Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH. 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 Four

"So you gonna tell me what is going on, Face? Or do I have to beat it out of you?" Murdock was pacing in Peck's front room, it was difficult to achieve the effect he had hoped for because two of his lanky strides took him to the opposite wall and he had to turn and start again.

Peck was sitting on the minute sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking small and infinitely vulnerable but he was determined he was not going to say anything, not until he had a chance to think things through. Instead he knew he would have to play his usual role and gripe or the pilot would suspect even more.

"I don't know what you're talking about, HM!" He tried for a whine but his voice came out as nearer to just plain weary. "Can't you just leave it."

Murdock spun around to face him. "Don't give me that!" he snapped. "Something really spooked you at that ATM. You were pale before you got there, once you saw whatever you saw, you were a ghost!"

"I just got my figures mixed up," Peck tried for a hesitant light giggle but failed. "Got less in there than I figured." The unaffected shrug wouldn't come either – man his touch was gone!

"Bullshit!" Murdock was getting irritated. "I've known you too long, Templeton! You got the best head for figures I know – you don't make mistakes on your own money!"

"No, I only make them when the whole Team's is at risk!" A little too emotional now!

"That's not what I meant and you know it. No body blames you for that, Face and I am sick of telling you. Let it go – we all have." As he spoke Murdock moved to the window and glanced out at the road below. Something grabbed his attention and he stared avidly for a few minutes.

Peck took the time to take another gulp of whiskey. He was tired and in pain and did not think he had the stamina to survive an interrogation from Murdock, not now.

Finally the pilot turned back from the window. "I don't believe you, Face," he said bluntly. "And I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on. You can start by explaining to me why there's a black Lincoln parked down the road staking you out!"

"A what?" Peck exclaimed, standing up and then sitting back with a howl as pain echoed through him. He stood up more slowly and made his way to the window. Sure enough the car was there. "It could be watching anyone in this block," he murmured. But he knew that this changed things. There was danger here and he did not have the strength to face it alone.

"Just because you've paranoid doesn't mean that people aren't really following you!" Murdock recited.

Despite his consternation Face snorted. "The old ones are the best, eh, HM?"

Murdock nodded solemnly "They have the longevity of true wit!" he confirmed. "So spill, Face. What is going on?"

Peck eased himself down on to the couch carefully after refilling his glass and passing Murdoch his previously untouched one. "I don't know," he confessed. "But weird things are happening."

He proceeded to tell the pilot exactly what had been going on. He felt stupid as there really was no proof of any of his suspicions but if he couldn't tell Murdock, his closest friend, then there was no one he could tell. The pilot sat and listened keenly, nodding his head at appropriate times.

Peck finished with a lame; "So it doesn't make sense and I'm probably imaging it all any way!"

"Your bruises aren't imagined, Face and neither is that car in the street. You got one of the best self preservation instincts I know. If you're alarms are ringing, I for one, am definitely taking note."

"But what do I do?" Face asked.

Murdock smiled. "That's easy," he responded.

"It is?"

"Oh yeah, Faceyman. We do what Hannibal would do – we find out!"

"But how? I don't know who to ask!"

"You know a couple of years ago, when you and Hannibal did that computing night school course – 'Hacking for Criminals' and I laughed at you?"

"It wasn't called that, Murdock, but I remember," Face replied.

"They teach you about getting into systems and stuff?" Peck nodded, his eyes widening as the pilot continued. "Well, you told me then it would come in useful and I shouldn't have laughed. You were right."

Peck shook his head. "Are you suggesting that I hack into the bank's computer to find out what's going on? Do you realise what would happen to me if they find out? And don't forget I'm on probation from the last scam I tried."

"Only a worry if you get caught, Faceman, and you won't this time."

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cos this time it won't just be you. This time I'll be there and BA to cover your back. It'll almost be like old times!"

Peck gulped. "I don't know, I …."

"Faceyman, don't stop to think. Don't let indecision rule. Your instincts were the best thing you had; you got to follow them again. Feel your fear but do it anyway. Remember the jazz!"

