Angel got in another few hours of work after helping clear the breakfast table silently with the other two. Murdock wandered outside again, and B.A. looked lost for a moment, until she set him up with a printer she had been having trouble with. He perked up and took it to the couch immediately to open the cover and examine it.
Before he got too involved with it, Angel gave him a kiss—a real kiss, the kind that said she was grateful for him and glad he was here and maybe later we'll do even more—and left him to return to her computers.
Later she heard the front door open and close again, and the soft murmur of B.A. and Murdock exchanging words. She leaned back in her chair and glanced out the door to see the pilot heading down the hallway of the bedrooms. She didn't think he was going to visit Hannibal.
He didn't reappear.
Angel went back to work.
When it was time for a break, she stretched again. B.A. had drifted off on the couch, surrounded by bits of the printer. Neither Face nor Murdock were around; when she tiptoed to her bedroom door and opened it carefully, just a crack, she saw them together in the bed, sleeping soundly.
She debated checking on Hannibal, then went back to the kitchen.
Quietly she brewed a cup of tea. Then, even more quietly, she carried it to her spare bedroom. Cursing herself under her breath, she retreated to the bathroom to grab the pill vial she had forgotten, then once again went to the spare bedroom.
She gave a very soft knock, more of a courtesy, really, and opened the door.
Hannibal picked up his head to see who was invading the room, covered his eyes with a hand, and lay back down.
Angel took that as enough invitation to come inside. She shut the door behind her and made her way to the bed. She set the mug of tea on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I brought you some Imitrex," she told him softly. She didn't wait for him to accept or decline the drug; she shook a tablet out of the vial and found his free hand to press it into his palm.
Hannibal closed his fingers over the tablet and half sat up. Angel steadied him and offered the tea. After he took the medication and swallowed it with a gulp of liquid, she took the mug away again but left it so he'd have easy access to it if he wanted.
He lay back down with a groan and covered his eyes again. In a similar way to before, she took his other hand in hers.
"More drugs?" he croaked.
"No. Just massage."
Angel rubbed and manipulated his fingers and palm, and after a few minutes, found the meaty pressure point between his thumb and first finger. She applied a steady pressure there, and was rewarded with another groan from Hannibal. It was not the same pained noise he had made earlier.
She kept it up for another few minutes, then rested his hand back beside him where she found it.
Hannibal had readjusted. Now instead of his hand, he used his forearm to shield his eyes.
"I fucked things up out there, didn't I?"
Although surprised to hear such a direct and self-depreciating comment, Angel couldn't help but nod slightly.
"Yeah. Kind of."
Hannibal groaned once more.
"Am I wrong? It's just not right . . . it's just not normal. Why . . ."
"Are you upset that they're . . . doing that, or that you thought Face was the one who . . . started it . . .?"
Hannibal lifted his arm just enough to look at her with one eye.
"I admit that Murdock claiming it was him threw me for a loop," he said honestly. "You know Face. The man's a walking, unbridled . . . animal. Like he's always in rut. I've tried to make him understand that he doesn't have to . . . degrade . . . himself to be valuable, that people like him because of him—"
This was heading into territory that Angel wasn't greatly comfortable with. She wasn't, however, quite sure how to stop him.
"—but the stubborn idiot doesn't listen! It's so ingrained in him that he needs to . . . use his body to get what he wants. When he said he hadn't . . . fucked Kerry . . . I don't know what to believe.
"All of it's so messed up. I don't know what to think."
Still a little shocked that the fortress that was Hannibal Smith was being so candid with her, Angel decided that if he was going to be direct, so would she. She was a master at that game.
"So . . . you're upset because you don't believe Face wouldn't—didn't—screw Kerry? Or you do believe him? I'm confused. You think maybe instead he's fucking Murdock?"
She received another stare from one blue eye, and had her answer.
"Are you worried they're gay?"
Hannibal lifted his lip. "I'm worried Face is forcing Murdock to do this!"
Angel shook her head. "You heard Murdock. He said—"
"I know that Face's . . . door has a bi-directional hinge!" Hannibal interrupted. "He probably knows I know—I've caught him with guys in compromising positions, I've been there when he comes staggering in smelling like another man's cologne! But we don't talk about it, it didn't matter, as long as he did his job!"
"Then why does it matter now?" Angel asked, truly puzzled.
"Because it'll affect the dynamics of this team!" he answered, in a tone that indicated she should have known that all along.
Ah, thought Angel, now we're getting to the meat of this problem.
"Hannibal," she said after a lengthy pause of reflection, "how long has your team been together?"
"Going on twelve years," he mumbled from under his arm.
"Twelve years. You've all shared barracks, hotel rooms, the back of the van, showers—everything and everywhere. Why on earth do you think that you four will have problems now? Just because Murdock and Face are sharing one more thing—ugh, that sounds awful!"
