Face had been saving the bottle of bourbon for a special occasion. It was be an occasion that didn't involve Cruiser – he hated the stuff – and didn't need any flashy ceremony. In fact, the only ceremony that came with tonight was a lull in the torrential rains. And thank God for that.
The Rock Marine LZ was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Sandbag bunkers and cleared fields in every direction. If the sappers made it all the way to the concertina – which they wouldn't since there was a hell of a lot of wide open space between the jungle and the edge of the camp, and towers with armed Marines inside – they wouldn't get much further. There were charges set outside the wire in all directions except right through the front gate. It was probably one of the safer camps in Vietnam.
The fact that it was miles from nowhere also meant, like it or not, Face was having a night in with his bottle of liquor. That wasn't a bad thing. Actually, given the opportunity to go out, he probably would've stayed in. It was one of those nights when all he really wanted was, quite simply, to be alone. He chose to spend it on top of the sandbagged bunker, lying on his back with his legs hanging off the side. It was hot and muggy as per usual, and there was no reason whatsoever for clothes at this point. His fatigues were bunched under his head for a pillow as he stared up at the sky.
He was tired. Tired of being wet, tired of the tension in his shoulders, tired of the headache that hadn't seemed to want to go away for the past three days. The liquor seemed to somehow be helping with that. Not that it lessened the pain, really. It just made him care about it that much less.
Cruiser was still pissy as hell about the dress down from Hannibal a few days before. Murdock had been wise to stay out of his way. Face hadn't been so lucky as to be avoided. Everywhere he'd turned, the pilot had been there – wanting to talk, wanting to keep company, wanting to be a part of things. It was driving Face up the fucking wall.
If he could just back off – just for a few hours, even – it might've given Face the chance to actually feel guilty over the forced drinking beige. He didn't need to be any further convinced that Murdock hadn't told anyone about Bangkok. He believed Hannibal. The problem was that every time he even started to think of what it would mean to apologize for the misunderstanding, Murdock was right there in his face, clinging onto him like a lost child. Or maybe more accurately, a lost puppy; there seemed to be no higher brain function involved in the kind of clinginess he'd shown lately.
Murdock wanted a friend. On some level, Face understood that. It was nice to have someone to lean on – someone he could trust to watch his back. Cruiser was that for him, and had been for years now. But what Murdock thought of when he said "friend" was not even in the same universe. He wanted someone to share emotion with – pain, joy, fear, excitement… Someone to be deeply an inseparably joined to. He wanted a fucking soul mate, a best friend who would be there for him on an emotional level, come hell or high water. And he didn't seem to grasp the fact that Face was not – nor could he ever be – that soul mate.
Face couldn't, and he didn't want to be. Painful experience had taught him what it meant to emotionally connect to someone on the battlefield. True, there was some bond that was shared throughout the team – throughout any team – by necessity. They mourned as a whole when one of their own was lost. But a round of "Old Blue" and a beer and a couple of tears didn't suffice for the kind of friend Murdock was talking about. There was a risk involved in Murdock's kind of friend that was far beyond the level that Face was willing to go.
Not in Vietnam. Maybe not ever.
"Hey, Face, we need to talk."
Face had been dozing lightly. He awoke with a start and immediately his hand was on his rifle, his other hand spilling bourbon on his chest. He sat bolt upright as he realized it and tipped the bottle back up, but kept his grip on the gun on instinct alone. "Jesus fucking Christ, Murdock! You trying to get yourself killed?"
He flicked the liquor off of his arm as he set the weapon aside again, and took a second to glare intently at Murdock. He wasn't seeing straight. A quick glance at the bottle told him he'd had more to drink than what was probably wise, given that he almost surely knew where this conversation was going to go. It was the same damn song and dance every time. And Face realized with a flash of anger that he just did not have the patience for it tonight. He wanted to be alone, damn it. That's why he'd crawled up on top of the building to sit on the uncomfortable corrugated tin roof.
The pilot ran a hand through his hair, his eyes full of worry and concern. "Face, I didn't tell anyone about Bangkok."
Face rolled his eyes as he reached back and grabbed his shirt, using it to wipe the liquor off his arm. Well, all the attempts to circumvent the topic and just be buddies had failed – why not try the direct approach?
"Murdock... I don't care, okay? I really don't."
"I get that your pissed Face," Murdock continued. "I would be too. But I didn't tell anyone about it. Why would I do that, man?"
"Damned if I can figure out why you do anything you do."
Face shot him another glare as he threw the shirt back on top of the pants. He was more than a little irritated by the intrusion. He couldn't think of any way that he might've made his wish for solitude any clearer. Eyes locked on the pilot, he tried to bring them into full focus. Between the darkness and the booze, it wasn't going to happen.
"Why are we talking about this?" he demanded.
"Because, Face, it doesn't even make sense."
