Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.
PART ONE: Attention
Damn! The thought thundered around his head once more as it had rolled for the whole of the night. How could he have been so stupid? He was tight, too strung out, his adrenaline pumping too fast for too long; it would do him no good. He had to get control.
He let out a long breath, forcing himself to relax, pushing his head into the hard, smelly mattress on which he lay. He glanced around the dimly lit cell, and out through the bars into the hallway beyond. It was all empty. He sighed with relief, running his hand through his hair. He could not give in to the fear; no one could know how close to the edge he was. He had to get a grip; he could not allow this lapse to be followed by another, one which could bring him even more damage.
He lay completely still on the bed, feeling the blood run through his veins, slowing it so his heartbeat returned to normal. It took him some time but he had learned long ago that if he concentrated very hard, gave his whole attention to it, then he could control his own bodily responses completely.
He signed as the calmness flowed over him. He felt better, felt as if he was no longer careering forward into oblivion. He allowed himself a brief smile at his success. He had to think, had to find a way to turn this disaster into something positive, something from which he could benefit and not allow the fearful chaos to take him – he had been there before and only just survived. Now he feared if he lost his control he would never find himself again.
He sat up, ran his hand through his blonde hair, neatening it as best he could. It was too long he knew but he'd hated the buzz cut he endured in training and since he arrived in Nam no one seemed to care.
Stiffly he walked towards the bars, touched the nearest one, wishing it was cold but the metal, like the rest of this goddamn country, seemed to sweat in the humid heat. God it was hot. He came from California and there it was hot but bright and shining not this intense soul sapping dingy wetness that seemed to suck the life out of everything.
Get a grip, he counselled himself. Since when had the weather bothered him? He was above such things and he had to think, think his way through this.
His mind went back to the previous night and his frustration clenched in his stomach like fists. He had been so very close to pulling it off and that was what hurt the most. He had almost done it; played Finlay, the big idiot sergeant, expertly, fleeced him good, set up the fight to cover himself as he planted the dope and then made his getaway, leaving the sergeant to take the fall, minus his pay of course!
He snorted but the taste of success had proved too elusive and now all he had was the bitterness of failure on his tongue. Standing perfectly still he replayed the episode analysing it minutely. It was so clear now. He had miscalculated badly when he decided to alter his plan on the spur of the moment and involve the Special Forces guys in the fight. Damn, but he had introduced an element he couldn't control – hadn't he learnt anything from the past? He thought they would have made the fight in the bar last longer but instead the marines had fought like a team, their Colonel assessing the situation and getting it under control in seconds. Got to admit he had been impressed. Yeah, dead impressed when the mountain of a black sergeant had ground his head into the sawdust with that huge boot and held him there until the MPs turned up; held him there with the hash still on him, just waiting for the heat to find it, ticking in his pocket; his own personal time bomb.
As he thought on it, his hand went to the side of his face. He grimaced as he touched the bruise there – damn, didn't want the imprint of that big sucker's size 12s to remind him of his failure. Didn't want it ruining his good looks either – never underestimate the power of a pretty face. He had shamelessly used his often enough to know the wisdom in that statement. For the millionth time he glanced around the cell for a mirror but he already knew there was none.
He took a deep breath and forced away the dark finger of panic that had stealthily returned to hover expectantly at the edge of his consciousness. He had to forget what he could not influence, had to make do with using what he could; adapt it, change it so he could benefit. He moved and sat back on his cot. Think man, think!
The sound of heavy boots on the wooden walkway outside brought him back to reality, then the squeak of the door opening. He refused to move but remained sitting nonchalantly on the bed, his whole being focused on what was about to come through the door although no one would ever guess from his demeanour.
"Attention!"
Before he knew it he had snapped into position beside the bed. Heals together and in line at a forty five degree angle, legs straight without locking the knees, body erect with hips level, chest lifted and arched, shoulders square and even, arms straight and without stiffness along his side with the back of his hands pointing outward, fingers curled, thumbs touching the first joint of his index fingers, thumbs straight along the seam of his trouser leg, head erect, chin drawn in and looking to the front.
Damn! He hated that reaction but it had been trained into him so well his body responded before his mind could gain control! The cell door was opened and he found himself eye to eye with a slightly familiar grey haired Colonel who was smirking at him coldly.
