Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Stewart McAlister knows how to hold a grudge. It's one of the qualities that make him so good at his job. That and the sociopathic tendencies that used to worry his mother until he left home at 15 under a cloud after the unexplained death of one of the farm hands. She never tried to find him and he wouldn't have opened any lines of communication anyway.
Now, well on his way through middle age, he's built up an empire to be proud of. He's looking to retire on his profits in some South American country, possibly Costa Rica or maybe Argentina, but now there's a fly in his ointment and its name is Colonel John Smith.
Standing in the clearing, surveying the damage done to his men, and himself, he decides there's only one course of action. He thought he'd got the upper hand when that lunatic stumbled into his path.
"Carson," he barks and his men snap to attention as one. "Where are they?"
Carson, who has just released the final man from his bonds, looks McAlister in the eye.
"I didn't see," he admits, "but the tracks lead towards Collison's old place down by the river. I'd guess they're holed up there. They won't have gone far with that madman in tow."
McAlister nods grimly. He can always count on his right-hand man, it's why he left him behind to watch their six. Watching the others scurrying around collecting their weapons he wonders if he should just shoot them here and now and continue with Carson alone.
It seems Carson has been with him so long he can read his thoughts.
"It'll take all of us to surround the cabin," he offers and McAlister reluctantly acknowledges he's right.
"Let's get going then," he commands and strikes out in the same direction the A-Team took just minutes earlier.
Hannibal eyes BA from the passenger seat of the van as they pull away from the cabin. He can feel the disapproval radiating off his sergeant. He knows what the cause is – it's him and his actions, or lack of. But this silence isn't good for any of them.
"Out with it, BA," he orders. "What's eating you?"
BA grunts and fixes his attention pointedly on the road.
Hannibal sighs and pulls out a cigar. "He's gonna be okay, you know."
BA doesn't respond.
"Face will take care of him and we'll be back there in an hour, tops."
BA still doesn't respond and Hannibal groans inwardly. He really doesn't want to pull rank on this one but it's important that team operate as one, even when the mission is over.
"You made a mistake," BA suddenly growls and Hannibal winces inwardly. Yes, he made a mistake, in fact he made lots but it all turned out okay in the end.
It seems BA isn't finished though. "You made a bad mistake an' now Murdock's paying the price. You shouldn't have sent him in alone. You know the sucker ain't right in the head. You should've known he'd flip."
"BA," Smith starts, wondering how to placate his companion. "Murdock's a grown man and more than that, he's a soldier whether you like it or not. He never loses that no matter what. He was the obvious choice. None of us could have known McAlister had friends at the VA."
And that, thinks Hannibal, is the crux of the matter. They hadn't known and they should have. Their research fell down on this one and Murdock was the one who got caught in their failure.
"They'd better be gone by the time we get back," BA threatens. "Or else…"
Hannibal nods in agreement as he picks up the van's phone and dials the local sheriff. Putting on his best, or worst depending on whose opinion counts, Irish accent he makes short work of reporting the thugs currently trussed up like turkeys back in the clearing.
BA seems to be more himself now he's got that off his chest. The colonel knows how much BA really cares about their pilot despite his protestations to the contrary. The silence that falls isn't so heavy now and the journey into town continues uneventfully.
Face reckons Hannibal and BA have been gone about 20 minutes when Murdock begins to stir again. He moves quietly to the couch and looks down at the man who has saved his life more times than he cares to count. He's cleaned the head wound and thought about wrapping Murdock's ribs but decided to wait till the pilot is at least conscious before he tries that.
He kneels down beside Murdock and gently places a hand on his forehead, pushing back a few stray hairs. The fever seems to be levelling off, no better, no worse, but he still can't work out what's causing it. Of course, he reasons, it might be nothing more than a bug. It might not stem from an infection at all. But then again, he muses, when do things ever work out that easily for them?
Murdock stirs under his hand and when he looks down he sees bleary, unfocused brown eyes looking back up at him.
"Hey," he says, softly. "How you doing?"
