Hold it. You you mean you people gonna let this man continue to beat on your heads? There ain't nothin' in the world worth losing your pride for. Life don't mean nothin' unless you can hold your head up high. I know, 'cause I come from a place where the rats are as big as alley cats.
- BA, "Mexican Slayride"
Chapter 11: Cold Steel
"I don't know about this, guys," Face complained as his blue eyes took in the sight of the atmosphere of the outdoor rink beyond the windows of the warming center. He looked gestured helplessly at the thin piece of metal at the bottom of the rented ice skates before running a finger along the side of one of the cold steel blades. "Ice skating? I mean, I don't even like roller skating. At least roller skates have four wheels to balance on. This . . ."
Murdock was lacing up his own skates as he turned to watch what the Lieutenant was doing. "Careful, Face. It's . . ." he started to warn him, only a few seconds too late. He heard the con man yelp and saw him stick his finger into his mouth to try and staunch the flow of blood from the fresh cut. ". . . sharp," the pilot finished weakly.
Hannibal pulled the laces tight on his own skates. He had chosen to rent figure skates rather than hockey skates for a reason, and had also recommended for Face and Murdock to do the same. For the other two, the toe picks on the figure skates would make it easier for the two men to become acclimated to being able to move around on the ice . . . but for himself, this was a chance to get back into doing something that he had enjoyed in his youth. He flashed his second in command a huge, disarming grin as he encouraged, "Come on, Lieutenant. It'll be fun! I used to skate all the time when I was a kid in Michigan, and a few times when we visited Chicago. It's a blast!"
"'Sides," Murdock interjected once more with a sly grin on his face as he glanced over the ice. His warm brown eyes spotted two girls out there, not even wearing a winter jacket. Both had earmuffs on that wrapped around their hair . . . one had jet black hair as dark as night, and the other with blonde hair that seemed to shimmer like gold. How she was able to withstand the cold, he had no idea, but he did appraise what she was wearing. "Looks like you might meet a couple of girls wearing some swimsuits with little skirts."
Face's gaze followed Murdock's out toward the rink and spotted the girls that the pilot had just mentioned, who were skating backwards in a circle. He also saw a couple of other young women who were well bundled up, who were casually skating around. There also seemed to be a young mother on the ice with her six-year-old daughter, and a couple of teenage boys who were playing tag with each other. The two boys wore a different type of ice skate compared to what Hannibal had them rent. The blades on their skates, from what he saw, didn't have the toe picks. He still had no idea why Hannibal insisted on renting him the figure skates . . . much less any kind of ice skates for that matter. Sure, the Colonel claimed the figure skates were easier, but the last thing he needed was to break his neck.
"Yeah, plenty of girls where I can make a fool of myself in front of them," he responded dismally. He was not looking forward to trying this, although that sentiment quickly changed when he saw the two girls who had been skating backwards glance in his direction. They each gave him a very small wave and a shy smile before they turned to each other with a slight giggle. He flashed them a smile as he appraised their beauty, and inwardly thought that ice skating probably wasn't going to be as bad as he first assumed.
Hannibal chuckled at Murdock's observation and his Lieutenant's subsequent expression. "They're called skating dresses, Murdock, not swimsuits," he pointed out, grinning around his cigar. Even though this was Mrs. B's idea, the cunning strategist fully believed that this was exactly what Face needed to help him get into the holiday spirit. There was nothing in the world like ice skating in the middle of winter, especially at an outdoor rink with freshly fallen snow surrounding it.
"Looks like swimsuits to me," the pilot commented, shrugging his shoulders. His long, slender fingers pulled the laces tightly over the last of the eyelits, and then tied the laces off into a neat bow. Satisfied that both were snugly laced up, he stood up in order to become more acclimated to standing on two thin blades. He was very adept at roller skating, but ice skating was totally new to him. The balance on the blades came naturally to him, which caused a huge grin to appear upon his face. "C'mon, guys. Last one on the ice is a purple penguin!" Murdock said excitedly as he made his way to the door.
'Purple penguin?' Face mouthed before he shook his head. One thing he had to hand to his best friend . . . he was certainly imaginative. That sometimes proved to be his greatest asset, which helped with the various scams to bust him out of the VA. In spite of the two young ladies that seemed to have taken an interest in him, he still wasn't so sure about all of this ice skating stuff. As such, he decided to make one last stab at getting out of this. "Hey, guys, I'm really tired from all the walking we did at the Museum today. How 'bout I sit here and watch while you . . ."
