Fic: Paint the Sky With a Silver Lining 4/?
TITLE: Paint the Sky with a Silver Lining, part 4
Crossover with The A-Team movie
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
Author’s Note: I’ve never tried to write the four guys from The A-Team before, so I might have handled them out of character. Call if creative discrepancies ;)
It took almost until sunrise and by then Sam was tired and in dire need of something to eat. He had been in non-stop contact with Mai, had read her while listening to her story and the story of the four men called The A-Team. He kept scanning on a deeper level again and again, assessing her mental state, her stability, her truthfulness.
Barricade had come up behind him throughout that time, a cool prow pushing against his back, and Sam had found himself leaning his head back against the alien metal. He had started out with talking and finally just linked to the open mind and given Mai the information like a movie played out for her. With Barricade acting as his emergency anchor the shock-trooper was getting a front row seat in their conversations, and sometimes Sam felt little eddies at the edge of that connection. They shimmered through him, helped him focus, and he was infinitely glad for it.
Mai had silently digested everything, sometimes rocking a little on her shocks, and was now just as silent as before.
Sam leaned back, briefly resting his head against the black fender. He knew he was clinging to the inky presence of Barricade like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He really needed food, something to drink and probably a day of sleep. His brain felt like a sore, open wound and he hadn’t been using his abilities for that long without a break in a while.
But sleep had to wait.
Well, the Mars bar that dropped next to him helped a little and he gave the Saleen a weak smile.
“Thanks,” he almost-mouthed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Barricade didn’t comment.
::They are awake:: he startled Sam out of his contemplative meal of sugary goodness ten minutes later. ::We have to leave::
Sam winced a little and got to his feet, trying to lock his knees so he wouldn’t sway all too much. He still had to lean hard against the hood.
Mai had also picked up on the men’s activity and slowly rolled back into her parking spot.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“As I said, you’re your own person. We offer our help, though.”
“I don’t need it. My place is with the Team.”
Sam nodded. “Should you ever run into trouble, contact us.” He had given her an access code that connected Mai directly with Blaster.
“I will.”
Sam slipped into the silent interior of the Saleen and Barricade left the parking lot, just in time before Baracus walked out the motel and toward his van. With an ease borne out of millennia of adapting himself, Barricade became a dark red Mustang that looked a far cry from the spiffy Saleen.
“You let her go,” he remarked neutrally as they sat out of sight.
Sam, who had picked up his breakfast/lunch/dinner from the glove compartment, gazed at the dash.
“So?”
Silence.
“I can hear you judging, Barricade.”
“She is dangerous.”
“She’s no more dangerous than Firebolt or WiFi.”
“WiFi is with a human guardian, so is Firebolt. They are surrounded by those who know. She isn’t.”
“I won’t force her to come with us!” Sam said forcefully.
Silence.
“And I sure won’t destroy her, Barricade!”
It got him a dark chuckle. “Touchy. I didn’t say you should wipe her out.”
Sam felt anger chase away the tiredness and he forcefully chewed on his chocolate bar. ::Are you always this nasty when you don’t get laid?:: he asked, acid in his mind-voice.
The reply was uncharacteristic: Barricade laughed.
“Don’t project your own frustration on me, Sam Witwicky.”
“I’m not frustrated!” He was tired and aching and he wanted a shower and a bed. He wouldn’t have pushed Bumblebee out of said bed or his mind should the mech be there, but he wasn’t starved or needy or frustrated.
“You might want to take note of who you are linked to,” came the nasty reply. “While thinking that.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled. “I know you can cut the line just as well.”
“My duty as your guardian is to keep you anchored.”
“By whose orders?”
“It was a request.”
“Sure, that makes it different.” Sam rubbed his head. “You’re a pain, Cade.”
“You should feel honored, human,” was the reply.
This was turning into a rather childish argument and Sam knew Barricade had intentionally done it. He was feeling a little better, the exhaustion briefly chased away, and his mind was clearer. He looked into the rear view mirror, but the shock-trooper made it easy and slid a panel open, revealing a screen. The image was of the four men and Mai, who was nothing but a van to them. They were packing.
“They are wanted criminals,” Barricade remarked. “Fugitives.”
“Not our problem.”
“Does the military still hunt them?”
“One branch probably.”
“What happens if they catch them? What will Mai do?”
Sam blew out a breath. “Yeah. Understood. Call Ironhide and Will. Tell them to meet us here when they are gone.”
Barricade did, without much of an argument about being a personal secretary. Sam briefly patted the dash.
“I appreciate the assistance.”
The growl would have scared him twenty years ago. Hell, it would have scared him even today if he didn’t know the spark inside the dark exterior.
The black Topkick passed by the leaving van a mile down the road and Will could see the man on the passenger seat shoot them a narrow-eyed look. Then they were past and he let Ironhide pull into the parking lot where Barricade was waiting. Sam was outside, leaning against the Saleen like it was the most natural thing in the world. A few years ago it would have looked wrong. Now it was normal. Barricade wasn’t Bumblebee, but he was a guardian and Sam worked seamlessly with him.
Will jumped out of the Topkick. “Talked to Banachek. He made contact with a few people in the military. The CIA is involved in this. Some guy called Lynch, who seems to exist a few dozen times. He’s harder to grasp than a slippery eel. What we have so far is that he belongs to the CIA’s SAD, the Special Activities Division.” At Sam’s blank look Lennox grinned and added, “Black ops, paramilitary operations, covert ops, that stuff.”
“He’s after them?”
“No, he’s just pushing it all along. From deep under cover. You can’t get to him.”
Sam silently digested that. “Can we keep the military from hunting them?”
Will grinned. “Oh, we can and we will.”
* * *
He had watched everything, listened to as much as he could, until the sun rose, then crept back into the motel room. His head ached and he hadn’t slept at all. But he could fake it.
The thunderstorm in his head had passed. It had been the longest ‘episode’ since…
He stopped and gazed into the bathroom mirror. Alert blue eyes stared back.
The longest since the two lost days. Twenty years ago. It was a time he had no good recall of anyway, just the sound of explosions and something. He had been hit by this something and had woken in a hospital, with people telling him about a gas explosion.
Splashing water into his face he grabbed a razor and started to shave.
The thunderstorm had come and gone twice in the weeks after that. Only a few more times since then.
Like in Iraq. Sometimes. Never associated with anything.
The doctors who had first treated him after the explosion had told him that there were splinters, remains of the bomb he couldn’t remember going off, and they were located very close to his spine. When he had signed up for the Army, the exam he had had to go through hadn’t shown a thing. Back then he had blamed the man doing the exam; he had probably overlooked the thin splinters.
Later exams, after he had been shot the first time on a mission, hadn’t revealed anything either. He had the scars from twenty years ago, but that was all that had remained.
Until today, the thunderstorm had always passed within seconds and he blamed fatigue on it. After this night, though…
He heard noises from outside the bathroom door and quickly swallowed an ibuprofen, then stepped out of the bathroom, mask on.
“You okay, kid?”
He looked into the sharp blue eyes of their team leader and managed a smile. “Headache.”
Hannibal knew about his headaches; he had sat with him once in Iraq when the vicious pain had made it impossible for him to even open his eyes for more than a second. It had been over by the end of the day and he had never associated it with anything other than a possible migraine. Looking back, knowing more today, he supposed something had been at the camp and he had felt it.
Callused hands gently took his face and looked into his eyes. Face tried not to cringe away.
“I’m fine, Hannibal,” he insisted.
The searching look was almost too much and his mask wavered.
“Bad dreams,” Hannibal stated.
Seeing your car change into a giant robot? Yeah, probably.
Face smiled humorlessly.
Hannibal frowned, but he didn’t push. Face was glad for it. He didn’t need it. Right now he needed coffee, breakfast, and a new job to concentrate on. Luckily all of the above was available. And with more luck Hannibal wouldn’t ask him any more questions until tonight. He knew he couldn’t string his team leader along for too long. Smith knew him; he knew who Templeton Peck was and his masks and facades had never worked with Hannibal. It was a blessing and a curse.
“We’ll talk later,” was the low-voiced promise/threat from the Colonel, then he stepped away. It gave Face room and he hesitated, briefly tempted to give in to the need to tell Hannibal.
Then the moment had passed.
They left after breakfast, which consisted of food that tasted better than expected. Face felt the buzz of the thunderstorm for a second when he climbed into the van, then normalcy settled in.
