CHAPTER NINE

1985

Face was keeping a watchful eye on Randy, who was congregated with his father and uncles near the entryway to the kitchen. It was something of a clique, it seemed. In fact, the older man hadn't given anyone else - not even Kelly - so much as a second glance. He was here for the company of his brothers; that much was perfectly evident. But Randy, drunk as hell and not even bothering to try and hide it, was looking for a fight with anyone or anything who'd step up.

It was interesting to see how the other little cliques had formed. Margaret and her mother and Aunt Ellen; and Andrew was usually with them. The aunts in two main groups. The older cousins mixed among each other, but not with the older or younger generations. The younger cousins were segregated, male and female, and further into two groups: one that was happy to be here and one that appeared thoroughly miserable. But at least, for the most part, the attention seemed to be off of Murdock.

Kelly was tending animals. Running a veterinary practice out of her home made that a legitimate excuse to step away. It gave Murdock a break, too. Whether or not she actually needed help was not important. He needed to help her. He needed a break.

"Hi." Face gave a perfect, charming smile as he stepped close to the attractive blonde who was practically drowning herself in her glass of wine. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."

The look on her face was a quick-changing slideshow of emotions – so fast it was almost hard to decipher them. His read was fast, but reliable; he trusted it. Startled, then fearful, relieved, suspicious, worried, curious, wary. "You're Murdock's friend," she said, as if that was the only thing she needed to know.

He extended a hand, crouching in on her personal space a little, just to see how she'd react. "Joseph Ranger."

She didn't move back, eyes raking him up and down. "Stacie Lipowski."

"Polish name?" He shook hands with her.

"Very, actually." She was still entirely distrusting, but the question had earned him points. He could tell by the slight change in her posture.

"Tell me something Stacie." The uneasy tone that filtered into his voice was unnatural, but he played it smoothly. "What am I missing here?"

She raised a brow. "Missing?" It was somewhere between an innocent question and a blatant challenge.

"Yeah. You see, I can't seem to figure out why everyone is so…" He paused, searching for a word. "So tense. I mean, my family get-togethers are as stressful as the next person's but this just seems so… I don't know… uncomfortable."

She smiled. It was a front. A challenge. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Hmm. Maybe it was the comment at dinner."

"Randy doesn't speak for everyone," she said flatly, her smile falling.

"Well no one seemed real anxious to speak for themselves."

"Kelly's family was against the war."

"The war was fifteen years ago."

"Some scars last longer than fifteen years."

"Some last forever. But I don't see what that has to do with Murdock. Or the fact that he's in love with your best friend."

She eyed him for a long moment, but there was distinctly less hostility in her tone when she continued. "The fact that he was in Vietnam means nothing to me. That's her family's problem, not mine."

"So what's your problem?"

It was direct. Maybe too direct. Part of him was fully expecting her to shut down on him. But she didn't. Instead, she put her head back and smirked at him, crossing her arms loosely with her empty glass hanging between her fingers. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He smirked. It was a challenge. And one he'd been waiting for. "Yes, I would. Do you have any suggestions for how I might pry it out of you?" he asked smoothly.

She raised a brow, then uncrossed her arms, holding up her glass. "You might start by getting me another glass of wine."

He laughed. He knew where this was going. Randy was standing in the kitchen right by that wine. She hadn't been near it since he'd positioned himself there. Part of Randy's attention was on the conversation he seemed to be having with his father. The other part was focused intently on Face. Face could feel it – like eyes on him.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," he chuckled.

She offered her glass, brow raised, not speaking.

Face took the glass, letting his fingers brush hers a little longer than strictly necessary. It was subtle, but she noticed. He could tell by the flash in her eyes. He turned toward the kitchen with a grin. The bait was cast.

He stepped past Randy, grabbed the uncorked bottle of cheap wine off the counter, and refilled her glass and then his.

"Hey."

He glanced up as Randy stepped in closer, crouching in on his personal space. Unaffected by the intrusion, Face merely smiled. "Hmm?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

Face stared at him, feigning confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Stay away from Stacie," Randy threatened. "You hear me?"

Face laughed, setting the bottle back down. "Very direct. I appreciate that."

"She doesn't need to be getting mixed up with your kind."