How could he forget it? Face had been mourning its absence from his life for so long. He remembered the strange invigoration and accomplishment he had felt when he had beaten off yesterday's muggers. He knew he wanted it again, wanted to feel it frequently like he used to. He had given himself to the jazz long ago, trusted his Colonel and been repaid a thousand fold. But this time it was different, his Colonel could not help him. Was he and the rest of the Team able to do it on their own? Were they capable are re-capturing what was lost? Why the hell not? And wouldn't that be the best way for him to honour Hannibal Smith?

"You're right, Murdock," he said finally. "We can do this!" His eyes flashed and for the first time in years, Murdock was minded of his arrogant, much yearned for young lieutenant from Vietnam so long before. Deep down in the pilot's soul something forgotten for years roused and sent a hot flame of desire rushing through him.

"Divorced?"

"Eh, no," Peck responded. "Never married actually."

"No way! Gay then?"

"No, well, yes…. No, eh I…."

Mo's laugh was infectious. "It's OK, Richard, you don't have to tell – I like a little mystery in my life! And I can't see that someone like you could make it to our age without being caught. Man, us woman have failed badly if that's the case!"

Face felt himself blush. "I don't know what you mean, Mo!"

"Don't play coy with me! You are the best piece of eye candy us mature ladies have seen employed by this bank in years. Do you know since you started to work here the sickness rate for women over a certain age has dropped to nothing! They are coming in off their death beds just to look at your loveliness!" She sighed and winked. "But unfortunately because they are mooning so, their productivity rate has not increased accordingly! Bosses still aren't happy!"

Face smiled. He liked Mo, liked her a lot. She was not the type he would have been attracted to in the past; sure her face was pretty enough but to say she was small and wide was a definite understatement. She had introduced herself by saying 'In these days of equality I should be the eighth and token woman in Snow White's dwarves – Dumpy should be my name!' But if her ass was big, her heart was twice the size and her ability to empathise was infinitely huge. Her down-to-earth sense of humour could be relied upon to bring a smile to Peck's lips even when he was the butt of her jokes. It was all done with a joy of life and fond acceptance of its inconsistencies and unfairness that Face was beginning to realise somewhere along the line he had forgotten such an important lesson. He had become starchy and solemn – no wonder no one wanted to be with him! Be it ever so gently, Mo was drawing him back into the warmth of the real world while he had recently only sulked in its austere, staid outer edges.

He had been working at the bank's head office for a week, having taken a few days beforehand to thoroughly update the life and records of one Richard Bancroft, IT Expert. Mo had taken him under her wing the first day and their daily lunches spent giggling at work mates and the world in general had become a pleasure to him. Today was the first time the conversation had crossed into the personal, however. Mo had told him about her kids and her late husband and how much she missed him but in a light hearted sort of way that had entertained rather than made Face morose. He had only started to feel uncomfortable when she switched her focus to his life.

"I'm sure their work is much more interesting than me," he replied. "I hope so at least."

"So beautiful! So modest!" Mo laughed. "If you were on the market there is no way you would have got this far with your freedom – you must be gay!"

Peck rolled his eyes mischievously, enjoying the flirting. "Classified information!" he teased.

Mo pouted. "Well, if you are going to hide behind this veneer of mystery you are gonna have to get used to me probing for a weakness, looking for clues! My gossip monitor is pointing near empty, I need to re-fill it!" She took a sip of water. "What do you do when they let you out of this place, if you are, unbelievable as it seems, without a significant other?"

Peck shrugged, fiddling with a paper cup. "Not much. I look after my … eh my… father. He's not been well recently."

"I knew it; in touch with your feminine side too! Richard, you have got to be the best thing exuding testosterone that ever walked through those doors!"

He smiled and stood up. "Well, Mo while you may be a fully paid up member of my fan club I know that the boss isn't. I got to go, got reports to run."

"And industrious too! Don't you let Withers get you down – he is just jealous of you and with good cause!" Mo sighed, her eyes twinkling with humour as she watched him exit the staff dining area. "You, my sweet, are just too good to be true!" she muttered wistfully.

"Hey Mo!" A gaggle of ladies were sitting at a nearby table. They shouted across; "What did you get from him this time?"

