Warning: None

See Chapter 1 for all other disclaimers and warnings

A/N: This one is a bit shorter, but it seemed an appropriate place to end it. Enjoy.

Chapter 2

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Face pulled a jug of orange juice and some milk out of the refrigerator. He bit off an oath as a plate with some pickled eggs on it fell to the floor with a crash, the plate shattering into hundreds of pieces. Grabbing a dishcloth and the trash can, he began to gingerly pick up the pieces, tossing them into the trash as he went.

Giving the floor a last wipe, he stood and went to the cupboard for some cereal. He found some Cheerios, BA's favorite cereal, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn't usually like cold cereal for breakfast, but it was quick, and he didn't feel like making anything fancier.

He frowned in annoyance as the phone rang. It was probably Murdock, begging him to hurry up. Well, it was only 8:45, so he could just wait.

"Hello."

"Face," there was a terrible urgency in Hannibal's tone that made all his senses go on alert. "Turn on the news, now. We're heading over to pick you up right away." The colonel hung up before Face could reply.

Shrugging, he replaced the receiver and moved over to turn on the TV. He flipped through several channels before...

"...explosion occurred just 15 minutes ago." A big red caption proclaiming "Breaking News" lined the bottom of the screen, but Face didn't see it. He paled as the camera focused on what had been the psychiatric wing of the VA hospital. An enormous fire raged through piles of rubble near the center of what had once been a sizable building. Steel beams and tons of concrete rubble littered the scene, while firefighters braced themselves against hoses, spraying thick streams of water at the terrible blaze.

'Murdock' The thought took his breath away.

A short distance away, a crowd of people milled around in confusion as rescue workers, police, and hospital personnel sought to get things under control. In the background, Face could hear people screaming, and the sound wrenched his soul, trying to drag him back to a darker time in his past.

Images of an exploding chopper with bodies writhing and screaming inside forced their way out of the deep recesses of his mind where he locked away all the painful memories. Fire consumed a small village and villagers ran screaming from their homes only to be cut down by sniper fire.

With a groan, Face forced away the pictures in his mind and tried to focus on what the announcer was saying. He had to find out about Murdock. He didn't have time to go back. He couldn't afford to go back.

"...Apparently, police and hospital officials were warned of the bomb barely 20 minutes before the explosion occurred. Although most, if not all of the patients were removed from the building prior to the explosion, some of the patients and hospital staff were unable to make it to a safe distance before the bomb went off."

The camera focused in on the parking lot where paramedics were treating men and women with large black and red burns and lacerations from the debris. Behind them, Face could make out several men in straightjackets, curled up on the pavement, rocking back and forth, screaming. He flinched as the memories sought to make their way into his mind once more. Pushing them away, he frantically searched among those being treated for the familiar figure of his best friend.

The camera flashed back to the reporter, a pretty brunette Face might have considered asking out on a date. But he barely noticed her looks as he listened intently to her words.

"Although officials are still trying to account for everyone, they are guessing that virtually everyone made it to the front entrance of the hospital due to the quick actions of a nurse on the third floor.

"I have with me, Karilyn Janzen, the nurse who received the bomb threat and gave the order to evacuate." The camera panned to petite blond woman whom Face vaguely remembered seeing at the hospital before. Her pristine white uniform was now rumpled and stained black and in places, red. Her blond hair was tangled, and wisps of hair flew in a face that looked stunned and exhausted.

"Ms. Janzen, could you tell us a bit about what happened?"

The nurse shook her head slightly in disbelief and attempted to run a hand through her tangled her. "I got the call about 8:00," she said slowly.

8:00, Face thought. Only a short time after he had talked to Murdock. He closed his eyes briefly, tuning out the interview. When he opened them again, the camera was once more panning over the scene of destruction and chaos. Once more, Face focused on the milling crowd, searching, searching for a familiar baseball cap and leather jacket.

His eyes skimmed over several olive green cars that were just arriving on the scene. Jerking back, he gave a groan as he recognized the familiar forms of Decker and Crane, speaking with some police officers. That was all they needed. They weren't sure what condition Murdock was in, and now the military was going to make it next to impossible to find out.

Face rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand, the TV a mere buzz through the roaring in his ears. Why hadn't he agreed to pick Murdock up earlier? Could he have stopped this? They believed they had gotten everyone out. He had to be okay. Face hadn't seen him among the men being treated.

He remembered how easily the scenes of the explosion and the voices of the screaming patients had been able to draw him back. Murdock was a lot closer to that edge than he was. He was almost afraid to find out what this had done to his friend.

