“The A-Team: Thua”By M.L. Zambrana

Los Angeles Harbor, August 28, 1986

“Well, that’s that.”

John “Hannibal” Smith stood with arms crossed and his cigar in the corner of his

mouth, his face set in a mask of calm as he watched the Vietnamese ship sail out of the

harbor. It had taken the ship quite a long time to depart from the dock, and he secretly

worried that perhaps the crew had discovered their unintended passenger--Tia, daughter

of General Harlan Fulbright--and would call the authorities.

He didn’t voice his concerns, of course, and after his fellow team member, B.A.

Baracus, kept asking why it took so long for the ship to leave, he finally replied in a

casual tone that the huge container vessel had any number of system checks to go through

before it began its long, lumbering journey across the Pacific. Just the same, he couldn’t

restrain a small sigh of relief to see it, and Tia, on its way.

Hannibal masked the sigh with an easy smile.

“She never really belonged here,” he said. “It’s for the best.”

Beside him, Templeton “Face” Peck gave Hannibal a quick glance before he

turned his gaze back towards the ship.

“Is it?” he questioned. “I mean, I know that she had problems fitting in here in

America, but given some time--”

“Face,” Hannibal interrupted, “she was homesick. Maybe if General Fulbright

had lived, she’d have him to help her adjust. But we were no help. We’re fugitives,

always on the run, and someone like her needs a certain amount of stability. No, it’s

better that she goes back to her country. It’s all she’s know.”

“She liked it here,” Face muttered.

“No,” he corrected Face, “you liked having her here. Showing her around.

Taking her shopping, taking her to the movies… going places that you wouldn’t normally

go with a woman that you’re not involved with.”

Face gave a reluctant nod. “Yea, I guess. It was like seeing the world through

new eyes. Everything that we take for granted was new to her. Plus,” he admitted, “it

was kind of like having a little sister. Or so I‘d imagine.”

With another low sigh, Hannibal gave Face a firm pat on the shoulder, then turned

and headed back to the van. B.A., who’d quickly grown tired of the slow activity of the

shipyard, sat in the driver’s seat with his eyes half-closed. His head bobbed up as the

passenger-side door opened and Hannibal climbed in, then Face slid open the side door

and did the same.

“That’s it, huh?” B.A. asked.

“Yep,” Hannibal agreed. “That’s it. She’s gone. Hopefully, she can get back to

Vietnam and get off the ship before being detected. Then it’s a simple matter of slipping

back in to the kind of life she’s always known.”

“Yea.”

Face let out a slight grunt as he reached back for the handle, then pulled the side

door shut again, and B.A. started up the van, dropped it in to gear and began to make his

way back to the highway.

After several minutes, Hannibal turned in his chair to look at Face.

“So, should we address the elephant in the room?” he asked. “Or just let its dead,

rotting carcass stink up the joint?”

“Elephant?” Face’s eyebrows went up. “More like a blue whale, I’d say.”

B.A. frowned and his face scrunched up with displeasure. “Man,” he interrupted,

“there ain’t nothin’ to discuss. And there weren’t no way for this situation to end up any

better than it has.”

Hannibal gave a reluctant nod. “B.A.’s right. It is best that she’s gone. Things

were starting to get unbearable.”

“Ah… I think you mean ‘emotional,’” Face corrected him.

“Same difference,” came the dismissive reply.

Face gave a soft grunt, then leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to one

side, his attention on the road beyond Hannibal. After a moment, Hannibal turned his

chair around to do the same. Several minutes went by with the three men driving along

in silence, until Face spoke up again.

“You want me to talk to him?” he asked.

“You don’t need to talk to that crazy fool about nothin’,” B.A. replied in a terse

tone. “He knows he screwed up. He shoulda done somethin’. He shoulda stepped up.

Now she‘s gone and it‘s over.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement. “If Murdock wanted things to turn out any

differently, then he should’ve done the right thing.”

Face hummed. “Well, I suppose there’s a certain balance here,” he said, with the

slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone. “General Fulbright goes overseas and gets a woman

pregnant. We bring his daughter to America, and she goes back home pregnant. The

U.S. Army continues populating the planet with unexpected children. Either way, nobody

gets to be happy.”

“Nobody ever gets to be happy,” Hannibal said in a flat tone. “There’s no such

thing. That’s the way of the world.”

Veterans Administration Psychiatric Unit, West Los Angeles, California

August 28, 1986

H.M. “Howlin’ Mad” Murdock stood quietly in the corner of his room, his thin

fingers hooked through the diamond-shaped holes in the metal grating that blocked the

window in front of him. He leaned forward with his high forehead pressed firmly against

the cold metal. He felt sure that he’d have at least one mark on his forehead by doing so,

but even the passing thought that he could then pretend to be Hindu--launching into yet

another character for the hospital staff to try and deal with, and for his overtaxed

psychiatrist to puzzle over--couldn’t shake the morose feeling that had plagued him all

morning.

Morning? He tried to force a breath of disgust out through his nose, but it came

out as little more than a standard exhale. He had no concept of “morning” to speak of, as

the past two days of his existence had been nothing more than a series of doctor-

controlled, medicated sleep/wake sessions. The orderlies whose watch he’d slipped away

on had made sure to punish him in one of the worst ways they could: by depriving his

keen mind of the right to interpret something as simple as consciousness.

Murdock’s listless brown eyes flickered back and forth as he stared out at the

regular activities down on the main level of the veterans facility. Doctors and nurses

came and went to their vehicles, or strolled along the sidewalks smoking and talking. A

crew of gardeners tackled the wide expanse of grass with lawnmowers and weed

wackers. Those patients that had permission to stroll the grounds took in the fresh air.

Since his outburst the previous day, Murdock did not have permission to go

outside any more (or at least for the time being), but he didn’t watch those Outside World

dwellers with envy… because envy would have required energy, and he had none left. It

had all been doped out of him. The pills that he’d been forced to swallow just an hour

earlier, after the restraints came off and they allowed him to shower and change clothes,

now took the place of the liquid that had been pumped into his arm to control him.

He welcomed the numbness. Normally, he would fake-swallow whatever

medication the V.A. gave him, then dispose of the pills as he took a shower or went to the

toilet, because he hated the feeling that all of his senses couldn’t work around the meds.

As a pilot in ‘Nam, he’d flown any number of missions with head colds and horrible

symptoms rather than dull his brain with medication that would threaten his life and, in

turn, endanger the lives of others.

But he hadn’t been a real pilot in years. A bona fide, actual pilot had a license and

a job, and followed rules and regulations, and sometimes even wore a nice, crisp uniform

as they flew in planes with regular maintenance checks. No, instead, he’d become a

renegade pilot, running missions for the A-Team--on-call, as it were, flying the men in

whatever sub-standard aircraft either he or Face could scrounge up. He had, in more than

one respect, fallen off the radar of the world.

He heard the jangle of keys from the hallway, the snap of metal as the lock came

loose, then the metal door behind him opened and shut.

“Hey, there, Mr. Murdock. It’s dinner time.”

Dinner.

The muffled thought filtered through his brain, and he forced himself to let go of

the metal grating… but could do nothing more. His arms dropped limply to his side, but

he couldn’t find the strength to pull himself away from the window and just stood there.

Drugs. It’s the drugs, he told himself. The thought reassured him. It had to be

the drugs, right? Why else would he have no desire to do anything?

From behind him, one of the orderlies (an older gentleman with a few decades of

experience at the V.A., and not one of those who had taken their anger out on him during

the previous day’s tussle) put his hands on Murdock’s shoulders and eased him back into

a straighter stance, which helped Murdock to remove his forehead from the grating. The

skin stung. Pain, he found, didn’t get dulled by the too-high does of anti-psychotic meds

that he’d been administered.

“You should be sitting down,” he chastised Murdock gently. “Not standing up,

watching the sun set. You could fall. Now, come on,” he continued as he steered

Murdock towards his bed, and the rolling table next to it that held a covered plastic tray.

“It’s time to eat. I won’t have you going through another night hungry. Okay?”

Murdock managed a low murmur of acceptance as he let himself be led across the

room, his slippered feet shuffling against the white tile floor while the man guided him to

the bed and helped him in to a sitting position. The orderly kept up a steady level of chat

as he sat down next to him and began to spoon up bits of food at a slow but steady pace.

Murdock kept up for a number of the journeys that the fork made from the plate to his

mouth, but eventually he could no longer manage it and simply kept his mouth closed.

The orderly gave a slow nod of his head.

“Well, a little bit of food is better than nothing, I guess,” he said.

Murdock did not respond. He didn’t feel tired, but he let his body go slack until

the orderly had no choice but to stand up and pull his limp form up towards the pillow.

“Don’t you want to change into your pajamas?” the orderly asked. When he

didn’t get a response, he nodded to himself again. “All right, then. You just sleep.”

Go away. Go away, go away, go away…

He closed his eyes as the thought became a mantra. The orderly cleaned up and

did, eventually leave, but by that time, the thought looped through his mind on its own,

out of his control as it turned into a visualization. He could see, and feel, the angry,

flushed letters spinning through the darkness, their razor-like edges sharp and menacing,

like thick rose stems where each thorn dripped poisonous amber liquid into the vortex,

tainting the red swirl of the words with an amber mist. They spun into the darkness like

dust in a whirlwind, or like--

Like blood down a drain.

