Still don't own recognizable characters. I'm still tentative as to how much 'geek' Murdock would mention (pop culture and geek aren't necessarily the same thing), so it's kept to a minimum. And I'll admit, I'm crushing heavily on Hannibal recently . . .

Also, a huge thank you! to everyone who's reviewed my previous A-Team pieces. You make my day.

Enjoy!

Time off. They'd earned it. Christ, they'd earned it.

He felt bruised and tired and old. He hated feeling old. But after a job like the last one—physical and punishing—the three younger men could bounce back more quickly. They slept hard, tended wounds, brushed themselves off, and were ready for more. Lately he'd slept like the dead and woke up feeling like being dead was an okay alternative.

The rest of them didn't make concessions for him—they understood he'd find a way to make them miserable if they made overt attempts to treat him "special" due to the age difference—but he was silently grateful for the bottle of Advil left anonymously in the hotel bathroom that morning. He didn't even care that someone had come in, unbeknownst to him, while he was showering.

He'd found it after he'd stepped out of the shower. He had tried not to stand under the hot spray of water to soak the heat into his muscles so long that they would know. But he was in there a long time, so hurried his toweling off. A smear of blood on the towel told him the steam had caused his split lip to ooze again.

Damp-dry in his clothes with a towel pressed to his mouth in one hand and three of the Advils in the other, Hannibal left the bathroom to find the others sitting on the two beds, dividing up the—

"Spoils!" Murdock announced. Although it wasn't common, occasionally the pilot slipped into pirate mode. He was reaching for one of the stacks of bills fanned out in front of Face.

"Put it down, fool!" B.A. told him.

"Wasn't doin' nuff'in, gov'nor," Murdock complained, then slumped to the floor between the beds.

"Both of you shut up. I lost count," ordered Face.

Without waiting for a response from the other two, Face ignored them as he kept tallying. He sorted the money into different piles, while sporadically looking up to the ceiling as he ticked a mental checklist off his fingers.

Murdock tried slinking a hand onto the bedspread again, inching towards the bills. He deliberately tried to reach the stack nearest B.A., and predictably the black man told him,

"You touch that an' you'll be nursin' another broken hand, man."

Since Murdock's left hand already had taped fingers from a crushing incident during the job, he wisely snuck back to the floor, muttering to himself of invisibility cloaks and bags of holding.

Face shot them another dirty look.

Hannibal watched the scene while rubbing his hair with the towel. He knew it would take a bit for the NSAID to kick in and debated taking it dry. Coffee would be good. Thankfully, Murdock had some brewing in the room's urn. How had he not noticed that before? Less thankfully, they still had the civet coffee Murdock had insisted on buying. No one else had been keen on drinking "cat shit coffee," as B.A. eloquently called it—Face and Hannibal agreed with less vocalization—but Murdock refused to make any other until it was gone.

They were bickering again as Hannibal poured himself a cup. Tossing back the pills and taking a quick gulp of hot coffee to wash them down, he savored the next mouthful before joining the team.

He sat down on the bed opposite of Face and B.A. Murdock picked his head up.

"Morning, Bossman. How's the lip?"

"It'll heal," he replied, intentionally raising his cup back to his mouth and not wincing as the hot liquid sent a bolt of pain through his head.

Murdock nodded.

"And you?"

Besides the hand, their pilot had a black eye and a bruised and scraped face.

Experimentally, Murdock shifted his jaw back and forth. "Dandy," he replied. "Oughtta find a dentist, maybe. Broke a tooth."

Hannibal nodded too. All of them had various scrapes and bruises and aches.

No one said anything else until Face had finished his counting.

"Lucrative!" he announced finally. He waved his hand over the several piles he'd made. "This one is the group's. We owe for the stay here, and food, and the usual stuff. The rest, however—"

Dutifully, he began passing out stacks of money.

Murdock giggled in glee. B.A. immediately licked his thumb and began counting his take. Hannibal took the offered cash and set it on the bedspread beside him, staring down at it. Face leaned back on the headboard and grinned.

Copying the black man, Murdock began counting aloud as well, mixing up numbers and accents. It was hard to tell if he was doing it on purpose, or just to antagonize—

"Shut your fool mouth, crazy man!"

