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Holiday Missing Scene Challenge 2001: Even Soldiers Have To Go Home

Summary:

The team is running ragged and a new year is upon them.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Even Soldiers Have To Go Home
by stompy sara



December 30th, 1976
7:35pm

"Rest stop comin' up, Hannibal."

"Mm. Not yet, Sergeant. Keep on going."

Hannibal did not look up from his book, but he did detect the barely audible sigh that came from the big man sitting beside him. Steel-blue eyes flicked sideways to observe the clenched hands on the steering wheel. Hannibal sat back, stretched.

B.A. was hunched down in the driver's seat, sharp glare trying in vain to penetrate the sticky white flakes of snow coating the windshield. A watchcap was jammed down low on B.A.'s head, a light beard shading further the darkness of his face. The heater blasted Hannibal's legs, the dial slammed to high, a thing the sergeant grumblingly disapproved of on most days. The interior of the coal-black van smelled vaguely of oil, wet clothing, gun powder and exhaustion. As Hannibal studied the fingernails of his left hand, he noticed B.A. glance into the back once more. The Colonel casually turned, leaned his arm on the back of his chair.

"Holding up there, Captain?"

"Yessir." Dark eyes in a pale pinched face told the lie, but Hannibal merely grinned, focused on the young man supporting his pilot. Face gazed balefully at his Colonel, unblinking, disapproving. Pleading. Hannibal chose to ignore him.

"Good man. We'll stop as soon as we find a decent-sized town, alright?"

"Ten-four." Murdock leaned back against Face, closed his eyes.

Hannibal waited for the inevitable complaint from his lieutenant. Locked gazes with him. Face remained silent. The expressive eyes narrowed, his embrace of Murdock tightening slightly, comfort of presence in defiance of their bedraggled condition. Despite himself, Hannibal frowned.

"Look like you've got something on your mind, Face."

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Yup. Just waiting to see how far this goes."

Hannibal felt tension infuse the muscles in his shoulders. Laced his tone with severity. "Your meaning?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

(Sir?) "Cut the crap, Face. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hannibal retorted. "The old Colonel has been known to reserve a few moves now and then, kid. But please, go on. I can see you're just dying to tell me how you feel."

"Hannibal. . . "

"Not now, B.A." The sergeant shrugged, struggled to shift down to second as the van was rocked by sudden gusts of wind.

"This isn't Vietnam, Hannibal. We don't have to scrounge out an existence in the jungle or live off rations. We don't have to live this way anymore! We could stop at a gas station for a hotdog and some coffee. We could even - God forbid - check into a motel for the night, get some real rest. Murdock's got two broken ribs and a pretty obvious concussion. B.A.'s driving with a wrenched shoulder. And I - "

"Yes?"

Face ignored the edge to Hannibal's voice, softened his own. "I'm tired, okay? Is that allowed?"

"No."

"Whaddaya mean, no?" Face was stopped from further disastrous comment by Murdock's raised hand.

"Turn the volume down a bit, okay Faceman?"

Face heaved a sigh, spoke into Murdock's hair. "Sorry, babe." Flung a rebellious glare at Hannibal from beneath lowered lashes.

Hannibal gritted his teeth. So maybe these two were good together but - dammit, he'd promised himself not to analyze this anymore. They'd all chosen to live a fly-by-night type of life, right? That meant - that meant revising the game plan sometimes. It meant taking the road less traveled. Improvisation. (Never expected this though)

Time to get off this train of thought. "Face, may I remind you that-" Nope, scratch that opening. The kid was getting restless and stubborn. He was thinking about Murdock - about his (say it damn you) lover, not of the team. If they were going to survive -

"Look Face. I know we missed Christmas. I know we've been driving for days, and we're fucking tired, and it would be nice to stop for just one hour at a nice cozy diner and get some real food inside. But Lynch is persistent if nothing else, and I'd rather we drove on for now. Plus, we're way too close to Hathaway's digs, and I think we've had enough of a tussle with him and his goons tonight. Call it intuition, caution, whatever. I want something less conspicuous."

Face was gazing out the window now into the endless white. "We could have stayed at Nancy's house. She offered."

"She's a client. I'd rather not have to infringe on her hospitality any further, especially this time of year. They've got plenty to deal with. We've already taken her money, and that's enough in my book."

Face muttered. "She offered." But he nodded, sighed. Murdock tried to shift, winced at the movement. Opened his eyes to look at Hannibal. His light voice cracked with fatigue.

"Colonel, you know I'm a team player, but you want the truth, the ol' noggin's about ready to split open. We gonna stop soon? You got a plan?"

