I do own quite a few things too many, because my house ist cluttered. I'm one item away from a horder ... Unfortunatley - and I've checked - neither the A-Team Decker are among my belonings. So they still must belong to somebody else. (Shame really, considering the speed with which they repair cars and houses and whatnot ... how fast would they be at sweeping my floors?)
Hm. Anyways, on to the story, hope you have fun.
Decker looked over at Peck, hardly daring to enjoy his victory. Too often he'd been sure he had them, and then they had rushed off from under his nose. But not this time, no. This time it was going to be different. He was going to make sure of that.
Usually he kept them all together, which allowed them to come up with something and play it out. So this time he had them separated, and all with their own guards. He had decided to stay with Peck, because frankly, Baracus just freaked him out. Never mind he was drugged and out cold at the moment. At one point he would come to, and Decker didn't want to be there when Baracus gained his consciousness in front of MP. No, but no thanks.
And Smith would just rile him up. Decker knew it. Half of what Smith did in regard to the MP was to annoy him personally, and Decker knew it. Nonetheless, he fell for it again and again. You had to give it to Smith: He really knew how to push people's buttons.
That left Peck.
Really, Decker had never quite understood Peck. He was a bit of a chameleon, but then, in his line of work he probably had to be. When Peck was with Smith, he was cocky and brassy. When he was with Baracus, he was rather quiet and still. When he was on his own... Decker didn't know how he was then. Whenever Decker ran into Peck alone, Peck turned on his heel and ran for it. – Maybe Peck was a coward at heart? – No. No, surely not. He was Special Forces, and you don't become Special Forces without at least some steel in your backbone.
He looked Peck over, trying to assess him. He had cuffed him to the motel bed with both hands while waiting for the backup cars to arrive. In genuine A-Team style all cars except the team's van had been ruined in a wild chase. Only one Sedan was still in good enough condition for a long drive, and one car was not enough. The other five cars were either completely useless, or in a state where Decker didn't trust them to go farther than he could throw them.
Peck looked tired. Very tired.
"How long've you been up?" Decker asked. He wasn't really interested, but just sitting silently and staring at the man seemed silly.
Peck quickly glanced at his watch, but said, "Hardly your business." Then he sighed and looked at his watch again. "Fifty-one hours, roughly, if you must know."
Fifty-one hours was a long time, even for a trained soldier. "You can sleep, you know."
Peck just gave him a look.
"It's not like you gonna miss anything." Decker tried to keep his voice neutral, but feared that he sounded a little smug.
"No?" Peck asked, sitting up as best as he could with the shackled arms and rolled his shoulders.
"You don't have to fear you'll oversleep your escape." Decker gave up on the neutral voice. He just couldn't help gloating. He knew he probably shouldn't, the team had escaped from seemingly helpless situations before.
"And you know that because?" Peck asked acidly.
"There won't be one. Baracus is drugged up, thanks to yourself, Smith has a sprained ankle, and you..."
"And me what?!" Peck snapped.
Decker hid a grin. Peck seemed to take this personally.
"It takes more than drugs and a sprained ankle to stop us," Peck said defiantly.
"Like?"
"Death."
"How pathetic."
"It's the truth."
There was pause, in which Decker took another close look at Peck. He looked like shit warmed over. "You should sleep, at least for a few hours." He had no idea why he'd said that. He couldn't care less how Peck felt, or what condition he was in when delivered. If the man wanted to torture himself, why not let him?
Peck shot him an angry glance.
"See it like that: How do you want to escape when you're completely exhausted?" Decker hid another grin. It just felt damn good to tease a member of the unnerving A-Team.
Peck gave him another glare.
"What, do you think I'll do something to you?" Decker could hardly believe that Peck thought that, but he couldn't think of another reason why Peck wouldn't give in to his obvious need to sleep.
Peck didn't answer, just kept looking at Decker with angry resolve.
"Well, suit yourself." Decker turned around and pulled an old paper from the waste bin. It was three days old, but if he was lucky the crossword wasn't done.