"My kind?" Face raised a brow.

"You know what I mean."

Face didn't know where Randy was keeping the liquor – probably in his pocket; Kelly had been adamant that only wine would be permitted at this gathering – but his breath reeked of it. Ignoring the threat, Face smiled and nodded. "How about we let Stacie determine what she needs, hmm?" He picked up the glasses, one in each hand. "It's my experience that women are pretty good at determining which men can keep up with them and," he gave a blatant glance up and down Randy's large frame, "which men can't."

Randy moved. Face was faster. He sidestepped the attempt to spill the drinks and leaned in to speak quietly into Randy's ear, dangerously close. "Hundred bucks says if you get me kicked out of this party, she comes home with me."

Face pulled back, smiled, waited for the answering threat. None came. Randy was fuming, but he was keeping it to himself. With a quiet chuckle, Face took a step back, then turned away. He crossed the room without interruption and offered Stacie her glass again.

"What was that about?" She sounded amused.

"Oh, just the usual… territory marking."

She sighed. "He never did quite understand the 'no trespassing' signs that were already on the territory he supposedly claimed."

Face took a sip of the wine. "Try 'trespassers will be shot'. It's more effective."

She looked him up and down slowly. He noticed it, and stood still, smiling at her appraisal. Confidence was never his problem; she'd like what she saw. "I don't have a gun," she finally answered. Face caught the innuendo by the way her gaze lingered near his waist. "For some reason, that tends to make a difference when you threaten. At least when you threaten people like Randy."

He watched her eyes as she looked back up at him, brows raised, waiting for his response. He grinned as he took another sip from his glass. "You can use mine if you'd like."

"Is it for sale? Or just for rent?"

"I'd like to retain ownership, if that's what you're asking. I'm rather attached to it."

She sipped her wine. "Good. I'd rather not have the maintenance responsibility."

"Is that your way of suggesting that I'm high maintenance?"

"You could be," she shrugged. "You look it."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Is that your way of suggesting that you don't require maintenance?"

He hesitated. "I think everybody needs some degree of maintenance. I wouldn't call mine 'high'."

She looked him up and down again, then took another sip of wine before setting it aside. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Absolutely." He set his own glass aside and slipped a hand behind her back as he guided her towards the back door.

1968

When Jonathan went home, it should've made Murdock very happy. For one thing, Jon was happy, and Murdock was happy for him. But maybe more importantly, it meant that there was a slot open for another AC. But the "promotion" Murdock had been expecting hadn't come.

Murdock bit his tongue as they put nineteen-year-old Mark Perrin in that position. But Perrin had only lasted a week and a half before he got himself shot up. At that point, Murdock was done biting his tongue. He'd had enough. Emboldened by frustration and restlessness, he walked into his commanding officer's quarters with his shoulders back and his head high.

"Sir!"

His CO, Captain James Paulsoto, was one of the calmest, most even-keel men Murdock had ever met. Murdock had never heard him so much as raise his voice. In casual conversation or crisis, he held the same, impassive expression. At thirty-five, he was already completely grey, but being in an active warzone had kept him fit and young-looking in spite of it.

For his part, Murdock was at this moment the very image of an Air Force officer, and he knew it. It was exactly what he wanted his CO to see. He was an officer. He was also the best damn pilot in the service. Supply runs were more than beneath him; they were a waste of his skills. And making him fly right side was just as senseless.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" He was going to get what he wanted, and right now to do that he needed to play the Air Force way. Formalities. If he played it by the book, he couldn't go wrong.

"Go ahead."

Murdock had been keeping his eyes forward locked on a spot on the far wall, just like he had been trained to. But now he looked "Paulie" right in the eye. May as well get straight to the point. "I am one of the best pilots on this base." Actually, he was the best pilot. But no need to point that out at the moment. "How come I'm still flying milk runs?"

"Because on this base, it is part of our job to supply local bases with whatever it is they need."

"It's also part of our job to transport teams and do extractions."

"You can fly with any AC who wants to take you. Your problem is you've burned your bridges with most of them and they won't take you."

