Repost of Unremembered Memories.
SO, the posts right under this one, the story Unremembered Memories, I kinda really like it and I'm knida not happy with it, So i re wrote parts of it and fixed a LOT of typos.
Hannibal leaned back against the passenger seat of the van. Face was sulking in the back, bits of Spanish drifting up front from his conversation with Tuco’s wife. The Colonel closed his eyes as he reviewed the rest of his plan, but memories kept flashing through his mind.
His reflection in the window of Russ’ office, hand raised to knock, other hand full of personnel files. Files for the people to make up Major Hannibal Smith’s first team.
He entered when the gruff voice of his mentor bid him to do so. Handing the files over, he sat in the chair in front of the desk as the General went over them.
“All good choices, have you narrowed them down?”
“Davidson, Holmes, and Wolfe.” He replied, taking out those files.
“You’ll need at least one more. They want you to have a five man team.” They both looked at the pile of remaining files. Hannibal sighed, it had taken him long enough to narrow it down to those three. Russ laughed at his expression.
“I might be able to help you.” He said, reaching into his desk, he pulled out a file. Hannibal took it. Eyes widening as he read. The scores were excellent, but all were followed by comments from the instructors. He looked up.
“He’s a good kid, but unorthodox. Like you. I think he’ll be a good fit. That should be him now.” Russ said, nodding to the door as someone one knocked on it.
Another barked ‘Come in’ had the door opening. The young man stood there, Lieutenant bars on the shoulders on his uniform, hair buzzed down to regulation. But it was gleam in the changeable eyes and the lopsided smirk on the lips that had Hannibal swallowing hard and wanting this man in his unit. An elegant hand was raised in salute.
“Lieutenant H.M. Murdock reporting, SIR!” was somehow snapped out in a honey slowly Texas drawl.
Eighteen months later, he was strapped to the seat as the small cargo plan shook violently. An RPG exploded on the left.
“Shit! This is not good!” the pilot said.
“Can you get us out of it?” He asked. Murdock looked at him, gleam in his eyes, lopsided smirk on his lips. Hannibal’s heart started pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the missiles heading their way.
“Of course, sir. But it will get ugly, I’m gonna need to do some pretty drastic maneuvers. HOLD ON, BACK THERE!” he yelled, before pushing the yoke forward and twisting it to the right. Down the plan went, into the canopy of the jungle. Yells erupted from the back. More twists and sharp turns that the aircraft following them couldn’t duplicate. Murdock pulled up, bringing the plan out of range of the debris, all the way out of the jungle. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, a howl escaping his lungs. He looked at Hannibal again and they both tilted their heads back and howled.
Six months after that, Hannibal was promoted to Lt. Colonel. The party was ending, Davidson had long since passed out on his couch. Wolfe and Holmes were not far behind, laughing at the blank TV screen after the plug was pulled on the playstation. Bits of Dress Uniform littered his living room. A mismatched pair of shoes was under the coffee table. Coats had been thrown off early, Davidson’s tie was rolled up on the side table, having taking it off the man after he passed out. He knew there was going to be a scavenger hunt tomorrow to find the other two.
“Lt. Colonel Smith!” he took the glass of water being handed to him. Raising it to his lip for a sip to hide what the gleam in those eyes did to him.
“Captain Murdock.” He said, eying the double captain bars and the not too distant memory of that promotion party. They were then only ones still in uniform, coats unbuttoned for comfort. It wasn’t too long before they were the only ones awake. Murdock shrugged out of his coat on the way to the linen closet, covering Wolfe and Holmes where they lay, before joining Hannibal on the back patio, the glowing tip of the boss’ cigar the only light.
Neither man said anything, leaning on the railing, shifting feet slowly bringing them closer to each other, until their shoulders brushed.
“Are those the ones that the General gave you?” HM asked, breathing deeply. Hannibal hummed an affirmative. “They smell nice. Bet they taste nice too.” Hannibal flicked his head around at the catch in Murdock’s voice. His eyes had adjusted to the wan starlight and he saw the shocked look on the pilot’s face. “I think I may be a little drunk.” Murdock took a step away, but Hannibal’s hand stopped him.
“They do taste nice, would you like to see?” he asked carefully, hand motioning with the cigar in case he was imagining things.
