TITLE: Loved Ones and Lipstick
AUTHOR: Hectical
RATING: Rated K
SUMMARY: Amy-centric one-shot. Amy Allen has a strict Valentine's Day tradition. Trouble is, so does The A-Team.
DISCLAIMER: Written for pleasure, no profit gained, The A-Team and associated concepts and characters are not my intellectual property, I'm just a big 80s nerd and Steven J Cannell is my god. You know, the usual.
Amy Allen had a strict Valentine's Day tradition. On the morning of February 14, every year since she was sixteen and had just had her heart broken by Bobby Miller, she would get up and have a shower and spend a little while looking at herself in the mirror, finding all the pimples and wrinkles and, recently, a grey hair, and cataloguing them. Then she would spend extra time on her hair and make up, put on the new outfit she would have bought the week beforehand, layer on her reddest lipstick and lean into her reflection and leave a big red kiss on the mirror.
"Love you babe, you're the best ever."
With the exception of a few years in college and once in 1981 with a guy named Dean Fabretti who rode a motorbike and smelled like his mother's cooking, that was the only kiss she could expect on Valentine's Day.
She would squeeze into her highest heels and experiment with the notion of sashaying as she walked out the door.
Valentine's Day night she spent alone with a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and a horror movie or three before falling asleep listening to love songs and dedications on the radio with a sense of righteous self pity as her only date.
It was tradition. You didn't mess with tradition.
February 13 was her mother's birthday. Amy called her from her desk in the newsroom, got all caught up on who was getting married (not Amy), having babies (not Amy) and dating the nicest man (still not Amy). She heard all about who was taking what medication (her Aunt Louisa - antihistamines), and who had been in hospital (Louisa's neighbour), or court, (the same neighbour – such a scandal!) or the shoe store when a great sale was on and bought a pair of sensible shoes (her mother – blue court shoes – such a scandal! Blue!). It was the same phone call she had with her mother every time they caught up and the same conversation they might have if they caught up face to face except that the sad face her mother had whenever the conversation came around to marriage and babies could never be properly damaging over the phone. Yes, her mother had gotten the card Amy had sent, and yes, the silk scarf had been lovely too. She was having a birthday dinner on the 14th at La Scala – you know, that place where Barbara got ptomaine from the veal– would Amy like to come and, more importantly, would she be bringing a date? As always, Amy demurred as gracefully as she could manage and finished with a genuine if slightly strained "Love you mom." It was the same conversation they had every February 13th. It was tradition.
Her new outfit hung from the back of her door, tags still on, and was the first thing she saw as she exercised a monumental amount of will and pushed her eyes open at 6.45 am on Valentine's Day. She lay for a moment, listening to her alarm, and wondered what force of insanity had convinced her to buy a skirt that short with her own money. She would wear it today – it looked pretty hot and you didn't mess with tradition – but after today she'd probably add it to the small collection of clothes she was accumulating to use for con jobs with the team. They might have the guns and the Special Forces training, she mused, but she had the boobs and sometimes that's what got the door open and the job done. The skirt in question was a charcoal grey slub silk with slits up either side that allowed its wearer to walk with something approaching a normal gait. She'd also bought a gray and white striped shirt with pintucks and ruffles and a silhouette so sharp it could make your eyes bleed to look at it too closely and silk stockings with thin little seams up the backs of the legs. This year she'd gone a little nuts – in addition to the ridiculously impractical skirt, she'd also bought a new blazer. This, at least, she could expect to wear again. It had a long, simple line and an elegant shape that could make pretty much anyone look good. It was the same blood colour as the lipstick she was planning on wearing and the heels she had been keeping since last Valentine's Day. For someone not normally obsessively invested in their appearance, she'd been meticulous about this outfit and was motivated enough by the thought of wearing it out the front door that she swung her legs out of bed and padded bleary eyed into the bathroom, fingers reaching out and brushing the lapels of the blazer as she passed it.
She was naked when the phone rang. Leaving the shower running to heat up the incredibly tardy hot water service, she jogged to the kitchen and picked it up.
"Good morning Amy!" Hannibal sounded suspiciously bright for this hour. "Top of the morning to you."
She groaned. "Hannibal, it's not even seven am."
