"What could possibly go wrong, eh, Hannibal?" Face asked as the four of them sat huddled on the floor in their holding cell.
Hannibal shrugged, "We planned to wait for Decker to find us in a jail, it just happened to be the wrong jail."
"And we actually got arrested," Face added, "Instead of having the sheriff of Bad Rock just place us in an empty cell until he got there."
"And now Decker's going to the wrong place and doesn't even know it," Jean added, "And he's not going to know how to find us."
"Don't underestimate Decker," Hannibal said, "I told you before he's got a few more brains than Lynch did. Granted that's still not saying much, but…"
Jean took off Murdock's cap and slapped it against the floor and started to wriggle out of his jacket. Everything had gone so well, right up until they had a cop catch them for speeding. What were the odds?
"What about Murdock?" Face asked, "He wasn't picked up with the rest of us."
"You think he'll get us out of here?" Jean asked.
"With that crazy fool, who knows?" B.A. asked.
"So…who do you think will find us first?" Jean asked, "Decker, or Stockwell?"
"If Stockwell's following Decker, they ought to get here about the same time if they ever get here," Face said.
"I wonder what Stockwell's been doing all this time that he was out of the country?" Jean thought out loud.
"Probably finding more men to work for him," Face commented, "I get the feeling he goes through a lot of them."
"I hope he didn't bring back Croatians," Jean said as she absently picked at her nails and peeled off loose pieces on top so they became jagged and sharp.
There wasn't time for anyone to ask her to elaborate on that statement, they could hear one of the officers returning and it sounded like they had someone else with them.
"I wanna talk to Ma! *hic*!"
They all looked at each other in silent wonder…no, it couldn't be.
"Hic! I wanna talk ta my mudder."
"It can't be," B.A said.
Face got up on his knees and craned his neck to look out through the bars and exclaimed, "It is!"
Murdock was being escorted in to their cell and looked like he could hardly stand on his feet. As soon as the door was open he more or less fell in but did it with the style of somebody being tossed in. He made a hard landing on the floor, felt his back pocket and screamed at the deputy, "You busted my yo-yo!"
Everybody waited until they were alone again before they moved over towards the pilot, who had rolled over onto his back and was doing a fine impression of a disorderly drunk. He even had the stench of whiskey on his breath when he opened his mouth to exhale.
"Murdock, what're you doing in here?" Jean asked him.
He looked up at her and answered nonchalantly, "Well I figured…if you can't beat em, *hic*, join them."
"Instead of getting us out of here?" Face asked.
"I got 'hold of Decker and told him where we all were, he ought to be here very soon," Murdock told them.
Face looked like he was going to be sick, and he told the others, "I just had a horrible thought. Suppose Decker decides to take advantage of the situation and turns on us? Think about it, we're practically delivered to him on a silver platter like this."
"It's not a bad question," Hannibal agreed, "Decker is a man of opportunity…" he was unusually somber now as he considered Face's theory, "I suppose only time will tell."
Decker had been halfway out to Bad Rock when his car radio started to crackle, and then Murdock's voice had come over the wire, speaking mostly gibberish but Decker was able to decipher that the A-Team had actually been busted and were being held at a jail in the opposite direction from Bad Rock. Once Decker had the location, he did a sharp U turn and if he was being followed by Stockwell or any of his men, Decker felt confident that he'd given them the slip of their lives.
He'd reached the jail in question and showed himself in and demanded to see the prisoners brought in earlier that night. He was shown to the holding cells and didn't know what to make of what he saw. For some reason nobody had had the presence of mind to actually use the cots supplied in the cell to sleep on; instead everybody had fallen asleep in one big mass on the floor. B.A. had fallen asleep leaning back against a wall, Hannibal had in turn fallen asleep using one of the black man's massive thighs as a pillow. Not three feet over from them, Murdock was curled on his side asleep, on top of Jean who was also out cold, and Face was asleep right next to the Captain on the floor.
Decker gave it a few seconds before he drew his sidearm and, holding it by the muzzle, beat it against the bars on the cell door and yelled at everyone to wake up and get up.