Hannibal smiled, shaken by the image of the weary child suddenly glimpsed beneath the stoic soldier face. "Sure, I've got a plan, Captain." He turned back to settle into his seat, watched their slow progress along the highway, barely visible under fresh snowfall. B.A. rubbed a bandaged hand across his eyes, moved the arm slowly around in a small circle, testing the bad shoulder. Hannibal shook his head. Maybe he was pushing too hard. Maybe he was getting paranoid, and it would be okay to stop -

A sign drifted by past his window. Manchester, 36 miles. Hannibal smiled, memory rising to warm his spirit.

"Like I said, guys. I've got a plan."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doorbell of the old farmhouse chimed faintly, muffled by distance and the closed door. Hannibal reached automatically for a cigar. Grinned in the dim yellow glow of the porch light as Face's hand appeared at his right, lighter at the ready. He stooped to light the genuine Cuban, froze at the sudden voices on the other side of the door. The smooth dark oak was flung open by a tall, thin, cheerful woman.

"Hello! What can I. . . Oh my God. John."

Hannibal stood straight, smiled uneasily. "Hello, Joanna."

Her mouth hung open in wonder. "I thought you were - I mean the papers have - we all - " She cleared her throat, took in the rest of them. Hannibal could only guess at the tangle of thoughts behind the clear brown eyes. She gestured wordlessly for them to enter as a girl of ten or eleven skidded to a stop behind her, breathless and laughing.

"Who's at the door, mama?"

Joanna put her arm around the child protectively, comfortingly.

"John, this is my youngest, Rachel. She's - well, why don't you all come in first."

"Thank you." Hannibal gestured to each of his men. "B.A., Face, Murdock, my cousin Joanna."

"Ah-ha." Face nodded, a small smile playing about his lips. He held out his hand to the older woman. "You can call me
Templeton. Face is just a nickname."

Joanna raised an eyebrow, her smile widening, shook Face's hand. Frowned as she took in Murdock, held up by sheer will and by Face. "Murdock, right? What happened to you?"

"Just a scuffle, ma'am. And it's H.M."

"A scuffle. Uh-huh. What's going on here, John?"

Hannibal was glancing down the long road that led to the farm's entrance, satisfied with the remote location. He stepped through the door and into the front room, amazed at how little twelve years had changed the place. "That's a long story, Ana, and the boys are a little bit under the weather tonight. I know it's asking a lot of you and Richard but - "

She interrupted quietly. "You never did know when to ask for help, did you? Oh, stop giving me that look and come into the family room. We've got supper all ready and waiting. You've got timing, I'll give you that much."

Murdock managed a faint grin. "Legendary timing, I'd say." Hannibal transferred his glare from Joanna to his pilot, grinned in turn. The spark in the shadowed eyes was encouraging.

Joanna led them through the large kitchen, where two teenagers gave the party startled looks. "Gayle, Timothy, we've got company. You probably don't remember John. The last time he was here," with a meaningful glance over her shoulder at him, "you two were toddlers. He and his friends will be staying the night. Gayle honey, go get the first aid kit. The big one," she added as the girl wiped her hands on a floury apron and headed for the door that lead outside. Hannibal couldn't help but stare. His memories were of chubby twins with fair hair. Gayle was a mirror of her mother, her long dark hair braided neatly down her back, the thin face grave but smiling. Timothy had taken after Richard, his short sensible crop still fair, with solemn gray eyes. Years and farm life had transformed Ana's children into half-grown strangers. Sadness flickered inside him.

"I'm sorry, Ana," he murmured as they entered the family room, where a crackling fire dispelled the last of the winter chill. "I never meant to stay away so long."

"That's talk for another time. Your friends look as if they could do with a thawing-out and some food." Hannibal sighed. Joanna had never been the sentimental type. He flashed back briefly to a younger, happier moment, a bitingly cold morning, the two of them gathering eggs as the sun touched the fields. Sudden emotion startled him. He was home.

Face managed to get Murdock comfortable on the long sofa, propped with pillows into one corner. Rachel sat on the coffee table and watched them both with rapt attention.

"You two brothers?" she asked boldly. At the fire, B.A. barked a laugh. Face blushed, but Murdock only smiled.

"What makes you say that? We don't look alike, do we?"

"No, but you act like it. You get in a fight?"

"Did we," Face commented to the ceiling.

Hannibal settled into a chair, allowed himself to relax, watched the interplay between his second cousin and his men.

"With each other?" she pressed.

"With the bad guys, muchacha." Murdock sighed, rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Seems to be plenty of 'em out there."

Joanna swept into the room carrying a tray loaded with a pot of coffee, cups, cream and sugar. Gayle followed with a large locked toolbox. "Here's the first aid kit," the girl said, producing a key. "If you need anything else. . . " she trailed off shyly, watched her mother shoo Rachel off the coffee table to set down the tray.

