Fic: You Don't Need Analyzing (It is Not So Suprising) A-Team (TV) (Amy/Murdock) 1/3

[perpetual_motion]

Title: You Don't Need Analyzing (It is Not So Surprising)
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: A-Team (TV)
Pairing: Amy/Murdock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 38034 (Roughly 12,000 words a part)
Summary: A year after Jakarta, Amy's got a nice life, and then it goes sideways.

Dis: Lies and bullshit.

Author's Notes: Many, many thanks to aithine, who did a fantastic beta job on this monster. And love to lasergirl for enabling me to write this monster. The title comes from the Irving Berlin song "(I Wonder Why) You're Just in Love," which I can completely imagine Murdock singing at top, Ethel-Merman volume to show his affection.


“Honey.”

I groaned, rolled over, yawned. “Go 'way,” I muttered.

“Honey,” Wayne repeated, poking me in the ribs. “Someone's at the door.”

“So answer it,” I grumbled.

“We're at your place.”

Wakefulness finally met up with me, and I sat up, yawning. I could hear what had woken Wayne—a loud, rhythmic knocking: four quick taps and two distinct thumps with a pause before the pattern started again. The knock made my adrenaline spike. Something about that knock was scratching at the back of my mind. It woke me up all the way, and I sat up straight, rubbed the fatigue out of my eyes, and reached into the bedside table.

“Hon—Amy!” Wayne shouted when he saw the gun in my hand. “What—”

“Stay here,” I snapped at him, flicking the safety off the gun.

“Amy—”

“Stay. Here.” I glanced at Wayne as I walked out of the bedroom. He was pressed against the headboard, eyes wide, looking like I'd pointed the gun at him.

“Where did you—”

I pressed a finger to my lips, and Wayne closed his mouth. I listened to the knocking. The knocking got louder and a little faster. There was still a pause after the two distinct thumps. M. Two long beeps were an 'M' in Morse Code. Two thumps on the door were the equivalent. The four quick taps took me another second to pull from my memory. I could hear Hannibal tapping his fingers on the dash of the van, running me through the alphabet. Four taps. H. Four short beeps were an H.

H.M.

Stay calm, I reminded myself. Give away nothing. “Stay put,” I told Wayne again, and I walked out of the bedroom and shut the door behind me, kept myself tight against the wall as I walked down the hallway. My apartment opened up in the front with the kitchen, dining area, and living room all in one open space. The knocking was speeding up. I looked through the peephole and clicked the safety back on my gun.

“Hi!” Murdock greeted me with a wave, as though it was perfectly normal to be at my apartment at—I squinted at the clock on my coffee table—4:37 in the morning. Given Murdock's usual state of mind, I didn't get concerned. “There's been…” He made a hand gesture like shaking a maraca. “Kerflooy.”

“The plan didn't come together?” I asked, stepping aside to let Murdock walk inside.

“Amy!” Murdock pressed his hand to his heart and widened his eyes with great dramatic flair. I noticed his hand was practically dripping with mud. “The plan always comes together!”

“Yeah. Sure.” I pressed my hand over Murdock's before he could step off the entryway tile. “You're caked,” I told him, and he was, from the top of his head down to his shoes.

“No, no, no,” he objected, and I saw the mischief light up his eyes even even with the lights off, “I'm souffléd.”

“The others?” I asked. “Where are they?”

Murdock shrugged, and mud oozed up around his collar. “Don't know. Hannibal said split up, so we split up. I was in a ditch for awhile.”

I opened my mouth to ask what happened, ask why he showed up at my apartment of all places when it'd been a year since I'd heard from any of them. I heard the bedroom door open before I could say anything. I cursed under my breath, and Murdock grinned at me in delight. I didn't need to see his eyes clearly to know he was on the jazz.

“Amy?” Wayne asked. His voice was slightly higher than usual. I heard something bounce off the wall. The bat I kept under the bed, probably.

