Just suspend reality a bit here, 'kay? I also doubt women are allowed to take part in stuff like this, and I looked around, but found nothing definitive. Besides, it's the A-Team! It's fiction. Moving on, doggies...
"So I take it you're in the culinary corps?" Murdock asked in a strained voice, undoing his seatbelt and tearing his helmet off.
"Uh…n-n-no, sir," Farquar said, finally prying his fingers off the yoke and braving a glance at the captain. "I-I'm a p-pilot…"
"Oh, well, I would never have known that, considering you were flyin' this thing as though you expected to use it to beat cornbread mix in a bowl!" He threw the helmet to the kid and scrambled out of the chopper, considered dropping to his knees to kiss the cold tarmac but decided against it, and stalked toward the control tower.
Hannibal and Ayres were both up there, and they had listened to Murdock shout at all three of his potential replacements, and all three had come to grief under the pressure he had applied to them. Not even Chambers had passed the test, having scrambled out of the chopper as soon as it landed and running for his life back to the hangar, determined to get away from the enraged Captain.
Murdock climbed up the steps the tower, banged the door open and was almost knocked over by cigar smoke and unbearable heat – the Major and the Colonel had turned the heaters on in there that one could fully roast a cow just by walking it through. Murdock glared at them both. "None of those boys can fly worth sh-…crap." He ran an agitated hand through his hair.
"They're all excellent, high-graded pilots, Captain," Ayers pointed out. "You seemed determined to scare them all…to death!"
"Yeah, an' they oughta be scared, too," Murdock grouched back. "Think it's gonna strawberries an' cream down there in Nicaragua? Mai-tais by the pool and tropical breezes? No, sir. I been down there. Those folks shoot to kill, and are crazy enough to start askin' you questions when you're already dead. No sir, I ain't lettin' those kids fly my team down there. No way in hell."
Hannibal had to agree. Murdock regularly succumbed to pressure, pain and fear on the ground. But in the air, he was as cool and collected as could be. A pilot for his team needed to be on the same level, and he knew Murdock was the best judge of any other aviator's abilities. Still, this was getting frustrating. He needed a pilot yesterday. They were leaving tomorrow night, for God's sake, and as much as he deferred to Murdock on matters of air travel, he still felt like strangling the pilot now.
"So…" Ayers sighed and crossed his arms. "Do you know of anyone else who can meet your standards, H.M.?"
Murdock pondered for a moment, and Hannibal watched the younger man as he appeared to debate something with himself before finally nodding and smiling brightly. "Yeah! Actually, I do, by cracky! Gimme ten minutes and I'll have h-…him ready for a demonstration. Ten minutes!" He zipped up his coat, pulled his cap back on and went back out into the cold wind, taking the steps two at a time before he ran toward the hangar.
"You don't think he's planning on tricking us, do you?" Ayers wondered. "He might pretend to be the pilot in question and…"
"He wouldn't disobey a direct order," Hannibal said, frowning and knowing Murdock would do just that, if the situation called for it. He hadn't kicked against the goads too much, though, when informed of his grounding, and Smith had to wonder just what Murdock had up his sleeve. At this point, however, he was willing to go on a little faith and trust his pilot's advise.
"What? Are you crazy?"
Buchanan stared at Murdock in astonishment, and he burst into laughter, holding his hand out to her.
"Hi, I don't believe we've met. Name's H.M. Murdock." She started to reach out to shake his hand, but stopped in time and just stared down at his hand before looking away, flushing and snatching up a wrench. "Listen, put on a flight suit and…uh…get some tape or somethin' to…uh…put around your…uh…evidence…and meet me on the tarmac in ten." He pretended the awkward moment hadn't happened, and ran a hand through his hair instead.
"But I'm not allowed to do flights like that. It's not just covert, it's considered combat, and…"
"Just put on the damn' flight suit, Sergeant. That's an order. Git!" He turned her around and shoved her toward what he knew were the inadequate locker rooms of the hangar. "Hurry it up!"
"But I…"
"Listen, do you want to fly combat or not? This isn't too bad a mission, in my opinion. A little dangerous, yes, but you can handle it. You'll be flyin' a Huey, which is your specialty, and it's armed. So you can do defense if necessary…dammit, would you just go already? I'll be waitin' in the co-pilot's seat. Don't let 'em know you're a girl. Don't say anything, either! Not one word, while you're in the chopper. Hurry!" With that, he turned and dashed out the door, galloping back across the tarmac to the waiting Huey.