"Lieutenant," Hannibal said sternly with a slight jerk of his head in the direction of Mrs. Baracus. This was her day, and he wasn't about to let the sullen second in command ruin it for her with his dismal attitude. She had opened her heart and her home to them . . . twice . . . and she deserved to have a day filled with as much happiness as possible. It was the least they could do for her. A bright twinkle began to dance in his eyes as he surveyed the glum conman. He had a way of getting Face to take part in this, and still make it his choice . . . although he likely wouldn't be too happy with what would happen if he chose not to join in this activity. "Besides, skating is a great exercise. Keeps us from getting flabby. Almost as good as a training exercise," he added with a broad grin . . . a victorious grin, knowing he had the upper hand.
Sure enough, Face's mouth immediately opened, ready with a hot retort. Seeing Hannibal's grin, he instead gave his Commanding Officer a withering glare. He hated the Colonel's training sessions . . . a fact that likely wasn't lost on the mind of the silver-white haired leader when he mentioned that. He knew that it was useless to argue with Hannibal when he was this way, and if he had tried to get out of this completely, he probably would end up having to pay for it at the next training session. Begrudgingly, he fumbled with the laces as he tried to tie his skates.
Murdock was the first out on the ice, stepping out through the door in the dasher boards. His natural grace and sense of balance, along with his skill with roller skating, allowed him to catch on quickly. He let out an ear-spitting howl of pure joy as he picked up speed and raced around the NHL-sized rink, not at all phased by the cold. A few of those already on the ice looked in his direction at the sound of the howl, but then returned to their own on-ice activities. For the lanky Texan skating wasn't like flying, but with how fast he was going, he felt the same thrill and sense of control that he normally felt behind the controls of a plane or chopper.
Hannibal exited the warming center and discarded his cigar into a nearby ash receptacle before gingerly stepping through the door and out onto the ice. It had been a long time since he had been ice skating due to the time in the military and being on the run, but his mom had always told him that it was just like riding a bike. One may not do it for a while, but it'd always come back to them. Sure enough, after he skated a few feet, he quickly found the rhythm. His lips curled up into a smile as it all came back to him . . . a smile so bright that it seemed like it could light up the whole neighborhood. Feeling emboldened by how quickly this skill set returned to him, he considered trying to do something more advanced that he learned as a kid in Michigan, but decided to hold off for a bit until he had a chance to warm up.
As he skated around the edge of the ice near the dasher boards, he took an opportunity to admire the architecture both north and south of the Midway Plaisance, where this particular rink was located. The buildings were of a classical design, almost like some of the towering cathedrals one would find in France . . . the country where he had been stationed before being shipped to Vietnam. These buildings belonged to the University of Chicago, which was well renown in the field of medicine. Although the sun had set some time ago and illumination was provided to the skaters by some strategically placed field lights, he noted that there were only a small handful of windows on the buildings that bore any amount of brightness. With it so close to Christmas, the school was likely out on its winter break . . . which was fortunate for them, otherwise the rink probably would have had a lot more people using it.
As he circled back around toward where he had first stepped onto the rink, he saw BA help his mother through the doors and out onto the ice as well. Once they took to the cold surface and headed toward the center of the rink, he noted how at ease both of them were skating. He even marveled at how smoothly BA was skating, rather incongruous considering his large muscular size, but the Sergeant often surprised him with his speed and agility.
Templeton Peck, on the other hand, wasn't faring as well. Although he had laced his skates up, he wobbled uncertainly with each step he took, almost like the newborn baby chicks at the Museum of Science and Industry. To a trained skater, the wobble was indicative of someone who either was wearing skates that were a couple of sizes too big, or they weren't laced up properly to provide the ankle support that was needed. Face clung onto the door for dear life and let out a groan as he realized that he had to somehow get across a twenty foot span without anything to help hold him up just to get to the hockey boards and get onto the ice. Letting go of the door, he hurriedly took a few steps to try and get to the boards as fast as possible, so he could have something to hold onto. His steps were very uncertain, but he finally managed to make by practically throwing himself at the molded hard plastic boards that encircled the perimeter of the rink.
