Fic: All We Is Dust And Shades Of Grey, Face/Murdock, R
title: All We Is Dust And Shades Of Grey
pairing: Face/Murdock
fandom: The A-Team '10
rating: R, to be safe
warnings: Major character death, the apocalypse, sadness.
word count: ~1340
summary: He knows Hannibal would rather go out all guns blazing, as he'd always wanted, but in this situation there isn't really an enemy to blaze his guns at.
a/n: I seem to be unable to write A-Team fic without making Face crazy. Whoops. Well, it's the apocalypse, you'd feel a little loopy too.
Murdock had always said that the Earth was so beautiful when it was alive, its death was going to be the prettiest thing anyone ever witnessed.
***
Hannibal mocks up and prints out copies of doctor's prescription slips, and takes them to a pharmacist while Face scams them a house for the night. Bosco buys copious amounts of alcohol and Murdock sits in their current vehicle and stares out the window, both expressionless and motionless. The house is a big, grand thing, white-wash walls and lush beige carpets and Face loves it. He knows Hannibal would rather go out all guns blazing, as he'd always wanted, but in this situation there isn't really an enemy to blaze his guns at.
Even Colonel John Hannibal Smith can't beat the Universe.
“Okay,” he says when they're settled, Murdock curled up on the sofa, still staring out the window at the red sky, one hand running through Face's hair, sat on the floor in front of him. Hannibal is stood in front of the TV, Bosco in the armchair with a bottle of beer. “There's 15 pills each. Now I don't know whether that will kill us, the results vary due to body mass, alcohol intake, brain activity, all sorts. But it will send us all to sleep. We'll be unconscious when the storm hits. You all know I'd rather be fighting, but there's nothing to fight for anymore, so the least I can do is ensure my boys go out in peace.”
“How long until,” Bosco starts, but then trails off. Nobody's actually spoken the words yet. Even Hannibal chokes on the words whenever he tries. And Face and Murdock just haven't spoken at all, not even to each other. So Bosco decides to just steal Hannibal's phrase. “How long until the storm?”
Hannibal glances outside. The red sky is shimmering, like blood on glass, washed with black clouds and flares from the sun. “They're saying it starts at six, but it looks closer to me than that. I don't think we've got two hours.”
Face licks his lips. “I don't think we've got one,” he says, his voice low and slightly hoarse from lack of speech. Murdock's fingers tighten in his hair, and he runs one hand over the pilot's calf soothingly. I've got you, I'm here, we're together, we'll both fall down together.
***
Bosco gets drunk and gets angry. Face watches him as he smashes the mirror, kicks a hole in the plasterboard wall, punches the television. Murdock shuts his eyes and curls up into a ball and puts his hands over his ears. As though that is enough to block out the sounds of the oncoming storm, Bosco's shouting and a stranger's objects smashing and Hannibal's cursing and Face's choking, sobbing, laughing. Hannibal forces Bosco back into the chair, and holds out his hand.
15 pills. Tiny, white, round pills, 15 of them, grouped in a huddle in the centre of Hannibal's tanned, cracked palm. Bosco looks at them, shakes Hannibal's other hand, then Face's, mutters a soft prayer, says goodbye to his team, his friends, his family, and takes all 15 at once.
Face stops laughing, and retreats in silence, sitting next to Murdock and holding him as he cries. It takes a few minutes of staring blankly out at the dying sky, nervously fidgeting with his hands, before Bosco finally slumps sideways in his seat, head lolling backwards, eyes closed. Murdock shakes harder with his sobs and Face bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he can't hold his own tears back.
***
Hannibal goes next, sat against the window, taking his still conscious team members by surprise.
“Boss,” Face says, voice hoarse, cheeks streaked with tears, and leaning forward on his knees, clutching Hannibal's forearm, keeping that hand from moving any closer to his mouth. “I thought you were gonna stay with us. I thought you'd be with us until the end. I need you here Hannibal, I need you here for this.” He fights to keep his breathing steady, feeling hysteria rising. “I need you to stay while I die.”
Hannibal reaches out with his other hand, pushes Face's too-long-hair out of his eyes, presses his mouth to the lieutenant's forehead. Despite everything, Face is still the youngest, the least prepared, the child. “Kid,” Hannibal says with a sad smile, fighting tears, because he needs to keep it together here, dammit, he needs to be strong for this. “You know I'd do anything for you. You know it because I have done before, and I would... I would do again, if I had the chance.” Face nods. “But right now, Face... Templeton, right now I need to be selfish, and you need to be strong enough to face that.”