“Yes,” HM said, eyes staring at his mouth. “I’ve wanted to know for awhile now.”
The cigar fell to the cement patio, forgotten, as the hand that had stopped him, pulled the Captain to the Lt. Colonel. Their lips met chastely at first, before opening and trying to devour each other. Hannibal didn’t know and didn’t care how they managed to get down the hall to his bedroom, the only thing he cared about was pressing HM against the closed door.
His coat was pushed off and fell to the floor as he pulled one of Murdock’s legs up, grinding their hips together. Hands scrambled at the buttons of his shirt. “Ummm, Boss, please!”
“No.” Hannibal pulled back. Murdock tensed under him, tried to lower his leg, but Hannibal tightened his grip. He raised one finger to Murdock’s lips. “Not boss or sir. Not here, not like this. John, my name is John.”
“James.” The pilot said. “In a round about way HM stands for James.” Hannibal nodded and kissed James, hands working the buttons of his shirt. Discarding it, he ran his hands down the furred chest, letting the thumb of one circle around a nipple, the other snaked between them and cupped the hardening length, before unbuttoning the pants and reaching inside to grasps the flesh.
James’ head thunked back against the door. He toed off his shoes as the pants pooled at his feet. Hannibal removed his hand briefly to shake off his shirt. Hands unbuckled his pants and shoved them off. He grasped James’ other leg and lifted him, laying him on the bed. They kissed for awhile, calming down, not wanting the alcohol to end what they wanted for years too soon.
Hannibal’s hand reached into the bedside table, pulling out a tube. “Have you done this before?”
“Are you asking me if I know about the birds and the bees, Colonel?” James’ smirked at him. Hannibal rolled them on the their sides, making their erections rub against each other as his hand trailed down James’ back, cupped his ass, before sliding a finger in between the cheeks.
“Have you ever been with a man, Captain?” the finger circled the tight ring of muscle.
“A little drunken fumbling. Know what to do, but never, oh, do that again! Never got even this far.” Hannibal moved his finger again, loving the way James whimpered against him.
“So no one’s ever touched you like this?” he asked, reaching for the lube, rolling James onto his back, and spreading his legs, reaching between, this time slicked up, finger tip slowly circling in up to the first knuckle.
“No. Never wanted them to, only you John. Only ever wanted you this way. OH!” Hannibal pushed his finger all the way in as he leaned forward and kissed James. He pulled back when they were both breathless, hand still moving, working James open for him. His forehead rested on James’, whispering encouragement to him as he moved to two then three fingers. He slicked himself up and changed their position slightly. Capturing James’ eyes, he slid all the way in, pulled out slowly and slid back in. Again and again, getting a little faster each time.
James’ hands reached for him and he leaned forward, “John” whispered against his lips, before they started moving together. He could feel it overtaking him, so he reached for James’ erection, pulling him over as they shuttered through their combined orgasm. He pressed his lips to neck under him. “I love you, James.”
Hannibal opened his eyes, staring straight ahead. Not seeing the Mexican desert. Those memories were painful enough, but they were all before...
Before waking up at four hundred hours a year and a half later as James slipped out of bed. He watched James get dressed, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Reaching out a hand to caress his back as James sat down to put his boots on.
Before James turned and said: “Don’t worry, John. It’s just a pick up. Go back to sleep, I’ll have breakfast done before you wake up again.” and leaned down and kissed him.
Before pacing his office, James having missed the return time by half an hour. Two hours. Five hours. Twelve hours before the team was allowed to go find him.
Before they saw the trail the plane cut into the forest as it went down. Landing, counting the bodies strewn about as they approached the plane. All but two accounted for as they opened the cockpit. His 2iC rushing forward, declaring the co-pilot dead. Hands holding him back as Mike’s hand went from under the co-pilot’s head to the pilot’s.
“He’s alive!” breath rushing out of him.
“Quick get him out of the harness.”
“Careful, there’s blood on his face, where’s it coming from?”
“Shrapnel pierced his helmet!” The medic arrived from the chopper. Strapped him to a backboard, wouldn’t, couldn’t take the helmet off until they got back to base.
Before the neurosurgeon tried to repair the damage the shrapnel did. Not giving any answers as to what he’d be like when, if, (when, damn it!) he’ll awaken.
Week one, “Please, James, wake up.”