"Face?" Murdock sounds uncertain and his eyes are flickering back and forth.
"Yeah, it's me buddy. We're back at the cabin. You're safe now."
Murdock closes his eyes again and his lips move but Face can't hear any sound. He leans in closer and concentrates really hard on what his friend is saying.
"Hurts, Facey. Really hurts."
Resting his hand on the side of Murdock's face, the lieutenant takes his wrist in his other hand, feeling for Murdock's pulse. He finds it easily – it's faster than he'd like but nothing that requires medical attention for now, just monitoring.
"Where does it hurt?" he asks, expecting the pilot to complain of pain in his ribs or head. He's not expecting the answer he gets.
"My heart, Face, my heart. It's broken, Facey. Never gonna fix it. Thousand pieces all over the place. I can't even find them all and even if I could I was never any good at jigsaws."
"Murdock?" Face is confused. "What are you talking about?"
Murdock pushes himself to a semi upright position and grabs onto Face's hand with surprising strength. He pulls it to his chest and places it over his heart. Leaning into Face's space he whispers, "Just here. Can you feel it? Cause I can't. It's gone and I don't know where it is? And it hurts. It hurts so bad."
Face looks at his friend, really looks at him, and sees resignation and hope in his eyes. He nods and pulls his hand away.
"It's still there, Murdock," he reassures the pilot. "It's all in one piece and working just fine."
Murdock, still holding tight to his hand, nods and lies back again.
"Still hurts, Face. Still hurts real bad," he says, eyes sliding shut and he lets go of Face, falling into silence.
Face waits a few minutes to see if Murdock's going to say anything else. When it becomes clear the conversation is over, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair. He has no idea what just happened. Murdock's flights of fancy tend to run to trivial and humorous but there's nothing funny or frivolous about a broken heart and he certainly wasn't talking this way before the mission went south.
He sighs and looks around the cabin, wondering if there's some sort of trigger in the sparse furnishings. As his gaze passes the window he freezes as a flash of light catches his eye.
He moves to the phone and quickly dials the van, watching for any other movement or anything else out of place. He's relieved when Hannibal picks up on the second ring.
The van's phone rings twice before Hannibal picks up as BA is pulling onto the forecourt of what passes for the local drugstore. BA scans the lot for a spot near the entrance to the store in case they need to beat a hasty retreat, listening as Hannibal picks up.
"What's going on?" he hears the colonel ask. He can just make out Face's voice on the other end, muffled by distance and the outside sounds of the town going about its business.
He's about to get out and leave Hannibal to the conversation when a hand lands on his arm stopping him. He looks at the colonel and knows instantly something is wrong back at the cabin.
"Where's Murdock?" Hannibal is asking and BA studies the man's face for any clues as to what's happening. There's a pause while Face talks to Hannibal. BA watches as the colonel's expression changes from faintly concerned to positively worried. Whatever Face is telling him, it's clearly not don't worry, Murdock's fine, we're just having a cup of tea and watching Wheel of Fortune.
"Okay." Hannibal's voice is steady and strong. BA remembers being spoken to like that in Vietnam just before the colonel delivered some devastating news or brought instructions for a crazy dangerous mission. He knows it never precedes good news. "Keep your head, Kid, we're on our way."
"Face thinks they have company," he tells the sergeant. "Murdock's not going to be much help, Face reckons he's having some kind of breakdown, so we're going to need to go in smart. We can't draw attention to ourselves so let's go and get our supplies and head back calmly, like nothing's wrong."
BA doesn't like this idea. It's wasting time but he knows better than to argue. Together they climb out of the van and make their way to the entrance of the drugstore. There aren't many people around and they make quick work of picking up what they need; medical supplies for Murdock, food and drink for them, and a few other bits and pieces that might come in handy – string, nails, glue.
BA, his arms loaded with goods, stands impatiently beside Hannibal as he makes pleasant conversation with the cashier. Just as the colonel pulls out his wallet to pay, the bell above the door jingles. Both soldiers turn to regard the newcomer, instantly on alert as two deputies walk in.
