johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,

Dog Patch - Chapter 17

Nothing too bad in this chapter. erm, I mean, there isn't any sex. *lol*
Plot, plot and more plot. meh. This took a whole different turn than what I was thinking but seeing as how t is AU...I think it's okay. It's also at 9 pages. I am three over my usual chapter length. :)

The Dogpatch

Fandom – The A-Team

Pairing – Hannibal/Face, BA/Murdock

Warnings – sexual situations, violence, gore

Rating – NC/17

Disclaimer – I do not own the character of the A-Team. Nor do I know anything about the CIA. This story is Fictional in every definition of the word. I also do not make any money off this story.

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.

NOTES – I do not know what the CIA does. I’m making up my own shit. Class is training that the FM’s go through and University is the base the CIA uses to train their agents. Well. In my universe that is. I think it’s pretty straight forward in the text, but I just wanted every one to know what I was thinking when I wrote that.

Chapter 17 – It takes a Gamble

Face woke as a hand gently shook him awake. He knew he was with Hannibal. The room smelt thick with smoke. He sat up to view Murdock, BA and Hannibal had a snack waiting. The three were dressed and Face felt slightly off kilter because he was naked beneath the sheet. Outside it was snowing, and dark.

“What’s wrong?” Face asked.

“We aren’t sure. Who’s Tommy Angel?” Murdock was the first to speak.

“Ah, he and I never did get along. But he’s the same rank as me,” Face replied, “I do know that his Dad is one of the biggest drug dealers in LA,”

“Was he close to Hendrickson, at all?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” Face shook his head, “Angel arrived at Delta Base a week before Hendrickson and I was given our mission we were captured on. If they do know each other now, I suspect it might be because Hendrickson was sent to kill me. He might need someone to…make sure he got the job done. I don’t know why they’d make Hendrickson bring along a partner, though. As far as I know Angel is a normal grunt,” Face explained.

“That makes sense,” BA nodded.

“I have it on good authority that Hendrickson called into base claiming that Angel bit the dust in the field. However, he called in after he was found dead by the German Police,” Hannibal said. He held several sheaves of paper and Face lent over the bed enough to grab them from his Lover.

“That means that Angel called in as Hendrickson. He deserted,” Face replied as he looked through the reports, which, thankfully, were all in English.

“Okay…” Face muttered to himself, “what do I know, what should I know and what do I do about it…?”

Protocol said to check in with his handlers. They’d want him back. They’d want him to tell them everything that happened since his placement in Delta Base in Vietnam. They’d want to know how it all went wrong. How and why Hannibal kept him alive and in good health – not to mention why he never tried to escape. There would be conflicting reports between him and Hendrickson – who was dead and who was going to be blamed for his death?

If the CIA didn’t find him, didn’t believe the lies he would tell them…he could very well go down for all of this.

Face looked up at Hannibal; “You have to let me go,”

“What…?” Hannibal didn’t look taken aback. He was thinking. He was watching Face closely.

“We can’t!” Murdock bounded up from his chair.

“I have to go and let the CIA know I’m alive. I can’t protect you guys if I am here. They will find me, and by then it’ll be too late. I have to go to them.” Face shook his head. If he played this right he could retire. Be put on the CIA’s black list and go back to a normal life in the States. If he survived; they might try and kill him. But they’d trained him especially – whatever the CIA did, Face knew he could handle it.

“Hold it, sucka!” BA grabbed Murdock and slammed him down and back into the chair. He turned and looked at Face; “What you sayin’?” he asked.

“I…probably won’t see you guys again,” Face muttered, “but, at least I’d know you were alive. If the CIA comes after me. I’d much rather go at it alone.”

It was deadly quiet in the room. It lasted for ages until Hannibal sighed.

“Okay, Kid. If that’s what you want to do,”

“It is. I’m sorry, Hannibal. I wanted to stay and be with you. But now I see that just won’t happen,” he sighed.

“I think we’ll meet again,” Hannibal climbed onto the bed, “I know it,”

Face fell into his former Lover’s grip easily. The strong arms held him in a hug the younger man knew he’d miss.


She was a tall and blond. She wore a knee length black skirt, a bright red blouse, heels she could run in, and a black coat to protect her from the winter breeze of Berlin. Café Von Rose. In the summer months, the entire place was packed full of roses. In the winter, however, it lacked cheer and warmth. In fact, it looked to be on the gloomy side. Snow softly swirled about those who huddled at the tables over coffee – trying to pretend that the weather wasn’t as cold as it felt. She found him just as he looked up from his German phrase book.

