Rated: NC-17 Violence, angst, swearing, war
memories, m/m slash (Face/Murdock)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephen J.
Cannell and Universal.
Title taken from the song "And I Love You So" by Don
McLean
Summary: When Murdock tries to help Face ward off his
nightmares, he is bombarded by memories of when the
two of them met in Vietnam. The past and the present
begin to interweave. . .
Note: This is set about six months before either of
my other stories. It’s my first attempt at a longer
TAT piece. Plus, it’s my first attempt at (partially)
setting a story in Vietnam, during the war. So any
constructive comments are very welcome!
Part Four: The Flight, the Rescue, the Fight, and the
Striptease,
Piece 1
"You don’ wanna go there."
"I do want to go there."
"You don’ wanna go there."
Murdock adjusted the sand bag beneath him a little and
stared again out the front windshield of his Huey.
The rain poured down in sheets, but he could still
make out the big ol’ Chinook, lowering itself heavily,
carefully toward the tarmac. He’d been wondering,
over the last few days, whether the team’s new
lieutenant was his new best friend or just a pain in
the ass. Today things were leaning pretty heavily
toward the latter.
The Chinook was fighting a gusty wind and the rain was
blinding. The load wasn’t that heavy – probably about
a ton, and Chinooks were built to haul howitzers or
trucks, jeeps, what have you. Boats. But the pilot
was having trouble holding her steady and the guy
below was having trouble unhooking the load. He kept
slipping on the wet, shiny black plastic and jumping
off, spooked, when the copter ducked in the wind.
Murdock sighed and tuned into the Lieutenant’s speech
again. "…depends on us getting there by twelve
hundred hours."
Murdock flicked a glance behind him. The mournful guy
Face had picked up now looked like he was gonna cry.
His face was all splotchy and he kept wiping at it
with a red handkerchief.
Face looked back too. He turned on a warm, confident
smile. Became someone else. "Don’t you worry now,
Frank! We’re gonna have you in there in no time.
Have I introduced you to HM? I don’t think I have.
Frank, meet HM Murdock, best pilot in Vietnam, bar
none. He’s going to take real good care of us." Face
reached out a hand and patted Frank’s shoulder. "You
just settle back on the sandbags there. We’re waiting
for another chopper to finish unloading, then we’ll be
on our way. You just work on that paper I gave you.
You got that paper?"
Frank lifted up his hand. A ragged piece of white
paper was clutched there.
"Get those words down, now Frank. Guaranteed. One
hundred percent. Just get those down, and we’ll be on
our way pretty quick."
Frank went back to staring at the little piece of
paper, moving his lips moistly.
Murdock leaned closer to Face. Face was wearing some
kind of subtle, musky cologne and Murdock rolled his
eyes as he whispered into Face’s ear.
"You know what those are?"
He pointed to the Chinook. The guy down below had
stepped up onto the copter’s load, hooking one arm
into the thick netting and yanking hard on the metal
hook with the other. Finally he got it free. He
clambered down, slipping and sliding, then gave the
high sign to the pilot. The Chinook lifted, turned,
and disappeared into the low clouds.
Face’s jaw had tensed. They both watched out the
Huey’s windshield as a dozen guys with stretchers ran
out into the rain, yanked the net away, and began
loading the black plastic body bags up and taking them
away.
"Guess where those come from. You don’t want to go
there."
Face sighed. He looked down at his lap. Then his
eyes locked on Murdock’s. "You know that poem they
always made you say in grade school history class.
Paul Revere. For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. For want of a
rider, the message was lost. The battle was lost.
The war was lost." Face paused. "This is the nail,
Murdock."
Murdock looked at Face. He really expected him to go
along. He expected everybody to go along. With
whatever he said. And mostly they did. In the last
couple days, he’d seen more people agree to more
things than they probably had during the whole
frickin’ war.
Going to Ben Tre was stupid. Ben Tre was hot. Real
hot. They’d been dumping fire all over the woods to
the west for the last three days and nobody knew
exactly how long the town was going to stand.
But when Murdock looked into those big blue eyes, it
suddenly seemed like a feasible notion. Best pilot in
Vietnam. This was the nail.
Murdock pulled his eyes away, ran his hand down the
stick. "You sure?"
Face smiled warmly. "Absolutely."
Murdock nodded at their door gunner and waved out the
window to the ground crew. They gave the signal and
he took off. For Ben Tre.
Part Four: The Flight, the Rescue, the Fight, and the
Striptease,
Piece 2
"HOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWLLLLLLLL!!!!"
The Huey lifted itself into the black, stormy sky,
beating back against the wind that wailed around them.
Murdock could hear Face’s sharp intake of breath, see
his hands tighten against his seat as they arced west
toward Ben Tre, feel the odd glance the man gave him
as he howled. He could hear his door gunner going
crazy in the back, banging his fist against the side
of the chopper, chattering to himself and looking for
something to kill. Murdock measured the distance
between him and the green jungle below automatically,
keep it high, keep it high, but mostly he just flew.
Hands worked the controls like they were hooked into
him somehow. Chinooks flew like airborne cows and
DC-10’s were heavy, but really, to tell the truth, if
it flew, he loved it. Hueys were downright sweet.
Up here it was just him and sky. Wings and air and
who cared about any of the rest of it? He could stay
up here forever and hell with the war, hell with all
of them. Just let him fly. But he could already see
smoke. The woods beneath them were wrecked all to
hell and smoldering, even in the heavy rain.
Gunfire spat out the side door of the Huey and Murdock
groaned.
"Motherfuckers! I’m comin’ for ya, I’m comin’ for ya,
take this motherfuckers!" Cottontail Robbie was
working the gun on the door, killing trees most
likely, eyes bright with a glowy dexedrine high.
"Cool it, Robbie! " Murdock yelled over his shoulder.
Crazy laughter and the rip roar of the gun was the
only answer. In his mirror, Murdock could see the
other man… Frank? Murmuring to himself. If he was
smart it was prayers.
"You’re really happy up here, aren’t you?" Face asked
him over the radio.
Murdock glanced at him and smiled a little. "It
show?"
Face nodded. "How long have you been flying?"
"Since I was fourteen. My grandpa, uh, grandfather,
bought me this little old crop duster. All messed up,
rusted out. We fixed it up, and he got one of the
guys down at the Co-op to show me the ropes."
"You flew with the Thunderbirds, right? Show flyers?"
Murdock ducked his head. "For a little while. ‘til
Uncle Sam made me a better offer."
Murdock glanced over at the kid again, but now he was
bent over the little notebook he’d been carrying
around for the last few days, scribbling intently.
Murdock checked his altitude, checked the controls,
pulled back on the stick a bit, then leaned over to
see what Face was writing.
Face didn’t pull the notebook away, but that didn’t
help any. It was filled with some kind of unreadable
shorthand. Face grinned at him.
"Hannibal have you carryin’ some sort of secret
message to Ben Tre?"
Face shook his head. "Just my notes. Gotta keep
track of what everybody around here needs somehow."
Murdock frowned. "That’s classified information?"
"A good, uh, requisition officer’s got to be hooked
into what people like, what they want. What they
can’t get. Sometimes that stuff’s kind of… private.
You know."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Murdock was beginning to. In the days that followed
their hit on the VC supply line, things had started to
appear in the team’s tent. Murdock had found an
assortment of the latest comic books under his pillow
one night, the new ones, just that month. Captain
Marvel and Spiderman and all the good ones. A big
package of bright white, all-cotton, moisture wicking
socks had shown up in Ray’s gear. Everybody knew how
picky Ray was about stuff like fresh dry undies and
extra socks, and all that personal stuff that was so
hard to keep up in the jungle. But all the
complaining in the world had never gotten him new
socks until the kid arrived.
The day before, Hannibal’d taken a cigar out of his
pocket and put it in his mouth (like usual), then
began to pat himself down for a light (like usual).
Then he’d stopped. Taken the cigar out of his mouth.
Pressed it to his nose and inhaled slowly. Smiled.
"Might be nice having a requisitions officer on the
team, eh Murdock?" The cheap stogies he bought by the
case in Saigon had been mysteriously replaced by high
quality Havanas.
That night, Murdock, BA and Ray had walked into the
base cantina together. Or Murdock had followed BA and
Ray in, at least. The three of them sat in the
corner, watching the other grunts milling and drinking
and play-fighting and arguing. Then the guy who was
playing bartender brought over their drinks. He set
whiskey in front of Ray and a soda pop in front of
Murdock, who was flying the next day. And he sat a
glass of milk in front of BA.