He was lucky.
For long minutes nothing was heard but the scratching of pen on paper, as Decker solved the puzzle. Every now and then he looked over at his prisoner, but there wasn't much change there. Peck fought to stay awake, and eventually he lost the fight.
Good. Not that Decker cared that much, but it was simply hard to see a man tortur himself for no reason at all. Fifty-one hours...
Decker took a quick look at his watch. Two more hours until reinforcements would arrive. The next base was about three hours away, Decker had called them an hour ago, so he still had two hours of absolutely nothing to do but sit and wait. Who would ever have thought that he could get bored with the A-Team around?
Peck made himself more comfortable on the bed.
Decker started skimming through the newspaper. Maybe there was a bit of news he hadn't read so far, maybe there was an article worth reading. Out of sheer boredom Decker started to read an article on the local wildlife. To be fair the article wasn't even badly written, too bad the subject wasn't much.
Peck stirred, and Decker immediately looked up and over to him. Peck pulled at the cuffs in his sleep. Decker almost felt compelled to undo them, it had to be awfully uncomfortable, sleeping like that. But this was Peck, and there was no way in hell Decker would give him a chance to escape.
Peck pulled again. The steel cut deep into his skin, that had to hurt, but Peck did not wake up, he just pulled harder, then twisted his body, muttered something.
He was having a bad dream.
Again, Decker felt compelled to undo the cuffs, but it might be a ruse. He got up and walked over to the bed to check.
"Peck, Templeton. Lieutenant. Number xxxxxxxxx," Peck muttered, and then in Vietnamese, "I don't know anything."
Dammit. "Lieutenant." Decker shook Peck's shoulder to wake him up, but Peck just jerked away and started with his name, rank and number again.
"Lieutenant, wake up!"
Peck did not wake up. His body trembled under dreamed assaults, he repeated his name, rank and number.
Decker went to the small bathroom, filled the two glasses that stood there with cold water and returned to the bedroom.
Peck was still caught in his dream.
Decker aimed and splashed the water of both glasses into Peck's face.
Peck was up and awake with a shocked gasp. "What...?" He looked around disoriented, then his eyes stopped at Decker. "You..." He swallowed. "I figure..." he muttered darkly.
Decker wasn't quite sure what to answer. He didn't want to increase the awkwardness by saying the wrong thing. Vietnam held bad memories for all of them, and they all knew it. Yet to witness somebody else struggle with those memories was always awkward. And somehow you never knew quite what to say, even though you knew exactly how it felt.
"You don't happen to have anything for these?" Peck asked and rattled the cuffs a bit to draw Decker's attention to his wrists. They were red and sore, and the right one had a cut that oozed a bit of blood.
"You won't die of these," Decker said.
"Too kind."
Decker looked down at Peck, wondering if this was why he hadn't wanted to sleep. Had he expected to dream of Vietnam because he was cuffed?
"Can I have some water?" Peck asked, and it was obvious he hated to ask.
"What, more?" Decker asked with a grin.
"Well, I'd appreciate it if you let me drink it this time," Peck spat out.
Decker took the glasses back to the bathroom, filled one and took it back to Peck.
"Uncuff me?"
"In your dreams, Peck." Decker held the glass out so Peck could drink, and he drank greedily.
"More," Peck demanded.
Decker didn't like playing the waitress, but he couldn't very well deny his prisoner such simple things like water, could he? So he went to fetch another glass of water, which Peck downed as quickly as the first.
"More?" Decker teased, but Peck answered seriously, "More."
Decker went to get a third glass, but decided that this would be the last. Peck would only get sick if he drank that much water in such a short while.
Peck paused once with the third glass, but when he was finished, he still asked for more.
"No," Decker refused. "You'll only get sick."
"More, *please*."
"No. I don't want you throwing up over everything."
"I'll try to spare your shoes."
"I said no."
Peck sighed miserably, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the head board. "I can't promise I won't throw up anyway."