B.A. didn't care if it was premeditated baiting.

"I'm tryin' to concentrate!"

The pilot jumped up and hung over B.A., now obviously trying to make him lose count. B.A. tried to be gruff, and for the most part was, but he couldn't help a smile breaking through once in a while as Murdock kept it up.

At least the Advil should help with any headaches too, Hannibal thought off-handedly.

He finally looked up as the bed below him shifted. Face had joined him, leaving the other two to continue their habitual squabbling.

"Not a bad one, huh, Hannibal?" the former Lieutenant asked.

The older man made a non-committal noise.

Face didn't seem to notice. "So what's next, Boss? I got the lead on another—"

"We're taking time off."

Sudden, stunned silence filled the room.

He wasn't one to typically offer explanations, but the stares he was receiving begged for more.

"This was a good haul. We need to take a break—from work, from each other, from everything."

"But—"

"Hannibal—"

Only B.A. seemed to be taking this announcement in stride.

"Bosco, I'm going to need a ride to the airport."

"I can take you!" Murdock interjected, a note of alarm in his voice. "I can take you, Hannibal! Where ever you need flown to, I'm your man!"

Hannibal shook his head and caught B.A.'s eyes. The black man nodded and smiled.

Murdock exuded panic as he turned his attention to Face. He telepathically beseeched for help from their unofficial second in command.

"Let's go have breakfast, Boss," the conman said smoothly.

Say what you want about the man, Hannibal thought drily, he recovered or hid surprise well, most of the time.

Face had continued, "We'll get something to eat, and talk about it—"

"No. You boys deserve a rest too. Do what you want—go to Vegas or New York or stay here for that matter. Matter of fact, we'll meet back here in two weeks."

"Two WEEKS?" Murdock's voice rose to a squeak.

B.A. took great enjoyment that the pilot was disconcerted. Face's cool broke for the second time.

"Come on, Hannibal," he said uneasily. "You're right—you're always right. We need a break. But two weeks . . . that seems a little excessive . . ."

Hannibal knew that two weeks was excessive for a man like Face, who blew through whatever money he had as fast as he could. He was not a hoarder; when he got it, he spent it. But this was a well-paid job, and Face should have plenty to last—

"Don't go to Vegas," Hannibal amended himself. "Go to the Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian instead."

Murdock did a double take.

"Ooo—yeah! That's a great idea! And the National Zoo, for the pandas!"

Two down, one to go.

"That's a great idea, Boss," Face replied cynically. "Waltz into Washington D.C? Where the Feds are."

"Don't go to the Pentagon or the White House and you'll be fine," Hannibal snapped.

Face looked taken aback.

Hannibal stood, picked up his stack of bills, and returned his coffee cup to the table next to the urn. He picked up his duffel bag. As was customary, it was packed every night, in case of the need for a speedy exit. Haphazardly he shoved the money into the top.

B.A. stood too, still smiling, and put his money in his front pocket. Murdock stood planted in between the beds, but Face was at the older man's side before B.A. could get there.

"Hannibal," he said softly, with a touch of pleading in his voice and a hand on the older man's upper arm.

"Your flirting doesn't work with me, kid," Hannibal replied.

B.A. guffawed; Face ignored him and continued to search Hannibal's face. Hannibal didn't particularly like the younger man's expression: betrayal, hurt, incomprehension.

"Boss . . . " Hannibal didn't think his own expression hardened, but Face immediately shifted gears and nodded. "Okay. Okay. The airport. We'll take you to the airport."

Murdock declared he was still available to fly to where ever, come on, Bossman—

"B.A.'ll take me," Hannibal said.

Murdock stopped.

Face pressed his lips together a moment, then the mellifluous voice was back. "At least tell us where you'll be?"

Hannibal laughed aloud. "Kid, that was the worst you've ever tried to weasel information out of somebody. B.A., let's go."

The black man grinned again and punched Murdock's shoulder. "Later, crazy."

Face didn't move out of the way, so B.A. slipped passed, through the door Hannibal left open.

"I'll have my phone," Hannibal finally conceded over his shoulder. "But don't call me. Meet you back here, this hotel. Two weeks."

He and B.A. walked to the van without a backwards look.