Okay. I am finding myself compelled to write something and none of my normal stories will cooperate. But for some reason this has taken over my brain and refuse to leave it. So, here it is. A crossover! Yay! Gone in Sixty Seconds definitely needed another one and the A-Team library is ever expanding . . . and for some reason I can't seem to shake all of the wonderful ways I can torture everybody if I just pushed a little of these two together. So here you have it. I haven't decided on pairings yet . . .
Dire Circumstances
Long Beach had been one of the best places in the world to set up shop . . . especially for four wrongly accused federal fugitives. Well, three federal fugitives and an escaped mental patient, if you had to be technical. Because who in their right mind would set up shop in the same city they'd escaped custody from? No one, that's who. Which is why it was the perfect place to hide in plain sight . . .
Or so they'd thought . . .
Hannibal sighed, glancing back at Murdock's quivering and bleeding form as he curled tighter into a ball. His head was on Face's thigh, the XO trying to soothe him by petting his hair and murmuring reassurances to the pilot like one would a small child. Because at this point, that's about all that was left of H.M. Murdock other than a bleeding mess.
B.A. tensed as they turned onto a back service road, slowing to stop in front of one of the many abandoned buildings and scrap yards. This was the side of Long Beach that was perfect for anyone illegal to hide in . . . indefinitely. The burly Ranger glanced at Hannibal, motioning for them to get out. They had to come up with a plan quick and they couldn't do it with Murdock clinging to Face while he tried to hold himself together.
As soon as they exited the vehicle, a faded older Hum Vee Face had happened across and B.A. had fixed, B.A.'s shoulders sagged. The events of the past few weeks had drained them all-enough that they had willingly come here to hide. The new Lynch was a far cry from his bumbling predecessor . . . and the team he'd assembled to track them was damn good at their job. In smaller cities and rural areas, like the town they'd been in before, they were too noticeable. Too easy of targets . . . and these bastards had been ruthless in trying to cull their little team of it's perceived weakest link.
They'd never expected Murdock to resist. To fight and refuse to divulge any information on the others . . . even after the torture methods started. Murdock had been singing Right Round when they'd showed up to save him from the decrepit warehouse in La Veme, cackling wildly as the man over him had seared his flesh with the hot knife. The look in the pilot's green eyes had said it all; the real Murdock had checked out and left the voices to play with his captors.
Hannibal shook his head, pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket and clutching it between his teeth. They didn't have time to worry, to mull over every mistake and blunder they'd made that led to this . . . they had to get Murdock somewhere to get help fast . . . or there wasn't going to be anything left of the pilot's fragile mind worth saving. If there even was now . . .
"What're we gonna do, Hannibal? He's messed up. Bad. Worse than he was when we found him in Mexico . . . or when we got him in Germany. I think they broke him, Colonel."
Hannibal growled, lighting the cigar and puffing before turning to eye B.A. carefully. It was no secret that despite their tenuous working relationship, and Murdock's hand in Baracus's fear of flying, B.A. was worried about the way they'd discovered their friend. And the impact his capture and holding had left in its wake. But Baracus was also practical . . . which would give him an ally in what would ultimately have to happen. Soon.
"We've got to take him to get help, B.A. As much as I loathe the idea, however temporary it might be, it'll have to be pretty quick. Murdock is strong . . . but even strong people can break under what they did to him. He needs this . . . and we'll have to do it. Are you with me, son?"
B.A.'s eyes hardened but he nodded, understanding the significance the conversation held. Face wasn't going to abandon anybody, even if it was for their own good. Hannibal was saying they'd have to leave Murdock at a hospital . . . but where?
"Yes sir. Crazy fool don't deserve it, but if it'll help, I pray to God he'll forgive us. Where are we taking him?"
Hannibal sighed, his own shoulders sagging under the weight of what was about to happen. And it was with that that B.A. knew how hard this was for Hannibal. He'd gone after all of them before, refusing to leave a man-a friend-behind regardless of the situation or the risk . . . and now he had to plan on abandoning their friend. Hannibal suddenly looked so much older than he had before they'd taken this job . . . and B.A. knew he had the same sour bile in his throat about how this was going to go down.
Suddenly, a clap of thunder roared through the otherwise quiet night air and the sky opened, blanketing both Rangers in an almost solid curtain of rain. Hannibal sighed, still puffing on his now wet and dying cigar as they made their way back to the Hum Vee.
Damn Lynch to the depths of Hell for forcing them to do this.
