Notes: Special thanks to Cath and Mel,
for their help on episode details. And
particular thanks to Witchbaby, who answered a thousand questions for me (from
corvettes to Frankies) with great patience.
Anything wrong despite their help is on my own head... The second half of the title is a line from
the song “Little Green” by Joni Mitchell.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
What Frankie Saw
~or~
And
Sometimes There’ll Be Sorrow
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Something was wrong.
Hannibal rolled down his window and lit a cigar as BA drove them up the Florida freeway. Standard procedure, after a job was finished. And this job ~was~ finished.
It just didn’t feel that way.
He turned in his seat.
Frankie was in the very back, looking out the window into the dusky evening.
Murdock was... watching Face.
Face... looked wired. His left hand was clenching and unclenching in his lap. But when he saw he was being looked at, he relaxed his hand. Smiled a smooth, practiced half-smile. Maybe a little wild around the edges. A twenty years ago, off-kilter, jungle sort of smile.
Something was wrong.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
The fool was
bouncing in his seat like a yo-yo.
BA watched
through the rearview mirror as Murdock took off his cap, ran his hand over his
wild hair, tore at the material with nervous fingers, then pulled it on again.
Looking at Face
the whole time.
BA sighed and
focused back on the road.
Nothing was ever
easy with those two.
They’d come back
together after so long. And that had
had its own travail. Its own
heartache.
While it lasted,
they’d been happy. Happier than he’d
ever seen them. Happier even than
Vietnam, maybe, in the way folks can be when they really ~appreciate~ what
they’ve got.
Then they died.
Maybe it wasn’t
the dying itself (although that had seemed to shake Face most of all of them,
somehow, the dying and their coming back again). There was Stockwell, too, and trying to hide everything from
him. Being watched all the time. Face acting the playboy, and the two of them
living apart. Moving away from
California. Faceman was meant to live
in warm places, and Langley was cold.
Cold and hard. Murdock being
away from Richter for the first time didn’t help, either.
BA glanced back
again. At Murdock and at Face.
Pressure had
been bad on all of them. They were
never meant to be caged. Had been
before. Survived. But they weren’t ~meant~ to be caged.
They were
passing by a roadside tavern when Face double-tapped on his window.
BA glanced at
Hannibal, and Hannibal nodded. Biding
his time, knowing Hannibal. Man wasn’t blind. Knew when something was wrong with any of
them. BA turned into the crowded gravel
parking lot.
Face was
standing up even before the van rolled to a stop.
“How about a
drink, Hannibal?”
Face’s words
were cool and measured. Not
hurried. But there was as much movement
inside his stillness, somehow, as in Murdock’s anxious fluttering. Hannibal smiled genially back at Face. “Don’t mind if I do, Lieutenant. Guys?”
The place looked
hard. Probably wouldn’t have milk.
BA growled under
his breath.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Murdock climbed
out of the van, looking warily at Face.
He felt sick.
The one benefit
there’d been to madness was the right to say absolutely fucking anything.
But all they had
were lies, now.
How could you
not tell me?
He felt sick.
They hadn’t been
free all these years, but they hadn’t been locked up, either. Not like this. Stockwell’s swell suburban prison, gilt with false promises. Trapped by the hope of freedom.
They’d been true
to themselves, but now they played their roles like careful actors who’d only
been given their own lines and cues and weren’t sure how the play would end.
He’d been hoping
for a comedy. ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’
maybe, or ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ A few laughs, some close calls, but everybody who was meant for
each other gets together in the end.
He looked at
Face, striding away across the gravel, toward the Blue Pheasant.
It was beginning
to feel a lot like Hamlet.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Frankie stared
suspiciously up at the sign for the Blue Pheasant Tavern. The bird’s blue and green neon tail feathers
winked off and on, off and on, and when they were off it looked like a naked
chicken up there. A really ugly naked
chicken.
Face had found
what was probably the only shitkicker bar in Florida, but Frankie wasn’t really
surprised. The guys were kind of
old. But there was something reckless
about them under everything else.
Something dangerous, even.
Don Henley was
howling on the jukebox as they went in, and the place was full. Smelled like sweat and sawdust and cheap
beer. Lots of guys. Construction workers, maybe.
It figured.
Somebody’d
strung big loops of white Christmas lights by the rafters, but it was still
pretty dark inside. Clouds of white
cigarette smoke drifted over the lights and made everything kind of hazy.