White Sands Motel, Santa Monica, California

July 9, 1986

Murdock stood with one hand pressed against the tiled shower wall and his head

bent, watching the water from the showerhead strike his hairy chest and roll down his

body… staring at the faint tint of blood as it washed onto the white bathtub floor between

his feet, then swirled into the silver drain and disappeared.

Not my blood… came the disconnected thought.

Uncomfortable with the sight and to distract himself, he turned his attention back

towards his upper chest and the barely-healed bullet wound on his left shoulder. He

reached up with his free hand and probed gently at the new circle of flesh. The odd

branding that he now bore on his skin came from the pairing of an old wound with the

new one. The first bullet wound to his chest had happened nearly a year earlier, during a

run-in with some bad guys that had been trying to run someone out of the cattle business;

one of the men had taken a shot at Hannibal, and with no time to consider another option,

Murdock jumped between them to take the bullet.

This new wound, the result of a fire fight in Vietnam, paired itself with the old

one to create a figure eight, or a Moebius strip, right between his heart and his shoulder.

Any further lower with either shot, and Captain H.M. Murdock would’ve ceased to suck

air, consume food and make love to beautiful young women… as he’d just done.

Murdock reached for the bar of hotel soap on the corner of the tub and stripped

off the paper, then lathered it up and scrubbed himself down, taking extra care around the

wound but cleaning thoroughly around his genitals. After a few minutes, he shut the

water off, set the soap aside and towel-dried himself, then wrapped the bath towel around

his waist and left the bathroom.

Tia still lay on the bed that they had shared five minutes earlier, her eyes shut and

her breath coming out in the slightest of snores, and Murdock hesitated before he moved

towards the other spare bed in the hotel room and slipped beneath the covers. He pulled

the towel off as he covered himself with the sheet, then tossed it on the far side of the bed

and settled his head into the pillow and watched her sleep.

Their instructions from Hannibal had been simple enough: wait at the hotel until

he called, then drive to a nearby airport and ready their escape plane as the team wrapped

up its business. The afternoon should’ve been one of idle television-watching and a few

more English lessons for Tia, but the mood between them had felt so casual that when she

sat down on the bed beside him, Murdock had thought nothing of running his hands along

her smooth, sweet-smelling skin. Even when he touched the most intimate areas of her

body, she didn’t display the slightest signs of resistance. She didn’t tense up. She didn’t

say “no.” Her deep brown eyes met his, she reciprocated each touch with one of her own,

she met him kiss for kiss, and she pulled his hands where she wanted them. She did this

all without hesitation or a hint of shyness, so naturally he’d assumed…

Not until he delivered that first deep thrust into her did she release a momentary

gasp of pain, which made Murdock pause with shock and concern at the sudden

resistance/non-resistance he‘d felt against that most sensitive area of his body. He’d hurt

her, sure enough, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, her slender, strong legs came up

to wrap around his waist. And so he’d continued and brought them both some much-

needed satisfaction, doing his best to erase the pain he’d unexpectedly given her.

Tia stirred out of the light doze and let out a soft groan, which made Murdock

look away for a second, then turn in her direction again. Her eyes cracked open.

“You feel all right?” he asked with some concern.

“Yes,” she replied.

Tia reached under the sheet, and her hands came up with the folded towel that

she’d laid beneath her before they’d begun their encounter. At the time, Murdock thought

she’d just wanted to keep the bed dry--not suspecting that she needed it there for another

reason.

“I will take a shower now,” she informed him.

With that, she pulled the sheet away from her and stood up, then padded into the

bathroom, the towel balled up between her hands. A minute later, the shower turned on

and the steady patter of water echoed out into the hotel room.

When she finished her shower and emerged naked from the bathroom, her hair

wet and unabashed by her appearance, Murdock closed his eyes and looked away, his

hands clenched in to fists at the unwanted reaction his body had begun to generate as he

simply looked at her.

“I… you know, we shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said, unable to turn his

head in her direction.

Tia looked confused. “Why not?”

“You’re-- I mean, you’re so young…”

She frowned. “I’m not a child, Murdock. I am a woman.” A hesitant smile came

over her beautiful features. “I certainly am now, anyway.”

“I’m thirty-nine years old,” Murdock persisted. He forced his attention back on

Tia, and tried to stare her down with a tough look… tried to look in her eyes and not let

his gaze wander over her body. “You’re, what? Twenty? You’re half my age, and I just

took advantage of you. I shouldn‘t have done that.”

Tia leaned forward and began to reach for his arm.

“I let you take advantage of me. I wanted you to. I still want you to--”

Murdock shied away from her hand, and she slowly pulled back. She tried to

mask her disappointment and confusion, but didn’t do it very well. Murdock knew she’d

have had better luck at hiding her emotions by speaking Vietnamese, but she’d sworn off

using the language after Murdock got out of the hospital; during his absence, she‘d had

no one that she could talk to in her native language. The experience made up her mind

for her. “No more Vietnamese talk,” she vowed to Murdock. “I speak in English only.

Like the rest of the team. Like you.”

Murdock sat up in bed and pulled the sheet close around his waist, then bent his

legs and balanced his elbows on his knees, his hands locked in front of him.

“We’re supposed to be waiting for Hannibal to call. That’s all. This… wasn’t--”

He tried to use the words “right,” or to call it a mistake, but he couldn’t because he didn’t

believe either of those explanations applied. It had felt so very right, and nothing about

their coming-together seemed like a mistake. He swallowed. “This wasn’t part of the

plan,” he finished.

“Hannibal’s plan?” she inquired with raised eyebrows. “He tells you who you can

and can’t be with?”

Murdock opened his mouth, then shut it again. Not in so many words, he thought.

But then again, none of the four men had ever gotten particularly close to any of the

women that they associated with. Oh, they each a casual fling here and there, and

sometimes would supply willing one-night stands for the right price.

What about Kelly? he asked himself. Doctor Kelly Stevens, Murdock’s

girlfriend, had been the closest woman that he’d let himself get to. Hadn’t Hannibal, in a

way, dictated that relationship--pulling him away from planned dinners and get-togethers

with her on a moment’s notice? He forced himself to block out any further thoughts

about Kelly, and the tragic ending to their relationship, and focused back on Tia.

Tia sat quietly by his side, studying the expressions that had flittered across his

face as he’d thought of those things, then reached for his hand again. This time, he didn’t

resist.

“I am not asking to be your girlfriend,” she said in a quiet tone. “I do not want to

marry you. I just want us to enjoy each other. Can we do that? Please?”

Then, in a matter of moments, he had her in his arms as the passion between them

flared up again.

It had been such a simple request… how could he not agree?

5 Freeway, Northern California

July 18, 1986

The long drive down from Hanford, and the end of the team’s latest mission--

where they aided in the arrest of a group of men wanted for six murders in New Mexico--

should have been a nice, leisurely five-hour trip. But storm clouds had gathered earlier in

the day so that by sunset, and the start of the trip back to Los Angeles, B.A. Baracus had

considerable trouble trying to keep the van on the road. The high winds and the heavy

fall of rain, coupled with an unexpected pile-up (a semi had jackknifed across the

southbound lane, and two cars had become lodged under it) forced B.A. to take a detour

at the nearest exit.

Just north of the Grapevine, B.A. pulled the van into a Denny’s and turned off the

engine with a deep sigh.

“Man, we ain’t makin’ it back tonight,” he announced. “I ain’t gonna risk my van

in this weather. Too many idiots out on the road when it rains in California.”

Hannibal finished off the last of his cigar, then half-rolled down the window and

pitched it out.

“Well, we’re not in a hurry,” he said by way of agreement. He rolled the window

up again, then flicked his hand at the drops of rain on his coat. “There’s enough hotels

around here for us to spend the night. What do you say, Face? What’s your pick?”

Face gave a quick laugh. “Hannibal, I’ve got plans tonight! What about that hot

little number in Encino I‘ve got waitin‘ on me?”

“Oh, you mean the one with the Muscle Beach boyfriend?” Murdock broke in.

Face turned to his left and glared at his smirking companion. “What he doesn’t

know won’t hurt me,” came the icy reply.

Seated cross-legged on the floor between Face and Murdock, Tia turned her head

and looked up at the handsome man on her right and smiled.

“Or else we have to rescue you again?” she inquired in her sweet voice.

Face crossed his arms and looked at the closed van door, his expression set in an

unmistakable pout. Two female interests earlier, Face got himself entangled with a

woman whose idea of foreplay involved having her boyfriend find an unexpected man in

her bed. Face’s humiliating, half-clothed exit through the bathroom window of the house,

and the mad dash through the backyard to the waiting A-Team van (he’d issued a frantic

phone call just before the angry boyfriend broke through the bedroom door, then the

bathroom door), wouldn’t be something that they’d let him soon forget.

Murdock grinned wider and gave Tia a pat on the head of approval, and she

giggled and reached up to brush his hand away.

“All right, all right,” Hannibal interrupted. “Enough about Face’s misadventures

in romance. We don’t want to give him a complex.”

Despite his words, Hannibal grinned at the amusing memory of Face scrambling

over a locked fence, and Face sneered at the back of the man’s head.

“Let’s go in, get some dinner and then decide where we’re going to spend the

night.”

“In L.A.,” Face insisted. “Maybe the weather will clear up by the time we’re

finished eating?”

“Man, don’t you watch the news?” B.A. replied with a frown. “It’s gonna be like

this all night.”