"Go help your brother in the kitchen."

"We're almost finished," Gayle protested, too interested in these strangers to leave the room.

"Well then, go finish and get ready for supper. We'll do it buffet style, so just set everything on the table with a stack of plates and all. H.M. doesn't look like he's moving anywhere for a while."

Rachel had secured herself into the other corner of the sofa, tucked under an afghan. "What's H.M. stand for?" she asked.

B.A. looked up, curious. "Yeah Murdock, what does it stand for?"

Murdock shrugged. "Harlan Michael."

Face stared. "Harlan? What kinda name is Harlan?"

"Cowboy," B.A. muttered, shaking his head.

"How come you never told us your name was Harlan?"

"'Cuz you never asked, Facey."

Rachel was giggling, her hands over her mouth. Face skewered Hannibal with a look. "Did you know what H.M. stood for?"

"Of course." Hannibal leaned back, enjoying the stricken look on his lieutenant's face, chewing on the end of the cigar. Joanna slid an ash tray onto the end table at his elbow. Her voice was low, pitched only for his ears.

"This your team from the war?"

"Mm-hm."

"Read about you in the paper. Couple months now. Something about vigilantism in Los Angeles."

Hannibal turned to look at her steadily. "We can leave if you want. I don't want trouble for you."

She managed to look angry and fond simultaneously. "Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Richard is down south buying some
equipment. We could do with another man or two around here. We're way out here, John. I don't think the law'll be looking for you in Manchester."

"That's because they don't know about you. I've tried to keep my personal life - low profile, shall we say." Hannibal watched questions flicker in her eyes, but she let them go without comment.

"Hey Colonel," Murdock called out, "maybe I should do this in another room."

"Do what?"

"Well. . . gotta take my shirt off to get these ribs taped up, and the kids - "

"This is a farm, H.M.," Joanna interrupted, an amused gleam in her eyes. "My children are not squeamish city folk."

"Yes, ma'am, reckon I understand," he answered, trying not to laugh and abuse his side further. Hannibal noticed the slowly strengthening drawl in the pilot's voice, something that came out when he was either under extreme stress or perfectly relaxed.

Face hovered behind the couch, dry-washing his hands, as B.A. helped Murdock lean forward and pulled tape tightly and efficiently over the offending ribs. Murdock turned a shade paler, but made no sound as the big sergeant used his considerable strength to keep the tape in place. There was an ugly bruise that radiated from the injured side outwards. Face touched Murdock's shoulder tentatively, ruffled the dark hair without thought of his surroundings. Hannibal looked at him sharply, suddenly noticed the blackening right eye his lieutenant was sporting. Stopped short of the angry command he was about to issue. He turned his eyes to his cousin. She was watching them speculatively, her thoughts hidden by a calm gaze.

"Your boys are worn out, John. You did the right thing, bringing them here."

Her remark brought an irrational feeling of shame. He covered the surprising emotion with harsh words. "They're soldiers, Joanna. They do what they have to do."

She captured his eyes, held them. "Even soldiers have to go home sometimes."

Hannibal said nothing. They remained silent until Gayle came in to announce that supper was ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal opened his eyes, stared at the incongruous high-beamed ceiling. This wasn't the van. . .

Quiet laughter brought back awareness of the last few hours. Silently he swung out of the twin bed. Joanna had offered the girls' room to him and B.A. Face had insisted on keeping Murdock up all night, afraid of the effects the concussion might have. Across from him in the dark, B.A. snored peacefully. Hannibal slipped out of the room, down the hall.

Paused at the threshold of the door to the family room. Murdock was thumbing through a large book, Rachel leaning over the arm of the couch behind him, pointing something out in a low voice. Face sprawled in one of the big arm chairs, an afghan tucked around him, sound asleep. The only light came from the fire, still sparking merrily, casting a cozy wood-smoke smell into the room.

"That's daddy," Rachel was saying. Hannibal leaned in the doorframe and watched silently.

"Your brother looks a lot like him."

"Yeah, Timmy's gettin' tall and skinny. He hates when I do that, call him Timmy. He wants everyone ta call him Tim now. I think he's got a girlfriend."

"Well, you know he's at that age when stuff like that matters. Don't want him to feel bad, do you?"

"No, guess not. That's cousin John there."

"Holy. . . " Murdock leaned forward, squinting. "Man, I can't believe how young he looks."

"I don't remember him, but Timmy - Tim and Gayle sorta do. They were four, last time he was here."

"Did he grow up here, or what? He live with your mama out here when they were kids?"

"No. . . I don't think he grew up in Iowa. He just used to come out here for holidays and summers. Mom doesn't talk about him much." Rachel's face held excitement and awe. "We read about you guys in the paper. I knew it was John 'cuz mom got all angry one night and argued with daddy about contacting him. He never called or wrote her, I guess." The girl shrugged, unconcerned. "What's it like?"