Hannibal yawned and stretched and rubbed his eyes before looking to the door and commenting, "Oh, it's you, Decker, for a minute I thought it was somebody."
"Took you long enough," Jean said as she got out from under Murdock and Face and stood up.
"Which now just leaves the question," Face said, glaring at Decker through the bars, his guard up and he felt ready for the rug being pulled out under them, "What now, Decker?"
It was obvious that the same thought had crossed Decker's mind. For two years he'd been chasing after the A-Team, pursing them relentlessly, willing to stop at nothing to catch them, and here they all were, locked up. He could call in the MPs and General Bullen, the A-Team would be arrested and put on the first plane heading back to North Carolina. And he would finally get the promotion in rank that he was promised when he agreed to this job. Or…would he? He'd been vaguely briefed on the idea that was circulating about Stockwell's plan, that he was hunting the A-Team to have them work for him. Considering their track record of almost 15 years, always managing to accomplish the inconceivable and the impossible, no matter the location, no matter their supplies on hand, it didn't sound too farfetched, and that had gotten the wheels turning in Roderick's own head. Was capturing the A-Team enough, or would somebody still be pulling the strings, manning the hoops for him to jump through all to prove how far he was willing to go in the name of being ranked above Colonel? The Generals overseeing that were excellent at head games, you had to be to stick in this line of work.
After a few tense seconds of silence and unresponsiveness, Decker produced the keys for the cells and turned the lock and told them in a disgusted tone, "Get out of here."
"I didn't think you had it in you, Decker," Hannibal said with a smug smirk as they left the cell one by one, "You just like the chase too much to give it all up now."
Decker said nothing and didn't move as B.A. walked out, then Hannibal, then Face, then Jean, but as Murdock was bringing up the rear, Decker reached out and pressed a hand against Murdock's collarbone and knocked him back against the bars and told him, "Not you."
"What?" was the general response from the other four people as they turned around.
Decker stared at Murdock to the point he was practically boring holes into the pilot's face, he chanced only a slight glance to the others as he explained, "Back at the V.A. Stockwell made it clear that his main priority was Murdock, and I intend to find out why that is."
"You can't keep him here!" Face said.
With his free hand, Decker pulled his gun out and aimed it at them and responded, "Don't press your luck with me, Peck."
Jean was not impressed and she all but stuck her finger in the muzzle as she told Decker, "Oh put that thing away before you hurt somebody," and shoved it back till it knocked Decker in the chest. "You're not serious, Roddy."
"Oh believe me, I am," Decker told her, "Over 10 years and nobody ever put the pieces together that Murdock was still working with the A-Team."
"Sure they did, just as you did, you just couldn't ever prove it," Jean responded.
"Why," Decker asked, "Is it so important to General Stockwell that he find Murdock of all people?" Knowing none of them had the answer he pointed out the obvious, "There's only one way to find out." He readjusted the aim of his gun so he had it on Murdock and told him, "Get back in the cell."
Decker checked his watch as he heard the footsteps coming towards the holding cells. He looked straight ahead to the cells instead of the person approaching and commented, "I had a feeling I had a tail on me…what took you so long, General?"
"Very funny, Colonel," Stockwell said, "And why are you still here?"
Decker finally turned to look at him, though not for long, and explained, "Captain Murdock is still considered insane in the eyes of the law, I can't do anything about that, he's had those head shrinkers convinced of his act for over 10 years, the hospital's sending some people to come get him, I'm merely going to be escorting him back."
Stockwell raised his glasses so he could see better in the poor lighting of the jail. "And what happened to the others?"
"What others?" Decker asked.
"The entire A-Team was arrested, were they not?"
"I don't know who told you that," Decker said, "But whoever did was clearly having a good laugh at your expense."
"There were four men arrested tonight, weren't there?" Stockwell replied.
"Yeah," Decker answered, "They found Murdock in a stolen car with 3 teenaged joy riders, all of whom have long since been released in the custody of their parents, which just leaves him," and he pointed to the cell straight ahead.