“It's fine, Wayne,” I said, looking Murdock right in the eyes as I flipped on the living room lights and introduced him. “This is Bob. He's an old friend.” Murdock's face went bland, and he gave me a tiny nod. “He just got mugged. They pushed him into a ditch.”

“Sorry to barge in,” Murdock said, and his voice sounded strange because it had so little inflection. There was a bit of apology, a touch of a flat, Midwestern accent. Murdock's version of average, I realized. “But it happened just down the street, and I didn't see them and just wanted to get off the street.”

“Wow,” Wayne said, and I turned to look at him. He was halfway down the hall, the bat—like I'd thought—in his right hand. “Good thing you were in the neighborhood.”

“I was at that all-night Italian place,” Murdock said. “Amy introduced me to it way back, and I was in the mood.”

Wayne squinted at the two of us. I could tell he was trying to remember someone named Bob. “You're an absolute mess,” I said to Murdock, making myself sound amused. “Stay there, and I'll get you a towel to start cleaning you off.”

“Thanks.” Murdock's smile was a bare imitation of its usual brightness; a purely average smile for a purely average man.

“Should you call the police?” Wayne asked, and I froze, one hand on a towel.

“Didn't see them,” Murdock replied. “I wouldn't want to waste their time.” There was low-key resignation in his voice.

“That's too bad,” Wayne replied, and I breathed easily again. He was buying it.

I walked out of the bathroom, handed Murdock the towel, watched him wipe his face clean. “I think Wayne may have something you can wear,” I told him, glancing at Wayne.

Wayne gave Murdock a quick once-over. “I'm a little broader, but it'll get you through.”

“Appreciate it,” Murdock said with a nod, and he and I watched Wayne walk into the bedroom. “He seems nice,” Murdock said, his usual twang coming out. “Is he a nice boy?” And the voice was all grandmotherly concern.

“What happened?” I hissed.

“Oh, you don't want that story now. I wouldn't be able to tell it right.”

“Mur—”

“You're still holding your gun,” he interrupted. He wiped off his hands and reached for my weapon, sighting down it and handing it back. “Very nice.” He affected a French accent. “The lady has excellent taste.”

I wanted to shake his shoulders and order him to explain himself, but all I could do was look at him as I walked over and tucked the gun in a kitchen drawer, and then look over my shoulder to check that Wayne was still in the bedroom. “You're staying the night,” I whispered. “And we're going to stay up because you're too wired from your ‘mugging’ to sleep, and I'm going to insist that Wayne go to bed, and you are going to explain yourself.”

“Why, Miss Allen,” his voice was high-pitched, and his twang transformed into a smooth Southern drawl, “I do declare you have the loveliest ideas.”

I heard the closet close in the bedroom. “Give me Bob, Murdock.” And I watched his face transform again, watched his shoulders roll forward slightly, watched all his interesting angles slide into a posture that would be hard to identify later, should anyone ask any questions.

“Found some slacks and a shirt,” Wayne said, walking down the hall with the clothes in one hand. “Wish I had an extra pair of pajamas—”

“That's fine,” Murdock interrupted in his Bob voice. “I don't think I'll sleep anyway. I'm pretty wound up.”

That was my cue. “I'll stay up with you. I can call the paper and tell them I need to take a personal day.”

“I don't want to be a bother,” Murdock said in a perfect, friendly, unremarkable tone.

“Oh, Bob,” I rested my hand on his arm and gave Wayne a, “can you believe him?” look. Wayne smiled at me and shook his head. “You're my friend, and I haven't seen you in ages. Your nerves just give me an excuse.”

“I'll stay up, too,” Wayne interjected. “I haven't met a lot of Amy's friends.”

I turned to look at Wayne. “You've got early meetings—”

“That'd be nice,” Murdock interrupted. “If you're sure I wouldn't be throwing off your schedule.”

I had to fight to keep from whipping around to glare at Murdock. I turned my head slowly instead. Murdock continued to look completely unremarkable, but I could see the barest hint of glee in his eyes. “I don't think—”

“I'll make some coffee,” Wayne offered and walked into the kitchen.

“What the hell?” I hissed.

