The Proverbial Quiet One (stackcats) wrote in thewordsmithery,
The Proverbial Quiet One

A-Team fic; Soaring And Crashing (part 1)

Title: Soaring And Crashing (Part 1)
Fandom: The A-Team (series)
Characters/pairings: Hannibal/BA/Murdock/Face; any and all combinations mentioned
Rating: R
Summary: Murdock has been left alone in the VA hospital for a really long time. Which wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that the team has just connected the dots between the pairings and started sleeping together as a foursome. Murdock doesn't know that his team-mates have been captured, and his insecurities begin to torment him. Written for a prompt at ateam_prompts and posted here for the sake of my formatting.
Notes: Practising writing Murdock. Hope this isn't too odd.


The thing about being happy - and we’re not just talking content here, this isn’t ‘lunch was real nice today and Joe didn’t try and piss in the orange juice when the nurse weren’t looking again’ happy, this is ‘I am loved and my life means something wonderful’ happy, and the thing about that, the thing about real, honest happiness, is that it makes the crash, when it comes - and it always does come - that much more painful.

You learn that quick, right after it all starts getting away from you. One of the first and most important things you learn. I remember when it first came to me, right after college, that dizzying high, feeling like I owned the world, and then it... and then the fade-away, which lasts seconds, maybe minutes, and then the crash, which can, if you ain’t careful, last forever. There’s nothing causes it, nothing ‘cept that same thing that causes the creepy-crawlies to creepy-crawl out from under the paintwork at night, that nameless whatever that peels away the top layer of the universe when you ain’t lookin’ and replaces it with something the same but different, just with all the colours changed round or the people talkin’ backwards, or... but this ain’t quite like that. It’s just gray around the edges, and the gray, well, it sucks everything else away.

That’s the fade-away.

It came right after the guys dropped me off that day. Before they dropped me off, it was good. Sun shinin’, birds hollerin’, yada yada, and all three of ‘em taking turns to kiss me before I left. All kinda new-like, this just-kissing lark. We’ve all been building up to it for years - me an’ BA, and Hannibal and Face, and me and Face, and it didn’t take much to close the loop or the pyramid or the scrunchie or whatever shape this is, but the not-much took a long time coming, and after such a long time coming it really didn’t take any of us long to come at all, that first night all together. Me in the bossman’s arms where I’ve wanted to be for so long, BA nailin’ Facey to the bed. Beautiful. Then a rest, and then Hannibal finally getting his hands on BA, and me sliding into Face’s embrace all warm and safe like always, just watching them, him stroking me all over but really just watching, not needin’ any more than the sight of it to get us both ready again, and that was when Hannibal said he had a plan for all of us to fit together. Said he’d had it up there in his brainbox for years an’ years, and that just gives me the tingles, thinkin’ of him running round ‘Nam coming up with this kinky stuff...

But that ain’t the point. You don’t want to hear about that anyway, right? Four guys getting it on, no one wants to hear that, not when one of them’s nuts and one of them’s in a constant foul mood and one of them’s nearly got a bus pass - sorry, bossman, but it’s true - and okay, you’re probably fine hearing about charming old Faceman having it off, aren’t you, you dirty little minxes? But like I said, that ain’t the point. Point is, I was feeling darn good. I was feeling happy. I was in love, times three, and as highs go, that was stratospheric. I was way up there, soaring along, even when I should’a known better, sittin’ in the van all snuggled up with Face, watching all the little glances that kept flickering between everyone. Hannibal looking at BA. BA looking at Face. Everyone looking at me, occasionally, all just casual, just rememberin’ last night, sharing little bits of it as our eyes met, and even BA smiling the whole way. Hannibal tellin’ me it wouldn’t be long this time, that they’d come round to play soon, break in through my window and - well, he told me all about the things we’d do then, all those things you don’t wanna hear, like how he’d sit and watch and smoke his cigar as me an’ BA took Face at the same time, how we could make him scream ‘cause who would come running for a scream in that place, and how he’d then get on his knees for each of us and... you get the picture, right? And it was so stupid of me, sitting there listening and being all in love. Should’ve known what was coming. Should’ve felt it.

