Can I do this?
He shouldn't be thinking that way. It would screw things up. Badly.
This is no stranger.
I know this man.
I'll look him in the eye before I do it.
He'll look into mine.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Slowly exhaled, counting to ten.
This is not protecting the team.
This is cold blooded murder.
This is revenge.
Can I do this?
Too late, man.
Way, way too late.
You're lost already.
Do it.
Now.
Stockwell was working late. Very late. He'd seen him come to the door, talk to the two Ables there. His view had been partially blocked. He couldn't tell if Stockwell was worried. Or scared. Or just Stockwell. As cold a machine as he could be.
The people in the house were nervous. The Ables at the door had practically jumped when Stockwell opened it. He hadn't heard what had been said, just the one Able say, "Yessir, General." Instructions of some kind. Didn't matter.
He was tired. He'd been up for...he couldn't remember. Odd. He should know when he got up.
You're slipping, my friend.
Yeah. I need to get this done, so I can sleep. Sleep without dreams. That would be good. Rest.
With a mental shake of his head, he straightened up and strode confidently up to the office door. "Able 13. I need to see the general. We just go some news on Peck."
The Able knocked on the door, stuck his head in, "Able 13 to see you, sir. News on Peck."
He motioned the messenger in.
The general was seated at the desk, his back to the door. He was scribbling on a note pad. Didn't look up, didn't acknowledge him.
"General."
The man stopped writing, slowly swiveled around in his chair.
"Face."
Something was wrong here. Stockwell looked...looked like Hannibal. Hannibal in a wig. No, his mind was playing tricks. Too little sleep...too little...just...just do it...finish it...
He pulled the gun from his waistband. Pointed it.
Stockwell/Hannibal smiled at him. A shit-eating smile.
"You don't want to shoot me, do you, Face?"
No, he couldn't shoot Hannibal. But this wasn't Hannibal. This was Stockwell...it had to be...no, he'd been tricked. No, Stockwell was trying to trick him. Shoot him. Get it over with...
"Hey, Face."
Murdock's soft voice came to him from the left. He glanced over, seeing the pilot move out from behind the drapes.
"Why don't you let us take you home, Face?" Murdock smiled, a soft, reassuring smile. He felt himself wanting to smile back. No, another trick. He was with Stockwell. This was a trick. He backed up a step.
He heard a jingle of jewelry, saw BA on the right. Where had he come from? He hadn't seen him before. He was slipping. He'd messed up. This wasn't going right. Not at all...
"Put the gun down, Face. You don't need it any more." BA's voice, a soft rumble.
"Face..." Hannibal/Stockwell again. "Face, we know what went down over there. Stockwell will pay for his part - but not this way. We want you to come home with us. We'll figure things out from there."
"You're working with him. I put down the gun, you kill me. For him."
"No, Face, never. Never. We didn't join Stockwell. We came to him so we could keep you alive, safe from him. It was the only way."
Hannibal's voice was so low, so soft. Mesmerizing. Like a snake charmer. Hannibal the charmer, Face the snake.
"You can't.... I killed three people. I broke the rules."
"You didn't feel you had a choice, Face. I know that. We all know that. I won't say it doesn't matter. I won't lie to you, Face. But we are a team. We don't walk out on trouble."
This wasn't going right. They hated him. He knew that. He'd seen them. In the woods. He knew...he... where was Stockwell?
"Where is he?" His voice felt stronger. The mission. Remember the mission. These people had nothing to do with that.
"He's here, in the house. But you don't want to kill him, Face. You don't want to be on his level. You aren't on his level."
"He has to be put down. He'll only go on doing what he's always done, destroying people."
"We can do that, Face. We can bring him down. You have the information to do that. We know that. You can bring him down without killing him."
Murdock took a small step forward. "C'mon, Face. Put the gun down. We'll work things out. You don't have to be alone any more."
God, he was tired. So tired. They were going to stop him. He couldn't fight all of them. The gun felt so heavy in his hand. He couldn't fight the team. He slowly lowered it to his side.
"I can't go back. You can't forgive me for what I did, I know that. How could I come back to you?"
Hannibal stood up, slowly, carefully. Face looked him straight in the eyes.
"You can, kid. We can forgive you, believe me. You are forgiven." Hannibal blinked.
Face let the gun drop. He was too tired now. An all encompassing tired. He'd failed. He would go with them. They would take him away from Stockwell. But they would not take him back with them. He knew that. He'd seen that blink. Hannibal lied.
They moved out of the office. Hannibal led the way, Murdock and BA on either side of Face. Not touching him, but letting him know they were there.
"PECK!"'
He stopped, turned slowly to face Stockwell. The general was standing at the bottom of the stairway, a dozen Ables flanking him, pistol in his hand. He could hear Hannibal behind him, talking to Stockwell, angry. Shouting. Stockwell said something in response but he didn't notice what it was exactly. It didn't really matter.
Can I do this?
He carefully pulled his right glove off, letting it fall, staring at Stockwell. Hannibal was talking to him now. The words didn't register. Just a voice.
This is no stranger.
I know this man.
I'll look him in the eye before I do it.
He'll look into mine.
Very deliberately, he removed the left glove, dropped it to the floor. Took a deep breath. Slowly exhaled, counting to ten.
Stockwell raised the pistol.
This is not protecting the team.
This is cold blooded murder.
This is revenge.
Can I do this?
He raised his arms, hands level with his shoulders, palms facing Stockwell. He smiled, a dark, contemptuous smile. Staring at Stockwell.
Too late, man.
Way, way too late.
You're lost already.
"Do it," he whispered. "Now."