As he pulled himself up into a standing position, or at least as close as possible to something that resembled it, he spotted the two boys chasing each other and playing tag. Their movements were smooth and graceful, almost as if the blades of the skates were extensions of their own feet and legs. Well, if two kids could skate that well, he could do so as well, couldn't he? After all, Hannibal, Murdock, BA and Mrs. B were making it all look like there was nothing to this ice skating stuff . . .
He cautiously stepped out onto the ice, almost as if he was afraid that putting too much weight on it would cause it to crack under his blades. The blonde-haired con man kept a vice-type grip on the hockey boards in order to desperately remain upright. His blue eyes looked out over the rest of the ice rink, and he caught sight of Hannibal who deftly switched his position and started skating around the rink backwards. As the Colonel started to pass him by, the Lieutenant gave him a determined smile and let go of the dasher boards . . .
He drew in a breath and tried to take a step forward. The moment he lifted his right leg, he immediately started to lose his balance. Instinctively, he spread his arms out to his side, almost like a tightrope walker would do in the circus . . . although his effort looked more like flailing than a graceful attempt to restore some semblance of control. He tried to bring his right leg back down and almost doubled over as if someone had hit him in the gut before his feet flew out from under him, causing Face to fly backwards and land in an undignified heap on the ice.
Trying not to laugh at what just happened, John Smith performed a t-stop on the ice. He then skated up to the helpless con artist and stretched forward a hand to try and help him up. "Having a problem, Lieutenant?" Hannibal asked with a grin.
Face let out a sigh as he grabbed the Colonel's hand. Although his Commanding Officer tried to help him back to his feet again, he kept sliding forward due to the added momentum of being helped up. Although Hannibal had gotten him to his feet, he was able to stay there for about five seconds before he started to lose his balance again! "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he slipped, lunging forward in a wild grab to try and get something more stable to hold onto to keep himself from falling again. Unfortunately, that something just so happened to be the silver-white haired leader of the A-Team.
"Well, Face, I didn't realize you were that glad to see me," Hannibal chuckled, trying to make light of an obviously embarrassing moment for his Lieutenant. Still, with the younger man within his arms, he moved skated them closer to the dasher boards just so he'd have something else to hang on to and prevent both of them from crumpling to the ice.
Once they were close enough, Face automatically shifted to grab onto the hard plastic white boards that lined the rink. It took a bit, but eventually he was able to get his feet under him and get back to a relatively standing position. He glared at the Colonel, completely jealous of how graceful his Commanding Officer was on ice skates. There had to be some kind of a secret that he knew, which he wasn't sharing, on how to do this and not make a fool of himself. He glanced over to the two women who had waved to him earlier, and noticed that they were now giggling . . . and at him! His face flushed with embarrassment, as this certainly wasn't the way he had expected to get the attention of a woman. Ice skating was supposed to have been romantic, from what he had remembered hearing from others . . . but what he was doing was anything but romantic! Returning his focus to his mentor, he asked him with exasperation, "Hannibal, how do you get around on these things?"
A sparkle danced with amusement in the ice blue eyes of Colonel John Hannibal Smith. He was clearly on the Jazz, and practically loving every moment of this. He flashed a huge smile to Face as slowly skated next to him and leaned against the dasher boards. "You have to learn how to walk before you can run, Lieutenant. The same is true for ice skating. You need to learn how to maintain your balance and move around before you can try anything more advanced."
"More advanced?" Face parroted incredulously. He looked at Hannibal like he had two heads growing out of his body, instead of just one, wondering exactly what he meant by that. His blue eyes spotted Murdock as the pilot skated by in such a way like he had been born with ice skates on his feet. His movements were so smooth and natural, and the grin on his face showed just how much fun he was having . . . like he didn't have a care in the world, which made the con artist jealous. The most he'd be happy for, at this point, was just staying on his feet and having nothing else bruised beyond his ego.
"More advanced," Hannibal repeated with a devilish grin on his face. He looked over to the pair of figure skaters and gestured to them just for a prime example. Almost as if on cue, one of them started racing around the rink to build up speed, and then headed back for their section of the ice. She turned around to start skating backwards and then launched herself in the air, spinning around with her hands drawn up close to her body, before landing solidly and gracefully on one leg. "You know . . . jumps, spins, skating backwards . . . stuff like that."