Week two, “Please, love, come back.”
Week three, “I love you James Murdock, wake up for me.”
Week four, week five, week six, week seven.
Week eight his eyes opened. But he wasn’t there.
'Response to stimuli, but not interacting with the outside world, the doctors said. Being transferred to the Psych ward in the VA.'
Hannibal had fought it. Fought it for six months, until there was a mission he wasn’t allowed to refuse. When he came back, James was gone. No one knew where they took him; his file was gone from personnel. Not even Russ could find out for him.
As each of his boys left to run their own team, he didn’t replace them. Mike was the last to leave, coming down here to Mexico three years ago. He was on his own until he saw Face languishing in requisition six months ago. Something about the Kid caught him, couldn’t let him waste way there. Russ was happy, urged him to start a new team. He refused, until Mike called him a month ago.
“Hey, Boss, listen, I found out something down here I think you might be interested in. I’m sending you a file.
It arrived the next day. Curious he opened it, gasping as he saw the face looking up at him. The lopsided smirk was still there, as was the gleam in his eyes. But there was something else there as well. Something not quite his James, something manic. He glanced at the doctors’ comments. Paranoid delusion and intermittent memory loss, it said. Self-identification with fictional characters, and personication of inanimate objects, it said. But it also said funtional. He marched to Russ’ office.
“I want him.” He nearly slamed the file on to Russ’ desk. The General pick it up. Eyes glancing at Hannibal at the picture. Sighing, he put it down.
“Hannibal, this isn’t a good idea!” The General said. “For no other reason then how thick his medical file is, you don’t know how he’s going to react. He’s a liability!”
“No, he’s not! Even with his medical history, he’s still the best pilot. His previous record speaks for itself.
“About that previous record...” Russ’ voice softened.
“That has nothing to do with this. He’s the best, Russ. That’s all.” Eyes held for a long time. “Russ, please, he deserves to be doing what we trained him for.”
“Okay, I’ll assign him to you temporarily-Temporarily! I want him to go though Psych as soon as you get him back here. Depending on what they say, I’ll let you keep him.”
Russ gave them the mission to take down Tuco the next week. It seemed destioned when reteaving James fit into the mission. The jerking of the van stopping pulled him to the present.
Hannibal leaned back against the passenger seat of the van. Face was sulking in the back, bits of Spanish drifting up front from his conversation with Tuco’s wife. The Colonel closed his eyes as he reviewed the rest of his plan, but memories kept flashing through his mind.
His reflection in the window of Russ’ office, hand raised to knock, other hand full of personnel files. Files for the people to make up Major Hannibal Smith’s first team.
He entered when the gruff voice of his mentor bid him to do so. Handing the files over, he sat in the chair in front of the desk as the General went over them.
“All good choices, have you narrowed them down?”
“Davidson, Holmes, and Wolfe.” He replied, taking out those files.
“You’ll need at least one more. They want you to have a five man team.” They both looked at the pile of remaining files. Hannibal sighed, it had taken him long enough to narrow it down to those three. Russ laughed at his expression.
“I might be able to help you.” He said, reaching into his desk, he pulled out a file. Hannibal took it. Eyes widening as he read. The scores were excellent, but all were followed by comments from the instructors. He looked up.
“He’s a good kid, but unorthodox. Like you. I think he’ll be a good fit. That should be him now.” Russ said, nodding to the door as someone one knocked on it.
Another barked ‘Come in’ had the door opening. The young man stood there, Lieutenant bars on the shoulders on his uniform, hair buzzed down to regulation. But it was gleam in the changeable eyes and the lopsided smirk on the lips that had Hannibal swallowing hard and wanting this man in his unit. An elegant hand was raised in salute.
“Lieutenant H.M. Murdock reporting, SIR!” was somehow snapped out in a honey slowly Texas drawl.
Eighteen months later, he was strapped to the seat as the small cargo plan shook violently. An RPG exploded on the left.
“Shit! This is not good!” the pilot said.
“Can you get us out of it?” He asked. Murdock looked at him, gleam in his eyes, lopsided smirk on his lips. Hannibal’s heart started pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the missiles heading their way.
