You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it. - Margaret Thatcher
Usually he had some warning, almost a sixth sense. Knew when he'd need to find a place to work through it, a place the others didn't know about, couldn't ask about. Knew he'd be on the obstacle course when it was all over, but that was okay. He was usually glad about that. Thankful. That's just how it worked.
Usually.
It caught him by surprise this time. He should have seen it coming. Should have. Even in the middle of a job. Especially in the middle of a job. But, as usual, Hannibal expected results, not excuses. Excuses were worthless if somebody got hurt because he didn't do his job. Less than worthless. So he pushed through and did what was expected. Acted as expected.
None of them noticed. Not even Murdock.
The job got done in a couple of days, very successfully. And he'd done his part, no problem. Okay, maybe a few slight glitches along the way, but even Hannibal's plans had those. And he'd been able to fix them with hardly a ripple. Even got a clap on the back from Hannibal. Everybody had down days, after all. A lot of people had lives a lot worse than his, and they managed. So could he.
Definitely felt better that night. Relaxed on the balcony of his latest acquisition as the sun set over the city. Watched the smoke of his cigar drift slowly into the night sky. Maybe this was one of the short ones. It happened. Not good during a job but... it was over now. Fell asleep on clean, soft sheets of his comfortably large bed, the full moon glowing through the skylight...
God's in His heaven, All's right with the world...
He'd awakened just before dawn, thinking of all he'd planned to do today. Things just for himself. And then thought, "Why bother?".
Just playing with him. Gave him a few hours reprieve, made him think it was gone. But why? There was no reason for it. Why did it happen at all?
Sometimes there was just too much happening all at once. Or a scam that didn't work. Decker getting too close too often. He could understand that. Just too much stress, too often.
But not this time. Like so many other times. It just happened. It just... was. And it wasn't going away.
He lay in bed, knowing he had to leave. Couldn't stay here. Not when the others knew where he was, how to find him. Maybe they should find out. Maybe they should know. Prove their doubts were justified. No. He had to get up, get packed, get out. Go somewhere. Didn't matter where. Just get up, pack, get out, and drive. Stop when he was tired of driving. Where didn't matter.
But then, nothing mattered in the end.
So he lay in bed, eyes closed, telling himself to get up. Get packed. Get out. Over and over. Getting angrier and angrier at himself for letting it get to him. For not doing what he should be doing. But then he never did what he should do. Like this last job. The screw-ups. He'd fixed them, but... It was the same thing. Always the same. Never quite good enough. Never quite right enough. Never ever enough. And the longer he lay in bed, the more those thoughts crowded his head, the more desperate he felt, the more frustrated he got.
Damn it! Just get up! Get packed! Get out! What the hell's the matter with you?
He started kicking the covers away, throwing the pillows off the bed, tossing and turning... Do something, you idiot! You pathetic piece of crap! Get up! Get packed! Get out! What is so damn hard about doing that? What is wrong with you?!?
Everything.
Two hours later, the phone rang. And rang. And rang some more. He knew they'd give him maybe a half hour, then call again. It would take them forty-five minutes to get here after that. So. A deadline. A must do. A have to do. No choice. No decisions.
Fifteen minutes before they'd arrive, he was gone. Beat the deadline. Didn't mess with a shower, or breakfast, or even packing neatly. Just shoved everything in his bag. Left the same scribbled note that he always did. "Dolores called. See you later."
Always left that stupid hint. "Dolores". Someday they'd catch on.
Maybe.
Elevator down to the garage, bag tossed in the car. Drove away. One step at a time, not planning any further than that. More than that was overwhelming. Required thought and control he couldn't find. Watched traffic, watched the lights, took random off-ramps. No thinking, just doing. Two hours later, he pulled into a motel, parked in the back, paid in cash, went to his room, crawled into bed. Hid.
Days later - he wasn't sure how many and knew it didn't matter - he showered, changed clothes, called Hannibal. He listened to the lecture, promised to be at the obstacle course first thing in the morning. Walked to his car, drove to the first cafe he saw, had breakfast. Looking through the gossip columns, he found a new place to live. Drove there, let himself in.
He stared out at the ocean, standing on the deck. Took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He was still a bit tired, still a bit foggy, but he'd beaten it. Again. One day, maybe he wouldn't, but this time he had. This time he'd come out of it. He was back. Whole again. He'd won, one more time.
He smiled.
God's in His heaven, All's right with the world...