EPILOGUE
April 25, 1985
The rumbling noise of the busses idling beneath the canopy drowned out the sound of the downpour hissing against the streets of Santa Fe, New Mexico. It didn't rain much here, and the thick drops gathered plenty of dust as they fell, cleaning the air and making it smell cool and fresh. Murdock couldn't have painted a more fitting scene for these last few moments of escorting Alan and his remarkably seen-but-not-heard teenage daughter. He guessed the shock of her ordeal held greater responsibility for her silence than upbringing or even inherent personality. In any case, he had less to say to her than any other hostage they'd ever rescued, and felt an odd sort of relief at Alan's neglect to properly introduce him to his niece.
"You okay, Murdock?"
Face's question, worried and focused, was not unexpected after the long, silent drive in the Corvette. Still it made Murdock swallow hard, clenching his fists tightly in his pockets as he watched Alan shake hands with Hannibal. Tia stood a step behind, eyes darting over the crowd, not even attempting a smile. Fairly certain he would never see her again, Murdock took a long hard look, committing her image to memory. She was family, after all. He at least owed her a memory.
"The official report said something about the water being too deep," Face declared, leaning on the van beside Murdock and watching Hannibal with mild interest.
Hands hooked into the pockets of his jeans, Face was the perfect picture of relaxation - perfectly opposite of Murdock who blinked, confused, and tried to determine how much of the conversation he'd missed. "Huh?"
With a sideways glance, Face offered a shrug. "You asked me how I cleared up the mess in the Bong Son River."
Although somewhat relieved he hadn't completely checked out and missed the part where Face prodded for an answer to the question about his state of mind, Murdock couldn't think of anything more to say than a simple, "Oh."
The dozen-year-old memory tugged on his mind in the long silence that followed, distracting him from the far more frightening images brought about by the man saying his farewells to BA. Hannibal had moved back, and reverted to casting long, concerned looks in Murdock's direction as he gradually came to the realization that no, Murdock did not intend to bid his brother a fond farewell. The sooner Alan was gone, the better Murdock would feel.
"How did the water depth have anything to do with it?" he finally asked, gratefully taking the way out Face had supplied.
With a chuckle, Face shrugged. "Nobody actually believed it," he clarified. "They just didn't want to deal with the hassle of a dishonorable discharge from Westman's A-Team."
Murdock shifted uncomfortably as more memories came, out-of-focus Polaroids tossed haphazardly in the box of his mind in no particular order. Some contained faces, staring at him with haunted eyes. Others more closely resembled abstract art - demons with enormous claws seeking to rip his heart out. Staring at the ground, he paid close attention to every breath of damp, cool air, filling his lungs slowly.
Following the trail of memories down the rabbit hole brought him full circle, back to the current reality. The blood on his hands had dried, but he'd still found no place to wash them and he couldn't keep them shoved in his pockets forever. Sooner or later, Hannibal would notice and would probably be a bit more confrontational about it than Face. Not that he thought he would receive a lecture on the worth of Corrolini's blood, but he didn't want to discuss how it had gotten on his palms and it was just easier to let them think the plan had worked out beautifully if that's what they wanted to believe. Frankly, it was what Murdock wanted to believe, and it was what he would believe, just as soon as he could scribble over the face of the most recent photograph and toss it into the box with the rest.
He'd gotten too close to himself today. Though reluctant to take a life and certainly not so much a sadist as he'd threatened, the simple fact of the matter was, he knew what he was capable of. He knew exactly what he would do, how far he would go to protect his team. The memories were unclear, but the instinct was ingrained. He knew a killer when he saw one, and Corrolini would not have hesitated to order their deaths if given the chance. Murdock saw only one way to make certain he wouldn't be given that chance. And it was okay, really. His conscience would survive, Alan and his daughter would go free, and the team would never know just how close he'd come to that dark thing inside of him.
"Why ask?" Face finally prodded. He sounded genuinely curious, if a bit too light, and Murdock could feel the weight of the expectant stare. "I don't think you've ever brought that up once since it happened."
Murdock drew in a quick breath, recalibrating his tone and posture to betray nothing of the blackness in his mind. "It's the last thing I remember clearly," he said quietly, casting a quick glance at Face. "From over there. It's the last thing that..."
Face continued to stare at him curiously as he trailed off, but only for an instant. Murdock knew he had his own memories - both alive and deeply buried - from the war. And not remembering clearly was not the same as not remembering at all. Years of therapy had gotten him closer to the truth than he ever wanted to come. He didn't want to think about it. The images in his mind, the flashes of memories made no sense. Frankly, they scared the hell out of him anytime they threatened to come to the surface. Better to just ignore them.
"Do you ever wonder..." He glanced up, watching from a distance while Hannibal said a few words to Alan's daughter. "Ever wonder how different it could've been?"
He glanced back at Face and caught his gaze briefly before they both looked away from each other. Fixing his stare on the scruffy man with his arm protectively around the shoulders of the half-Vietnamese girl, Murdock sighed internally. Alan had a purpose in the greater scheme of things. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the man had shaped the circumstances that had made Murdock into the person he was.
