johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,

The Dogpatch - Chapter 15

Note - There is gore in this chapter.

- - -

The Dogpatch
Fandom – The A-Team
Pairing – Hannibal/Face, BA/Murdock
Warnings – sexual situations, violence, gore
Rating – NC/17
Disclaimer – I do not own.
Summary – Face has gone from prisoner to lover in just under an hour. They may be in Germany, far away from the horrors of Viet Nam, but Face knows that it’s not going to be “happily ever after” any time soon.
Chapter 15– skinned
          Something rattled.
          It was night. All was quiet. He’d been lightly asleep; the rattling however had his eyes snapping wide open and searching the darkness for the threat. His hackles rose like that of a spooked cat. Someone was on the balcony. He couldn’t see who because the darkness was inky and there was no full moon that night to light up the veranda for him. Face didn’t move. He didn’t dare to breath.
          Hannibal’s gun was under the pillow that Hannibal had possession of. Hannibal was snoring softly. As far as Face could tell, Hannibal was asleep and quite unaware of the danger. Face knew otherwise, he was a trained assassin and his training would be different from Hannibal’s who was used to war, not sneak attacks in the middle of the night in one’s own home. Nonetheless one with such a security system as Hannibal employed on the castle.
          A shadow moved. Face watched as the body of a person silently sneaked along the glass doors. Face knew two things then. Hannibal didn’t have an alarm on the veranda doors, and Face wouldn’t be able to get the gun without alerting the enemy to his actions. Which meant one thing – Face got ready to jump at a seconds notice.
          There was a slight scraping on the doors. The lock was being picked, then some hesitation. Whoever was trying to sneak in wanted to make sure no one was alert to him/her. Face squinted so that if there was a sudden burst of any sort of light, it wouldn’t bounce off his eyes, letting the intruder know he was awake.
          He could hear the door slowly sliding open.
          The alarm didn’t go off.
          Hannibal kept sleeping beside him.
          …and…Then... footsteps...
          Face counted to five. The intruder was closing in on him. He was the target.
          The knife was about to be buried in his chest when Face surged up, grabbed the wrist and buried his fist in the assassin’s stomach. Hannibal came to startled state of wakefulness as Face pushed the man backwards and practically threw him into the glass doors.
          The force shattered the glass of one door outwards. The attacker fell onto his back out and onto the terrace. The knife went sliding over the side. Before Face could continue the attack, Hannibal had his gun aimed and the safety off. He pushed Face behind him as the assassin got to his feet.
          Three rounds were let loose as the man went over the side.
          Hannibal ignored the glass as he went to see if he could get a bull’s eye on the man who’d almost killed his lover. However, he couldn’t find any trace. It was far too dark to see. The cold was another problem as well. He turned to Face, who had all the lights in the room on now, he looked grim but not shaken. And then BA and Murdock rushed in, both with guns in their hands just in case.
          “What happened?” BA asked. He was grim as he looked from Face to Hannibal.
          “Are either of you hurt?” Murdock asked.
          “I’m all right,” Hannibal glared at the glass. He’d stepped on a few slivers and could feel the blood pooling under his feet where he stood.
          “I guess we’ll get a guest bedroom ready for you, Hannibal, and board this room up till we can get thicker glass installed,” Murdock suggested.
          “We have bigger problems than glass,” Face was pail. He was shaking slightly.
          “Do you know who tried to kill Hannibal?” BA asked.
          “It wasn’t Hannibal he wanted to kill,” Face shook his head, “If that were the case he’d have gone for Hannibal’s side of the bed. No, he came to mine first. He wanted me dead first because I pose an actual threat,” Face shook himself, gathered his sanity visibly.
          “Hendrickson has it out for me. Either personally or he has been ordered to kill me,” Face informed them all, “in which case, I can’t guarantee the safety of any of you,”
          Face didn’t know much about how to go about cheering someone up. Hannibal, Murdock and BA were at the table. Hannibal thinking and smoking away while the other two waited. Face, however, had never been able to stay still unless someone made him – therefore, he was at the stove making hot chocolate as he remembered Sister Thatcher doing for him after another family rejected him.
          He set the sauce pan on the burner and poured in four cups of milk to heat. He replaced the milk into the fridge before purveying the cupboard. The kitchen was well stocked with everything one needed for anything they wanted to cook. Face grabbed the cooking coco powder, sugar, vanilla and cinnamon sticks. He also grabbed some cookies because how could one have hot chocolate without the cookies. Then he spied it last minute, a jumbo bag on marsh mellows.
          He put all of these on the counter next to him. He found a whisk and started assembling the drink. Of course he knew this wouldn’t actually fix the problem. It had to be Hendrickson who’d tried to kill him, but that didn’t make sense, now that he thought about it. The fight had been too short. If Hendrickson had wanted him dead, Face knew that one of them would be dead right now.
          He just couldn’t say with any sort of certainty that he’d have won.
          Which hadn’t been a thought he’d entertained with any sort of seriousness. The training he’d gone through was personalized to him. He and the Assassin didn’t fight the same way. He whisked the chocolate harder before adding the sugar. Of course it made sense for each Faceman to receive differentiating training. No one was the same, exactly, and though he was sure there was a basic skill set – things had to change later on in the programming.