Templeton peck tried not to look so much like the tourist he obviously was. He wore black pants and a black turtle neck. His leather jacket was black and buttoned and he wore black gloves. The wind ruffled his black hair and Isolde could just imagine the bright blue of his eyes behind the shades he decided to wear. She walked towards him casually. Not belying her excitement at seeing that her dear friend was alive and well. However, he might not be for very long.

“Templeton, darling!” she put on her fake French accent which was good enough for her to get away with being seen as a French Citizen. Templeton stood up and they embraced and fake-kissed both of each other’s cheeks as the French did. Then they sat down and Templeton ordered a second coffee for Isolde.

“Guten Morgan, Isolde,” Templeton grinned.

“Are you hurt, Temple?” Isolde asked, her accent firmly in place.

“No, I’m all right,” Templeton shook his head.

“How did you get here from ‘Nam?” she had lowered her voice but Templeton was sure that their conversation was being recorded.

“The A-Team brought me here still as there prisoner. I escaped some weeks ago and have been keeping a low profile. Then I saw that Hendrickson was dead. I thought maybe it was about time to get in touch with you,” Templeton explained. The waitress was back with the fresh cup of coffee and a refill for Templeton. They waited until she had exchanged cups and had walked away with his used cup before going back to their conversation.

“Where is your back up?” Templeton asked.

“They’re around. We’re trying to see if you’ve been compromised,” Isolde shrugged.

“I see,” Templeton sipped at his coffee. “Did you put anything in it?” he asked, pointing at the cup. “It’s the simplest way,” he shrugged, “assuming that I have no one watching my back,”

“You don’t,” Isolde pointed out.

“I know that, and you know that,” Templeton nodded, “but does your back up know that? They don’t know me as well as you know me,”

“Well,” Isolde cocked her head and smiled. “That’s true,”

Templeton felt himself getting groggy. He yawned and politely covered it with a hand. “Damn. I hate it when this happens, and I’m being cooperative,” and then he slumped over the table. Isolde moved the coffee just in time so that his clothing didn’t get ruined. He always hated it when clothing he particularly liked got soiled for no reason.

From a near by alley way, two men dressed in the uniforms of the German Police made a beeline for them. And a black van pulled up at the curb. The two men had no problem picking Templeton up between them and depositing him into the van. Isolde climbed in after. From the inside of her jacket she took out heavy-duty handcuffs. These were especially made for the men in the FMP. They’d been trained to get out of anything except these cuffs. To date, no one had been able to do it.

She locked them easily onto Templeton’s wrists; she was being nice not to bind his wrists behind his back. Though it gave her and her back up less control over the assassin; Templeton would appreciate it though and if he was quiet and did what he was told until the bosses could speak to him – and make their decision – it was one concession Isolde was willing to make.


His head hurt like he’d been run over by a truck. He knew it was the sedative talking to him though. It had to be some strong stuff. He did not remember being moved, or even waking up at all during the process of bringing him from the café to the safe house. He blinked and knew at once he was in deep shit. The bosses obviously had no trust in him. The room was bare and grey. The cot was made out of concrete. The fabric of the blanket he was given was so touch that it’d take nothing less than a knife – that he didn’t have – to cut it up into strips in order to use for Suicide.

He hadn’t been planning on that, though, and so he knew – on one level or another – that this would happen. His hands were bound, in front thankfully, by binders he’d seen in Class at the University – binder’s that he hadn’t been trained in escaping. Now, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to escape from them. Next, he visually searched the small room for the small camera’s he was sure were hidden every where. They’d want to record his every move. It’d be hard to escape, but doable.

Only, that was his last resort.

He only had two options and he was hoping that the bosses would believe his lies. Unless they put him into a voice scanner; that’d shoot it all to hell. He would have no choice but to tell the truth. There was just no working the system this early in the game. A game he would lose either way. He’d never be able to see Hannibal, Murdock or BA again. Not if he wanted to keep breathing. And on one hand he wished he’d never left Schmidt Castle – he could see himself sitting the huge library reading by a fire. It was so cold in the room he was being held in, but the memory didn’t help warm him up at all.