Stockwell stepped closer to the bars. Murdock was laying on a cot on the far wall, curled on his side so the only things visible were his jacket, his tan pants, and the bottoms of his sneakers. It seemed that he was asleep, or perhaps just trying not to be noticed. The General grinned to himself, it wasn't going to help the Captain now.
Decker wasn't looking at the man in the cell though. His attention was focused solely on the man on the opposite side of the bars. He watched as Stockwell tilted his head up as if trying to see better through the bars, and he called out Murdock's name, but what followed it was some words in some language Decker had never heard before. He tried to think, what was it, Chinese? Tibetan? Whatever it was, he sure as hell wouldn't have figured Murdock could understand it either. And, he didn't seem to, there was no response of any kind from the man on the cot. Stockwell repeated the pilot's name and said something else in the same foreign language, but again there was no physical response to what was said. And now, Decker could see that Stockwell was started to get agitated.
Then the figure on the cot started to move, slowly to roll over without falling off of it, and there was an exaggerated yawning and stretching gesture made before Jean lowered her arms and allowed her face to be seen as she got up.
"Sorry, Murdock couldn't be here for the occasion, but he let me come in his place," she said as she walked over to the bars.
Stockwell looked like he'd just seen a puddle of water turn into a river of blood, his wide eyes shown perfectly even though his colored glasses. "Who the hell are you?"
"Who…am I?" Jean asked, sounding surprised. "Did you hear that, Roddy? He wants to know who I am." She started laughing hard, so hard she about fell on the floor.
"You're crazy, Decker," Jean had told him, "Murdock's not staying here, he'll be in danger if he does."
"I told you before I intend to get some answers about what this whole mess is about," had been Decker's response.
"Fine," Jean said, "But you're going to do it without Murdock. I'll stay here in his place."
"What?" had been the general consensus in response to her revelation.
"There's no reason why it shouldn't work," she'd told Decker, "I'll wear his clothes, I'll stay on that cot in the back, he won't see me until it's too late, maybe by then we'll have some answers. Believe me, Decker, it's worked before and it will again."
"I don't know who the crazier person around here is," Decker had said, "You or him."
"Jean, if Murdock's in danger, what do you think you'll be when Stockwell realizes it's not Murdock?" Hannibal had asked.
"I can handle an old man," Jean assured Hannibal, "And from what I've seen of Stockwell, he looks about as old as they come. Besides, Decker will be here and he's supposed to be a sure shot, right? You forget he and I got a little understanding between us about killing. I'll be fine."
"Darling, are you sure about this?" Murdock had asked her.
"I wanted to confront this guy from day one, now's going to be my chance," she had answered.
"Alright," Hannibal said reluctantly, "We'll get out of sight but we won't be far off incase you need us."
"Yeah well while you're at it you might as well see about getting everyone else out of here too," Jean said, "We're gonna have a real showdown here and it's not going to be any place for rookie sheriff's deputies."
"Are you sure you're gonna be alright?" Murdock had asked as she put on his jacket and cap again.
"Murdock, I'll be fine, now get out of here before somebody sees you."
After they had gone, Decker used his military authority to get the rest of the jail evacuated, so it was just the two of them.
"Well I don't know about you but I find this to be a revolting development," Jean had said comically, but Decker wasn't laughing.
"Why did I ever agree to help you?" he'd wanted to know.
"Because you know something's rotten here just as well as we do, admit it, Roddy," had been her answer, "I just hope this twit hasn't been out recruiting Croatians for his work, I hate Croatians."
Decker had turned to her and inquired just why that was.
"Well if you were caught up on your world history, Roddy," she'd said, "You'd know that during the Holocaust they did things that would make the Nazis puke like a billy goat. Of course mind you, I'm not a discriminatory person, I hate everybody equally. It don't matter what part of the globe you turn to, everybody's got something to answer for, every side has an ugly history to it longer than your arm. I hate the North Koreans for obvious reasons, I hate the Germans because they gave us the Nazis, I hate the Japanese for even more obvious reasons than the Nazis in the same time period. I hate the Chinese because of their policies about girls and children. I hate the English because they started all the stupid witch hunts and trials that killed so many people for nothing. I also hate the Europeans in general because they came over and killed off most of the Indians and in the process set women's rights back about 9,000 years and today finding an original American is finding a needle in a haystack. The Haitians have their own part to answer for as well, theirs was done purely in revenge but the fact remains they caused a huge massacre back in the 1700s, women and children included, that's always the lowest of the low, and it shows in the dark chapters of history on every side of this planet."
