Get Off of My Back (Bryan Adams)

The plan had been great. Going smoothly, every detail worked out, every man in his place (for the most part), every line hammered out and ready for delivery. And this time, Face could say for certain it wasn't his fault the plan had gone awry. In fact, he wasn't even sure whose fault it was, but Bosco was looking like a good candidate as he was the one not in place on time.

They were taking down an illegal fighting ring. Homeless had been turning up beaten or dead on the streets and the team had traced it back to an underground fight club run by a sleazy crook who promised rich winnings and pretended the fighters were randomly chosen when he was really sending in his own hardened criminal thugs to beat as much money out of his victims (and the audience) as he could.

The audience themselves were none the wiser, thinking both fighters were volunteers from the crowd that pressed in close around the ring of uneven planks that made the wall of the pit. Wealthier attendees took seats higher up around the ring where they could look down on the fight in all its gory detail. The pit itself was a good six feet deep, the fighters' heads only just coming to the top of the planks and the faces of the audience pressed close to shout and jeer over their lost money.

The plan had been for Face to con his way into the owner's good graces, pretending to have plenty of money he was ready and willing to throw away to get in on the rigged fight racket. He'd offer to invest and expand Mister Mick Beale's underhanded business and Beale was eating out of his hand within minutes. Of course, a good plan takes four working members of the team and while Face was acing his part, and Murdock was proving to be a stellar 'quiet underling bookie,' managing not to fidget too much in the suit and tie Face had wrestled him into, Hannibal and Bosco were nowhere to be seen.

And that was not part of the plan.

Face was supposed to introduce his own fighter, one B.A. Baracus, who would then mow down every fighter Beale put in the arena. Hannibal would be betting on B.A. throughout and draining Beale's operation of every penny while Face kept Beale riled up enough to keep sending his men in to be pounded into the dirt floor of the fight ring.

He wasn't sure why that wasn't happening. Bosco's only other part in the plan was to get himself and Hannibal to the fight in the first place, and that should've been easy as pie. The only reason they wouldn't have shown up by now would be if Beale's buddy the local sheriff had caught on to the plan and waylaid the boss and Face's champion fighter on their way to the abandoned barn on the outskirts of town.

And that left Face to sweat down the back of his armani suit as the fighter he'd claimed would be here any minute continued not to be there with every minute that ticked by. Feigning professional frustration, Face could feel the con getting away from him. The fish on his hook was growing suspicious… that or just plain fed up with waiting as this promised star fighter Face would be donating to Beale's cause kept up his vanishing act and refused to show himself.

Without the wire and mic Beale would certainly have found on him if he'd worn it, Face was left to fume silently as he scrambled for the words that would provide him and Murdock a smooth exit after which they could go find the other half of their team and demand repayment for a really nice, really expensive suit that was currently being terrorized by sweat and smoke and beer fumes.

Beale had run out of victims and his next fighter was currently waiting in the ring for Face's man, the audience growing more and more irate at the delay, and Face gave Bosco one more minute of jeering and frustration before he gave up. He'd been just about to fake an emergency phone call and make his excuses to Beale when his silent bookie stood up beside him and shrugged off his suit jacket as he turned to Face.

"Well if you want somethin' done right, eh boss?" Murdock grinned at Beale, dumping his jacket on the dirty seat and tugging at his tie as he spoke. "If you're willin' to pay me the same as ol'No Show, I'll take your guy on."

Beale broke into boisterous laughter and Face took the opportunity to hiss through clenched teeth, "Murdock, what the hell are you doing?" A question that went entirely unanswered apart from a twinkle in the pilot's eye and a jerk of his head toward the ring.

"Come on, Coach. Put me in!"

"Your bookie?" Beale wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. Before Face could protest or even register how very, very far off-plan they were headed, Murdock had winked at him, turned, and dropped down lightly into the pit. The crowd reacted much the same way Face was feeling, with cries of outrage, but Murdock just chucked his wadded up tie at them and called back.

"What? You boys don' want some easy money? How many a'you really think he can beat me?" Murdock jerked a thumb at his opponent… a man who rivaled Bosco in muscular build and absolutely looked like the could snap the pilot in half like a twig, especially with Murdock's suit jacket gone and the white dress shirt making him look slim and like a corporate idiot about to be smeared across the pit walls.

And Face was stuck. He could sit back, pretend he was in on Murdock's game and watch the fight that he was fairly sure would end with Murdock in intensive care, or he could refuse and try to stop the fight, something Beale never allowed, and just be forced to sit down and… watch as Murdock was sent to intensive care anyway. Neither option sat well with him for obvious reasons. But bluffing was his go-to move and things couldn't get more off plan than they already were, so Face sat back and smirked at Beale.

"What do you say, Mick? It's your call."