He did hope Hannibal understood; not that they’d had time to actually talk about it. He was gone that very evening three days ago. Or so he thought it was three days. Who knew how much time had gone by as he was sleeping off the sedative. They didn’t have any time for a good by fuck either. That was kind of sad. And Face wondered if he’d ever fall in love again. It wouldn’t be the same. Nope. He had other things to worry about right now than his love life. But, he could imagine. And he always imagined Hannibal and he on the deck of their beach house in L.A.

Oh yeah. That was far better than spending the summer in Germany. It was so cold he was freezing his nuts off. He sighed and sat up. His back was stiff. The concrete had no give when it came to making a bed out of it. Even prisoner’s in the US got better cots than this! He still had on all of this clothing, including his coat. Maybe he’d get off easy. And if he could keep his life intact – he would.


Devin Cadogan had arrived at the safe house ten minutes before Peck had been brought in. The cell had been prepared before then by Isolde and she gently laid a blue blanket over Peck before she and her men had left the room – locking it behind them. There was a chance that Peck had been turned. But they wouldn’t know that until they brought in the Specialists. That’d be the day after tomorrow, but that was all right. First they had to see how he dealt in isolation.

Isolde stood behind him. “What do you think?” she asked.

“He’s taking it well,” Cadogan remarked, “he doesn’t seem too bothered by the cuffs, and he’s looking for the cameras.”

“Training,” Isolde replied.

“True,” Cadogan nodded.


Peck had been remanded into their custody on Wednesday; Doctor’s Albert Finch and Jessica Parker arrived Friday morning. They found the safe hold on an old street on the outskirts of Berlin. The snow had piled up but it didn’t look out of the ordinary. Inside, they found that all looked normal. The living room, kitchen and bedrooms looked to be lived in. Anyone on the outside would assume that Finch and Parker knew each other, or were even married.

Jessica was a lovely woman in her mid forties. She had light brown hair and bright blue eyes. She wore blue jeans, a t-shirt and a black bomber jacket. She had packed light. Albert was British by birth. He wore a black suit without the tie. He also wore a heavy black trench coat and a fedora hat. He was far older than Jessica. His once black hair was now going grey and gave him an air of authority on an intellectual definition of the word.

Cadogan sat them down at the kitchen table. Isolde served them tea and the four got down on discussing the matter at hand. A file was placed in the middle of the table.

“Has he spoken since his capture?” Parker asked.

“No. He sits quietly,” Isolde shook her head.

“How does he spend his day?” Finch asked next.

“Quietly; he does sit ups and push ups, paces, but he doesn’t scream or try to get into contact with us at all,” Cadogan replied.

“Ah,” Finch sipped his tea. “He’s biding is time.”

“For what?” Isolde asked.

“He knows the process for any agent assumed to have turned, correct?” Parker asked.


“Than he expects us to go through with the process,” she shrugged.

“I don’t see a reason to deviate,” Cadogan replied.

“The question is why you are here when Agent Druitt is qualified to handle it herself,” Parker put in.

“I am here because my boss doesn’t want anyone to mess up. Not that he thinks she will, but she and Peck have history. They’re good friends. We want to keep emotion out of it,” Cadogan glared at Parker for her insinuations. She just cocked her head to the side, not at all bothered.

“All right then, let’s bring him lunch,” Finch suggested.


He stood with his back to the far wall as the door to the cell opened. Dr. Finch entered and Templeton didn’t move or let any emotion show on his face. It was never a good thing when Dr. Finch was called in to evaluate agents. It either meant they’d be tortured, or killed. His chance of living through this had dwindled to less than ten percent.

In his hands Dr. Finch held a tray that had a single bowl of chicken noodle soup sitting in the middle of it with a spoon.

You are going to hell. Templeton thought.

“It’s been a long time since we saw each other, Temp,” Finch smirked knowingly, “how about we get reacquainted?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to try on this bed, it really does a number on the back,” Templeton replied. His blanket lay in a pile to the left of the place Finch set the tray down.

“We can talk,” Finch replied, “for now,”

“And you expect me to eat that without expecting you to have put some truth serum in it?” Templeton asked.

“Of course I expect you to eat it. If you don’t we’ll force it down you,”

Templeton made the appropriate face at that suggestion. He’d seen it happen before in his line of work. It wasn’t fun. And he wasn’t willing to bitch slap himself either. That’d ruin his whole plan. He sighed and moved to sit down on the concrete bench.