They sat down at
a table near the door, except for Face who went toward the bar at the back to
order their drinks.
Murdock was
acting real jumpy. He was never a real
chill kind of guy, cool when it came to it, but... well... the Nighthawk kind
of had his own stuff going on. But he’d
been acting strange since they’d been in Florida. Stranger. All serious one
minute, the way he got sometimes, then... weird.
With normal
people, you could just say, like, what’s goin’ on? But the guys had all kinds of old school military stuff going on
with them. They never said stuff right
out. It was all kind of in codes. Saying one thing, meaning something else
that he’d probably never figure out since he wasn’t some macho Army green beret
Special Forces veteran who’d ~been~ there.
Not that he was
bitter about it or anything.
He grinned at
himself ruefully. What the hell,
anyway. Rather be back blowing stuff up
in tinseltown, but he’d end up with some stories to tell his grandkids. Maybe that was enough.
He’d pretty much
given up on ever understanding them at all.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Face moved
easily through the crowd. Light on his
feet.
The music was
loud, real loud, and that was good.
Prevented thinking.
He didn’t want
to think.
Women looked at
him as he walked through the crowd to the bar.
And that was good, too.
Prevented
thinking.
He smiled
automatically and slowed down a little.
Lengthened his stride, so his jeans curved tight around his ass with
every step.
He could feel
men’s eyes on him, too, jealous and aggressive, but that was part of it as
well. The whole package. Lust and anger and that fine edge of danger
he used to live on like a junkie lives on heroin. That used to help him put everything he couldn’t bear away for
awhile.
Murdock had been
weaning him off the stuff somehow.
Gently, and he hadn’t missed it.
Not when he had Murdock in his arms.
Not when he had Murdock.
But Murdock was
one of the things he was trying not to think about.
One of the
things.
Face
smiled. That smile that was hunter and
dogs and fox, all mixed up together.
White teeth and glossy promise.
He was feeling
reckless tonight.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Hannibal watched
Face walk back through the bar.
Looking like
fucking bait.
Asking for it.
What the hell
was going on with Face?
He’d been so
much calmer, since he’d been with Murdock.
More himself. More that self
that they’d usually just seen glimmers of, like sun on water.
The whole thing
with Stockwell had changed him. Changed
all of them. (And what plan was going
to cover this contingency? How the hell
was he supposed to save them all this time?)
Now he was
walking through the bar like he used to back in Vietnam, way back at the very
beginning.
Trolling for
trouble.
Murdock was climbing
out of his skin. No games, no
characters, no animal friends. Just
making patterns on the table with sawdust he’d scooped off the floor. And he kept glancing up at Face the way you
pressed on a bruise.
Hannibal swept
the sawdust off the tabletop with one hand.
Murdock looked
up at him with guilty, startled eyes.
Deer eyes.
BA and Frankie
sat very still. Watching.
“What the hell
is going on, Captain?”
Murdock blinked
twice. His eyes were wide and open and
terribly ~sad~ somehow.
Hannibal reached
out and put one hand on Murdock’s shoulder.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
BA fought the
urge to shove Hannibal away from the fool.
Right feeling,
wrong time.
But the crazyman
was looking all wild and sad and trapped inside himself. And BA hated that.
Hannibal touched
him. Grabbed onto the fool’s shoulder,
and that was better. Steadied him.
What the hell
had happened, anyhow? They’d done the
job, man died, but it wasn’t anything they’d done wrong. Man been sick, anyhow. And he’d got together with his little girl,
‘fore he went. What the hell?
“I done
something,” Murdock blurted out, voice tight against the screaming music and
loud voices all around them.
Hoarse. “I done something real
bad.”
Frankie cleared
his throat. “Uh, Hannibal?”
BA growled at
him. But he was focused on
Murdock. “What you done, fool?” His voice was steady (he never gave much
away, never). But his mind was
stretching out, trying to figure what it could be, something with Face,
something...
Hannibal’s
fingers tightened on brown leather.
“Um, guys?”
Frankie said.
“Tell me,”
Hannibal told Murdock. Command face on,
the one you could trust all the way.
“I...” Murdock
started. But then his eyes flickered
and he stood up, knocking the table back a little, and his eyes were scanning
the back of the room.
Hannibal turned
and stood, reacting.