"Sorry, kid, did I get you out of bed?" He didn't sound like the prospect dismayed him.
"No," she replied tartly. "You got me out of the shower."
"Uh… oh." Too late, she realized what she had said and could practically hear the wheels turning in his head.
"Any reason for the wake up call, Colonel Smith?" She spoke slowly and deliberately, dragging him back to the reason for his call.
"I'm confirming our lunch date," he said. She frowned and tried to shake her brain into wakefulness.
"Lunch date?"
"Yes. Lunch. Around 12.30? I'll meet you in the park across from your office. Nothing fancy. I'll be the older gent with an air of sophistication and élan."
Amy made a face. "Hannibal, the last time you used those words together, you were dressed as a bum."
She heard his chuckle. "Even so. You'll recognize me. 12.30 sharp, kid."
Unable to think of an argument, she nodded. "Yeah, okay. See you then."
She hung up, mystified. Hannibal was taking her to lunch? That was new. She hoped he wouldn't be dressed as a bum but figured he probably would be.
She spent nearly forty minutes blow drying her hair and applying that luscious red lipstick (Forbidden Apple by Momo) and it took her just a little longer than it normally did to dress because she made the mistake of doing it in front of the mirror in her bedroom. Amy was not usually a mirror gazer. As long as everything matched, was neat and put together, and her shoes were practical enough for running from bad guys should the occasion arise during the course of her day, she didn't spend much time worrying over her look. But today was Valentine's Day, and that skirt was pretty damn good to look at – and so when she caught sight of the alarm clock by her bed she knew she had missed her window for breakfast and still hadn't had any coffee. She'd have to pick something up on the way and hope she didn't spill anything. Smiling, she leaned forward and planted a big kiss on the mirror.
"Love you babe," she said, enacting her favourite part of the day. "Today you are the best ever more than ever."
Slinging her bag over her shoulder and, finding a tiny sashay built into the combination of skirt and heels, she headed out the door of her apartment and into Valentine's Day.
When she got to the parking garage of her building, there was a man leaning against her car. The silhouette of a large stranger blocking her way made her quail for a moment, and she figured those red heels probably wouldn't be much good if she had to make a run for it and she paused to look more closely at the situation. Hearing her approach, the man turned and Amy caught a glimpse of gold under the yellow lamp above him. She relaxed.
"BA? Why are you here? What's wrong?"
"Figured you might like a lift to work, maybe some breakfast." He smiled. "I figured you probably hadn't eaten yet."
She blinked at him in surprise. "How do you know?"
He tapped his watch. "You're running late."
She tilted her head. "BA, that's a little creepy."
"We all know your damn routine," he said. "It's just normal. Any differences and we know something's probably up with you."
"Oh." Come to think of it, they did usually seem very well informed about that. She decided that she didn't mind. It was actually kind of comforting.
"So," she said, looking at him and smiling. "Where are we going for breakfast?" She let him lead her to the van, parked a few spaces over. As he helped her slide into the passenger seat – something that she actually did need help with if she was going to maintain her dignity in that skirt – she looked at him curiously.
"BA, did Hannibal put you up to this?"
He swung into the drivers side and started the ignition, nodding at her to fasten her seatbelt. "No. Why?"
"He called me this morning to set up a lunch date."
"Huh." He pulled smoothly out of the garage and into the cheery morning smog. "He's Hannibal. Who knows what the hell. Mostly I think he's probably as crazy as that damn fool Murdock."
He looked over at her, a shy sideways glance that she caught only because she was watching him.
"What?" she asked. He shook his head, smiling widely. "You look pretty good today."
"Still doesn't explain why you decided to meet me for breakfast," she said archly, "but thanks."
They stopped at a café four blocks from her office and he bought her coffee (typically strong enough to kick start her heart twice over) and a fresh bagel then drove her to the door of her building.
"Thanks, BA. I don't know what inspired you to buy me breakfast this morning, but I really enjoyed it."
"Me too, Amy. Have a good day."
She watched the van merge expertly into traffic and wondered if she could make it upstairs to her desk without spilling her coffee. When she succeeded in doing just that, she noticed that with BA as her driver, even stopping for breakfast, she was only ten minutes late.
