There's some flashbacks here that go back to other times. I just hope they make sense.
Murdock hated the Lear jet Face had scammed.
It kept sputtering, for one thing, and the yoke kept trying to pull to starboard, which really irritated him, as it meant that there would be no autopilot over Colorado tonight, as they would only end up in Mexico. So he had to stay awake and alert, which was much different than B.A., who was snoring like a sailor after a weekend bender in Frisco. Hannibal was also sleeping – the man could actually sleep anywhere, on any surface, which also annoyed Murdock. Face was awake, and seated in the co-pilot's chair, reading an old National Geographic.
"Hey, you remember that scam we did on those Saudi princes?" Face asked him.
"I never talked about golf so much in my life, and considering I know next to nothing about the game, it was a toughie."
"They didn't seem to appreciate your terms for the 'sweetest game'," Peck rolled his eyes.
"Idrib al kurah, taarid al-kura," Murdock snickered. He adjusted the yoke again, frowning as he righted the plane– it had been heading toward the New Mexico border again.
"What's that mean again?"
"'Hit ball, chase ball'. Imagine, six Saudi princes trying to play through a miniature golf course."
"Right." Face snickered. "Remember that one dude who attacked the windmill?"
"Where are we going exactly, in Texas?" Murdock asked, seeing an alarm light coming on and turning off before it could start blinking and send Face into a frenzied panic. He hadn't been back to his home state in almost four years, and that had just been a very brief stopover in Austin, where he had had lunch with his sister, who had just enrolled at UT. He had inspected her dorm room, threatened the life of a young man who had been hanging around her, and went through an entire half-gallon of Blue Bell Neapolitan ice cream in less than an hour.
"I forget," Face mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "How can you fly these things? This whole thing…" he gestured at the complicated instrument panel. "I'll never get what half of them mean."
"Takes training," Murdock shrugged. "And instinct. Meanwhile, I'll never get your knack for picking up girls in bars and making them believe you're related to royalty. I believe last time, you were a nephew of the Duke of Wellington." His eyes flicked over all the buttons and dials and went through all the required corrections. He would apparently be landing at an airfield near Houston and Hannibal would take over on directions from there. They would be renting a van and Murdock had every intention of sleeping all the way to wherever they were going, even if that freaked B.A. out entirely, a as day-time sleeping Murdock usually meant wide-awake at night Murdock.
"You've been acting weird lately," Face commented, turning a page of the magazine and contemplating a story of the Yangtze River and the wildlife thereof. "Weirder than usual, I mean. In that you've been really quiet."
"Been sick," Murdock said shortly.
"Well, even when you're sick, you're playing with sock puppets and talking to the towel rack. Nowadays, you've been acting…I dunno…" Face frowned, trying to think of the right term, and finally decided that between friends, there was no point in being delicate. "Okay, you've been acting horny."
Murdock was so startled he jerked the yoke and caused the plane to swerve. He righted it quickly and glanced back to see B.A. had only slumped against the window and Hannibal's head tipped back, his mouth opening and the snore getting louder. "What?"
"Well, this afternoon, you were talkin' in your sleep and you weren't talking to the towel rack, that's for sure, and you had a…uh…you know…" Face cleared his throat.
Murdock rubbed his face and tried to think. "Okay, fine. Fine. So the crazy guy can't think about women sometimes?"
"I didn't say that!" Face said, offended. "And I happen to know of several women who think about you, and you ignore them completely. Remember that little nurse who treated Hannibal's gunshot wound last winter? It's a wonder she didn't jump you."
Murdock paled. "I didn't like her, for that very reason. And…and…well, I do think about women sometimes. I even have a past, if you can believe it. Had a few…few…uh…rolls in the rubber room over the years, too."
"Okay, really don't need to know about that."
"There was a French photographer named Colette…" Murdock nodded. She had been the last woman he'd slept with, and that was twelve freaking years ago. He shook his head – God, no wonder he was horny lately. "And…and…uh…a…" He frowned. No way in hell was he going to tell Face about Anne. Never. He loved the man like a brother, but Face would demand details and ages and then it would explanations and more guilt and grief and frustration, and in the end Murdock would end up going into a full-blown anxiety attack. "A contortionist. Circus performer…"
"Contortionist, huh?" Face raised an eyebrow. "How long ago was this?"
"Few…er…years."
"What, you've been celibate for nine years?" Face grinned.
"A guy can do that, you know," Murdock muttered. "Maybe I just…don't want 'em. Besides…the…meds…" He swallowed. The meds had, years ago, had unfortunate side effects for him, but an understanding psychiatrist at some facility in Arizona had finally come up with a combination that actually helped with some of his issues without playing hell with his equipment. That had been the only shrink he'd ever had who didn't think a person with mental health issues couldn't have a love life, and the guy hadn't had any kind of agenda, either.
Face knew not to go there and nodded, returning to the magazine. The Yangtze River was not interesting to him any more and he put it away. He stretched his legs and settled in for the final leg of the flight – maybe about twenty minutes. "Hell, I couldn't live without it, you know," Face said. "I mean…well…maybe I could. I dunno. Usually, though…Temp's gotta have it!" He grinned at Murdock, who snickered.
"Yes, and yet you still refuse to get that tattoo of the number for the Center for Disease Control on your wrist. Would be pretty helpful, in my opinion."
Anne fingered the silk material and frowned at the pattern. It was too loud, and she was about to tell the designer just that when she saw Lily waving at her from the door. She shook her head, and the man glared at her. Yesterday, he had brought in a model wearing his latest creation, a blouse with a bunch of weird flowers all around the collar, that made the poor woman look like she was being attacked by hummingbirds. They were cute little birds in and of themselves, but on a blouse, they were just too weird and she had rejected the idea wholesale, bluntly calling it tacky. If he was ticked off with her then, he looked livid now.
"What?" she asked, waving Zev the Hissyfitter away and stepping out into the hall. "Listen, if Ginella cancels, I want you to put out a contract on her."
Lily shook her head. "It's not that."
"Well, what is it?" Her cellphone started vibrating. She had a full calendar of things to do that day, including picking up her dry cleaning, collecting lunch, making a dozen phone calls, arranging a flight to Milan, and selecting materials for a 'small' (aka huge and terrifying) new line Féminité was putting out in the fall. Anne had been working at the fashion house for almost four years now, and was developing a reputation for her flawless taste and determination to create clothes that were not only beautiful and sexy, but modest. So far, she had several clients in town who consulted her on all their clothes, and insisted only she help them select their wardrobes for each season. Those clients were leading to other interested clients, and now, she had her own office and was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Ironic, she thought, considering she didn't have a lot of backbone.
"Um…" Lily cast about and finally just blurted out the news. "I know this guy, in Iraq, and he told me that there was an Army Ranger taken prisoner by some insurgents…well, murdering psychotic bastards, to be politically incorrect…and he told me the Ranger's name and…um…"
Anne lifted her gaze and stared at Lily. "What? What?"
"It was Captain Murdock."
Anne drew in her breath and her hands started shaking. She rejected the call coming in on her cellphone and pressed her fingers to her forehead. She turned away from Lily and went to her desk, gesturing to Zev to leave, which he did immediately, eyes wide and eager to go spread the gossip about this development. Anne was notorious for her total lack of a love life, after all, and for her to get news about a soldier in Iraq was pretty major.
"Listen, I know a guy from a few years ago…really gorgeous guy, actually…who is also in the Army and in Iraq, and though I have no idea if they're in the same unit, I'll make a call or two and see what I can find out…"
"Lily, if he…" Anne couldn't even say the word. If James had been killed, she didn't know what she would do. Pull out her hair, sit in ashes and wear sackcloth, and weep until she was nothing but a dried out husk, she figured.
