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This page last viewed: 2017-06-21 and has been viewed 2694 times
by Viskey Utsadanas
RATING: PG 13
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the A-Team and I don't make any profit with my writing. If you want to sue me, go ahead and have fun wasting your time.
PAIRING: none, sorry to all slashers
WARNINGS: dark mood and references to violence
SUMMARY: What Face means to Murdock
Prologue – Group Therapy
Murdock sat in the circle of patients, slumped into his chair and only listening with half an ear to what the others related. He wasn't interested in group therapy. After 12 years of saying nothing in group therapy, one might think they'd given up the idea, but they still insisted on him showing up. And so he sat, wasting time and keeping his mouth shut.
"How about you, Murdock?" the therapist asked.
"What about me?"
"Has there been anything good in '
"No, not a thing." Murdock thought about meeting the Team, but was fatalistic enough to believe he'd have met them anyway, so that most probably didn't count. But then a picture flashed up in his mind. Yes, he realised, there had been something good. But like hell he'd tell them. This picture was private. It was his alone.
Later, when Murdock returned to his room, he dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes. The image was there again immediately, the memory so clear as if it wasn't even a memory but a live-scene, just playing out before his eyes, right now.
He was in the camp, and he was hungry. Hell, he wasn't hungry, he was starving! But that didn't really matter right now, because right now a miracle had unfolded itself before him: Face was sleeping. Ok, that in itself was not a miracle. Face did sleep a lot, and the worse things got, the more he slept. But for the first time, Murdock was watching him, taking a close look, and the way Face was sleeping was beautiful. Face was beautiful. He was lying on his back on the cot, his legs spread slightly, his one arm above his head, his other beside his head, with the fingertips just touching his temple. His head was turned slightly to the left, his lips parted, and around his eyes lay an expression of... peace, a childlike innocence. And that was the miracle. After months of starving and abuse, he still had that innocence.
In that moment, Murdock realised that Face could be eighty (could be a hundred and eighty), and he would still have this innocence about him. He had* just been* born that way, and he would die that way.
"Just not too soon, Face, 'kay?" Murdock murmured to himself.
As if in response (and maybe it was, who could tell for sure?), Face shifted his position, still sleeping, and a hint of a smile showed on his lips, like he was saying "I won't, Murdock, don't worry".
Murdock smiled too. Innocence in this place. Miracle Boy.
Innocence in hell. Only Face could manage that.
That had been around ten in the morning. About lunch time (just the time, no lunch given) they had dragged Face off to interrogation. When he was brought back in the evening, he was all battered and bruised. He couldn't walk, because they had burned the soles of his feet. He crawled over to his cot on all fours. He lay down, tried not to let his pain show. Only once he slipped, and he pulled a face, grimacing in sudden pain.
But when he finally fell asleep, there was that innocence around him again, oozing from every pore.
And that was the real miracle.
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