Decker wasn't sure whether to believe that or not, but was inclined to believe it. Peck looked awful.
"You never were a POW, were you?" Peck asked.
Decker shook his head. "No." He had been for two weeks. But in comparison to Peck's five months that hardly counted.
"Yeah, thought so."
"Maybe you should try and catch a few more hours of sleep," Decker suggested, not wanting to pursue that conversation.
"I'll only dream with the cuffs on."
So his guess had been correct, but Decker couldn't feel good about being right. "I won't take them off."
"Didn't think so. Just... Just talk, okay? Just let me talk, keep me awake..."
Peck's voice held a deep resignation that made Decker feel earnestly sorry for him. "Sure, what do you want to talk about?" – It was also a good way to look inside Peck's head. Maybe that helped understand him better.
"Just anything. I don't know... card games, childhood memories... What do people talk about?"
"What do you usually talk about?"
"Missions, girls..."
Interesting order there, Decker thought to himself. Apparently Peck was more of a soldier than he'd always thought. "Okay, let's talk about –"
"Girls," Peck fell in before Decker could say missions.
"Okay, girls," Decker conceded. He wasn't overly interested in girls. He'd been married twice, and that had been enough for him. He would have preferred talking about the missions, but Peck surely wouldn't give any information on them anyway, so it was futile to insist.
"What do you like in girls?" Peck asked.
"I thought it was about keeping you awake, so *you* better talk."
"I won't fall asleep... not when it's about women." Peck grinned.
"I've been married," Decker answered. "That kind of ruined my interest."
"Huh?" Peck looked at him with surprise.
"I find I can do better things with my time than to chase girls and talk them into spending a night with me."
"You mean you..." Peck said suggestively.
"I mean that it's really none of your business. How about you?"
"Oh, I'm not tired of chasing girls." Peck chuckled softly. "It's fun, I like it. I like them
"So I've heard."
Peck shrugged. "To each their own. What do you spend your time with if not with women?"
Chasing the A-Team would have been the correct answer, but Decker would sooner cut his own tongue out than say that. "Reading, music, keeping in shape."
"Chasing us," Peck added.
"That's my job, that doesn't count."
"Sure, Colonel."
"You better keep me in good mood or I'll let you drop off," Decker warned. He didn't have to sit here, letting Peck make fun of him.
Peck actually blanched a bit, then shook his head. "Maybe we should talk about something else."
"Like?"
"I don't know. I'm not the world's best conversationalist."
"I always thought you have your mouth open continually."
"Okay, so I have trouble talking to *you*. I mean I'm used to avoiding you. Now I'm suddenly here, depending on... on talking with... you." Peck banged his head against the head board with frustration.
"What's your favourite food?"
"What?"
"Just answer the question."
"I don't know. What are we talking here, hors d'oeuvre, main course, dessert?"
"All three."
"I still don't know. That's a stupid question. Ask me something I know the answer to."
Decker decided to ignore the cranky mood. "Do you have a favourite colour?"
"Blue. Dark blue. You?"
"Orange. Favourite drink?" Strangely enough Decker started to kind of enjoy this.
"Uh-uh. I don't have one. I'm supposed to say champagne, though, aren't I?"
"Would fit the image," Decker agreed.
"I don't really like champagne. It's too bubbly and doesn't hold enough alcohol to make up for the taste."
"Yet you drink it..."
Peck shrugged. "I put up with it. I have to if I want to fit in with the crowd. I mean, I'd stick out like a sore thumb if I didn't drink that stuff, right?"
"Why do you want to be part of that society anyway?" Decker had always thought he knew the answer to that one: Peck was a snob at heart. But suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore.
"You're not my therapist so stop analysing my life," Peck snapped.
"You have a therapist?"
Peck glared at him for a moment. "None of your business."
"I just thought, since you mentioned it..."
Peck kicked his legs in frustration, but didn't say anything. He had to feel really bad. Dead tired, and caught between talking to his archenemy and having a nightmare.