          He wouldn’t know for sure unless he somehow was able to fight Hendrickson (again). The possibility of there being more than one Faceman looking to kill him seemed like something right out of a 70’s spy novel. But, he wouldn’t dismiss the notion.
          Face brought out four cups from the cupboard and poured the chocolate into them. Then he dropped the marshmallows and a cinnamon stick into the hot drink. He brought three mugs over to the table. Each man silently took one. Face went back for his mug before joining them at the table.
          It was nearing on to three in the morning. Face sipped his drink. He knew he couldn’t just barrel out to find the assassin. He didn’t know how big the operation was and he’d just gotten over being sick. The whip marks on his back had finally begun to heal properly as well. He couldn’t sabotage the healing process by going out and doing something stupid.
          No. It was best to wait till morning and then gather all the evidence he could.
          Tommy paid the vendor. He took the tray of coffee and Kartoffelpuffer, hazelnut omelet and rye bread. It was cold as he hurried down the street and towards the apartment he was sharing with Lieutenant Hendrickson. It was quiet despite the street traffic and other people milling about in what felt to be sub-zero weather. He missed his native California in this weather.
          He had to cross the street at the light and turn right before he got to the apartment complex. He took the stairs two flights up. He pulled off his black glove with his teeth before reaching into his pocket for the keys. The metal was cold as was the air and he really wished he could handle the keys without taking his glove off.
          He pushed the tip of the key into the lock, but the door swung open before the key could click home. Beyond the small patch of sunlight that filtered onto the threshold – the apartment was dark. Tommy stooped and set the food down at the side of the door. Slowly, he undid his heavy winter jacket so that he could pull out an army issued revolver.
          He creeped inside; the first room he cleared was the living room. It was a complete mess. Hendrickson was a very anal person when it came to keeping things in order – he hated mess – whoever broke into their apartment had balls. The news papers littered the floor. Couch cushions were torn to shreds and the batting strewn on top of the papers. The blinds had been torn off as well. The kitchen – which he had a clear view of from the entrance – was just as bad, if not worse. Pots and pans they hardly used were abandoned on the floor as if a child had left them there. Dishes, broken, utensils thrown; someone was looking for something. But what, he didn’t know.
          The bathroom looked have come right out of a horror movie. The bathtub was full of red water that was splashed all over and made the floor slippery. The walls were painted in fresh blood. Tommy could see hand prints sliding down. There was a hole at about waist height. The only way he could puzzle that is whoever got attacked was bent over and rammed into the wall. The mirror, shattered. Blood stained the edges of several fragments. The metal tang of blood filled the air.
          There goes the fee. Tommy thought.
          The bedroom, the last room of the apartment was next. But he checked the hall closet just in case someone was hiding; no one, not even under the extra pile of blankets atop the closet shelf. He backed up and five feet later he was sticking the pointed end of his gun into the dark room. The first thing that hit him full force was the smell of urine and shit, along with the heady aroma of blood. He cringed at the smell, but knew he had to make damned well sure that someone was dead before he let his guard down.
He ducked and moved the door - ready to shoot if anyone dared attack him.
          Shadow…nothing. Tommy took a deep breath, closed the door and turned on the overhead light. The flip of the switch magically dispersed the darkness. Only…Tommy wished he’d left the light off on hind sight.
          The bedroom was just as trashed as the rest of the house. The only difference was that the dead body of Lieutenant Hendrickson was practically nailed to the wall. Huge, rail rode pikes stuck out from the middles of his hands and the ankles of his feet in an X shape on the wall. All of his teeth had been pulled out and they lay in a dish from their own kitchen set on the dresser near by. Even his tongue had been cut out of his mouth.
          Tommy paced closer. It was just a dead body and he was a trained fighter. Whoever killed Hendrickson had to be good because Tommy had never ever seen Hendrickson go down in any sort of fight. And Hendrickson wasn’t on the little side either; Tommy figured around 250 if he was feeling generous; not to mention that Hendrickson had taken out three men, twice his size, all at the same time. It had been some fight. The whole of Delta Base had turned out for it.
          Now he was dead and various body parts were lying around in mixing bowls, other pots, and dish ware. His balls and cock had even been stripped of skin. They were still attached to Hendrickson. But…Tommy didn’t even want to know how that felt. His Dad was a Mobster and had whacked many a man – this, however, Tommy was sure no mobster in the history of the Mob had ever done this.
          Tommy sighed. Now he had to make a decision.
          Whoever had killed Hendrickson was probably after something more and whoever had possession of that was gonna be next on the hit list. He decided to find their camera, take pictures and report in. Someone would know what to do about this whole mess. 

Tags: ba, blood, death, faceman, gore, hannibal, hendrickson, horror, mudock, the a-team

  • Good Writer's Only, please!

    What the fuck. No, seriously. I was at the BBC Sherlock meme and some Anon-idiot is posting prompts like crazy. Only they add a rather horrible…

  • Once more, and more...

    I do believe, that as the English Language changes with all the influx of odd things - that I shall never get over the palpitations my heart does…

  • What to do now?????

    I used five question marks in my title because I feel that number sufficiently illustrates my utter lack of muse on TMCOSH <-- "The Many Cumming's…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded