Title: Check Under the Bed

Part 9

Author: AlyshebaFan

Rating: K+

"This is it."

The car stopped in front of a pretty little stone and cedar Victorian cottage, and Bridget looked warily at her house, wondering how she would feel when she went inside. But her uneasiness was soon replaced by dismay – her flowers needed watering, and heaven only knew how poor Harvey was doing.

She was sitting in the cowboy seat, between Hannibal and Face in the front, while B.A., Frankie and Murdock were squeezed uncomfortably into the back. The three men had bickered during a lot of the trip, Captain Murdock grumbling about the heat and his growing claustrophobia. She had directed Face through her neighborhood and now they all sat staring at her house. "Nice place," Hannibal said at last, noting the red flowers growing on a vine climbing on her porch railings. "Is that bougainvillea?"

"Yes. It takes a while for it to really start taking over, but once it does, it takes a flamethrower to get it under control. Please, everybody come on inside. I can at least get you something to eat before you…uh…leave." She looked in the rearview mirror and caught Murdock's eye. They stared at each other briefly, momentarily frozen, before he looked away. As the thinnest of the three, he had been forced to sit in the middle and he was clearly uncomfortable. As soon as Face parked, Frankie hopped out and Murdock scrambled out behind him, with B.A. getting out the other side.

The five men stood on the sidewalk, all feeling some degree of awkwardness as Bridget went up to her house. She collected newspapers, checked her mailbox and sorted through bills and junk. She turned back and gestured for them to follow her, and the men went single file through her trellis, which was overgrown with climbing roses, up her cobbled sidewalk and onto her porch. She fumbled for her key and unlocked the door.

"Good Lord, it's hot in here," she said. "Let me turn the AC on. Make yourselves comfortable. I know I have some spaghetti, and I make a mean tomato sauce. Come on…"

Murdock wrinkled his nose at the stuffy heat, and looked around the room. Bridget had turned the lights on, and he wasn't surprised to find her house to be utterly feminine, with a Victorian décor. Pretty rose-colored wingback chairs and a comfortable-looking sofa formed a 'conversation area' in the living room, and a large, hand-decorated armoire that he suspected hid an entertainment center occupied a corner directly across from a comfortable-looking leather chair. Bridget would probably find electronics vulgar-looking, he thought with a smile.

He wandered into the kitchen, which was off to the right. He noted a hallway leading off the kitchen, where another doorway led into what he assumed was a bathroom. The kitchen was bright yellow and inviting. Bridget had already put a large pot of water on the stove, to start boiling. They froze in their steps when they saw each other, and she began wringing her hands. "Hi."

"Hi," he answered softly.

"Where is everybody?"

"Probably checking for anything out of the ordinary. They do that. It's in their blood."

"All they'll find will be my office and the master bath," she said with a small smile. "There's another bath down that way," she told him, pointing a pasta stirrer toward the hallway. "And the guest bedroom. I'm guessing you're really not into Victorian design?"

"Can't say that I am, but…well, I won't be here long. We'll have to fly out tonight."

She nodded and turned back to get the spaghetti down from her cabinet, but he saw that her hands were trembling. Murdock noticed her canary, which occupied a cage on a stand. The bird beeped a question and Murdock studied it curiously. "What's his name?"

"Harvey," she answered. She was breaking the spaghetti and putting it in the pot, adding some vegetable oil and salt. "He belonged to my uncle, back in Savannah, and…oh, God. I need to call my mother. The police said she was going crazy, worryin' about me." She turned the burner on and went to her phone. "Would you mind watching the pot?"

"Sure." Murdock checked the bird's water dish and was pleased to see that someone had apparently filled it. He also had plenty of seeds.

Bridget brushed a stray strand of hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear as she dialed her parents' number. "My boss at the VA got in here, by way of my neighbor – she's eighty-six years old…my neighbor, that is, and I gave her a key to my house long ago, because sometimes her air conditioning goes out during the day, while I'm at work, and I hate the idea of her being stuck in her house, melting into her plastic-covered couch. She just has a wall-unit in her bedroom, and it's no bloody good. I keep telling her to get a new one. Anyway, she kept an eye on the bird, but I wish she'd done the same for my flowers. Then again, it's been so hot. I can't expect the poor little thing to stand out there and water plants."