"When's been your first time?" Decker had *no* idea where that question came from, and he almost blushed after asking it. He wished he could take it back.
"What?!" Peck sat straight up. "What business do you have asking me such a question?!"
"I thought you'd know the answer to that one," Decker answered. – At least he really thought that.
"I was..." Peck leaned back and closed his eyes. "Being tired wouldn't be so hard if it didn't make my eyes feel like sandpaper."
"You're avoiding my question," Decker said, wondering why he insisted when he didn't really want to know. "Peck?" One checking look, and he knew that Peck had fallen back asleep. Just as well. Decker looked at his watch, one and a half more hours to go.
Thirty minutes later Peck was starting to move in his sleep again. He tried to roll over, but the cuffs pretty much kept him in position, and soon Peck tried to pull free again, only aggravating the already sore wrists. This time he didn't speak, he just sometimes moaned deep in his throat, as if in pain.
Decker heaved a sigh, then shouted, "Lieutenant!", and slapped him in the face.
Peck woke up with a start. "You let me sleep!" he accused after a second.
"I'm sorry, you just fell –"
"I asked you to keep me talking, to keep me awake, and you –"
"You dropped off in the middle of a sentence. What was I supposed to do?"
"Wake me up!" Peck complained with hysterical undertone.
Decker knew he could have done that, but... "I hoped you'd sleep better this time around."
"Well, I didn't."
"So I noticed. That's why I woke you up."
Peck huffed. "Need to go to the toilet."
Decker looked doubtful.
"I'm not joking, I need to go."
There was a way to find out how serious it was. "If you tell me what you just dreamed."
"When hell freezes over, Decker." Peck said it with so much contempt, Decker half expected drops of venom dripping from his lips.
"Then you won't go."
"You're...!" Peck kicked his feet and yanked his arms.
"Hey, hey, hey, *stop* that!" Decker rushed over, caught his arms, and steadied them. "You're not gonna hurt yourself in my custody."
"I already *am* hurt if it escaped your notice," Peck pointed out.
"Not gonna hurt yourself any more than you already did," Decker corrected himself.
"I might report you for cruelty.
"I'm on safe ground, Peck. Don't start messing with me."
"You're messing with *me*!"
For a man who had only slept about an hour in the last 52 hours, Peck was astoundingly fit. Decker had a hard time keeping him down. Finally he let go. "Okay, then rip your wrists open, Lieutenant, I don't care."
Peck immediately became still. "I just don't like people... doing... what you just did."
"Forcing you to keep still?"
"Forcing me, period."
"Sorry, but I will force you into a car once they're here. And then I will force you into a cell."
"Yes, and extremely sorry you are, I can see." Peck turned away for a moment. "Now, how is it, can I go?"
"I told you my condition."
"Why? Why are you so keen on knowing what I dreamed?"
"I'm not. I just figure that you don't want to tell, and I'm obviously right. So once you're really earnest about going to the bathroom, you'll tell me."
Peck gave him a look that said "I rather soil the bed", but Decker didn't buy it. Grown up people were trained so well to not soil themselves, it was virtually impossible for most of them. Eventually, Peck would give in.
"Will you try another nap or are we back to talking?"
"Why would I talk to you?" Peck snapped.
"Because it could keep you awake."
"You're a bastard."
"Thank you."
Peck fell silent and just sat, brooding. Seemed his bladder was keeping him awake this time. After a while he pulled up his legs, but he still didn't say a thing.
Decker looked at his watch. "I don't think you can hold it another hour."
"I won't tell you. You don't have any business knowing that. That's private. It's my private, personal issue."
"I don't want to hear the entire dream. Just something, a small detail, just anything. But don't lie, I'll notice."
"You wouldn't."
"You want to bet your pants' hygiene on that?"
"Just let me go, okay? I even promise not to try anything, I even swear!"
"You must be really desperate." Decker was almost convinced, but only almost.
"I dreamed of shooting you," Peck said. "Now let me go already!"
