A/N: I had to break the dreadful curse of writer's block somehow and this is just what came to me. It's my first shot at writing an A-Team story, which is fun, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated. :) And if you so happen to be reading my Sherlock story, I promise I have not given up on it, I swear. But Murdock and Face getting into a bar fight was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Enjoy, and reviews are greatly appreciated! And just by the by, the title is a joke on a rhyme called The Mouse on the Barroom Floor, which is absolutely hilarious... ^-^
Murdock suppressed a sigh of irritation and contented himself with rolling his eyes- again. He didn't know why Faceman had dragged him out to this bar, he really didn't. Supposedly it was because the con artist needed a wingman, seemingly overlooking all the times he had successfully managed to pick up a string of women despite flying solo. But whatever; Murdock went along with it. They had just finished up their last mission in a quite spectacular fashion (what was it about high explosives that made the Jazz that much better?) and the pilot decided to celebrate their success for a night before he had to return to the VA in the morning.
"Any luck?" he asked the conman as he sauntered over. Face leaned against the bar, looking confused.
"Not a bit; I'm off my game. Have been all day. I think that last explosion knocked my charm out along with the rest of me."
"Ah, so that's why you brought me along, to make you look better!" Murdock responded playfully, trying to cheer up his friend. "I'm onto you, Faceman." Face gave him a grin and pushed back off the bar, playing along.
"Exactly, Murdock; you can only improve my image." A blonde with big hair, big… something else, and no wedding ring caught his eye across the room. Plastering on his most dazzling smile, Face straightened his tie and worked his way across the room while Murdock watched from the background. He was being a terrible wingman, he thought to himself. He was supposed to be over there backing Faceman up, not propping up the bar all night.
He shifted his way through the crowd, only to bounce spectacularly off of a large, tattooed man who could only be described as 'slimy'. Taken somewhat aback, Murdock stared at the guy with all the attitude of a zebra that accidentally stepped on a lion. "What are you staring at?" the guy grunted, giving the pilot an alcohol-bleared glare.
"Nothing at all," he responded quickly. Even Murdock wasn't crazy enough to say otherwise. Like his initial thought, 'you, because you're terrifying and giant'. Unfortunately, Tattoos wasn't buying it.
"Oh really? So what does 'nothing' look like then, buddy?" One look at Tattoos' face and Murdock knew the game was up. He gave his best Faceman smile and let the crazy side of him loose for a little free time to play.
"Well, from where I'm standin' it looks to be about a hundred pounds overweight and covered in black ink and hair grease."
"Mia? Oh, that's a wonderful name." Face shot the blonde woman another charming grin and took a sip of his drink. She giggled shyly.
"Thank you, what is it that you do, Mister…"
"Howard, John Howard; I'm a producer, actually." The producer trick was a guaranteed- hadn't failed him yet, and he didn't intend to let it start tonight. Sure enough, Mia's eyes widened.
"Oh, that sounds like a fun job!"
"It is," he assured her, drawing on the one time he'd ever actually tried his hand at producing; as he recalled, it ended up with him getting shot at by the MPs again. "It's a very… exciting career path. You meet lots of interesting people." And occasionally they try and kill you… "But anyway, that's enough about me, I want to hear about you."
Their conversation continued for a while, with Face's arm migrating steadily from her shoulders down to her waist. Just as the thought wandered across his mind that he'd better make sure Murdock wasn't getting into any trouble, a resounding crash from the middle of the bar attracted everyone's attention. Looking instinctively for the source of the chaos, Face issued an audible groan. Well, there was that question answered for him…
Murdock ducked the first punch admirably (after all, the first was always the most off-target) but Tattoos was faster than his bulk would give him credit for. Now, the pilot had been thrown over his fair share of tables over the years, but this was something new. Dude was stronger than he looked, that much was for sure.
He was just trying to decide which way was the ceiling and which way was the floor when the sight of Tattoos coming in for another go-round sent him rolling to the side not a second too soon. It was the other man's turn to thud into the bar floor, and his trip over a fragment of shattered table made sure he landed face-first, giving Murdock time to scramble back to his feet, fall down again, and get back up. Suddenly, somebody was propping him up.
