Fandom – The A-Team
Rating – R/NC17
Pairing – H/F and BA/M
Disclaimer – I do not own the characters of The A-Team. I am not making any money off this bit of fiction. However, I am open to working on a book for the A-Team if the creators like what I have here…erm…slash is optional.
Summary – AU – Templeton Peck is a secret world famous spy who’s been accidentally (or not so much) captured by VC and exchanged into Colonel Hannibal’s hands. Now, he has to keep the man at arms length, otherwise risk something he’d much rather not.
A/N – Ahahaha, I am changing up the pairings. Instead of H-Bamf, I’m going for Hannibal/Face and BA/Murdock on the side. I hope no one minds but it works for this story.
Chapter 10 – Yes Sir
The papers were thrust into his face. Face looked up at Hannibal who looked far to pleased with himself. And, in order to find out why – Face took the papers. He found his name, he found the words “Died in the field” and boring, medical statements from Medic’s he didn’t even know. Well, after those facts entered his head, so did “honorably discharged” – at least they had given him that.
“What’d you do to get this?” Face asked, waving the papers a bit to indicate what he was talking about.
Face felt his left eye start to twitch. “You gave them that information for me, didn’t you? Because if I were dead I’d know it,” there was a slight challenging tone in Face’s words.
“There is nothing for you to go back to, Face,”
“Why me?” Face asked, “I’m not good company most of the time,”
“And I’m sure Murdock could tell you how hard it is to live with BA and I,”
Face couldn’t hold back a small smile.
“I like your smile,” he said.
Face shook his head; “what, now we’re going to be buddy-buddy?”
“What’s wrong with that,”
“It’s just that…I…may be dead on paper, but…I’m still a person,” he grouched unhappily.
“I know that, but you belong to me now,”
Face huffed. He just wasn’t getting through to the older man. The cheerful whistling of Murdock arriving with breakfast shattered the awkward silence they’d lapsed into. Of course
“Stop thinking, Faceman!” Murdock grinned as he handed over a bowl of warm beef broth and coffee to Face, “we’re getting out of here soon, a change of scenery will do you well,” and then he left
Face began to sip the broth slowly. The sedative sickness always made him throw up. He’d been able to ignore it since waking early that morning to
Wait...Face replayed what Murdock had said in his brain. The words echoed…leaving…? Where!?
What had brought this on? Face wondered. He silently drank his broth and coffee. They’d had enough conversation that morning and Face could feel the headache start behind his eyes. He didn’t know a lick of German. Well that pretty much pointed him out as a foreigner to the locals. He’d have a hard time going to ground and blending in. This meant he pretty much had to go to the US Embassy or a military base. And then he’d be in direct contact with Morrison, who’d traded him for information in the first place.
That guy and the A-Team were in bed together, and not in a good way. If Morrison got his dirty old hands on him, Face knew he’d be shipped back to the A-Team. Morrison wouldn’t want to piss
Okay, so escaping back to the military was out.
And why should he go back, anyway? They’d listed him as dead. He was free to go where he wanted. Now, it was all a matter of planning; getting away from Hannibal and his men long enough to make arrangements under their noses. But, who did they know? Who’d rat him out the first chance they got? What part of
Funny, it seemed that’d all he’d been getting lately. The whipping hadn’t been for his ill thought out escape plan – it’d been to gain more knowledge of the men in their keeping. They’d judge him worthy while Hendrickson had been pushed to the side. Though his escape was far easier and that had been planned.
“Hendrickson was working with Morrison all along, wasn’t he?” Face asked, “and you two are in bed together, figuratively speaking,” he pointed out, because he wanted
“So…it was all a set up then,” and it wasn’t a question. He’d put the plot together days before. It’d been a mission that had been botched from the start. He wasn’t meant to kill Tuan Tu’ – that bastard was meant to capture their little group of soldiers and he was meant to go to
“Did you know before….you got us?” Face asked.
Okay, so he doesn’t think Hendrickson is the Faceman. He hadn’t been listening in to our conversations at all. He’s human. I can get away if I really thought about it and didn’t push my luck.
Face couldn’t bring himself to hoping that Hendrickson was all right. That guy was a prick. It made sense now why the CIA always trained him one on one. If their assassins got a whiff of each other, there was no telling what sort of carnage would come about. The Army had beaten the respect for superior officers into him and that was why he hadn’t gone off half cocked and killed Hendrickson the first time he’d admitted he was The Faceman.
It was supposed to be an ingrained instinct. If anyone say’s they are The Faceman, kill them on site. No if’’s – ands – or butts about it. But he hadn’t because killing a senior officer would get him a court martial and in jail faster than
Face nodded; “Sounds good,” he tried to be cheerful about it, honest he did, only it was
Face sputtered as the cold water was poured over him. His hands were tied to a bamboo pole above him as the crude shower erupted ice cold water over his naked body. He shook his head, trying to get the water out of his eyes.
He was doing well at it too – because all Face could think about was how cold he was. The brush strokes didn’t help either and the soap smelt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. Murdock had the chore of cleaning him. He didn’t seem to mind and he prattled on and on about Billy, the invisible dog, and Sockie which BA had tried to destroy earlier that week but failed.
He was so cold though that his teeth were chattering. Well, it didn’t help that he was sick as well and he was freezing on the inside. He just hoped it’d be sweltering, again, today and he could be somewhat warm. Now, Germany wouldn’t be this hot – and that’d be a problem. He didn’t have clothing. The ones he’d arrived at the camp in were long gone. They’d been torn to shreds and muddied. He wore what Hannibal provided and if the man knew anything about prisoners, he wouldn’t allow Face near any warm clothing.
