It was safe to say Face had visited, and thoroughly enjoyed, most of the romantic must-see locations in the world. He'd strolled hand in hand with a lovely someone around the Great Pyramids by moonlight. He'd kissed soft lips under a street lamp in old London while the muffling fog rolled in. He'd snuggled with a pretty little wahine on a beach on Maui just before sunset, while waiting for the elusive "Le Rayon Vert". Hell, he'd even done the April-in-Paris thing, 'cause, yeah, sharing an umbrella gave a guy some nice opportunities. But, in all his short, but well experienced life, he'd never considered the effect of autumn in Colorado on certain nature lovers.

Murdock had stepped out of the van and stood, breathless and big eyed, staring at the fall-colored trees surrounding them, while the others unloaded their bags from the van into the tiny hunter's cabin the client had loaned them. Face had noted the miniscule shower stall and the rickety bunk beds (bunk beds!), and was heartily glad the job would only take a few days. It was a simple assignment, they weren't likely to be shot at or blown up, so they wouldn't need extra space for first aid. Both the simple kitchen and the rack of firewood were fully stocked. And, still forcing himself to look on the bright side, what the cabin lacked in amenities, it more than made up for in privacy. A nice change of pace, and something he was looking forward to exploiting with lusty teammates.

"Hey, fool! Get your ass in gear!"

B.A.'s abrupt bark should have had Murdock jumping (it certainly made Face jump, shouted as it was in his left ear), but the pilot didn't even twitch. Huh.

"Yeah, buddy, we could use another hand." Face tried a more friendly tone.

"Lothlorien!" Murdock shouted suddenly, joyously, and darted into the woods.

Face stared after him, bemused, wondering what part of his friend's mental conversation he might have missed. It was a very familiar feeling, being one step behind; and that word was also strangely familiar.

"Isn't that from, like, 'Lord of the Rings'?"

"Mmmm. Yes, it's one of the Elves' base of operations." Hannibal answered absently. Face stared at his colonel in surprise; not at the demonstration of esoteric trivia (the man was a voracious reader) but at the oddly military phrasing. They were slowly learning to relax into this new civilian life of theirs, falling away from the language and habits of the Army. Not that they had ever been all that regulation, still Hannibal had been in the service a lot longer than the rest of them. But, he usually only reverted to training when deeply distracted.

"And, the Loth-thingy looked like trees?" he said cautiously . He had gone to the movies when they first came out, but he and his date at the time had been too busy making their own show in the back row to really attend to the plot. The battle scenes especially seemed to give her a case of hot panties…

"Mmmm"

Confirmation or just sound effects? Face wondered.

"What's got the Fool chasin' after his tail now?" B.A. demanded, frustrated, as he watched his workforce reduced by one.

Hannibal didn't answer, not even with ambiguous noises this time. He was staring out at the trees with eager eyes and boyish smile on his handsome face, drinking in the unexpected beauty around them. The Great Colonel Smith, strategic genius, bad-ass mofo, and not-so-secret tree hugger.

"You guys finish unloading, and then take a break. I'm going to do a little recon." And, he disappeared into the forest, leaving the other two sane members of the A-Team staring at each other with almost identical expressions.

What the hell?

That had been three days ago, and Face had barely seen either man since.

Oh, they came back for dinner and bed afterwards, but Murdock would wolf down the quickest breakfast he could find in the morning, practically quivering with impatience, and then dash out the door, to be gone until nightfall. Hannibal would stay long enough to lay out the Plan for the day, using a current surveyor's map spread out on a duct-tape repaired card table and his old models (tough little army men, ancient Monopoly pieces, tacky McDonald's happy meal toys) that traveled with them everywhere. But, his voice would trail off occasionally as his gaze drifted to the window that framed golden morning light. It was a good thing, Face thought, that the 'bad guys' for this case were more like 'misbehaving guys'; a couple of brainless land grabbers with questionable bathing practices. The client was really the friend of a friend, and the Team had adjusted their usual fee down to essentially room and board, with a little pocket money thrown in for supplies. This job was more to give them something to do during the day, while they enjoyed a little R&R. The A-Team version of casual Friday.

On the second morning, Face wondered aloud what Hannibal and Murdock were doing out there that took ten hours or more. "Surveillance," Hannibal answered serenely, while B.A. just shook his head. Did they really think they were fooling anyone?

Murdock swallowed down his bulging chipmunk cheeks, and beamed at his friends. "That's right! I found this great tree; he's got a great sense of humor and he's just made for climbing! Can see the whole valley from up there!" His eyes took on the fanatic shine usually reserved for stomach churning maneuvers at twenty thousand feet, and Face, despite his frustration (he and B.A. had been doing actual work the past couple of day, thank you very much, instead of frolicking in piles of leaves) had to smile. His buddy had actually been sleeping since they came to the cabin; deep, un-medicated sleep, like he hardly ever did. A little extra effort on his part was certainly worth seeing Murdock so very happy.

