AN: I know, I know. It's been a while since I updated. No worries, I'm not gone. School/Christmas shopping and some traveling has taken my writing time lately. I'll try to update more often over break.

Chapter Six: Off Into the Wild Blue Yonder

"Relax, big guy. It'll work." Murdock whispered to the Lieutenant from where he sat in the copilot's seat. From the corner of his eye, B.A. caught sight of the hand holding them at gunpoint. He glanced back at the control panel, sighing. Slowly, he reached for the first switch and engine controls. Casting a weary glance at Murdock, he was reassured with a quick nod.

Under normal circumstances, this would never happen. B.A. would be knocked out in the back, Face and Murdock would sit up front and keep each other company over the flight, maybe the Colonel would bring them lunch or a drink depending on the length of the flight. On top of that, Murdock would be the one piloting the aircraft- after all, he was the Captain, and it was his job. This time, things were different. Murdock's hands sat idly in his lap, hurriedly-placed bandages wrapped around the knuckles.

"Faster." The man sitting behind them waved his gun at B.A., who's only response was a low growl. Murdock shot him a warning look, not wanting anything further to happen.

"Can't go any faster, man. Unless o' course you don't want to take off?"

"Shut up. Just get going."

Truth be told, they could go faster. Murdock was just hoping to buy Hannibal some extra time- they were lucky if he was going to be there at all. The captain would be damned before he let their earlier efforts go to waste.

That was how he'd injured his hands. That was why he was sitting in the copilot seat, giving careful instructions to B.A. on which switches to flip. The job had been a routine one, nothing special- and only their second job after B.A. had fully recovered from the gunshot wound. Now they'd have to wait on him to recover from whatever was wrong with his hands- Murdock scowled, not allowing himself to glance down at the wrapped appendages.

"Let's get to dancin', big man." Carefully instructing B.A., Murdock monitored the gauges and watched as the Lieutenant pushed the plane into flight. It wasn't a bad takeoff, if Murdock said so himself- which he did. His hands reminded him that it could've been smoother, pain radiating up his fingers and through his wrists with every shudder of the wings. But for B.A., who didn't fly, hated flying, hated air, it was a more than superb takeoff. Murdock told him so. B.A. shot the captain an incredulous look as if to say that there were more important things than how the takeoff was.

Murdock turned his head slightly when another man from the group of mercenaries entered the cockpit. He whispered something to the one holding the gun. Both men looked quickly at B.A. and Murdock before returning to their whispering. Murdock felt a flutter of hope, praying that maybe they'd gotten through with their radio call to Hannibal.

The armed man stalked toward his seat. Murdock kept his eyes on the sky and the meters in front of him, pretending not to notice. The man reached to the radio and pulled the extension plug from the box- neatly killing any hope they'd had for using the radio to call a mayday.

"Stay here. You screw around with anything and butterfingers here will have more than his hands to worry about." The man glared at them before retreating from the cockpit. Left alone, they were finally free to talk.

"B.A., pull that cord out." Murdock motioned to a red cable running into a battery charger. B.A. yanked the wire free, starting to hand it to Murdock. The pilot frowned, shrugging, and B.A. apologized quickly, with a swift look to the Captain's hands.

"How's your hands, man?"

"Not very Houdini-like on a level of flexibility, but I'll manage." Murdock managed a forced smile at B.A. and motioned with his head toward the radio.

"We can't fix it, Murdock."

"I know that, B.A. But we can make it into something else."

B.A.'s eyes met Murdock's as he realized what the pilot wanted him to do.

"Autopilot ain't working, man."

"I wasn't born yesterday, B.A." Murdock raised his hands to the controls set before him, gritting his teeth against the flares of pain when he curled his fingers around the controls. B.A. flipped the switch to secondary controls and started working hurriedly on the radio. Murdock wasn't sure how long they would have before the men returned, and he was thankful B.A. was working fast.

"Wait a second, B.A. On second thought, signal that we're putting it down."

"What? Out here? I can't do that and you know it."

"You can do it, and I do know it. You will do it, unless you want to be stranded somewhere in Somalia with a useless pilot and no communication with the outside world."

B.A. glared at the pilot, but quickly went back to his work. Within two minutes he was done, hoping that Hannibal and Face had picked up the signal. Stashing the wire out of sight, B.A. hesitantly took the control of the plane over. Murdock sighed with relief, dropping his hands to his knees again.

"Sorry about yo hands," B.A. said. Murdock glanced up at him.

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, big guy. Wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. I gave you the signal too early and you end up gettin' your hands smashed in a door."

Murdock stared at B.A., confused at how the lieutenant had come up with that conclusion. He could see from the look on B.A.'s face that he wouldn't budge on his feelings. Murdock shook his head, frustrated with the whole situation. He didn't regret making the break for the phone- hopefully Hannibal had got their message.

"Whatever. If you don't believe me, then at least we're even. Even-steven." Murdock avoided B.A.'s eyes.

"What you talkin' 'bout, fool?"

"It was my fault you got shot. I should've taken that one." Murdock steeled himself and reached for the controls, flipping certain switches. Punching in numbers on a small pad, Murdock flipped another switch. The plane lurched and slid sideways for a moment before straightening itself out. Murdock glanced at B.A. and hurriedly gave him instructions on what they would do. B.A.'s lips were pressed together tightly.

"That weren't your fault, fool."

"Today wasn't yours, either."

The back door slid open and the man came in, waving his gun and asking what the hell had just happened. B.A. and Murdock were slow in replying, their eyes locked in a silent stare-off as each realized that the other really meant what they said.

As always, Hannibal was there for his soldiers when they hit the ground, landing in a long grassy field. The mercenaries weren't expecting anyone to be waiting for them when they exited the aircraft. Even though Hannibal and Face were outnumbered four-two, and the men had Murdock and B.A. at gunpoint, they weren't trained gunman and were dispatched quickly.

Hannibal's eyes landed on Murdock's bandaged hands. The pilot's arms were crossed, hands tucked protectively beneath each arm.

"Alright, Captain?"

B.A. spoke up quickly. "He ain't, but he will be."

Murdock glanced at B.A., a smile flittering across his face briefly. As they made their way to the van that was parked a short ways away, the Captain nudged Hannibal.

"Hey Colonel. B.A. here has offered to take over all flying for the team.

"Crazy fool, I ain't never flyin' again."

"That's what they all say, B.A."

AN: So I decided to do a land/sea/air chapter trilogy here, in case you hadn't noticed. So this is the last piece that is related to the last few chapters. No quote inspired here- I was discussing with a friend what would happen if I ever broke my hand(s) and couldn't drum anymore, and this kind of sprung from it. Anyway, R&R if you like- and I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays. I'll update again soon.