"Oh boy," Face moaned bleakly and then sighed. This was definitely going to be a long evening . . .
Letting out a sigh, Adele Baracus eased her tired body down into one of the chairs facing the rink inside the warming center. She was still breathing heavily from the exertion with the skating and began to wonder if she was getting too old for this kind of exercise. That thought was soon cast aside as she watched her "boys" play on the ice. Ever since Scooter had introduced his friends to her, she had come to think of the entire A-Team as her boys . . . even Hannibal, in spite of the fact that he was almost as old as she was.
She had to figure that being on the run from the military had to be tough on all of them and they likely didn't get much of a chance to relax and just play around. That was why she had suggested reinstating the old family tradition of going ice skating right before Christmas. She had always loved those moments . . . skating with her husband and with Scooter. It brought back plenty of pleasant memories . . .
She looked out through the windows, her eyes catching Scooter as he took a swing at the lanky Texan. Murdock was literally skating circles around BA, and the look on her son's face was absolutely priceless. She laughed as she watched the two of them, with the pilot egging on the muscular mechanic, and BA trying to take another couple of swings that completely missed Murdock's agile and wry figure before he started to chase after him on the ice. The Captain let out a whoop of laughter as his long limbs and natural, graceful skating ability kept him just out of BA's reach.
Her focus shifted to find the other two members of the A-Team. She winced in sympathy as she saw Face loose his footing once more hand land heavily onto the ice. This wasn't the first time he had fallen since putting his ice skates on, and the poor man was going to be incredibly sore the next day . . . heck, the next few days with the punishment his body was going through. She noticed that his eyes burned with frustration and anger . . . likely at his own inability to ice skate . . . as a couple of young skaters whizzed past him, their movements much more fluid than he could ever manage.
She watched as Hannibal helped to pick him up once more. As he did so, the Colonel's eyes rose to meet hers, twinkling merrily with laughter. She watched as he showed a great deal of patience as he focused his attention back to the frustrated Lieutenant and tried to show him a few basic maneuvers that could help him stay on his feet, much less move around. Although she didn't get much of a chance to talk to Hannibal after that one time in her apartment, she could tell that he was not only a good listener, but he had a wisdom beyond his years. It didn't take much to figure out that Scooter hadn't been honest with her about being the head of the A-Team . . . not with how Hannibal had eventually taken charge when she was trying to be run out of her apartment. It would be her little secret . . .
Settling back into her chair, her thoughts turned back to the events from earlier in the day. She was glad that Spencer had agreed to give her the day off so she could show off her home town to her son's friends. She loved Chicago, as there was always so much to see and do, but during the Christmas season, the season became practically magical. She loved seeing the expressions on the rest of the A-Team's faces at some of the elaborate decorations the city had put up, especially with Buckingham Fountain and the Magnificent Mile. Murdock had taken in everything with the wonderment of a child seeing Christmas lights for the first time, and Hannibal really seemed to enjoy it as well. Face only seemed mildly impressed, but not as much as the others. Either way, this was something that she wanted to do since the last time they had been in Chicago, they had come to help her keep her home and didn't really have time to look around and enjoy the city.
A slight frown appeared upon her face as she thought about what happened at the Museum. She really had been looking forward to showing the A-Team where she worked. Everything was going so well, and all of them had really been enjoying the experience, until Scooter had to make his phone call from her office. Spencer returning early from his meetings created a situation . . . she didn't quite understand it, but there had definitely been a shift in the atmosphere as a result, and not for the better either.
That brought back memories of when Scooter and his friends met her new boss and boyfriend the previous evening at her apartment. There had been a certain amount of tension in the air, but she hadn't really paid attention to it and figured that they were just feeling each other out. She knew that Scooter cared deeply about her, and so did his friends. Naturally, they would be cautious anytime they'd end up meeting one of her friends or associates until they could be certain that they wouldn't try to cash in on the reward on their heads. But, that was yesterday, so she certainly had not expected the air of subdued hostility in their actions today.
"Mama?"
The sound of Scooter's voice had startled her. He looked like he had been having so much fun out there that she hadn't expected him to have gotten off the ice and follow her into the warming center. She remained silent for a moment, almost as if too surprised by her son's decision to follow her inside rather than be out there with the rest of his friends.