After breakfast, Face stood on the front step and watched his two teammates fading into the woods, Murdock leading the way, and tried to see what the others saw, to understand this need to be outside. The trees (Aspen?) had turned a thousand different shades of yellow, reflecting and magnifying the sunrise to an almost blinding degree. A few early leaves had fallen, creating lacy pathways through the underbrush, while the soft white trunks seemed to float between earth and sky, glowing, countless numbers stretching back to hidden depths. Composing their own mystery. Oh, he could understand the aesthetic appeal; he was a connoisseur of beauty, after all! But, he had always viewed his environment as something that could be used; just another tool in his magician's bag of tricks, or as a back drop to whatever story he was producing. Whether romance or action/adventure, he was able to adapt, chameleon-like, with well practiced ease, to wherever he might find himself. It was a hard won skill, and one he was proud of, but… If he had the choice, he'd rather enjoy this pretty view from the comfort of a clean, temperature controlled room, preferable with a glass of something expensive and an attractive bedmate.

Well, one out of three wasn't bad. Shaking his head, he went back in to see if B.A. needed a 'hand'.

By the evening of the third day, though, Face had had enough.

"They are totally fucking each other out there."

He focused on B.A. as he sat crossed legged on the floor, pieces of his Glock and the cleaning supplies spread out in front of him. It was Sunday, and he and the big guy had spent the day puttering around the cabin after the client informed them that everyone around here, even the bad guys, took the day off. (Face privately hoped this was a new trend, and that more of their opponents would start observing the Sabbath; it would certainly make Saturday night dates more relaxing). About half an hour ago, his hands had finally demanded something to do, and since B.A. was too busy for any 'foolishness', Face indulged himself in a deep clean of his weapon. The familiar pattern of movements (dismantle, inspect, wipe, polish, oil, reassemble) cleared his mind, but did nothing to distract him from the obvious. The sun was starting to set, and Hannibal and Murdock weren't back yet because…

B.A. finally glanced up from his mystery machine that was taking up most of the kitchen table, giving the lieutenant a look that was exasperated and far too amused. "You just figure that out, prettyboy?"

Face rolled his eyes, ignoring the nickname, as usual. "No," voice heavy with pseudo-patience, "It was pretty obvious on day one, when Murdock came back with his shirt on inside out. However, I thought you'd be a little more, I dunno," he waved an absent hand, "indignant."

B.A. stared at him a moment, then shook his head, either at the idea of jealousy or at Face's choice of word, Face didn't know. He gave a disinterested shrug and turned back decisively to his… thing. Murdock thought it might be a mobile teletransporter ("redundant, yes, but so useful!") or a really accurate toaster. Face had no idea, and right now didn't care. He was bored and restless and teasing B.A. was always good clean fun. "Come on, big guy. Don't you feel like you're missing out on something? Like, maybe, the sight of Hannibal on his knees in the grass, while sucking on Murdock's dick?" He grinned triumphantly as B.A.'s hands stilled for a moment, needle nose pliers paused in mid tug. "Yeah, you know how good the Boss looks like that," he purred. "And, I'll bet Murdock's voice echoes beautifully through all those trees. Especially if Hannibal decides to bend him over a log and push right inside. You know how much Murdock loves that first thrust."

Face watched eagerly as B.A.'s hand slowly lowered the pliers…. and calmly picked up a tiny Philips screwdriver. So, the big guy was going to play hard to get, huh? Face mentally rubbed his hands together in glee; challenge accepted!

"Or, maybe you'd rather be the one doing the thrusting, hmm? Out there in the sun and all those leaves, while Hannibal watches and Murdock yells your name?" He leaned forward, grinning, about to deliver the coup de grace in the form of sound effects, when B.A. finally looked at him with dark, serious eyes, and spoke one devastating word.

"Ticks."

Face's smile dropped away like it had never been.

"Um… really?"

B.A. nodded solemnly.

"Rocky Mountain Spotted Ticks." As though the spots somehow made them worse.

Face couldn't stop the shudder that washed through every muscle in his body; his al fresco fantasy had neglected to take into account the local insects or any other nasty bits of reality. Ug. He made a mental note to pin Murdock down for a thorough inspection tonight. Maybe even have the pilot steam-cleaned when they got back to civilization.

Before he could formulate another plan of attack on B.A.'s stoic fortifications, the door to the cabin swung open and there were the wayward duo, suddenly filling the room with crisp autumn air and warm laughter.