"Don't you just hate it when that happens?" the Colonel beamed. He felt himself shudder as steely, blue eyes seemed to penetrate right through him. How the hell did this Colonel know what he hated? He gulped suddenly feeling vulnerable but forcing his eyes to look straight ahead and his body remain rigid.
"Rest easy, soldier," the Colonel's voice was not unkind as he moved around him. "Leave us," he said over his shoulder to the guards who had accompanied him. They exchanged glances, their reticence obvious. The Colonel turned back to them giving them the benefit of the full force of his stare. They left immediately with no further argument.
"Lieutenant Peck," the Colonel stated.
"Sir!" He replied, snapping back to attention.
The Colonel smirked but said nothing as he moved around the room. Finally he stopped and Peck could feel those eyes turn back to him. He fought to repress the cold shiver that ran along his spine. "Nice place you got here," the Colonel moved to sit on the bed. "Mattress has seen better days though!" he murmured.
Peck remained motionless while inside all his instincts screamed that there was danger here. Who the hell was this guy? And what was he doing here?
Again as if reading his thoughts the Colonel asked. "Do you know who I am, Lieutenant?"
"No Sir!" Forced into a corner, Peck knew he had no alternative but to play the soldier and make himself wait until he had more information. He hated being wrong-footed to such an extent though.
The Colonel chuckled. "You don't remember me then?"
Peck continued to stare fixedly at the far wall. "No, Sir!"
The squeak of the springs told him the Colonel had stood up but he was aware of nothing else until he felt the warm tickle of breath at the back of his neck. This time Peck could not control the shudder and the Colonel chuckled again. "That's a shame," he said, his voice still soft. "I would have expected someone like you to remember me." He snorted and moved back to stand in front. He fiddled in his top pocket and triumphantly placed the cigar he found there in his mouth but made no attempt to light it. He chewed it instead as he regarded the soldier in front of him once more. "You got a lot to learn, kid," he said with a fondness in his voice that Peck found disconcerting.
The Colonel then fumbled in another pocket and produced a lighter. He proceeded to light his cigar and puffed away happily for a few minutes seemingly oblivious to all else. Peck fought the urge to shuffle his feet impatiently, as he told himself he could wait as long as it took. This guy was obviously off his head and got his kicks coming into the brig to taunt the poor unfortunates he found there. Well he would have to do a lot better to get a reaction from Templeton Peck!
Taking a deep breath the Colonel continued as if there had been no pause. "You're in a deal of trouble, Lieutenant. Have you thought how you're gonna con your way out of this one?"
"Con, Sir?" Peck let his eyes go innocently wide as he actually looked at the superior officer for the first time.
"That's what you do isn't it?" The Colonel smiled around his cigar. "Or should I more accurately say that's what you're good at?" His tone was suddenly challenging and Peck realised why the man was faintly familiar. This was the Special Forces Colonel from the night before, the guy who had restored order in a matter of seconds with his Team. The guy who Peck had brashly involved in the fight without really thinking through the consequences.
The realisation hit him hard, his eyes flashed to meet those of the other man and he gulped fighting for control.
The Colonel smiled that knowing smile which Peck found he was beginning to hate. "Remember me now?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir!" Pecked barked out the response to cover the uncertainty that assailed him.
"Well, are you at least going to offer me an explanation as to why you dragged me and my Team into a stupid, unimportant fight? We don't like to have our free time interrupted for anyone."
Peck made the transformation from rigid soldier to smooth conman in one easy breath. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, smiled his widest most ingratiating smile, took a step towards his prey as his mind whirled through which patter would work best in the circumstances. It was a truly impressive performance and the Colonel smiled in appreciation for an instant before shattering the spell. "Attention!" he snapped.
Peck was back in position before he even realised what the Colonel had said, his face flushing with frustration at the way he could be manipulated so easily. The Colonel let out a long guffaw and shook his head slowly. "You're good, kid," he admitted. "And given the right training you could be great."
Peck snorted. "Who the hell are you?" he snarled.
"That's 'Who the hell are you, Sir?' soldier!" the Colonel smirked. "And I am Colonel John Smith, my friends call me Hannibal but 'Sir' will do just fine from you."
"What do you want, Sir?" Peck asked biting back his anger.
Smith's grin widened in amusement. "Guards!" he called, turning back to regard the simmering soldier barely managing to stand to attention. The guards entered. "I'm done here," Smith continued. "You can lock him up again but don't throw away the key, not yet. I might be back tomorrow." The blue eyes sought out the younger man's questioningly stare. "Would you like that lieutenant?"
