johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,
johnnypenn
johnnypenn

Dogpatch - Chapter 9 (a)


The Dog Patch

  

Disclaimer – I do not own these characters. I make no money off this fan fiction.

 

Pairing – Eventual H-Bamf

 

Rating – R/NC17

 

Warnings – War time Violence, sex and possibly some kink

 

 

Summary – AU – Templeton Peck is mistaken for a world renowned spy. He is stuck in a prison camp to be trained as a secret weapon of the A-Team, who are Traitors to America.

 

A/N – Okay, so from now on I’m going to be referring to Templeton as Face; Because that’s who he thinks of himself as a person. Before, since I was concealing the fact that he was a world famous assassin, letting him refer to himself as Face in the POV would have been giving it away. So from a writerly standpoint, it makes sense. I just don’t want anyone to become confused when I change mid POV.

 

 

Chapter 9 – Running in Circles

 

 He slipped and fell face first into the mud. However, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t take a deep breath and he’d given up muttering curses after the fifth time he’d been made to run the damned obstacle course. It harkened back to his childhood in a really nightmarish way.

 

          Alvin! Pick it up you slacker!” Father Norman yelled.

 

          “Shit,” he picked himself up and started at a fast clip, “now I’m hearing voices,” he jumped a log and then dove to his knees to crawl under the sharp wire that made a bridge above him. Next he had to swim through a small lake – okay, that was an exaggeration – and then pass the three men who jeered at him to go faster.

 

          I want to see the lot of you do this five or more time’s and then see how fast you can go! Bastards!

 

          He continued on as best he could; jumping, swinging, crawling through the mud and other muck; he tried to keep going and not to give in to his bodily weakness. Not that he could help it in the end. It got too much, and he collapsed to the darkness right at Hannibal’s boots.

 

0-0-0

 

          “Hey Kid…?” a damp rag on his forehead told him that someone cared. For what agenda and ends, he had no idea. Slowly he opened bright blue eyes to see Hannibal’s own glimmer strongly down at him. It was like Hannibal was proud of him for some reason. Templeton tried to puzzle it out.

 

          “Where…?” he coughed. Hannibal helped him to sit up. He was clean. No mud to be seen anywhere, and he smelled cucumber and he knew it was him. He was also dressed in a long night shirt. The sun shone brightly through the slats of the hut. Hannibal pressed the rim of a glass to his lips and he drank.

 

          “I didn’t think you’d make it as long as you did. I think the whipping we gave you made you weaker though. You’ve gotten sick,” Hannibal said.

 

          “I feel horrible,” Templeton sighed. He closed his eyes, a headache was forming as he spoke.

 

          “I’m sure you do,” Hannibal levered him down and onto the bed, “but don’t worry, I’ll put you back together,”

 

          “That’s what this is about, you figure you can just break me and then put me together how you want me to be. You want to order me to do your dirty work,” Templeton muttered into the pillow.

 

          “And what about the people you work for?” Hannibal asked.

 

          “They’re bastards,” Templeton opened his eyes to glare up at Hannibal, “they’re…blackmailing me into it. There isn’t a way out. So I took their offer. I’ll be damned to hell for eternity but at least…” he trailed off.

 

          “Yes?” Hannibal pushed.

 

          “At leas the Sisters will be safe,” he turned away, but Hannibal wouldn’t drop it. He gripped Templeton’s jaw and gently forced the younger man to look at him; “Sisters? You have family?”

 

          “No, Sisters as in Nuns,” Templeton replied, “I’m an orphan. I grew up in Orphanages, the only one that was slightly decent is the one I’m trying to save. If I fail…they’ll be evicted and the kids…bad things happen to Orphans. No one gives a shit and if they do it’s a lie…but why am I telling you this? It’s not like you’re any different,” he sighed and looked away, even though Hannibal still had a grip on his chin.

 

          The hand fell away and Templeton gripped the sheets. He was in Hannibal’s bed. That was why it was so comfortable. The sheets were clean as well. He wondered when they’d had the time to clean them.

 

          “You’re wrong, Temp,” Hannibal said gently, “I see potential in you,”

 

          “Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Templeton wasn’t sarcastic about it, only doubtful.

 

          “We didn’t actually betray America,” Hannibal climbed into bed and cradled Templeton to his chest. He started to shiver from the cold the camped onto his body, a cold he just suddenly realized he was shivering from. Hannibal drew up the blankets. He was warm and Templeton burrowed into Hannibal. The man was strong; he was also pliant in all the right places. It felt as if Templeton belonged, and that was a bad thing to think at the moment. He blamed it on being sick.

 

          “Won’t you tell me your side of the story?” Templeton asked.

 

          “We were given orders to raid a bank, the orders got lost and we are we are today,” Hannibal shrugged.

 

          “Can you explain that in five words or less?” Templeton called him on the vague answer.