“You don’t know that for sure…”

Despite Face’s hope to the contrary, the bad weather not only refused to clear out

but it grew worse by the time they completed dinner and drove to the closest hotel. The

darkness and rain-slicked road made for less-than-optimal conditions for the van, and the

winding road up in to the hills always had accidents on it during the best of times; indeed,

just near the entrance ramp they’d used to leave the highway, a delivery truck had been

blown over into the ditch by the high winds. Thus, no amount of pleading or bribery

from Face would change B.A.’s mind.

“But why do I gotta pay?” Murdock whined as the van stopped under the

overhang in front of the lobby.

“Because the military tracked down one of Face’s I.D.’s just three days ago,”

Hannibal reasoned with him, “and we can’t risk connecting that with any of his other

identities until we go and talk with the guy who set ‘em up.”

Face shook his head. “I still can’t believe that Rocco would have anything to do

with that. It… it must’ve just been bad luck.”

“Maybe, or maybe he squealed on you. Either way, we need to check it out

before we tap in to the others. And we--” Hannibal waved between himself, B.A. and

Face, “--can’t use our names. Tia’s got no I.D. at all, so she’s out of the running. But

you’re not on the radar, Murdock. You’re the only one that can do this.”

“But it’s so expensive at this one!” he blurted out. “Couldn’t we at least find a

cheaper place?”

“Hey, Hannibal said I get to pick, and there‘s no way I‘m settling in for the night

in one of those cheap fleabag rooms up the--” He paused as he noticed the anxious

concern in Murdock‘s eyes, then grunted. “Fine. I’ll reimburse you when we get back to

L.A.,” came the grumpy reply. “Now will you just go in and get us a room? Make sure it

has two beds and a cot for Tia,” he added. “I don’t want to be stuck sharing a king-size

bed with you guys.”

Face yanked the side door open and, muttering something unintelligible under his

breath, Murdock climbed over him and dropped out of the van. Murdock reached for the

outside handle as Face gave him one last irritated glance, and he slammed the door shut.

Five minutes later, Murdock returned.

“I got us two rooms,” he grumbled. “If I’m payin’ for this little adventure, then

I’m gettin’ my own room, damn it.”

“I said that I’d pay you back,” Face replied in an equally cross tone.

“Yea, later. For right now? My name. My money…” He fumbled in his coat

pocket and pulled out two keys, one of which he handed to Face. “And my decision.

Live with it.”

“Whatever.”

“So where we at, fool?” B.A. asked.

“Back of the building,” Murdock replied. “You guys are in the corner room

facing the highway. I’m two doors down.”

“First floor?” Hannibal inquired.

“Of course. Easier escape route.”

“Good work, Captain.” He paused. “You couldn’t get adjoining rooms?”

“No, they’re pretty well booked up, it bein’ a Thursday and all. People gettin’ an

early start on the weekend. That kind of thing.”

Murdock could practically taste the lie on his tongue, but Hannibal accepted the

information without a word.

“Tia can have the spare bed in my room,” he added.

Face shot him a quick, odd glance but said nothing, and B.A. simply drove around

to the back entrance of the hotel and parked, clearly relieved to not have to make an

unnecessary drive along the Grapevine at night.

In the hallway, Face gave a subtle tug to Murdock’s coat when no one seemed to

be looking. Murdock handed the key of his room to Tia. Hannibal, B.A. and Tia paused

and glanced at the two men curiously.

“Go on in,” Murdock told Tia. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yea, we’ve still gotta square away this whole hotel business,” Face remarked

with a sharp look at Murdock.

As the other three went in to their respective hotel rooms, Face and Murdock

turned and walked out of the hotel and in to the parking lot, only to realize that B.A. had

locked the doors of the van. Frowning, their arms crossed against their displeasure over

the weather, they stood next to the van and stared down one another in the rain.

“You got somethin’ you need to say?” Murdock asked coolly.

“I don’t think I have to say anything.”

“So, what? You wanna pass judgment? You? Southern California’s answer to

Casanova?”

The insult stung, perhaps because it had a measure of truth to it. Any argument

that he could’ve tried to lay down would label him a hypocrite in Murdock’s eyes. Face

waited for a few moments to get his emotions in check before he said anything. “Do you

love her?” he asked.

“No,” came the solid reply. “It’s not like that.”

“Does she love you?” he challenged.

“No.”

“This is all just for fun, then?”

“No different than what you do.”

Silence pulled between them again. Finally, Murdock spoke up. “Anything else?

I’m gettin’ a little wet, here.”

Face reached in to inner pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a couple of

condoms, then held them out to Murdock, who shook his head.

“I’ve got my own,” came the low reply. “When I said I was going to the

bathroom, I went and bought a box at the gas station next to the restaurant.”

Face blinked and put the items back in his jacket. “All right, then. But I do have

to say… I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” Murdock’s dark gaze sliced through Face’s blue-eyed stare.

“It’s none of your business.”

The two turned and walked back to the rear entrance of the hotel, then went inside

and separated at the end of the hall, with Face knocking on the door for B.A. and

Hannibal to let him in, and Murdock knocking on the door to get Tia’s attention. Tia

responded quickly, and Murdock made it inside while Face could still hear B.A.

grumbling about having to get up and answer the door.

“Maybe it is my business,” he mumbled to himself.

Once inside the hotel room, Hannibal looked up from the chair by the window,

where he’d been watching the exchange out by the van.

“He didn’t take ‘em?” A look of mild relief began to cross Hannibal’s face.

“Well, that’s a good sign--”

“He says he’s got his own,” Face snapped in a low tone.

Hannibal and B.A. exchanged a glance, one that Face shared with them.

“So you think they started about a week ago?”

“In Santa Monica, yea,” Face replied. “Like I said, I went to do a quick check of

the room. Make sure they didn’t leave anything behind… both beds were used…”

His voice faltered. He’d also found Tia’s towel, but he’d not mentioned that

intimate clue to Hannibal or B.A. His statement that he suspected an affair had begun

between Murdock and Tia, and his own personal experience in such matters, settled the

matter without the need to mention any further evidence.

“We can’t let this kind of thing go on,” Hannibal remarked.

B.A. seemed unhappy with the situation as well, but one that he’d remained

realistic about just the same. “It ain’t any of our business,” he stated, echoing Murdock’s

earlier statement. “Especially after what happened to Kelly. You know he still blames

us, Hannibal. Maybe he won‘t say it outright, but he still blames us. And he’s still

hurting. And ever time he looks at his arms, those scars ain’t gonna let him forget,

neither.”

B.A. turned and laid back down on one of the beds that he’d chosen to occupy,

while Hannibal smoked another cigar, his gaze drifting off into the far corner of the room.

Face pulled off his wet jacket and shirt, then went in to the bathroom to get a towel to dry

his hair off with. When he exited the bathroom, he flicked off the light and stood in the

doorway, the towel looped around his neck.

“He says he’s not in love,” Face said. “If that matters at all.”

Hannibal glanced in his direction. “Do you believe him?”

“Yes. I do. Because I don’t think he-- “ Face sat on the edge of B.A.’s bed and

shook his head. “Hannibal, I’ll be honest with you. With what he went through, losing

Kelly like that, I don’t think he’s got it in him to fall in love again.”

“Me, neither,” the older man muttered. He looked away again and sighed.

“Damn shame, though, for a sweet kid like Tia to be in this situation. Murdock’s not a

bad guy, but he is a guy. And he is using her.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” B.A. argued. “Go in there and take her out of

his room? Drag her down here? Let it be, man. This is between them.”

“Yea,” Hannibal sighed.

“Yea,” Face agreed.

Veterans Administration Psychiatric Unit, West Los Angeles, California

August 30, 1986

“When?!?”

As H.M. Murdock spun away from the window, Templeton “Face” Peck watched

Murdock carefully and forced himself not to take a step back--forced himself not to

reveal a sign of weakness. He studied the tension in the other man’s body as well as the

unnatural expression on his face, and kept his arms loose at his sides and his body poised

on the balls of his feet, ready for anything.

“Two days ago,” Face replied. “She left two days ago on a freighter. She’ll be

home in a few weeks. But… she‘s gone, Murdock. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. What do you know from ‘sorry’?” Murdock pressed his thin lips together

and crossed his arms. “This was Hannibal’s idea, wasn’t it? Sending her away like this.”

“It was… well, it was everyone’s idea--”

“Everyone? Nobody asked me!” he snapped. “Nobody ever asks me!”

He spun and began to pace the room as Face tried to reason with him.

“Murdock,” he began, “sooner or later, this was going to happen. We couldn’t

give her a chance at a normal life, not without a birth certificate to prove who her father

was. She was living the life of a fugitive. She couldn’t stay in this country and she knew

that.” He steeled himself and took a few steps forward. “If it didn’t happen this way,

then sooner or later, Immigration would’ve picked her up. At least this way, she has a

chance to return to America in the future, and not have a criminal record to get in her

way.” He paused. “Like we do.”

“You guys are the ones with the records,” he seethed. “You guys are the ones who

put her at risk. I’m clean. I’m in here--”

“YES, YOU ARE!”

The sudden, sharp words that Face spat in Murdock’s direction made the other

man stop in his tracks and blink with surprise. Face, too, hesitated for a moment after he

spoke; he’d been warned by the staff that Murdock had become violent since his return,

and not to trigger any aggression by raising his voice. But the thought of Tia’s plight,

made that much worse by Murdock’s intervention, tested Face’s level of control.