The cell door clanged shut and the guard rammed home the key. "Go to hell," Peck spat and hesitated before finishing, "Sir!"
The Colonel laughed. "But I'm enjoying your company too much for that, Peck! I can see we are going to be great friends!"
That night Hannibal sat in the Team's hooch and chortled as he remembered the look of barely restrained fury on Peck's face as he had left the brig.
"What's so funny, Hannibal?" B A Baracus snorted.
The Colonel took a long draw on his cigar and smiled, his eyes beaming as brightly as the smouldering cigar. "Nothing's funny, B A," he responded. "Just think I may have found our new Supplies Officer. That's the plan anyway!"
Three pairs of eyes jerked up to meeting his. "Who?" Baracus suspiciously voiced the query that was on everyone's lips.
Hannibal chuckled. "Young kid I met."
"What's he like?" Ray asked.
"Face like an angel but…."
"No!" Murdock let out a howl of terror. "Why is there always a 'but' with you Colonel?"
"When you bringing him in?" Baracus asked, scowling at the pilot.
Hannibal shrugged. "Slight logistical problem," he admitted.
"He's in the brig isn't he, Colonel?" Murdock howled again. "Why can't we have somebody who's normal for once?"
The Colonel just smiled wider. "Just normal won't do for this team and you know it Murdock. Gotta be the best!"
"Gotta have too much baggage!" B A snorted.
"Worked for you guys, didn't it?" Hannibal rolled his eyes.
"Oh lord," Murdock breathed. "This one is gonna be trouble I can feel it. So much baggage gonna need a luggage trolley!"
"Damn right you need a good supply officer if they're the best cigars you can get!"
Colonel Smith smiled as he sat back on his chair. "Best form of defence is offence – I like that kid!" he beamed. "What's wrong with my cigars anyway?"
Peck stared at him. "They stink," he said. "Must taste worse. What are they made of pigshit? Reckon a Colonel like you should have only the best!"
Smith laughed. "My thoughts entirely but unfortunately in times of war even I have to compromise."
"If you get me out of here I'll get you Havanas!" Peck leaned forwards and reached across the table to lightly run his fingers along the back of Smith's hand. "No compromises," he promised. "I would give you my best, all of it."
Smith stared at the other man's hand seemingly momentarily flummoxed by what the lieutenant was offering. They were sitting across from each other at the rickety old table in Peck's cell. It was the day following Smith's first visit and Peck had spent a sleepless night reviewing the events of the day and planning on how to turn the Special Forces Colonel's interest to his advantage.
The lieutenant knew he was in a dangerous predicament and he was pragmatic enough to grasp salvation in whatever form it arrived. He believed now he understood what Smith wanted and if that was what it took than Peck had no scruples about offering himself to the Colonel. He had bartered away his principles along time ago and what he had lost in integrity he believed he could more than make up for in talent and experience. If Smith could get him out of this mess, Peck was more than willing to show his appreciation in anyway he could.
The smile had gone from Smith's face when his eyes finally came up to meet Peck's. His eyes were cold and his voice was deadly as he said, "You are not propositioning me, are you Lieutenant? You're already on a list of charges as long as your arm, are you really adding another infinitely more serious one to the list? You know what they do to queers in this army don't you?"
Peck's face lost its colour as he quickly withdrew his hand. He giggled nervously. "Propositioning you, Colonel? You misunderstand me. I thought we were talking about cigars!"
Smith's eyes burned into him and Peck had to fight to stop from cringing before the intensity of that stare. Inside he was panicked, how could he have read it so wrong? He prided himself on being able to read men, to know instinctively what they wanted and to be able to deliver it. If he couldn't do that what value was he to anyone? But right from the start this Colonel seemed to know what he was thinking and know how to wrong-foot him. Couldn't let him see now how rattled he was, had to keep up the cool façade. Couldn't come across as anything but ultra-confident even if deep inside he was scared shitless. Had to find out what this Smith wanted. Had to find out and quickly – couldn't afford any more mistakes, the stakes were too high this time. Breathe deep, slow the heart and use your head.
The Colonel was still watching him seemingly engrossed in his performance. Peck had the awful sensation that Smith really could hear every thought that was skidding through his head. Don't let him get to you. He knows nothing except what you show him so reveal nothing. Peck forced himself to smile wide and bravely.