 

          “Look, it doesn’t matter, but after this war is over. We’re going home,” Hannibal replied, “we miss the states and other people who speak English,”

 

          “Yeah? Where you figure on settling down?” Templeton asked, “I took off for LA after Arizona,”

 

          “LA sounds just fine,” Hannibal agreed.

 

          Templeton cleared his throat, “Yeah, its big enough for you guys to settle down and no one be the wiser, its how you’re gonna make money is the next step,”

 

          “Do you have any suggestions?” Hannibal asked with a small, jovial smirk.

 

          “Do what you do now, anyway?” Templeton asked, “There are loads of people who need a group like yours,” he avoided the M-word. Mercenary wouldn’t endear him to these guys.

 

          Hannibal chucked and kissed Templeton on the forehead. ‘Are you really The Faceman?” Hannibal asked.

 

          Templeton looked taken aback with the very sudden subject change; “I can’t tell you that,” he replied.

 

          “That’s the usual chicken shit reply CIA gives,” Hannibal returned quickly.

 

          “CIA…” it wasn’t a question and that gave it away, “well,” he shrugged, “I can claim you figured it out,”

 

          “So it is true,” and Hannibal wasn’t asking a question either. Both their statements spoke the truth. Templeton could feel it in his guts, and though that wasn’t what he’d been taught, sometimes, your gut feeling kept you alive more times than your head.

 

          “Yeah,” Face shrugged.

 

          “I see,” Hannibal reached over to the nightstand to grab the forgotten cup of water. Face drank the whole thing this time. His throat felt better for it but he still felt the need to cough.

 

          “I hate being sick,” he moaned.

 

          “I find it quite nice,” Hannibal muttered.

 

          “It’s not like you’re gonna catch it,” Face rolled his eyes.

 

          “No, but at least we can get to the bottom of some things,” Hannibal returned. He took the glass and put it to the side. He’d have to get more cold water for Face, and some broth. He doubted Face could eat anything heavier.

 

          “Look, even if you guys got kicked out of the Army for what those idiots perceived as being an un-lawful order, even though ya’ll know better….” He braced himself, “I can’t do it. I told you before I couldn’t do it,”

 

          “I know,” Hannibal nodded sagely.

 

          “And…?”

 

          “And you’re sick, you’re delirious, anything you say may be Intel but those guys don’t need to know it. The CIA isn’t interested in us,” Hannibal said.

 

          Face clacked his teeth in annoyance; He was sent to kill Tuan Tu’. And the A-Team had been protecting him. So why weren’t they protecting him now? They were involved because of whatever relations they had going on with the VC that allowed them to move about in the jungle freely.

 

          “Okay, hot shot,” Face challenged, “how do you figure that?”

 

          “You weren’t army trained, boy,” Hannibal replied, “you ran that obstacle coarse as if you were doing it for the first time. You may be able to handle yourself when it comes to weaponry, but the army didn’t train you. The CIA must have pulled strings to get you the rank you are. You were put in that camp not to be in the fight against VC, but to keep tabs on the Brass,” Hannibal replied.

 

          Face blinked, he was tired but he wanted to know how much Hannibal actually knew and maybe the guy didn’t know it. But…he was right. He was right about all of it. Now what was he going to do? He couldn’t report in as easily as Hendrickson thought he could. Hannibal would be waiting for such a dumb move.

 

          “And you think too much, kid,” Hannibal pulled Face tighter against him, “I can see it in your eyes,”

 

          “Well, it wasn’t like they expected me to become your prisoner,” Face muttered dejectedly. He was stuck with them. The CIA wouldn’t dare an extraction unless it met their ends, and…well…the Sisters were out on the streets.

 

          “Shit,” he buried his face into Hannibal’s neck, “now what will the sisters do? I haven’t held up my end of the deal.”

 

          “They’ll manage, they have the church to fall back on, but what about you? Who is there for you to fall back on?”

 

          “Ooooh….are you playing Darth Vader to my Luke Skywalker?” Face joked.

 

          “I don’t think of you as a son, so…unless Vader and Luke were into incest, no, I am not Darth Vader,” Hannibal snorted.

 

          “I am sure some depraved person has wrote that,” Face looked up at Hannibal, “even so…I…can’t,”

 

          “Than I have no choice,” Hannibal sighed.

 

          “I’m sorry, I…” but before he could continue a coughing fit caught him off guard. He lay there against Hannibal. Shivering, coughing and worrying about what Hannibal was going to do to him.

 

          Hannibal ran his fingers through soft blond hair. He shushed Face gently. “I’ll not hurt you unless you push me, Lieutenant.”

 

          Then something poked him in the neck and he was gone to the darkness.

 

 


Tags: ba, faceman, hannibal, murdock, pow camp, the a-team, vietnam germany
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