“You’re right about that. You are in here,” he continued. He lowered his voice but

did not alter its menacing tone. “You’re safe, Murdock. This place gives you food,

shelter, clothing, entertainment, and all you’ve got to do is keep up the crazy act. Well,

it‘s not like that for the rest of us. There‘s a real world out there with real problems that

we have to deal with.”

Murdock raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you think this is all an act?”

“I think it’s more of an act than you’ll admit,” Face countered. “Do I think you

have problems? Sure, I do. Do I think they’re bad enough to warrant you being in here

twenty-four, seven? No. I don’t.” He took another step forward as his confidence grew.

“You’re safe in here, Murdock,” he repeated. “But what about Tia? How could she ever

be with you, when you live like this? She was too young, too bright, too skilled… too

alive to live some anonymous existence in this city. What would you have done with

her? Put her in some cheap apartment? Give her a few hundred dollars a month to scrape

by on? Maybe… but would you have left the hospital to take care of her?” He paused.

“Would you have married her?”

Murdock looked away and hunched his shoulders. “Shut up.”

“No. I won’t.” Face’s jaw tightened and he stared down Murdock. “And I’ll tell

you something else. You want to know what really drove her away? You. Your

selfishness. She didn’t leave because Hannibal suggested it. She didn’t leave because I

found the right ship heading back to Vietnam. She didn’t leave because B.A. drove her to

the docks. She left because you did nothing.”

Face ignored Murdock’s slack-jawed expression and kept talking.

“You might’ve wanted her physically, but that’s all you wanted. And you took

her. And used her. And got her pregnant. And then when it was time for you to make a

choice and be a man, you backed away from that.” A momentary hesitation… and then

he said it. “Just like you backed away from Kelly!”

With a roar of anger, Murdock charged at Face--a clumsy, angst-ridden charge

that telegraphed his every move to the waiting Faceman. He knew Murdock too well,

and it took almost no effort to knock him to the side, against the wall, then trip him up

and twist one arm as he pushed him away. Murdock stumbled, cried out with the pain

and collapsed to the floor, holding his left shoulder.

Face glanced at the hospital room door with satisfaction. The orderlies in the

hallway peered back at him through the metal grating on the door, but they had been

well-paid by him not to interrupt whatever went on in that room.

Murdock lay on the floor, panting, his eyes closed. He knew better than to make

more than one attempt to take down Face. The past few days, he’d barely gotten it back

together from being overmedicated; indeed, he’d only sworn off the anti-psychotic pills

for less than a day, and the long layoff from anything resembling exercise left his

unconditioned body unable to meet the challenge before him.

Face, too, knew that Murdock didn’t have it in him. He stood and waited

patiently while the other man rolled on to his knees, then regained his feet and stumbled

over to the bed to sit down. Face pulled in a long breath.

“Murdock, I love you, and I‘d do anything I can for you. You know that. But I

can’t help you here. What you‘re doing is something that only you can fix.”

“What am I doing?” he asked in a dull voice.

“After Kelly died, you were just punishing yourself. Since then, you’ve been

punishing other people. You blame the team for her death, and now you want to blame us

for Tia, too. Well, I won’t stand for it, Murdock. I think B.A. said it best when he said

you wouldn’t ‘step up.’ He’s right. You haven’t met your obligations and faced up to

your situations. Not then, not now--”

“But I still--”

Murdock choked on his words as he tried to speak, and Face went and sat beside

him. He put one arm over the man‘s slim shoulders, and Murdock leaned in to him.

“Things shouldn’t have been this way,” he whispered. “Long before Tia came in

to the picture, I should’ve been out of here, living with Kelly, having the perfect life.”

“So… what? You can’t live that life, and so now, you won’t have anything?”

Face tried again. “You need to figure out how to take responsibility for yourself. Can

you understand that?”

Before Murdock could respond, a sudden banging on the metal door jerked them

out of their reverie and they looked up with alarm. Face jumped to his feet and ran in that

direction as one of the orderlies unlocked the door.

“MPs,” came the sharp word. “Just pulled up front. You gotta get outta here,

man!”

Face called back to Murdock as he slipped through the opening door. “We’ve got

something in the works. We’ll be in touch.”

The half-opened door clanged shut again as soon as Face exited, and Murdock

eased himself down on the bed, his left arm curled up against his body at the still-present

shoulder pain that Face had inflicted.

The military police arrived, and questions followed--as they always did--but

Murdock did not answer them. The doctor on duty quietly explained the past several

days of troubling behavior that Murdock had been experiencing and the dosing issues

with his medication, and with the help of the orderlies outside, the MPs (quite

erroneously) determined that while Face had been seen on the property, he hadn’t made it

to Murdock’s room. And they left.

After another round of drugs, this time by injection… Murdock also left.

Cliffside National Park, Northern California

July 24, 1986

Tia couldn’t restrain a girlish giggle as she and Murdock emerged from the

bushes, the large wool blanket that they’d been lying on folded under one of her slender

arms and the tiny fingers of her free hand hooked through Murdock’s fingers. He smiled

and curled one arm up as they walked, pulling her hand closer, his grip tight and

comforting. The chill of the evening had just begun to settle on the beachside location,

and they smiled at one another as they walked along the narrow dirt-and-gravel path that

led down to the shoreline.

“This has been a good day,” she told him.

Murdock nodded, but his smile faded slightly. He’d had to lie to the rest of the

team about not being able to get out of the V.A. mental hospital--a circumstance not

without precedence; it happened from time to time, when security tightened up for one

reason or another, or yet another doctor decided that it would be a good idea to try a

“new” technique to “cure” H.M. Murdock of his delusions. His actual escape from the

V.A., of course, turned out to be easy enough. Out of reach from both the hospital and

the team, he rented a car to drive him and Tia to the beach, for a leisurely day of

picnicking and the enjoyment of each other’s company… which, as it always did, heated

up in to something more and eventually urged them to sneak off into the underbrush for a

more personal encounter.

Murdock couldn’t say that he’d never had sex outside, in a semi-public place, but

it had been quite a while since he’d engaged in the activity with a Vietnamese beauty the

likes of Tia, and the memories of those past affairs came back fresh and strong with each

thrust of his body, heightening the exclusivity and pleasure of the experience at hand.

Tia, for her part, seemed to enjoy herself even more than she had before--to the point

where Murdock, nervous about being discovered, had to cover her mouth a few times as

ecstasy overwhelmed control. He had to admit that muffling her cries with his hand

added a strange fetish aspect to the sexual experience.

Now the easy afternoon had ended, and Murdock had to take Tia back to the place

that Face had scammed up for her--an adequate but rather dull studio apartment located in

North Hollywood--and return himself to the hospital. The possibility existed that they

might not have known he’d left and simply let the lump of pillows on the bed “sleep”

rather than doing a proper bed check… a few of the orderlies certainly had reason to hope

that Murdock would turn up before being missed, as they’d been written up in the past for

negligence, and found it better to hide the fact that Murdock had escaped rather than

sound the alarm right away. Not that such disappearances went on the “forgive and

forget” basis. Paybacks of some form or another always came in to play.

Murdock shoved such thoughts away as he and Tia returned to the car, put the

picnic basket and blanket in the trunk, then climbed inside and drove off. A few minutes

later, she gave him a curious look.

“You’re very quiet,” she noted.

“Yea, well, I’m a little tired.” He flashed her a smile. “You wore me out.”

“I do that very well,” she flirted.

“Oh, yes, you do.”

Her dark eyes sparkled, and as Murdock glanced at her, an odd feeling came over

him. Yes, she looked just as lovely and attractive as usual, but it seemed to him that she

seemed different now than she had two weeks earlier, when they’d begun their affair.

More mature, more confident, more settled… more settled on him? he wondered.

Murdock felt a definite wave of discomfort, so he licked his lips and forced himself to

speak.

“Ah, Tia… can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you… like me?”

She blinked and her face clouded over a bit. “Of course.” She paused.

“Murdock, I have said this before. I know you are member of the A-Team. That is

important. That is your life. And I like you, yes, but I do not want to be your girlfriend.”

She glanced out the window. “Life is too confusing here, and I am having a difficult time

living in this world. I cannot complicate it any more than it is. I’m sorry--”

“No, no, no,” he insisted. “It’s not that. I mean… I just want to make sure that

this whole thing doesn’t mean more to you than does is to me.”

Tia nodded in understanding. “I like you,” she repeated. “And I like what we do.

And that is all. Okay?”

A relaxed smile eased the tension in his features. “Okay.”

Tia smiled and reached for him, stroking the hair on the outside of his right

forearm in a comforting gesture, then put her hand back in to her lap. She rarely touched

the scars on the soft undersides of his arms, even when they had sex, and she never asked

about them. He assumed that someone had told her--most likely Face--about the

blackout-suicide attempt from the previous year. Murdock never offered up an

explanation as to how they’d gotten there; he didn‘t like to think about the incident, least

of all drag up the how and why of what led up to the reason behind it.

As they neared Tia’s North Hollywood apartment, Murdock felt as if the mood in

the car had definitely shifted after his question, and when he dropped Tia off at her

apartment, she didn’t offer for him to come upstairs (as she always had before), and only

offered a quick kiss goodbye. He watched her go inside, let the vehicle idle next to the

curb for a bit in silent consideration, then put the car in gear and pulled back in to traffic.

Murdock couldn’t help but think that he’d spoiled their day by asking about her

feelings in that way, yet he also couldn’t shake the sense that over the past several days,

something about Tia had changed.