Buchanan leaned against the wall for a moment, thinking of the potential disaster, but cast that aside. If Captain Murdock thought she could do this, then maybe she really could. She grabbed an orange flight suit and took off for the lockers, becoming more and more excited with each step.
"So what's this kid's name?" Hannibal asked, over the comm line.
Murdock jumped the hurdle like a prize-winning three-day eventer. "Paisley…sir." He glanced at Buchanan, who was getting ready to take off.
"Paisley?" Ayers' voice came over the line. "I don't know any Paisley…"
"Sure you do. Brad Paisley. This is…uh…Tad Paisley, no relation." Murdock switched off his line and glanced at Seaborn. "Listen to me," he told her, a little breathless. "Just fly this bitch and do what I tell ya, okay?"
She nodded, remembering not to speak. He switched the line back on.
"Corporal Paisley…a bit young, but he's good. Real good – I took him up in the Osprey yesterday, sir," Murdock said.
Hannibal, holding the line up to his ear and wincing from the headache that was just starting to hit, wondered why Murdock's line kept shutting off and why Paisley's wasn't on at all. But before he could ask anybody about it, the chopper lifted off, smooth and graceful, from the ground.
"There's a thing of beauty," Ayers said, shaking his head. "Perfect. Wind's blowin' hard, and that kid didn't even wobble. H.M., you say this kid flew the Osprey yesterday?" he said through the comm.
"Yeppers," Murdock answered. "Show 'em what you can do, kiddo."
"And afterward, I'm sure Corporal Paisley can tell us all about himself," Hannibal said. "He'll have to go over the specs…"
"Yes, sir. Absolutely right, boy-o." Murdock gave her a thumbs-up and Seaborn put the chopper through its paces, easily impressing Ayers and Hannibal as Murdock had her send the Huey up, doing basic and then more complex maneuvers, with Murdock not touching anything on the panel and barely saying a word. She sat it back down smoothly, without even bouncing, and he punched her on the shoulder. "Excellent, kid. Muy excelente. See what I mean, Hannibal? Good as me…well, almost as good." He knew that if she hadn't been concentrating on the yoke, she would have kicked him. "Kid'll do just fine!"
Ayers shrugged and looked at Smith. "Well, Murdock didn't yell at him, even once. I'd say we okay him."
"Fine with me. Send him to my quarters." Hannibal put down the mike and grabbed his coat, eager for some good Irish coffee and a resolution to this unpleasant predicament. The herd of tiny, enraged elk in his head were stomping even harder now, and that was making his right eye twitch, and as much as he loved cigars, even the smoke was starting to get to him. He felt dizzy and vaguely sick to his stomach. Kind of like how he felt after eating at the officer's mess.
"All right, Captain. Paisley's okay'd for this mission…and his blood's on your hands."
Murdock paused, looking at Seaborn, who had pulled her helmet off. She gave him a nervous look, and she saw the disquiet on his face before he gave her a grin. "Come on, kid. Let's go talk to Hannibal."
Hannibal had B.A. and Face seated in his quarters, and they were both bickering more than usual. Murdock hadn't been around for the past two days, and it seemed strange that without his presence – which was never what any person could call 'calming' – they fought a lot. The two men were finally ordered to sit down and for God's sake shut up, and they waited. Finally, after several minutes, the door clattered open and Murdock came stumbling in, with a guy in a flight suit behind him. Weird, but the guy still had his helmet on. When Paisley saw Hannibal, he saluted, but had forgotten about the helmet and banged his hand against the visor.
"Take that damn' thing off, will ya, Paisley?" Murdock said amiably, and finally, Paisley removed the helmet, and Face, B.A. and Hannibal stared in amazement.
"What the hell…" Face said, standing up.
"Hell no," B.A. shook his head. "No. No way."
"What is the meaning of this, Captain?" Hannibal shouted, and felt like his head had just exploded. He opened his eyes and expected to see bits of brain all over his desk. No. Just tons of paperwork and a letter from Publisher's Clearinghouse, telling he had just won twenty million dollars. Grumbling angrily, dropping his unlit cigar, he threw the letter into the trash and glared at Murdock. Or hoped was glaring. For all knew, he was blinking and grinning like a goober, his head was hurting so bad.
"You said he was okay'd," Murdock said firmly. "You said anybody I cleared would be okay for you, and so…I've okay'd…her." He gestured to Seaborn. "S.A. Buchanan, at your service. So…okay, I love you, bye-bye!" He tipped his cap to them, shoved it back on his head and was out the door before Hannibal could even start to yell.
Buchanan eyed them all nervously, Hannibal fuming, B.A. shaking his head, and Face studying her, wide-eyed. Finally, the lieutenant sat down, running a hand through his hair. "Wow."
"Are you telling me," Hannibal said slowly, containing his fury as well as he could, "That you were in on this…blatant deception?"
"I…yes, sir." Buchanan clutched her helmet in her hands, waiting to use it as a weapon if necessary, but the three men continued to stare at her so intently that she had to fight an urge to check to see if anything was crawling out of her ears. "Captain Murdock insisted I…show what I could do, and…"
"And not say a word through the whole demonstration," Hannibal said, shaking his head. "And you say you're a conman, Face. All right…all right, so you honestly think your CO will allow this? Women don't take part in combat situa-…"
"But it's not technically combat, and it's covert, too," she said, interrupting him with the words Murdock had given her on the way to the Colonel's quarters. Hannibal's eyebrows rose, and Face and B.A. both smirked, ready for their CO to start yelling now. "So if anything happens, the Army'd have to disallow any knowledge of the action, right? My CO doesn't really…have to know, does he?"
"Of course he does!" Face said, exasperated, rising to his feet and heading for the door. "I'll go find Murdock…Jesus, he must be off his meds or something…for God's sake…this is crazy, even for him…"
"Wait," Hannibal said, raising his hand and shooing Face back to his seat. "You did some very good flying out there, Sergeant, and your flight record is good... You do transport and evac, right?"
"Yes, sir," she answered carefully.
Hannibal sat back in his chair, pondering this little turn of events. Murdock's actions would get him a sharp reprimand, but he had okay'd this 'Paisley' person for the mission, and Murdock had given 'him' high marks. He studied the small, belligerent pilot silently, thinking this over. Finally, he reached into his desk drawer and extracted some papers. He handed them to Buchanan. "Here are the mission specs. Read them over." He gave B.A. and Face hard looks, and they could only stare at him, stunned.
"So…I'm going?" she asked cautiously.
"Lieutenant, go get Captain Murdock for me. B.A., you're dismissed. Sergeant, sit down. We have a few things to talk about."
Murdock let Face frog march him back to Hannibal's quarters, and he was ready for a fight with his CO. Hell, he was looking forward to it – he hadn't felt this good in days, and was rarin' for some scarin'. From the XO's expression, a fight was definitely in the offing, but he was prepared to lay it on the line for Seaborn. She was a good pilot – she had proven that to him in the Osprey, and she had been even better in the Huey. In his opinion, she could handle a mission to Nicaragua, even when it was against some rather violent arms-dealers. Who had ties to the Taliban. And liked to hurt women and children. And didn't bathe very often, from what he'd heard. He swallowed nervously, allowing unsettling notions to cut down his previous confidence, but went into Hannibal's quarters with his back straight and his head high just the same.
She was seated across from Hannibal, holding the mission specs in her hands and reading them over carefully. She glanced up at him and her cheeks turned pink. Murdock squared his shoulders and started to speak, but Hannibal cut him off.
"You can tell her how we do things," Hannibal told him sharply. "When you're finished, you can come apologize to me for this little…I can't think of the word, as I think my brain is melting. In the meantime, I'm going to go take a hot shower, and some aspirin, and rethink my life." He stood, glared at them both, and left. Hannibal was, frankly, too tired to yell. He'd yell tomorrow, or maybe next week, if his headache was finally gone by then.
Flabbergasted, Murdock sat down and waited. Finally, Seaborn handed the specs to him. "It looks…kinda rough."
"It is. You'll be okay. Just follow your instincts and ever'thing'll be peachy keen." He scanned the mission notes, having already memorized them days ago, and handed them back to her. "Just do what Hannibal tells you, keep your eyes open for trouble and let B.A. beat the shit out of anybody that looks at you wrong."
She looked down at the papers again, then at him. "Are you sure…about this?"
