BA hadn't meant to overhear. He was in the makeshift weights area at the back of the small gym the base provided. For once, he'd managed to find himself without the shadow of Murdock, which was a huge fucking relief. Since the poisoning incident two weeks ago, the pilot had taken to tailing BA like a really stupid, annoying, floppy-haired dog. He seemed to have taken the fact that Baracus hadn't actually murdered him as a sign that all was forgiven and he could go back to prancing around like a damn idiot wherever BA happened to be.
Truth was, the Corporal didn't know what to make of the whole incident. He could almost understand the logic (such as it was) behind Murdock's actions, and when he realised that, he slammed the door shut on that line of thought right away. Once the fire of his first reaction had cooled down, BA didn't really think that Murdock had meant him any harm. Still. No good could come from trying to work out that fool's motivations. Understanding crazy was too close to accepting it and allowing it. Better to just not think about it and never accept food from the idiot again. It almost bothered BA that he wasn't more upset about the whole thing, but he shut that mental door too.
Whatever his views of Murdock's actions and sanity, BA was sure of one thing: The fool was the most annoying person on the face of the Earth. He couldn't shower without Murdock suddenly appearing and passing him the soap, or work in the motor pool without turning to find the idiot holding the tool he needed (usually with the intention to run away with it, laughing like a retarded hyena while BA chased him around base with a wrench, roaring threats of pain and dismemberment). It was a relief to be able to do reps without Murdock standing over him counting off, "One major repetition! Two major repetitions! Come on, big guy! Three major repetitions!" BA was running out of ways to call him a damn idiot.
Without Murdock chanting in his ear for once, BA was able to concentrate on his routine. It also meant that he could hear the other two occupants of the gym talking as they worked out. They were fellow Corporals – he'd seen them around on base but never really talked to them. Their unofficial (as yet) team was largely ignored by the rest of the base, which suited BA fine. He wasn't here to make friends and he wouldn't have to work with any of these men after they'd received the official Okay to operate as Rangers under Colonel Smith. Sweating and breathing hard as he pushed his body to give him more, BA barely noticed the other men's conversation until a few key words filtered through and his ears perked up of their own accord (damn nosy ears).
"-eard they got that pilot back his wings," one was saying as they stretched. "Muldoon or Murdock or something."
"Murdock," confirmed his companion. "Motherfucker."
BA pushed harder. One. Two. One. Two.
"I talked to Daniels." The first one again. "He was there when, you know, back when it happened. Not the same unit, but he was stationed at the same base."
"What's he think?"
BA replaced the weights and breathed deeply, sweat pouring off him and blood pounding in his ears from the workout.
"He thinks it's bullshit. Guy doesn't belong here. He shouldn't be flying; he should be locked up somewhere."
The second man huffed out what could have been an awkward attempt at a laugh. "That's harsh, Mick."
BA wiped the sweat off his face and sat up, towelling off the bench.
"'S'not harsh," argued Mick. "He should be in a padded room, not training up to be part of an A-Team."
"Yeah. That's pretty fucked up."
BA stood and draped his towel across his neck. "What'd he do?"
The other men turned sharply, looking both affronted and guilty at being listened to. Neither answered immediately, so BA asked again. "They're training Murdock to be part of my team. Sounds like you're talking about something I should know."
The men exchanged a definitely guilty glance at that.
"Hey, sorry man," said Mick, lowering his leg from the bench on which he'd been stretching. "Didn't realise it was you."
BA decided to save his "all negroes look alike" comment for another time and let the man finish.
It was the second, so-far nameless man who spoke next. "I know we shouldn't be talking about it..."
"But you were," said BA, levelling them with a hard stare. "So you gonna keep talking about it. I won't tell anyone where I heard this from but you're gonna tell me. What did Murdock do?"
The men shifted uncomfortably, but Mick answered. "You really haven't heard about this?"
BA's glare answered for him. It did that a lot.
"Well," continued Mick hesitantly. "And yeah, you can't say you got this from me, and a bunch of it's just stuff I heard so I'm not sure..." BA's glare told him to hurry it up. "But, uh. Murdock, the pilot, he didn't do anything, really." The glare said that wasn't enough information.
Guy #2 took over. BA decided to call him Slackjaw. "I wasn't there," he offered, clearly intent on staying on BA's good side. "All I know is, he and his team were shot down in Afghanistan, I think it was Afghanistan but it might not have been, on a hush mission a few years back. They were picked up by insurgents, or it might have been Al Qaeda, anyway, they were captured."
Slackjaw was the worst storyteller ever. Sensing this, Mick picked up the story. "They didn't find the camp where the team was being held for a couple of months. They'd all been starved, tortured, you know. Your guy, Murdock, was the only survivor. I heard when they found him, he was tied to the bodies of the rest of his team. They'd, uh, they'd been dead for a while."
That was something that BA would process later. For now, he wanted the facts. "Why didn't they kill him too?"
Slackjaw took the reins again. "His rank, I guess? I think the Colonel died in the crash, or from his injuries or something. The pilot was next in line. I guess they figured that he'd be the best one to use for information."
"We don't know much," Mick hastened to explain in case BA was simple. "But that's what's going around. I'm not saying he's not a good pilot!" Another thing he didn't know was BA's personal experience with Murdock. "He's the best. I know people who've flown with him. I'm sure he's great for your team." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We were just talking 'cause we don't know him."
BA realised he'd misinterpreted their conversation entirely. They hadn't been saying that Murdock wasn't fit to fly – at least not for the reasons he'd been thinking.
Without another word, BA stomped out of the gym and headed for the showers.
When he returned to the team's billet, there was Murdock. Lying on his bunk, reading a comic and singing to himself like a damned fool. He brightened when he saw BA enter.
"Bosco!" Murdock sat up and bounced eagerly. "You been working out? I looked for you in the mess hall and the motor pool and the rifle range, but I couldn't find you. Faceman said you might be in the showers, but I remembered what you said last time I looked for you there so I didn't check." He beamed, like BA would praise him for NOT being barging into someone else's shower stall like a retard. "I forgot about the gym. Ah well. Did you have a good workout?"
"Yeah." BA threw his dirty clothes and towel into the hamper. Rifling through his stack of magazines to find something he hadn't read yet, BA asked, "Hey, fool. You ever met a guy called Daniels?"
Murdock wrinkled his nose. "Daniels? I don't think so. Why?"
"Never mind." BA glanced over. Murdock was watching him curiously. BA sighed and sat down on his own cot. "Hey, fool."
Murdock bounced again, smiling at BA like a damn puppy again. "Yep?"
BA looked away. "Never mind."