The water stopped suddenly and Face stood gasping and chattering violently. Murdock undid the rope to let Face stand completely on his feet. He stood there miserably as the man dried him off and herded him back towards Hannibal’s hut. He was barefoot and dripped water along the way.
Hannibal wouldn’t let him back into the clean sheets till the mud was removed from his feet with the towel. He lay down, wrapping the sheets and blankets around him as tight as he could. Trying for some warmth.
Hannibal sat beside him; “I and the other fella’s need to get to work on the move, don’t get up from this bed,” it was an order.
“Y-y-essss….ssssiiir,” Face stuttered through the cold and shivers that rocked his body.
“If you need anything, just call,” and with that Hannibal left him alone.
Now, he had two options, escape into the forest sick and hope for the better, or go with them to Germany where he was at least in some sort of civilization and get back to America that way. Sure, the details needed to be strengthened, but, he was dead. He had all the time in the world.
It took him forever to drop off to sleep.
Later, Hannibal looked in on his prize. The kid was looked pale as moonlight. His skin had lost what tan it had with the bombardment of his illness. His wavey blond hair was all skittered about his head and he snore slightly with slightly blocked sinuses.
Hannibal couldn’t help but work himself across the room. This camp had been their safe haven for a number of years now, and they were leaving it in a matter of days. It felt like home, but not really. They never had liked Vietnam. And the country had taken more out of Templeton Peck than Hannibal liked.
The kid was something else, all right and Hannibal couldn’t wait to see what he’d do once in Germany. He’d have to keep a close eye on him. That went without saying, actually. Hannibal sat down on the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t equate Face with an angel during sleep. No, Hannibal rather thought he looked haggard and in need of R&R.
He’d get that in Germany. Hannibal didn’t like the thought of moving the kid while he was sick. However, there wasn’t a better option. Tuan Tu’ couldn’t demand anything from them if he couldn’t find them. He’d feared the Vietnamese General would find out about Face – the real Face – and demand him dead.
And Hannibal couldn’t take that chance.
They needed to move sooner than the last Friday of the week. They needed to leave this evening.
He gently shook Face. The kid groaned and blinked open fevered blue eyes.
“Hannibal…?” Face asked.
“We gotta get going, Face,” Hannibal replied. He pulled Face up and wrapped the blankets around him before picking him up bridal style. The young man was thin as a reed. Murdock even had more weight than Face did at this moment.
“Why are we leaving now?” Face asked sleepily.
Outside the moon was hung at its zenith above the rain forest. The camp was deserted and the van stood waiting. It’d get them to the air strip much faster than the old, beat up truck could ever achieve. Hannibal handed Face over to Murdock who helped Face into the seat behind BA – who was driving.
“Man, I hate flying,” BA grumbled.
“Oh get over it, Big guy!” Murdock chirped, “It ain’t that bad!”
“You’re flying, fool!” BA objected vehemently, “and it’s always bad when you fly!”
They made it to the lonely air strip faster than Face thought – since they were driving at night in the Vietnam forest and it was always hell to traverse it at night on foot – however, BA seemed to know the rout by hand. The large plane sat on the tarmac; lights off and looking like a great, huge shadow of an ancient animal in the wilderness.
BA pulled the van inside the air plane. Murdock got out and went towards the cockpit. Hannibal and BA got out and manually closed the bay doors to the baggage compartment. Then BA went about securing down the van.
“Hannibal, don’t you dare poke me with anything,” BA warned. The colonel shrugged and brought out a cigar and a lighter. BA turned around and huffed. He was about ready to go and grab a seat in the passenger lunge of the plane. He could hear the rotators start up and he felt the jitteriness that pervaded a panic attack. Hannibal, however, didn’t like BA when in the middle of one of those, stiff as a board the guy got, and he poked him with the hidden needle he brought out of his jacket lapel.
It took five seconds to work. Hannibal caught BA and swung him up on his shoulders. Face had watched this all from the van which had its side door open. He wrapped the sheets about him because he was naked and he didn’t like that fact at all. But seeing how much Hannibal cared about BA and his fear of flying – well, it put the A-Team into a different light.
“Come on kid,” Hannibal grunted around his cigar. Face closed the side door of the van once he was out and scrambled after Hannibal. The passenger lounge was nice. The cabin was painted white and the chairs were soft leather. Hannibal put BA into a chair and practically tied him to it.
“He’ll be out for a few hours,” he said to Face and he turned to get him settled. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“I’ll get you into clothing before we land, Germany this time of year is cold,” he said as he directed Face to sit down. Face did. The chair was comfortable and he could imagine sleeping in it without any pains. Hannibal cuffed on wrist, threaded the chain under the chair arm rest and took Face’s other wrist and locked the second handcuff in place. Now he couldn’t leave the chair without calling upon Hannibal for mercy. It’d also be hard to eat or drink with his hands in such a position.
It didn’t escape Face – he knew what Hannibal was doing. And it didn’t escape Hannibal that Face knew that he knew what he was doing with this little trick. Face would have to gain help for simple things.
“You really do suck,” Face muttered as he pouted up at Hannibal.
“You’re forgetting yourself there, Lieutenant,” Hannibal warned.
Face grimaced, “Sorry Sir,”
Hannibal nodded and found his own seat as the plane finally took off under the masterful hands of Howlin’ Mad Murdock.