Murdock's tone was undercut with a deep emotion – emotion that Face didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. There was an urgency, an insistence, a need. And Face didn't want anything to do with any of that. He knew what Murdock was looking for, but any acknowledgment of what the pilot was saying would be interpreted as an acceptance not only of what Murdock's innocence, but all of the emotion that went with it. The mere thought of that was exhausting.
"What do you want, flyboy?" he asked, abrasively.
Murdock grabbed his pack of smokes and held them like a talisman. "I want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you or another member of the team, no matter what."
Oh, Jesus. The way he said it was more like a mantra then a statement. They were the words he lived by, the core of what he believed, his heart laid bare on the altar. He was so fucking needy it was sickening. And there was absolutely nothing Face could say to that.
Face shut his eyes, clamped his jaw, and took a deep breath. He could feel the alcohol in his blood, and it blurred his logic. Maybe if he just ignored him, he would go away. But when that didn't work after several long moments of silence, he finally turned his head, raised his brows, and asked very calmly, "Anything else?"
Murdock shifted uncomfortably, tapped two cigarettes out of the pack, and put one between his lips. "Right now, that's the big one."
The other cigarette, he held out to Face. Face looked at the cigarette, looked at Murdock, and didn't move. He knew this game. This was the "sharing" game. It was more than it looked like. Ever since Nha Trang, it was some kind of fucking existential encounter to bum a smoke. Even the pangs of nicotine withdrawal couldn't have gotten Face to take that cigarette from him. Not when he was trying so damn hard to emotionally connect.
"I just… It's important to me, Face." Realizing Face wasn't going to take the cigarette, Murdock tucked it behind his ear and found his lighter. "It's important to me that you realize I'd never do anything like that. I can't believe that you don't know that! I mean, why would you even think…?"
Murdock trailed off. Face was planning exit routes. Damn it, why did Murdock have to corner him up here? He wasn't even dressed. His grip flexed around the glass bottle in his hand and he sighed audibly as he reached back and grabbed his pants. He was not sticking around to have this conversation. He knew how it ended.
"What do you expect me to say, Murdock? I'm sorry?" He jerked his pants up so fast, he almost lost his balance in the effort to stand up.
"No, that's not –"
"Fine, okay?" Face interrupted him. "Fine. I'm sorry."
Murdock stared at him. "What the hell are you sorry for?"
Ignoring him, Face buttoned the pants and reached for his shirt. "Now why don't you go..." Shit, what was there to even suggest for him to do around here? He swept his shirt up, and the bottle, but barely paused to regain his balance before he stumbled across the sandbagged rooftop. "Fuck off, will you?"
"You think I want an apology?" Murdock stood and followed. "I don't need that shit. I just need you to know, to understand."
Face growled audibly as he dropped down to the ground. Murdock was only a few steps behind.
"I'm your friend, man," Murdock said firmly. He tapped his chest, as if to reiterate his point. "I would never betray your trust. I meant what I said. I ain't going anywhere, Face."
Face spun around, raising his voice to a yell. "I believe you, Murdock!" His jaw clenched as he stared Murdock down, eyes blazing. Shit. He just wanted to be alone. Why couldn't the pilot grasp that? He turned away, but spun back before Murdock had a chance to take a following step. "What the fuck do you want from me, huh?"
"Your friend," Murdock answered. "I just want to be your friend, Face. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"
"You're like a... like a leech! Is there any fucking place I can go to get away from you?"
Murdock's eyes flashed. It wasn't anger. It was something much deeper and more complex. "No."
"Jesus! Are you crazy or something? How many different ways can I make it clear to you that I'm not looking for a friend?"
"I don't care if you're looking or not. You need it."
Face's anger blazed. "Fuck you! You don't know a goddamn thing about me. And I swear to God, if you don't back the fuck off I'm gonna beat the shit out of you."
"You think a couple bruises in some nasty comments are gonna stop me?" Murdock gave a snort of something like laughter. "You do what you gotta do Face and I will still be right here."
Face stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are you fucking serious? Are you really that dense?"
"I'm dead serious, Face." The tone in his voice and the look in his eyes made it so. Face didn't doubt him for a second.
Stunned by the sheer stupidity being exhibited in front of him, Face shook his head. He was, flat out, bewildered. "What is it you think you're going to get out of this?"
Murdock's voice lowered. "The only thing I want is for you to drop the mask and be the Face behind it."
Face's eyes narrowed into slits as drunken anger crept over, under, around, and through the confusion. That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? That deep bond, that unending friendship and emotional nakedness. He wanted into those places of Face's psyche that even Face didn't go. Places that he protected fiercely, even viciously.
"I should've left you in the fucking camp. You know that?"
If anything should've gotten through Murdock's thick skull, Face would have expected that to be it. But instead of shock, or horror, or hurt… Murdock only smiled. But that smile was something cold and almost frightening. Something that came out of a place so dark that sane men never went there. It was a crocodile smile, all teeth and no warmth.
