See, it all boils down to feelings.
- Gail and Face, "The Only Church in Town"
Chapter 8: Christmas of Yesterday
The inside of the Museum of Science and Industry was decked out for the holiday season. Behind the information and membership desk in the grand rotunda, near the escalators, was a gigantic Christmas tree. It stood on a platform in the middle, and was nearly as tall as the rotunda itself. It had to have easily been well over 40 feet high, and every branch was laden with decorative ornaments and thousands upon thousands of twinkling multi-colored lights. It likely out-did the tree that traditionally sat at Rockerfeller Center in New York City, or even the National Christmas Tree in Washington DC due to pure splendor alone.
Spread about through the rotunda, and into some of the nearby exhibits off of it, were almost 50 other Christmas trees. These weren't as spectacular or as large as the one in the middle of the Museum, but each one was unique . . . filled with items that represented the culture and how each country celebrated the holiday. There was the traditional American Christmas tree, but also ones from England, Germany, France, and even as far away as China and Japan. The entryways to some of the exhibits near the rotunda were lined with evergreen garland, which held bows and ornaments.
One popular exhibit in the east wing, off the rotunda, was the Great Train Story. The exhibit was displayed with old steam engines from the past, various locomotives over the years. One of the more notable ones on display was an old 1825 John Stevens locomotive, which looked like a portable moonshine set up on a flat bed, and four large wheels to allow it to move along the track. There was even a sizable HO-scale train set, with four engines running throughout what appeared to be a mountainous area . . . a set up detailed enough to give any model train enthusiast wet dreams. Besides the various cars, seeing those locomotives and the powerful engines that propelled them was what churned the love of mechanics for the young Bosco Baracus.
Just to the south of the train exhibit was another one that appealed to the Sergeant. Although the contents inside changed a bit over the years, the Wheels of Tomorrow always had been a favorite of his. He loved all of the car exhibits, including the ones from the past, but this particular section of the Museum made him look toward the future . . . at the potential models for new cars, and how engines, suspensions, and more would likely develop in the future.
Along the south wall near an entryway to another exhibit were two units, both of which were occupied at the moment. The two units looked like cars without driver side door, passenger seat, back seat or trunk. In fact, the windshield wasn't even clear at all, but a video monitor that the person could clearly see once seated inside. Another video monitor was perched on the roof of the unit, allowing those outside of it to see the progress the person inside was making.
The A-Team pilot watched the monitor on the top of the unit in amazement. Inside, the Sergeant expertly achieved yet another perfect score. Murdock's eyes were wide as he absorbed the interactive simulation, which seemed like a large video game . . . only, one didn't need to insert any quarters. This wasn't like any of the stand up consoles that he had in his room. "BA, let me try . . . please, please, please," he begged, eager for a chance.
With the simulation complete, BA looked out from inside the compartment at the Captain, his expression clearly indicating that he was ready to strangle the Texan if he kept it up. Murdock had been pushing his buttons all day with his antics, trying on one personality after another with every new exhibit they had visited. A quick glance to his mother made the burly mechanic reconsider. This was her day, and if making her happy meant keeping a lid on his temper, he was gonna do it. The irritated expression on his face seemed to melt away into a knowing smile. "Alright, Murdock," he agreed, pulling himself out of the unit.
Murdock's eyes widened to the size of saucers, unable to believe what he had just heard. Usually, when BA gave in to his begging, and smiled as he just did, it was because he had some ulterior motive in mind. Slowly and suspiciously, he slipped inside the simulator. It was a small compartment, but roomy enough for two people to sit inside if they squeezed in there, if necessary. The main rudimentary controls were present . . . the steering wheel, accelerator and brake pedal. Before him was a screen, which lit up almost immediately the moment he sat down.
After a brief introduction by a man in his late 40s with graying hair, the display changed to allow him to see what appeared to be the dashboard and hood of the simulated car, along with a country road. After a brief demonstration by the gentleman, who looked like he could have been some kind of a professor, it was clear that the goal of the simulator was to teach people how to get out of a skid. Once it got to the interactive part, Murdock eased down on the accelerator and increased the speed of the car until the simulated vehicle started to lose control. Although he tried to correct it, it kept spinning. He removed his hands from the steering wheel and flailed his arms around as he cried out, "It's a twister, it's a twister! Auntie Em!"
