Part XIV - Promises

B.A. was still staring at the closed door as they heard the car restart and leave.

"Sergeant - you need to hit the rack."

"Hannibal? What if that Solo guy is takin' advantage of how Murdock is? Fool's as trusting as a kid. Naive as one too."

Much as B.A. could and did complain about Murdock, he tended to worry about the pilot. Him picking on Murdock was one thing. Other folks picking on him was quite another.

"I know, B.A. I know. But we need to find Face. That guy might be our only lead. And let's face it, if he's done all this to play with Murdock's mind, he's gone to some pretty big lengths for it."

"Just all sounds crazy, Hannibal. Murdock's got enough problems without other folks addin' to them."

"That's the real question, isn't it, B.A."

"Huh? You lost me, Colonel. What real question?"

"I knew Murdock was occasionally getting orders from way up the chain. Pilots with his skills don't grow on trees."

"Just swing from 'em occasionally."

"Let's not begrudge the man his tire swing, B.A. But I have to admit all this gets me to wondering-"

The next part he didn't say out loud. He had wondered why they had suddenly decided that Murdock was crazy. Wasn't like the pilot hadn't always been different. Could it be that someone didn't want to lose the resource of one of the best pilots out there? Was it a way to make sure that Murdock didn't have to face the firing squad?

Murdock's 'crazy' did seem to come and go at times, but it sure never affected his ability to pilot a plane or helicopter. Murdock's worst day at the helm were better than most stick jockeys' best day. What if someone did something to make Murdock seem crazier than he actually was? Hannibal had heard of things like hypnotic suggestions. Sighing, he shook his head. Why would anyone do that to Murdock? If he started in with conspiracy theories, he was going to go crazy himself.

"Wondering what, Hannibal?"

"Nothing, B.A. - nothing at all. Hit the rack. I've got a feeling tomorrow's going to be a long day."

In the car with Napoleon, Murdock rambled a bit until the U.N.C.L.E. agent started asking questions. One of the ones about Vietnam took him down a road he didn't normally care to remember, but once he started, he didn't see a reason to stop. Actually, despite the pain, it felt good to actually let some of it out. He and the guys rarely mentioned their times in the war among themselves and when they did, they generally stuck to the occasional bright spots. POW camps never rated as bright spots.

Talking about those days with the doctors? He'd just be giving them ammunition. Civilians? No. Just no. Still way too many of them that wanted to blame him and the others for the policies invented by politicians. He tried to explain to one of the protestors once that yelling at him for the U.S. being in Vietnam at all was like yelling at the girl in a McDonald's takeout window for the fact that the place sold hamburgers. Folks were directing their rants to the wrong end of the chain of command.

This felt different though. Napoleon had been a soldier in an overseas war as well. He was safe to talk to. He understood the difference between being at home and being in the middle of a damn war zone. Where the zipping noises weren't bugs flying by your ear - they were bullets. Where the thunder came from bombs and not storms.

He barely even remembered reaching the hotel or laying down on the bed, but when he woke up the next morning, Murdock felt like a miracle had occurred. No nightmares. No dreams. Just sleep. Murdock couldn't even remember the last time that had happened, but it felt wonderful. He bounced out of bed and dove into the shower while Napoleon made a room service call.

Murdock didn't take a lot of time in the shower. He was out, dried and dressed before room service arrived. As Napoleon took his turn at the shower, Murdock pulled on his sneakers as he hummed a Doors tune. Which was fitting since his t-shirt of the day featured Jim Morrison.

The food arrived just as Napoleon finished up. Excitement at seeing old friends again made it possible for Murdock to eat. He was still worried about Face, of course, but figured that once they were all together, rescuing Illya and Face would be a done deal.

Singing April Showers and other movie tunes seemed a great way to pass the time it took to get to the airport. And then? There she was. His almost twin. He and April had compared notes - they were within two months of each other in age - close enough for almost twin status in his book. Higgins was closer to Hannibal in age. Murdock sincerely doubted that they were almost twins though. Mark wasn't into cigars.

And then? Then he wished he had arms long enough to give that helicopter the hug that he wanted to. Once he was off the ground in Junebug II, he flew her around a little to get a better feel of his newest girl. There wasn't any rush. Traffic would slow down Napoleon's drive and he didn't want to get to Hannibal and B.A. too far ahead of Napoleon. Not with the way B.A. freaked when it came to flying.

April had on her helmet and mike, using it to be heard over the rotors and engine noises.

"Is it good, Howler?"

"Oh, it is better than good, April Showers. So much better than good."

That sentiment was very different to the one that Face was feeling.

As a general rule, Face just didn't do the whole guilt thing. At least, he tried not to. But even though he was currently being held prisoner in a far from comfortable chair, he had it a lot better than the man across from him.

Face had been drug off, stripped, allowed to take care of body wastes, cleaned, stuffed into a clean pair of shorts, fed and given both juice and water. Plus, he was sitting. Illya was in a very different situation even though they were in the same room.

Illya was hanging from manacles and he had no choice but to remain standing unless he wanted to put strain onto his arms and shoulders. Half of his clothes had been cut off and they hadn't allowed him the dignity of going to a bathroom. Hell, they hadn't allowed him the dignity of a bucket. They hadn't given him any food or water either. The only thing that the woman had given him were long, shallow cuts that had oozed blood, now dry and crusty on his skin.

"Do not do that."

The unexpected voice snapped Face out of his thoughts. He'd thought the quiet man was unconscious.

"Don't do what?"

"Feel responsible for the actions of others. And also, you need to keep taking whatever food and drink is offered to you."

"I know I can't do anything about those guys yet, but I don't want to be eating in front of you. That makes it feel like I'm helping them torture you."

"Peck? Face. Listen to me. The time may come when they let down their guard. When that time comes, if you are too weak to take advantage of it, what good is it to either of us? So eat. Drink. Take any advantage that they give you and stay strong. For both of us."

In the back of his mind, Face wondered if the guys would even ever believe this. Face, the ultimate example of a guy out for himself - having to be talked into taking care of himself by someone else. Not that Face ever had been in it just for himself. He'd made sure to take care of the other guys, sure - but he'd made sure he was never lacking.

He felt the blue eyes watching him and knew that Illya was waiting for an answer. He looked into the Russian's face and said the two words he knew the man wanted to hear.

"I promise."