Murdock nodded. He kept one eye on the pot of spaghetti and the other on Bridget, who was waiting while her parents' phone rang. She was still wearing her hospital scrubs, and looked about as sexy as a woman had any right to look. Why did she have to be a psychologist? And why did she have to be his psychologist? Why couldn't she have just been a waitress or a flight attendant or anything else? But Murdock wasn't sure he'd have even had enough nerve to approach her then.

He had never possessed overwhelming self-confidence, when it came to women, unless he had taken on some other persona. His past flings had rarely lasted long, and most of them had resulted in the woman in question pursuing him, which had always been a shock in itself. That nurse back in Nam, for instance – one minute he'd been escorting her back to her quarters after a soldier had gotten too aggressive toward her in a bar, and the next she was pushing him into her bed. He had been twenty years old then, uncertain of even surviving into next week, and so he had enjoyed himself with her, living in the moment instead of worrying about tomorrow. She had appeared to enjoy his company as well.

He wondered what had ever happened to her. Felicia. She had had nice legs, too. She had been a few years older, and had been kind to him, but when it had ended, it had ended, with no hard feelings on either side. He wondered where she was – was she happy? He certainly hoped so. She deserved that much.

"Mama? This is Bri-…yes, it's me. I'm okay. No. Stop crying, Mama. Mama, you're gonna get dehydrated…"

Murdock snickered and stirred the pasta. He didn't know anybody who would start crying with joy when they heard from him. He had a distant cousin in San Antonio, but Murdock doubted she'd even recognize him, much less care if he was alive or dead.

"I was rescued, actually. Four men with enough weapons to start an armory happened to see me and…yes, they're very nice. A little rough around the edges, but men with that many guns aren't going to have the personalities of accountants, but they're very sweet and kind, and I'm home now. No, the men who kidnapped me are in jail and I figure I'll be testifying against them…no, they won't get out if I have anything to say about it. No, Mama, calm down. I don't need either of the boys to come out here. Well…I suppose so. I'll have to ask my boss…well, I suppose he'd allow me to have a few days off, considering the circumstances."

She looked over at Murdock, who pretended he wasn't listening. He continued stirring. Harvey started singing, loudly. He heard Hannibal and Face in the living room, bickering about something. B.A. stuck his head in the kitchen. "She's letting you cook?" he asked, incredulous.

"Hush. She's on the phone with her mom!"

Chastised, B.A. withdrew. Murdock turned the burner down and let the pasta simmer. He went back out into the living room. Frankie and Face were on the big sofa, swallowed by the cushions and wondering how they'd ever get up again. Hannibal had taken a seat in one of the wingbacks, and B.A. was looking around uneasily, uncomfortable in such completely feminine surroundings.

"The Yankee?" Bridget was saying. "What Yankee? Oh. Right. James. No, I don't guess I need to call him, seeing as how we broke up last week. Well, yes, that was a factor, I suppose. You can only tolerate a man mispronouncing the word 'car' for so long."

Murdock processed that bit of information, and glanced over at Face, who was trying to get out of the couch's grip. "Help," he finally said, but got no response from anyone. Frankie was in the same predicament, but was less vocal about it.

"Captain Murdock? She wants to talk to you…to all of you." Bridget put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Just be aware, she's a bit…er…overwrought."

"I'd be the same, if somebody kidnapped my daughter," Hannibal said, taking the phone, pulling rank on Murdock. "Mrs. Monroe? This is Hannibal Smith. Yes, ma'am, it was my pleasure to help your daughter. No, ma'am, it wasn't any trouble at all. Thank you, but I refuse to take so much as a penny from you or your fine family. No, ma'am, absolutely not. Right. Good. Thank you." He gestured to Face, who was still trying to escape from the couch. B.A. rolled his eyes and hauled him up, then went to rescue a still floundering Frankie.

All four of Bridget's rescuers were treated to gushing praise and thanks from Victoria Monroe, and at first Murdock figured that since he hadn't actually been involved in the operation, he wouldn't have to talk to her. But Frankie handed the phone to him and he looked at everybody, bewildered, before diving in.

"Uh…hi, Mrs. Monroe, this is…er…Captain Murdock."

"I thought Bridget said four men rescued her."

"Well, I was…er…elsewhere, but…anyway, I…"

"Well, I'm just so tickled to talk to you all. You just made my day." Victoria Monroe's Southern accent was twice as strong as Bridget's, but pleasant to listen to, and she sounded like a warm, happy-natured person, even if her voice was shaking from what had probably been at least forty-eight hours of frantic crying and praying. "You don't know what it's like, to lose somebody you love. It'll just tear you to pieces, son. I mean it – I've got five children and Bridget's the youngest – my only girl, and if I had lost her, I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably just go crazy with grief."