Smith smiled back infuriatingly bland as he puffed on that damned weed. "I've been reading your file, kid," he began innocently enough. "Doesn't really add up, does it?"
Peck gulped. "In what way, Sir?" he asked mildly.
Smith shrugged. "Dates, service periods, even your age – all looks suspicious to me. And then there's the Special Forces training."
Peck slowly lifted the glass of water to his lips that he had requested at the outset. God, it was suddenly too hot in this damn cell! He took a long sip. He smiled. "Special Forces training, Sir?"
The Colonel's eyes had narrowed. "Your assessment scores are just too good; even better than mine!"
Peck gulped and then forced out a carefree laugh. "What can I say," he said modestly. "I am damn good!"
Smith leaned back again and sighed. "At some things maybe," he acknowledged. "But soldiering isn't one of them!"
"What are you saying?" Peck stood up in a flourish knocking over his chair, the picture of indignant innocence. "That I faked my scores? Come on Colonel, you know that's not possible."
"I know anything's possible, Lieutenant. But if you are such a good soldier how come you've been in Nam eight months now and you've only managed two missions out?"
Peck stood stock still, the colour once again draining from his face. What to say? Who was this guy and how could he see right through him into his deepest, darkest secrets? It just wasn't fair and how the hell was he supposed to fight it? He sat down roughly trying to find a strategy – did he deny it all or did he explain just enough to get himself by? Even in such extreme pressure the thought that he should disclose everything to the curious Colonel never entered his mind.
He glanced up but rather than see Smith's eyes coldly judging him, he was shocked to see sympathy there. "You want to tell me now what the fight in the bar was about the other night, kid?"
Not allowing the sudden change of subject to throw him off balance Peck let his eyes drop to the floor as his shoulders slumped a little and he sniffed loudly. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.
Hannibal reached out a strong hand and reassuringly squeezed Peck's shoulder. "I watched you set it up," Smith continued. "You're a smooth operator, kid. But it didn't quite turn out how it was planned, did it?"
Peck lifted his head, eyes bright but moist, he sniffed again. "Changed the plan, involved you guys at the last minute." He smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Big mistake."
"Plan's got to be flexible," Smith ventured.
"Got to be aware of all the possibilities too," Peck sighed. "Your guys were just too good, I didn't get chance to plant the stuff. Then that big ape of yours blocked my escape with his boot on my face." He shook his head again. "Sloppy, very sloppy!"
"Why did you want to plant the stuff on that Sergeant anyway?" Hannibal asked.
"What are you, my priest?" Peck retorted but his tone was tired rather than defiant. He began to rub his hand nervously on his thigh before continuing in a voice suddenly small and meek. "I wanted to get my own back on Finlay."
"Why?"
Peck snorted, running his hand through his hair he moved away to the cell bars. The Colonel remained silent, content just to watch and wait. The lieutenant let out a strangled sob and leaned back on to the stout metal bars. His eyes were bright but his voice dull as he finally said. "Because he used me."
"Used you?" Smith repeated. "In what way?"
"In what way do you think?" Suddenly all meekness was gone. Peck stepped forward in a rush of unrestrained anger, his voice metallic and bitter. He stopped leaning on the table in front of Smith, breathing heavily and eyes flashing wildly, nostrils flaring, thrusting his face towards the Colonel, demandingly.
Smith still motionless regarded him. "Are you telling me this Sergeant Finlay raped you?"
It was stunningly quiet in the cell. Peck seemed to hover uncertainly and then his head dropped to the table, the anger gone as quickly as it had flared. He shuddered violently. "Yes," he replied firmly, raising his tear filled eyes to stare at the Colonel.
Smith let out a long breath. "Why didn't you report it?" he said emotionlessly.
"You think they'd believe me?" Peck's pathetic demeanour turned suddenly incredulous. "I've got form, you said it yourself."
"So you fleece him of his money and then plant enough dope on him to get him sent away for a deal of time? Like I said, you are some operator, kid."
Peck shrugged. "I learned how to look after myself," he said with a hint of pride in his voice. "I had to."
"Colonel." Murdock sauntered up to where Hannibal was sitting smoking outside the hooch.
The older man squinted up at the pilot. "Mission OK?" he asked.
Murdock shrugged. "It's done," he drawled, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. "That's all there is to say." He sat down beside the Colonel and sighed. They sat quietly for a while both enjoying their smokes.