It didn’t surprise him, somehow, to step inside the rental car facility in West Los

Angeles and see Face standing at the counter, flirting with the woman at the desk. The

man certainly had a knack for getting information when he wanted it. Murdock gave a

blank stare at Face before he turned, smiled at the receptionist, turned the keys to the

rental car back in and exited with Face by his side. Without a word, the two climbed in to

Face’s orange-and-white Corvette and drove off towards the V.A.

Face pulled off Wilshire Boulevard and took the right turn and sharp dip down

onto V.A. grounds, but instead of driving directly to the Psychiatric Wing of the hospital,

he pulled into the parking lot of the Wadsworth Theatre, then killed the engine.

Murdock couldn‘t help but address the unspoken pun. “In the mood to get

‘theatrical,’ are we?” he asked.

Face gave him a cold glare.

He narrowed his eyes. “What?” he insisted.

“You are one clueless bastard,” Face growled. “You know that?”

Murdock rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go. It’s about Tia again, right? What?

You’re mad because I‘m getting more action than you are?”

Face shifted his jaw. “I’m mad,” he forced himself to say in a low but even tone,

“because you lied to us.”

He turned to the side in the passenger seat and put one hand on the dashboard and

the other on the back of the seat. “Oh, yea. Sorry, but I wasn’t in the mood to go off and

play ‘Robin Hood and his Merry Men’ today.”

“It’s not playing, Murdock. What we do is deadly serious. We work for good

people and we go up against bad guys that don’t care if we’re tired, hungry, thirsty… or

horny.” He glared at his friend. “Hannibal took it in the arm today--just a graze, nothing

major, but if you’d been there--”

“What?” Murdock challenged. “I could’ve jumped in the way again? Taken

another bullet for him?”

“I don’t know. But then again, we’ll never know, will we?”

“No. Just like we’ll never know if today was the day that I could have bought it.

Look, we take risks. Whether it’s three of us or four of us on a mission, that doesn’t

change that risk. We’re not together every time we go on a job, Face, and we still do

what we’ve gotta do. So how’s about you cut me a break once`? Give me a chance to

enjoy life a little?”

Face snorted. “A little? I’d say you’re enjoying it more than that.” He shifted in

the driver’s seat. “You’re not just having sex with Tia, you’re wallowing in it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“No. I’m worried. She’s alone with you too much. I mean, whenever I’ve taken

her somewhere--to go shopping or to eat or to an amusement park or something--we’re

interacting with people. We’re around people, at the very least. You’re keeping her apart

from everybody.”

“And what? You’re getting tired of being the entertainment director? You want

her?” He flipped a hand in the air. “Go for it. Make a move.”

“’Make a move?’” Face stared at him with mild disgust. “What is wrong with

you lately, huh? Ever since we got back from Vietnam, you’ve been… detached. The

only person you’ve connected with has been Tia, and that’s only at the genitals.”

The two men fell into silence. Face put both hands on the wheel, his face set in a

frown, and Murdock settled back in to the passenger seat and glanced over in the

direction of the Psychiatric buildings. He waved a hand in that direction.

“So are you gonna drive me over, or should I walk?” Murdock asked.

“I think you should walk,” came the terse reply. “’Make a move,’” he muttered in

obvious disgust. “Jesus… I don‘t know what‘s going on in your head these days.”

Murdock popped open the passenger-side door, stepped out, then slammed it shut

and put both hands on the top as he leaned in to the car.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing is going on in my head.”

“Yea,” Face replied. “That’s what I thought.”

Murdock spun and walked away, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his

khaki trousers, his shoulders hunched and his gaze on the ground. Behind him, the

engine of the ‘vette cranked up, and with a squeal of tires, Face left the parking lot and

headed back out to Sunset Boulevard.

Murdock stared down at the steady motion of his worn black-and-white Converse

sneakers.

“It’s just me in here, Faceman,” he said to himself. “Just me and the rotor blades.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh… same as always. And there ain‘t but one

thing that can take that noise outta my brain… at least, for a little while.”

North Hollywood, California

August 4, 1986

H.M. Murdock sat on the edge of the bed, naked, his feet apart on the floor, his

elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He scratched his fingers slowly through

the thin, receding spot of hair on the top of his head, then balanced his jaw in his palms

and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed with concern.

The sound echoed out of the bathroom again and Murdock opened his eyes. It

sounded like dry heaves. Nothing left in the stomach to give, yet the nausea which

prompted the vomiting clearly refused to abate. Soft crying accompanied it.

Does she know? he wondered.

He knew. He knew exactly what he’d woken up to. He’d always been

exceptional at mathematics, which had been an incredible help for him to get both to and

through flight school. But even if he hadn’t known how to do higher-level equations, it

only took simple maths to put this particular puzzle piece together. From July 9 th… to

August 4th… nearly four weeks had gone by since their first time together. And now--

Tia’s abrupt bolt to the bathroom after she awoke had, in turn, pulled Murdock out

of a sound post-coital doze, but she’d slammed the door and begun throwing up before he

could ask what might be wrong. Only a few seconds later, when his thought process

combined with his maths skills, did Murdock’s question fade away because, well, it

didn’t have to be asked at all, did it?

He lay down on the bed again and pulled the bed sheet up around him, then

hooked his hands behind his head, pursed his lips together, and blew through them--not in

a whistle, but more as an attempt at a motorboat sound, but he failed and instead heard

himself go whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. Copying the noise that had begun

again in his head as the tension of the situation started to get to him.

He snaked one hand under the sheet, his head turned towards the bathroom, and

slowly began to masturbate. Even though he’d had sex with Tia not even an hour earlier,

it took no time at all for the soft flesh to harden in his tight grip.

Make it go away, he told himself. His rhythm increased with his desperation.

Make it go away, make it go away… He didn’t even know what he meant, exactly, but he

couldn’t shake the thought.

He finished up several seconds before Tia opened the bathroom door and came

out, a light sheen of sweat on her now-pale face. She groaned and crawled back in to

bed, covering up her nude body with the sheet as she curled in to a ball. Her breath

smelled strongly of mouth wash--Face’s influence, no doubt; he happened to be a big

promoter of fresh breath under any circumstances. She didn’t seem to notice Murdock’s

quick breathing, nor the way he casually brought his hand up from underneath the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a whisper, her eyes half-closed.

“Don’t be. You can’t help it.” He paused. “It’s natural.”

She glanced at Murdock, but didn’t respond. Her reaction gave him all the

answer that he needed… she knew the situation.

“It…” He swallowed. “It must’ve been just that first time,” he said in a strained

voice. “When we didn’t use anything.”

She closed her eyes and rolled over, turning her back to him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tia told him.

He nodded to himself, then and cupped his hands together over his stomach.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Several minutes passed before he heard her begin to snore--soft breaths with the

slightest hint of a rattle to them. He eased himself out of bed and got dressed, then stood

at the end of the bed and looked down at her as he put his dark blue ball cap on. He

closed his eyes for a moment and relished the silence of the moment, then opened them

again and crept to the door. A gentle click of the lock, a slow turn of the doorknob, and

he stepped out into the hallway without disturbing her sleep. He exercised an equal

amount of care in closing the door.

Murdock turned and restrained a cry of surprise as he almost ran in to Hannibal,

who had been standing right outside of Tia’s door; since Murdock had backed out of the

apartment, he hadn’t noticed him. He put one hand to his rapidly-beating heart and rolled

his eyes.

“Don’t DO that!” he hissed.

Hannibal gave him an expressionless stare, then jerked his head to one side,

urging him to follow. Murdock gasped for a breath to get himself back under control,

then sighed it out and obeyed the silent command.

Once outside, Hannibal and Murdock walked side-by-side towards the nearby

parking lot, where the team’s van waited with B.A. at the wheel.

“Face is at the V.A.,” Hannibal informed him. “He went there looking for you.”

“And yet, you’re here.”

“We’ve got a four-man operation today. We need you for this one.” He paused.

“Tia can wait.”

Murdock waved a hand in the air. “Yea, yea, yea. Spare me the speech, all

right?”

With a growl and a quick step forward, Hannibal grabbed Murdock by the jacket,

swung him around and slammed the pilot’s body up against the side of the van. B.A.

winced and seemed about to say something, but the look on Hannibal’s face--his steel

blue eyes still focused on Murdock--changed his mind and, with a jangle of metal, he

settled back into the driver’s seat.

“Now you listen to me, Captain!” Hannibal shouted. “You WILL show me some

respect! Do I make myself clear?”

Murdock swallowed and reached one hand back to touch the back of his head

where it had connected with the van, his brown eyes wide with shock. He tried to speak

but couldn’t find the words. Angered by his silence, Hannibal shoved him against the

van again, then wiped his gloved hands against one another.

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Murdock,” Hannibal said in a low,

fierce tone. “I know things about you that the others don’t--” He paused as he watched

as Murdock’s eyes grew even wider with fear, then continued, “--and I know what’s

going on.”

“She--”

“I’m not talking about Tia,” he interrupted. He took a step closer and lowered his

voice. “I saw it in your eyes when we got back from Vietnam. You asked me, ‘Did you

think about it?’ I didn’t, but I could tell that you did. And still do. We didn’t just bring

back Tia with us, did we? We brought back our ghosts.”

Murdock felt himself begin to tremble.