For now.
tbc...
Crossover with The A-Team movie
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
Author’s Note: I’ve never tried to write the four guys from The A-Team before, so I might have handled them out of character. Call if creative discrepancies ;)
It took almost until sunrise and by then Sam was tired and in dire need of something to eat. He had been in non-stop contact with Mai, had read her while listening to her story and the story of the four men called The A-Team. He kept scanning on a deeper level again and again, assessing her mental state, her stability, her truthfulness.
Barricade had come up behind him throughout that time, a cool prow pushing against his back, and Sam had found himself leaning his head back against the alien metal. He had started out with talking and finally just linked to the open mind and given Mai the information like a movie played out for her. With Barricade acting as his emergency anchor the shock-trooper was getting a front row seat in their conversations, and sometimes Sam felt little eddies at the edge of that connection. They shimmered through him, helped him focus, and he was infinitely glad for it.
Mai had silently digested everything, sometimes rocking a little on her shocks, and was now just as silent as before.
Sam leaned back, briefly resting his head against the black fender. He knew he was clinging to the inky presence of Barricade like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He really needed food, something to drink and probably a day of sleep. His brain felt like a sore, open wound and he hadn’t been using his abilities for that long without a break in a while.
But sleep had to wait.
Well, the Mars bar that dropped next to him helped a little and he gave the Saleen a weak smile.
“Thanks,” he almost-mouthed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Barricade didn’t comment.
::They are awake:: he startled Sam out of his contemplative meal of sugary goodness ten minutes later. ::We have to leave::
Sam winced a little and got to his feet, trying to lock his knees so he wouldn’t sway all too much. He still had to lean hard against the hood.
Mai had also picked up on the men’s activity and slowly rolled back into her parking spot.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“As I said, you’re your own person. We offer our help, though.”
“I don’t need it. My place is with the Team.”
Sam nodded. “Should you ever run into trouble, contact us.” He had given her an access code that connected Mai directly with Blaster.
“I will.”
Sam slipped into the silent interior of the Saleen and Barricade left the parking lot, just in time before Baracus walked out the motel and toward his van. With an ease borne out of millennia of adapting himself, Barricade became a dark red Mustang that looked a far cry from the spiffy Saleen.
“You let her go,” he remarked neutrally as they sat out of sight.
Sam, who had picked up his breakfast/lunch/dinner from the glove compartment, gazed at the dash.
“So?”
Silence.
“I can hear you judging, Barricade.”
“She is dangerous.”
“She’s no more dangerous than Firebolt or WiFi.”
“WiFi is with a human guardian, so is Firebolt. They are surrounded by those who know. She isn’t.”
“I won’t force her to come with us!” Sam said forcefully.
Silence.
“And I sure won’t destroy her, Barricade!”
It got him a dark chuckle. “Touchy. I didn’t say you should wipe her out.”
Sam felt anger chase away the tiredness and he forcefully chewed on his chocolate bar. ::Are you always this nasty when you don’t get laid?:: he asked, acid in his mind-voice.
The reply was uncharacteristic: Barricade laughed.
“Don’t project your own frustration on me, Sam Witwicky.”
“I’m not frustrated!” He was tired and aching and he wanted a shower and a bed. He wouldn’t have pushed Bumblebee out of said bed or his mind should the mech be there, but he wasn’t starved or needy or frustrated.
“You might want to take note of who you are linked to,” came the nasty reply. “While thinking that.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled. “I know you can cut the line just as well.”
“My duty as your guardian is to keep you anchored.”
“By whose orders?”
“It was a request.”
“Sure, that makes it different.” Sam rubbed his head. “You’re a pain, Cade.”
“You should feel honored, human,” was the reply.
This was turning into a rather childish argument and Sam knew Barricade had intentionally done it. He was feeling a little better, the exhaustion briefly chased away, and his mind was clearer. He looked into the rear view mirror, but the shock-trooper made it easy and slid a panel open, revealing a screen. The image was of the four men and Mai, who was nothing but a van to them. They were packing.
“They are wanted criminals,” Barricade remarked. “Fugitives.”
“Not our problem.”
“Does the military still hunt them?”
“One branch probably.”
“What happens if they catch them? What will Mai do?”