BA stared at it a moment, then grabbed the bartender
by the shirt and pulled him close. Guys at nearby
tables moved their chairs away.
"Where you get this, sucka?"
The man swallowed, his adam’s apple dipping way down
his throat, then all the way up again. His eyes were
huge. "I. . ."
"Where you get this?!"
"I’ll take it back if you don’t…"
BA shook the man that he held in his big fist. "Where
you get this!"
"Peck!" the man shrieked. "Peck! Lieutenant Peck!
It was him. He said it was what you wanted!"
"Is what ah want, sucka! But ah cain’t get it!"
The bartender was beginning to gather in his wits
again. "It’s right there, sir! It’s all arranged.
Enough for one glass a night, every night. It’s all
arranged!"
BA looked over at Ray, then dropped the bartender.
The bartender fell to the floor and scooted himself
back under a nearby table. BA picked up the glass of
milk, sniffed at it suspiciously, then drank it down.
The whole bar was silent for a moment.
BA nodded and wiped the milk off his upper lip. Then
he walked out of the cantina. Ray and Murdock took
off after him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Murdock shook himself and came back to the present.
The jungle beneath them was a smoking hell of fire and
smoke. Robbie was going crazy again, firing the 60
out the side. They were getting close.
He brought the bird up a little, to where the wind
washed the smoke away. "Thanks, by the way. For
Captain Marvel."
Face smiled a little and nodded. His attention was on
the devastation below. But then he turned his blue
gaze on Murdock. "There anything else you like? I
haven’t been able to figure anything besides comics
for you. Oh, and choppers. But your own Huey might
take me a little while."
Murdock wasn’t sure, from the look on his face,
whether he was joking or not. "I’m okay."
Face looked at him oddly.
"What?"
"I say that to most guys and they pull out their
Christmas lists."
"I ain’t most guys."
"Isn’t there anything…"
"No! Look, I appreciated the comics and all, but I’d
rather you didn’t scam me stuff. I don’t like it."
"Scam." The kid said the word evenly. Not a
question, exactly.
"That’s what you are really, right? A two-bit con
artist. Just tryin’ to get in good with the guys
‘cause you’re stuck with us for who knows how long."
Murdock felt anger sticking in his throat like a bone.
And fear. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought
visciously to himself. Only person who talks to you
an’ here you go pissin’ him off. Ain’t really him
anyhow. He shot a glance Face’s way.
Face smiled.
Murdock had wondered a bunch of times over the last
few days, watching Face work, how everybody could miss
what was going on in those blue eyes. But somehow,
when he smiled, people ignored what the eyes were
saying. Of course, he was taking the guy to Ben Tre…
"Actually," Face remarked, "I’m a very good con
artist. Worth four bits a throw at the very least."
Murdock winced at the look that flitted across the
kid’s cool gaze.
"Don’t do that!"
The sudden loud anger in Face’s
voice startled Murdock. It was the first time he’d
shown anything, on the surface at least, besides calm
good humor. But it was too late to turn back now.
"What, you think you’re the only one who can read
people?" Murdock let his eyes hold the kid’s for a
long moment before bringing them back to the sky
around them.
Face looked at Murdock warily.
"I don’t trust pretty packages, muchacho. And that
includes you. So just stay outta my head, an’ I’ll
stay outta yours, ‘kay?"
There was a long pause. Murdock glanced over, but
Face was just looking calmly out the window again.
After awhile, Face’s voice came over the radio. "Most
people do, you know. Trust the wrapping."
Murdock sighed. This kid made him feel all tangled up
inside. One minute he wanted to hit him and the next
he wanted to shake him and the next he wanted to…
(quash that thought, little buddy. You don’ wanna go
there.)
"It isn’t you, exactly, it’s just… I’ve gotten too
many lumps of coal in my stocking, you know?"
The kid, Face, nodded slightly. And Murdock thought
suddenly (reading him again? Or projecting?) that he
did know. Pretty boy he might be, but he’d gotten
just as many lumps as Murdock along the way. Maybe
more.
"It’s not like you trust me…" Murdock said softly.
Almost apologetically.
"That’s different," the kid said. "I don’t trust
anybody."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Could have been lightning. But it wasn’t.
The heavy, roaring rhythm of the chopper blades
drowned out all sound.
They were like deaf people, unable to count the
thunder.