"I'm positive, baby. Hannibal's big into bein' unconventional, and stirrin' the pot, and what better way to do that than throwin' a girl into a mission? Not just any girl, of course." He frowned, seeming to mull that over again, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Anyway…you'll be back here two days 'fore Christmas, I promise. I'll…I'll roast you a turkey and some cornbread dressing and buy some of that canned cranberry sauce…you know, the stuff that goes 'shhtoop' when you tap it out of the can?" Off her nod and barely suppressed smile, he continued. "Exactly. I'll make you a right good Christmas supper and we'll…I dunno…play poker or something and drink lotsa whiskey and forget Christmas even happened. How's that sound?"
"Why are you doing this? You said I didn't want to see combat…"
"You don't. This'll cure you of it, for sure."
Murdock trotted out to the tarmac to say goodbye to his team and Sergeant Buchanan. He received a smothering hug from Face, who roughed his hair and commanded him to get some rest; a firm handshake and shoulder punch came from Hannibal, who still looked like hell, and finally a mumbled goodbye and knuckle-punch from B.A., who looked like he might hug Murdock for a second there, but didn't and instead walked up the ramp into the Herc, no arguing. Murdock turned to Buchanan, who was wearing her usual fatigues and cap. He held his hand out to her, and had it not been for the icy wind blowing on her, Face would have sworn she was blushing to the roots. She didn't take his hand, awkwardly turning away and grabbing her bag before giving him a curt nod and said something that sounded like goodbye, but the incessant wind tore it away. Murdock finally looked down, nodding quickly. "Well…good luck. Not that you need it – y'all'll be back sain et seuf, I know it."
They were riding in a Herc to Florida and then in a little puddle jumper to Nicaragua, where the Huey would be waiting for them aboard a ship called – unsettlingly – the Rust Bucket. Hannibal saluted the captain and followed Buchanan into the Herc. The ramp went up slowly, and he stepped away, moving off the tarmac as the Herc's engines started up and it began to move slowly, majestically, toward the lane.
He went into the hangar, watching a group of men working on a damaged fighter jet, and sat down, breathless and chilled to the bone. He closed his eyes, said a prayer for their safety, and after a few minutes of warming up and thinking about turkey, he got up and went off to find a Jeep to drive to his still-empty house. He was having a bedstead and mattress delivered today, and a brand-new TV. Might as well get home and see if he could find Animaniacs.
Face was watching the Hellcat, intrigued. She was fumbling nervously with the strap on her bag, squeezing its edges together and occasionally licking her lips. He took in her fine features, and that nice little nose and wondered what she would look like with her hair down, out of those braids. Of course, he also wondered what she'd look like out of her clothes. Probably pretty damned good, he decided. Hannibal couldn't snarl at him for thinking she was hot, anyway.
"Why'ncha say g'bye to Murdock?" he asked her at last.
She looked up at him, and finally shrugged before looking down again, her cheeks pinking.
"He got you in on this mission, and you can't even say g'bye?" Face shook his head. "He's my best friend, y'know. Wasn't at first – when I first met him, he set my arm on fire and then did a barrel-roll and turned B.A. against flyin' for good, but ever since then, he's like…you know…my brother. My older, slightly unstable, I'd-put-my-life-in-his-hands brother." Face shrugged. "I hate leavin' him back there, and if I had some place for him to stay, I'd take him with me to Ohio, but…I don't, and he hates staying at hotels. You're stayin' at Bragg, right, for Christmas?"
She nodded.
"Maybe you'll keep him company, huh?" Face grinned, winking at her.
"I…wouldn't that be inappropriate?" she snapped, her cheeks turning even pinker, and not from the cold. "He outranks me. He's an officer and…and…just shut up, asshole."
Face burst into laughter. "You know, you could try for a little more…I dunno…femininity. There's nothing wrong with being a girl, y'know."
"Yes, and I'm sure you've convinced many girls of that fact," she responded, rolling her eyes. "I don't want to talk about that. I…I'm gonna take a nap."
"In this racket?" he asked.
They had actually been shouting, because the inside of a Herc wasn't exactly conducive to conversation. It was louder than a Final Four basketball game, in fact, and Face was tiring of all the yelling required to be heard. B.A., having been give a sedative, was sound asleep. Hannibal, nursing a headache that could have killed a Clydesdale, had curled up on a bag of somebody's laundry and had fallen into a stupor. He sighed, giving up, and settled in for the flight.