Finch moved to sit in front of him. The door was open. But Templeton didn’t’ glance at it or moved towards it. It was a temptation. They wanted to see if he would try an escape attempt. They wanted a reason to put him down like a dog.

“Here, I am sure you are hungry,” Finch said. He bent to pick up the bowl and soup and Templeton gently took it from the man. He wasn’t able to use the spoon with his hands bound, so he decided to sip the broth from the rim of the bowl. It tasted like chicken soup from a can aught to taste like. If Finch had put anything in it – it was tasteless – and even though he knew he was signing his own death certificate, he really hadn’t a choice.

It took him some long moments to finish the bowl. It fell out of Templeton’s hands. Finch caught it easily. Then he eased Templeton back and down onto the concrete bench; “Now, Temp, tell me about the A-Team…”


He felt like throwing up.

Tell me about the A-Team

The A-Team…?





What else? What about Hannibal?



He wanted to throw up.


And the other two?


In what way?

He vomited.

Temp, tell me in what way.

In love.

Have you had sex with any of them?


Which one?


He vomited again.


Finch left the room and locked the door. It was cold. But he could use that as a control issue with Peck. He smirked as he made his way through the empty basement and up the stairs to the warmth of the kitchen. Parker sat at the table poring over Peck’s file. She hadn’t the privilege of training the boy as he had – nor had she any idea of the more intimate moment’s they’d shared.

“Is he all right?” Parker asked.

“Sleeping,” Finch replied.

“Sick you mean,” Cadogan glared at the Doctor as he entered the kitchen, “I was watching the monitors, what the hell did you do to him?”

“It’s a sedative, but he gave me some information,” Finch replied.

“I know,” Cadogan replied, “I recorded it,”

“Oh, that isn’t very nice,” Finch pouted.

“What did he say?” Parker asked.

“He’s in love with Hannibal Smith of the A-Team,” Cadogan sighed, “if we keep him alive he’ll have to either get his mind wiped, or we have to retrain him,”

“A mind wipe would be permanent,” Parker said.

“And it isn’t like the Company doesn’t have enough agents in the FMP,” Cadogan lent against the door jam.

“We still do not know everything,” Finch said. “We only know that he is in love, we don’t know why or how he fell in love or even if this feeling is real. As far as we know – he was their prisoner. He could have been tortured into feeling this way. We need to know what they did to him,” Finch explained.

“And you don’t call what you do torture?” Parker perched her chin on her hand, elbow held up by the table.

“Not when valuable information can be head,” Finch stated calmly.

“We may be in Germany, but he is still a prisoner and he still has rights,” Parker rolled her eyes.

“What are you, the moral police?” Finch jabbed.

“You’ve been written up so many times for unethical treatment of prisoners, that’s why I’ve been sent along. To make sure you don’t do anything you can’t take back. If Peck has been manipulated into Stockholm syndrome, than he needs help, not torture, and certainly not death,” Parker slapped the table. The dishes set upon it rattled. Neither man jumped though.

“Do we know if he left the A-Team on his own volition or if they let him go to real us in?” Parker sighed, calming down.

“We don’t know anything. We do not know where they are based here in Germany or if Peck knows,” Cadogan replied.

“So, I think we should help him become more comfortable. We need to at least make him think that we believe he’s innocent and it the A-Team who are the evil ones here. If we go in and treat him badly, he’ll feel that he can’t trust us,” Parker replied.

“And this will work in exchange of mind altering drugs?” Finch snorted and rolled his eyes.

“If I make one complaint, Finch, you’re to be terminated, and that doesn’t mean retirement,” Parker shot him a sure glance. Finch knew exactly what she meant. Death. The Company would kill him. No doubts about that. He had been dancing the line for years now.

He nodded; “and when you fail, they’ll call upon me for results. I think I can wait till then,” he tipped a pretend hat and then exited the kitchen for other parts of the house.

“I’ll have Peck made more comfortable,” Cadogan muttered.

“And maybe it’ll help if Druitt is there when peck wakes again,” Parker nodded.


Tow headaches in the same day. At least, he thought it was the same day.


The soft voice was one that put him at ease right away. It wasn’t a good reaction. For all he knew, Isolde was there to kill him.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” he shook his head. He clenched his teeth against the pain of the migraine headache he had. “No, I’m not,”
Tags: ba, drugs, faceman, fiction, hannibal, murdock, sex, the a-team, the company

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