Face looks into those eyes for a few moments, breathing heavily, fingers digging into the lean muscle of Hannibal’s forearm, and sees the tears hiding in the corners. He inhales deeply, swallows, and pushes away. Hannibal is lit by the red glow from outside, expression sad but determined, a familiar expression, but now with unfamiliar acceptance of doom. Face pushes himself upright, still on his knees, but back ridged and head high, and salutes. Hannibal's lips quirk into a half-smile, and he nods.
“Lieutenant,” he says, before emptying his hand into his mouth.
Face doesn't lower his hand until his colonel, his Hannibal, is slumped back, eyes closed, face slack, mouth slightly parted, only just breathing.
***
Hannibal is right - it is less than an hour. Face watches as the skies seem to part, almost crumbling, lightly at first, and decides he and Murdock will go together, like he always promised himself, Murdock by his hand and himself by Murdock's. He waits as the ash begins to fall around them, and then gets to his feet.
Murdock is gone.
***
Face would panic, but he knows his pilot, knows him, and sure enough, he finds him sitting on the roof of the beautiful house, catching the ash and letting it slip through his fingers.
“I ain't takin' those pills Face,” he says without looking around. Face looks down at the 30 left in his palm, and nods.
“I know,” he says.
Murdock turns his head to the side, his profile lit by the red glow. “I can't sleep through this. The world around us is burning, Face, and they're sleeping.”
Face looks up.
The sky is the colour of blood straight from an artery wound, the reddest red he's ever seen, forked with black, like lightning from Hell. It's glowing with the force of the sun's flares, and Face assumes that's what's causing the ash. He's no scientist, but he guesses the reactive gases in the atmosphere must be burning, crumbling away. He'd voice this aloud, but Murdock looks awestruck, and he almost doesn't want to speak. The ground is cracked around them, shaking the building, the whole world turning to dust, and there isn't a person in sight.
“The whole world's hiding,” Face whispers, sitting next to Murdock, who immediately curls around him.
“Running scared,” Murdock agrees.
“We're Rangers though, eh buddy?” Face asks, and Murdock smiles. “We're not running from anything.”
“Especially anything as pretty as this,” Murdock adds. Face opens his palm, watches the pills slide down the tiles, off the edge, and down the crack heading at a furious pace towards the door of the house. More of the sky is coming down now, great chunks of it, like solid rock, hitting the ground and exploding into more dust. The crack reaches the door and there is a crashing sound. Face thinks briefly of Bosco and Hannibal, probably already dead, at peace. Murdock lies back in the ash, pulling Face with him and lacing their fingers, and they shut their eyes, feel themselves be covered in the falling sky, as the world around them dies.
pairing: Face/Murdock
fandom: The A-Team '10
rating: R, to be safe
warnings: Major character death, the apocalypse, sadness.
word count: ~1340
summary: He knows Hannibal would rather go out all guns blazing, as he'd always wanted, but in this situation there isn't really an enemy to blaze his guns at.
a/n: I seem to be unable to write A-Team fic without making Face crazy. Whoops. Well, it's the apocalypse, you'd feel a little loopy too.
Murdock had always said that the Earth was so beautiful when it was alive, its death was going to be the prettiest thing anyone ever witnessed.
***
Hannibal mocks up and prints out copies of doctor's prescription slips, and takes them to a pharmacist while Face scams them a house for the night. Bosco buys copious amounts of alcohol and Murdock sits in their current vehicle and stares out the window, both expressionless and motionless. The house is a big, grand thing, white-wash walls and lush beige carpets and Face loves it. He knows Hannibal would rather go out all guns blazing, as he'd always wanted, but in this situation there isn't really an enemy to blaze his guns at.
Even Colonel John Hannibal Smith can't beat the Universe.
“Okay,” he says when they're settled, Murdock curled up on the sofa, still staring out the window at the red sky, one hand running through Face's hair, sat on the floor in front of him. Hannibal is stood in front of the TV, Bosco in the armchair with a bottle of beer. “There's 15 pills each. Now I don't know whether that will kill us, the results vary due to body mass, alcohol intake, brain activity, all sorts. But it will send us all to sleep. We'll be unconscious when the storm hits. You all know I'd rather be fighting, but there's nothing to fight for anymore, so the least I can do is ensure my boys go out in peace.”
“How long until,” Bosco starts, but then trails off. Nobody's actually spoken the words yet. Even Hannibal chokes on the words whenever he tries. And Face and Murdock just haven't spoken at all, not even to each other. So Bosco decides to just steal Hannibal's phrase. “How long until the storm?”
Hannibal glances outside. The red sky is shimmering, like blood on glass, washed with black clouds and flares from the sun. “They're saying it starts at six, but it looks closer to me than that. I don't think we've got two hours.”
Face licks his lips. “I don't think we've got one,” he says, his voice low and slightly hoarse from lack of speech. Murdock's fingers tighten in his hair, and he runs one hand over the pilot's calf soothingly. I've got you, I'm here, we're together, we'll both fall down together.