“I don't want to track mud all over your carpet,” Murdock replied, and he glanced at me, then down the hall, then at the kitchen.

“I think you'll be okay if you take off your shoes first,” I played along, and I watched him toe off his shoes. They were loafers, not his usual canvas high tops. His hat was missing as well, I realized, and the jacket he wore was denim, not his usual leather. He'd been undercover for whatever job he'd run from. It would make it harder for Wayne to answer questions about him, I thought. All of Murdock's known clothing preferences weren't there.

“What were you?” I whispered.

“Classy,” he replied and waggled his eyebrows. “Shower?” he asked at a regular speaking volume.

“Down the hall to your left. I can wait outside the door and take your clothes to put in the wash, if you want. I've got a washer and dryer.”

The grin I got back was pure Murdock, wide and open. I expected him to pull me into a hug. “You've moved up since I last saw you,” he said, and I got a sudden, mean urge to point out that he could have seen me sooner—and under less dangerous circumstances—if he hadn't taken my name off his visitors list when I'd been in Jakarta.

“I haven't seen you in awhile,” I replied, and I led him down the hall. I stood by the bathroom door while he stripped off. When he handed me his clothes, I grabbed his wrist. “Short version,” I demanded in a whisper.

“The plan came together. Decker showed up. You're still pretty as a picture.” He leaned his head out the door and pecked me on the nose.

I shoved him back into the bathroom and opened the closet doors on the other side of the hallway, dumping his clothes into the washing machine and setting them to soak.

Wayne had pulled mugs out of the cupboard and put out sugar and milk on the dining table. He smiled at me when I walked into the kitchen. “I thought sandwiches would be good, although if he came from that Italian place you like so much, I'll be surprised if he's hungry.”

I walked over and kissed him on the mouth, curled my hands over his shoulders. This was my life now: a nice apartment, a job I enjoyed, and a perfectly nice guy who made coffee at nearly five in the morning to stay up with a friend I'd never told him about. “You're great,” I said to him.

“You're great,” he replied, and he kissed my cheek. “Does Bob take mustard?”

Murdock did, but did Bob? “Mayonnaise,” I said, working with the completely average persona Murdock had already been affecting. “And white bread.”

“He seems pretty together for a guy who just got mugged.”

“He travels a lot.” The lie rolled out without trouble. I could feel the low hum of adrenaline spiking my blood. I tried to fight it down, tried to remind myself I didn't want the rush anymore, that I'd left the team for Jakarta to find my own jazz.

“What's he do?”

“Insurance investigator,” Murdock said from behind me. I just managed not to jump. The smile he gave me was Bob's, honest but small and showing no teeth. “One of those jobs that sounds interesting but isn't, but it gives me plenty of time to read.”

“I'm a middle manger,” Wayne replied. “I understand. Coffee's ready, if you two want to sit down, I can bring in sandwiches in a minute.”

“I really appreciate this,” Murdock said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I can't imagine how I'm ruining your night.”

“A friend of Amy's is a friend of mine,” Wayne told him, and he grinned at me. I grinned back as my stomach took a slow, rolling turn. Would he still think that if he knew the whole truth?

“I don't remember how you take it,” Murdock said, handing me a mug.

“Two sugars, but I've got it,” I told him, and I added it in, left the spoon on the edge of the sink. Murdock hadn't put anything into his coffee, I'd noticed. I remembered him turning the strongest coffee in the city into a dark tan concoction of sugar and milk. I was fascinated to watch him take a sip and not cringe from the taste. “Not your usual blend, I don't think.”

“It's very good,” he assured me as we sat at the table.

I studied him for a moment. He'd parted his hair on the left, rather than combing it straight back. He'd tucked his shirt into his pants and cinched his belt neatly. He'd rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to show his forearms, rolled up the pants legs so he wouldn't trip over the longer hem. Wayne's clothes were about a size too big, making Murdock look thinner and shorter than he was. I remembered Hannibal and Face schooling me on a good disguise, how you could easily look exactly like yourself but could be mistaken for someone else.