He tuned out the TV and put his head in his hands. Why, oh why had he waited to break Murdock out until the pilot had had to beg him? How much of this could have been prevented?

He was still in that same position on the couch when Hannibal rang the doorbell for him ten minutes later.

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The world was spinning. Going round and round in circles. Little birdies tweeting discordant notes that clanged roughly against his sensitive ears. Struggling against the weight sitting on his eyelids, he pushed open his eyes. Bright light assaulted his pupils and he felt himself begin to heave.

Vaguely, as if from a distance, he felt hands take hold of him and gently guide him onto his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Take it easy," a voice said softly. "This is just the after effects of the drug. It will pass momentarily."

Panting, Murdock kept his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the spinning and the pounding in his head to pass. After a few long minutes, he felt safe enough to open his eyes again.

It took a moment for the room to focus. He realized that he was lying on a single bed in a simple room with white walls and no windows. A dresser stood along one wall. That and a chair were the only pieces of furniture in the room other than the bed. There were two doors on opposite sides of the room and a single bulb hung from the ceiling, the source of the harsh glaring light.

Slowly, he focused his bleary eyes on the man sitting on the chair next to the bed. The man had bright white hair and blue eyes. For a moment, Murdock thought he was looking at Hannibal, before he noticed the neatly trimmed beard and the wrinkles that lined the lightly tanned face. This man was obviously much older than Hannibal, and he reminded Murdock vaguely of his grandfather.

The old man smiled and reached down beside him to retrieve a cup. Blazing thirst hit Murdock with the force of a wrecking ball. He felt as if his tongue was swollen from weeks in the desert. He tried to swallow, but the spittle stuck in his throat.

Desperately, he reached for the cup, but the old man slapped away his trembling hands with ease. Sliding one hand under the pilot's neck, he lifted Murdock into a semi-sitting position and placed the cup to his lips.

"Slowly now," he warned as Murdock began to gulp greedily at the water. After several long swallows, the cup was removed and Murdock settled back, his thirst sated for the moment. He was amazed at how weak he still felt. Briefly, he wondered what he had been given. He had never known a drug to affect him like this.

"Who..." he cleared his throat and tried again. "Who are you? Where am I?" His memories seemed all fuzzy and mixed up, like a box of puzzle pieces that had been dumped out on a table. He vaguely remembered an explosion, but his entire life had been filled with explosions, so that was nothing new. He looked curiously at the old man and tried to remember how he had gotten here, and where here was.

The old man laughed, and the deep chuckle again reminded Murdock of his grandfather. "You are at my place and your new home. Where does not matter. As for who I am...you may call me, Padron Clemente."

Murdock's mind began to whirl again and he decided to focus on the last thing he had heard. "Padron? 'Scuse me, mister, but I'm no slave and I don't call anyone master. And what do you mean my new home? I live at the VA." He felt slightly angry that he couldn't organize his thoughts, and he wasn't getting any clear answers.

The old man shrugged. "You may call me Signor or Mr. Clemente then, if you prefer. 'Master' is simply used to designate my place as the head of the household." He sounded as though he were allowing a spoiled child to have his way and Murdock flushed. This man had shown him nothing but kindness, and he realized his words must have sounded petulant and rude.

He shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Somehow the man's dignified posture demanded something of an apology. "Sorry," he said haltingly. "I guess my head is still fuzzy." The old man nodded his head, whether in understanding or acceptance of the apology, Murdock couldn't tell.

After a moment more of awkward silence, Murdock decided to try another question. So far he had managed to learn nothing about where he was or why. He decided the why was the most important.

"Why am I here?"

"Ah, I was wondering how long it would take you to get to that." Mr. Clemente smiled as if Murdock had made his day by asking that question.

"So, what's the answer?" Although the spinning had left his head, it seemed to have found its way to his stomach. His insides were churning wildly, and if things didn't change quickly, he sensed he was well on his way to a full blown panic attack. He concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths while he watched his 'host' carefully.

Mr. Clemente stood and held out his hand. "The effects of the drug should have mostly worn off by now. If you feel strong enough, I will show you why I went to the trouble of bringing you here."

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Colonel Decker looked over the rubble of what had once been the main building of the psychiatric wing of the VA Hospital. Red and yellow tape surrounded the site, indicating that the grounds were restricted to authorized investigative personnel. All patients and care takers had been moved to another section of the hospital.