Decker had been borderline cynical as he replied, "Boy you're a real equal opportunist, aren't you? Is there anybody you don't hate?"
"I like the American Indians," she told him, "Nice quiet people, an advanced species of humans, they had women's rights, they had divorce, women ruled the households, elected the tribe leaders, sounds like a nice bunch of folks, who did they ever bother? They sure as hell didn't go sailing halfway around the world to commandeer somebody else's land after killing off the pre-existing population with disease because they were too weak and too cowardly to fight. Of course, I've always been partial to the Australians as well…not the entire country, specifically the Aborigines. Any group of people that can kill someone without ever laying a finger on them is alright with me, and if they can do it just by pointing a bone at them, that's even better."
He'd watched as she put on Murdock's clothes and when he decided it was as convincing as she was going to get, he ordered her into the cell and closed the door behind her. Jean got on the cot so her back would be facing the men and remembered what Murdock had told her about reading minds. So, on the offchance that this Stockwell could, she tried to think as Murdock would think; when she'd had more time to actually think about it she'd been able to come up with plenty for that, but on the spot the only things that she could conjure up were white paper, Billy, his stupid video games, and flying, and she hoped it was enough to be convincing.
"Did you hear that Roddy?" Jean asked as she laughed, "He doesn't know who I am." She looked straight ahead at Stockwell and told him, "Obviously whatever you do know about Murdock doesn't account for a whole lot and certainly nothing recent, otherwise you would've known about me." She looked past him to Decker and asked, "How bout it, Roddy? You want to do the honors?"
Stockwell turned and glared at Decker, a perfect opportunity for Jean to slip out of Murdock's jacket, its sleeves were too bulky for what she was going to do. She also started biting her nails quickly, and she alternated between each hand because she wasn't sure yet which one she was actually going to be using.
"Colonel Decker, you chose to participate in this?" he inquired, sounding genuinely surprised though he didn't look the part.
"You could say that, yes," Decker answered.
Stockwell turned back and looked at Jean, and then back at Decker and asked, "What is this, some kind of joke?"
"Hardly," Jean answered, her tone full of venom now.
Now it was Decker who was having trouble not to laugh as he told the other man, "You see, General, I'd like to introduce you to Captain Murdock's wife."
Stockwell turned back to Jean and exclaimed, "Wife?!"
"You didn't know," she said with a smirk, "So much for the Intelligence part."
Decker got Stockwell's attention and asked coyly, "You don't remember her?"
"Oh I'm sure the good General has forgotten the fine farewell we gave him when he fled the country last June," Jean commented.
It became like a tennis match, Jean and Decker alternated getting Stockwell to turn to one as they spoke, then the other, Jean kept watching and waiting and noticing every small step Stockwell subconsciously took away from Decker since the Colonel seemed to pose the most immediate and imminent threat. All the while she remembered that old movie 'Village of the Damned' and did her damnedest to keep her mind on a brick wall, why take any chances? And then, she waited until Stockwell was just about backed completely against the bars, and she charged forth and stuck her right arm out the gap between two bars and hooked it around Stockwell's neck.
She stuck her left hand out another gap so she could grab him by his hair and jerk his head upwards and back and knock it against the bars a couple times. After that, she adjusted her hold, she kept him in an improvised headlock but this time did it so his head was tilted back and his neck was fully exposed and she used the nails on her free hand to slice into the skin of his throat. The sound of skin ripping was unmistakable though right now it was little more than a scratch, the jagged, on-off-on-off loose skin like when a dog scratched you or you ran into a blunt corner on something. She used her thumb and middle finger to scratch and scrape from the center and off in dividing sides, then she used the nails on her other hand to dig into the center of his throat and tried digging deeper in. She was oblivious to the screams he was making, Decker only seemed amused by it all.