“General Fulbright was trying to get us for a long time, and you know what? I

think maybe he finally did. We went to Vietnam, got saddled with his daughter, and came

back here with some of the demons that we’d left behind the first time.” He pointed at

his chest. “I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep--I keep having the thought that someone is

sneaking up on the perimeter. Even though there is no perimeter.” He pointed in to the

van, at B.A. “B.A.’s losing his temper more often. Face is working his scams twice as

hard, like he’s trying to forget himself in his work. And you…”

Hannibal glanced down at Murdock’s trembling hands, then met Murdock’s eyes.

“You haven’t even been in the air since we got back, you know.”

“I… I was shot,” Murdock forced himself to reply. “I had to recover. I just

haven’t had a chance to take anything up yet, that‘s all.” His voice tightened. “I’m not

afraid to fly.”

“No, you’re not,” Hannibal agreed. “But I think I know what you are afraid of.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re afraid to get on with it.”

Murdock stared at him, confused. “With flying?”

“With everything. It’s not that you can’t handle life on the outside--it’s that you

don’t want to. You pick and choose what you want to deal with, and to hell with the

rest.” He paused. “You’re going to do the same thing with Tia.”

The last word, her name, bit through the air and Murdock flinched as if Hannibal

had feigned a punch. Angry at himself for having shown weakness, he straightened his

shoulders and stared down Hannibal.

“So do we have a mission, Colonel?” he asked in a detached tone.

Hannibal paused, then nodded. “Up in Saugus. Get in,” he said with a wave of

his hand towards the side door. “We’re going to rendezvous with Face up in Santa

Clarita. When he couldn’t find you at the V.A., it didn’t take much to figure out where

you might be otherwise.” He paused, sniffed at Murdock, then frowned. “And what you

might be doing.”

And with that, Hannibal climbed in to the passenger seat and said nothing to

either Murdock or B.A. for the duration of the half-hour drive north.

Veterans Administration Psychiatric Unit, West Los Angeles, California

August 24, 1986

“There is no more problem.”

Tia looked up at him with dark, dead eyes, then repeated the single line that she’d

greeted him with only a moment earlier.

“There is no more problem.”

Murdock blinked, then swallowed and sat down across from her in the Visitors‘

Room. A slight distance away, in his peripheral vision, he noticed the wavering

movement of a nearby orderly, ready to intervene if “Howlin’ Mad” decided to live up to

his name that afternoon. Certainly, the hospital had reason for concern lately; since he

and Tia had fought in her apartment two days ago, his aggression at the V.A. had

increased, culminating in a shoving match with one of the other patients. Murdock, in

better physical condition and taller than the other man, ended up pushing him off his feet

and over a sofa in the recreation room.

More disturbing than the confrontation with another patient had been his

psychiatrist’s reaction to the fight--who had asked, calmly and with confidence in his

suspicions, who Murdock really wanted to take his aggression out on. The expert had

deduced (quite rightly, in fact) that his patient had no real grudge against the man he’d

attacked in the rec room, but that he harbored some other reason for the outburst.

Murdock had never told him about Tia in their therapy sessions, and rather than tell a bad

lie, he refused to respond to the question. He hoped the shrink would assume that his

actions related to the previous year’s incident, with the death of Doctor Kelly Stevens, as

some sort of flashback.

Tia’s words reverberated in his brain… there is no more problem…

He tried to reach for her hands, but she pulled away, and he had to force himself

to speak.

“How? When?” he demanded.

“Two days ago,” came the tired reply. “I fell on the table. It came out of me later

that night.”

Murdock bit his lower lip in a sudden moment of panic, as his mind whirled back

to that tumultuous argument in her studio apartment two days earlier.

Had he caused the spontaneous loss of… it?

He silently cursed himself for using the same term that she had: it. He always

chose that word, not “the child” or “my child,” but “it,” and couldn’t help himself. Then

again, she did the same thing. Tia, in the several weeks since the pregnancy had been

confirmed by a doctor, had changed from the smiling, warm person that he’d gotten to

know since the team had brought her out of Vietnam. She’d begun to distance herself

from him. Some days, she refused to answer the telephone or even the door, even though

he knew her to be home.

In a strange contradiction to this, however, whenever she did consent to see him,

the sexual activity between them always escalated to a maddening pitch. No longer did

they restrict themselves to a couple of positions on the bed, and more than one object in

the apartment tumbled off a table or shelf and broke as they went at it. On one occasion,

Murdock had to spend an entire week away from her, recovering from an injury to an

organ that he had no idea, up until that point, could be hurt in such a manner. He’d gotten

a bit too aggressive that particular evening, bending and bruising himself while at full

attention.

Luckily the injury turned out to be mild, and nothing that would have required the

attention of the V.A. doctors… either medically or as a notation in his psych record.

Questions already existed as to how he managed to escape on a regular basis. It

would’ve been that much more awkward if he’d had to try and explain how that kind of

accident had come about.

Murdock gave himself a mental slap to get his mind off the sexual aspect of their

relationship, only to regret the flash of memory that replaced it--that of watching Tia as

she fell back against the small dining table in the corner of the apartment. Truth be told,

the near-violent sex they’d had over the past few weeks didn’t come close to the slight

push he‘d given her when she‘d screamed and threw herself at him. They’d carelessly

knocked their bodies around the room any number of times, arms and legs intertwined,

consumed by a mindless, passionate hunger. Surely something so minor as what

Murdock had done--catching her flailing arms and pushing her away from him--couldn’t

have caused this?

Could it?

She’d been in hysterics after their discussion of the unwanted situation and what

they should do about it. Murdock had offered no advice as to what should be done, and

Tia said that she couldn‘t fathom becoming a mother, not in a foreign country where she,

herself, didn‘t even exist.

Maybe she’s lying, his mind echoed. But he shuttered that unfair thought away.

He knew that Tia couldn’t lie any better than he could. Such an accusation would’ve

been as cruel as claiming that she’d faked being pregnant… another impossibility, when

in his panic, he’d watched her take three different home pregnancy tests in person and

then took her to a doctor for an official confirmation.

Whether he’d caused the accident, or whether Tia had accidentally fallen against

the table after he’d left (he could easily imagine her doing so, as she’d been thrashing

around the room when he left, screaming in anger and throwing objects about)… it didn’t

matter. There had, indeed, been an it. And now it had gone.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked. He tried to reach for her again, but she moved

her entire body away from him.

“I’m fine. I went to a doctor at… the, uh, free doctor down the street, uh, that

place…”

“Planned Parenthood,” he supplied the name. “Where we went for the… test.”

The word “pregnancy” would not come out of his mouth.

“Yes. There.” She gave a slow, sad nod. “They said I am fine. I am young and

strong, they said. I do not have any other problems. This was just an accident.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

Murdock struggled to find the right words, only to realize that no words would be

the right words. Too much had happened, in too soon of a time frame. He stood up

abruptly, both hands raised in agitation.

“I--I can’t deal with this,” he said curtly.

Tia’s mouth dropped open as Murdock stumbled backwards, knocking over the

chair he’d been sitting in, and left the room.

“I can,” she said to herself in a low voice.

Veterans Administration Facility, West Los Angeles, California

August 24, 1986

“You were right. He ran away.”

B.A. Baracus shook his head, then helped Tia in to the passenger seat of the van

and closed her door. He put one hand over the gold chains around his neck to muffle

their jangling as he walked around the front of the van, climbed in to the driver’s seat and

started the engine.

“Don’t get me wrong,” B.A. remarked. “I love Murdock like a brother. But I

know the man. I know him real well. And it ain’t in him to be the kind of guy you

need.”

Tia turned her head away. “I did not want him to be,” she replied. “I never did.

And I do not want to be a part of his life.” She paused and looked back at B.A. “Of this

life,” she clarified.

He nodded. “I understand. And it ain‘t right for you to be, neither. It ain‘t fair.

And it‘s only gonna get more unfair unless we do somethin‘.”

B.A. pulled the van out of the parking lot and moved through the narrow, one-way

streets of the V.A. until he got to the back entrance of the facility, then pulled out onto a

main street and headed towards Face’s condo--or, rather, that of Michael Merryweather

IV, one of Face’s newest identities. The luxury condo had several rooms, which allowed

Hannibal, B.A. and Face their own rooms for a change, along with a swimming pool,

sauna and hot tub which they utilized nearly every day; Hannibal, in particular, had taken

to the sauna and hot tub, and more often than not the other men would find him down

there.

The van took a slight dip as it turned into the driveway of the underground

parking garage. B.A. pulled the van into the condo’s designated parking spot, then killed

the engine and turned to Tia.

“Did he believe you?” he asked in a low, rumbling tone.

Tia drew in a slow breath and nodded. “I think so.” She gave B.A. a worried

look. “Are you sure it was the right thing to do?”

“I think so.” B.A. shrugged. “It’s mostly Hannibal that comes up with the

schemes. But like I said, I know Murdock, and if we tell him you ain’t pregnant no more,

then it’ll be easier on him when you’re gone.”

She gave him a quick, confused look. “But what if he tells that lie to the others?”

“He ain’t likely to talk to Hannibal about this. Hannibal don‘t like too much

emotional stuff. Him and Face might compare notes, but I doubt he‘d mention it. And

once you’re back in Vietnam, I’m sure nobody will mention it.” He gave another shrug.

