A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: Let me check...nope, still not mine.

Hannibal: Pt 2
Anxiety
StriderX

The Lieutenant worked as quickly as he could; they didn't have much for supplies, but the drops of water and almost clean cloth torn from his shirt-sleeve were doing their job well.

Throughout the process, Hannibal grasped onto B.A.'s waiting hand, gritting his teeth against the pain every time the cloth burrowed into his shoulder. He couldn't help the sharp hisses that escaped his lips nor the sweat pouring off his brow.

B.A. squeezed the Colonel's hand with worry gnawing away at his insides. Even in Nam, Hannibal never got hurt…well, almost never. There was this unspoken law between the boys of the team: Hannibal gave up everything making sure they always came out whole. In return, they would never let him be hurt. The Colonel protected them from life, they protected him from death. That's just the way it worked. But now…kneeling there with Hannibal bleeding out in his arms, seeing Face's hands covered in the Colonel's blood…B.A. felt an indescribable blackness in his stomach where the jazz should have been.

It was a simple mission; grab and destroy.

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

By the time the wound was cleaned and shoddily bandaged, Face thought he might pass out. No matter how he focused, he couldn't stop the trembling in his hands or the thump of his heart. Hannibal was still conscious even after the Lieutenant's prodding; Face internally cursed the older man's steady stare, watching his every move. Under such scrutiny, Face wasn't sure he could maintain a strong veil for long. Hannibal knew him—better then B.A., even Murdock—the man knew his every glance and laugh, every subtle shift and well-played con. Partly, it infuriated Face. Hannibal may know him, but Face knew the old man too.

It hurt him more than anything to see the pride and concern deeply embedded in Hannibal's military eyes. The man was shot…dying…and there, his expression wasn't one engulfed by pain or self-pity, but of concern for his boys. With a frustrated sigh, Face gave up to meet Hannibal's weakening glare head-on.

The moment between them was long and silent, but B.A. saw it for what it was. Hannibal may be down, but he was still their commander, still their father.

"Ya' did good kid…" Hannibal's rasping voice finally gasped out. "Sho—shouldn't even le-eave a scar."

Inwardly, Face was beside himself with worry, but he couldn't help but smirk at Hannibal's joke. Neither could B.A. The man had perfect timing.

"You're gon'na be alright, Hannibal," Face forced out; he closed his eyes for a moment when his voice cracked. Shaking his head, he knew he was losing control—the hitch in his breath, the rock forming just behind his throat; the blurred lake that was becoming his vision. It was all too much, too much to con. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Face's voice was tight and just above a whisper, but Hannibal heard it. He could've cursed. No more jokes today.

"…had to…get you boys…out first."

The reply was simple and proud; B.A. saw the determination set in stone on his face. Even if Hannibal had died on the spot, the Colonel wouldn't have changed a thing. As much as that bothered B.A., he knew he'd have done the same.

Face couldn't see the logic that B.A. knew instinctively. B.A. knew why and so did Hannibal. It was the unspoken reality; Face's heart felt more than any of them could imagine. "You should've at least gone back to town in the jeep…we could've gotten you help faster…" even Face knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help it. It was like B.A.'s battle: Hannibal didn't get hurt, that was the law. They all knew it. Only, for the Lieutenant, the war went deeper. If anyone got hurt on missions, it was Face, and Face was okay with that; proud of that. It wasn't planned that way, of course, but if someone had to step into the punching-bag shoes, Face found it was much better if he took the wallops; he couldn't bear seeing Murdock hit, B.A. was too tough to get caught, and Hannibal…Hannibal was untouchable. That was the way it should be.

How'd it turn out so wrong?

Just as the thought crossed the Lieutenant's mind, the comforting tune of chopper blades erupted in the silent desert air. Murdock!

All three men grinned despite themselves; the Captain might be crazy, but he was also the fastest (and most reliable, though they'd never admit it) thing on two legs. In seconds counted with the thump thump of chopper blades, they watched Murdock guide the machine to a flat clearing just a few feet away. Despite its power and weight, under Murdock's fluid fingers the helicopter landed on the dirt like a feather on water.

B.A. sighed. Everything would be alright now.

In no time, Murdock was out of the chopper and barreling toward them, misery plastered on his face. Absently, B.A. realized the poor fool must've been praying he wasn't too late the entire run to town and flight back. When Murdock spotted Hannibal not only alive, but still conscious, he sighed long and deep; it was all he could do to keep his legs from going to jello beneath him. "How is he?" he sputtered loudly over the drone of the bird.