"I'll go make some calls. I'll find out. Just…just try to work, okay, and keep your mind off it…" Lily backed out of the room, an apologetic expression on her face and Anne sat down at her desk. She was still for several minutes, until suddenly she jumped to her feet and went to the set of cabinets in the corner of her office. She opened them and dug around for several minutes until she finally found the file she had kept there since coming to New York. She dragged it out and began flipping through pages until she found the most recent article.
He had been in Egypt, the last time she had heard anything on him, and he had been flying soldiers in to rescue some hostages in Cairo, and had flown them all back alive and well, with several terrorists dead in a pile of rubble and a bullet lodged in his shoulderblade. To keep a prospective on where he was and what he was doing, Anne had made marks on a map of the Middle East, noting each place she knew he had been. It was the same map she had kept track of his travels during those two heady, frustrating years of their relationship.
She carried the file and the book of maps back to her desk and put them down, spreading them out and tracing her fingers over the horrible hellholes where he had been, risking his life for his country for crappy pay. She brushed her tears away and looked up, folding her hands.
"Please, God…please, keep him safe and well. Please…even if I never see him again, please…let him be happy…please…" She looked up, across to the wonderful view she had of Manhattan and burst into tears, weeping shamelessly onto the maps.
Anne gasped and sat up in the chair, looking around in bewilderment, not sure where she was. She had fallen asleep in the old wing chair in front of the fireplace at the Musgroves' ranch house, and wasn't surprised to find a blanket had been tucked around her. She blinked away the tears the bad dream and the painful memories it had brought back, and stood up, neatly folding the throw and putting it in the chair opposite. The A-Team was due to arrive this afternoon, at her sister Marie's house, a neutral location.
Lily had at least found out that James had actually escaped from his captors. Her source in Iraq had only said that he had been injured 'somewhat' and had to be hospitalized for a few days, but was otherwise in fair shape and would recover fully. He had otherwise been evasive, as per Army regulation, but at least Anne could breath again. He was alive, he was going to be well, and he had forgotten all about her, which was for the best for them both.
She had arrived at the Musgrove ranch – the M2 – the night before, and had been greeted enthusiastically by Charlie's parents and his sisters. Supper had been a merry affair, as she recalled through a slight fog of a bit too much champagne. Charlie's sisters, Louisa and Henrietta, were bouncy, fun-loving girls, both only just out of their teens, and made no secret of the fact that they preferred Anne over Marie.
The two Musgrove girls tumbled into the room, giggling over some private joke, and Anne smiled at them. No matter how miserable she felt, she couldn't stay that way around those two. "Oh, Anne! I see you managed to stagger downstairs for breakfast!" Louisa laughed.
"Yes, I did finally manage it, and then I decided on a nap."
"Mom and Dad are still in bed?"
"Out cold, last I knew."
"Well, are you going with us to Charlie's? Those men are supposed to be here at lunchtime."
"Yes, of course."
"Of course she will, silly," Henrietta told Louisa. "She's the one who hired them, isn't she?"
"Are you still sure this is a good idea?" Louisa asked, looking anxious. "I mean, Lily said they were wanted…"
"Falsely accused," Anne pointed out. She smoothed her hair and tried to settle her rattled nerves. It was a pretty dangerous idea, and over the past week she had gone over all the details again and again, knowing that if the CIA or the military did find out they were here, it wouldn't be just them being dragged away to prison, but she and her family and friends would be in what Elizabeth would call 'heap big trouble' for aiding and abetting federal fugitives. She followed the two girls into the vast kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar.
Anne got a banana and poured herself a glass of orange juice, needing something to eat to settle her quavering stomach. She heard the front door open and voices out in the hallway, and her brow furrowed when she heard a strangely familiar voice.
"I don't know why you had to freak out like that, B.A."
"I heard a siren!"
"It was an ambulance!"
"Well, still, it nearly gave me a heart attack! I mean, for God's sake, Murdock, I don't even know where the hell I am!"