“Of course, sir. But it will get ugly, I’m gonna need to do some pretty drastic maneuvers. HOLD ON, BACK THERE!” he yelled, before pushing the yoke forward and twisting it to the right. Down the plan went, into the canopy of the jungle. Yells erupted from the back. More twists and sharp turns that the aircraft following them couldn’t duplicate. Murdock pulled up, bringing the plan out of range of the debris, all the way out of the jungle. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, a howl escaping his lungs. He looked at Hannibal again and they both tilted their heads back and howled.
Six months after that, Hannibal was promoted to Lt. Colonel. The party was ending, Davidson had long since passed out on his couch. Wolfe and Holmes were not far behind, laughing at the blank TV screen after the plug was pulled on the playstation. Bits of Dress Uniform littered his living room. A mismatched pair of shoes was under the coffee table. Coats had been thrown off early, Davidson’s tie was rolled up on the side table, having taking it off the man after he passed out. He knew there was going to be a scavenger hunt tomorrow to find the other two.
“Lt. Colonel Smith!” he took the glass of water being handed to him. Raising it to his lip for a sip to hide what the gleam in those eyes did to him.
“Captain Murdock.” He said, eying the double captain bars and the not too distant memory of that promotion party. They were then only ones still in uniform, coats unbuttoned for comfort. It wasn’t too long before they were the only ones awake. Murdock shrugged out of his coat on the way to the linen closet, covering Wolfe and Holmes where they lay, before joining Hannibal on the back patio, the glowing tip of the boss’ cigar the only light.
Neither man said anything, leaning on the railing, shifting feet slowly bringing them closer to each other, until their shoulders brushed.
“Are those the ones that the General gave you?” HM asked, breathing deeply. Hannibal hummed an affirmative. “They smell nice. Bet they taste nice too.” Hannibal flicked his head around at the catch in Murdock’s voice. His eyes had adjusted to the wan starlight and he saw the shocked look on the pilot’s face. “I think I may be a little drunk.” Murdock took a step away, but Hannibal’s hand stopped him.
“They do taste nice, would you like to see?” he asked carefully, hand motioning with the cigar in case he was imagining things.
“Yes,” HM said, eyes staring at his mouth. “I’ve wanted to know for awhile now.”
The cigar fell to the cement patio, forgotten, as the hand that had stopped him, pulled the Captain to the Lt. Colonel. Their lips met chastely at first, before opening and trying to devour each other. Hannibal didn’t know and didn’t care how they managed to get down the hall to his bedroom, the only thing he cared about was pressing HM against the closed door.
His coat was pushed off and fell to the floor as he pulled one of Murdock’s legs up, grinding their hips together. Hands scrambled at the buttons of his shirt. “Ummm, Boss, please!”
“No.” Hannibal pulled back. Murdock tensed under him, tried to lower his leg, but Hannibal tightened his grip. He raised one finger to Murdock’s lips. “Not boss or sir. Not here, not like this. John, my name is John.”
“James.” The pilot said. “In a round about way HM stands for James.” Hannibal nodded and kissed James, hands working the buttons of his shirt. Discarding it, he ran his hands down the furred chest, letting the thumb of one circle around a nipple, the other snaked between them and cupped the hardening length, before unbuttoning the pants and reaching inside to grasps the flesh.
James’ head thunked back against the door. He toed off his shoes as the pants pooled at his feet. Hannibal removed his hand briefly to shake off his shirt. Hands unbuckled his pants and shoved them off. He grasped James’ other leg and lifted him, laying him on the bed. They kissed for awhile, calming down, not wanting the alcohol to end what they wanted for years too soon.
Hannibal’s hand reached into the bedside table, pulling out a tube. “Have you done this before?”
“Are you asking me if I know about the birds and the bees, Colonel?” James’ smirked at him. Hannibal rolled them on the their sides, making their erections rub against each other as his hand trailed down James’ back, cupped his ass, before sliding a finger in between the cheeks.
“Have you ever been with a man, Captain?” the finger circled the tight ring of muscle.
“A little drunken fumbling. Know what to do, but never, oh, do that again! Never got even this far.” Hannibal moved his finger again, loving the way James whimpered against him.
“So no one’s ever touched you like this?” he asked, reaching for the lube, rolling James onto his back, and spreading his legs, reaching between, this time slicked up, finger tip slowly circling in up to the first knuckle.
