Death Waits In the Wings
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 25 Regrets
Cynthia asked Hannibal to wake her at four in the morning to take a turn in watching Murdock. At first he insisted only the three men stand guard over the pilot.
"You saw how he responded to me when I asked him about the dreams. Could you have gotten the same results, Colonel Smith?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "If I can't calm him by myself, I'll run and get B. A. or yell for you or Temp."
In the end Cyndy won the argument and three of them went their separate ways to bed. The Lieutenant cast a solemn look at the sleeping pilot before taking Cynthia's hand to escort her upstairs.
By that time it was midnight and Hannibal's turn to watch.
He made a pot of coffee and sat sipping the strong brew and gazing intently at the Captain. Even though Cyndy's words and motherly touch had a soothing effect on the injured man, he still shivered and groaned in his sleep for the next three hours. Every half hour Hannibal rose from his seat to replace the blanket which repeatedly edged its way onto the floor from Murdock's restless movements.
Toward the end of the Colonel's shift, the injured man was mumbling frightened unintelligible things and moving his head back and forth.
How much hell can one person take in his life? First, weekly beatings from a murderous drunk for a father and then Viet Nam and the camps.
Hannibal rubbed his weary eyes.
No wonder he asked me if I thought about Nam after that one mission. No doubt he does. Probably thinks about his childhood, too. And what did I say? I remembered it but didn't think about it. Why didn't I go deeper than that when he asked?
He knew the response to that. None of them wanted to go deeper than that . . . ever.
He remembered the expression on Murdock's face when he heard the answer. No doubt the pilot thought about the words long after they were spoken, one more thing to ponder in that intelligent but fragile mind of his. Hannibal drank the last of the coffee in the cup with two short gulps. Time for the next watch.
Before he reached the first step of the stairs Cyndy was coming down, her bathrobe loosely tied around her and her slippered feet making small scuffing sounds on the weathered wood floor. She gave Hannibal a cautious smile. The Colonel met her eyes and nodded.
Pretty girl. Seems like just the kind of girl who would wait for a sweetheart to come home from the war. Would have seen our Captain through all his issues and still loved him.
"How has he been?" She looked beyond his shoulder to the couch. Her face pinched in a worried frown when she noted his restlessness and incoherent mutterings. "Listen, I know you're probably pretty tired but I really need to talk to someone about H. M. You're close to him and I sense if he had ever had a father who loved him, he'd be like you."
"You're right. I am tired. If you need to talk, don't you think you should talk directly to him?" The Colonel was uncomfortable with the idea of being anyone's father. A leader who cared for the well-being of his men, yes; a father, no.
"He has a difficult time talking about the things I need to know. Besides, if I spend much time talking to him, Temp will get jealous." She pleaded with him using those soft hazel eyes.
Hannibal glanced up the stairs and back at her, seemed to come to a decision. He motioned toward the front door. "Better to have this conversation out on the veranda where he can't hear."
She opened her mouth to protest.
"If you want to know what I think you want to know and he hears any of it, even while he's sleeping, he might react. He's not sleeping that soundly." The Colonel shrugged. "We'll still know if he starts sleepwalking or has a nightmare, and you can check on him whenever you think you need to. I won't talk in front of him. Your choice, Miss Berquon."
Cynthia nodded and after a minute spent speaking softly to Murdock and quieting him, she followed Hannibal out to the chairs on the veranda.
When the first shaft of sunlight crept across the blanket and bathed his face with warmth, he woke. The soft reddish tinged glow as seen through his eyelids reminded him of blood. Breathing heavily, grimacing at the stab of pain, he forced his eyes open. The soft glow became a temporarily blinding glare and he put his arm up to shield his eyes. A fit of coughing wracked his body. When it subsided he let his muscles go slack.
"You're awake." He hadn't noticed her sitting in the chair B. A. had occupied at the beginning of the night. She sounded weary. He squinted at her and took in the dark smudges under her swollen eyes.
Why's she been cryin'? Or is it jus' the way the light is in here?
At about the same time as that thought came to him, he noticed the sodden pile of clothing in the middle of the kitchen floor and his own near naked state under the blanket. His jacket, dried clay streaks on it, was draped over a chair. One high top tennie lay on its side, its sole coated with the same clay. He felt his cheeks flush with the realization that Cyndy may have had a hand in removing his clothes.
Clearing his throat, he stammered, "I . . . I musta gave y'all some trouble 'gain las' night." His gaze flickered on her face and then at his clothes on the linoleum.
She nodded, a hesitancy in her response. "A really bad nightmare."
"Can I ask you somethin'? Don' know how to say it 'xactly." He paused, trying to put together words that wouldn't be misconstrued. "Why're my clothes covered in dirt?"
He saw a shiver go through her body and she wrung her hands together in her lap.
"You can let the Colonel tell me later if it bothers you."
"No. No, I'm fine. I'm just a little surprised you don't remember. I guess what Hannibal told me is true." She saw his jaw tighten in response. He glared past her to the stairway. "He didn't volunteer the information. I asked. I asked because what you did last night could have hurt you even more than you're hurting right now." She lowered her eyes to avoid his scrutiny. "I wanted to know what changed you so much this past twenty years that you forgot about me."
Murdock swallowed and turned his face so she couldn't see his pain. "I didn' forget you on purpose. Ya gotta know that."
The front door opened and B. A.'s frame filled the doorway. "Hannibal still sleepin'?" Cynthia nodded and rose to her feet. "Got a call from Mrs. B. on the van phone. Been a break-in at the theater. She needs us."