Hannibal's laughter as he stepped in, half turned to catch Murdock's excited voice. "…almost had him! If'n we'd gone five feet further, we could'a shaken his hand!"

"Well, we can always try again tomorrow, Captain," Hannibal answered cheerfully. His commanding presence suddenly seemed to fill the small space, as he smiled at his two other teammates. "I trust you gentlemen kept yourselves busy today?" And, for a moment Face simply couldn't answer; could barely breathe.

Hannibal.

The colonel stood there, easy and content, silver hair ruffled by the wind, his steely blue eyes softened with some private joy. A vision of masculine perfection in twenty-dollar jeans and a faded t-shirt, imposing and relaxed; completely within his element, wherever he chose to be. Beautiful.

"If you mean we workin' while you two fool around, then yeah," B.A. grumbled from the table. "'Bout time you got back. It's Crazy's turn to cook dinner."

"I remember, Big Guy!" Murdock, Face noted, was wearing Hannibal's beaten canvas jacket; the pilot had rushed out the door so quickly that morning, he'd forgotten his own leather one. He now hip-checked the door, shutting it against the coming night, then whirled back to beam at his friends. "Would'a got here sooner, but we had to make a quick detour. You won't believe what we saw back near the star-watching rock; an Elf!"

"You right. We don't believe it."

Murdock ignored B.A.'s lack of imagination, turning instead to a more sympathetic ear. "And, look what else I found, Face!" He held out his cupped hands, like an offering, to show his new treasure.

Feathers. Blue and white, black and brown. Delicate and mysterious. "Must 'a been quite a dog-fight, but I bet saucy Mr. Jay got his lunch served to him with a side of fries. Shouldn't mess with the old Falco columbarius." He smiled up at Face, flushed and glowing, almost swimming in Hannibal's coat, and something in the lieutenant's chest tightened almost painfully.

Murdock.

There were leaves in his hair. Four or five golden Aspen leaves pushed into his thick, untamable locks, like some impromptu crown, and had Hannibal done that? Lovingly twined the stems through his pilot's hair while Murdock sat at his feet and sang him a forest song?

Of course he had.

They were radiant, both of them, stepping from the shadows of the trees, barely tamed. A mouth-watering gift from the mountain, and one Face intended to unwrap as soon as possible. And, as B.A. finally abandoned his project to actually look at his teammates, it seemed he felt the same.

The kitchen chair scraped back as Bosco stood, staring intently at Hannibal's unconsciously seductive pose, and Murdock's luminous eyes. Face grinned tightly at his dark lover, delighting in the calm before the storm. B.A.'s focus meant someone was about to get it, and Face was willing to bet it would be Murdock. Those leaves and feathers…

"I think the Elf was following the trail of feathers, same as us!" Murdock chattered on, momentarily oblivious to the change in atmosphere. "I wanted to keep goin', maybe get a chance to try out my Quenya, but it was gettin' on toward dark, so…" He finally slowed, suddenly aware of B.A.'s eyes pinning him where he stood.

Hannibal chuckled, low and knowing, as his eyes sharpened. "It's a good thing we got back when we did, Captain. B.A. looks…hungry."

"Dinner can wait." Bosco's fixed gaze never wavered.

Murdock's happy smile grew to something mischievous as he finally discerned B.A.'s desire, and his long-lashed eyes lowered almost submissively.

Almost.

"Now, don't you fret, Big Guy. I'm gonna get my apron on like a good little haus frau, and cook you up something hot and tasty." His accent curled up and caressed the teasing words, turning them into something almost pornographic. "We wouldn't want you to get all delicate and drop into a dainty swoon at an inopportune moment."

B.A. stepped forward with a dangerous sound, and Murdock slipped quickly behind the impervious wall that was Hannibal Smith. A naughty giggle drifted around those broad shoulders, making the colonel grin. "Better make it a good, hearty meal, Captain. Our hot-house flowers need to keep up their strength." And, he looked so outrageously smug and utterly delicious Face snapped. Three long strides took him into Hannibal's orbit, and one more had him pressed up against that perfect chest. Face grabbed and pulled, smooth muscles and hot mouth, kissing hard, opening and drinking in familiar laughter. As Hannibal's arms wrapped him close, Face was dimly aware of a sudden, loud scuffle behind them, and Murdock's triumphant laughter dissolving into happy moans. The pilot loved the chase, and the capture, whether he played predator or prey.

Three days, Face thought hotly, as Hannibal's hands pushed his shirt up, impatient, and his fingers began to burn possessive tracks across his skin. Three days spent as two groups instead of one. Well, it was time to remind the Wild Men of the pleasures that could be found indoors.

Dinner would be a long time in coming.