"An insane woman is ripping your throat out, Stockwell," he said over a small grin, "I'd be inclined to do as she says if I were you."
Jean got tired and let go of Stockwell's neck, and as soon as she did he bolted away from the cell. Jean's fingers were coated in fresh blood, only a few shallow cuts though. She held her bloodied fingers up and out through the bars for him to see and she said, "That's the down payment, I'll be taking the rest of your debt in one lump sum, Hunt."
Before the General could even take in what she'd said, Jean kicked the cell door and it sprung open, Decker hadn't relocked it, and in a split second she was on Stockwell and throwing him up against the wall. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and knocked his head back a couple more times and was screaming at him, she didn't even know what she was screaming, she was just aware of a constant vibration in her vocal cords against her throat, and she got louder every time he didn't say anything because he was getting beaten within an inch of his life.
"Blood for blood, General, you took it out of my husband, so now I'm taking it out of you," Jean told him, she slammed him against the wall again and added, "No matter what you think you're capable of or what you think you know, you have not known death until now."
Stockwell was bordering on unconsciousness and slid down against the wall until he was slumped on the floor. But Jean wasn't done with him yet, unfortunately someone else had other plans. Decker grabbed her and started to pull her off of Stockwell, telling her, "That's enough."
"No it's not," she said as she broke loose from him, "I'm a loan shark, when a debt's paid to me it comes with interest." She grabbed Stockwell and lifted his upper body up enough for him to see her and she told him, "The blood's your payment but the interest is your life, General," and with that she punched him in the mouth.
Stockwell went down for the count and Jean tried planting her fingernails into the fleshy area between his collarbone and his neck, determined to puncture him like a waterbed in a cat sanctuary. But something was stopping her. It was not any subconscious voice of reasoning telling her this was wrong, it was some force physically stopping her, pulling her back, pulling her off of Stockwell. Gradually Jean came to realize that it was several some things, or more accurately, several somebodies pulling her back, despite her struggling. She could feel strong hands of varying sizes all up and down her body, all grabbing hold of her and trying to maintain those holds to keep her back.
"Let go of me!" she screamed as she struggled blindly. She kicked and jerked and tried to get loose and wriggled back towards Stockwell, screaming, "I'll kill him, I'll kill him!"
"We know," she heard Hannibal's calm voice, "That's why we're doing this."
Jean felt another hand on her that she could identify as Murdock's from the feel alone. He was talking too, he was being the voice of reasoning, and she hated it because as he spoke she could feel the fight leaving her. She groaned in the agony of defeat as she weakly continued to struggle though she knew it was futile. She felt hands all over her body, by now she didn't even have the strength to open her eyes, but she could hear them talking, and gradually the voices faded away as she too gave way to unconsciousness.
"Is Stockwell dead?" was the first thing Jean asked when she woke up. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she was awake, and aware of the presence of other people in the room.
She opened her eyes and saw she was in a dark bedroom, and Hannibal was standing over her.
"No," Hannibal shook his head, "He's going to live."
That was the worst news Jean could've heard, and it showed.
"You should've let me kill him, Hannibal," she said, "The man's dangerous, he's more dangerous than anyone else we've dealt with before, there's no telling how many men he has at his disposal. He had Decker followed, he had the calls at the V.A. monitored, he's no idiot, he knows what he's doing."
"Well he won't for a while now," Hannibal told her, "If you were trying to beat his brains out, you didn't come far from succeeding, he's being hospitalized right now for a concussion and possible skull fracture."
"He can still talk," Jean growled under her breath, "He can still give out orders. He's too dangerous to let live."
"Jean, we need to find out why he's interested in Murdock, and I'm just guessing he didn't say why before you tried to kill him, did he?" Hannibal asked.
"Does it matter?" Jean asked, "He isn't going to say why now either. He's not going to tell you anything."
"She's right about that, Colonel," she heard Murdock say, though she didn't see him, "We're not in any position to get him to bargain with us, we don't have anything he wants."
"Nothing except your services," Jean said weakly, "Your unquestioning allegiance."
"Well he's not going to get that either," Hannibal told her.