***
Bosco gets drunk and gets angry. Face watches him as he smashes the mirror, kicks a hole in the plasterboard wall, punches the television. Murdock shuts his eyes and curls up into a ball and puts his hands over his ears. As though that is enough to block out the sounds of the oncoming storm, Bosco's shouting and a stranger's objects smashing and Hannibal's cursing and Face's choking, sobbing, laughing. Hannibal forces Bosco back into the chair, and holds out his hand.
15 pills. Tiny, white, round pills, 15 of them, grouped in a huddle in the centre of Hannibal's tanned, cracked palm. Bosco looks at them, shakes Hannibal's other hand, then Face's, mutters a soft prayer, says goodbye to his team, his friends, his family, and takes all 15 at once.
Face stops laughing, and retreats in silence, sitting next to Murdock and holding him as he cries. It takes a few minutes of staring blankly out at the dying sky, nervously fidgeting with his hands, before Bosco finally slumps sideways in his seat, head lolling backwards, eyes closed. Murdock shakes harder with his sobs and Face bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he can't hold his own tears back.
***
Hannibal goes next, sat against the window, taking his still conscious team members by surprise.
“Boss,” Face says, voice hoarse, cheeks streaked with tears, and leaning forward on his knees, clutching Hannibal's forearm, keeping that hand from moving any closer to his mouth. “I thought you were gonna stay with us. I thought you'd be with us until the end. I need you here Hannibal, I need you here for this.” He fights to keep his breathing steady, feeling hysteria rising. “I need you to stay while I die.”
Hannibal reaches out with his other hand, pushes Face's too-long-hair out of his eyes, presses his mouth to the lieutenant's forehead. Despite everything, Face is still the youngest, the least prepared, the child. “Kid,” Hannibal says with a sad smile, fighting tears, because he needs to keep it together here, dammit, he needs to be strong for this. “You know I'd do anything for you. You know it because I have done before, and I would... I would do again, if I had the chance.” Face nods. “But right now, Face... Templeton, right now I need to be selfish, and you need to be strong enough to face that.”
Face looks into those eyes for a few moments, breathing heavily, fingers digging into the lean muscle of Hannibal’s forearm, and sees the tears hiding in the corners. He inhales deeply, swallows, and pushes away. Hannibal is lit by the red glow from outside, expression sad but determined, a familiar expression, but now with unfamiliar acceptance of doom. Face pushes himself upright, still on his knees, but back ridged and head high, and salutes. Hannibal's lips quirk into a half-smile, and he nods.
“Lieutenant,” he says, before emptying his hand into his mouth.
Face doesn't lower his hand until his colonel, his Hannibal, is slumped back, eyes closed, face slack, mouth slightly parted, only just breathing.
***
Hannibal is right - it is less than an hour. Face watches as the skies seem to part, almost crumbling, lightly at first, and decides he and Murdock will go together, like he always promised himself, Murdock by his hand and himself by Murdock's. He waits as the ash begins to fall around them, and then gets to his feet.
Murdock is gone.
***
Face would panic, but he knows his pilot, knows him, and sure enough, he finds him sitting on the roof of the beautiful house, catching the ash and letting it slip through his fingers.
“I ain't takin' those pills Face,” he says without looking around. Face looks down at the 30 left in his palm, and nods.
“I know,” he says.
Murdock turns his head to the side, his profile lit by the red glow. “I can't sleep through this. The world around us is burning, Face, and they're sleeping.”
Face looks up.
The sky is the colour of blood straight from an artery wound, the reddest red he's ever seen, forked with black, like lightning from Hell. It's glowing with the force of the sun's flares, and Face assumes that's what's causing the ash. He's no scientist, but he guesses the reactive gases in the atmosphere must be burning, crumbling away. He'd voice this aloud, but Murdock looks awestruck, and he almost doesn't want to speak. The ground is cracked around them, shaking the building, the whole world turning to dust, and there isn't a person in sight.
“The whole world's hiding,” Face whispers, sitting next to Murdock, who immediately curls around him.
“Running scared,” Murdock agrees.
“We're Rangers though, eh buddy?” Face asks, and Murdock smiles. “We're not running from anything.”
“Especially anything as pretty as this,” Murdock adds. Face opens his palm, watches the pills slide down the tiles, off the edge, and down the crack heading at a furious pace towards the door of the house. More of the sky is coming down now, great chunks of it, like solid rock, hitting the ground and exploding into more dust. The crack reaches the door and there is a crashing sound. Face thinks briefly of Bosco and Hannibal, probably already dead, at peace. Murdock lies back in the ash, pulling Face with him and lacing their fingers, and they shut their eyes, feel themselves be covered in the falling sky, as the world around them dies.