Mrs. Baracus watched the pilot and laughed. "Oh, Murdock, you are just too funny!" She was clearly enjoying not only his antics, but also the whole day. She heard the hearty laugh of Hannibal, who also found humor in what the Texan was doing, but she could have also sworn too that she heard BA snicker at the display as well.
Templeton Peck was another story all together. He rolled his eyes at what Murdock had just done, and his whole body language indicated that he clearly wasn't in the mood to put up with any more of his craziness. Spotting an entryway, he moved away from the group and walked through it.
The moment he stepped into the new area, Face was amazed by the sharp contrast from where he had just been. It was almost as if he had gone from the future into the past within a fraction of a second. Although the lights were low, the street was lined with cobblestone like it was during the turn of the century. He heard the muffled sounds of an old player piano that provided the soundtrack for a silent movie from the mock-up theater, and as he drew closer he could actually see people inside watching the film. Walking further along the street, he felt a chill in the air as he took in the sight of replicas of other storefronts native to Chicago . . . the Berghoff Restaurant, the Jewel Tea Company grocery store, Commonwealth Edison, and the Walgreens Drug Company. Each window contained memorabilia that provided a sample of what each store sold during that era. At the very end of the street, people entered into what appeared to be an ice cream parlor.
Even in this area of amazing simplicity from so long ago, which seemed to be frozen in time, he could not escape the holidays. The fake storefronts were adorned with Christmas lights and decorative garland, as were the old fashioned lamp posts that lined the cobblestone street.
He found an empty bench near the ice cream parlor and let out a sigh as he sat down. This had already been a long day, and was promising to get even longer. The Team had spent the last couple of hours looking at exhibit after exhibit, and he was beginning to cringe at each new sight. Thankfully the Christmas decorations didn't go too far beyond the entryway and the grand rotunda, into the furthermost corners of the museum, but he couldn't say the same when it came to Murdock's sense of wonderment and exploration . . . not to mention the diverse personas that welled up like a gushing fountain. To make things worse, they had talked about going to see some of the sights downtown after they left the Museum. Murdock would probably spend all of his money on the Magnificent mile, buying toys and other things to annoy the Team with. Though the Captain's antics normally amused him, the closer they got to Christmas the more it was getting on his nerves.
He rested his head within his hands and closed his eyes for a moment, oblivious to everything and everyone around him. All he wanted was for all of this Christmas stuff to go away . . . he wanted the holidays to be over with, so life could return to normal. Well, as close as normal as was humanly possible for someone on the run . . .
He was so engrossed within his own thoughts that he didn't even notice a figure approach and sit down on the bench next to him. His instincts were practically screaming at him to react, to try and look up to see who it was just in case it was a MP or a cop wanting to score a quick payday when he let down his guard . . . at a point where he was the most vulnerable he had been in a long time.
"Hey, kid, what's eating you?" the familiar voice next to him asked, filled with concern. Colonel John Hannibal Smith had followed his Lieutenant into this exhibit. Normally, he would have taken time to appreciate the sheer beauty of the street and classic storefronts, but his focus was on the young con artist that he sat next to . The Lieutenant hadn't been acting right lately. No, it was more than that, as this had become almost a regular yearly ritual. Either way, he was determined to get to the bottom of this, once and for all.
Face looked up and brushed a few loose strands of his chestnut brown hair back into place. He could see the crystal blue eyes of his Commanding Officer searching his own for a moment, almost as if trying to read deep down into his very soul to try and understand what was going on. He looked away from the Colonel as he responded, "Nothing, Hannibal."
John looked at the Supply Officer, able to see right through the false façade that the con man was trying to put up. It didn't even take his acting skills to know that his second in command was lying to him. He was running away from something . . . but what? His own feelings? Growing up as an orphan? What could have happened within the young Lieutenant's past to give him such a sour perspective of Christmas that rivaled that of Scrooge? The Colonel, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed Christmas and everything that came right along with it . . . from the yuletide, to the caroling, being with friends and loved ones, and sharing gifts with each other. The only thing he missed the most about it, himself, was the snow as they rarely ever got snow in southern California.
But, this wasn't about him right now and what he loved about the season. What worried him was his Lieutenant, and how they had to endure this right along with him. "Face, sometimes you can be a lousy liar," Hannibal pointed out, almost as if he was able to see right through him. He drew in a deep breath and settled his piercing gaze onto Templeton as he announced in a very firm tone, "The closer we've been getting to Christmas, the more you've been in the dumps. You've acted this way every year, and it's gotten worse each time. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you suffer through another holiday without knowing what's going on."