There was a letter dropped on her desk mid morning by the wheezing middle aged woman who usually did the mail on Thursdays. The address was written in cramped, scratchy writing in the topmost corner of the envelope in what looked like purple ink. Bemused, she flipped it over to look for a return address. Nothing. She did occasionally receive mail from readers and that always came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. She slit the envelope with her nail and pulled out a folded piece of paper that resolved itself into what looked like a handmade card. The paper was blue, a sheet folded in half, then in half again to fit into the envelope. On the front was stuck a magazine picture of a vintage bi-plane with a jaunty looking aviator stroking his moustache and striking a heroic pose by the propellor. Smiling, she opened it and decoded the writing within.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Next time I'm flying
You can be my co-pilot
HMM
Touched, she felt her smile widen and she dropped the card to reach for the phone. When she got through to Murdock at the VA, he laughed delightedly.
"Guess this means you got the card, then?"
"I did. It's very sweet, thanks Murdock."
"Aw shucks," he drawled, sounding like he might be blushing. "Now I'm blushing. We had to make Valentine's Day cards in art therapy. I didn't have nobody else to send it to."
"Well, thanks, Murdock. It's beautiful and I love it."
He laughed again. "Oh, geez, Amy, Slim Jim – you remember him, skinny fella, red hair? – he just streaked right down the corridor. Literally streaking. I'm not going to call him Slim Jim any more, right? His new name is Birthday Suit. Better go let him know."
She sighed. "Alright then, thanks again for the card."
"Hell, Amy. I'd've sent you ten except I ran out of construction paper."
There was one other tradition that Amy observed on Valentine's Day which was a recent addition to her line up. She worked hard. She usually worked hard and prided herself on it, but on Valentine's Day she bent down and didn't come up for air until it was time to go home. It was one of her most productive days of the year and one of the few times she didn't question the contents of the sandwiches on the lunch cart that came around the office at noon. Most people questioned the sandwiches and found them wanting and so did Amy, normally, but today she bought the two least objectionable looking offerings and tucked them into her bag. She figured that if Hannibal was dressing as a homeless person today then bringing him a sandwich was only charitable. Her suspicions were entirely justified. Her phone rang at 12.40. She looked at the clock as she answered it, guilty and startled by the passage and time. The voice on the phone belonged to Karen, a young trainee who had only started on the front desk the week before. Amy had spoken to her several times but had never actually seen the girl's face.
"Uh, Miss Allen, there's a… man… here to see you." She sounded intrigued and revolted at the same time. Amy guessed it could only be Hannibal.
"Thanks, Karen. Let him know I'll be right down."
Hannibal stood by the front desk, chatting animatedly with a young blonde girl. Karen, Amy presumed.
"Thanks, Karen." She surveyed Hannibal's disguise. He wore mismatched boots, one of which had no laces, and a pair of plaid pants with stains on the knees and ragged hems. Atop that he wore three shirts and a dusty old trench coat with no elbows. He had his wino nose on and a little cultivated stubble as well as a truckers cap that was probably too shabby even for Murdock and advertised May's Dine n Shine Truckstop in Boise. At his feet lay a duffle bag with holes in it and a scruffy bandana tied around the handle.
"Mish Allen!" he slurred. "Welcome! Have you met… hic… Karen?"
"Karen," Amy said smoothly. "This is Wino Willy. He's working with me on a story about the homeless."
"Ah, yesh, young girrrrl," he drawled, working himself up into a towering fit of eloquence that Amy recognized as Hannibal enjoying himself. "Ish terrble all the ting – I mean thingsh – that go on out there. The other day I shaw this man – "
"Alright Willy," Amy interrupted, conscious of the fact that if Hannibal hit his stride this could go for a while. "Come on. Show me that alley way you mentioned yesterday."
Hannibal doffed his disrespectable cap at Karen and let Amy lead him through the revolving doors.
"You're late, kid," he said as they hit the pavement. She shrugged.
"I lost track of time. Sorry."
He looked her up and down and whistled. "You sure did it up today, Miss Allen. Special occasion?"
"Lunch with a homeless bum, of course," she responded with a grin. Her grin slipped a little as a large and ragged brown dog bounded over to Hannibal and sat by his feet, grinning up at him, long tongue lolling pinkly to one side.
