A/N: Ok, so I did decide to split this last chapter into two. You should understand why. It's a quick update cause this chapter was a blast to write :)
Enjoy!
1969
Running a hand through his hair, Peck closed his eyes and tried to contain the growl of frustration. He couldn't get Murdock's words out of his head. And even the half a bottle of whisky he'd had since he'd been here hadn't helped quiet the voices; of Murdock; of Hannibal; of the rest of the team; of his past. That was saying something, considering he'd already had three quarters of a bottle before Murdock had shown up.
Pouring himself another shot, the lieutenant shook his head.
"Bad day?"
Slamming the glass down so hard it vibrated along the rest of the bar, Peck clenched his jaw.
"I got something that might take that edge off…if you're interested." The smirk could be heard without even looking at the speaker.
"Fuck off," Peck shot back coldly, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glared at the sergeant.
"That an order, Lieutenant?" Powell asked mockingly.
"A warning."
Smirking, Powell leaned in closer. "You gonna make me?" He chuckled as he added, "Just like you made McKinney stop shootin' up?"
No one in the bar saw the lieutenant move. But what seemed like a split second later, the two privates who'd come in with Powell were staring in disbelief, unsure what to do. The room was dead silent. Everyone's attention was on the sergeant lying on the floor, a deep gash across his face bleeding freely, and the lieutenant standing over him, the handle of the broken whiskey bottle still in his hand.
Staring hard at each other, neither Peck nor Powell moved for a minute.
Powell spit out the blood that had run into his mouth. Looking back up at the lieutenant, he snarled, "You just made a big mistake pretty boy."
"Yeah? Then why you still lyin' on your back like a pussy?" Peck retorted, tossing the rest of the bottle away.
Growling, the sergeant was up on his feet within seconds. Only a quick shake of his head was any indication he was feeling the injury to his face. A short gesture to the privates, and they had positioned themselves to block the kid's exit.
With a feral smirk, Peck assured the sergeant, "Don't worry, I'm not goin' anywhere. Let's finish this."
Peck's cockiness only infuriated Powell more. He swung on the lieutenant, but the kid easily dodged it, and responded with a left hook that had the sergeant seeing stars for a moment.
"That the best you got?" Peck mocked.
The lieutenant's amusement was short-lived when Powell barreled into him, sending them both to the floor.
Powell landed a few well-placed hits to the lieutenant's groin, ribs, and face. However, before his next punch could connect with the kid's jaw, Peck had trapped his arm and flipped them so that he was now on top of the sergeant and returning the favor twofold.
The gash on Powell's face was no longer the only injury covering the two soldiers and their surroundings with blood. Both of them had busted lips and broken noses, as well as cuts from the broken glass on the floor.
As hard as he fought, the sergeant couldn't get the upper hand. And the lieutenant showed no signs of halting his assault.
Seeing their cohort in increasing distress, the two privates finally jumped into the fray. They each grabbed an arm and pulled the kid off of Powell. Though they weren't quick enough to stop him from landing a kick to the sergeant's knee that caused him to howl in pain.
Peck immediately turned his attack onto the two holding him. He was hitting his marks, but not with as much force as he would've liked. Unfortunately, it was hard to take on two opponents that had him pinned and were at least twice his size, all muscle, with firm grips.
Adrenaline fueled fury sped up Powell's recovery from the barrage of hits, and he was up on his feet again. With the lieutenant now immobilized for the most part, the sergeant resumed his own bombardment of hits against the kid.
Not unlike their last meeting, Peck sent a kick into Powell's stomach that had the man doubled over. It was immediately followed by a quick, but precise, kick to the private on his left's knee that sent the man down.
One of Peck's arms was suddenly free, but not the one he was expecting. Looking over to his right, the lieutenant saw the private that had been holding him being lifted up off the ground by his collar.
"Pick on someone ya own size sucka," BA growled before tossing the private across the room onto a table that broke under the weight.
The table's occupants scurried out the door, along with the rest of the bar's occupants. None wanted any part of the fight.
Peck and BA shared a quick glance before turning their attention back to Powell and the other private; both of whom were back on their feet.
"Stay out of this Baracus," Powell warned.
BA's reply was a growl as he sent Powell sprawling with a single punch.
The burly sergeant turned back around just in time to see Peck knock out the other private with a piece of the broken table that had slid across the floor.
Breathing heavily after seeing all of his opponents were down for the count, Peck looked up at BA. But before either could say anything, the MPs had burst in, weapons drawn on the only two who remained standing.
A/N: Hope you guys liked that chapter! The next one shouldn't take long to write. It's gonna be fairly short too. But I will be able to have the remaining two chapters of this story posted tonight, so yay! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!