Murdock's jaw tightened. Yes, he'd burned his bridges with a lot of the ACs. He didn't care then and he didn't care now. Flying a chopper wasn't about shooting civilians for fun. And he had absolutely no respect for the pilots who were flying while they were so high they couldn't even hold their hand out straight. Flying was supposed to be about who was the best - who could get their craft and their crew and cargo from point A to point B with the greatest efficiency. Here, it was about who could consistently keep everyone and everything in one piece while doing the jobs other guys were too scared to do. And there was no doubt in his mind, he could do that better than anyone else here.

"All the more reason to make me the AC," he said confidently. His voice was straight out of Officer's Training 101; he was great at imitations. "Then there is no need to worry about those bridges, Sir."

There was no immediate response. Paulie's expression was so hard to read, he gave nothing away. But Murdock was expecting that. He just waited patiently.

"And just what makes you think you'll be getting along any better with them if you've got your own chopper?" Paulie finally asked. Even in the flat calm of his tone, Murdock could hear the hint of challenge. "This is not a place for an individual to make himself the biggest and the best. We have a job to do and so far, you have failed to do step one of that job, which is to make yourself part of the coherent unit here."

There it was again. It had been around as long as he could remember; he didn't fit. He never had. But he'd never really thought would hold him back when it came to flying. In the Academy, he'd thought he had left that feeling of being ostracized behind. He was the best, in his classes and in the cockpit. They were all there for the same thing: to fly. He could do that better than any of them, but it never made him an outsider. It made him a challenge that other cadets had embraced.

In the Thunderbirds, he'd been surrounded by other pilots just like him: the best of the best. But, still, here it was again. The fact he was different – this time, that he was better than them – was keeping him back. This time, it had less to do with flying than personal morals and convictions. He had them. They did not. He wasn't willing to change that. He had learned to deal with being the outsider a long time ago; he could live with it. But here, in this place in this time, it set anger off in him. Here, it wasn't right!

"I was really wondering what you were gonna do when Jonathan went home. Because now you have to deal with those bridges you've burned."

How many teams were left behind, how many guys had died because he "burned bridges?" It was ridiculous – a waste on all levels. "I can sit here on base building bridges and learn how to play nice, keeping supplies safe," he said flatly. "Or I could be out there running the missions that no one else can, doing something that makes a difference. Saving soldiers." He paused, forcing himself to unclench his hands, forcing his voice to remain just as neutral as he had been taught, but it took an effort.

"What no one else can?" Paulie lit a cigarette, shaking his head. "Boy, you just don't get it, do you?"

"I don't have to prove anything. I just need a chance to do what everyone here knows I'm capable of doing. Sir."

Paulie dropped his lighter on the desktop as he dragged deeply, then looked back up at Murdock. "You really think you're the best damn thing to hit this base, don't you?"

His jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep himself in check. "I don't know and, respectfully, Sir…" He took a deep breath, trying to subdue the edge that had crept into his voice. "Respectfully, Sir, I don't care. What I do know is that I could make ninety percent of the pickups that other ACs won't."

This wasn't about pride, or being the top of his class. This was about knowing what he could do, what he could make a chopper do. Murdock had learned how to fly not just by the book, but by the feel. He knew what his bird could do for him, just like his heart knew how to beat.

There was a long silence. Long enough for Paulie to finish most of his cigarette before he finally nodded. "Fine. I'll get you a bird."

As soon as he heard the words, Murdock's body snapped up to attention, there was no stopping it. His own bird. He could feel the adrenaline rush already, feel something inside of him come to life, tingling and aware. His own bird. His. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes in satisfaction. Finally another chance to do what he was born to, what he was meant to do.

"But I'll tell you what, Lieutenant." Paulie leaned forward and crushed the cigarette out. "One fuck up out there, just one, and I swear to God, you'll never fly again. You hear me?"

Murdock had to fight not to smile at that. Murdock might be a fuck up on terra firma, but he wasn't in the air. Head high, mind and body aware and fully focused, Murdock nodded to his CO. "Heard and understood, Sir."

"Now get out of here."

Murdock gave a textbook salute as Paulie waved him, then spun neatly on his heel, just like he was on the parade grounds. As soon as he was out of the door his eyes were on the sky and his face broke into a huge grin. He was going back to where he belonged.