Face hadn't composed himself enough to look Murdock in the eye, but he did manage to get his voice working. "Not great; we need to get him to Maggie."

Murdock nodded curtly. It was clear something major had happened while he was gone, but now wasn't the time to fish for details. "Got it…I called her from the chopper. She knows we're comin'."

Even from his pain-induced stupor, Hannibal was impressed. For so long, he'd always been the one to call the shots, the one to make the decisions…he may have forgotten (a little) just how capable his boys really were.

"Good," was Face's curt nod. One last time, the Lieutenant locked eyes with Hannibal. "We're gon'na have to move you know, Hannibal. I'm sorry…it's not going to feel good."

Hannibal nodded, grinding his teeth even as B.A. began to shift under him. Though he fought his best to keep up appearances (as small and little as may be left), Hannibal felt the cold rush of pailing skin the moment his body moved. He could nearly imagine the open wound grinding apart; bubbling blood oozing through shattered muscle and exposed bone.

Vaguely, he heard Face's voice. The kid was saying something, calling something…suddenly, the Earth surged under Hannibal's spine; the last bit of awareness telling him he was being carried.

An unbearable dizziness poured through his eyes as the sky above began to spin and fade. His stomach ground into mush; the pain was too much, each step of his carriers sent a jolt like a blunt knife through his body. He couldn't take it…couldn't hold on…

"Here, set him down, gently, gently…" Murdock's urgent guidings were largely unnecessary as Face and B.A. reached the chopper with Hannibal in tow, but it made the pilot feel better. As the two stronger men were gingerly carrying their Colonel between them, Murdock had rushed backed to the chopper to throw a found blanket over the empty floor space of the passenger compartment. When they'd arrived by the open side door, Murdock eagerly took Hannibal's arms from B.A. and aided in lifting the older man into the bird.

It wasn't until they were all inside that they realized Hannibal was no longer conscious.

"Hannibal?" Face called gently, a clammy hand on the Colonel's shoulder. Face could feel his heart skip a beat when he didn't reply. "Hannibal!" another small shake to his uninjured shoulder, another skip of the heartbeat: no reply.

"Murdock, get this bird in the air, now!" Face suddenly barked at the Captain, who'd been as lost in his thoughts as the rest of them.

"Y-y-yeah. On it," Murdock slowly faltered as he jerked toward the pilot's chair. All but falling into it, he flung the headphones over his ears, flicked the switches and set the chopper to fly. "ETA 1700hours…an hour an' forty-five if the wind cooperates."

It was the longest hour and forty-five minutes the Team had endured since Nam. B.A. could feel the nagging pulse of aviophobia eating away at his gut, but he ignored it completely; even forgot about it each time his eyes locked with the crimson stain weaving over the pseudo bandage snuggly wrapped about Hannibal's chest. He sighed deep and long like a man in a mortuary.

Face was a mess—jittery and two steps from panic—not that he let B.A. or Murdock notice, of course. He grasped Hannibal's limp hand as he checked the Colonel's pulse for the tenth time that minute. So far he was stable, but ever-so-slightly, Face could feel his commander fading with each minute. Internally, the kid drove himself mad with guilt. He hadn't meant to…it's just…he couldn't stop the memories of every solitary time Hannibal single-handedly dragged him back from death's door. Every gunshot, every fever and broken bone; every breakdown that left Face a sniffling heap while this man—this…father—picked up the pieces. Face shook his head violently as stinging moisture filled his eyes. Not now, he berated himself. They had a job to do: get the wounded soldier to Dr. Sullivan. Right then, Face couldn't address the blood spilled as Hannibal's…couldn't think of the code never used…Mother Goose leaking.

Behind the chopper controls, Murdock couldn't stem the tears that fell. Hannibal was his mentor, his idol; his grounding block to the world. Aside from Face (and occasionally B.A.), Hannibal was the only one who treated him like a human being, not just some has-been whack job. If he didn't make it through this…Murdock couldn't think it…it would be all his fault…he would have been too late.

Landing a helicopter in the one-horse dirt town of Bad Rock was easy. The Sherriff was a friend and the only doctor was smitten with the very man needing repair.

Murdock spotted Maggie's little house easily from the sky and opted to place the chopper right in the middle of the street in front. A few neighbors peeked through windows and doors as the bird kicked up a funnel of dust in its decent, but they'd leave the Team alone, of course. They all knew how these men saved their town a few months back. And any friend of Maggie's (not to mention the local law enforcement) was a friend of theirs.