Jean's eyes felt like they were burnt and her eyelids were heavy, before she fell back on the bed she managed to get out an ominous, "You may not have a choice, Hannibal…" and then fell back against the pillows.
The second time Jean woke up she was so dehydrated her mouth was like sandpaper and her hands were dried out like fish scales. She found out the reason why she had slept so long was because back at the jail, to make her stop fighting them, Hannibal had injected her with a dose of B.A.'s night-night juice; the syringe had been prepared haphazardly and she wound up with a full dose instead of something more proportionate for someone her size.
Murdock had been there when she woke up, he'd been at her side for the better part of the two days she'd been asleep. Once she got some water down and was better able to talk, she told Murdock about what had happened at the jail.
"I hadn't planned to kill him, not then and there anyway," Jean said, "Originally I had just planned to mess him up and make him bleed a little, but you know how sharks are, they smell one drop of blood and they move in for the kill."
Murdock rubbed her back comfortingly and said, "I still don't know what got into you, darling."
Jean responded dryly, "Must've been a moment of temporary sanity. I cannot believe Hannibal got him to a hospital, what was he thinking?"
Murdock explained since he knew Jean still wasn't in a very coherent state of mind to put these things together for herself just yet, "He knew it would look bad if the newspapers got hold of the word that we'd been locked up and then we broke out and all that was left to show for it was a dead General."
Jean looked surprised, but not for the reason Murdock thought, tiredly she murmured to him, "That's why they invented ditches by the side of the road."
"Don't worry, darling, we're gonna figure out what to do with him," Murdock assured her.
She looked at him and started to mumble, "Murdock, the hospital, what hospital…"
"Don't you worry about that either," he told her, "And don't even think about going there."
She glared at him, "What, you read minds now too?"
Murdock eyed her suspiciously and asked, "Did he?"
"I never got a chance to find out," Jean said, "I was so careful, I took no chances, until he saw me I tried to think just like you, and then until I grabbed him, I just thought of a brick wall…and once I got my nails into his throat, I didn't think of anything, I just felt…"
"What?" Murdock asked.
She looked at him and answered surprisingly, "Happy." She shook her head, "I can't explain it. It…" she didn't look proud by what she was going to say next but she told Murdock, "It was fun."
Murdock smiled cautiously at her and told her, "You just like to fight."
"No," she shook her head, "It was more than that…it was knowing...here is a man who thinks he's got everything planned out, he has hundreds of yes-men who do whatever he says, he has unlimited resources: money, power, you name it, he has it, and he can plan for anything…" she started to laugh maniacally, "But he couldn't plan for me, he hadn't counted on me, that threw everything off course for him. That's why I was able to bash his head in, because he couldn't plan for that. If I ever get another chance at him he won't be so easy, but it was sure fun while it lasted."
She felt Murdock's hand patting through her hair like she was a dog, he smiled at her but advised her, "Tread carefully, darling, you're on that fine line right now."
"And I know it," she replied, then, frustrated, she added, "I still can't believe Hannibal let that perfect opportunity slip through his fingers."
"Well…" Murdock smiled like the Cheshire cat, "Not exactly." When she looked at him questioningly, he explained, "Before the paramedics came, Hannibal took care to remove everything from Stockwell's pockets: his wallet, his I.D., two guns, a whole bunch of papers, he didn't leave that man with any identification or anything that he can use now. And we've all been going through everything he took, trying to make heads or tails of it ourselves…so far we ain't come up with much."
"Terrific," Jean muttered, "So now we're right back to where we already started."
"Decker said that Stockwell spoke in some kind of weird foreign language when he was trying to get Murdock's attention," Face told Hannibal as they continued to look through the papers Hannibal had liberated from the inside of Stockwell's jacket, "What do you suppose that was about?"
"I don't know but it's probably the same jibber-jabber on these notes," B.A. said, "Bunch of scribblings."
Hannibal held out his gloved hand and said over his cigar, "Hand 'em here, B.A."
The Sergeant did, and after Hannibal looked over the notes that indeed just seemed to be a bunch of scribbles. Face looked over Hannibal's shoulder and asked, "What is that, ancient hieroglyphics?"