"Still no Supplies Officer?" Murdock asked finally.
"'Fraid not, Captain," Hannibal answered.
"Too bad, I dropped by to get a look at him. You find that grunt sergeant you were looking for when I left?" Murdock blew a perfect smoke ring.
"Finlay? Yeah I found him."
Murdock nodded expectantly but the Colonel stood up, brushed himself down, simply smiled enigmatically and moved away.
"Attention!"
Peck found himself standing, straining before Colonel Smith once more. The guards were dismissed, Peck expected to be allowed to rest easy but instead the Colonel leaned against the bars and lit his cigar, glaring at the lieutenant. It went on for long minutes until Peck began to feel most uncomfortable. Deciding to do something he cleared his throat. "Sir, permission…."
"Shut up!" the Colonel snapped. He pulled himself up to his full height and moved menacingly forward. "You must think you're real clever, Peck!"
"Sir?"
"Don't play innocent with me. You are one devious little shit, aren't you?" Smith was only inches away; his body radiating barely controlled fury. "Have you ever done anything in your whole life that you did not benefit from?"
Peck sighed softly. He knew what the Colonel was driving at instantly. He had dreaded it would come to this but he believed he was fighting for his life, his future at least, here. "You talked to Finlay," he whispered.
"Yes I did and I don't have to repeat what he told me, do I?"
Peck gulped. "No, Sir," he replied.
Smith snorted in disgust. "Nice guy Sergeant Douglas Finlay, told me all about his wife and kids – five of 'em all under ten, misses them so much. Needs to send his pay check home just to keep food on the table. Comes from the Bible belt you know. He explained to me how he built a church in his back yard. I have to say he's not a very good judge of character though but then if he was he wouldn't have fallen under your spell, would he, Peck?"
"I don't know what you mean, Sir!"
"You were setting him up. You knew that the MPs were closing in on your little dope smuggling scam so you were going to plant the stuff on poor old Finlay and let him take the fall for you, weren't you?"
Peck licked his lips nervously but decided to remain silent as the Colonel continued. "And you know what really made my blood boil, kid? Douglas still talks about you as if you're his best friend. He's actually mortified that you're in prison, doesn't understand about the fight but is sure you did it all to protect him. How gut wrenching is that?"
"It's not what it seems, Colonel," Peck began. "At least let me explain why I did it. I had to, you see……" As he spoke he turned towards the older man, his eyes pleading.
"Attention!" Smith's voice was icily controlled and the lieutenant snapped back into position. "I don't want to hear it. What you did to him was bad enough but then to try to tell me that Finlay was using you!" He shook his head. "Are there no depths to which you won't sink?"
"I …."
"Shut up! I've had enough of your performances. Quite frankly I think I'll let you rot in here. I'm not going out on a limb for anyone who lies so blatantly to me."
Smith stormed out of the cell. Peck stood to attention for a few more seconds and then he allowed his muscles to relax. He sniffed, running his hand through his hair indifferently and chewing his lip. Slowly he returned to his bed and sat down thoughtfully.
He had been rejected all his life, he had learned to accept it and yet that made the searing pain of it no easier to bear.
"Murdock!"
"Yes, Colonel?" The pilot looked up from the comic book he had been avidly devouring.
"A word, please."
Murdock carefully folded down the corner of his page and placed the comic delicately on the chair he had been sitting on, before following his Colonel out of the hooch.
"I need to ask your help, Captain," Hannibal began.
"Anything, Sir!"
"Our new Supplies Officer will be arriving soon."
"He will? Oh gee!" Murdock let out a howl of delight.
Hannibal smiled. "He's a little raw around the edges."
"Is he a newbie?"
Hannibal shook his head. "No, he's been here a while but I want you to watch over him."
"Me, Colonel? Why I'd be honoured but why not Ray or BA? After all I'm not really even part of your Team."
The Colonel threw a friendly arm around the pilot's shoulder. "You are part of my Team, Captain and you always will be. You have the qualities that I need, that our Supplies Officer needs although he doesn't know it yet and you will be good for him, I know. BA and Ray can be a little bristly and we're gonna need a hell of a lot of smooth with this one."
"Uh-huh," Murdock nodded. "All that baggage? I'll be your 'smooth dude' on this one, Colonel. You can rely on me."
"I know, Murdock, I know!"
TBC