Work without fun is like peanut butter without jelly. - Jase Robertson
Hannibal put his book down and started working his way through the house. He smiled wryly. Four grown men in the house and none of them had learned to turn out the lights when they left a room. Not the only time they acted less like adults and more like teenagers, but after all, Stockwell was paying the electric bill.
His smile faded as he entered the kitchen. The outdoor lights in back were on, though dim, and he could barely make out somebody sitting out by the pool. Murdock had left a couple hours ago, and Hannibal thought the others had gone to bed. He wasn't unduly alarmed, as the Ables hadn't reacted. Nevertheless, he pulled a pistol from its hiding spot before going outside, relaxing when he recognized his lieutenant slouched in the lawn chair. He didn't immediately move closer, however. It was rare that he had a chance to really study his lieutenant anymore, and seeing the frown, he wondered again just what was going on with him.
Face had been a bit... off for several weeks. He'd been on edge since they hooked up with Stockwell, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Smiles were halfhearted and didn't come nearly as often, the sarcastic wit developed a nasty bite, and his temper flared more frequently (although often followed by an apology). Hannibal knew he was chafing at Stockwell's tight bit, and it was one reason Hannibal indulged the chicanery that provided extraneous fringe benefits - again, at Stockwell's expense. It was also because he knew that Face hadn't forgotten that long ago comment from Hannibal.
"Now Face, if we had endless amounts of money at our disposal and could do whatever we want, whenever we wanted, we wouldn't really need you, now would we?"
No one really thought Face had taken it seriously. Hannibal still didn't think so - except when Face's mind went down into that dark place it visited now and then. And obviously being in Langley had opened that door wide. So, the scams were not only indulged but encouraged. Face enjoyed it, allowing him a relatively harmless means of retaliation for the general's constraints.
But it was only a temporary fix. That simmering frustration remained, and for some unexplained reason had seemed to expand after that Bancroft job. Hannibal thought it had something to do with Bancroft's daughter, but Face would not discuss it. Nor would Murdock, who normally knew everything going on with his best friend. Whatever it was, Face was keeping it strictly to himself.
Hong Kong was another puzzle. Every one of the team had told him how Face had taken charge. Stood up to Stockwell. Insisted they were going after Hannibal. Using Stockwell as a means to an end instead of kowtowing to his demands. And the whole team had worked in complete sync with him, just like they did in Nam. Even Frankie had accepted his leadership.
But Hannibal knew there were things his team wasn't telling him. Stockwell had done or said something over there, something that Face would not forget - or forgive. Instead of bringing his lieutenant back to his old self, Hong Kong made things even worse.
With the missions coming almost uninterrupted since then, Face was quickly heading for the boiling point. Even Hannibal was feeling the stress. He used to love the gathering of intel, the planning... most of all, the execution. That adrenaline high of knowing they could deal with whatever was thrown at them. Now... shit, now it was like Hanoi all over again. And again and again and again. Never knowing if they'd been told everything they needed to know, what the real purpose of the mission was, who was actually involved... If or when they'd just be hung out to dry.
Maybe tonight, with just him and Face, uninterrupted, they could work something out. Figure out how they could all stay sane long enough to get those damn pardons.
At the very least, maybe Hannibal could figure out how to keep Face from detonating.
He cleared his throat softly and moved forward.