Murdock sat on the couch. He had squished himself into the corner, feet up, arms folded on top of his knees, he rested the bridge of his nose on his wrist, so that all you could see of his face was his changeful eyes. Eyes that rested on the figure across the room, following each movement of the hands as they moved back and forth.
Hannibal seemed unaware that he was being watched, deep in the paperwork that he always seemed to be behind in. The pilot had been on the couch since after breakfast. BA had said something about a helping some friends in the garage and Face had disappeared to somewhere. Murdock had cleaned up the dishes and settled on the couch, knowing that the Boss needed to get his paperwork done and into the General by tomorrow. And the Boss always smoked his special cigars when he had that much work to do, the ones that smelled wonderful.
He watched avidly as Hannibal's hand lifted, bringing the rolled tobacco to his mouth. Lips clenching around the shaft, lungs inflating as he pulled the sweet smelling smoke out of the cigar. Murdock held his own breath, not exhaling until the Colonel did.
It took a couple seconds for the cloud to reach him, but when it did, he breathed deeply, biting his wrist to keep all the sounds that wanted to escape inside. He didn't know what it was, but there was something intimate about taking it in. Knowing that just a few seconds ago the same lungfulls of air had been inside of Hannibal.
The first time he had smelled cigar smoke he had been five. His mother had collapsed out in the field. The doctor had been called and to keep him out of the way his Grandfather had taken him outside. He had sat on the porch swing, hands gripping his shirt, head buried into his chest as he cried. His Grandfather held him as he sat smoking his cigar.
i"HM" his Grandfather said after he had stopped crying. "You know why you and your Ma moved in with me and your GranMa, right?"
"Because Mama had to go to town a lot."
"Do you know where she was goin'?" he shook his head. "She was goin' to the doctors. Your Mama's real sick."/i
It wasn't too much longer that the doctor came out with bad news. He doesn't remember too much after that time. He just remembers the smell of the cigar.
For a longest time, he hated the smell. The lightest scent would make his heart pound, his lungs constrict, and his hands shake.
But then...
But then there was the man in front of him. He could still clearly see that moment when there eyes met in the hallway of a Mexican hospital. Everything stopped then. It didn't matter that the big guy behind him had just been trying to choke him. It didn't matter that the pretty one was yelling about him. All that mattered was that this man, who smelled like sweat, dust, gunpowder, gasoline and yes, cigar smoke, didn't stop looking at him. Wanted to take him with them.
After the attack chopper had been destroyed, and Hannibal opened the little canister and lit the cigar, exhaling loudly, blowing the smoke straight at the pilot, his heart pounded, his lungs constricted, and his hands shook. But for a different reason.
That was three years ago and now, in his head, everything that Hannibal meant had become entwined with the smell of his cigars.
The earthy, woodsy scent of some of them were the Ranger. The man who the team would do anything for, even when they didn't understand why they were doing it. When they just knew that Hannibal say to do it, so they knew it would work.
The spicy peppery smell that sometimes floated around him was for his altercation with the Brass. Hannibal had tried hard to keep it from him, but he had found out that the meetings that the Colonel had to attend every few months was to decline a new pilot and saying that he was happy with his current one.
Which led to the sweet smelling ones the Boss was smoking now. These were the ones that Murdock liked best. They were for days like today. Lounging around the house, relaxing, being a team, a family. afternoons out back by the grill, lunch finished, talking, trading stories. Nights when BA and Face were fast asleep and the two insomniacs would lay on a blanket in the back yard, stargazing.
Nights where all Murdock wanted to do was roll over, curl up against Hannibal's side. Wanted to delicately place the cigar in the ashtray, press his mouth to Hannibal's, tongue darting in to find out what the sweet smell tasted like when mixed with the flavor of Hannibal. The man who had given him everything. The man he would give everything for. The man who didn't even know he was sitting four feet away on his couch.
The cigar goes back into the ashtray as another cloud descends on him. His eyes flutter close as his lungs expand, bring it all in. behind his closed eyes he sees one of his favorite fantasies.
The one where he gets up off the couch, walks over to the desk, pushes Hannibal back a little, smirking at the confused look on the Boss's face. He would pick up the cigar and take a drag at the same time as he would straddle the Colonel, who hands would come up to his hips. He would lean forward, press his mouth to Hannibal's, waiting until he opened, then he would blow the smoke in. Leaning back, he would wait for Hannibal to finish savoring it, then he would take another drag, until they finished the cigar. Depositing the stump in the ashtray, he would take the Boss' mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, chasing the taste away, replacing it with his own.
But he doesn't do that, knows that he never will, because as he's sitting squished up on the couch, trying to not make a sound, Face comes home. The conman bouncing in, plops down on Hannibal's lap. He leans in, but halfway to Hannibal's lips he stops, pull back, hand waving in front of his face.
"Ugh, Boss, how many of them have you smoked since I left. It smells horrible."
"No more then usual, Kid." blowing the last mouthful into the Lt. face.
"Ugh." Face said again. "I'm not letting you kiss me until you've eaten a breath mint...and brushed your teeth!" he stood, so did the Colonel.
"Is that right?" Hannibal made a grab for Face, chasing him upstairs, leaving the cigar in the ashtray.
As the bedroom door slammed, Murdock stood. He slipped over to the desk, he stood over the tails of vapor rising from the still light end. He breathed in, but sat down as he sighed. The scent was close, but no cigar.