"Actually, I do know what that's like, ma'am…to a certain extent." He glanced at Bridget, who was combining ingredients for her tomato sauce and watching him. "And I know all about crazy."

Victoria didn't appear to hear him, she was so busy expounding on her joy and relief. "I'm so happy she's all right. So happy – so relieved. Her daddy and I can barely contain ourselves, and her brothers…well, we're lookin' forward to seein' her soon. She promised she'd come out as soon as she can, and as God as my witness, I'll talk her into staying in Savannah for good. No more of this notion of livin' California, amongst all that…well, I know it's not polite to say this, but I hated her livin' out there amongst all that trash. Yankees and left-coasters…besides the earthquakes and actors. Lord have mercy, every time I turn on the TV, there's another earthquake or a serial killer runnin' loose out there. I won't have it any more. My baby girl is comin' home, if I have any say in the matter."

"Well, you'll probably have a hard time convincing her, ma'am, but…give it all you can, I guess."

After a few more pleasantries, Murdock handed the phone back to Bridget, who talked with her mother for a few more minutes. When she hung up, the pasta was ready and the sauce was bubbling. The kitchen smelled of basil and garlic and other herbs, while the house was cooling down. Bridget made a pitcher of old-fashioned iced tea. Hannibal looked at his watch, noted they were running far behind, and gave up. Besides, he was starving and ready for a good meal. They all assisted Bridget in setting the table, and put on their best manners as they sat down at her formal dining table.

At first, everyone was silent. Bridget watched the men eat, fascinated. B.A. put his head down and tucked into his plate of pasta, which she had piled high. Murdock only seemed vaguely interested in his meal, pushing his pasta around on his plate until he caught Hannibal's hard look and forced himself to eat. Face exhibited perfect table manners, as did Hannibal. Frankie asked for seconds. She put the pasta and the sauce on the table, where the goats could get at it, as her mother would say, and left a little pasta on her plate when she was finished, like a proper belle. She had set the table with her best china and Francis I silverware, which made Murdock glance up at her. His mouth twisted a little, and she could have sworn he winked at her.

"I'm afraid I don't have any dessert," she said, when the plates were cleared and Face and Frankie were put on dish-washing duty.

"Doesn't matter. I don't have a sweet tooth, and we need to keep our girlish figures," Hannibal told her with a wicked grin.

Bridget laughed. B.A. was yawning, but suddenly snapped to attention and glared at Murdock. "You drugged my spaghetti, didn't you? You're gonna put me on another plane!"

"I did no such thing," Murdock said, with wounded dignity. "I am in charge of air support and morale, not pharmaceuticals."

"I ain't flyin' nowhere," B.A. said firmly. "No way."

Bridget's eyebrows lifted, and Hannibal grinned. "No matter. It's too late to fly out now. Murdock's too tired, and we all need some shut-eye. Dr Monroe, we'll clear out and get a coupla rooms for the night, and fly out tomorrow morning…"

"Isn't my place closer to the airport?" she asked.

"Yeah, a little, but it doesn't…" Hannibal started.

"Well, then, y'all can just stay here. My sofa folds out and I've got a spare bedroom with a queen-sized bed."

"There's five of us. One of us'd have to sleep with you," Face said, and a smile slowly spread across his face at that possibility, even though he was just joking. But his smile faded when Bridget looked at Murdock, whose cheeks reddened. He looked at Bridget again, and saw that she was blushing a little too.

"Well, there's a little couch in my office. One of y'all could fit on that, fairly comfortably. Listen, I insist on this. It's only fair, after all you've done for me. I won't hear any arguments, Colonel. Just pretend I outrank you."

Hannibal realized she wasn't going to take no for an answer, and nodded. "All right. Fair enough. But B.A. here is gonna go down to the local hardware store and get some new locks for your doors, because in my opinion, those things are out of date and untrustworthy. Got anything else around here that needs fixing?"

"Uh…well, there's a drip in the bathroom sink that drives me nuts sometimes…" she said, gesturing toward the master bath before thinking about it. Before she could even object, B.A. was on his feet and headed in there, inspecting the sink and making a quick diagnosis.

"Just needs some tightening up. An easy fix."

"Now listen here," she said to the big man as he started out the door. "You're my guests here. And I can hire a plumber!"