“We do that a lot. We meet a lot of people, do a lot of things, and then we move on and

don’t hardly ever bring ’em up again. I think this’ll be one of those things. Am I’m

sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you’re just gonna be one more thing that we forget about.” He reached out

and took her hand. “’Cause you do matter. And you remember that. You remember that

for the little one inside you. You are important, and you‘ll always be important. Okay?”

Tia’s eyes teared up and she managed a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

They made the journey up the elevator and into the condo in silence. Tia’s

thoughts spun towards her imminent departure while B.A. pondered the current situation.

He knew that none of the other men would have suspected him of a move both so devious

and devoted to Murdock. However, B.A. knew that sweet little Tia wouldn’t be able to

tell the same lie to Face and Hannibal; if not for Murdock’s recent violent incident at the

V.A., and his currently strained mental state, Tia might not have been able to lie

sufficiently to fool him, either, so it came as a relief to find out that she had. But he

didn’t doubt that Face and Hannibal would sniff out a lie from her; he knew better than to

have her do the same thing twice. Just as in war, he knew it never paid to push your luck

in a tense situation. In World War II, the superstition had been “three on a match”--where

a sniper spots one man as he lights a match for his cigarette, he aims as the second man

lights his up, and then fires when the third does the same. In Vietnam, theoretically

lighting “two on a match” would’ve been enough to get you killed. The Viet Cong had

excellent aim.

Vietnam had taught B.A. a great deal and, although he could be a bit hard-headed

at times, he had learned his lessons well.

B.A. unlocked the door to the condo and stepped in, surprised to see Hannibal

seated on the sofa, smoking a cigar, and waiting for them. He held the door for Tia, then

closed and locked it behind her.

“I thought you’d be down in the jacuzzi, man,” he said with raised eyebrows.

Hannibal gave him an even look. “Not when there’s business to get to. Face just

called. He’s found us the perfect ship.”

Tia swallowed nervously, then moved over and sat down in a chair near Hannibal.

“To take me back to Vietnam?”

“That’s right. It leaves in four days. Well, three and a half. They’re taking off on

the twenty-eighth. Will you be ready to go?”

She nodded, then leaned back in the chair. “I do not have much to bring with me.

A few clothes, and some photographs of my father‘s. That is all.”

B.A. sat down next to Hannibal. “I’m glad we could get those for you. And not

get caught,” he added with a glance to his left.

Hannibal hummed. “Well, it was worth the risk. She deserved to know more

about General Fulbright. The only way she was going to do that was if we broke into his

house and got that photo album.”

“But it is too big,” she said with an unhappy look. “I cannot bring the whole

thing. Just a few of the photos.”

“We’ll keep it for you,” he replied. “Once you get yourself settled somewhere, all

you have to do is contact us and we’ll mail it out. Then you’ll have it in your hands

again.”

B.A. kept quiet. He knew the odds of that happening, and a quick glance at Tia’s

face told him that she suspected the same thing: just as she’d left Vietnam with nothing

but the clothes on her back, she understood that for the return trip, she would only have

whatever she took with her. Everything else would be lost.

Just the same, Tia nodded in tacit agreement. “Thank you.”

“Now all we need is for Face to get you that Vietnamese identity he promised, and

you’re on your way.”

The three of them looked at the condo door as a key rattled in the lock. Face

entered with a stack of papers in one arm, glanced around, and grinned.

“Let me guess,” he said as he closed the door. “You’re waiting for me, aren‘t

you?”

“We’re waiting,” Hannibal replied, “for Tia’s paperwork”

“Well, I’ve got it for you. Don’t say that I never come through.”

Face joined B.A. on the sofa and spread out the paperwork in his possession. He

shifted around various documents along with a passport with Tia’s photo in it.

“Like I said,” he told them “I don’t think my I.D. guy gave me a decent enough

forgery to get her through customs. Rocco was the best, but since we found out that he’s

working with the military, he’s out for good. So I’ve had to go to my second-best guy

instead, which means that a commercial flight is out. Plus there’d be too many people

that she’d come in to contact with. Might get recognized. It’s not worth the risk.”

B.A. frowned. “So you’re making her cargo? In her condition?”

Face held up both hands. “Now, B.A., it’s not quite like that. Yes, it’s a cargo

ship, but I’ve paid someone quite handsomely for a nice, quiet place for her to stay.”

Tia gave him a half-smile. “You mean, my father paid for it.”

Face cleared his throat. During the nighttime break-in to General Fulbright’s

house when they‘d procured the photo album, Face broke in to a wall safe that contained

a sizable amount of cash along with some leads to a few bank accounts--money which

he’d used to get Tia her own apartment (albeit under a false identity), among other things.

“Well, yes,” he acknowledged. “In a manner of speaking, I guess he did.

Anyway, you‘re all ready to go--you‘ll be in a little storage room that you can lock from

the inside. It‘s all stocked with food and anything else you might need. And we‘ll get

you on at the last minute, just in case they get inspected in this country for some reason

or another. Once you get there, my guy will help get you off the ship undetected. But

you do understand, you are on your own once you hit Vietnam?”

“Yes.” She gave a sharp nod. “I will be careful.”

Face smiled. “I’m sure you will. Your new name is going to be Phuong Anh

Tuyen. So instead of ‘Tia,’ you‘ll be ‘Ahn.’ And I‘m sure you know, but ‘Tuyen’ means

‘angel,’” he added.

Tia gave Face a sad smile and looked away. He didn’t know that Murdock--

severely injured by the bullet wound to his shoulder as he‘d flown her and the team out of

Vietnam, and in a haze of pain and fever--had called Tia his angel as he lay on the floor

of the plane…

"Tôi sẽ bay với thiên thần của tôi bên cạnh tôi…"

Face cleared his throat again to get her attention.

“We’ll bring you over here in three days. Let you spend the night here, so that

we’re ready to go that morning. So, ah…” He clapped his hands together. “Is there

anything you want to do for the next three days? Anywhere in America you want to go?

We can’t go gallivanting around the whole country, of course, but we can go a few places

that aren’t too far away. Vegas? San Francisco?”

Tia crossed her arms and pondered the idea. “No,” she said slowly. “No, I don’t

think I want to go anywhere, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. How about a drive down to Disneyland, at least? That’s an

American institution, almost.”

She smiled. That had been one of the first places he’d wanted to take her when

she‘d arrived. She’d pushed off the idea as being too infantile, as the kind of amusement

that you offered a child--but she never forgot the look of disappointment in his blue eyes

when she‘d said no. Templeton “Face” Peck might’ve been a Vietnam veteran, a great

con man and an unmistakable ladies’ man, but he still had a little-boy quality about

him… one which had peeked out with an eager look at the very mention of the magical

kingdom.

“Sure, Faceman,” she told him. “Disneyland would be fine.”

The wide grin on his face told her that she’d made the right decision.

Hollywood Hills, Hollywood, California

September 2, 1986

“She looked happy.”

H.M. Murdock crossed his legs and looked up the hill, then held up one arm and

positioned the photograph in his hand to correspond with the large white letters of the

Hollywood sign that loomed in front of him. The photo showed Tia, smiling, dressed in

an “I Love Hollywood” t-shirt and a pair of shorts, as she stood in front of the sign.

Murdock slowly lowered the photo, to reveal the empty grass-and-stone patch of earth

that she’d stood on, then shuffled it to the back of the stack that he held in his other hand.

“That was Tia’s last day here,” Face pointed out. He sat down on the ground next

to Murdock and pointed up to the sign. “I figured she ought to see the sign. Of course,

nobody can get on the sign any more…”

“But…”

He smiled and crossed his arms. “Well, you know. I can work around the system.

We came back at 3 a.m., and for about a minute, my friend let her stand on the ‘H.’ Any

longer than that, and we might’ve attracted attention.” He shook his head. “The view,

Murdock! You can’t imagine it. And to get the privilege of seeing the whole Los

Angeles basin from such an iconic vantage point…” He sighed. “Probably never gonna

happen again, though. They’ve got too many tourists defacing the sign, or trying to

commit suicide from the letters. I hear they’re planning to install sensors and get security

guards up here--”

“What else did you do that night?” Murdock interrupted sharply.

Face blinked at the sudden change in course of the conversation, then frowned.

“I never laid a hand on her,” Face replied in a cold, light tone. “As far as I’m

concerned, you already did enough damage.” He stood up abruptly. “I’ll be in the car,”

he said over his shoulder.

Murdock let out a soft curse, frustrated with himself and with the pointless barb

that he’d thrown at Face, then looked back down at the glossy photos in his hands and

sifted through them again. Face had taken pictures of Tia at all the usual tourist spots--

Universal Studios, Disneyland, The Queen Mary, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, and even

Marine World Africa USA. He’d shown her a good time and they’d visited family-

friendly spots. Not one image suggested that he had, in any way, taken advantage of his

position as tour guide.

With a sigh of frustration, Murdock tucked the photos into the right pocket of his

bomber jacket, then turned his back to the Hollywood sign and looked out over the gray

mists of the polluted cities that stretched before him. Los Angeles lay to the left; Culver

City lay to the right. He propped his elbows up on his knees and locked his hands

together, then closed his eyes.

He silently cursed the fact that he didn’t regret having slept with her. Even the

shallow thought that she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant had they used protection that first

time, and that they could’ve continued indefinitely in such a relationship, didn’t bring

about any sense of relief. He’d deprived her of what could have been a good life in

America, and given her no option but to head back to Vietnam and, hopefully, escape

capture in her own country… just as the team struggled to escape capture in theirs.

