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This page last viewed: 2017-10-17 and has been viewed 1097 times
Summary: Hannibal reflects on lost love. Response to the A-Slash November 2005 Alternate Pairings Drabble Challenge. 600 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, I don't make any money from this.
"I want Murdock."
"Again? Why do you care what pilot you have?"
"I like Murdock. He's gutsy."
I'd insisted. Murdock was gutsy. He'd land anyplace. He'd take off whatever was falling out of the sky. Rain, bombs, frogs...
"Frogs?" I'd heard this guy was crazy, so I'd been a little nervous when he arrived to pick up my unit. We were under fire, exhausted, we had several wounded.
"Very common phenomena, Colonel." He had to shout over the noise of the rotors and the anti-aircraft fire. "Like raining cats and dogs."
"There's one thing worse than raining cats and dogs, of course. Hailing taxicabs."
I think that's when I fell in love with him. During that two second pause as the men in the chopper worked it out then either groaned or laughed. I laughed, and he winked at me.
I asked for him every time after that. And after he'd caught me staring at him enough times he figured it out. There were places I knew we could go. Where they were discreet if you paid them enough.
I'd never known a man like him. He was so open and direct. And he wasn't crazy, he was just happy. Easily confused those two. Happy when he came back from a mission alive. Happy when he got a package from home. Happy if he got an extra piece of pie, or the coffee was really good. Murdock just enjoyed being alive. He was a very uncommon phenomena.
Then he was stolen from me.
First day we got to the prison camp they took him and his co-pilot away, The co-pilot was brought out a couple of weeks later and shot in front of us.
But we'd known Murdock was still alive. We'd known, because we could hear him.
My fault. If I hadn't insisted I wanted him for every mission, just so I could stare at the way his hair curled softly on the back of his neck...
Well if I hadn't insisted then it would have been some other poor bastard screaming wouldn't it? And I'd have felt just as guilty. But some other poor bastard wouldn't have made me cry like Murdock. Not at the screaming. Some of the others used to cry during the screaming, but I didn't. I had to be strong.
It was when he sang. That night we heard his raw and cracked voice singing Fly Me to the Moon.
Was it for me?
He'd laughed at me when I told him I liked Sinatra. Body shaking with mirth against mine as we lay in bed together.
"Such a square, Hannibal. Such a square."
They'd yelled at him, shut him up and the screaming had started again. It was only then that I had noticed my face was wet . The others pretended not to see.
They'd given him back eventually, but he wasn't Murdock any more. The man who could once feel joy at the smallest blessings in life was gone.
I never got him back.
I never presumed to try and touch him again. I knew what they must have done to him, so I left it up to him, whenever he was ready. But he never made a move. He never talked about what we'd had before the camp. It's like they erased it. Stole it.
He came part of the way back. Learned to laugh and crack his jokes and play act his fantasies again. But I never again met the same Murdock I knew and loved for a few short months.
I never will.
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