The second stave – GreyGregory14

A sound filters into Decker's troubled dreams of the A-Team . . . a distant chiming, with the rhythm of a very slow heartbeat. Decker opens his eyes and sits up, but everything is silent. The clock on the nightstand says 11:59. He's been asleep for less than three hours. With a frustrated grunt, he rolls over and closes his eyes, only to be startled by a loud tapping.
"What the –"
The tapping starts again, clearly coming from the window. "Crane, I'll have your hide for this!" Sliding out of bed, he walks over to the window and yanks the curtains back. Nothing… Just as he turns to leave, another tap. He whirls around and almost jumps out of his socks. None other than Lieutenant Templeton Peck is grinning at him through the window. But that's not the worst of it. The worst part is that Peck's golden hair and perfect teeth are glowing. With a shout, Decker grabs his gun and runs out the door, only to find the parking lot as empty as before. What in the blue blazes is going on? Maybe he really should get his head checked out – once they capture the A-Team of course. After going back inside and double-locking the door, Decker turns back to his bed and bites off a startled yell.

"Hey there, Decker!" says Peck from his position sprawled on the bed with his hands behind his glowing head. He flashes a smile . . . literally. "You're looking a little glum for Christmas Eve. Did they forget to bring you some figgy pudding?"
"Cut to the chase, Peck," Decker barks, pointing his gun at the intruder. "What are you doing here?"
"Didn't Hannibal tell you? Justice without mercy is unjust. Of course, we know big words like that can be hard to remember sometimes, so we're going to help you out."
"What are you talking about? I don't need your help, I need you in prison!"
Before his eyes, Peck disappears, then reappears at Decker's side, holding his pistol arm in an iron grip. "That's exactly why we're here – because you've got it all wrong, and it's going to catch up with you in the end. We're going to take a little trip to get you some fresh air and a new perspective. Although I must warn you, this was Hannibal's idea, and the rest of us are pretty skeptical whether this leopard can change his spots." He pulls the gun out of Decker's hand with the strength of two B.A.'s and tosses it to the side.

"How did you do that?" Decker can't keep the shock out of his voice. Has Peck been bodybuilding lately?
"Perks of the job," he says with a wink. Handing Decker his coat, he gestures with his other hand to the door. "Shall we?"
Decker grunts and follow's Peck's lead out the door, knowing resistance is futile against the man's inexplicable superhuman strength. And what's with the glowing hair, anyway? Half expecting to see the familiar black van parked outside his door, Decker is surprised to see nothing in the parking lot except the few vehicles already there, including his squad car. "Would you mind telling me where we're going, Peck?"
"The past," he replies, gripping Decker's arm again. "Hold on!"

Before he can say a word, Decker finds himself flying at breakneck speed through the icy winter air, held up by Peck's hold on his arm. He opens his mouth to protest, but the wind snatches the words right out of his mouth. After what seems like an eternity but could only be a minute or two, his feet touch the ground, and he finds himself standing in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac, surrounded by houses with vinyl siding.
"How...?" He begins angrily, but Peck's hand covers his mouth.
"Shhh. Watch this."
A black government-type car speeds down the road and turns into one of the driveways, narrowly missing the two watchers. A man in a dark coat climbs out, goes up to the door of the house, and rings the doorbell. Several seconds later, the door opens and a teenage boy steps out. His hair is dark blond and his face is youthful, but there is no mistaking his identity.
"That's . . . that's Smith!" Decker rubs his eyes and checks again.
"Yep." The spook says something, and a look of shock crosses the boy's face. "This," says Peck, "is the Christmas Eve when at seventeen years old he got the news both his parents were killed in action. Both of them were secret agents for the CIA. Part of why they gave their son the most common name in the country."

"John Smith," Decker mutters. The boy gestures toward the house, and the spook follows him inside, closing the door behind them. Decker feels a twinge of . . . pity? Couldn't be. He shakes his head vigorously. Before he can say anything, Peck has him by the arm again, and they're flying through the air to land in front of a mechanic's garage in the city. An ambulance is parked next to the curb, and EMTs are wheeling a man out on a stretcher. Next to the garage, a little black boy stands tall despite his bleeding lip and his torn and roughed up clothing. His fists are clenched.
"B.A. just watched his father get beat up by loan sharks because he couldn't pay what he owed them," says Peck. "Not only will the man's body not heal completely, his pride will never be recovered. B.A. will grow up determined to defend himself and the people he cares about from bullying scum at any cost."

The fire in the boy's eyes continues to haunt Decker as Peck flies him to yet another location. This time, they land in the middle of what looks like a college campus, a few yards away from of a row of dormitory buildings. The only other person out in the chilly air this time of night seems to be a young man standing at the door of one building talking animatedly to the girl in the doorway. Decker can't distinguish what they're saying, but the boy sounds bewildered and upset, while the girl seems to be apologetic. After shaking her head and shrugging several times, she steps back, the door beginning to close. The boy pulls the door open again and holds out a small black box in front of her until she takes it. The door closes, and after standing as if frozen for a few seconds, the boy turns and begins trudging away. At last, Decker can see his face.

"That's you!" he says, turning to Peck. "What . . . what was all that?"
Peck's expression is strangely vacant of emotion. "That was my reason for joining the army," he says quietly. "The only woman I ever loved left me without saying goodbye."
Without warning, Decker finds himself flying through the air again. Then he and Peck are standing in an airfield.

"What are we doing here?" Decker demands, regaining his composure enough to sound indignant. "There's no one left on your sorry team to spy on."
Peck smirks, looking normal again . . . except for the hair. "Maybe so, but Hannibal's helped out a lot more men than just B.A. and me. And there's one guy in particular who might have lost it all in 'Nam if the Colonel hadn't brought us together. He came pretty close as it was." He points behind them. "Look."
Decker turns to see a much younger H.M. Murdock standing in a telephone booth with a phone to his ear, scowling. "No, Gran, I'm awfully sorry but I can't come back," he says. "I know it's Christmas Eve, but I ain't gonna sit at the table with that man while he talks 'bout Mom that way." A pause. "I know he's your son-in-law, but… Look, I'll be back in a few hours when everybody's gone, and you and I can drink hot chocolate and watch cartoons, okay? Love you. Bye."
He hangs up and runs out to a small plane already waiting on the runway. After he climbs in, the engine fires up, and a few moments later the plane takes off. Decker could swear he hears a loud howl as the plane becomes airborne.

"Flying was Murdock's way of finding freedom after losing almost everything else," Peck remarks. "In 'Nam they almost took even that away, but Hannibal looked out for him. As he looked out for us all."
Decker nods absently. His head is starting to hurt again, and his eyes feel heavy. He sits down on the ground.
"Are you all right?" comes Peck's voice from above him. "You look like you're ready to go back now."
His eyes slide shut as he finds himself unable to keep them open. The last thing he hears is that distant chiming . . .