Murdock was down there rolling his sleeves back to the elbows and saying something to his opponent across the ring that made the big man's fists clench and the pilot's smile grow. Not for the first time, Face questioned Hannibal's decision making. The boss had sent Murdock with Face instead of going himself. Why, Face couldn't fathom. Murdock was a wildcard at the best of times and if there'd been any chance of Bosco not making it to the ring in time, Hannibal had to have known this was how things would end up… right? Or the boss's plans were just a hope and a prayer stuck together with scotch tape that worked out in the end only out of sheer luck.

Again, neither option appealed.

"Your bookie wants to be beaten to a pulp, that's his choice," Beale laughed, then shouted to his own bookie across the way, "I'll put a hundred on the Bulldog!"

Great. Swell. Better start researching local surgeons willing to piece an idiot back together on short notice.

"The same on the bookie, bookie!" Face shouted a thousand times more confidently than he felt.

Across the ring, Murdock winked at him again before settling in a grappling stance, ready for the fight to start. No holds barred, all out 'fight for your life' style combat… they were doomed. Absolutely doomed. And Face bit back a groan as the fighters circled and the 'Bulldog' wound up with his back to them, completely blocking Murdock's slimmer frame from view.

Someone rang the bell to start the match and the Bulldog charged.

And then something happened that made Face wonder if he'd fallen into some sort of panic induced dream.

Murdock moved viper-quick and the Bulldog stopped in his tracks… then slowly tipped backwards and crashed to the floor.

Nose broken… out cold.

The crowd was stunned as Murdock celebrated with a whoop and a fist pump, spinning on the spot and pointing to the audience as he began to bounce from foot to foot like a boxer.

"Yeah! Who's next, boys?"

Face managed to cover his disbelieving laugh by turning to Beale with a smile that felt a tad giddy.

"That the best you've got, Mick? I thought you said your guys were tough!"

Beale stared only a moment before glaring and waving another man into the ring.

That man went down with a similar speed, a punch knocking his jaw out of place. The crowd erupted, shouting about a rigged match - as if that wasn't' what they'd been getting all along - and yelling curses at the pilot who'd just lost them a hefty sum of their betting cash. And Murdock took it all in with a gleeful grin, moonwalking around the perimeter of the ring and calling back at the audience with trash talk of his own. Face couldn't decide if the situation was more surreal or hilarious, but it absolutely had the same 'devil may care' attitude most of their plans wound up with, so settled in to play his part, upping his bet significantly and making it personal with a smirk at Beale. The old crook just glared back, waving another man in as he ground out, "I thought you said he was your bookie."

"Well…" Face tilted his head, watching as Murdock slammed his elbow into the newest fighter's temple, following it up with a knee to the ribs that had the man tapping out well before his boss would've liked it. "Bookie… Bodyguard… What can I say? I like to keep my staffing efficient."

Remarkably, even without Bosco's fighting prowess on their side, the plan was working. Once the crowd saw Murdock down his fourth man - a hulk who stood a head taller than the pilot and had him pinned up against the wall - by beaming gleefully at him and slamming his brow into the guy's nose, still with hardly a punch landed on himself, they switched both their bets and their support to the pilot's corner. Beale was hemorrhaging cash and running out of men too. Most of Beale's guys were street fighters with little to no technique or training. Murdock, however, had the entirety of his Ranger training and was also tossing in some strikes Face recognized as boxing, and others that looked suspiciously like the same kung-fu moves on the movie Murdock had been watching the night before.

The plan was well underway, but even if Murdock could miraculously pull combat skills out of his hat on short notice, he couldn't stop the fights from wearing him down. Even if he was dancing around the ring and calling out pilates instructions to no one in an effeminate German accent, appearing to be just as energetic as he'd been from the start, Face could see the pilot was growing tired, riling up his opponent so they'd rush him, easily side-stepped and struck at with minimal effort. And it was only knowing the man for the better part of twelve years that allowed Face to see through the act to the panting breaths and gradually slowing movements that proved the fights had begun to take their toll.

Opponents started getting hits in, and Murdock played it off as deliberate on his part, but he was still winning enough fights that Beale's patience wore out before the pilot's strength did. The next man in the ring entered with a knife, much to the dismay of the crowd who booed Beale's man and railed at the fight referee, whose one and only job as ref was to hit the bell at the start of each match, a skill that appeared to be the summit of the man's ability as he entirely ignored the crowd, taking a messy bite of an over-large sandwich before hitting the bell again.

"Come on, Mick… a knife?" Face gestured to the men circling below them, channeling his worry into a disappointed tone. "Your guys can't win without a weapon?"

The crowd roared and Face's attention snapped back to the fight just a hair too quickly to hide his concern. Murdock was reeling back, a hand held to the side of his neck where a cut bled a bright stain on his white collar. Face's heart seized at the sight, but the pilot just looked down at his fingers as they came away bloody, then looked up at his opponent, pointing those bloody fingers at him and smiling.