"Oh boy," Face murmured. He knew that tone of voice from his Commanding Officer, and he knew he wasn't going to like it. He had been able to weasel his way out of the conversation in the past, but that wasn't going to be the case this time around. When Hannibal made something a mission of his, he became determined and wouldn't rest or be satisfied until the matter was resolved. "Look . . . Hannibal. I guess I just never really liked Christmas."
Hannibal saw the young Lieutenant shrug his shoulders a bit when he gave that answer, but he wasn't buying it so easily. Face was a good con man, but even he couldn't con everyone all the time. The Colonel was on to him and could tell that there was more there . . . something far deeper than he wanted to admit. "Face, you grew up in a Catholic orphanage. Out of all of us, I thought you'd be the one to love Christmas the most," the strategist pointed out.
"It's kinda hard to enjoy Christmas . . . a family holiday . . . when you don't have a family to share it with . . . when you wonder if the orphanage, the only home you've ever known in your life, will be forced to close its doors because donations are down," the con artist snapped, his normally reserved self giving way to the anger and bitterness that had been simmering inside him for a very long time.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. Not only had he lost his cool, but he had very nearly taken it out on his mentor and Commanding Officer. Letting out a sigh, Templeton Peck added, "I learned the hard way that Christmas is nothing more than just a lot of pomp and circumstance, a holiday for those who have cash to burn and people to lavish gifts on." The burst of anger finished, Face once again shrouded himself . . . spiraling once more into his self-imposed gloom. He avoided Hannibal's eyes, instead watching people walking around and looking at mock up Walgreens storefront, which stood in stark contrast to the large black industrial equipment behind it. At this point, he really didn't want to know what the Colonel felt about his revelation.
Hannibal felt numb as he heard the raw emotion in the voice of his normally laid-back second in command. Although Face had never admitted it, he realized that growing up in an orphanage couldn't have been easy. The West Point trained strategist didn't know what it was like to not have a family, or to worry if he would still have a home. He also never considered the impact those experiences had on Face now, even years later. For the first time in his entire life, the normally wisecracking leader was completely speechless.
"Face . . ." Hannibal started to say in a somewhat cracked voice. He was still stunned and had a hard time trying to search for the right words in an effort to comfort the young man who was so much like he envisioned what his own son would be like if he were to have had one. He considered all of the members of his unit almost like his sons, and with being on the run he was more than glad to take on the responsibility of looking out for all of them, in addition to being their leader, mentor, and friend. But Face . . . Face was his special project, the person whom he was grooming to take over with leading the A-Team if something ever happened to him and he wasn't around anymore.
The con artist managed to crack a small, weak smile . . . but obviously a forced one. Now that Hannibal had gotten him to say something about what was bothering him . . . now that he had gotten the flood gates to open, it was time that he shared everything that was behind his Christmas blues. His Commanding Officer always seemed to come up with some kind of a solution that got them out of jams, but this was one thing that he wasn't sure that even Hannibal could come up with a plan to fix . . . not when it happened so long ago in his past. His eyes still avoided Hannibal's, but Face continued in a softer voice, "Every year, after classes resumed from winter break at the Catholic school, the other kids would brag about the gifts Santa brought them. In my class, I was the only orphan and when they found out that I didn't get any, they teased me saying that Santa didn't visit kids in the orphanage . . . that we were the forgotten ones since nobody cared about us. It wasn't until I was older and realized that Christmas gifts didn't come from Santa that I began to see the financial trouble the orphanage was in."
There was another long moment of uncomfortable silence between the two men. After a moment, Hannibal prompted curiously, "Financial trouble?" Face had a tendency to be somewhat secretive about his past, just as much as the Colonel himself, unless there was a major achievement that he chose to openly flaunt. Hearing this revelation that the orphanage was having financial trouble was nothing less than a shock. Still, it wasn't everyday that the con man chose to openly talk about his past, and Hannibal didn't want to say anything that would make him clam up. If the Lieutenant stopped talking about what was going on, there'd be no way he was going to get past this and he'd be miserable for the rest of his life every year around this time.
