Chapter Text
"Hannibal," said Murdock seriously, holding his machine gun patiently as they waited. He'd been hunkered quietly to the colonel's left for the last several minutes, though silence was not their main concern at present. At least, not yet. "I think you should ask Face for a cigar."
"Murdock," Face interrupted from the colonel's other side. "The plan hasn't come together yet. Why would Hannibal ask me for a cigar when the plan hasn't come together yet?"
"Well, sometimes, it's better to ask for the cigar before the plan comes together, so that you have the cigar ready for when it does come together… don't you think, Colonel?"
Hannibal slid his gaze between the two of them. He was missing something.
A glance at BA, who was situated on the far side of Face and who was watching the same exchange with a suspicious scowl, didn't help much. Shaking his head, BA only shrugged when Hannibal caught his eye.
"Besides," continued Face. "When does Hannibal ever need to ask me for a cigar? He knows where to find them. If he wants one, he can get one for himself."
"Good point," said Hannibal. Thinking that might just be the best way to settle whatever this was, he started to pull aside Face's jacket, only to be stopped by Murdock's hand to his wrist.
"Sometimes, though, Hannibal, sometimes, it's good to ask, because that way our Faceman there can show you how much he cares by handing the cigar over to you. Respectfully and politely, handing it over to you." He nodded in Face's direction and then met Hannibal's eyes again. "A good opportunity. Don't you think?"
Face glowered. "What are you all of a sudden, the politeness police?"
"Yes," Murdock answered quickly. "Drafted into service for a full month. My entire floor voted on it last Tuesday. Results were unanimous and I take my responsibilities very seriously."
"Okaaay," Hannibal said slowly, uncertain now whether he was humoring Murdock's current side persona, or still missing something going on between his lieutenant and his captain. Willing to go with it, as usual, or at least until he figured out what was going on, he withdrew his hand from Face's jacket and adopted a jaunty tone. "Face, my boy, may I have a cigar?"
His lieutenant, usually quicker to invest in Murdock's byplays, looked frustrated. Nevertheless, after an exhale, he fixed a bland smile to his features and winked at his colonel, though the warning look he tossed at Murdock afterward wasn't missed. Hannibal just didn't know what it meant.
Face and Murdock had spent most of the day together in execution of their part of the plan. The look could be simple exasperation, exhaustion from their time together, or something else entirely.
"Of course, Colonel," Face said saccharinely, and with the air of someone meeting a challenge. "It would be my pleasure to give you a cigar." Hunkered against the wall as he was, Face tucked his head into his jacket with some exaggeration, though he ultimately reached into his inside pocket and handed Hannibal the cigar with barely a motion from his gun arm, eyeing Murdock the entire time.
"Thank you," Hannibal acknowledged, holding it up in appreciation, like he was making a toast.
"You're welcome," Face said distinctly.
Thinking that maybe that was the end of it, Hannibal bit off the end and spat it into the dirt. Tucking the cigar into his teeth to rest dormant until the plan really did come together, he rose onto his toes for a moment to gaze over the low wall behind them.
This was a waiting game. They had some time yet before Manvers and his crew moved, and some time still before the fireworks would start.
"Faceman." Murdock spoke again. "Don't you think it would be polite to offer to light the cigar for our beloved colonel?"
"Maybe after the plan comes together, huh, Murdock? Wouldn't want the smoke to give away our position if someone decided to patrol early. Besides, Hannibal has his own lighter."
Hannibal was about to tell Murdock that Face was probably right when Murdock caught his eye and spoke again. "You make a good point, Faceguy, but politeness and respect are in-part about awareness, and if I'm not mistaken, Hannibal's lighter wasn't working very well earlier. So, as a good lieutenant, maybe, if you offered to light his cigar with your lighter instead, the one in the outside pocket of your leather jacket there, he would consider it a, well, a kind gesture."
"Murdock," said Face, and the warning in the word was unmistakable, despite how lighthearted Face was trying to make it sound. "Can we drop the politeness lessons until after we finish these guys?"
"I'm going to teach you both politeness with my fist, if you don't cut the jibber-jabber."
No doubt about it, Hannibal was missing something.
"This is an important moment reflecting team cohesion and appreciation, BA, don't ruin it."
Well, once more into the breach, thought Hannibal. He cleared his throat. "Come to think of it, Face, Murdock might be right. I don't think my lighter was working earlier. Would you hand me yours? For later? I promise I'll return it in good condition. With a 'Thank You Note' even."
Face slid his eyes sideways, smart enough to know that, as casual as it sounded, it wasn't a casual request. And smart enough to know that whatever game he and Murdock had been playing at was over. "Hannibal, you don't really need my lighter, do you? Besides, I think I may have dropped it in the dirt back there."
Hannibal gave him points for trying. "Now, kid." His voice was all command.
Face gritted his teeth, dropping some of whatever façade he'd been holding in place. "Murdock, you promised."
"I didn't break any promises. I just asked you to give Hannibal your lighter, which is the polite thing to do."
"And which you still haven't done. Hand it over, Lieutenant."
After a drawn-out moment, Face finally moved his hand off the base of his weapon, and winced, hard, hand seizing up and sending a shudder through his body before his fingers even touched his side pocket. Having been ready for something, Hannibal reached out and caught his wrist gently, peeling back and then ultimately pulling off his sleeve to find bruising that went from wrist to elbow, and after he got the entire arm out of the sleeve and Face's shirt unbuttoned, from elbow to shoulder.
"Is it broken?" asked BA, aghast.
"No," insisted Face.
"Not sure," Hannibal answered at the same time, probing up towards Face's collarbone, and taking note of lips-gone-white. "We'll have to get it checked-out. How the hell did this happen?"
"The guys in the tractor store this afternoon caught a lucky break. The door in the back broke and trapped my arm under it before they could even come out after me. They were on top of me the whole time and didn't even know it," Face laughed, but no one joined him.
"And you thought you could operate with this?"
"I can. Things are nearly wrapped up. We're basically sheep herders tonight, Hannibal. You said so yourself."
Leaving that for later, Hannibal swung his ire. "Murdock, you promised not to say anything about this?" he snapped, unusually frustrated, and sure that Murdock knew better.
"I didn't realize how bad it was," he said, no sign of crazy in his expression. "I thought it was just a strained muscle." The expression he turned back to Face was a return to the politeness police. "And I repeat, all I said was that you should give him your lighter." Then, once more to Hannibal. "He's a good actor, Colonel. You were always right about that."
"No kidding." Maneuvering Face by his good arm, Hannibal just barely got him standing. "Son of a bitch, kid."
"Now, that's not polite at all," said Face.
But Hannibal wasn't ready to take the jokes on yet. "BA, get Face to the van."
x
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