I always sneak back into the VA the same way - right through that same window Hannibal promised me they’d sneak in by any day. By the end of the week for definite. Once Face had sorted his apartment, and Hannibal had met the new client, and BA had finished fixin’ up the van from last time. Then they’d come. Then me and BA would get together and nail Face, both of us together. I could not get that image out of my head, wanted it more’n I ever wanted anything, and now we’d closed all the gaps, now we all belonged to each other properly, I could have it. Hannibal’s plan, for his boys to screw each other right in front of him. It ate my mind, ate it right up, made it so I couldn’t see the gray bits when they started comin’ in round the edges like ye old fog off the river. Made it so I thought I was safe, just for a little while.

But here’s the kicker, muchachas - you ain’t never safe. Not from what’s lurkin’ inside your own head.


There’s silence in the apartment when Face wakes up. It’s four in the morning, and the sun is nothing but a pink smudge on the dark horizon, and BA is lying on Face’s arm. This is not good, because the silence isn’t the right kind of silence. Not the right kind at all.

He can’t move, so he turns his head and hisses “Hannibal!”, which really ought to be enough. It usually is. Hannibal can sleep through thunder storms, but the faintest suggestion of something amiss will have him at full alert in seconds, but now Face gets nothing. The Colonel still has a just-fucked expression on his face, more deeply and contentedly asleep than ever. Damn BA and his strength - Face has never been able to do that to the boss. It is, right now, a bad thing. Because the silence in the apartment is not the silence of an empty apartment, it’s the silence of other people going to a whole lot of effort not to make any noise. Face learned the difference the hard way, in the jungle. And these people? Whoever they are, they are very, very good at not making any noise.

Just not quite good enough.

Face gets a foot under BA and rolls him gently away. There’s a soft thud as his face hits the sheets. Face strokes a hand down his back in apology and rubs some life back into his arm, then turns and pats Hannibal’s cheek until his eyes flicker open.

“Face. Go back to sleep.”

“No. Shh. Listen.”

Hannibal’s eyes open wide, his nostrils flaring, and Face knows he’s not being paranoid. The Colonel senses it too. Hannibal rises soundlessly and gestures for Face to wake BA, which he does very, very carefully, gesturing frantically for BA to stay quiet. Hannibal is padding across the room to the door, butt-naked. Face is too buzzed to even appreciate the view, tugging at BA’s arm and miming out what he needs to do.

Hannibal’s gun holster is on the dresser by the door. Face has weapons in the wardrobe, on the far side of the room. He and BA slide out of the bed and he dashes across the floor on tiptoe, gently, very gently eases open the wardrobe door. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees BA tense, his hands ball into fists, the big guy responding to Hannibal, who has one hand on the holster, eyes fixed on the door. He’s gone very, very still. Then he takes a step backwards, leaving the gun where it is. Face swallows the sudden rush of terror; there is someone on the other side of the door, inches away from Hannibal.

The Colonel glances over his shoulder, making eye-contact with both of them. They’ve worked together so long now that words aren’t necessary. Face pulls the wardrobe the rest of the way open, watching Hannibal creep carefully round to the other side of the door, sliding the handgun out of its holster in a smooth move as he backs away, and Face pulls two rifles very, very carefully out of the closet.

Then the door opens.

Hannibal kicks it, and it makes a wonderful crunching sound as it connects with the shoulder of the person on the other side. Face leaps onto the bed, BA moving round behind him, Hannibal dropping and circling, all of them ready for whoever is foolish enough to attack them on their own turf.

Nothing happens.

And then something black rolls through the door and smoke billows out, and Hannibal, who’s closest, is down almost instantly. Face feels his head swim, his knees give way, and the last thing he sees before he blacks out is BA charging across the room, dropping to his knees, and finally crashing to the floor beside Hannibal as he, too, is overwhelmed by the noxious fumes.
Tags: hbamf, soaring and crashing, the a-team

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