Dropping the fake smile, Face let out a sigh. He sat back on the bench and looked off in the distance, his blue eyes not really focusing on anything in particular. "There was one time . . . I don't remember why I was going there but I wanted to talk to Father Magill about something. I probably had to be about seven at the time, and it was a couple of years since I had turned up on their doorstep," Templeton began to explain, his tone of voice similar to when he had opened up to Amy about Leslie Becktall. "As I approached the door to his office, I could clearly hear him talking to somebody. I don't know who it was, but I do remember his voice. It was deep and very nasally, almost like he had something stuffed up his nose, really blocking his sinuses."
Hannibal leaned forward slightly, listening intently as the younger man told his tale. He didn't say anything, and didn't dare to interrupt. All he knew was that he was being told something that Face likely never told or admitted to anyone else . . . and something he may likely never share again with anyone. Not even the loud sound of a nearby whistle, which seemed to resonate through the area, was enough to stop the Lieutenant from sharing his story.
"I remember . . ." Face continued as soon as the sound of the whistle faded, leaving an almost eerie silence beyond the din from within the ice cream parlor. "I remember this other guy telling Father Magill that the orphanage owed a lot of money . . . and if he didn't pay it, the orphanage was going to be closed down. The kids that weren't fortunate enough to have people adopt them would be out on the streets. Father Magill told him that it would take a miracle for the orphanage to come up with enough money."
Hannibal took a precautionary glance around the Yesterday's Main Street exhibit, just to be on the safe side. With Face's guard down, one of them had to keep a careful eye out, just in case any of the Museum's rent-a-cops recognized them and decided they were going to try for a quick score by capturing two members of the A-Team. He didn't spot anyone that set off any alarm bells, so that set him at ease, allowing him to return his focus to his Lieutenant.
Face glanced over to Hannibal, trying to search the elder man's eyes for some kind of reaction to what he had shared already with the tale. He realized that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings and the people around him, and took a small amount of comfort that Hannibal was looking out for the both of them. Drawing in a deep breath, he allowed the story to flow to its conclusion, "I snuck way before the other guy left the office . . . before they found out that I had been outside the door, listening. I knew that was something I wasn't supposed to overhear, but I did . . . and I never told Father Magill either because I didn't want to get in trouble with him. That was the first time I ever really remember crying after my mom abandoned me and I first turned up on the doorstep of the orphanage. I vowed to myself, right then and there, that I was going to make a name for myself . . . to be financially secure so I wouldn't have to face such problems, and so I could try to help out the orphanage by sending them money regularly."
Colonel Smith realized that was the moment within Face's life that led him to become a con artist . . . to learn how to acquire things for himself so he could live comfortably, as well as to provide for others as well through his remarkable talents of persuasion. Of course, he knew while Templeton Peck vowed to make a name for himself and attain such a lifestyle, he likely didn't realize that it was going to result in him being on the run from the military. Still, all throughout this tale of the financial trouble, a burning question was etched in the mind of the A-Team Commanding Officer. He waited until Face paused before asking, "What about charities? Couldn't they do anything to help?"
"Hannibal, we're talking about the 1950s," the con artist countered with a bitter laugh. For a moment, he had forgotten that the Colonel was serving in Korea at the time, so he likely had no idea what things were like in the States. Even then, unless he had some kind of dealings with an orphanage, he wouldn't know the hardships. "People didn't give as much as they do today, and the few charities that did exist at that time had other groups they wanted to donate that money to. Orphanages survived only on what little money people gave to the Church, or left for them in their wills, which was few and far between. Usually it was former orphans who did that, if they didn't give it all to their kids. People would give to the Salvation Army bell ringers before they would give to an orphanage. We were the last place they thought about . . . if they even remembered us at all."
The Colonel knew little to nothing about orphanages, outside of the fact that Face had been part of a Catholic one. But, what the Lieutenant said about the funding made sense. People often forgot about orphanages when it came time to donating money, unless they themselves had been one. Catholic ones probably got a small funding stream based on Church donations, but even then it was likely a trickle rather than a well flowing river. Hell, even he forgot about orphanages himself, even though he had been almost half a world away, serving in a war at the time. As he continued to think about it, there were a couple of programs that came to his mind, which prompted him to ask, "What about Toys for Tots . . . or churches having a sister parish where gifts are donated at one church, and given to underprivileged families in the other church?"
"Where do you think they got those ideas from?" Face countered pointedly.
Despite the deadpan seriousness in Face's tone, Colonel Smith nearly burst out laughing with that remark. Somehow, it made perfect sense that Templeton Peck, con artist extraordinaire, would come up with the idea behind those two programs, even if he wasn't credited for their creation. Even though it was done with the spirit of charity behind it, underneath it all it had the markings of a scam with how it resembled getting items or money from one individual for the benefit of another. It became very obvious that Face learned the art of the con early in his youth as a method for survival . . .