"Oh come on now, Murdock," Face muttered in his ear, "of all the drunks to pick a fight with, why'd you have to go for the big one?"
"He picked it with me!" Murdock responded with that particular ire that somebody can only get when their head hasn't yet stopped spinning. They split to two different sides as Tattoos heaved himself up off the ground and lunged in Murdock's general direction. Face smirked- it looked like the pilot wasn't the only one whose head was still spinning. Tattoos flew straight between them and caught himself on a table, charging Murdock again as soon as he caught sight of him.
"Whoa!" Murdock hollered, trying to dive to the side again, but missing it by just that much. Both men toppled to the ground with remarkably elegant three hundred and sixty degree spins in opposite directions. Face turned to Mia with an apologetic grin.
"I'm sorry my dear, could you give me a minute? This shouldn't take too long." He left the slightly stunned woman and darted off towards Tattoos, who yet again had the increasingly dizzy pilot in his sights. "Hey!" he yelled. It was enough of a distraction for Tattoos to redirect his gaze. "Why don't you try taking down somebody who can actually walk, eh? Or are you too much of a chicken to do that?"
Tattoos issued a yell that may or may not have been 'I'm going to kill you' (his diction wasn't the best after half a dozen beers and an equal number of blows to the head), charging at Face. He was completely oblivious to the wide grin on the conman's face until he was too close to realize why. Barely holding in his laughter, Face took one elegant step his left and Tattoos crashed head-first into the support beam he'd been leaning against, bouncing off of it like the pinball in an arcade game. As he ricocheted backwards, arms windmilling, Murdock took the opportunity to catch him on the back of the head with a vaguely baseball bat-shaped hunk of broken table. Finally, Tattoos was out for the count.
Murdock gave a broad grin and wobbled his way over to Face. "Well, that was fun!" He burst out laughing and promptly over-balanced; Face caught him quickly.
"Yeah, fun; that's sure what I'd call it."
"Oh no, Faceman, I didn't cost you your date, did I?"
"Probably," Face sighed as he gently lowered the pilot to the floor. "But oh well, such is life. Her name was Mia; she was a massage therapist." As if she had known they were talking about her, Mia reappeared, looking concerned.
"Oh my goodness, are you both okay?" Face once again slid on his charming smile, still holding Murdock upright.
"Absolutely," he replied.
"Are you sure? Your friend doesn't look too good." Murdock smiled up at her from his position on the floor.
"Aw, I've had worse before, muchacha, no need to be worried about me. Matter of fact, I reckon I could get up now." He rose to his feet, just unsteady enough that Face decided it would be prudent to keep a hand on him. "Ain't nothing; I've been in fights before." Mia gave him a starry-eyed gaze.
"That was so brave, what you did! Not many people would take on someone twice their size." She looked at Murdock with concern. "You must be really sore after that." He smiled at her again.
"Aw, only a little; mostly just need to figure out which way the floor is for sure." Face had a bad feeling he knew what was coming. It was like cosmic revenge for the way he'd broken up with Janet last week…
"Well, how about we go back to your place and I'll give you a massage." She turned to Face apologetically. "I'm sorry Mr. Howard, maybe we can go out tomorrow night instead." Yep, it was definitely Janet's cosmic revenge. No more dating New Agers for him. He rolled his eyes internally- at least he could go out with her tomorrow night… He smiled.
"Sure, that's fine; I understand."
As Face came through the doorway of their current hideout, Hannibal quirked an eyebrow and puffed on his omnipresent cigar; really, it was ridiculous how often the man lit them up. "So Face, would you care to explain why Murdock wobbled in with a rather well-endowed blonde young woman a few minutes ago?"
The younger man shot him a look and rubbed a tired hand across his face, flopping down on the couch. "It's a long story, Hannibal; I'll tell you in the morning. She's a massage therapist, you know." It didn't even take him thirty seconds to fall asleep.