But guns don’t lie. They were coming to Ben Tre.
"Bravo Two Five Niner, comin’ in, where do you want
me, over…" Murdock talked into his radio, then yelled
over his shoulder at the men behind him. "Shut that
door, Robbie! Get your ass in here. You guys better
hold on and get ready, ‘cause we’re gonna go in hot
then vacate the premises ASAP, got me?"
Robbie looked back at him blankly for a moment, then
smiled loopily and shot off a few more rounds.
Murdock rolled his eyes. They called him crazy. He
just flew good.
The other guy, Frank, struggled back into his rain
poncho, then locked both his arms into the carry
straps along the chopper’s side and turned his wide,
pale eyes toward Murdock hopefully. Best pilot in
Vietnam. Right. Murdock turned to Face.
"Ain’t too late, muchacho," Murdock said quietly.
They both stared out at the city. What had been a
city.
Some great heaving monster with a fire mouth had
slouched across its surface, eating rock and leaving
rubble and smoke-breath. Guns spit white fire, but it
was impossible to tell, from where they were, what was
enemy fire and what was Joe-friendly. But then again,
Murdock thought, you could pretty much say that about
the whole frickin’ war.
"You want me to take us home?"
Face gazed at the remains of Ben Tre, and Murdock shot
another look his direction. They were flying into
hell’s kitchen and he wasn’t givin’ anything away.
His face looked calm. His eyes were carefully blank.
His knuckles were pretty white, though, where he
grasped his belt.
The corner of Face’s mouth lifted into a cynical
smile. "Where’s home?" he asked. Then he rubbed his
hand over his eyes wearily. "Take us in. We’ll
hurry."
Murdock sighed and started to take her down into the
landing area. "Hurry up an’ do what, anyhow?" he
asked.
Face brightened a little. He looked back at Frank and
winked reassuringly, then patted Murdock on the
shoulder. "You ever been a bridesmaid?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part Four: The Flight, the Rescue, the Fight, and the
Striptease,
Piece 3
There was so much fire on the ground and so much fire
in the sky it was hard to tell which was which.
The four men leapt out of the chopper and high-tailed
it for the trench that ran along one side of the
landing field.
Murdock grabbed Robbie, his gunner, by the jacket.
"Stay here, ‘kay?"
Robbie grinned and gave Murdock the old thumbs up.
But you never knew about Robbie. He wasn’t called
Cottontail for nuthin’. He’d bolt if he smelled
trouble and you’d never find him. Murdock didn’t want
to have to stick around after to go looking.
"Stay here, or we go without you," he said. Then he
followed Face and Frank into the city.
Incoming fire, ours and theirs, far and near, beat an
uneven rhythm against the sky. It was an impossible
sound for the body to get used to. Even in sleep, the
grunts would jerk at the close ones. You could buy it
anytime and your body knew it.
A priest, collar showing incongruously from beneath
his flak jacket, met them at the end of the trench.
"Peck?" he said. "You’re Peck?" He shook Face’s
hand, glanced at Frank and Murdock, then led them
across the camp.
Men huddled under their ponchos and ran between the
buildings. It was midday, but the black clouds that
huddled close over Ben Tre gave everything an odd
darkness, punctuated by tracer rounds and burning
buildings. The camp was mostly intact so far, but the
city was half fire, half rubble. Even in the camp
they could smell that heavy fetidness of decaying
flesh – bodies trapped beneath collapsed walls.
In the med tent, someone was screaming.
Probably several someones, but Murdock tried not to
analyze the sound. He tried not to hear it. But that
was as hopeless as trying not to hear the incoming
fire.
The smell of blood and alcohol and urine was
overwhelming, and it was stiflingly hot in the tent.
There weren’t enough beds, and a few of the men, less
injured, sat in folding chairs along the wall,
chainsmoking cigarettes and trying to hold it
together.
The priest stopped at the end of one of the beds.
A nurse was sitting there, her back against the
headboard, gently rocking a man with no arms. The man
keened softly. The bandages, where his arms had been,
looked very white against his skin.
After a moment, the woman stood up, easing the man
back down to the bedsheets. He never stopped making
that breathy, throaty wailing sound, but it never got
louder, either, when she moved. Murdock hoped they
had him so high on morphine that he didn’t notice
anything. Anything. He swallowed.