Peck had almost finished his interrogation of the computer system, having spent his first day finding his way around it, he had managed to complete all the work required of him as well as accessing the areas he needed. Security was tight but he had expected that; it was a bank after all! Once he had worked his way around the permission levels he found it quite straight forward to get the data he needed. It was almost time to leave. He would miss the entertaining lunches with Mo but he knew that the longer he remained undercover, the greater his risk of being caught.

He had not been back to his apartment following their quick exit that night. Instead he had been sleeping on Murdock's couch. Not that he had seen the pilot much; he seemed to be flying constantly and Peck had begun to suspect that he was avoiding him. However, Murdock had promised he would be back this night and they would go through all of the information together. The pilot had contacted BA and he was back in town to give any help he could.

As he sat at his desk, finishing off his reports, Peck found himself strangely excited by the thought of seeing Murdock later. When Mo had teased him about significant others, he had found a vision of his friend had popped inexplicably into his head. And now, as he thought about it, Face felt a soft shudder of expectation somewhere deep down inside.

It was a long time since he had felt in the slightest bit aroused at anything. He had not been on a date since the ill-fated tryst with the widow over six months previously. But even so he found himself dreaming about his friend – memories slipping through his mind warmly and with ease. Memories that went right back to that cold shower in Nam so many years before. He remembered the scent of him, the softness of his skin, and the lilt of his voice…. Peck found himself smirking idiotically.

"Dick!"

He was pulled out of his reverie by the departmental supervisor, Withers, a supercilious fool who seemed to take the fact that he was lacking in height out on his staff in the way he bullied them – 'small man syndrome', Mo called it. Withers insisted on giving him that name, even though Peck had asked on numerous occasions that he call him Richard. Just the sound of the spiteful voice shattered the lingering warmth of the memory.

"Mr Withers?" Face responded, turning his chair to watch the fat rat of a man approach; all bluster; no humanity.

"You got those reports?"

"Yes, I do." Peck passed across a whole ream of papers. "I still think it would be better if we did it all electronically," he ventured with a charming smile.

"If I wanted your suggestions, I'd have set up a box in the foyer!" Withers snapped, scanning through the pages. He didn't like Peck and he made no secret of his contempt, always anxious to catch him out, but lacking the intelligence to do so. "What's this?" He pulled a one page report from the pile and held it out suspiciously.

"What's what?" Peck asked innocently.

"This!" Withers thrust the paper into his face.

For a moment Peck's heart lurched. Was this the hard copy of his own account details he had run off earlier? Had he been that dumb? And if it was how in hell was he going to explain it away to this goddamn idiot? He squinted at the paper as it flapped in front of his eyes and a wave of relief washed over him when he realised what it was. "Oh that. I was just trying to improve the format…" he began.

Withers bent forwards. "You were just trying to….. did I ask you to?"

"No but…"

"Then don't do it!" Withers' face was red with fury. "Your time here is precious – I am paying for it! I don't want you wasting it fooling about. In fact you've been here a week now Bancroft and I don't think it's working out. I'm going to have to let you go!"

"What?" Peck gasped.

"You heard me. It's not working out, you're fired!"

Peck stood up. "You are not serious!" he spat. "I've done everything you asked. I….."

"I don't care! This is my department!" Withers looked up into Peck's calm features, his own ugly with anger. "You got five minutes to clear your desk!"

He did not see the blow coming but he surely felt it as Face's fist hit him cleanly and hard on his jaw. The next moment he was on his ass leaning against the photocopier, blinking groggily and rubbing his chin. Everything in the office stopped as people gaped disbelieving what they had just seen.

"Oh my god!" Mo breathed.

Peck stood over his downed supervisor, he felt light headed as the adrenaline whooshed through him and he realised he was loving the sensation. "You have got to be the worst excuse for a man I have ever met!" he spat finally, his rage supremely considered and the more frightening because of his cool control. "Do you have any idea how you come across to the people you are supposed to manage? Do you have any idea what they think of you? You are a goddamn fool, Withers! I don't know how these good people can stand being in the same room as you day after day. I know I sure as hell am glad I won't have to any more. You can take your lousy job and stick it where the printer don't print!"

He picked up a few papers and his briefcase, winked at Mo, and with great dignity strode out of the office to a wave of applause from the other workers.

Mo shook her head. "I knew it was too good to be true," she muttered. "Guess those sickness figures are about to sky rocket!"

TBC