He opened his eyes and looked over the smog-drenched valley before him.

But that’s not something I have to worry about, is it? he told himself. A bitter

knife twisted in his stomach. What’s the worst that can ever happen to me? I get locked

up at the V.A.? Straight jacket? A little juice to the ol’ noggin?

Every day--with every mission that they went on, with every sniff that the military

gave in their direction--the rest of the team faced the possibility of the death penalty.

Murdock had no such danger in his life. For him, the missions became adventures.

Dodging the M.P.s meant little more than some exciting driving or flying. The escapes

from the V.A. hospital became games of cat-and-mouse. Fun, almost.

But everyone else, including Tia, played for higher stakes. And Murdock felt that

he did little more than flirt with danger… he played with those who had much more to

lose.

He blinked a few times, forced himself to his feet, then trudged down the hill to

the orange-and-white car parked at an angle along the side of the road. As he got in and

settled down on the leather seat, his friend glanced at him.

“Can I have my pictures back?” Face asked in a monotone.

Murdock shifted his hand into his pocket, withdrew the stack of photos, and

handed them over to Face, who in turn slipped them into the jacket pocket of his suit

coat.

“Thank you,” came the forced reply.

“I… I’m sorry about that,” Murdock replied in a low voice. “That wasn’t fair to

say. I know you treated her good.”

“Better than you--”

Murdock winced and his shoulders tensed up, and now Face had to look away

with guilt. Face reached out and gave his friend two quick pats on the leg, in way of

apology, then started up the car and drove them back down in to Hollywood. He steered

the vehicle onto the highway, and the two sat in silence during the half-hour drive back to

West Los Angeles and the veterans hospital. Both men figured that any meaningful

conversation would’ve been lost in the rush of wind around the open-topped car, anyway.

As they approached their destination, Face pulled off at the veterans’ cemetery

about a half-mile up the road from the V.A. He looked over at his passenger, looked

away, then sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Please, stop it,” he pleaded softly. “Please, don’t.”

But Murdock could not, and after a moment, Face pulled the man’s thin frame to

him. He’d seen Murdock cry on any number of occasions, but the depth of sorrow that

emanated from him had only been there once before--with the still-fresh loss of Doctor

Kelly Stevens. Murdock had shed quiet tears during the journey westward, but now they

shifted into gentle, heaving sobs which lasted for far longer than Face had either

anticipated or felt comfortable with. The minutes ticked by, and Murdock’s cries neither

stopped nor slowed. Face closed his eyes and gave him a firm hug as he pressed his

temple to the side of Murdock’s head.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you come out of the hospital today,” he

apologized. “It’s too soon. You‘re not ready to deal with any of this yet.”

Murdock tried to speak, but the words only came out as an inarticulate moan.

“I’m going to take you back,” he explained softy, “and they’re going to make the

pain go away. You just let them do what they have to do. Don’t fight them, and don’t

hurt anyone again. Okay?”

Murdock managed a nod.

“Okay,” Face whispered. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Veterans Administration Psychiatric Unit, West Los Angeles, California

September 2, 1986

“I’ll take you home…”

“Home,” Murdock mumbled.

Murdock sighed. The medication administered by the nurse had yet to kick in,

but he didn’t mind the wait. Certainly, in his current position--bound in yet another

straight jacket, and confined to yet another padded room--he had nothing else to do. He

tilted his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.

Is this home? he wondered. Is this all I have to call home?

A stray thought of Doctor Kelly Stevens filtered into his mind, and he squeezed

his eyes shut in pain as he recalled her sweet, delicate face. Her ranch house in the

country, doubling as her veterinary clinic, passed through his memory--the house that,

with her in his life, could have been his home as well… if he’d only been so bold as to

take steps to that effect. Instead, he’d let the opportunity for such happiness slip away

through his own negligence. He’d unintentionally put her in danger by insisting that she

visit him at the V.A.; rather than break free of the hospital, and step away from the team,

he made her work around his chosen lifestyle… and it had cost Kelly her life.

Murdock sighed again as his thoughts shifted to Tia, and he visualized her young,

lithe body. He remembered the smooth touch of her blemish-free skin… the smell of

her… the taste of her on his tongue. But he could not remember her face.

Murdock slowly opened his eyes, staring at nothing. Five days had gone by since

her departure from America, a week and a half had passed since they‘d sat across from

one another during her visit, and now he couldn’t recall her face. How had that

happened?

Because it wasn’t love, he told himself. You loved Kelly, so everything about her

was that much more precious. Tia was something to play with. Now that she’s not here

any more, she doesn’t matter as much.

He silently cursed the fact that Hannibal had been right, then shifted his position

so that he lay on the floor, on his side, with the buckles and straps on his back angled

between the wall and the floor. With some difficulty, he managed to find a modicum of

comfort as the medication began to kick in and make him drowsy.

Home. The word filtered back into his brain. “Home” used to mean something so

much different. Home, to him, had been the typical baby boomer’s world--a modest

structure in the suburbs. The word brought to mind a small bedroom decorated with a

child’s flair for color, abundant with horses and cowboys and model airplanes and boxes

of View-Master reels containing travel images from around the world. It had meant being

in that house with his parents, and many family members, and a pet that had been a real

dog, not an imaginary one named Billy who’d been culled from a moment of psychotic

inspiration. It brought back memories of sitting in front of the radio and the television, of

being in the kitchen during holiday meals, of being safe and well and--

Young? Murdock asked himself. Is that it? Is that all that Tia was--some sort of

a midlife crisis?

He scrunched his face up with discomfort but couldn’t argue against the thought.

His encounters with Tia had all the earmarks of such a trend. He’d kept her at arm’s

length, they’d never had a day together without sex, and he’d relished having contact

with her body but not her mind. She obviously meant nothing more to him than a place

to park his penis. She, herself, didn’t really matter to him. Her abrupt departure for

Vietnam felt like a betrayal, sure enough, but one tied to the team rather than to Tia

herself. Even her pregnancy had felt like a betrayal; in that case, her body had betrayed

them in conceiving a child.

Not any more, Murdock reminded himself. She lost it.

Even the nagging question of whether or not he could be considered responsible

for the loss of… it… didn’t bother him. Nothing, Murdock realized as he drifted off into

unconsciousness, actually concerned him about the situation.

Except for the fact that he felt bothered that nothing bothered him.

White Sands Motel, Santa Monica, California

July 9, 1986

“More,” she begged him softly.

Tia scooted backwards on the bed and pushed her tender body against Murdock as

she murmured gentle pleas for his attention. She shifted her hips against his until she

found a comfortable position, with her body cradling his still slightly-erect member

between the soft flesh of her buttocks, then reached behind her to grasp his limp hand and

pull it forward.

“I’m tired!” he groaned by way of mild complaint. “I’m not as young as I used to

be, you know.”

Regardless of his exhaustion, he let her guide his hand down and, with her fingers

on top of his to direct his attentions, massaged the warm inner folds of her body. Tia

squirmed, moaned, shivered, and responded with all the enthusiasm that her twenty-year-

old body had to offer until she finally cried out in pleasure, panting for breath. Murdock

withdrew his hand and put it on her hip, then pressed himself up against her for a

moment; upon realizing he had no more to give at that moment, he relaxed against Tia

and gave her a quick kiss on her left temple, then settled back down onto the pillow.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he felt her pulse reverberate up

through his groin. The strong beats of her heart being transmitted from that region sent

tiny, exciting jolts up through his body. His body didn’t have the will to respond to those

electric pulses as it might have done ten years earlier, but he didn’t mind. He’d already

satisfied himself and he’d pleased her; asleep now, she sought nothing more. The

additional tingle simply provided a lovely precursor for the need for sleep that had begun

to creep up on him.

A long, satisfied sigh escaped his lungs as he closed his eyes. He felt content.

The moment held no deeper meaning for him than that, nor did he wish to seek out

anything beyond the simple satisfaction that the afternoon had to offer him. Twice, he’d

engaged in pleasurable intercourse with Tia, bringing her to the height of pleasure at least

five times (by his count).

It had been a long time since he’d felt so at ease. Even with Kelly, whom he’d

treasured more than any woman he’d ever met, Murdock had never been completely

relaxed. The emotions that he’d felt for Kelly, both his concern and his desire for her,

colored their time together and kept him always a little bit on edge. He felt the need to

himself alert to her needs and reactions at every moment. At no time did he ever want to

disappoint her or feel that he’d fallen short of making Kelly happy.

With Tia, he found that he had no need for any of that watchfulness, and it came

as a relief. He didn’t want to be sensitive and caring. He didn’t want the pain that

existed on the flip side of such pleasant emotions. Not again.

He let out another sigh, and then Murdock opened his eyes again and glared at the

telephone next to the bed--the standard beige Model 2500 single-line desk phone. It

would ring soon, and it would be Hannibal’s on the other end of that receiver, and then he

and Tia would have to go and do his bidding. She would go because she owed Hannibal

her life, and she could only repay him by assisting the team on their missions; also, she

enjoyed the challenges and liked being helpful. Whereas he would go because…

His brow furrowed. Why? A sense of duty? Responsibility? Friendship? For

the money?

Tia let out a gentle snore, and Murdock forced himself to relax.

It didn’t matter, he realized. He would go because he wanted to go. And that

answer satisfied him enough to let himself let go of consciousness and drift off into the

welcome post-coital darkness that draped around him like a cloak.

Sleep came quickly… easily… and he welcomed it.