"Man, Stockwell's even crazier than Murdock if he understands that," B.A. said.
Hannibal flipped through the pages and looked them over a couple times before he looked to B.A. and explained, "This isn't a foreign language, it's a local branch: secretary talk."
"Huh?" Face asked.
Hannibal held the pages up close to the Lieutenant's face and answered, "This looks like a mixture of shorthand and speedwriting."
"No kidding," Face unenthusiastically replied.
"So what's it say?" B.A. wanted to know.
"I don't know," Hannibal looked them over again, "I never saw the two be used together like this."
"Oh that's just swell," Face said.
"Amy's a reporter, maybe she can translate for us," Hannibal said, "I'm sure she's had to use the skill at least once on the job."
"Something doesn't add up though, why would an Army General write like a secretary?" Face asked.
Hannibal responded a bit humorously, "Because he knows the likes of us wouldn't be able to crack it?" and flashed his trademark grin.
"Hannibal, you know I hate it when you smile like that," Face whined, "It always means trouble."
"Yeah, and never for the right people either," B.A. added.
Once Jean was actually up and about, she was slowly starting to put things together. One thing it took her a while to notice, when she looked down at something, she saw that her hands were clean. There wasn't any blood on them. But there had been blood, Stockwell's blood. The blood had been washed off…and her nails had been cut. Cut as far down as they could be before the clippers cut into her fingers, no doubt to get every last speck of blood off of her. Why? She could guess, and she could appreciate the intention behind the gesture, but she would've preferred a little reminder, to remove herself on her own time.
She heaved out a heavy sighing breath as she ran a hand through her hair, oh God she blew it, she should've just killed Stockwell when she had the chance, then they wouldn't be in this mess now. There had to be some way to find out where he was, what hospital he'd been taken to, but how? That was what she couldn't figure out, all I.D. had been taken off of him before the paramedics got him so he would be listed as a John Doe. Frustrated, she collapsed on the bed and started beating her head back against the mattress.
The door opened and Hannibal stepped in and asked, "You alright, kid?"
"No," she groaned as she continued to pound her head against the bed.
Hannibal took a step closer to the bed and looked at her as if she was a sideshow attraction and asked her, "What're you doing?"
"I don't know anymore," Jean said as she gave up and looked up at the Colonel, "I really blew it, Hannibal, I should've just killed Stockwell when I had the chance."
He seemed to actually consider that and said neutrally, "That's one way of looking at it."
Jean focused on the ceiling above and shook her head, "I'm never going to have a chance to correct this."
Hannibal moved over to the other side of the bed and inched his way onto it alongside her and he told her, "Don't think you're alone in this. Truth is if I'd been in your place and had the opportunity you did, I probably would've killed him too."
If he was looking for a surprised response, he wasn't getting it, Jean turned her head to the side to look at him and commented, "I had a feeling you would."
"You know," Hannibal said, "My men have taken a lot of lead over the years, and it's very seldom I get a chance to get my hands on the pieces of sludge responsible and seek retribution. And this isn't the first time Murdock took a bullet to save me either…so believe me I know very much what was going through your mind when you were trying to kill Stockwell."
Jean felt her hands starting to clench up and she pressed them flat against her sides and asked Hannibal, "Does it ever go away?"
"More like…it gets replaced," Hannibal explained, "It's happened before, it's going to happen again, getting mad's not going to do any good…but it's inevitable because you're only human, trust me, I've been there plenty of times too. And it's going to happen again, and you're going to be faced with someone else you want to kill, and I'll understand what you're going through then just as much then as I do now."
Jean sighed and glanced down, "I don't know what to do now…for so long I've had this feeling in the back of my mind, that my sole purpose right now was to kill Stockwell, how do I just walk away from this?"
"Is this just out loud or are you asking my opinion?" Hannibal asked.
"Yes," she answered, not confirming either way.
He nodded slightly and told her in a tone softer than usual, "Try, that's what you have to do; even if you think you can't, you've got to try, it's the only way you're going to."
Jean looked slightly annoyed by his answer and she asked, "What is that, practice makes perfect?"