Sam blew out a breath. “Yeah. Understood. Call Ironhide and Will. Tell them to meet us here when they are gone.”
Barricade did, without much of an argument about being a personal secretary. Sam briefly patted the dash.
“I appreciate the assistance.”
The growl would have scared him twenty years ago. Hell, it would have scared him even today if he didn’t know the spark inside the dark exterior.
The black Topkick passed by the leaving van a mile down the road and Will could see the man on the passenger seat shoot them a narrow-eyed look. Then they were past and he let Ironhide pull into the parking lot where Barricade was waiting. Sam was outside, leaning against the Saleen like it was the most natural thing in the world. A few years ago it would have looked wrong. Now it was normal. Barricade wasn’t Bumblebee, but he was a guardian and Sam worked seamlessly with him.
Will jumped out of the Topkick. “Talked to Banachek. He made contact with a few people in the military. The CIA is involved in this. Some guy called Lynch, who seems to exist a few dozen times. He’s harder to grasp than a slippery eel. What we have so far is that he belongs to the CIA’s SAD, the Special Activities Division.” At Sam’s blank look Lennox grinned and added, “Black ops, paramilitary operations, covert ops, that stuff.”
“He’s after them?”
“No, he’s just pushing it all along. From deep under cover. You can’t get to him.”
Sam silently digested that. “Can we keep the military from hunting them?”
Will grinned. “Oh, we can and we will.”
* * *
He had watched everything, listened to as much as he could, until the sun rose, then crept back into the motel room. His head ached and he hadn’t slept at all. But he could fake it.
The thunderstorm in his head had passed. It had been the longest ‘episode’ since…
He stopped and gazed into the bathroom mirror. Alert blue eyes stared back.
The longest since the two lost days. Twenty years ago. It was a time he had no good recall of anyway, just the sound of explosions and something. He had been hit by this something and had woken in a hospital, with people telling him about a gas explosion.
Splashing water into his face he grabbed a razor and started to shave.
The thunderstorm had come and gone twice in the weeks after that. Only a few more times since then.
Like in Iraq. Sometimes. Never associated with anything.
The doctors who had first treated him after the explosion had told him that there were splinters, remains of the bomb he couldn’t remember going off, and they were located very close to his spine. When he had signed up for the Army, the exam he had had to go through hadn’t shown a thing. Back then he had blamed the man doing the exam; he had probably overlooked the thin splinters.
Later exams, after he had been shot the first time on a mission, hadn’t revealed anything either. He had the scars from twenty years ago, but that was all that had remained.
Until today, the thunderstorm had always passed within seconds and he blamed fatigue on it. After this night, though…
He heard noises from outside the bathroom door and quickly swallowed an ibuprofen, then stepped out of the bathroom, mask on.
“You okay, kid?”
He looked into the sharp blue eyes of their team leader and managed a smile. “Headache.”
Hannibal knew about his headaches; he had sat with him once in Iraq when the vicious pain had made it impossible for him to even open his eyes for more than a second. It had been over by the end of the day and he had never associated it with anything other than a possible migraine. Looking back, knowing more today, he supposed something had been at the camp and he had felt it.
Callused hands gently took his face and looked into his eyes. Face tried not to cringe away.
“I’m fine, Hannibal,” he insisted.
The searching look was almost too much and his mask wavered.
“Bad dreams,” Hannibal stated.
Seeing your car change into a giant robot? Yeah, probably.
Face smiled humorlessly.
Hannibal frowned, but he didn’t push. Face was glad for it. He didn’t need it. Right now he needed coffee, breakfast, and a new job to concentrate on. Luckily all of the above was available. And with more luck Hannibal wouldn’t ask him any more questions until tonight. He knew he couldn’t string his team leader along for too long. Smith knew him; he knew who Templeton Peck was and his masks and facades had never worked with Hannibal. It was a blessing and a curse.
“We’ll talk later,” was the low-voiced promise/threat from the Colonel, then he stepped away. It gave Face room and he hesitated, briefly tempted to give in to the need to tell Hannibal.
Then the moment had passed.
They left after breakfast, which consisted of food that tasted better than expected. Face felt the buzz of the thunderstorm for a second when he climbed into the van, then normalcy settled in.
For now.
tbc...