Buchanan settled back in her makeshift seat, stretching her legs out. Face glanced at them, knowing instinctively that they were gorgeous under those fatigues, and set his mind on cruise control, finally drifting into a fitful sleep. This mission had to go smoothly, and one thing that would help would be some pre-chaos rest.
"They're back?" Murdock sat up, startled out of a deep sleep, and Fillmore nodded. He had finally bullied the pilot into taking a bed at the hospital, seeing as how he had clearly been missing sleep for the past two days and was dragging, his illness still not completely beaten off. The absence of his team had also left the captain agitated, nervous and combative, to the point where he had nearly gotten into a fistfight at the PX. Ayers and another officer had dragged Murdock away and Fillmore had made the captain lie down. A quick-acting sedative had done the trick after that, and he had slept through the night, barely even moving.
"Yep. Landed ten minutes ago," Fillmore told him. Murdock was already on his feet, starting toward the door. "You might want to change out of that hospital gown. It's as cold as Hillary Clinton's heart out there."
Murdock threw the gown off, and was relieved to still be in his jeans. He raced back up to the bed, fumbled around for his shirt, and pulled it on. "Where's my coat, dammit?"
Fillmore rolled his eyes and handed it to him, and Murdock pulled it on posthaste. He searched his pockets, found his cap, pulled it on and was running out the door before Fillmore could tell him to try and stay calm when he saw Buchanan. "It was just a…a little shrapnel, really…"
The weather was as bitterly cold as ever, perhaps even more so, but Murdock barely noticed. He was watching the Herc taxi in, finally slowing to a stop and making its cumbrous way back. He debated going up to the tower to call in and see how everybody was doing, but finally decided against it. As soon as the plane was still, and the engines winding down, he trotted over. A couple of ground crew guys waved at him, but he outranked them both and pulled it on them shamelessly. "Headin' in," he told them. "Got some friends in there."
"Oh, right," one of the guys nodded. "Hey, look, the ambulance is comin'…" He gestured toward the ambulance screaming up the tarmac toward them, and Murdock's eyes widened with horror.
"Who…what happened?"
"One of 'em got shot..."
"Who? Which one of them?" Murdock grabbed the crewman, but the kid shook his head.
"I dunno."
Murdock resisted an urge to punch the guy in the face. It wasn't as though it was his fault he didn't have all the information. He began bouncing on his feet, all sorts of horrible scenarios running through his mind. Face all torn to bits. B.A. blown to smithereens. Hannibal riddled with holes. Seaborn bleeding and dying, before he'd even had a chance… He took a deep breath and tried some breathing exercises, but they didn't help much, unless hyperventilating could be considered 'helpful'.
Finally, the Herc's back hatch was opened and a tank came rumbling out. Murdock shoved aside two servicemen and dodged around a Humvee, rushing inside and heading toward the seats. The EMTs came racing up, pushing a gurney, and Murdock almost passed out when he saw Face and Hannibal propping Seaborn up, with B.A. trailing behind them. She was holding her left foot up, hopping along between them and looking only slightly put out. The two medics ignored her protests that she was fine and insisted she get on the gurney.
Face greeted Murdock with a wide grin, and Hannibal clapped him on the shoulder, B.A. giving him a clap on the back that made him wheeze. "Everything went smoothly…well…until that bullet ricocheted off the rotor and hit Buchanan in the back of her leg. She wouldn't let us take her to the hospital in Miami, but we outwitted her this time. She's gonna be fine, Captain. Take a deep breath – you look like you might faint."
"I'm the one who might faint," Buchanan growled from the gurney. "Get your hands off me!" she snapped at one of the EMTs, who ignored her and tore her pants leg open from the bottom and began examining the seeping wound on the back of her leg, right above her ankle. When the other EMT began poking at the wound, to clean it so they could assess the damage better, she yelled with pain and punched him, knocking him onto the tarmac. The other EMT looked at his colleague, then at her, before bravely moving back to her side and looking at the wound. "Bullet went clean through. Probably missed the bone entirely."
"Sorry…" she finally said, looking guilty. "It just…hurt."
Murdock approached the gurney cautiously, but didn't touch her. "You sure you're okay?" he asked her.