Decker pulled the keys to the cuffs from his pocket, but also his gun from the holster. He undid the cuff around Peck's right wrist. "I trust you know how to open the other one," he said, then stepped back, training his gun at Peck and clicking the safety off.
Peck opened the cuff with flying fingers.
He was in the bathroom a few seconds later and tried to protest when Decker followed, but Decker wouldn't allow Peck to go in alone. He was not keen on witnessing the deed, but he was very keen on not letting Peck out of his sight. God knows what he might come up with.
"This must be the most embarrassing moment in my life," Peck muttered.
Decker ignored him as best as he could, then, when Peck was done, escorted him back to the bedroom. He pointed his gun at the cuffs still hanging from the bedframe.
"You're not expecting me to –"
"I do."
Peck started an assault – no big surprise there – but the lack of sleep was obviously taking a toll on him, because Decker could easily defeat him.
"Not clever, Peck, really not very smart," he said between gritted teeth, while struggling to get Peck's one hand into the cuff. When he'd accomplished that, he pushed Peck deeper into the mattress, half lying on top of him, and quickly snapped the second cuff closed around Peck's other wrist.
"You'll pay for this," Peck promised.
"I'm shaking with fear already." Decker retreated to a chair next to the window, but kept his eyes on Peck. "You should try and sleep."
"Yeah, worked out so well the two times I did, didn't it?
"You need sleep."
"Oh, don't come and tell me you're worried 'bout me!"
"I'm not a sadist. I don't like seeing you suffer."
"No? Then get me something for my wrists."
Decker would have loved to, but he didn't have anything at hand, and he wasn't going to leave Peck alone. "So, what's your favourite music?"
"What?"
"Am I not supposed to keep you awake?"
Peck closed his eyes, unnerved, but then sighed and said, "I don't exactly have favourite music."
"You have no favourite food, no favourite drink, no favourite music..."
"I have a favourite colour."
"Any favourites but that one?"
Peck sighed and shook his head. "I don't think so."
"How come?"
Peck shrugged. "I guess I never had the time to worry about favourites."
Worry about favourites? What a concept. "You don't worry about favourites," Decker said, "they just become your favourites."
Peck shrugged. "Whatever."
"So what kept you from worrying about favourites?" Decker didn't want to talk anymore, but even less he wanted Peck to fall asleep again. Peck was right: it hadn't worked out well the last two times, so it stood to reason that a third time wouldn't turn out much better. And all things considered, Decker really didn't like Peck suffering unnecessarily. Plus, it just plainly gave him the creeps.
"What I was doing?" Peck grinned. "Leading you along, amongst others."
"What's the 'others'?"
"Asking girls out, going on missions, doing this and that."
"And all that while you never discovered that you like one sort of food better than any other?"
Peck shook his head. "Too much good food out there."
"Okay, you like sex, don't you?"
"What?!" Peck sat up. "I wish you'd stop asking me such creepy questions."
Decker wished it too, but the question was out, so he better mask the shock over his own question and keep going. "There's nothing creepy about it," he lied. "So you like it?"
"Sure, who doesn't?"
Decker thought that surely there were some guys somewhere, and that he himself wasn't all crazy about it either, but he kept that to himself. "So, do you have a favourite position?"
"A..."
"Yes, you know, just a way of doing it that you like better than others." Decker really wished he would shut up. This was *not* the kind of talk he wanted to have with anyone, least of all Peck.
Peck seemed to give it an earnest thought. "I like missionary."
"Yeah?" Honestly, Decker had expected something a little more extravagant from Peck.
"Yes. It leaves me in control."
Of course, Decker thought, then said, "You really don't like losing control."
"Who does?"
"It absolutely bothers you when you're not in control." Decker felt a tug at the corners of his mouth. Teasing your adversary was fun, no wonder Smith kept doing it with him.
"Yes!" Peck admitted angrily. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"No wonder you had such a hard time in the army."
"I think I was doing rather well."