"Ohhh… so we're cheatin' now, huh?"

The man with the knife gave an exaggerated shrug and they circled slowly, until Murdock's back was to Face and Beale. Then, to Face's horror, Murdock turned his back on the knife-wielding enemy and addressed the two of them.

"This good with you, Big Man, or is he goin' rogue?" The pilot hooked a thumb back at his opponent whose eyes flicked to his boss in the stands. Wordless commands were exchanged between both fighters and their 'bosses,' Face's eyes catching his friend's and nodding fractionally to indicate his neck.

You okay?

Murdock grinned up at him, breathing hard but unconcerned as he waved Face off.

Just a scratch.

Face shook his head ever so slightly.

We gotta call this off.

Murdock winked up at him.

I got this.

Beale's man must've received his orders unquestioningly because he chose that moment to charge at the pilot whose back was still turned. Face had time to widen his eyes, take a breath, open his mouth to shout a warning, but before he could, Murdock turned, caught the man's arm and pivoted, sending him crashing into the wooden wall of the pit. The crowd cheered and Murdock waved at his adoring fans while the man fumed and rounded on him again. And Face was still concerned… until a door-busting kick to the groin dropped the man in his tracks well before that knife could reach the pilot.

The few audience members still on Beale's side shouted their protests but Murdock just turned and shouted back at them while the unfortunate man was removed from the ring.

"Hey, he cheats, I cheat! Fair's fair!"

Someone cussed at him and said something that was lost to Face amid the crowd's enthusiasm to get in on the argument themselves. Murdock must've heard it, though, because he responded with a glare and a gesture from the man to the ring.

"Why don' you come on down here an' put your money where your big fat mouth is!"

Face had a moment then to reflect on how nice the plan had seemed the night before and how very bad it seemed now because the man climbing down the stands wasn't coming alone and Beale didn't look like he was in any mood to veto a fight of four to one.

Yeah… the plan had been nice.

And where in the name of Giorgio Armani himself were Hannibal and Bosco?!

"I think we've seen enough, haven't we, Mick?" Face's words went entirely ignored as Beale glowered down into the ring, shouting at the ref to start the fight. "Beale, come on. Four against one?" Face laughed to hide his nerves as the first man lunged and the fight really began. "That's not entertainment, man, that's-"

"If you were so worried about your 'bookie bodyguard,'" Beale snapped, "you shouldn't've put him in the ring in the first place." A nasty glint entered the man's gaze and he took a cigar from one of his lackeys - cheap, smelly stuff, not at all Hannibal's caliber - and lit it, adding, "As for entertainment… speak for yourself. I for one would love to see this clown's brains spattered all over my arena. And if you wanna make a thing of it, you can go in next."

Face's blood boiled and for a moment, he considered doing just that, jumping the wooden planks and actually helping his friend instead of just standing there and watching as Murdock took a hard hit to the temple that sent him staggering back. But before he could, he noticed a change. Something was different in Murdock's expression. Tired but determined warmth was steadily being pushed out by a cold and grim sharpness that startled Face more than he cared to admit.

Murdock had explained to him how Ranger Mode worked. It wasn't an alternate personality or a total lapse of awareness. It was more an intense focus, a concentration and energy brought on most often by the need to defend either himself or his team. A clearing of the jumble of thoughts that usually occupied the pilot's crazy head. "Like a straight road instead of a roller coaster," he'd said, adding with a quirky grin, "But the coaster is a lot more fun!" Later, Murdock would explain it had been the feeling of being surrounded that had triggered it, having the enemy on all sides and his life truly on the line.

Whatever the reason, Murdock's moves had become brutal and efficient. He wasn't slapping aside punches or calling insults anymore, but moving with textbook precision and skill… and without holding back. One man's arm broke audibly, another's knee going the same way and Face saw the fourth man pull the gun only seconds before Murdock took his last buddy down and turned, catching the gunman's wrist and whirling to slam an elbow into the man's face. In an instant, the gun was in the captain's hand and pointed, dead on, at Beale.

Everyone froze as Murdock panted, sharp gaze darting to every movement with a hunted sort of urgency that made the fist in Face's gut clench all the more. Before anyone could make a wrong move and end this night with a gunshot and yet another reason for the government to hunt them down, Face vaulted the fence and approached his friend slowly.

"Murdock! Hey! Hey…."

Stepping over groaning men and trying not to think of the drops of blood under his newly shined shoes, Face kept his gaze on Murdock's steely features, taking a steadying breath as the pilot's hand shook and his fingers twitched around the gun, his breathing sharp and rough. Face stepped closer cautiously, noting how Murdock's gaze never stayed on him, just monitoring, not focused on him. Face was deeply, deeply grateful that his friend knew him well enough to register him as an ally rather than an enemy, even now.