The nurse was moving, now, leading them down the
center aisle of the med tent and outside and then into
the mess tent. A few grunts were drinking coffee at a
table in the corner, but it was mostly empty.
Somebody kept sending up pop-up flares somewhere
outside the tent, and every time one went off, the
whole tent glowed green for a minute.
The nurse ran her hands through her shaggy red hair
and stared at Frank, right into his face. Murdock
thought, for a minute, that she didn’t recognize him,
then that she was trying to memorize him. But then he
saw that she was just trying to get from that place to
this place, away from the the med tent and the blood
and the alcohol and the screaming and back here.
Frank waited.
Murdock had thought he was an ugly, red-faced little
desk jockey when he met him, but he looked
surprisingly calm now, standing there. Not handsome
or anything, but realer, somehow.
The woman nodded, finally. Murdock found himself
standing beside her. She wasn’t beautiful. She was
heavy and her cheeks were round and her bright red
hair was all snarled and she was wearing fatigues.
Fatigues with dark patches down the front. But when
she smiled at Murdock, a shy, sweet smile, she looked
very, very pretty.
The kid, Face, stood beside Frank. The priest started
talking right away. He’d been here awhile. He knew
you didn’t waste time in Vietnam.
"Do you, Frank, take Jody to be your lawfully wedded
wife, to have and to hold, to love and to honor, ‘til
death do you part?"
"I do," Frank said firmly.
"Do you, Jody, take Frank to be your lawfully wedded
husband, to have and to hold, to love and to honor,
‘til death do you part?"
"Absolutely," Jody said, and Frank laughed out loud,
with love in his eyes. The two of them grinned at
each other, and Murdock was suddenly glad he was here,
glad he’d come.
"By the power vested in me…" the priest said, but they
were already kissing like they couldn’t afford to wait
even that long.
The priest made them all sign the wedding certificate.
Then he nodded at Face and clapped Murdock on the
shoulder. He made the sign of the cross as he went
out, and Murdock thought he could have done without
that one. Felt to his gut too much like praying, and
praying meant you were in trouble. He heard the sound
of gunfire, too close, on the perimeter maybe.
Face heard it too. "We’ll give them five, okay? Then
we’ll go." Face hovered near his arm for a moment,
then left the tent.
Murdock shook a cigarette out of the pack in his
pocket and lit it before facing the rain. When he
walked out of the mess tent, leaving Frank and Jody
crying and kissing and talking behind him, he saw Face
running hard into an alley between two buildings.
Murdock frowned and flipped up the hood of his poncho
against the downpour.
Two guys came out of one of the buildings near where
Face had disappeared. By the way they were moving,
Murdock figured it must be the Officers Club. Their
heads lifted curiously, like they heard something,
then they disappeared down the alley too.
"What the hell’s he doing?" Murdock muttered under his
breath.
Murdock felt angry at him again, at him, at this
place, mostly, at the war that made him feel so
goddamn crazy, up and down, angry all the time. The
more he tried to shove it down, the more it stuck in
his throat.
Murdock forced his hands to unclench and walked across
the distance through the rain, tossing aside his
cigarette. When he got to the alley, he froze.
A young Vietnamese woman in a white ao dai was backed
into a corner, shoving at a drunken soldier. Two of
his buddies were holding onto Face, taking turns
hitting him with their fists. One of them had a
ripening black eye. The woman’s lip was bleeding.
She kept pushing at the soldier in front of her as he
tried to press his groin into her, pin her with his
legs. "Dung lai!" she said desperately. "Dung lai!
I go home!"
The kid struck out at the men who were working him
over, catching one of them in the jaw. The man
cursed, then hit the kid hard in the gut, twice.
A sound rose in Murdock’s throat, and it was half
scream and half howl, and it felt good to him. Like
he was releasing everything with that scream.
The two drunks, who’d been watching the proceedings
blankly, backed up and away, looking at Murdock
strangely. They disappeared into the night.
Murdock sprinted down the alley and didn’t stop when
he got to the end, just ran right into, right through
the guy who was hitting the kid.
They both went down in a tumble, then the five men
were rolling around in the mud, in the rain, fists
flailing, legs kicking, scrambling for purchase,
trying desperately to see.
The three Marines, (Murdock could see they were
Marines, now), finally backed off, pulled each other
away and out of the alley. One of them was cursing
under his breath, a steady stream of profanity, like
water, and another spit blood onto the kid’s jacket,
but they went.