Maggie watched them land anxiously; she'd been pacing ever since Murdock's call. He was brief and winded, but she'd instantly picked up on the tone.

"Doc Sullivan?" he'd asked. "S-sorry to bug ya'…it's HM Murdock of the A-Team, remember me? I uh…listen, we need your help real bad. It's…it's Hannibal. He um…he's been shot…yes mam', last I saw he was still conscious, but um…he's bleedin' bad…right. Thanks…thanks so much. Be there in a couple hours."

She hadn't talked to Hannibal since the Team invaded her home, but that did nothing to lessen her feelings. She'd connected with the commander instantly; maybe it was his clear, crystal eyes, or confident, playful smile…or his lips, experienced and passionate against hers…

Her heart skipped a beat when the thud of rotor blades finally pulsed in her ears. It was a wait two hours too agonizing; now that they were here maybe she could swallow the wallowing helplessness that burned holes in her nerves.

The chopper's massive blades hadn't even stopped spinning when she saw B.A. whip open the side door and hop out—the wound she'd patched in his leg clearly fully healed. She ran to meet them, the deafening pulse of the mighty machine slowly dissipating in the breeze. It was all she could do to force her military training to take control when she caught sight of Hannibal—deathly pale, breathing ragged, unconscious—bleeding out on the floor.

She hopped around B.A. into the chopper and immediately began her work checking vitals; pleasantries would have to be saved for later. Mumbling the poor statistics of Hannibal's heart rate and blood pressure, she looked to Face, who'd never moved from his place beside the Colonel. "How long ago was he shot?" she asked; her training grinding it out as more of an order.

Face didn't hesitate. Maggie immediately recognized the drive compelling the kid forward. "About three and a half hours," his voice was strong, military, but she could see his anguish clear as a sob. She'd seen it last time: they were a strange sort of family, but for every oddity they were that much closer. When one of them was hurt, they all felt it. "The bleeding's slowed; I only had water and cloth to clean it. He's developed a fever; been unconscious for two hours."

Maggie nodded as Face automatically provided all the information she needed. "Good. Let's get him inside."

If the boys thought waiting in the chopper was bad, then waiting in Maggie's living room as she struggled to keep Hannibal alive was slow and agonizing murder. Face had long-since paced a trench in the floor, Murdock had made more origami animals then there was newspaper to fold, and B.A. stared endlessly, glaring at the White Door through which Hannibal's life hung by a thread. An hour into it, Face couldn't take the tense silence any more.

"I just don't understand…why didn't he say anything sooner?" Face paused in mid-step, ran a trembling hand through his hair, turned, and kept going.

"Stupid fool," B.A. shrugged; worry etching his tone.

Murdock put the finishing touches on a monkey riding horseback. Looking up at Face, he exhaled. "He did the same thing we all would've done, Faceman…this family's always had a communication problem."

"He was shot Murdock! He should've said something!"

Murdock didn't take offense to the harsh bite in Face's tone—it was just the worry talking.

B.A. shook his head and snorted. "Yeah, just like you should'a said somethin' that time ya' went a week wit' a busted arm before we found out."

Face's eyes locked with B.A.'s. He looked shell-shocked, but slowly nodded. His answering sigh was shaky and breathless. "I just can't believe it…this is Hannibal here…" Face couldn't finish the thought, he voice betraying him.

Murdock recognized the thought instantly and shook his head. "Hannibal's gon'na be fine…he has to be. Right B.A.?"

When B.A. turned to Murdock, he saw his older-baby brother surrounded with paper animals paired into four's, the best of each group facing the other three. The pilot's eyes were shimmering as he anxiously chewed his bottom lip. The instinctive insult on B.A.'s lips melted away at the sight. "Yeah, Murdock…he'll be just fine."

Face watched the rare moment before turning on heel with eyes locked on that cursed White Door. He prayed B.A. was right, but internally…he just couldn't shake the greatest fear going like a pickax over his heart.

It was at this moment, when all resolve was steadily breaking down, that the White Door swung open and three pairs of anxious eyes caught Maggie looking very old with a blood-stained apron over her pretty brown skirt. Face struggled not to be sick…Hannibal's blood.

"H-how is he?" The words flew out of Murdock's mouth before B.A. or Face got up the nerve.

The second she took in their honest, petrifies faces seemed to last a lifetime before she inhaled seriously and began to speak.

TBC

A/N: As always, thanks for reading! Till next time!