"Well…I have a hole in my leg, and it hurts like hell, but I'll recover."
"Good…good…" He nodded and stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Face watched this exchange, intrigued, and gave Buchanan's shoulder a friendly squeeze.
"Hey, you came through like a trooper, kid. Great job!"
Hannibal, looking a lot less plagued by headaches, put his hands on his hips and studied Murdock before shaking his head. "She was very steady. She kept her cool even after taking that bullet, and flew us right out to the ship and could have landed on a dime if asked. Didn't even wobble. Didn't even cry, in fact. Hell, I would have. Flesh wounds hurt worse than the really serious ones."
The other three men nodded in agreement, having experienced both kinds several times over the years. Buchanan was finally persuaded to lie down on the gurney, and the EMTs put warming pads on her as they rolled her to the ambulance. Murdock stood still, watching her being loaded in, and didn't hear Hannibal yell something at him, or notice Face smacking him on the back. She was all right – that was all he saw or cared about.
"I hate Jello," Seaborn said. "Can't I have steak or something? Forget I asked…it's probably made from horse. Filet au filly."
The nurse rolled her eyes and put the bowl of Jello down. She had been attempting to feed the combative pilot all morning, to no avail, and this was the last straw.
"Tough girls don't eat Jello."
Seaborn looked up and saw Captain Murdock standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uneasy. The nurse gave him a hard glare, and he gave her a charming grin. "Tough girls eat…nurses."
The nurse gave an exasperated sigh and finally left the room. Murdock startled Seaborn by suddenly presenting her with a small vase of daisies, his eyes never leaving her face, or in particular her hair, which was down around her shoulders, still damp from the shower she had been allowed to take – assisted by the same nurse that been trying to feed her. The thick, dark-red tresses were curling as they dried, which embarrassed her immensely.
"Got these in the gift shop downstairs – had six dollars on me, so now I've got to eat at home tonight. Or maybe you'd let me have your Jello?" He eyed the wiggling red globs warily, and handed Seaborn the vase, but he was shaking just a little, which she found odd.
"Well…tough girls don't eat it, but maybe you can." She awkwardly handed him the bowl and he picked up a piece, popping the jiggling red blob into his mouth.
"Ooo…yumsies. You're gettin' out tomorrow, right? Eve of Christmas Eve."
"Yes," she nodded. "I bitched and griped and belly-ached and hollered enough that they're letting me out early…finally, I can have some peace!"
"Good. Good…like I said, you can have Christmas dinner at…I mean, with…at my house. I have a big ol' house, for some reason. I told Hannibal it's too big, but he gave me some speech about how I deserved officer's quarters and to shut up, 'cause he's still got that headache."
"They're all going home, right?" she asked him quietly, knowing how it felt to be alone on the holidays.
"Right."
"So I guess you don't have a family, either?" Seaborn rubbed a daisy petal between her fingers and finally let herself smell the cheerful little flowers. She had always loved daises, and their sweet, uncomplicated scent. As a child, she had made daisy chains while fishing, much to her father's consternation. But then, he had raised her to be a boy, and had been even more appalled when she'd gotten her first period and he had had to go into town to buy her certain 'products'. As if it hadn't been embarrassing enough for her…that whole ordeal had been horrible. The changes in her body and her emotions had been bewildering, particularly with no one around who could explain it all and understand, and had only gotten worse for her after father died.
"Uh…well…" He sat down in the chair by her bed and watched her futz around with the daisies until she finally put the vase on the table beside her. "I have…um…relatives. Sort of. Back home."
"Sort of your relatives?" she asked, intrigued. "Either they're your relatives or they're not."
"Well, then, they're not. Biologically, they are…distantly. Guy that raised me was my stepfather, see. He…er…married my mother, not long after I was born and then after she died, he married again and had five kids of his own, but raised me as though I was his own son."
Seaborn stared at him, stunned, and finally nodded. She grabbed a piece of Jello and ate it, in lieu of knowing what to do with her hands. "A-aren't you close to him?"
"I guess I am. I like to think I am, but after I joined the Army it got harder for us to connect, y'know? He's sort of a…businessman. Builds houses. I mean. Pretty successful, in Dallas. His sons work for him. I was never interested in that stuff, and…so that was another thing that didn't exactly pull us together." He shrugged, gesturing with his hands.