"Give me twenty minutes, Sergeant. Then we're moving out."
Chaosia Guadimus was bored out of her mind. But that was to be expected when one worked the graveyard receptionist shift at Camarillo. Granted the work was easy and it gave her plenty of time to study for her final round of psychology classes . . . but nights like tonight, when she was already eight chapters ahead and all of the paperwork was current, she wished that a patient would need to be admitted. Just to give her something to do other than doodle.
And try not to cringe at the torrential downpour that had started in the past hour. She hated thunderstorms. And being here, in the stark white nothingness of an old asylum really didn't help the fear abate.
Her cell phone went off as it danced across the desk, causing her to peek at who was calling her. Or texting her, rather. The damned phone had been going off all night . . . but it didn't mean she wanted to deal with it.
She groaned, rolling her eyes.
Atley Jackson had sent her another text message. She sighed, touching the screen to open the message and bit down the scream trying to bubble from her lips. Why could that man not get a damn clue?
Are you sure you're okay with all of this?
She sighed, replying for the millionth time in the past hour. For some reason, Atley had taken to her the most of the older sect of her brother's friends . . . well, other than Sway that is. And she loved him to death, like an extra older brother who didn't usually harass and annoy her, but today she was about to kill him. Or commit him.
Things had gone so well for almost eight damned months, with them meeting for lunches and her splitting her off time between the younger crew and him. Until she'd been introduced to his friend, Sphinx. That's when her world shifted and turned on itself, because no matter what she did or who she tried to date she couldn't seem to shake her crush on the stoic boost. Which had been fine until she'd let on too much to Atley and Sway. When At had found that she'd been interested in his friend, he'd been determined to play matchmaker until Sway and Memphis had stopped him.
Now, almost three years later, Sphinx didn't know she existed unless he was eating with her and Atley on Wednesdays or he bumped into her at the garage. He'd only said one thing about her (which she should've been thankful for she guessed) and that was to her brother, Mikhail. She didn't really know what the exact words had been but the general gist of it was he didn't think she needed to learn to boost or fight or any of the stuff her brother had been teaching her since she could crank an automobile at seven.
She huffed, hitting send before turning her phone off completely.
Sphinx would probably shit himself if he knew that she'd been taught to boost by one of the best-her father. Mikhail was just teaching her new things and helping her refine the newer techniques she'd learned over the past few years of having to fend for herself in Seal Beach before she could afford to move to where her brother had relocated. Just how in the hell did he think she'd afforded the tiny apartment she'd bought or her car or the psychology degree she was currently pursuing? He should know just as well as the others that money didn't grow on trees . . . and she wasn't above pulling a Robin Hood with a few European Ladies to make sure she could take care of herself and Mikhail in the future. Or pulling a graveyard shift at her legal job to reap the benefits of the shift deferential . . .
Chaosia sighed, flipping her golden blonde hair over her shoulders before looking down at her scrubs. The fitted white scrub top was as bright as the walls and tiles, almost blinding in its starkness, save the red Camarillo crest over the left breast. Her pants were pretty much the same. She had a red cardigan to put on when it got too cold . . . and red and white pumas to match the outfit. That, coupled with the wide rimmed tortoise shell glasses and light make up made her seem more like a kid playing dress up than a twenty five year old psychology intern and BSN . . . but it was professional.
At least she didn't have to wear the skirt she had to wear during her normal duty rotation.
As a freshly crowned intern, she was expected to wear scrubs when she was actually on the floor but during therapy, classes and meetings she had to be dressed overly professionally. So much so that she was going to give up and just buy stock in Express and the Limited if she wasn't able to go back to just scrubs soon.
She wasn't raking in the doctor dollars yet . . . and even when she did she couldn't see herself wasting so much on trivialities like clothes. She had bills, a classic car and a brother to take care of . . . she didn't have time for the rest of that crap.
A loud bang jolted her out of her thoughts just as the hospital went black.
She groaned, already able to hear the screams and shouts from the units around her.
At least she wasn't going to have to deal with that tonight.
She turned, procuring her exam light from her bag and tugging on her cardigan before moving towards the glass entryway. With the power out she'd have to make sure the doors didn't lock them in . . . while making sure no one else got out. Thankfully, the only people on the two lowest floors were the less severe patients. Anyone to really worry about was upstairs behind nice, heavy doors that locked when the power cut and had to be manually opened with huge keys she hated to try and work.