“No. Never wanted them to, only you John. Only ever wanted you this way. OH!” Hannibal pushed his finger all the way in as he leaned forward and kissed James. He pulled back when they were both breathless, hand still moving, working James open for him. His forehead rested on James’, whispering encouragement to him as he moved to two then three fingers. He slicked himself up and changed their position slightly. Capturing James’ eyes, he slid all the way in, pulled out slowly and slid back in. Again and again, getting a little faster each time.
James’ hands reached for him and he leaned forward, “John” whispered against his lips, before they started moving together. He could feel it overtaking him, so he reached for James’ erection, pulling him over as they shuttered through their combined orgasm. He pressed his lips to neck under him. “I love you, James.”
Hannibal opened his eyes, staring straight ahead. Not seeing the Mexican desert. Those memories were painful enough, but they were all before...
Before waking up at four hundred hours a year and a half later as James slipped out of bed. He watched James get dressed, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Reaching out a hand to caress his back as James sat down to put his boots on.
Before James turned and said: “Don’t worry, John. It’s just a pick up. Go back to sleep, I’ll have breakfast done before you wake up again.” and leaned down and kissed him.
Before pacing his office, James having missed the return time by half an hour. Two hours. Five hours. Twelve hours before the team was allowed to go find him.
Before they saw the trail the plane cut into the forest as it went down. Landing, counting the bodies strewn about as they approached the plane. All but two accounted for as they opened the cockpit. His 2iC rushing forward, declaring the co-pilot dead. Hands holding him back as Mike’s hand went from under the co-pilot’s head to the pilot’s.
“He’s alive!” breath rushing out of him.
“Quick get him out of the harness.”
“Careful, there’s blood on his face, where’s it coming from?”
“Shrapnel pierced his helmet!” The medic arrived from the chopper. Strapped him to a backboard, wouldn’t, couldn’t take the helmet off until they got back to base.
Before the neurosurgeon tried to repair the damage the shrapnel did. Not giving any answers as to what he’d be like when, if, (when, damn it!) he’ll awaken.
Week one, “Please, James, wake up.”
Week two, “Please, love, come back.”
Week three, “I love you James Murdock, wake up for me.”
Week four, week five, week six, week seven.
Week eight his eyes opened. But he wasn’t there.
'Response to stimuli, but not interacting with the outside world, the doctors said. Being transferred to the Psych ward in the VA.'
Hannibal had fought it. Fought it for six months, until there was a mission he wasn’t allowed to refuse. When he came back, James was gone. No one knew where they took him; his file was gone from personnel. Not even Russ could find out for him.
As each of his boys left to run their own team, he didn’t replace them. Mike was the last to leave, coming down here to Mexico three years ago. He was on his own until he saw Face languishing in requisition six months ago. Something about the Kid caught him, couldn’t let him waste way there. Russ was happy, urged him to start a new team. He refused, until Mike called him a month ago.
“Hey, Boss, listen, I found out something down here I think you might be interested in. I’m sending you a file.
It arrived the next day. Curious he opened it, gasping as he saw the face looking up at him. The lopsided smirk was still there, as was the gleam in his eyes. But there was something else there as well. Something not quite his James, something manic. He glanced at the doctors’ comments. Paranoid delusion and intermittent memory loss, it said. Self-identification with fictional characters, and personication of inanimate objects, it said. But it also said funtional. He marched to Russ’ office.
“I want him.” He nearly slamed the file on to Russ’ desk. The General pick it up. Eyes glancing at Hannibal at the picture. Sighing, he put it down.
“Hannibal, this isn’t a good idea!” The General said. “For no other reason then how thick his medical file is, you don’t know how he’s going to react. He’s a liability!”
“No, he’s not! Even with his medical history, he’s still the best pilot. His previous record speaks for itself.
“About that previous record...” Russ’ voice softened.
“That has nothing to do with this. He’s the best, Russ. That’s all.” Eyes held for a long time. “Russ, please, he deserves to be doing what we trained him for.”
“Okay, I’ll assign him to you temporarily-Temporarily! I want him to go though Psych as soon as you get him back here. Depending on what they say, I’ll let you keep him.”
Russ gave them the mission to take down Tuco the next week. It seemed destioned when reteaving James fit into the mission. The jerking of the van stopping pulled him to the present.