"Are you okay, Mama?" BA asked again. His voice was soft and tender, showing how much he was concerned for his mother . . . especially with how she hadn't answered him. From the way she had jumped, it was clear that she had been thinking of something and he had interrupted her train of thought. But, for her to not answer him right away? Either she had been thinking about something serious, or something was wrong.
Snapping out of it, Mrs. B gave her son a bit of a reassuring smile . . . even if it was slightly forced. She hated Scooter knowing that something was wrong, simply because of the fact that she didn't want to worry him. He had enough on his mind with being on the run. "I'm okay, Scooter," she tried to reassure him, patting the seat to her right as an indication that she welcomed his company and wanted him to sit down next to her.
BA moved around and plopped down in the chair next to her, as he indicated. As he did so, he followed his mother's gaze as she looked back out toward the ice. He noticed that Murdock had joined Hannibal, and was acting almost like a one-man cheerleading squad for the frustrated con man. Although Hannibal was trying to show him the basics so he could stay on his feet, it was clear from the way that Murdock was moving . . . really emphasizing his movements . . . that he was also trying to provide Face with some much-needed encouragement.
Face tried to get up again and skate around, only to have his feet fly out from under him once more, causing him to land painfully on the ice. The expert mechanic couldn't help but to wince in sympathy at the Lieutenant's dismay. BA noted how Face normally had a grace about him whenever he moved . . . a smoothness that also helped him to project the charm in order to win people over and be successful in conning others. Heck, he had seen con man perform several athletic feats that involved jumping which would impress an Olympic gymnast, plus he could sometimes hold his own in a fight when he wasn't out-matched by someone bigger than him. But, it seemed painfully obvious to the Sergeant that the man just wasn't designed to have blades under his feet.
"Crazy foo'. Don't know when to quit," BA muttered as he watched the pilot's antics. Murdock got on his nerves, probably a lot more than he'd like to admit, but sometimes what he did amused him . . . even if he didn't want to always admit it. They were good friends, and he knew that Murdock would give his life to save any of them . . . and very nearly did a couple of years prior when he took that bullet meant for Hannibal. He just wished that, sometimes, Murdock wouldn't annoy him so much and they'd stop trying to drag him on planes and choppers all the time.
Mrs. B looked over to her son for a moment and smiled. She marveled once more at the strange love/hate relationship that Scooter had with Murdock, almost like what close brothers would have sometimes. It warmed her heart to know that, in spite of the disfunctionality, the members of the A-Team were very much like a family and her boy wasn't alone out there.
She returned her gaze out to the ice, and just in time too. Hannibal suddenly skated away from his two men, building up speed. He switched his position to where he started skating backwards and then launched himself into the air! He spun around once, and then landed on his right foot with only a slight, almost imperceptible trace of a wobble. She could see that he had only a huge grin on his face after doing that single axel jump . . . a grin that seemed to be brighter than all of the lights shining down on the rink, dispelling the darkness of night that had descended around them. Mrs. Baracus saw the Colonel as skated back over to rejoin Murdock and Face and noted how the wry pilot was clapping and cheering for all he was worth. The young con artist looked even more frustrated, but also mildly impressed as well.
"Wonder where he learned to do that," BA mused to himself. He was suitably impressed by what he had just seen Hannibal do, and really had no idea where he had learned that from. Then again, the Colonel had kept a lot about his past from the rest of them . . . not that any of them made a big deal about it. After all, the man was a brilliant strategist and kept them all alive in Vietnam, and even now kept them from being captured by the military and thrown into a federal stockade for the rest of their lives.
"He's a pretty incredible man," Mrs. B agreed as she continued to observe the trio on the ice. It wasn't long before her thoughts again drifted from the Colonel, who was an amazing person, to another wonderful man who had entered her life. A frown crossed her face as she looked away. Why couldn't Scooter and the others see as she did that Spencer was a true gentleman and incredibly sweet? She then recalled the harsh tone that he had used with her earlier, but she quickly pushed that thought aside. He had every right to be angry. She shouldn't have let her son into his office without Spencer's permission.
BA looked over to his mother and immediately picked up on how silent she had fallen once more. And there was no mistaking the frown that appeared upon her face. Something obviously troubled her and was making her unhappy, hence the sudden change in her expression. "Somethin' bothering you, Mama?" he asked gently.