Suddenly Angel giggled. Hannibal looked at her again.
"See what I mean?" he asked. "I'm right. It is awful."
"No, no!" she insisted, trying not to move the mattress too much in case his migraine was movement sensitive. "I mean calling Kerry a thing! That's awful! I've never even met this woman, never even heard of her before last night, and I bet she's a great person. Would Murdock hook up with a chica who wasn't on the right side of cool? Would Face?"
This time Hannibal moved his arm enough that he could look at her with both eyes. Angel met his gaze steadily. She was secretly happy to see the lines on his face melt from hard, non-comprehending anger to a softer expression.
He nodded a little bit. "Kerry seems like a nice girl."
"She gets along well with everybody? She's cool?"
"She helped when Murdock was having some mental issues. She didn't turn tail."
"Mmm-hmm. You look like you were going to say something else?"
"Murdock dated her awhile ago. Then we had to leave. But then we came back, and he contacted her again."
"So he's kept her in his thoughts, and since she agreed to see him again, she was into him too. Isn't that something."
Her last three words were said as a statement, not a question. Hannibal narrowed his eyes a little bit, catching her meaning, but didn't respond with animosity.
"They seem to get along well." He cleared his throat, and the next words caught in his throat a little. "They. Ha. A-all of them. All thr-three of them."
Angel hoped she was conveying a positive, encouraging expression.
"And . . . ?"
Once again, Hannibal groaned through gritted teeth. This time he paired it with rubbing his eyes, hard, which Angel took as a good sign his migraine might be lessening.
"It's so wrong!" he told her.
She also took it as a good sign that although he said it forcefully, he also sounded a little bit befuddled.
"Hannibal . . ." Angel started, then stopped to collect her thoughts. This was a circular conversation, and she wanted to make sure she kept up with it. Finally she took a breath. "Hannibal, listen. I know, I know this is a weird thing. I get that! And to be completely honest, it's not something I could—or would—do either. But it doesn't sound like they were hurting anybody. They weren't doing it maliciously or to prove some kind of alternate lifestyle point. They were—are—doing it because it's right for them."
Hannibal gave up covering his face at looked at her directly. "I don't think it's right."
Angel shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you think, or what B.A. thinks. Wait—I take that back. It does matter what you think, but you're not going to get the result you think you want. You keep being all Pecksniffian on them and you're going to piss them off. Then, if they decide to continue even knowing what you think and how you think it, they'll hide it. Then you'll have secrets on your team. How's that going to work out?"
He only watched her. The critical veneer his expression held slipped a little. Angel could imagine the calculations going on in his head. She decided to push her point a little more.
"And they might get to the point that they figure they're better off without you. You can't reason with people in love or lust. You know that."
She saw understanding—reluctant understanding, but understanding nonetheless—creep over his features.
"You don't have to agree with it, Hannibal," she emphasized softly. "You don't have to do it yourself or anything weird like that. You just have to support them."
Hannibal opened his mouth slightly to answer, then just as quickly shut it again.
"Hey, I'm not saying wear a shirt or do a fun-run or anything!" Angel laughed. The appalled look on his face indicated that yes, that's what he thought she meant by supporting them. "I mean just stop shouting at them and accusing Face of things that you don't have all the information on. And stop looking all disgusted and disapproving. That's a big one."
Angel took another breath. She thought about continuing, she could always talk on, but since Hannibal had taken on the appearance of thoughtfulness with a smidgen of sorrow she didn't.
After they sat quietly together for a little while, Angel asked,
"You okay?"
The furrows in his forehead didn't soften much. "I suppose," he answered truthfully. "I guess I'm just . . . old-fashioned. Can't keep up with all these young people today, with all their fads and alternate threeway lifestyles . . ."
Angel laughed, and was pleased the wrinkles left his forehead and showed up in the corners of his eyes instead.
"Don't lump all us youngsters in with them," she corrected. "I don't plan on sharing B.A. with anyone. No way, no how."
Hannibal ran a sharp eye over her. "How did Bosco manage to snag you? You're witty, you're beautiful, you've got razor sharp instincts . . ."
"You tyin' to pick me up, Hannibal?" she teased. "Tryin' to horn in on B.A.'s racket?"
He smiled and held up his hands in defense. She returned the grin.
"Maybe you're asking the wrong question," she mused. "Maybe you oughtta be asking why I'm good enough for him."
Hannibal caught the laughter in her voice but didn't miss the seriousness in her eyes.
"You've got good men, Colonel. Don't force your values down someone's throat just because you think you know best. Don't fix things that aren't yours to fix."
He was about to amend his compliments of her to include wise, but she leaned over, kissed him soundly on the forehead and said,
"Get some more rest, Hannibal. You'll need your strength when you apologize to Murdock and Face later."
Pushy and cocksure, he added to the list in his head. But he smiled at her and squeezed her hand before she left him alone again in the bedroom.