"Why? You have one here now, and he wears coveralls. Anything else?" Hannibal was in his element, taking charge and preparing to assign everybody to their jobs.

Bridget shook her head. She wasn't going to mention the toilet, which would occasionally run. She was not exactly a do-it-yourselfer. In fact, she admitted that she was mechanically derelict at best. "Um…no. Nothing else. Just…I really hope y'all will at least get some sleep."

"Oh, we will. Go on to bed. We'll have the sink fixed and the locks changed before you know it." Hannibal grinned at her. Bridget sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop them. It was like having five of the seven dwarves taking over her house – only they weren't dwarves. Hannibal was Doc. B.A. was Grumpy. She wasn't sure if Murdock was Bashful or Happy – it all depended on his current state of mind. None of them appeared to be Sleepy, but she was getting pretty tired herself, and after a while, she gave up and went into her bedroom, closing the door, and after a moment's thought and hoping they wouldn't be offended, locked it.

The room was cool and quiet, and after changing into her pajamas, she succumbed to paranoia and checked under the bed and in the closet. Assured that all was well, and feeling ridiculous, she climbed into her bed and lay there, listening and staring at the ceiling. The men were out there, talking and laughing, bickering a little, but clearly a family that loved and supported each other. She was glad to know that Captain Murdock had support from people who would lay down their lives for him if necessary.

She remembered Templeton's words – one of them would have to sleep with her. She hadn't been able to keep from looking at Murdock and at least thinking about that. How nice it would be to sleep with him. Maybe not even make love, but just lie there with him, listening to his breathing, feeling so warm and safe, and maybe giving him just as much comfort. Bridget moved to her side and hugged a pillow to her chest. She wasn't going to kid herself – she knew she would do more than just lie in bed with him.

Face had, at first, felt more than little ticked off that Murdock had apparently made a move on Bridget at some point, back at the motel. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that whatever moves had been made had been made long before, and obviously back at the VA. He watched Murdock work on one of Bridget's locks, expertly using an electric screwdriver to put in the new lock and deadbolt, and formed his words carefully.

"She's a beautiful woman, huh, Murdock?"

Murdock glanced up at him and shrugged.

"I mean, beautiful and classy, and a good cook to boot, and doesn't mind cooking. Hard to find a woman like that, these days."

"She's from the South," Murdock pointed out. He tested the locks and stepped back into the house, pulling the door shut and checking to see that everything was aligned properly. Satisfied, he put the screwdriver back in B.A.'s toolbox. "Southern women like to cook."

"Right." He checked his hands for any grease stains or cuts. He was never going to be much of a mechanic, mainly because he hated getting dirty. Murdock didn't mind a bit, and he was almost as good at B.A. and repairing and building things. The pilot went into the kitchen and began washing his hands, and Face followed him. "It's just a pity, you know?"

"A pity?" Murdock turned to look at him, brow furrowed.

"Yeah. A pity that what should have happened couldn't happen. I mean, it's always gonna have to be what might have been. Change the circumstances, and everything would be different."

Murdock's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Well…isn't it obvious?"

Expression guarded, Murdock dried his hands and glared at his friend, waiting. "I don't know yet. I hate it when you're cryptic."

Face smiled. "It was her, wasn't it?"

"Who?"

"Bridget. She's the woman you told me about. The one 'nothing' happened with, right? Yet again, you show excellent taste, by the way." He grinned, enjoying the expression that crossed Murdock's face. The pilot was a great actor, and superb at poker, but he couldn't hide everything for too long.

"Nothing did happen!" Murdock objected. "And she's better suited for you."

"How? She's not blonde, and she's smart…and she likes you."

"She doesn't," Murdock snapped. "And what is this, the fifth grade? Just stop right there. Don't even try it, Faceman. Not now. Not ever." He looked down, struggling to regain his self-control. "But I swear…I swear, if you hurt her, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Face asked, feeling a flash of anger at his friend for the first time since he'd found out Murdock had known about his father, and kept the secret until it was too late. "What will you do?"

"Just leave me alone, all right?" Murdock pushed past Face and stalked out of the kitchen. Face watched him leave, and his anger evaporated, replaced by sadness. He had no right to be angry at Murdock – the guy always tried to do the right thing, no matter how much it hurt him. But Templeton Peck wasn't about to let his best friend go through life alone and miserable when happiness was ripe for the taking. He was going to do what he could to help, starting tomorrow.

With a plan forming in his mind, Face went in search of Hannibal to discuss the matter.