"Why would you think that?" she responded simply, refusing to meet his gaze.
Inwardly, he could feel his anger start to boil up within him, but he held it in check. Just the fact that she didn't look at him was a clear indication that something was wrong, which confirmed his observation. He instinctively clenched his hands into fists, but tried to keep his voice from growling as he persisted, "I noticed you sittin' over here all by yourself. You looked sad, and now you won't look at me. What's wrong? Somebody hurt you?"
Adele turned to face her son, her dark eyes meeting his. She could tell that he was searching for something as their eyes locked, yet . . . the longer that their gazes held one another, the more that Mrs. Baracus started to see something she hadn't seen before. It was almost as if she was looking into the eyes of her late-husband. Scooter reminded her of him in so many ways. He was so very protective and intuitive, just like Albert used to be, but it was more than that. When she looked at Bosco, she saw Albert's spirit, his strength, his courage, his devotion, and his love. It comforted her to know that, in some way, her husband lived on through her son.
She reached up to check to make sure the bun within her hair was still tight and there were no loose strands of hair dangling from it. Initially, she wanted to tell him that it was his imagination and that she was perfectly fine, but her lips had other ideas. "Why don't you like Spencer?" she blurted out, before snapping her mouth shut in surprise. She had wanted to keep the hurt she felt at their animosity to herself, but now that the question was asked, she shifted her position within her chair to look even more closely at her son.
BA's expression became guarded as he considered her question. He hadn't expected her to just come out and ask something like that, especially with how she had kept trying to reassure him over the last few moments that she was fine. "Whatcha mean, Mama?" he wondered, trying to look innocent. Trying to look innocent when he realized he was caught red handed had never worked well for BA, especially with his mother.
Even though she was sitting down, Mrs. B put a hand on her left hip and looked at her son very sternly. "I may be old, Bosco Baracus, but I'm not stupid!" Her voice was firm and unwavering, a very clear indication that he wasn't going to get off the hook easily on this one.
BA winced at the use of his full name. Now it was his turn to avoid his mother's gaze. He looked away and began to unconsciously twist one of the gold rings, encrusted with diamonds, on his left pinky finger. Obviously, the A-Team had not been subtle enough in the beginnings of their investigation of Spencer Jackson and they had ended up hurting his Mama anyway. He could hear the pain and confusion in her voice. After a few moments of silence, he stopped twisting his ring, let out a sigh and began to explain, "Something just doesn't feel right, Mama." His voice was quiet and deadly serious as he put his hands back into his lap and raised his eyes to meet hers. "This guy comes barging into your life, starts giving you expensive presents, and you don't hardly know him . . ."
"It's the presents that are bothering you?" she jumped in, cutting off her son before he could say anymore. Mrs. Baracus looked at Scooter as silence filled the air around them for a moment, almost as if searching for some kind of confirmation. She could see it in his eyes, even though she didn't give him a chance to finish what he was first starting to say. "Baby, I know this man better than you think. He happens to be a very generous man. Just 'cause he gives an old woman some gifts, that doesn't make him a bad man, honey."
"It's not just that, Mama," BA said softly. He returned to twisting another diamond encrusted gold ring, this one sitting on his right pinky finger, as he tried to search for the right words to explain the feelings that he and the rest of the Team got from Spencer. He had never really been good with words. His growls and scowls on his face often said more than he did verbally . . . and when he did choose to vocalize something, he was often brutally honest, direct, and to the point. Talking to people was usually Hannibal and Face's department. Even Murdock, the crazy fool, was better at expressing himself than he was.
The muscular mechanic drew in a breath as he wryly thought about the talent of the other members of the Team with words, compared to himself. But, when it came to his Mama, he usually didn't have any problems talking to her about stuff . . . until now. Letting out a sigh, he decided it was best to dive right in and get to the point. "I don't know . . . it's just . . . well . . . over the years, me 'n the guys have got a sense about people, you know? We learned to trust our guts, and when someone makes us nervous, there's a good reason for it."
