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This page last viewed: 2017-10-21 and has been viewed 1573 times

by Rita

Rated: - PG
Warnings: Proposed Death of Team, Angst, Maggie's grief



07:55 a.m. Day of Execution

        Maggie Sullivan sat on the hard chair, her arms on the plain hardwood table, still trying to comprehend events since the news flash she'd heard a couple of weeks earlier.  Hannibal and the rest of the Team had been captured in Spain by some spook named Stockwell and had been shipped back to the states for trial.  Try as she might, she could not beg, bribe or buy any way into that trial.  Although in hindsight, she realized that if she'd been in the same room to watch the travesty of *justice* that had been perpetrated on all of them, she would have gone berserk and probably created a bigger problem.

        Reading the transcripts, such as they were, every day in the newspapers had only broken her spirit further.  The pictures in the papers showed a group of men who were handsome and uncowed.  What she would have given to see Hannibal then.  But of course, she would have been such a distraction to him that that could make the difference in something so life-threatening.

        Every day, she continued to try, anyway, to gain access to that courtroom, but to no avail.  She tried disguises, forged papers (Hannibal would have been proud of her and Amy's efforts), anything. What was so heartbreaking was that the reporter also could not gain access, the military believing she was far too compromised on the Team's behalf to be a nonjudgmental nor safe participant.  At least Amy had been able to get her the transcripts of the trial a day or two afterwards.

        And then the last day... Maggie's tears trickled down slowly.  The verdict had come in and the Team had been sentenced not to twenty years in prison but to death for killing their commanding officer. Amy had gone hysterical, wondering how Maggie was able to take the verdict so calmly.

        //Calmly?  It was an act, Amy.  Just an act.  There's plenty of time to go to pieces.  I've got my whole life to go to pieces... but now I've got to stay strong just in case something comes up at the last minute and we can still save them.//   Maggie never wavered in her faith that Hannibal would come up with one of his last-minute fantastic plans and the Team would make yet another of their improbable escapes.  She just wished she could find Murdock and see if he needed any help.  Being cut off so completely from the guys just tore her apart.

        She expected them to make a try when they were transferred to the island prison off the California coast.  Nothing happened.  She expected they would somehow trick their guards and make their escape, commandeering a boat from the island fleet.  None were taken.  She expected to hear of a daring helicopter rescue with Murdock at the helm and the guys being lifted out of the middle of the prison while thumbing their noses at the soldiers below.  No helicopters were waylaid or reported stolen.

        Maggie had felt the sense of doom and finality slowly descending upon her.  Hannibal had tried to prepare her for this eventuality.  "Maggie, it can't last forever.  One of these days, the luck is gonna run out."  She remembered his gentle hands stroking her face, threading through her hair.  "There will be nothing you can do.  Please don't set yourself up trying, okay?  If that day comes, I don't want you there to see it.  Promise me, please?"

        She blithely promised, of course, believing innately that Hannibal would never have to cross that bridge.  They would get free somehow before the government could ever kill them.

        But they hadn't.  Somehow fate had finally intervened and overcome them.  She tried to imagine how Hannibal must be feeling in these last hours of his life.  She knew if he'd had a choice, he would have preferred to go out fighting - whether injustice or for his own freedom.  The lump in her throat got larger.

        She tried to restrain herself from staring at her watch so much, but it seemed the room was full of timepieces everywhere she looked.  She had no idea why Decker had brought her here, other than he was also expecting Hannibal to pull off some last minute escape and wanted to have her as a trump card.  Trying to keep her composure with that anal jerk watching her like a hawk had been a supreme effort on her part.  Her eyes stole down again and noticed the watch hand had crept forward a few seconds.  The execution was due to go off at 8:00 a.m., less than a minute from now.  She felt the grief welling up from the bottom of her soul as she saw Hannibal in her mind and heart, the ragged, lopsided grin, the man of action, the tender man where children and women were concerned, the cold soldier where injustice was perpetrated.  She kept seeing his twinkling eyes, so clear and blue, so open and yet so mysterious.  He could be devious, open, loving, cold.

        And when they made love, it was a completely different man again.  The tenderness he brought to her bed had amazed her, given his background.  He'd brought her love, happiness, sex and awareness like no other had ever been able to.  He'd made her whole.

        And now he would be gone... //Oh, God... please do something... please.//

        Maggie's recalcitrant eyes would not obey her mind and stole down once again to the watch.  8:00 o'clock on the dot.  Her heart gave a tug and she felt like her life was leaving her.

        Decker clapped his hands together in a loud reverberation which tore through the room and her and she jerked violently at the unexpected sound.

        "Finally!  I got you, John Hannibal Smith!"

        Maggie just looked at him in disbelief, the tears starting to flow unchecked down her face.  She could not imagine the effrontery of this man to gloat at this moment with her watching.  Then the full impact hit her. //Hannibal is dead.  He's gone.  He'll never come back... those beautiful blue eyes will never open again.//  At that thought, she dissolved completely, laying her head on her crossed arms and let the tears wash over her, wondering how she would ever  have the strength to get up and leave this room, knowing the reason for her existence was no more...

        End or is it?

Anguish by Rita Ractliffe



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