Hannibal was about to say something when he spotted what looked like the picturesque example of a family walk by them, entering Finnegan's Ice Cream Parlor. The father was ruggedly handsome with a strong jawline and sandy blonde hair. He probably could have posed for the cover of GQ with looks like that. In his arms was a little girl who had to have been no more than two or three years old. Her head gently rested upon her father's left shoulder, causing her blonde curls to cascade down his shoulder blade like liquid gold. Hannibal's ice blue eyes locked onto the little girl, who looked back at both him and Face with wide, innocent, deep blue eyes. To the gentleman's right was a pregnant woman, with red hair that almost appeared to be like fire with how it moved with every step she took. She seemed to beam with a radiance that was only common to expectant mothers, and looked like she was probably about ready to pop any day now by the looks of things. A small hand was latched onto her right hand, and belonged to a young boy who looked to be about five years old. He had blonde hair, and was practically the spitting image of the older man. A huge smile filled his face as he excitedly called out, "Ice cream! Ice cream!"
Hannibal had often heard Face talk about his greatest wish . . . to be part of a family, and what his ideal vision of a family was if he were to have had one. Glancing over to him, he instantly recognized the look of longing, of yearning within the con artist's eyes as he also watched the family. He let out a bit of a sigh, which only served to further confirm that family was a representation of that wish. He knew that he had to say something before Face started to spiral into the deep recesses of depression. He wasn't a therapist like Dr. Richter was that Murdock saw at the VA, but there was still a chance that . . . if he could get the young man sitting beside him to see his line of thinking . . . maybe he could pull him out of this funk before it got any worse.
"Lieutenant, I'm going to tell you this once, and only once, so you better damn well listen," the Colonel barked, making this an order as he knew that would be the only way to get the full attention of his Supply Officer. When he saw his second in command gaze at him with tired eyes, he softened his tone considerably and continued, "Face, a family doesn't have to fit your dream description. It doesn't have to be made of a mom, a dad, two and a half kids, and a dog. A family . . . a REAL family is ANYONE around you who loves and cares about you. They don't have to be related by blood or marriage."
Hannibal could see that Face looked like he was about to protest, so he shot him a very stern look. His ice blue eyes stared deeply into the blue eyes of the younger man, almost as if searching into his very soul. He had no idea whether or not he was getting through to him or not, but he knew that he had to drive the point home. He reached over and gently put a hand on Face's shoulder as a sign of support as he continued, "You've had a family your entire life, but you've been too blind to actually see that. You wanted only wanted to see a family that matched your vision of one, overlooking what was right in front of your nose the entire time. You've wasted your entire life, wishing for something you already had in one way or another, and it made you bitter toward one of the most joyous times of the year. Face, Christmas isn't a holiday about what you get . . . it's about what you give like love, friendship, and understanding."
Templeton Peck sat in silence, thinking about what his Commanding Officer just told him. His mind kept reeling, finding the logic behind Hannibal's definition of a family as being totally and completely flawed . . . yet, somehow, some of it made sense with how he had made his point. Was he right, though? Had he had a family this whole entire time and completely overlooked it because it didn't match his ideal vision of one? In spite of the crazy logic behind it, which probably would make more sense to Murdock than it would himself, something within him was practically screaming at him to accept it . . . that Colonel John Smith had the right idea.
Before Face could say anything, the smooth tenor voice of Murdock could be heard from the other end of the cobblestone street. It echoed off the fake storefronts as he exclaimed, "Oh wow! This is like a storybook town! Is it real?"
Mrs. Baracus gave a light laugh at the pilot's enthusiasm as he bounded down Yesterday's Main Street. "Sorry, Murdock, but the only two places you can go inside in this exhibit are the ice cream parlor and the movie house. It
is beautiful, though. I can't get enough looking at this place," she noted, her voice almost seemed to become lost in thought. They reached where Hannibal and Face sat as she tried hard to keep her eyes from misting up with the memory that filled her mind. After a moment, she added, "Scooter's dad . . . my late husband, Albert . . . he brought me here 50 years ago right around this time of the year. We were both in our late teens, and very much in love. He proposed to me right here, outside Finnegan's, and I said yes."