BA stood up just
as a man with big arms and a crew cut bellowed and swung a wild fist at Face’s
head.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Frankie sighed
and stood up and started after the guys.
Toward the fist
fight.
The guy Face was
exchanging punches with back by the bar seemed to be one of the construction
workers. A couple of his buddies came
up behind Face and grabbed hold of him, pushing a woman with long, dark hair
and very red lips back a little.
Was there some
connection between bad guys and crew cuts?
It seemed like there was.
Murdock shoved
through the crowd and plowed into the crew cut guy, knocking him back against
the bar. Face kicked one of the guys
holding him in the knee, putting him down, but the other one doubled him over
with a shot to the gut.
Hannibal and BA
waded into it just as the rest of the construction workers set down their beers
and came to join in the fun.
Frankie sighed
again.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Murdock howled
as he leapt off the bar onto some guy’s back.
BA was bashing a
couple guy’s heads together and Hannibal was keeping two others busy, holding
them at bay with a bar stool like an animal tamer.
Frankie was
edging over toward the big guy, throwing messy punches as he went.
The choke hold
Murdock had been putting on his guy finally kicked in and they fell forward
together like a tree. Murdock rolled
off him and looked around.
Face was holding
his own over in the corner, back to the wall and fighting hard.
He
looked... cool and wild at the same
time. Like Vietnam all over again.
His cheek was bleeding,
but he was smiling as he punched and wove and feinted. A wild smile.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
It was time to
get out.
The fight was
starting to wind down and Hannibal had given the high sign. Murdock moved toward Face, but it was BA who
dispatched the guy Face had been hitting and grabbed him. Hauled him, struggling, toward the door.
They piled into
the van, breathing hard, and BA drove until they came to a dark little roadside
motel.
It was
late. The parking lot was dark. Hannibal grabbed Face as he was climbing
down and shoved him up against the wall of the building.
“What the hell
was that about?”
Face
grinned. “Guess she was already
taken...”
Hannibal gave
Face a shake and Face’s head hit the wall with a dull thud.
Murdock ducked
under Hannibal’s arms. Pressed back
against Face, between them.
“Stop it!” he
hissed. “He doesn’t mean it.”
“Don’t you tell
me what I mean. Let me go!”
Murdock closed
his eyes, but pressed back harder against Face.
“I don’t know
what you two are...” Hannibal started.
Murdock opened
his eyes. Stared into Hannibal’s. “Bancroft was his father.”
“Fuck.” Face thrust Murdock forward, into Hannibal’s
arms. But then he just stood
there. Back against the wall.
Hannibal looked
at him for awhile. Stared at him. Figuring everything back in his head, all
the connections, everything that must have happened. What Murdock might have done, or not done. Face...
BA and Frankie
stood there, just trying to take it in.
“Father?”
Frankie asked.
Face flinched,
and BA cuffed Frankie in the arm.
Hannibal set
Murdock carefully aside. Then he
reached out and took Face’s chin in his hand.
Tilted Face’s head up into the light.
“We better get
something on that cheek,” he said.
“It doesn’t
matter,” Face said. “It doesn’t
matter.”
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
They got drunk.
All of them
piled into one of the hotel rooms and Hannibal produced a couple bottles from
somewhere, along with the first aid kit.
BA growled, as if to say “~This~ is your plan?”
BA and Hannibal
sat in the two chairs and Face sat up against the headboard of the bed. Murdock sprawled across the foot of the bed
and Frankie dangled his legs off the dresser.
They passed the
bottle and talked about everything but AJ Bancroft.
Hannibal told a
long, sprawling version of their leave down on Camh Ran Bay that included
skinny dipping with nurses, a scammed car, twelve angry marines and a hasty fall-back
in a borrowed slick when the MPs showed up.
BA recalled the
fight they lost in Da Nang and what they won because of it. Blushing at the part with the prostitutes,
because they’d liked him and wanted him to give him some sweetness for free.
By the time they
got around to Murdock’s story about the jeep ride he and Face had taken down
Road 138 while it was being bombed, singing “Come on Baby Light My Fire” at the
top of their lungs the whole way, with the road burning and crumbling behind
them, they were all a little worse for wear.
Murdock was
singing Jim Morrison softly under his breath and Hannibal was tilted back in
his chair by the window, smoking a cigar.
BA (who had been drinking orange soda from the machine outside and
wasn’t happy about it) stood up.
