johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,
johnnypenn
johnnypenn


The Dogpatch

 

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 11 – Go fish in the cold

 

-*-

If you can’t get someone out of your head, than maybe they are supposed to be there – Anonymous

 

-*-

 

 

            “Do you have any fours…?” Murdock was studying his cards carefully as he posed the question to BA. They sat at the long dinning room table. The fire to their left was glowing merrily, but it let out hardly any heat. The old castle had electricity and hot running water, but central heating had been left out for one reason or another. Murdock found himself wearing a thick sweater, a wool hat, a scarf, and three pairs of socks along with gloves just to try and keep warm.

 

            BA was dressed almost to the same degree as Murdock. Only Hannibal seemed to take the cold in stride.

 

            “Go fish,” BA grunted.

 

            Murdock pulled another card from the deck. He had a pair of fives and he removed it from his hand. In front of him he had a pair of three and the five put him ahead of BA who only had a pair of sixes.

 

            Hannibal made an appearance. He had three cups of black coffee. BA and Murdock took theirs with delight. Hannibal sat down next to Murdock. Only he didn’t look too interested in who was winning the game.

 

            “What’s wrong Hannibal?” BA asked.

 

            “Face may be getting worse,” Hannibal sighed, “his fever isn’t breaking and I’ll have to call in a doctor soon,”

 

            “Do you think we should have stayed in ‘Nam?” BA asked.

 

            Murdock nodded, “would it have helped?”

 

            “We wouldn’t have the right medical care in ‘Nam that we have here. I know someone who won’t ask questions either. I’ll call Dr. Dunkle tonight,” Hannibal sipped on his coffee.

 

            “That’s the guy who helped us out before we left for ‘Nam in the first place right?” Murdock asked.

 

            “Yes,” Hannibal shook his head, “no one but us knows about this castle and my contacts would never tell anything to anyone for any price. Dunkle has been the Doctor since I can remember,” Hannibal explained.

 

            “I thought you grew up in the States,” BA looked up from his hand. With their game paused, Murdock gave more credence to whatever bit of information Hannibal would give them.

 

            “I did,” he shrugged.

 

            And that was the end of that.

 

0-0-0

 

 

 

            He woke to someone hacking up a lung. Hannibal hadn’t thought he’d fall asleep. He had though and he wasn’t pleased with himself. All was quiet except for the young man in the bed two feet away from him. His skin was paler than Hannibal had ever seen it before. Sweat mingled with tears and Hannibal sat forward.

 

            Face looked up, gasping for air, and he obviously wasn’t sure what Hannibal wanted from him. Hannibal reached for the bowl of water that sat on the small table between them. It was still cold, but that was hardly a surprise. It’d been snowing all weak, it was weird weather for Germany this time of year, but, no one can control the weather and so there is no point in complaining about it. Just as they couldn’t control the rains of Vietnam no one could control the snow of Germany.

 

            Hannibal took the wash cloth that lay in the bowl and rung it out. He stood and knelt beside Face. He gently dabbed at sweaty skin.

 

            “What…time is it?” Face asked. His voice came as a whisper. The coughing was really tearing up his throat.

 

            Hannibal glanced at his watch; “Two in the morning, kid,” he replied.

 

            Their whispers echoed in the empty room. He didn’t trust Face not to try and escape. Only the bed and table were permanent fixtures in the room. The chair had been dragged in by Murdock.  On the far side of the room was an opening that had held a door. Hannibal thought it’d be the perfect place for Face to stage something and had the door removed. The bathroom only had a sink and a bath tub. Other than these things, the rooms held nothing else. Hannibal wasn’t stupid enough to let Face get his hands on anything. It was too soon.

 

            Face sighed and relaxed as much as he could. Hannibal waited for the wheezing to stop – and for the tell tail signs of sleep.

 

             

0-0-0

 

 

            The sharp edge of a razor gliding over tan skin is slow and methodical by a sure hand. Face kept still in the water. He lay in a porcelain clawed bathtub. The water was blue by the hand made soap he’d used to wash with. The water was still warm and kept the cold of Germany at bay. Hannibal knelt above him. He had decided that Face needed a shave and was going to pamper Face by doing it for the kid.

 

            They’d been in Germany three days and Face felt as if it’d been ages since he’d been outside. Of course, he’d been sick the entire time and he hardly remember any of the days he’d passed in these rooms. And he had wanted to be outside…for some reason, he knew that if he could just get out…to the garden below his bared window; he would…be somewhere important. He wasn’t sure if the hallucination was real. He also knew that there was something inside him telling him to stay. That he needed to stay. But why did he need to stay? He hated it.

 

            He hated it.

 

            Hannibal took the last swipe of facial cream and hair before rinsing the blade off in the bath water. Face opened his eyes. Above him steam drifted lightly through the air, making all sorts of pictures only he could see. Hannibal whistled – which meant he was in a good mood or so Murdock had told him – as he cleaned up the blade and the rest of the supplies. The razor blade was made out of silver and was apparently a family heirloom.

 

            Hannibal closed the box of the shaving kit and stood. Face followed and grabbed a towel before pulling the plug of the drain. He’d come back in a few minutes to clean out the hair. He hated a dirty bathtub. It was by gone habit from his days at the orphanage where there were twenty or so kids to a single bathroom. He didn’t like it to be dirty. But he had to wait for the water to drain before he could give in to this need.

 

            Hannibal led the way out of the bathroom as Face dried off and slipped into the pajama’s Hannibal provided for him. They were white with a single trim of red ribbon on the cuffs of both the top and bottom. The flag stone floor beneath his feet was ice cold and he felt it begin to take over the after glow of warmth he’d gained from the bath.

 

            Hannibal had the covers of the twin bed pulled back and he was waiting for Face to climb in. His sickness had progressed alarmingly and he was forbidden to let it get worse. He paced across the room and climbed into bed. Hannibal tucked the thick blankets around him.

 

            Then, Hannibal sat down in the chair. “Face, go to sleep, we’ll talk later.”

 

Maybe they had left Dogpatch just in time. There hadn’t been any way he could have defended the camp from the American forces. He and his men would have been captured, and possibly killed.

 

            Sharp pin pricks of relief drifted from the tips of his toes and up his limbs. Now, he may have more variables to deal with here – to keep Morrison off their tails – but, at least in the Smith Family Castle, they had a position they could defend.

 

0-0-0

 

            Leopold Dunkle was not happy when his phone rang at four in the morning. However, hearing the voice of the child he’d helped through various health crisis – that had now become a man – he couldn’t help but not be as disgruntled while dressing. He attacked his white hair with a comb before grabbing his medical bag and heading out the door. Outside, the stars shone brightly and the village lay dark and quiet at the foot of Schmidt Castle.

 

            He began the long hike along the winding road to the castle gates.


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