"That's just because there was a war on, and nobody much cared for regulations in Vietnam."
"Most of the army's regulations are stupid anyway."
"That's what you say."
"Yes, that's what I say!"
Decker considered asking which regulations Peck found so stupid, but Peck was faster.
"What position do you prefer?" he asked.
Decker shrugged. He liked missionary himself – for the same reason – but he wasn't going to tell Peck that. "I don't think that's any of your business," he said.
"I'll be damned if I'm the only one talking about his sexlife here!"
"Then, I'm afraid, you're damned."
"Bastard!" Peck shouted, and once again kicked his feet. "You don't happen to have something to eat?" he asked in a calmer voice a little later.
"I'm sorry, I'm not a waitress."
Peck yawned. "I'm hungry."
"You are tired, first off."
"Breaking news, Colonel."
"How do you manage working under Smith? Isn't he taking the control out of your hands?"
Peck looked confused for a second, but then he shook his head. "Not really. He tells me what he expects, and I decide to do it, and do it my way."
"But you do it. Smith does not accept you not meeting his expectations, does he?"
Peck tiredly shook his head. "No, but I still have the choice."
"Like how?"
"He always lets me do it my way. Something the army never did. Hannibal's not concerned much with the methods I use, just with the outcome. And then, I could always leave," Peck said, earnestly surprised that he had to explain this.
"Why haven't you?"
"What, left? I like the guys. They're fun staying with, especially –" Peck clipped off the rest.
"Yes?" Decker perked up in his seat.
"Especially when you get involved. You're much more fun than Lynch."
"How so?" Decker knew Peck had wanted to say something else initially, maybe even admit to Captain Murdock's involvement, but this was also an interesting development.
"You got more brains."
Decker pulled up his eyebrows in surprise. He was not used to any of the team leaving a good hair on him.
"You and Hannibal, you're actually not so different. That's why Hannibal enjoys sparring with you so much."
Oh yes, that's something Decker had noticed himself: Hannibal Smith seemed to draw a lot of satisfaction out of their confrontations. But really, *sparring*!
"The main difference between the two of you is, you're not creative, Decker. You're unable to wrap your mind around new ways." Unexpectedly Peck started to laugh. "Let me correct myself. You're unable to wrap your mind around *Hannibal's* way, cause Hannibal really has only *one* way."
"Glad to see you so happy, Peck," Decker snided, and it was the last thing he said before the door burst open and an irate BA Baracus stood in the doorway, immediately followed by Smith, who had an automatic at the ready and trained at Decker.
"Colonel," Smith said sweetly, "I'm sorry I'll have to leave right after you had the good grace to free my Lieutenant, but I have unresolved business waiting for me."
Decker hesitated. He just *hated* this. How the hell had they managed to...
"*Now*!"
Decker suppressed all emotions, and walked over to Peck, who grinned up at him triumphantly.
"You okay, Face?" Smith asked.
"I need sleep."
"Ya can sleep in the van," Baracus said, and cast a look down at Peck's wrists.
Decker feared that next moment he'd have the Sergeant's fist in his face, but nothing happened.
Peck climbed off the bed, smiled at Decker, then took his gun. "You won't be needing this," he said. "And now, why don't you rest a little?" Peck pointed at the bed, and practically the moment Decker sat down, Peck snapped the cuffs closed.
Five minutes later the Team had disappeared, and Crane was releasing Decker from the bed. While he did that, he explained that he actually didn't have an explanation how the Team could get away this time.
Decker wasn't even angry; not yet anyway. He still thought about the two hours he'd spent alone with Peck. He still had no clear idea of who the man really was. He was many men in one. He was a chameleon. He acted like the person he was with, but he not only acted it, he seemed to become it. When he was with Smith, he became crazy like Smith. When he was with Baracus, he became quiet, letting deeds speak rather than words. When he'd been with Decker for these two hours, he had become angry, but not without a certain respect.
Decker wondered how Peck was when he was really on his own.
Maybe he wasn't.
finito