As she got closer, using the light from her torch and the emergency lights that had kicked on, Chaosia started inspecting the entry and the parking lot beyond. She would wait here until one of the guys from security came down to stay with her . . . hopefully anyone but Caine.
As Chaosia went to turn and survey the lot again, movement caught her eye. She turned, seeing Terrance coming her way as she peered through the door. She sighed, thankful to see the mocha skinned man smiling at her as he made his way to the doors. His hair was to his chin in dreads, pulled back from his face and light hazel eyes by a black headband to match his uniform. Terrance had been at Camarillo for almost six years and had helped her feel more at ease when she'd been shoved through the doors at the behest of her professor. He'd helped her keep her bearings with his kind smile and overall teddy bear attitude . . . despite his being nearly 6'5'' and 250 lbs. of pure muscle.
"Hey, Chaos. Whatcha got?"
She angled the light, the beam barely penetrating the still pouring rain and the veil of darkness in the parking lot. She was sure she'd seen something moving . . .
She jumped, causing Terrance to put a hand on the Taser gun at his belt, stepping forward.
"I don't know for sure Ter, but I think there's someone out there."
He glanced at her, eyes narrowed before going to open the door.
"I'll go look, okay? But if no one's out there then you owe me a cup o' Joe. Deal?"
She nodded, pulling the cardigan tighter around her as she watched him make his way into the rain. A few seconds later, he emerged . . . carrying a very bruised, bloody and sobbing man.
Chaosia felt herself switch into nurse mode, thankful she had worked so long in the Seal Beach ER while she was doing her Doctorate and ran out, not giving a thought to the rain or the danger of doing so. As soon as she was at Terrance, she helped him get the now nearly hysterical man into the building, shedding her sweater to hold pressure on the large seeping wound running down his exposed side.
She winced internally as she started trying to talk to him, working quickly to make sure the cashmere didn't stick to the seared and raw flesh around the wound. Whoever had done this had been thorough and sadistic. They burned him badly enough to prevent him bleeding to death then reopened the wound to bleed him. This man had been tortured.
"NO! Don't let them leave me! PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T LET THEM LEAVE ME! I'm sorry I was bad! I swear I won't do it again! I'll be more careful. TELL 'em Billy! We'll be more careful!"
Chaosia and Terrance maneuvered him to the receptionist station, Terrance bearing most of his weight as Chaosia leaned over and hit the call button. Thank God it was on the back up generator with the E-VAC lights . . .
She looked up, glasses sliding off her nose and to the floor before she could catch them. She sighed.
"C'mon Ter, let's put him down. He's killing us to hold him."
Terrance nodded, helping her ease him to the floor. The second his body connected with the sterile linoleum, however, the man started fighting harder. He cracked Terrance in the face, pushing against him with enough force to shove the large man back a few inches. He kept swinging his arms, yelling and screaming as Chaosia tried to dodge the onslaught of limbs.
"YOU'LL NEVER BREAK ME! NEVER! I'm NOT GOING!"
His side was now gushing, dark blood pouring from the gaping wound. Chaosia leaned in, ducking an elbow and held her sweater tighter. The contact broke the man's thoughts, causing him to look at her. He lowered his arms, almost as if in defeat as his bottom lip trembled. His shaggy hair falling into a face that, under different circumstances would have been extremely attractive . . . with striking green eyes that broadcasted his fears and paranoia at being abandoned and abused.
He pleaded to her in a small voice, threatening to break her heart with his words.
"Why did they leave me? I did my best. I did my duty. I didn't break. I'm only cracked. I'm not broken . . . why don't they want me anymore?"
Chaosia didn't know whether it was the desperation in his eyes or the utterly devastated sound of his voice . . . but something compelled her to reach out and brush the scruffy hair from his face, cupping his un-bruised cheek with one hand as she applied pressure to his wound with the other.
"I don't know, sweetie. I really don't. But everything's going to be fine now. It may not seem like it . . . but we're going to help you. No one's going to hurt you here. I swear."
And for whatever reason, this broken-no cracked man decided she was the perfect person to latch onto and sob on. And all she could do was hold him while the nurse and doctor that came scrambling up behind them prepared whatever they could to sedate him. She doubted he felt the needle bite his skin or registered that the drugs were forcing his eyes to close and his breathing to even out. All she knew was that even after he was out, the newest addition to Camarillo clung to her like she was his life line-the only thing he had.
And what truly broke her heart was the fact that she probably was.
Nobody kill me. I swear it doesn't end like this . . .