"If he'd never been sent to A Shau," Murdock continued, "I never would've gone after him. I might've never even met you guys."
Face drew in a breath and shoved his own hands deep into his pockets with a shrug. "No sense brooding about it."
"I'm not brooding," Murdock clarified. "Just... wondering."
Face was quiet for a long moment. As Tia bowed respectfully to Hannibal, she finally managed a smile, then cast a glance in Murdock's direction. Unable to manage a smile of his own, Murdock looked away.
"If it makes you feel any better, I would've probably been dead a hundred times over with a lesser pilot." Face paused, putting his back to the van with arms crossed loosely. When he continued, staring out at the wet street beyond the canopy, it was so quiet, Murdock barely even heard him. "Or friend."
Murdock took a deep breath, and let it out slow, watching as Alan and his daughter stepped onto a bus without so much as a wave back at him. Maybe it should've bothered him. But it didn't. Maybe the fact that he felt nothing was part of what felt so... wrong.
"Are you okay?" Face asked after a long silence. "You've really been out of it since he showed up."
He let the question hang. Murdock's jaw twitched as he briefly considered answering it, then shook off the thought. Face didn't want to know any more than Murdock wanted to tell.
"You ever had a memory that's so bad you can't even remember it?" Murdock asked abruptly.
Face's eyes shut, jaw tightening as the walls of defense suddenly and inexplicably materialized, three feet thick, around him. "Murdock..." His voice was low, edgy. Was that pain? "Please don't go there."
Well aware it was the question Face had wanted to avoid, and also aware that he had quite accidentally lulled his friend into a false sense of security before asking it, Murdock still couldn't help but continue. "Everything after that crash in the river is a blur," he admitted, out loud for the first time. Sure, he'd said it to therapists before. But saying it now, to Face, made it more real than all the recitals he'd made to date. Unlike the therapists, unlike Murdock himself, Face knew exactly what had happened. "I remember these little flashes like snapshots. I know pieces. But I can't put the pieces together."
Face rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease away the tension and searching for a direction to look that was far from where Murdock stood. "That's probably not a bad thing."
"I had a lot of hallucinations, Face," he said in a rush. "I did things, saw things that weren't real."
"You sure about that?" Face asked abruptly, surprising him.
For a moment, Murdock was caught off guard. "I..." he stammered, shaking his head. "What do you mean?"
Face sighed. "Look -" Finally, he turned toward Murdock, stepping closer to lower his voice so only the two of them could hear. "- it was bad. Towards the end, it was really, really bad, Murdock."
"Yeah, I know that, Face. I -"
"No," Face interrupted, shaking his head. The look in his eyes was surprisingly intense, and it silenced Murdock. "No, you don't. Be glad you don't."
"I remember the crater," Murdock said suddenly. As the words escaped his mouth, like magic, the fragmented pieces fell into place. Face closed his eyes and turned away. "I remember waking up in this black hole I couldn't climb out of and these... these trees would fall down in it and they'd almost hit me. And there was a big dragon that flew overhead - a huge dragon that screamed and screamed - and I know now it must've been a plane, must've been you looking for me, but I saw a dragon and I still remember what it looked like and how it smelled and all the -"
"Murdock!" Face cut in loudly, irritated.
Closing his eyes tightly, Murdock drew in a deep, calming breath. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
Face sighed again. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" he asked with less irritation now and more concern. "Let it go, Murdock."
"I can't." Hearing the way that his breathing hitched, he opened his eyes again, and focused on his surroundings. "My shrink keeps tryin' to get me to remember what was real and identify the things that couldn't be. And then that hallucination that was there through all of it turns up in real life and it all just comes crashing back. All the not-real memories that are more real than the ones that are real."
Face looked away again.
"All the monsters, all the voices, all the dead soldiers. All those dead... empty eyes just starin' at me, Face. An' I can hear them talkin' to me. I can feel... I can feel them looking right into my soul and I hear what they're sayin' and it -"
Murdock stopped abruptly as he read his friend's pained look. It was more genuine emotion than Face ever let show. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't even want to hear about it. Murdock couldn't blame him.
"It's over," Face said quietly. "It's been over a long time."
Licking his lips to bring moisture back to his mouth, Murdock turned his head away. "Yeah, I know," he lied.
His eyes drifted to the bus as it pulled away, heading for destinations unknown. Alan didn't know it, but he was safe. There would be no reprisals, no one searching for him and taking revenge on his new life, wherever he established it. The only gift Murdock had to give to the niece he would never know was her safety, and it was worth every drop of the sticky film between his fingers.
Face leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Face pushed away from the van. "Come on," he said.
Murdock glanced up at him, unsure. "Where are we going?"
"Just come on." The smile was fake, forced. But he'd given it his best shot. Murdock appreciated the effort. Slowly, he moved to follow.
Face turned as they both started walking, and put an arm around Murdock's shoulders, leading him toward the Corvette. "This is over," Face said with a false reassurance. "Let me buy you a drink."