"Stay calm," Hannibal instructs.
"Howdy, boys," the cashier greets them cheerfully, putting the last items in a paper bag for Hannibal.
"Hey there, Chuck, gents." The first deputy nods a brief acknowledgement to BA and Hannibal before turning his attention back to Chuck. BA feels himself sag ever so slightly in relief, they're obviously not the reason for this visit. Not yet.
"Chuck, you seen Stew McAlister at all?"
BA frowns slightly as he feels Hannibal stiffen by his side.
"Not since last night," the cashier is replying. "You boys lost him again?"
"There's reports him and his guys were up by Abbey Ridge but we can't find them. Signs of a fight though. Just thought he might have passed through here."
BA nudges Hannibal subtly, his heart sinking. He thinks he knows what sort of company Face was talking about and their need to get back to the cabin is greater than ever. Frustratingly though, it seems Hannibal decides now is a good time to have a chat.
"Stewart McAlister?" he says, putting on his best tourist-passing-through act. "Isn't he that businessman that's always in the news? I heard he was into some dodgy dealings."
The deputies exchange a look before the second one replies, "That's putting it mildly. We've been after that guy for best part of four years, ever since he arrived in town. Can't get anything to stick though."
"Huh. I heard he's been putting small towns out of business for years." Hannibal passes over the cash.
"You're awful well informed," the deputy retorts.
"Just like to keep abreast of the news," Hannibal mutters. "You've got a lot of shuttered windows round here. Not exactly what me and my friend came to see."
"Yeah, well, you try and put a lid on McAlister and you'll soon find out how easy it really is. If I were you, I'd go and vacation somewhere else. Might be more restful for you." The deputy turns back to Chuck. "If he comes in here, don't make fuss but call us when he's gone. Okay?"
Chuck nods, "Sure thing Abe. Always do."
The deputies leave, casting one final look at BA and Hannibal. The two soldiers give them a few seconds head start before heading out to the van in silence.
"Looks like our mission isn't quite over after all," Hannibal comments and BA just nods in agreement.
Murdock lies with his eyes closed, unwillingly to open them to the harsh realities that have become his life. Or what he thinks have become his life. He's not too sure about reality at the moment. Face is here with him, somewhere, so he'll hold on to that for now.
He listens to his buddy move round the cabin, stopping in his tracks before moving to the phone. He wonders why his friend needs to make a call but when he listens to Face's side of the conversation he thinks now might be a good time to show reality who's boss.
Swinging his legs round till his feet touch the floor, ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest, he puts his weight forward. It's a bad idea as he lets his head drop down, listening to the blood rushing past his ears. It's making a lot of noise and he didn't think he had that much blood in him, let alone in his head.
"Hey, hey, Murdock. Stay put." He feels Face's hand on his shoulder and tries really hard to lift his head. Prising his eyes open he squints at the figure standing over him. He can just about see the lieutenant's features, silhouetted by the fading light outside. He concentrates really hard on watching his lips move as he speaks.
"Where d'you think you're going?"
Murdock ponders for a second or two before replying, "Wherever you're going. We need to stick together. We always stick together."
"I'm not going anywhere," Face replies but Murdock knows that's a lie. He's seen the gun in Face's hand, the one dangling harmlessly by his side.
"Ha," he laughs and wafts one arm in the direction of the weapon. "You gonna use that on me then? Just cause my heart's gone missing, don't mean I don't love you still," he whines and flutters his eyelids dramatically.
Face sighs and puts the gun on the floor by his feet. Murdock feels him put his now free hand on his forehead. It feels good, safe and comforting.
"You're not well, buddy," he tells the pilot, who laughs.
"You just figured that out?" he asks in a moment of clarity.
"Lie down, Murdock. You need to rest. BA and Hannibal will be back soon and then we'll think about getting you back to VA. Okay?"
Murdock thinks about agreeing to Face's request, after all he asked so nicely, when there's a crash from the kitchen and the sound of heavy boots on wooden floors.