The fire that had raged near the center of the building had long since been put out, though smoke still drifted up from a few places. Police and firefighters now sifted through the rubble, searching for the sources of the explosion. They had already located the remains of two large-sized bombs on opposite sides of the building.

A terrible fury burned within him. The ones who lived here were the wounded of his country, a country he loved dearly. They deserved honor and respect, not this. Although the flying debris had killed only two and wounded seven others, the psychological repercussions to men scarred by the explosions, pain and death of war could not be evaluated.

He remembered the patients screaming hysterically when he had arrived on the scene. Nurses and orderlies, still shaken themselves by the blast had been scurrying around, trying to calm them, but the confusion and chaos had not subsided for a long time.

He closed his eyes. The darkness gave way to screams and remembered gunfire from another time. Explosions ripped through underbrush too wet to catch fire. Shadows moved in the darkness, each one a potential threat, each one a potential target.

Shaking his head viciously, he sought to banish the memories from his tours in Vietnam. That time was over. It was not now. Opening his eyes, he once again surveyed the damage. Then again, maybe that time wasn't so far away.

His mind drifted back to the one still unaccounted for, the one he had a personal interest in. Captain H.M. Murdock. Decker gave a small sigh. A nurse on duty at the time of the explosion had confirmed that Murdock had been in the hospital that morning, but none of the staff remembered getting him out. That meant that unless he had escaped and set off on his own, which was not unbelievable, he was most probably...

A shout from one of the firefighters in the middle of the rubble jerked his attention back. He began to climb rapidly over the debris toward the group of officers and firefighters that had congregated around something on the ground. As he approached, the group split up and began to fan out around the area, searching closely for something. Some carried plastic bags and knelt occasionally to place something in them.

"What's going on? What have you found?" he demanded of a police officer nearest him. The officer, a captain, turned to face Decker.

"We believe we've found the source of another bomb," the officer said grimly. "We found bits of plastic explosive and..." the officer trailed off, looking at the ground instead of at Decker.

"Found what, son?" the colonel asked, his gravelly voice softening as he sensed the other's discomfort.

"We found what might possibly be human remains."

"You found a body?" Decker asked in some surprise. "This close to one of the blasts?"

"No sir," the captain replied, glancing back at where the men were still scanning the wreckage. "We didn't find anything large enough to be called a body. Just..." he gulped, "...pieces. The explosion and the fire afterward seemed to have destroyed most of the remains, but there are still..."

Decker nodded slowly. "I understand," and he did understand. He had seen men literally blown to bits in Nam. This officer wasn't old enough to have seen the horrors of that war. No wonder he was queasy. Decker felt a little queasy himself, and he hadn't even seen the body, just the memories. He closed his eyes briefly before once again looking at the young officer.

"Good job, son. Just collect what you can." He turned to walk away, but the captain called after him.

"What are you going to be doing?" There was a slight note of challenge in his tone that made Decker stiffen. The colonel might have been placed in charge of this investigation by the army, but there was still some tension between his men and the LAPD working on the case. He turned and pinned the officer down with his piercing blue eyes. They locked gazes for a long moment before the officer turned his eyes away.

Decker eyed the man, no the boy, contemptuously. The veterans who had lived here had been and still were a special part of the military, and the military took care of its own. He resented the insinuation that he was doing nothing. Sighing, he forced himself to relax. There was no way the kid could understand what was really going on here.

"I'm going to report what you found to the hospital board and to my superiors. Then I'm going to find the slime that did this." There was a grim note of promise in the statement. The officer shivered slightly, then nodded, turning back to the investigation team.

Decker began to head back to his car to make the call, when something caught his eye. He looked intently at a grove of trees about a block away from the site and all the emergency and investigative personnel gathered there. Even a few reporters still lingered about, although a pair of officers made sure they didn't get in the way. That wasn't what had caught his attention, though.

He could have sworn he saw the sun reflecting off glass. He narrowed his eyes as the flash came again, and he caught a glimpse of what looked like a black vehicle hidden behind the trees.

Suddenly, he knew. Something in his gut told him that it was the A-Team there watching. He glanced around him. Most of his men had left the scene long ago on various assignments. There was only one car left. He thought about getting in the car and calling for backup, when his eyes strayed back to the decimated building.

Unbidden, pictures began to form once more in his mind, memories of a time past. Young men and boys, barely out of their teens. His friends and companions that he'd been unable to save. Quietly, he looked back at the van. If Murdock was alive, somehow Decker knew he would be right there in that van. If he wasn't...

Before he knew it, he found himself walking toward the concealed vehicle.

TBC