Frankie was
lying across the dresser, and BA grabbed him by the collar. “C’mon, Frankie, time ta go.”
Frankie blinked
up at him. “I’m not roomin’ with
Murdock?” he asked blearily.
“No,” BA
said. “C’mon.”
“Aren’t we gonna
talk about...”
“No,” BA
said. “Outta heah.”
Hannibal stood
up, and the only sign of how much he’d drunk was the heavy thunk his chair made
when he tipped it up.
He looked over
at Face and he seemed like he was going to say something. Like he was trying to figure out which thing
to say. But finally he just said,
“Night, kid.” Then patted Murdock’s
shoulder and followed BA and Frankie out.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
There was a
long, awkward pause, then. Murdock and
Face never had awkward pauses, so they noticed it particularly, even though
they were drunk.
“Let’s go
swimming,” Face said.
He unbuttoned
his shirt (which had a little blood on it, from the fight) and shoved off his
jeans.
Murdock took off
his jacket slowly, then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Pulled off his tennis shoes and socks and
pants.
He felt uneasy,
so he slipped his jacket back on.
He never felt
uneasy with Face.
“You sure you
want to...” Murdock asked.
“Yes,” Face
said. He got up and opened the motel
room door.
It was a small,
ugly little pool. But then it was a
small, ugly little motel. Murdock
breathed in the warm night air, and it smelled like jasmine. Sweet.
The motel wasn’t
lit very well in back. The stars looked
very low and close.
Face waded out
into the water.
Murdock sat down
on the edge and put his feet in.
Watched Face.
Face stared up
at the stars for awhile. Waist deep in
water, his fingertips barely touching its dark surface.
“I didn’t hit on
her,” Face said. “She just...”
“I know,”
Murdock said.
There wasn’t any
moon. Just stars. Someone was playing a radio somewhere, and
Joni Mitchell’s odd, high, mournful voice poured out, tinny and far away.
“I just feel so
goddamn lost,” Face said. When he moved
his hand up to run it through his hair, small drops of water fell on his bare
chest and rolled down his arm. “I mean,
what the hell are we doing any more? I
don’t know what we’re doing.”
Murdock kicked
his feet against the water a little. “Surviving,”
he said.
“I don’t know if
I am,” Face said. “I feel like I’m
drowning.” He looked down into the dark
water.
“Hold onto me,”
Murdock said.
“I don’t want
you to drown.”
Murdock took off
his jacket and laid it aside. Eased
himself into the water.
The water was
warmer than the air. It made you want
to go down into it.
He moved over
next to Face. Reached out and touched
the gash on his cheek. “Guy had a ring,
huh?”
Face
nodded. He reached out and stroked his
fingers along Murdock’s ribs, over a bruised place.
“You didn’t let
me drown before,” Murdock said. “I
won’t let you.”
“I don’t know
what it means to have a father,” Face said.
“Have. Not have.”
“They aren’t
worth shit,” Murdock said. “I can give
you two examples right now.”
Murdock glanced
around them.
It was four in
the morning, early morning dark, and nothing was moving anywhere. He put his arms around Face and drew him
close and Face rested his head on Murdock’s shoulder. Their bodies fit together smoothly and easily.
“I don’t know
what any of it means,” Face said.
Murdock could
smell the whiskey on Face’s breath. On
his own.
Drowning.
“Just don’t let
go of me,” Murdock said. “Quit letting
go of me. We’ve got to hold on,
here. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what we’re doing. Stockwell, Bancroft, any of it. If I knew how to fix it I’d do anything, ‘cause
this is killing us all. But what I do
know is we’re in it together. Whatever
the fucking world does, you aren’t alone, you hear me? Never alone.”
“When your
grandparents died, you said I was all you had left,” Face said. “You’re all I ever had.”
“Yeah, well,”
Murdock said, “Some people get mummies and daddies and teddies and puppies and
white picket fences. Others get jazzed
Colonels and angry mudsuckas and a big ugly black van with lots of guns in
it. I think we’re lucky, myself.”
Face lifted his
head and grinned a little. “How lucky
are we?”
“Real lucky if
you play your cards right, darlin’.”
“I’m good at cards.”
“You cheat at
cards.”
“I cheat at
everything.”
“Not
everything,” Murdock said. “Not with
me.”
“Not with you.”
Face leaned
forward, tilting his head up. He
pressed his lips against Murdock’s.
