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This page last viewed: 2017-12-06 and has been viewed 2218 times
Summary: Everyone has something to hide
Warnings: I don't think there is something special, except it can be understood as slash, and most likely will be
People can also find this story at my page www.mojweb.sk/akin/tat/tat.htm
"So this is it. A scam ended today. Already another this week. I am so
tired. Sometimes I think, Hannibal is pushing us too far, but sometimes I
have the feeling, he is the only one who knows what is the right thing to
I am so tired and afraid. Tired of life, afraid of the dull ache I feel
inside. I have to tell it to someone, even if it should be only my silent
I wonder, if someone knows, I have it. Hopefully not. Many people would be
surprised by the days of the "glorious" A-Team. Case after case, one like
the other. They are all the same and though so different, each taking
something. Part of heart, innocence. Until is nothing left, just a shell,
empty, handsome, shell.
You try to protect yourself, but the walls around your heart are not
working. Each case is getting under your skin, leaving bruises, not on the
body, on the core. Some are more blue than the others.
I am not afraid of the big ones, they leave scars, but you know about them,
you feel the pain from them.
The small are the worst, you think everything is OK....then you discover,
but it's already too late, it's already under your skin. Tears don't help,
they never do. So I hide the pain. From me, from them, I don't know.
I look into mirror at my on my face, my patented smile
everything-is-ok-so-please-don't-ask is there, working as usually.
Hannibal can sometimes pick even good cases, like this one, smooth, calm,
without bruises, violence.
And though, Hannibal can hurt me more than anyone else and doesn't realize
it. When he asked THE question for the first time, I was surprised,
humiliated. I had to do everything to behold the professional mask. I think,
I smiled. I don't remember, it's so fussy. No one noticed how much he hurt
Worse is, the question seems to be Hannibal's favorite, he doesn't realize.
I am stupid, how could he know, no one can. Pain is normal in the life.
Showing pain is showing a failure, a weak spot. I know pain, I've met too
many bastards who were trained to cause the greatest pain and let the victim
live long enough to relish it. Is it possible that all the pain, they caused
together is not at all matching the pain inflicted by one question?
Many would feel flattered if asked this small, innocent question after a
scam-what was her name? Right, her name this time? Her number in your
girls-book? Your number in her book? Like meat, numbers. But we are not
numbers. I am not bait, I am not meat....I hear someone coming up the
I fast put the journal under the pillow. Just in time, Hannibal entered.
"Parents never told you about knocking?!" My voice is harsher than I
intended. I feel Hannibal's eyes boring into me, looking in my core, I fast
turn my head away to break the intense look of those incredibly blue eyes. I
know why he came, probably to tell me the dinner is ready. I take fast a
sweater and run down the stairs very fast. So fast that I awoke even BA's
attention. He growls and looks at me menacingly, though I can see the
question in his stare. I look at him with that hey-man-I-don't-know-what-
you-want look and sit to the table.
Murdock is hovering around with pots and dishes oblivious to everything.
I sit here contemplating, I feel it's already quite a while when I realize
that Hannibal is not here. I think back, no he didn't come down from the
attic. He has to be still there. A strange pressure pushes in my stomach.
There is only one room up there, mine. I recall how I put the journal under
the pillow, I hope it's hidden good enough, but nothing is hidden good
enough before Hannibal, when he wants to find it. He is going now down the
stairs, I hear him clearly. I literally feel his eyes on my back, I try hard
not to turn to him.
Finally he is in mine sight, I see him with the corner of the eye, walking,
straight back, as usually, for others sign of aggression, I know, it's
normal. I try to study his face, but it's like mask. I can't read a single
thing, sometimes he is better in this than me, it's straightly unnerving. I
look at my plate.
BA joined us by the table too. Only Murdock jumps from time to time to get
this or that. He is jibber- jabbering about something.