Murdock gazed at her warily. "What's what like?"

"Living life on the run?"

He laughed, closed the photo album, sinking back into the pillows. In the soft glow of the fire, he looked tired but content. "It's not as romantic as you might think, chica. Look at my busted ribs and you'll know why."

"You really catch bad guys, like the police or something?"

"Well. . . I don't know if I should be talking about this with you. . . "

"Oh c'mon!" Rachel jumped up and circled around to face Murdock, sitting on the coffee table again. "You guys'll leave and then mama won't talk about it, 'cuz she said it's a secret that you're here. And then we'll never hear from you again, just like before."

In the doorway, Hannibal closed his eyes briefly.

"Hm. . . okay, I'll make you a deal. I promise that I'll write to you every month, if you can keep it a secret that we were here. How's that?"

"Really? You'll tell me all about your adventures?"

"Just don't tell your mama you call it that. I don't think she'd approve."

"Can Face and B.A. write me too?"

Murdock chuckled. "I'm sure I can get them to send you something. But don't count on anything coming at a specific time. Sometimes it can get. . . rough. And we have to lay low."

"Will you get in trouble with John for writing me?"

"No, he won't," Hannibal said, crossing the room. Murdock looked up, a little startled, but Hannibal exchanged an understanding look with him. Rachel jumped, clapping her hands to her mouth as if to keep from shouting.

"You scared me!" she said accusingly.

Hannibal smiled. "Sorry. What are you still doing up? Aren't you tired?"

"No. I gotta keep Murdock up, so he doesn't fall asleep and not wake up, like Face was worried about. But Face is sleeping now, and he said he'd stay up with us." Rachel giggled, trying to whisper all this, glanced at Face to see if she had disturbed him. Face didn't so much as move.

Hannibal stood over his pilot, assessing the damage with a critical eye, part of his mind still on the conversation he'd overheard.

"Hm. You look better, Captain. I still don't want you sleeping for a while yet. Think you can manage it?

Murdock saluted him crisply. "Sure, Colonel. This mission ain't over yet."

Hannibal thought of Joanna's words. When was the last time Murdock had been home? When was the last time, he thought
angrily, that any of the kid's family had visited him in the VA? Murdock was a trooper, as long as reality held together for any length of time - he tried not to let the broken parts show too much, but Hannibal knew better, remembered the really bad, really dark days. And Face, who'd found what he needed with Murdock, whose whole world revolved around the team - both of them like that, actually.

"Colonel? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, Murdock," he said absently. B.A. had his mother and his brother - wrote to them regularly. Yet Hannibal knew how much that time away hurt his sergeant - knew that B.A. kept a lock box in the back of the van that held all of their letters, and little gifts they'd managed to send him over the last six years. A toy train engine from his nephew's set. A wooden ornament his brother had carved last Christmas. A winter cap knitted by Mama Barracus herself. They'd all gone to Chicago once, a trip that had ended in near-disaster in an encounter with Lynch. Always running - something Face complained about constantly - yet there was bitter truth behind the habitual words. Home had become a dream, a myth, intangible, unreachable.

"Hey, Hannibal." He focused on Murdock, whose expression had softened into concern. "We always get through, eh? It was nice to come here, at least for a while."

Hannibal finally smiled. "Yes, it was nice. I've stayed away too long, I guess. That'll change, from now on. As long as we watch our backs."

Rachel was watching them silently, probably sensed the importance of their exchange. Hannibal turned to her. "If you ever want to get hold of us, just write to Murdock. He sometimes has a more, shall we say, permanent address than the rest of us."

"Why?"

Geez, the kid was insatiable. "That's a long story, and it's late. Why don't you get yourself to bed."

"Aw. . . I wanna stay out here and talk to Murdock. Please? Pleeeaasse. . . "

"It's okay, Colonel. Why do you go on back to sleep. And keep the Mudsucka company." Murdock gave him that half-grin, winked. Hannibal nodded, shaking his head. Drew himself straight, surveying the troops.

"I'll be up early tomorrow morning, Captain. I want to see you up and running as well."

"Yessir."

"Goodnight, Captain. Goodnight, Rachel. You keep an eye on my pilot."

"Goodnight, sir," they chorused. Murdock grinning from ear to ear.

Hannibal strolled back down the hallway, whistling softly. Thoughts of Hathaway drifted, drew together, coalesced into
sudden inspiration. That slimeball was in for a heck of a time tomorrow. Now if only Face could find some supplies in town. . .

At the end of the hall, Joanna, smiling into the dark, stepped back into her room, and very gently closed the door.



~end~

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author stompy sara.
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