Murdock and Face and the woman were still for a
moment, staring at each other in the intermittent
light of the flares and the fires. Finally, Murdock
slid down against the wall until he was sitting, legs
out, across from Face.
Face stared at him. "Do you always make that… sound…
when you’re excited?" he asked softly.
Murdock started to laugh. Then he was holding his gut
and howling again. Then Face was laughing too,
hysterically, maybe, maybe they both were crazy just
then. They couldn’t stop. The Vietnamese woman,
still pressed into the corner, stared from one to the
other nervously.
Finally their giddy laughter eased. Face wiped his
eyes. He looked over at the woman, then tilted his
head and smiled apologetically. "It’s okay. Go on,
now," he told her. "Di di mau."
She paused a moment, then moved quickly between them
and disappeared.
Murdock stood carefully, feeling bruised and battered.
He stretched out a hand to the kid.
Face moved even more carefully, but he didn’t take the
shoulder Murdock offered, just steadied himself
against the wall a moment.
"Thank you," he said softly, not meeting Murdock’s
eyes. Murdock understood that it was for the hand up,
but also for everything else. The kid seemed
uncomfortable, but Murdock wasn’t sure if it was over
feeling obligated to Murdock for helping him or for
losing control, for laughing and letting go.
"It’s okay, muchacho. Let’s go home."
Frank and Jody were waiting anxiously in the doorway
of the mess tent when Murdock and Face got there.
They kissed and held each other one more time.
"Promise?" he said to her, finally.
"Forever, honey," she said. She looked into his eyes,
and this time she was memorizing him.
Murdock watched them curiously. Maybe that was what
love was like. Not a sugar-sweet Sunday matinee sort
of thing, but something bright in a dark place.
Something real and true in an angry place. Then he
thought that that was crazy. Vietnam was a terrible
place to learn about love.
Frank cried, and Face and Murdock led him along
between them, ducking around troops moving back and
forth across the empty places, in and out of their
bunkers and hidey-holes.
Robbie was smoking dope with a couple of medics down
at the end of the trench when they got there, the
sweet smell of it almost blocking out the smell of
diesel for a moment, the smell of smoke.
A cargo plane came in for a landing as they gathered
themselves, its roar drowning all conversation. They
all watched helplessly as it was hit by enemy
artillery, skidded, fell apart, burned up.
The stoned medics took off running and so did the four
men. They climbed in their chopper and were off the
ground and away from Ben Tre before the screaming
stopped.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"What the hell happened to you two?" the Colonel
asked, as Murdock and Face stumbled into their hutch.
He was sitting at a little table at the back of the
room, playing cards and sharing a bottle with BA and
Ray.
Murdock didn’t know where to start.
They were soaking wet, bloody, bruised, and exhausted.
They’d taken some guy to his wedding right on the
front line. The kid had said it was important.
On their flight home, Face had explained that Frank
was a radio operator, a translator, down at
headquarters. He’d keep them in the know.
Murdock just knew he was tired. He was filthy, but
all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for the
rest of his life.
"I’m waiting," the Colonel said evenly, and suddenly
he was standing right in front of them. Murdock
hadn’t seen him move.
Face swayed a little bit. Murdock caught his arm, but
the kid jerked back at his touch, like he’d been
burned.
"That’s gratitude, for ya," Murdock thought. "What,
I’m typhoid mary, now?" Things had been easier
between them on the way back from Ben Tre. But now
they were back to awkward.
"We, uh, got into it a little with a couple marines,
Colonel. ‘sokay."
"You don’t look okay." Hannibal put a hand out,
tipped Murdock’s chin back a little. Murdock could
feel his eye swelling.
The Colonel didn’t touch the kid, who seemed to be
radiating some sort of "back off" signal all of a
sudden. He stiffened when the Colonel told them to
report to the infirmary.
"I’m all right, sir," he said insistently. "I’m
fine."
"I’ll tell you when you’re fine, Lieutenant."
Difficult logic to argue with.
"But I don’t want to…"
"Move." The Colonel’s voice was still low. But now
it sounded dangerous.
They went.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Strip!"
Murdock saw the Colonel’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t
say anything. The doc was pissed.
Really pissed.
