A/N: this is much closer to my usual style. I hope it's not too much of disappointment. Also, all information about helicopter is taken from Wikipedia. I know nothing about helicopters.

The porch swing was not on a porch. It was hanging between two trees on the edge of the back yard. They had spent a week in the abandoned house. Hannibal not letting them leave for too long, wanting to make sure the MP's were gone. Finally, he let Face leave long enough to arrange someplace else to go. Murdock didn't know if Face was making up for the abandoned house, but the house he managed to get was opulent. Three stories, four bedrooms, three full baths, dining room, professional kitchen, study filled with books, and the garage was an out building full of parts with all the tool necessary to make them into a car.

The back yard was massive. The pilot would have enough room to land a jet in the area not taking up by the in ground pool, a play set that rivaled an elementary school, and the grilling area. He shifted on the swing, keeping his left leg still. His right was planted on the ground, pushing off whenever the swing slowed too much. Hannibal had said that the splint could come off in a few days ago. He was glad, he had been grounded too long. His head had been tilted back, watching the sky. They weren't close enough to be inundated by the noise, but with a small airport nearby, the sky was constantly filled with aircraft.

Catching sight of Face sunning himself next to the pool, he sighed. Reaching down, he placed his hand on the cargo pocket of his shorts, the paper inside crinkling as he caressed it. He had kept the drawing on him at all times. A reminder of things he didn't want to be reminded of. A splash drew his attention back to the pool. Hannibal had come out and was swimming laps. Face sat up to watch. He watched him watch the colonel.

That night, he didn't know how long he sat staring at the drawling. Thoughts, feelings, colors, tumbling, twining, revolving in his head, until he didn't know the original from the meshed. He had started violently at the hand on his shoulder.

"Everything alright, Captain?" His eyes traveled down, one, two, three, then back up three, two, one along the Colonel's abdomen, straight through the forest of still salt and pepper hair covering the pectorals to meet hypnotizing blue eyes. He stepped behind the pilot and brought his other hand to rest on Murdock's left shoulder. He squeezed gently and let the balls of his thumbs massage the tension between Murdock's shoulder blades.

Murdock wanted, needed to relax back into the calming, reassuring, heartening strength behind him, but didn't dare. He knew that when green earth sank into the blue water it became mud. Squishy, slimy, smelly mud, that turned the clear blue into a brackish brown, making it dirty and impure. So he sat up straighter, away from that centering touch.

"Right as rain on the plane, sir!" with one last squeeze, the water receded, leaving the mud behind, exposed. He jumped at another touch on his right shoulder.

"You sure you're alight, buddy?" Face asked kneeling down, smiling. Murdock clenched his fists to keep them still. They wanted to reach out, whisper down the nose, across the cheekbone, up around the ear, and trail down the jaw to rest against the mouth the was glowing.

After the water receded, the mud was left to the light. Slowly, surely the light would dry out the top layer, making it stable, making it useable, making it palatable to others. Over time it would pierce deeper, fixing more and more layers.

"You were staring at the paper as if you wanted to set it on fire."

"Can't do that, Face. Fire is in the garage." but it was a good idea. Fire would dry out the mud much quicker. It wasn't afraid, tiptoeing around. It would blaze up, throwing heat wildly. Flames licking out, making itself be heard. But sometimes it forgot itself, and accidentally left scorch marks on the earth when it was done, retreating before it realized.

"If you're sure you're alright. You know where to find me if you aren't" Face had gave him a confused smile. Trailing his hand up into Murdock's shaggy hair, he stood, pressed a kiss into the brown mop and walked back upstairs.

A yell returned his thoughts to the present. Hannibal had pulled Face into the pool. The sun was high in the sky, so he grabbed the crutches that Hannibal insisted that he still use and hobbled into the house.

A week later, he was laying on his stomach in the king sized bed in his room. His legs swinging freely, the weight of the splint no longer holding one down. The bed jostled as Face flopped down on his left.

"We should have a job in a couple of days."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Hannibal said from his other side. "How are you at the controls of a Sikorky S-70?"

"What kind!" he sat up eagerly. "A Seahawk, Firehawk or a Blackhawk?" Hannibal blinked.

"I …believe it was a Firehawk."

"A S-70c! I've never flown one of them. They're close to the HH-60, UH-60 and MH-60 I flew in the army. Now if you could get me into the cockpit of a VH-60N Whitehawk, well that would be just cool!" In his excitement about the helicopter, he didn't notice what the other two were doing. It wasn't until a flutter of fabric flying across the room caught his attention and Face's bare chest pressed to his back, the conman's hands drifting up to play with his nipples that he became aware of what was going on. Hannibal's hand cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing against his lips.

"It's nice to see your smile, James. It's been far too long since we've seen it."

"What…how…um…no, I don't… you can't!"

"We've seen you watching us." Face said, placing kisses up and down the pilot's neck. "We want you too."

'No, this wasn't right.' He thought even as he swallowed hard as Hannibal pulled off his own shirt. He struggled to get out of Face's hold, pressing himself back against the headboard. It couldn't be right. The light played on the water, entwined, became one sparkling entity. It ignored the hard packed earth as it reflected off of it, looking for someone else to dazzle. And water lapped at the riverbank, rushing passed, sometimes pulling the earth along then depositing on the shore again. Always moving, never staying, striving to find the light.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" hands in his hair, caressing, calming. Another bigger, rougher hand on the back of his neck.

"James, deep breaths, look at us." He peeked up at them.

"You can't want me."

"What do you mean, HM?"

"It-it's not-it's not right for you to want me! It can't be right!" they traded looks.

"How is it not right, Captain?" Murdock raised a fisted hand to his head.

"You two are right. You belong. I'm not, I don't. I'm broken." His hand moved to hit the side of his head. It never made contact, his wrist was grasped, restrained in the Colonel's strong hold.

"Never say that again. You belong here, with us." His eyes searched Hannibal's. Taking in all the emotions flowing through them. Judging, assessing the truthfulness. He didn't really doubt it, the boss had never lied to him. But he had a hard time believing it.

"Please, HM," Face asked, his hands now cupping Murdock's face. "Let us show you?" He pressed his lips to the pilot's.

"Believe us, James." Hannibal said taking Face's place. He nodded.

Hands, mouths, tongues, moved across his skin. Pulling sounds out of his throat he didn't know he could make. Kisses were given, traded, denied and fought over. Fingers touched, caressed, lingered and trailed over every inch of him. Making him feel things he thought were forbidden to him.

Afterwards, he lay with his back pressed tightly to Hannibal's chest, and Face's chest plastered against his, the earth trapped betwixt the water and the air.

"We're a sandwich bag!" He laughed into Face's neck. He felt them lift their heads a little, exchanging a look.

"How's that Captain?" Hannibal's voice rumbled against his back

"Well, everyone knows that blue and yellow make green!"