"That would've been easier for everyone, Facey. But you can't change it now."
Face glared at him. But he had nothing to say. He'd played his high card, and gotten called. And he had nothing to follow with but simmering anger and an insane urge to take a long drink from the bottle in his hand.
"I can tell you this much," Murdock continued with that same haunting tone. He paused to take a long drag off of his cigarette. "Short of killing me, leaving me there was your only chance to get rid of me."
Face growled audibly. How did that make any sense at all? He couldn't even fathom, much less understand what was going on in the pilot's head. "Why the hell would you want to hang around someone who doesn't want you there?"
"Because, this isn't about want, Faceman," he accented each part of the name, "and it never has been."
"Well, in that case I am really fucking confused. Because I've made it pretty clear what I want."
"None of us wanted this Face. We need it. There's a difference."
Face rolled his eyes. "Oh, hell."
"You can control want; need controls you."
"I don't need you, flyboy!" He was so frustrated with his inability to communicate that simple point, he wasn't even able to control his volume level. His voice was echoing in the still night.
"Well, maybe I need you!" Murdock yelled back.
Face glared at him for a long moment, silent, watching. Murdock's smile broke, finally. He took a deep breath, turned his head away, and drew in a long hit from the cigarette. "I need to be here," he continued, his voice dropping. "I need to be your friend. I can't stop. I can't and I won't. No matter what you do."
The challenge had been put out long ago. It was naïve when he'd said it the first time. Stupid. But now, he knew what he was saying. Now he was upping the stakes. Fine. Face could play that game. In fact, he could play it exceedingly well. All it took was a willingness to get up close and personal, to not pull punches. The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. If a direct approach didn't work, underhanded tactics sure as hell would.
His eyes gleamed as he stepped in closer, dark and dangerous. "You wanna be my friend, Murdock?" There was a wicked, threatening tone in his voice, and he saw the wary look in the pilot's eyes. Feeding off of the uncertainty – it was his greatest weapon and he knew it – Face stepped in too close, violating Murdock's personal space. In fact, he pressed right up against him. "Let's go find a back alley somewhere in Saigon and be friends. Just you and me, huh flyboy?"
Startled by the sudden invasion of his space, Murdock took two big steps back – away from the unwelcome contact. The first step back was instinct – a need to protect himself from the threat. The second step was for comfort.
"You... I... What do...? Man, Face..." Finally, the pilot didn't know what to say.
"Come on, Murdock," Face taunted, taking a step closer again. "You're the one who wants to get in my head, find out who I really am under all this."
With a slow shake of his head, Murdock seemed to gather his thoughts. "You really would, wouldn't you?"
Face smiled wickedly. "Try me and find out."
Murdock laughed with no humor. "Nice, Face. Don't wanna kill me out right; you might get in trouble. But it shouldn't be too hard right? Lots of people already wanna beat the shit outta me. Maybe with the right lie - or hell, you might not even need to lie - you could get someone to go just a little further."
Face moved forward again, but it was slow. He gave Murdock plenty of time to back up. "You wanna know me? Come get into my head and see what kind of sick and twisted fantasies are in there?"
It was Murdock's turn to be taken aback now – uncomfortable and not sure how to react. He was on the defense now. And chances were, he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there. But as long as he was off-balance, there was no chance for him to keep pushing Face into some direction he didn't want to go.
"You wanna get me TWEPed 'cause I won't walk away from this? 'Cause I won't leave you?"
To his amusement, Face realized he had absolutely no problem with Murdock believing that. It hadn't been his intention; the whole act was just intended to push the pilot a big step back. But if it had a more lasting effect… all the better.
"Don't want that kinda friend, flyboy?" he challenged.
Murdock tipped his head slightly as he stared at him. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, finally, he sighed. "Ya know, here's the thing." He finished his cigarette, and dropped it on the ground, smashing it into the mud with his boot. "That's not what really bothers me."
Face raised a brow. "Which part?"
"I don't care what kind of a messed up view you have on what it means to be a friend. And I don't give a flying fuck if you're gay, Face."
Face glared hate-filled daggers Murdock for that. "You have entirely missed the fucking point."
"No, I got the point. And that's what bothers me. What gets me is the way you'd…" He shook his head. "You'd use anything for hate, wouldn't you? Or just means to an end. Is there anything in the whole world that's sacred with you?"
"No," Face answered firmly. Somehow, he'd lost the edge here. Maybe it was time just to walk away. Putting his hands up to Murdock's shoulders, he shoved him hard, the bottle in one hand sloshing as he did. "And I don't need your fucking friendship. I just. Want. To be alone. Got it?"
He turned without another word, and walked away. This time, thankfully, Murdock didn't follow him.