The doc had had Murdock run over, with it still
raining like hell, and get Hannibal out of his meeting
at HQ. Then he’d hauled them into the back room,
apparently to watch the new Lieutenant do an impromptu
striptease.
But the doc’s eyes were hot with anger, practically
sparking, waiting for an excuse to let it all out,
whatever it was, on somebody. The Colonel’s jaw
clenched, but he stood silently in the medical supply
room, waiting to see what the hell was going on.
The Lieutenant had paused, his face an unreadable
mask.
"Now, Lieutenant," the doc bellowed, and Face moved.
Silently he removed his boots, his uniform, and,
without pausing now, even a little defiantly, maybe,
his skivvies.
He was beautiful.
He had also been terribly hurt.
The Lieutenant stood at attention and if his own state
of undress bothered him, you could not tell it from
his expression. If the bruises that blackened his
whole left side, where he’d apparently been kicked in
the ribs repeatedly, with force, bothered him, nothing
in his expression gave him away.
"Turn."
The Lieutenant blinked once, slowly, then turned.
His back was a mess. It was covered with bloody,
half-healed, half-infected welts – from a nightstick?
– Murdock wasn’t sure. But they had to hurt. And
they hadn’t happened that day.
He felt anger rise into his throat. He could feel the
same anger in his CO.
"I’d heard that ‘Hannibal’ Smith took care of his
boys. Is this what they meant?" The doc’s hands kept
clutching into fists.
"No," Hannibal said, his voice dangerously even. "No,
this is not what they meant. How long ago?" Hannibal
never took his eyes from his soldier.
"Five or six days."
Hannibal nodded. "I want a medical report on my desk
by 1700. May I speak to him before you start on him?"
The doctor crossed his arms over his chest and looked
at the Colonel appraisingly. After a moment, he
nodded. "Five minutes." He turned and walked out of
the room.
Hannibal took a step toward his Lieutenant, then
paused. He stared for another moment at the bloody
back, the bruised sides. "Get dressed."
Face silently picked his clothes up from the floor
where he’d dropped them and put them on. When he was
finished, he faced the Colonel and came again to
attention. His face was still a careful blank.
"Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt, kid?"
"Wasn’t bad, sir. Wasn’t worth bothering you about."
Murdock watched the Colonel’s eyebrow raise in anger.
But his face held admiration, too. The anger won out.
He stepped toward his Lieutenant, into his space.
"I can count, Lieutenant. You were in the brig when
this happened. I’d like to know who took their
nightstick and jungle boots to my new officer when he
was unarmed and handcuffed."
"It doesn’t matter, sir."
Hannibal grabbed the kid’s collar and drug him up
along side him. The kid never flinched. His eyes met
Hannibal’s, and if Murdock didn’t know better, he’d
swear he’d seen a ghost of a dark smile pass over the
Lieutenant’s lips.
"I didn’t ask you your opinion on the matter, soldier.
I asked who did this."
"I respectfully refuse. . ."
"You listen to me, Lieutenant. You listen good. When
you join my unit, you are mine. You are mine, and you
will not refuse me anything. You will also tell me
when you are hurt, because not doing so could affect
the team. You will not, from action or inaction, ever
hurt my team, do you understand?"
"Yessir."
Hannibal sighed softly. He pulled a cigar from his
pocket and began a systematic search for matches.
The kid silently held up his silver lighter. The
flame wavered in the dim, drafty room. Hannibal lit
his cigar.
"Go get fixed up."
"Yessir."
Face left the room.
Hannibal sank down onto a crate. Cigar smoke floated
up into the air and disappeared into the dimness. He
looked at Murdock.
"So, you still think he’s worthless, Captain?"
Murdock shook his head. He felt his eyes watering and
he wasn’t sure why. He felt bad for the kid and he
felt kind of protective of him, all of a sudden. And
he felt… he didn’t know how he felt.
"He seems. . . a little more complicated than I
figured a… pretty boy like that would be, Colonel."
Hannibal snorted. Murdock couldn’t tell if he was
disagreeing with him or agreeing.
"Colonel. . ."
"Yes, Murdock?"
"I don’t think this is the first time he’s been hurt."
Hannibal sighed. Their eyes met for a moment, and
Murdock could see sadness in them, and a deep anger.
"I know." He took another puff on his cigar, let the
smoke escape in rings from his lips. "Keep an eye on
him, okay Murdock?"