She turned on the stool and her breath caught in her throat.
James Murdock was standing there, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, staring back at her with wide eyes. The two Musgrove girls were enthusiastically introducing themselves to the men – fresh meat, to the two of them – and James gave them both stiff smiles, but his gaze never left her. She stepped down and struggled to contain herself, holding her hands in front, her knuckles turning white as she gripped so hard. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be.
Colonel Smith stepped forward and held out his hand to Anne, who finally managed to separate her hands and took his. "It's…it's so nice to see you again, Colonel Smith," she said softly. "L-Lieutenant Peck," she said, taking Face's hand in turn. "I…I have some questions I need to ask of you…"
"Oh, uh, this Sergeant Baracus. Bosco…but we all call him B.A," Face gestured to the large black man at his side.
Anne, completely discombobulated, shook B.A.'s hand as well. James hadn't moved a muscle yet, and she could barely remember to breath under his scrutiny. She hazarded one glance at him and saw something cold glittering in his green eyes. She swallowed, and barely heard Face introduce her to the pilot.
"And this is Captain James Murdock," Face said, gesturing to James.
"Right," she nodded. She didn't hold out her hand to him. "I…like I said, I have to ask you all some…some questions. I have some trepidations about this arrangement…"
"Trepidations, huh?" James said, his voice sharp.
She finally met his gaze and flinched. "Yes, I have a few concerns…"
"And are these your own concerns, or did somebody else bring them up for you?"
Hannibal and Face looked at each other, bewildered.
"They are entirely my own, Captain Murdock," she answered him, her heart starting to pound. She felt light-headed, and wanted to sit down.
"Really. I guess I should be amused," he snapped.
"Go ahead and be amused, Captain," she answered sharply. "And considering that…that you and your friends are wanted criminals that will be living in my home, I have every right to have some doubts…"
"Doubts!" He rocked back on his heels, laughing. "Maybe it's just a total lack of willpower instead. Maybe you let other people make up your mind for you...lead you about by your nose, huh?"
Anne's fists clenched. "Captain Murdock, I see no reason for you to come into this house and attack me because of your own bruised ego!"
"What the hell…?" B.A. said, looking at Hannibal in confusion. "Hey, miss, Crazy Man here don't have no ego!"
Murdock ignored B.A. and stepped closer to Anne, who held her ground, which made Hannibal's eyebrow lift in admiration. "If you actually think that I'm going to stay here and work for this…this unreliable, immature and selfish little harpy, Colonel, you are very, very mistaken! Knowing her, she'll prob'ly turn us in tomorrow...on somebody else's advice, too!"
"You bastard!" Anne shouted, and stunned everyone in the room by slapping Murdock right across the face. He only reeled a little, and stood still for a moment, glaring down at her, his green eyes glittering with rage, a red mark forming on his cheek. He suddenly turned on his heel and left, slamming the front door behind him. The Musgrove girls were too stunned to speak, and B.A. was shaking his head. Anne drew in a shaking breath, her eyes stinging.
"Excuse me," she finally said. "I'll…I'll be back in a…a few minutes. Please, Louisa, Henrietta, make them…them feel at home, if…if you…can." With that, she fled and rushed upstairs to her room.
Face looked back and forth between Hannibal and B.A., totally bewildered. "What the hell was that?" he asked.
"They must have known each other," Hannibal said with a shrug. "You think our pilot doesn't have a past, Face?"
"And hated each other in the past, too!" Face exclaimed, horrified. He had never seen Murdock behave so rudely. Even when being mistreated, the Captain had always remained sweet natured and friendly, even if it was just a means of psychic escape. To see him viciously insult a young woman was completely out of character.
"Naw…" B.A. shook his head, catching Hannibal's knowing look. "Uh-uh, Faceman, it ain't nothin' like that."
"Oh, really? What was all that, then?"
Hannibal shook his head, smiling. "Gimme a break, Face. I still love the first woman who slapped me."