Disclaimer: The A-Team and all characters belong to Stephen J Cannell and Universal Studios.
The city started to spread out around Murdock's grandfather's house, opening up into refineries and billboards; gas stations and trailer parks. Further apart and slowed down, like Face had imagined things being slowed down in the south. Chain-link fencing under the shade of catclaw and white elm. Careless in the heat, like the drawl in Murdock's voice; wide in its diphthongs.
Face had never been south of San Diego before.
Most people went home for the thirty-day vacation that was the army's present for volunteering to extend your tour. Face hadn't had any more to come home to than he'd had when he left. Hadn't even been sure, any more, that he'd ever really had a home. He'd been thinking about seeing Hong Kong, even if it was only once. Tokyo, maybe. Bangkok.
But Murdock had wanted Face to come home with him.
Murdock's grandfather was shorter than the pilot; not a heavily-built man, but less lanky and rangy. His hair looked like it had been fairer, and there were few obvious similarities in their faces. But sometimes he would smile, or frown, or gesture with his hands in a particular way, and just for a moment, Face would see Murdock, as if he were layered over the older man like an outline on tracing paper.
"You look after him," he said, to Face. "HM, sometimes..." and he paused, as though choosing his words carefully. "He ain't practical."
"We look after each other, granddaddy," Murdock told him.
Face never heard Murdock called anything except HM, at home. He assigned himself a mission.
"So what does it stand for? And don't say 'Howling Mad'."
"Hot Muchacho."
Laughter snorted out of Face's nose.
"Highly Masculine?"
"Come on - really."
"Holy Mackerel."
Face threw up his hands.
They drove up to the Tastee Freez. The sun hung low over the railroad lines, swollen and gold, casting long shadows. Face thought that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't even be able to tell what year it was. It could be five years ago. It could be twenty. It was that kind of timeless feeling. Murdock used his straw to stir the ice cream into his root beer until it had the look and consistency of a milkshake. He pillowed his cheek on his hand and smiled at Face with his eyes across the table.
"You really wanna know what HM stands for?"
Face lifted his shoulders. "I really want to know. Sue me."
"Happy Man," Murdock said, softly. "Be different again next week. But that's what it stands for right now."