"So you grew up rich?" Seaborn asked him, an eyebrow lifting.
"Filthy rich. Don't tell anybody, though. Only Hannibal knows about the whole thing. I don't really…talk about it. Tell folks you got cash, or grew up rich, and they either hit you up for it or they hate you. And considering it was him that was rich, not me, it hardly matters…but still…" He shrugged again.
"You said your mother was pullin' cotton when you were born…"
"She was. On his farm, up close to Dallas. It was kind of a Ruth an' Boaz type thing, really. My biological father was the guy's…um…cousin, I think, and…or something like that…and so Jack kind of knew of her, and when he saw her in the field and asked about her, he sorta recognized the name and made sure she was treated well, 'specially since she was pregnant and alone in the world, and after I was born, Jack started comin' around to see 'bout her and they kinda…you know…and so they got married. She had a baby girl, later, but she died, just three days old. Mama never did really get over that."
"Oh…" Seaborn didn't know what to say, and so she kept her mouth shut.
"Mama got real sick after that, and she died when I was five. So Jack got married again. He never asked me to call him Dad, anyway – he was just…Jack. So my 'brothers and sisters' aren't really related to me, except by some distant kinship through my father. He did adopt me, though, so there wouldn't be any difficulties after Mama died, but he didn't make me change my name."
"What happened to your father?" she asked him softly.
"Cut in half by some kinda farm machine." Murdock got to his feet and looked out the window at the cold street below. "And in spite of all that, I can' t say as my childhood was all that bad. Jack never left me out – I was his kid, far as he was concerned, and Marie was good to me, too, and treated me like her own kid. But…you know…I always felt like an outsider." He glanced at her, and realized he sounded kind of self-pitying and forced himself to smile. "And sure enough, I remain an oddball, a black sheep…"
"There's nothing wrong with being a black sheep," she said.
"Yeah, but black sheep live alone. Well, I did, until a coupla years ago, anyway. Things got better since then. When are you bein' released – I can come pick ya up, if ya like."
"I…uh…thanks, I guess that would be…be okay."
The door was pushed open then and Face came bustling in, carrying an enormous bouquet of red, white and pink roses and a box of candy large enough to feed a large portion of Angola. "Good grief," Murdock said, dodging out of the way just in time, avoiding getting smacked by the box of candy. Face, not able to navigate well what with having his vision blocked, knocked into the pulley line that was holding Seaborn's foot up, causing her to almost be thrown from the bed. She yowled with pain and cursed loudly. Face scrambled back, muttering apologies, and finally managed to get untangled.
"Here ya go, sweetcakes. Roses and candy!" Face placed the box of candy on the table by her bed, but it fell down and banged into her IV pole, causing it wobble and almost fall, but Murdock caught it in time. "Hey, listen," he said cheerfully, once everything was back under control and Murdock stopped looking quite so murderous. "I'm holdin' a New Years' party – we'll all be back on the thirtieth, and I've got everything planned. It'll be at the base, and there'll be plenty of free booze and grub, so you're coming, no arguments. Everybody'll be there – my parties, as we all know, are legendary."
"Yes, of what little people can remember of them," Murdock muttered, opening the box of candy and searching for something with orange flavor inside. He squeezed one of the chocolate candies and was pleased to see orange in there, and popped it into his mouth. He handed Seaborn a piece, but again, avoided physical contact with her, which Face noticed.
"Is it safe?" she asked dryly. Just then, B.A. came in, lugging a huge teddy bear, and the whole mess started again. The pulley holding her foot up was bumped by the bear's huge paw, B.A. apologized, and Hannibal entered a moment later to a scene of pandemonium. He rolled his eyes, took the bear from the mechanic, sitting it in a chair by the door, and ordered everybody out. Murdock lingered for a moment, even with Face trying to drag him away, and seemed transfixed as he stood in the doorway. She flushed and pushed her hair back, wishing she had at least a band to strap it back with. Hannibal sat down by the bed and handed her a small box.
"Purple Heart," he said, grinning at her as she cautiously opened the box. "Pulled a few strings. Told the brass you earned it, and after they finished squawking, they agreed. Congratulations, Sergeant – you did quite well." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze and left her alone, staring down at the medal in amazement, her eyes blurring with tears.