"No…it's like when you're a kid and you go sledding at the first snow. First trip down hill is going to be nothing but rough because there's only resistance and friction met under the sled, so you can't just go sliding down the first time, you have to work around it to get everything set up first…because once you get the grooves put in, next trip down is smooth sailing…until you crash into the snow bank."
Jean looked over at him and said cynically, "Boy Hannibal, you really know how to make a guy feel better, don't you?"
With a small chuckle he responded, "I try."
"Amy, are you sure that you weren't able to find anything about this guy Stockwell?" Face asked when the reporter came over to be of assistance.
Amy shook her head, "Sorry, Face, this man's a walking enigma, I could hardly even find any evidence of his birth."
"Which was how many centuries ago?" Jean asked, "He ain't no spring chicken, that's for sure."
Amy ignored Jean's comments and looked over the papers Hannibal had given her. She looked over them and to Hannibal and asked, "General Stockwell wrote this stuff?"
"Somebody did, all I know is he had them in his jacket," Hannibal answered, "Can you make any sense of it?"
"Yeah…part of it," Amy answered, "A lot of it looks like it was just to throw off whoever was reading it…but this part here does mention a meeting with someone."
"When? Where?" Hannibal asked as he took the notes from her.
"Tomorrow night," Amy said, "Around 10 o' clock…as for the where…"
"Don't tell me," Face said, "Another abandoned airstrip in the city's near vicinity?"
"How'd you know?" Amy asked.
"Lucky guess," he replied, and added, "Hmm, seems to be a slew of them around these parts, I wonder why that is?"
"Could be Stockwell's planning to leave the country again," B.A. said.
"So soon?" Hannibal asked, "When he just got here? That's rude."
"Or could be someone else is touching down here and Hunt's going to meet him after he arrives," Murdock added.
"Do the notes say who it is?" Hannibal asked.
"Sorry, Hannibal," Amy said, "That's all I could put together."
"Stockwell's still in the hospital, right?" Jean asked, "He ain't gonna make the meeting."
"No he won't," Hannibal said, "So I guess I'll just have to go in his place."
"Aw man," B.A. shook his head, "Hannibal's on the jazz again."
"Why not?" Jean asked, "We've come this far, might as well go all in. To do that you have to be a little nutty."
"Oh goodie!" Murdock spoke up.
"Shut up, crazy fool," B.A. warned him.
Jean looked around the others and noticed they were acting like this was just another run-of-the-mill mission for them.
"If the coordinations are correct, there's definitely not going to be a risk of any passersby happening upon the scene. And it's impossible to tell what time a chartered or private flight is arriving, especially given we don't know where it's going to be coming in from or if it even is at all," Hannibal said.
"Either way, Hannibal," Face said, "You could never pass as Stockwell, so what're you going to do?"
"Who says I can't?" Hannibal asked.
"Well first of all, you're too tall," Jean spoke up, "Secondly, you're not wrinkled enough."
"That's nothing that Hollywood hasn't fixed a hundred times before," Hannibal replied.
"I still don't know, Hannibal," Face said, "On one hand…suppose this guy, whoever it is, is looking for Stockwell, but only because he wants to kill him? It is possible that this General's made himself a few enemies, you know."
"We wish," Jean murmured as she rolled her eyes.
She stood in the room and listened to the men jibber jabber on for half an hour about what the best approach would be to take, and how they would have to get everything set up for the meeting. Gradually the idea came to Jean that nobody even noticed her and wouldn't notice her even if she said something, so she did.
"I feel like John Ellman," she murmured to herself.
"What?" Face asked.
"Nothing," Jean said, "By the way, I guess I should thank you for doing my nails," and held up one hand.
"How'd you know about that?" Face asked.
"Because Murdock doesn't know anything about manicures," she answered coyly.
As the men started talking amongst themselves again, under her breath Jean quoted and paraphrased to herself, "Leave the dead to their makers, you can't kill me for something I didn't do, and you can't kill me again." Looking towards the ceiling she added to herself, "He'll believe me."
Author's note: If anybody actually still likes this story, reviews would be appreciated, :)