BA wrapped a strong, muscular arm around his mother's shoulder in support, knowing how hard sharing that likely had to have been for her. He remembered how happy they all had been . . . him, Mama, and Papa, and how sad she was when she learned that Papa had died. It was right before he had enlisted to go to Vietnam, and his dad had been working at an auto mechanics shop. In fact, an old buddy of his had an airplane engine from a small private plane that he had wanted some help with. His Papa had turned it into a teaching experience for himself and some of the other kids at the Cabrini Green that were wanting to make something of themselves and escape from the notorious CHA housing projects that was plagued by gangs, crime, and violence. He remembered how a gang member from the Black Disciples entered into the shop to try and take the life of one of the other kids there, who was a known gang member in the Cobra Stones. His Papa bravely stopped the member of the Disciples from killing the kid from the rival faction, but BA had watched with horror as his father was shot instead at point blank range. He held onto his Papa's hand as he died. He remembered how devastated Mama was by what had happened, but was comforted by the fact that he had been with Papa when he died . . . that he didn't die alone, and he had stood up for what was right.
Murdock's face was practically beaming with excitement, clearly enjoying this whole Museum and all of the exhibits that he had seen so far. But, they hadn't seen everything yet, and there was still so much more. "Hey guys! What are we gonna see next?" he asked enthusiastically.
BA noticed the slight, almost imperceptible nod from his Commanding Officer. He picked up on it immediately and knew exactly what that meant. It was time for the real reason behind their visit to the Museum of Science and Industry. Taking his cue, he looked at his mother and softly told her, "Mama, I gotta make a call." No sooner had he said that, he saw the confused look from the Lieutenant. No, it wasn't just confusion. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to ask why BA had to suddenly make a phone call, here and now. He shot Face a sharp look before he could actually get the words out, knowing that the Colonel didn't need anything that could happen that would derail their plan.
"Sure, Scooter. We can go to the office . . . you can use the phone in there," Mrs. Baracus offered with gentle tones.
"Good idea. I'll come with you," Hannibal offered as he stood up from the bench. He had his own reasons for wanting to go with the two of them, but he wasn't about to share that just yet. Turning to the others, he suggested, "Murdock, Face, why don't the two of you continue to take a look around. We'll meet you at the Chick Hatchery in 15 minutes. I don't know about you guys, but I'm dying to check out the U-505 they have here."
Mrs. Baracus looked at her wristwatch for a moment to check the time. She hated to disappoint one of her son's men, but the holidays always drew large crowds to the Museum and she knew how it impacted certain exhibits. "Sorry, Hannibal," she jumped in apologetically. "The Museum's gonna close in about an hour. The U-505's always got long lines. They start turning people away as much as an hour before closing."
The sound of a whistle pierced the air again . . . the same one that Hannibal and Face had heard earlier. That sound gave the Sergeant an idea. "What about the Coal Mine, Mama?" BA suggested.
"Good idea, baby," Mrs. B noted with a smile at her son's idea. She recalled how fascinated he was with all of the equipment on that exhibit, especially the huge elevator and the engine that lowered the car of visitors into the replica of a coal mine. "They never have a line at the end of the day."
Murdock brightened when he heard the pairing that the Colonel had recommended. "Come on, Faceman. I wanna go see the Fairy Castle. I hear they shrink you down 'till you're five inches high," he rambled excitedly. He moved over to stand next to where Face was sitting as a sign of encouragement for the con man to join him.
The Supply Officer rolled his eyes. The Colonel had often played into Murdock's various antics, even to the point of encouraging him, so why couldn't he have chosen to go with the Texan instead? With Face's dismal attitude of lately, he and Murdock would have been like oil and water . . . they wouldn't have blended together very well. He had a sneaky suspicion as to why Hannibal wanted him to go, and chose instead to accompany BA. "Alright," he sighed. "Come on, Murdock," he told his friend, hoping to get the pilot to quiet down so he wouldn't draw so much attention.
Hannibal couldn't help but to grin as he watched the two of them head toward the yellow staircase and descend into the lower level where that exhibit was. Murdock's bright spirit and infectious enthusiasm was probably the shot of adrenaline that Face needed right now. He glanced to his Sergeant, who simply shrugged his shoulders in response. He could tell that BA was curious as to why he and Face had gone off by themselves and what they had talked about, but after the deeply personal things that the Lieutenant had shared with him, that was one secret that the Colonel intended to keep.