I listen to him with one ear and something in my brain is reacting and I am
responding to him, though I have no idea what he is talking about. My
answers must be making sense, cos Murdock keeps talking and I feel my mouth
moving in response, but my eyes are fixed into Hannibal's unreadable eyes,
Colonel's lips are one thin line, firmly together. A strange feeling of
dread is dwelling up in me. Something down inside me is cracking. Then I
realize the silence and another intense stare on me. I turn my head to meet
a pair of brown, very expecting, eyes of H.M. Murdock. BA is staring at me
too. Do I have something on my face? Panic grabs me. I feel their
eyes...everywhere on me, you have everything, what else do you want!!! I
stand up fast, the chair falls back. Hannibal is looking at me strangely. I
got to get away! Away from them! Their gazes!!! Away!!! I hear my stammered
apology that I don't feel good. I run up the stairs to my room, fast, fast,
away!!! I feel the pressure of their gazes on my back, threatening to crack
my skull. Finally, I close the door, my eyes immediately goes to the pillow.
It's untouched, in the same position as I had left it. I feel silly. Was it
all my imagination? I wish it was, but I still feel the suffocating
pressure, I nearly can't breath. I am glad I am alone.
I nearly jump put of my skin, I didn't hear the steps of someone coming.
Maybe it's Murdock.
Not that much luck. I see the door open and Hannibal enters. His hands are
behind his straight back, face cold, unreadable, lips one tight line. I sit
on my bed staring at him. His hands move from behind his back, holding
something. I can clearly see what now, small black book. No doubts what is
it, my heart beats frantically, my mouth is dry, my stomach tightened in one
knot. I feel the color running out of my face, I gasp for air. How did he
dare!!! I glare at him, but it won't bring anything. He looks straight at me
with that now-I-want-to-hear-the-whole-truth-no-lies-kid look. WHOLE truth.
I hate when he is doing this. But it's impossible to be angry at Hannibal,
when he doesn't want to argue. My anger turns into resignation. I look at
him, I still try to play the anger game, but I can't fool him. He is coming
closer to me, I am realizing each his step, one, two, three, I wish the room
would be hundred times longer, but no miracle is going to save me. I feel
the blood rushing into my head. I won't look into his eyes, I am afraid what
would be there. He is now standing right in front of me.
"I didn't know you have journal."
"It's something to keep private thoughts in." I stress the private beyond
"I am OK with privacy, unless it's not bad for the team. I am the leader,
it's my responsibility to take care."
He starts again with this cliches. Hannibal is a great soldier, a great
leader too, but astonishingly unable to talk about the feelings, always
hiding behind the old cliches we already know.
"So, sue me."
I feel his hand on my chin, he is lifting my head. I try to resist, but I
know the show is at the end. Hannibal won't let me off the hook. I realize
how weak I was acting the last weeks. I am dangerous for the team. He is the
leader, he has to deal with each possible threat, even from inside.
My eyes are looking into his. But there is not loathing. Range of emotions
flickers there, different like the colors of the rainbow.
Wondering-questions-accusing and something I can't read, but no loathing.
"I didn't know I was hurting you so badly, kid." The voice is soft, not
leader mode, no accusations, only, endless...compassion? He won't let go of
my chin, I can't hide.
"It's Ok, it isn't really that bad. I am a little over reactive the last weeks,
that's all. It's OK."
I try to get away, but the hold is soft, yet firm, not allowing that,
Hannibal is gazing into my eyes, into my soul.
"No, it's not OK. We treated you bad, you have the right to be angry, or
"There is nearly nothing I could be angry with you." I know this is complete
truth, no matter how you treated me, how you hurt me, how bad I felt, I
can't be angry, not with you.
*Only that sometimes I feel like a piece of meat, flesh. Something what is
needed to function like a team, but in fact is nothing important. Would go
even without it, only not that smooth.*
I laugh bitterly and then I realize I said it aloud!!! I shut my mouth
tight, completely out of idea what to do or say awaiting burst of anger?
Laugh? I don't know. I close my eyes. I feel ashamed. I feel your hand
lightly brush against my cheek and again. And again. You are caressing my
cheek! I open my eyes in shock. Your face is only inches from mine. I feel
your breath tickling on my face. I can't see anything else then blue,
blue...blue...your eyes are so serious, I realize you are speaking.
"....it's OK to feel bad, each has bad and good days, but why didn't you
tell? I didn't know you feel the way you did. Like meat, another number in
the diary, useless..."
I can drown in that eyes forever, his hands has power to heal.
"...you are not useless, kid." You are caressing my hair now, looking in my
I wish it can stay so forever, then you move more closer and embrace me,
still caressing my hair. I melt gladly into you embrace. I am not able to
return it, though. My arms are hanging limply by my sides.
I listen to your heart, which is saying the sweetest words in my life
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