Face's hand slowly met Murdock's, his touch gentle but insistent, pushing the gun down.

"We're done," he said softly, below the slowly growing susurration of the crowd, just between them. "We're safe, bud." He ducked his head a little, catching Murdock's eye and brushing the knuckles of his free hand just slightly against Murdock's where the pilot's arm hung by his side. "Come back to me, Murdock."

The green eyes narrowed, confusion entering the pilot's expression. His gaze skittered across the crowd, then looked down to where their hands just barely touched, Face's thumb catching Murdock's finger gently, just enough to ground him and get his attention without restricting or startling him. A look up at Face, more open, less sharp, a flurry of blinks and a shake of his head and Murdock was back, breathing a sigh of relief that Face mirrored as the pilot's arm lowered, passing the gun to Face with a sheepish half-smile.

"How'd we do, boss?"

Face huffed a laugh, looking around the arena at the groaning men who were slowly making their way out of the pit and likely to the nearest urgent care.

"I'd say you won."

Murdock looked around too, taking in the sight with a dizzy stumble and disbelief in his raised eyebrows. He whistled low, brushing a hand through his hair and grimacing at the nearest man's twisted knee.

"Whoa… been a while since that happened…"

Before Face could delve into that line any further, the roar of a familiar vehicle finally sounded from outside.

"Oh, sure, boss," Face muttered to himself, "Great timing… not like we needed anything…."

Murdock frowned at him.

"You okay?" The genuine concern on his friend's face drew another short laugh from him and Face clapped Murdock on the shoulder, guiding him to the exit before Beale could recover from the shock and escape the crowd of gamblers who wanted their payout.

"I'm fine. You look like you picked a fight with a brick wall." Face reached over as they walked to get a better look at the cut on Murdock's neck but the pilot waved him off.

"'Couple brick walls actually- an' I'm fine, Face. R-Really."

Doubtful, seeing as the line was delivered along with a stumble, a groan, and an arm moving up to wrap around his ribs. But he wasn't dying at least and that was more than Face had expected going into this mess. He made a mental note to get his friend to teach him some of those moves, because not all of that was standard-issue ranger training, but that could wait. For now, he pulled his brother in for a one-armed hug, pressing his lips briefly to the top of the pilot's tousled head as the knot of fear in his chest finally eased and he could turn to more pressing matters.

"Hannibal. What the actual hell was that?"

Hannibal had the gall to smirk at Face's wide armed gesture.

"We were delayed by the local authorities. How'd things go on your end?"

Hannibal's smile was a little too smug for Face's liking. He pointed a finger at the older man's smirking face.

"No. No, you do not get to pull that 'This was all a part of the plan' smirk and just breeze on by this. You were late!"

"No smirk! Just a friendly smile!" Hannibal corrected with an innocent spread of his hands, as Face and Murdock piled into the van. "And what makes you think my being late wasn't part of the plan?" Face fumed silently for a moment, eyes narrowed at the colonel who turned blithely to Murdock as the pilot seated himself behind B.A.. "Everything ship-shape, Captain?"

"Oh, right, about that," Face hijacked Murdock's response. "Bosco owes Murdock an apology and me a new pair of shoes."

"What?" B.A. shot a glare over his shoulder at the conman. "I ain't buyin' you no fancy shoes, fool!"

"No? Okay…" Face turned to his best friend in the seat beside him and asked casually, "What should we ask for instead, Murdock? 'Cause I think these shoes were worth a hundred at least. More if we add on the suit." Murdock grinned.

"That'd get us enough paint t'redo the van! We could make it the Mystery Machine!"

"The hell you wil-"

"At least upgrade the upholstery, right? I'm thinking flamingo pink. How 'bout you?"

"Only if it's fluffy, none of that sticky leather stuff, Billy hates that."

"Fool, your imaginary dog ain't-"

"Flamingo pink fur it is!" Face exclaimed, rewarded by a faint swerve in the van's course and Bosco's furious bellow.

"You lay one finger on this van an' I'll be buyin' both of you a brand new casket!"

Both of them fell silent, weighing the risks of continuing their banter in the face of such a threat.

Face let the silence linger juuuust long enough before asking curiously…

….

"Would that be in pink too? 'Cause I think I'd look better in a nice mahogany."

"Ooh! I want mine to look like a torpedo!"

"I'll torpedo both of ya'll!"

"Fine," Face spoke over Hannibal's quiet chuckling. "We'll renegotiate. What do you want, buddy?" He turned to Murdock whose sore ribs seemed forgotten as he practically bounced in his seat.

"Can we get McDonalds? I want extra fries!"

Bosco's irritable muttering only made them chuckle all the more, and they did get their McDonalds, albeit sulkily. And the fact that Bosco ordered Murdock's happy meal through gritted teeth just made it taste all that much better.