"And Spencer makes you nervous?" Mrs. B saw a slight but hesitant nod from Scooter, which meant that they had suspicions about him. He was just finding it hard to come out and say it, although she understood why. It was hard for him, and she knew that he didn't want to hurt her feelings. In fact, she choked back the desire to defend Spencer or to tell her son that it wasn't any of his business. She had to remind herself that he . . . no, all of them were concerned because they cared about her. She glanced out over the ice and watched the other members of the A-Team for a moment before looking back at her son. There was no mistaking the set look of determination upon her face, and even if she wanted to defend Spencer she knew her protests wouldn't do much good anyway. Besides . . . what if they were right?
"What are you boys going to do?" she asked in a strained whisper.
BA looked at his mother and realized that he really hated to see her like this. He took her hand and gently traced the calluses on her word-hardened palms. She deserved some happiness after the hard life she had lived, and after all of this time since Papa died, not more pain and heartache. If Spencer did turn out to be the slimeball that they all thought, that would hurt her worse if she wasn't prepared for the possibility. That thought spurred his determination to get to the bottom of this before his Mama got hurt any worse than she already was. It was why Hannibal had wanted him to talk to his Mama about all of this . . . to provide her with the answer to the question she had just asked and make her aware of what they were going to do. She had a right to know.
"Hannibal . . . he's got a plan. We're gonna check him out. Maybe he is what you think. If so, he won't even know what we gone and done. Hannibal promised we wouldn't do anything 'til we got more to go on. Okay, Mama?" he explained. His voice was gentle and calm, and almost seemed as if he was pleading for her understanding and blessing to pursue this. Not that the lack of her blessing would stop them either if it meant keeping her safe.
Letting out a bit of a sigh, Adele Baracus clasped her hand around her son's, and then placed her other hand over it, enclosing his hand firmly in both of hers. She smiled sadly as she gazed deeply into his eyes, seeing nothing but love and caring from her strong boy. "You need to do what you think is best, baby. I know you'll be careful. I still don't think there's anything to find, but if this is the only way to ease your minds about him, I won't stop you," she told him, her voice trailing off once more into silence as she gave his hand a quick squeeze for reassurance.
BA drew his mother into a tender hug, realizing that was probably as good as they were going to get as far as a blessing from her on this matter. He pulled away as he saw Face enter the warming center moments later, still clutching onto anything he could to keep himself upright. He had a pronounced limp as he practically threw himself the remaining few feet from the door to the chair next to Mrs. B, almost collapsing to the ground in the process. Pulling himself up into the seat and let out a huge sigh of relief.
Murdock followed him inside with a huge grin that practically stretched from ear to ear. "That was fun! We should go ice skating more often," the pilot raved. It was his first time actually ice skating, but it was so close to roller skating that it had been easy for him to make the transition.
Upon hearing that statement from his best friend, Templeton Peck emitted a cross between a groan and a desperate whimper. Here he was, in tremendous pain, having actually been on the ice in a prone or seated position . . . or something that resembled it . . . more often than he had been standing. This may have been Mrs. B's definition of fun, or even Murdock's or Hannibal's, but it clearly wasn't his. He winced as he bent over to try and unlace his skates. Even that simple movement required not only a lot of exertion, but also resulted in a tremendous amount of pain running through is body.
Hannibal was only a few steps behind Murdock and overheard the comment from the Captain. "Maybe so, but I think Face has had enough for tonight," he chuckled at the con man's misfortune. He glanced back out to the ice for a moment and actually saw that the rink had been cleared and the Zamboni was being pulled out onto the ice. A fond memory was recalled when he saw the machine begin its ice making run. He didn't let his thoughts dwell on it for too long before he returned his attention back to everyone else . . . but especially his Lieutenant. "It's been a long day for everyone, and I think we're all ready to retire."
Although he knew that he and the rest of his unit needed to get some rest, sleep wasn't the only thing he had planned. There were still those bugs that they had planted, and they needed to see what kind of juicy information they would turn up on Spencer Jackson.
Mrs. B smiled at Hannibal and nodded, finding the wisdom in his words. Truthfully, with everything that had gone on today, she was starting to feel a bit tired herself and some sleep would do her a world of good. "That's a good idea, Hannibal," she noted before starting to untie her skates. She glanced up in the process of doing so and saw that it was starting to snow. The large flakes fell peacefully to the earth, a sharp contrast to the turmoil raging in the heart of a gentle, elderly woman.