"Oh Hannibal," Amy said, dismayed. "A dog?"
Hannibal shrugged. "He's been following me all morning. I think he came with the hat." He raised one hand to the brim and the dog shuffled and whined, fixing him with a keen gaze. Hannibal shrugged and offered an arm to Amy.
"I'm thinking of giving him to Murdock if I can't shake him."
He led her up the street to the pedestrian crossing and across the halted traffic into the park. The dog followed closely.
"Oh, that reminds me," Amy said as they stepped onto the grass. "Ask Murdock about his new friend Birthday Suit next time you see him."
Hannibal looked at her askance and steered her toward a picnic table. "Do I want to know?"
Amy shrugged. "He's a real person. Go ahead and ask." She let him seat her at the table, the dog lying down at her feet with a sigh. She dug into her bag.
"I brought sandwiches."
He frowned at her. "Wino Willy can show a lady a better time than that," he commented. He hefted his duffel bag into the table and heaved it open, pulling out a checked cloth, a thermos, two plastic mugs, a large paper bag and a small bud vase complete with tattered plastic rose bud. He spread the cloth like a stage magician and shook several grease wrapped parcels out of the paper bag.
"I also brought sandwiches," he said. "Shrimp and avocado okay?"
Impressed, Amy nodded as she reached for the thermos and poured herself a drink. She sniffed at the contents of her cup.
"Oh Hannibal, wine?"
"Hey," he said, spreading his arms wide and gesturing, she supposed, at the world as a whole. "Is it not Valentine's Day?'
She frowned. "Is that why we're having lunch?"
He twinkled at her. "No-one should eat alone on Valentine's Day, kid. I happen to have dinner plans, so you and I are having lunch."
She sipped her wine and regarded him with narrowed eyes. "BA picked me up this morning and bought me breakfast." He looked up, pleased.
"Really? Well how about that."
"And Murdock sent me a card."
He nodded. "He's mad as a hatter but a good man."
"And I don't suppose you had anything to do with either of those things?"
He shook his head and laid a dramatic hand across his three rows of undone shirt buttons. "I swear to you that I am not to blame."
She took a sandwich from him and ate it slowly. "So should I expect a visit from Face later then?"
Hannibal shrugged. "Who knows? He won't be lacking for company tonight."
Amy could well imagine. She pulled a shrimp out of her sandwich, tossed it to the dog, and took a deep swallow of the surprisingly nice wine that Hannibal had brought. "And what are your plans for tonight, Hannibal? Hot date at the shelter?"
"Oh, ha ha." He poured himself a cup of wine. "No, I have a standing date on Valentine's Day."
He was not further forthcoming. Amy tossed another shrimp to the dog and enjoyed her lunch. As they finished, Hannibal packed the cloth and the thermos away in the duffle and handed Amy the plastic rose in its bud vase.
"Give this to the little girl behind the front desk," he said. "And wish her a Happy Valentine from Wino Willy."
He pulled the cap off his head and tossed it to the dog. It caught the thing deftly and grinned at Hannibal for a moment before galloping away across the park. Hannibal laughed. "I guess no dog for Murdock this year."
Amy watched it disappear into the bushes. "BA will be pleased."
He turned to her and regarded her warmly. "What about you, kid? Any plans for tonight?"
Amy sighed. "No, just me, my couch, a bottle of wine and a hot date with Frightmare on my VCR."
He frowned. "Frightmare?" Amy shrugged. It was tradition.
She gave the flower to Karen, who looked first horrified then pleased, then horrified again, and returned to her desk where she spent another few minutes looking at Murdock's card before bending to her work. Before she knew it, she was calling a taxi and heading home.
When she got home there was a message on her machine. It was her mother, asking once more if Amy was sure she was unable to come to dinner. After all, if she was going on a date, as, given the time of year, she obviously was, couldn't the two events be combined? Amy deleted the message, changed into her pajamas and reapplied her lipstick.
She was standing in front of her open freezer when the door bell rang. It saved her from having to make an immediate decision as to which frozen TV dinner she should endure and she closed the door on all of them (there was a depressing number of them, something she never shared with even her closest friends) and went to answer the door. She paused to make sure her hair was neat and her underwear wasn't peeking around the top of her striped pants.
