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Old Age Home
by Lianne
September 2004
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Carl leaned back in his seat on the wide porch, watching as 
the sun settled into the horizon in a glorious blaze of 
color. It was a beautiful evening, warm enough to sweat, 
and very few clouds in the sky. He rarely had the chance to 
just sit back and enjoy the spectacle, so whenever he got 
the chance, he took it. The western sky was awash in reds 
and oranges, while to the east, the sky over the mountains 
were already bruise-dark, which suited his mood perfectly.

His knee was aching, telling him that there would be rain 
before morning. It had been doing that for a few years now, 
and while in the field he could ignore it, during rest 
periods it wasn't so easy. Years of jumping from planes, 
running over rough terrain, being shot, and being 
'questioned' had left their marks on and in his body. On a 
gentle night like this, he felt old.

And after the memorial service that afternoon, he felt even 
older. Maybe it was time to think of retirement. He'd been 
doing this job for more than a decade now, and much as he 
hated to admit it, he was slowing down.

They all were. At times like this, it amazed Carl that in 
the history of the Farm they'd only lost two people in the 
field. The attack on the Farm, early in its history, had 
killed more, including Mack's love, April, and his own 
partner of too short a time, Andrej, but that wasn't quite 
the same thing. Only Keio, and now Katz, had died out 
there.

Katz's death had his everyone hard. When he'd retired from 
active fieldwork as head of Phoenix Force, everyone had 
expected that he would live a long life. He did valuable 
work as a mission planner, but it seemed he didn't feel the 
same way. After a period of depression, he'd gone home to 
Israel for a visit. Once there, he'd stumbled onto 
something big, and thanks to a need to prove that he could 
still do the job, he'd gotten in over his head and had been 
killed. Mack and David had avenged him, finishing the job 
he'd started, but he was still dead.

Was that how he was going to end up? Carl hoped not.

The porch boards creaked, and Carl looked over to find Mack 
coming towards him, two dripping bottles in his hands. Mack 
Bolan. The original warrior. The man who had inspired this 
whole organization, and although officially dead, still the 
boogieman to new generations of the Mafia. The lines on his 
face were deeper than usual, and for the first time, Carl 
noted the amount of silver in the other man's dark hair. He 
looked tired. He looked as old as Carl felt.

Mack sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs that littered 
the porch, his knee joints crackling loud enough for Carl 
to hear as he did so. Carl had seen the man in the showers, 
and knew that Mack had enough scars to shock most of the 
'civilized' people he fought to protect. Mack was only in 
his late forties, but his body had suffered more stress 
than most men twice his age.

Mack handed over a cold bottle of beer, and they sat in 
comfortable silence as the ruddy sky slowly faded to purple 
and the stars began their nightly show, cool and aloof, 
high above it all. Carl sighed. He wondered if his son was 
stargazing too that night. He hadn't seen the boy in nearly 
two years now; partly because of lack of time, partly 
because that was the way his ex-wife preferred it. It would 
be easier on the boy when Carl finally got himself killed, 
she'd said harshly. Carl still received the annual father's 
day and birthday cars, but his son called another man 
'dad.'

"Do you ever think of quitting?" Carl asked, breaking the 
silence. "Letting someone else do the work. See if it's 
even possible for us to have a normal life anymore?"

Mack's dark eyes were unreadable in the evening shadows. 
"No," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Not really."

"Why not?"

Mack lifted his bottle and took a slow swallow, while Carl 
waited. "Because I have no 'normal' life to return to," he 
finally said. "Because the people I consider family are 
here." He glanced at Carl. "Because there are very few 
people with the fire to do this job, and I cannot step 
aside if there is no one to take my place on the battle 
lines."

Carl found himself nodding along with Mack's points. 
Blacksuits to provide security for the Farm and support, 
they had no trouble finding. They came and went, looking at 
the assignment as just one more training post. SEALs and 
Marines, there were plenty out there. But few could devote 
themselves as whole-heartedly to the cause as the men of 
Phoenix and Able. No accolades or medals came their way. No 
write-ups in the press lauding them. They didn't need them.

When Katz had retired from the field, it had taken months 
to find someone who could fit into the structure of 
Phoenix, who had the skills needed, and who had the desire 
and the integrity to do the job right. TJ had ended up 
fitting into the team right away, but that had been more 
luck than design.

And replacing someone in the smaller Able Team would be 
even more difficult. Gadgets and Pol had worked together 
long before Carl had met them, and as a trio, they had been 
there since the start of the Farm. Even though Pol was more 
than a decade older than Carl, he'd never talked about 
leaving the team, and when Carl imagined trying to bring in 
a replacement, he balked. How could he trust anyone new the 
way he did his partners?

Carl sighed. No, retirement was a pipe dream. And he had to 
admit, Mack was right. What sort of life would he have 
outside of the Farm? He doubted that he could fly a desk 
and watch others go out and do what he considered his job. 
And really, that was what had killed Katz.

But it didn't change the fact that they were getting older. 
Someday, and probably sooner rather than later, they would 
have to be replaced, whether they liked it or not. Perhaps 
it was time to start recruiting for a third team, one that 
would act as a backup for the other two teams. And once 
formed and fully trained, if something disastrous happened, 
the Farm wouldn't be crippled.

Carl made a mental note to write up a proposal and send it 
to Hal and Barb, assuming that they weren't already working 
on just such an idea.

He drained his beer and pushed to his feet. "Going to bed 
early?" Mack asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

Carl stretched, and winced as his spine cracked. "I thought 
I'd go find Gary. See if he'd like to spread some Tiger 
Balm on my aching body," he said with a grin.

"Don't forget to take your Geritol," Mack called out as 
Carl opened the front door. Carl flipped him the bird.

Mack was right about one thing, though; the men and women 
of Stony Farm were his family, and like Katz, if he ever 
got the chance to retire, he wouldn't go very far. After 
all, what else could he ever do with his life that would 
make as much of a difference to the world?

He shook his head and went looking for his lover for a 
little life affirmation, assuming that their aging bodies 
were up to it.

He laughed. The day he was too old for that was the day 
they buried him, because life wouldn't be worth living 
anymore.

THE END