They kissed for
a long time. Waist deep in water. In the sweet, warm dark. They kissed and held each other close.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Frankie stared
down into the pool.
He thought it
must be like one of those trick pictures, where if you look at it long enough, you’ll
see something different.
Except it kept
being the same picture, and he couldn’t quite get his head around that.
Murdock and
Faceman were down there in the pool kissing.
Kissing.
Like, kissing.
They were
kissing.
The whole day
had been too much. There was the
Bancroft guy dying on them, the fight.
Murdock and Face going off all weird and ~another~ fight. Then the whole “Bancroft is Face’s father”
thing. Jeez. Right out of a soap.
Face was the
man. He ~seemed~ to be the man. He’d always seemed to be the man
~before~.
Now the man was
kissing... another man. Kissing
Murdock.
Jeez.
He’d wanted to
know more about the guys, but this was a little frickin’ much.
He’d had a lot
of Hannibal’s whiskey, and he really wasn’t feeling too good. It had been one heck of a day. He reached out to steady himself.
Somebody reached
out and grabbed him from behind.
Covered his mouth and pulled him back into the hotel room, shutting the
door carefully behind them.
This day was just
~not~ getting better.
He was thrown
down on the bed and was wondering where BA had gotten to when he turned around
and found... BA. Glaring down at him.
“Murdock’s
datin’ Ericka,” BA said. “Faceman’s
datin’ whoevah Faceman’s datin’. You
didn’t see nuthin’.”
Frankie shook
his head to clear it, but that wasn’t the right response. BA grabbed his shirt. Hauled him up close.
He could smell
orange soda on the big guy’s breath. He
was even scarier up close.
“You didn’t see
nuthin’,” BA said again. Real slow and real clear. “You didn’t see nuthin’.”
“Okay, okay...”
Frankie said. “I gotcha. Nothing.”
BA dropped him
back down to the bed. Flexed his
hands. His knuckles were swollen from
the fight. He’d had trouble getting off
his rings. His hands looked bare
without them.
“Uh, BA? What exactly did I not see?”
BA glared for a
moment. Then his eyes got kind of
gentle and fierce at the same time.
“Love,” he said
finally. “An’ ah’ll kill you if you
hurt them.”
Frankie nodded
carefully. His head hurt. He’d really drunk too much. These guys were kind of old, but they could
drink. Fight, too.
Heck, you never
knew what these guys were going to do.
“I didn’t see
anything,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Face staggered a
little getting out of the pool. Maybe
it was the whiskey, but maybe it was just everything.
Murdock grabbed
onto him. Held onto him.
They made their
way back up to their room slowly, dripping water. Murdock carried his jacket out from his body to keep it from
getting wet. He kept his arm around
Face.
They went into
their room. Murdock got towels from the
bathroom, gray and threadbare, and dried them both.
They laid down
on the bed, naked, and Face moved into Murdock’s arms again. Sagged against him.
Murdock held
Face in his arms.
If we could just
have this, he thought. If we could just
have this every day, we’d make it through.
But he pushed
that thought away. They’d make it
through anyway.
They had to.
He ran his hands
down over Face’s back and ass and thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m
really, really sorry. Are you still mad
at me?”
Face sighed
softly. “No,” he said. “Just tired, Murdock. Just tired.”
Murdock squeezed
gently. “What happened to lucky?”
Face lifted his
head up and kissed Murdock. “I’m sorry,
too,” he said.
Murdock shook
his head. “No more sorries.” He kissed Face again.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
They ended up just
holding each other, as the sun rose outside their heavily draped window. Too tired, after everything the day had
brought, to “get lucky.” Too exhausted
to make love.
As Face fell
asleep in his arms, though, Murdock thought that perhaps they ~had~ made love
after all.
~Making~
love.
Creating a new
center for themselves, anchor for them to hold onto in a wildly pitching
world.
Building a new
foundation every time, stronger than the last.
It would have
been easier to live that white picket life.
Easier, yes. Calm, placid. Normal.
The two of them
had to fight for each other every day.
Exis-fucking-tentialism in action.
Each moment is a new moment and it can go either way. Rise or fall. Win or lose. So you have
to fight. You have to stay aware. You have to keep choosing each other again
and again. Love is a verb and you have
to work at it all the time.
But they were
fighters.
They were
survivors.
Sometimes
there’d be sorrow.
But they would
never stop choosing each other.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
~fin~