She was startled at first to see Murdock standing there grinning widely.
"Hi there, Chiquita," he said. "Heard you were having a movie night." He leaned in and gave her a wet kiss, handed her a squashed box of chocolates and pushed past her into her apartment. "I love movies. They never let us watch the scary ones at the VA. They're afraid we'll get ideas." He paused and looked around.
"Say, I've never been here before. What's for dinner? Should we just get a pizza?"
He wandered into the living room, still talking. She closed the door, frowning.
"Murdock, wait. How did you even get here?" She took two steps after him before the door bell rang again. Exasperated, she turned back and opened it with a fairly good idea of who was on the other side.
BA smiled at her and held up a bunch of flowers. "Hey Amy. Heard you were having a movie night. Did Murdock make it up here?"
She nodded, dazed, accepted the flowers, tilted her cheek up as he leaned down and brushed his lips against it and stepped out of the way as he entered. She stuck her head out into the corridor and saw Hannibal ten feet away, a bottle of wine in his gloved hands. He grinned at her.
"Frightmare?" he asked.
She shook her head, touched beyond words. "Did you organize this?"
He didn't reply. He pushed the wine into her free hand gave her a dry peck on the cheek before edging past her into her apartment.
"Put that down, fool, or I'll cook you for dinner," she heard BA boom from her kitchen, followed by a crash.
"Hannibal! He's gonna cook me for dinner!" Murdock cried. "I'm not delicious! I'm salty – too salty! Put me down!"
Hannibal turned back to Amy and quirked his lips in a rueful grin. "Nice place you have, Allen. Hope it survives the children."
Murdock was oddly enthused about her collection of TV dinners and it was decided by everyone except him that pizza was the answer to her unexpected catering problem.
They were half way through Frightmare when the doorbell rang. Amy rose to answer it, leaving the others transfixed by the mayhem on the screen. They had turned off the lights and the green flickering light from the screen created a shadowy bubble around the couch. Amy and Hannibal sat at either end with BA slouching on the floor with a cushion at his back. Murdock sprawled on his belly, chin in hands, eyes growing more square by the minute. Hannibal went to hand her his wallet but she waved him off and grabbed her purse on her way to the door. When she opened it, she could only gape.
Face stood there, several pizza boxes in one hand, the jacket of his expensive Italian suit in the other and a quizzical grin on his face.
"I got these from a delivery guy downstairs. Sorry I'm so late. Did I miss the start of the movie?"
She blinked at him. "Your date?"
He gave her a funny look. "What did Hannibal tell you?"
She shrugged. "That you would not lack for company tonight."
He handed her the pizzas and pushed past her, closing the door and hanging his suit jacket on the hall stand.
"I'm not lacking," he said. "I'm here. Happy Valentine's Day." He bent and gave her a small, warm kiss on her cheek. "And that is nice lipstick."
"Hey Face, took you long enough," Murdock called from the lounge room. "Hurry up, you're missing the best part!"
She preceded him into the living room and put the pizza on her coffee table. Face casually reached down and turned Murdock's cap backwards as he stepped over him and sat on the floor beside BA and Hannibal prodded him with the toe of his boot until he handed him a slice of pizza. Amy switched on the light and stopped the movie, ignoring the groans of protest, standing in front of the TV with her hand on her hip.
"Alright guys, what gives?"
Murdock sat up and reached for a slice of pizza. He looked up at her and squinted.
"We always spend Valentine's Day together. It's a team tradition," he said guilelessly. "You should always be with the ones you love today." He shoved a strand of cheese into his mouth.
Amy felt something inside melt just a little. Four pairs of eyes watched her as she crossed to the light switch and turned it off then bent to the VCR and restarted the movie. Suddenly warm and just a little teary (and glad of the darkness because of it) she returned to her seat on the couch. BA patted her bare foot and handed her the open pizza box. She sniffed and took a slice.
"Best date I've been on in years."
Face handed her up a glass of wine, then poured one for himself as, on the screen, someone died horribly.
"You heard the man," he said. "It's tradition. You don't mess with tradition." He raised his glass to her and kicked off his loafers.
As she settled more comfortably into the couch cushions, Amy decided that she couldn't agree more.