eyebrow, then his eyelid. His cheek, the side of his nose. His lips. "You think we could get up off the floor now, doc? That sock is looking at me funny."

They untangled themselves slowly and incompletely. They didn’t want to let go of each other. No more letting go of each other. No more falling. No more dying. No more alone.

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Murdock kept his hand on Face’s shoulder as they walked back out into the front room.

Hannibal wasn’t smoking anymore. One of the windows was open, letting the smoke out. Letting the cold, fresh air into the room.

BA was sitting on the end of the couch, cradling his toaster oven. Murdock could have said many things about that, but he kept his peace. This was not the night for teasing the Big Guy.

This was a night for holding onto what you had, and being damn grateful.

Face was a little shaky, a little pale, too, now that Murdock had him out in the light. Maybe dying will do that to you.

Murdock guided Face over toward the couch. He let his hand brush against Hannibal’s shoulder as they passed him.

Murdock settled himself on the far end of the couch, prodding BA a little with his one bare foot. He wondered what they looked like, suddenly, he and Face, but he didn’t really care. They were safe, now. Together and safe. He let his toes rest against the Big Guy’s warm side, and BA, for once, didn’t bat him away.

Murdock reached for Face and pulled him down to sit between his legs. When he leaned back, Face curled up onto the couch and rested his head on Murdock’s chest, his mostly bare chest, since his t-shirt had mostly been ripped away. Murdock wrapped his arms around Face, felt Face’s warm, living breath over his heart.

They all fell asleep out there eventually. In the light. In each other’s sight.

Together.

~fin~

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