“It's the little tricks,” Face had said. “The posture, the way you speak—”

“The way you part your hair,” Hannibal had added.

Looking at Murdock, watching him curl both hands around his mug, watching him sit completely still, I could see exactly what they'd meant. I could still see Murdock clear as day, but Wayne? Wayne would remember Bob, a perfectly nice, neat guy who'd just had a bit of bad luck and a boring job.

“Amy said you travel a lot,” Wayne said to Murdock as he set a plate of sandwiches on the table and settled into the chair next to mine. “Did you two meet overseas?”

“Oh, no,” Murdock replied. “I'm in the States most of the time. Amy and I met when she was writing a piece on insurance companies.”

Every lie should have a grain of truth, Face had said. It was easier to remember what you'd said that way. “It was my first year at the Courier,” I explained. “I was working in the Life section, and my editor wanted a piece about how insurance companies handle claims. I called Bob's company, and they told me to speak with him.”

Wayne's brow crinkled as he thought. “I don't remember you telling me about that piece.”

I made myself laugh and wondered if it sounded realistic. “It never got published. My editor decided it wasn't interesting enough.”

“Not insurance,” Murdock teased, putting a hand over his heart with less flair than he'd done at the door. “It's such an exciting field.” His tone was sarcastic without any of his usual dramatic pronouncement. I watched Wayne grin, watched him sit forward a little. Murdock was pulling him in, making Wayne trust him, making Wayne want to help him.

Murdock slid me a grin when Wayne took a sip of his coffee. I smirked at him and reached for a sandwich, leaning back in my chair and letting them talk. I kept a mental list of the details Murdock spun around his story—fifteen years at his company, grew up in Ohio, would marry, maybe, if he weren't on the road all the time—and watched Wayne fall for the whole story.

This was my life now, I reminded myself again. I was in bed at a decent hour with a decent guy who treated me well. I wrote local stories so I could stay close to home.

In case they came back to get me.

I pushed the thought out of my head, pulled myself into listening to the conversation.

“You've been quiet, hon,” Wayne said, touching my hand.

“I've heard all this before,” I replied. “Not that it's boring—”

“Of course not,” Murdock interrupted.

“Just that I thought Bob should give you his own details.”

“Always the reporter,” Wayne said to Murdock. “She'll let you talk for ages until you paint yourself in a corner.”

“Don't have to tell me,” Murdock replied, and his Bob-grin slid a little.

“You said you were at the Italian place,” I said to Murdock. “You could have called me. I know you have my number.” The closest I could get to asking outright why he hadn't contacted me when he obviously knew where I lived.

“Last minute choice,” Murdock replied smoothly. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and it was already late when I got here.”

On a job, I thought. That you didn't call me for. I took a bite of my sandwich to rein in my anger. “That place still as busy as ever?”

“Packed to the gills, even at three in the morning.”

I'd taken Murdock out to lunch at the Italian place more than once, courtesy of an afternoon pass from his shrink and the head nurse. The lunches had allowed me to keep tabs on the team at first, but then Murdock and I had become friends, going out to lunch or to the park or a movie whenever I could get a legitimate pass, Murdock making me laugh so hard I cried. What he'd gotten out of it, I'd never been sure. I'd assumed he enjoyed the company.

“That place is always packed,” Wayne said. “I've been there almost weekly for the last six months, and the waitresses still don't recognize me.”

“Amy get you into that place, too?”

“Yeah.”

They shared a grin then looked at me. I shrugged. “They've got great food.”

“They do,” Murdock said, and I thought I caught something in his eyes, some sort of thanks or appreciation. It was gone before I could get a proper feel for it.

I fell away from the conversation again, let Murdock and Wayne talk about traveling for work and comparing management issues. I recognized BA and Hannibal in Murdock's descriptions and watched them fly completely over Wayne's head. I'd never told him about the team. I couldn't figure out how to explain it. Wayne had found the idea of me going to Jakarta fascinating and slightly surprising.

“You don't seem the type,” he'd said on our third date. “You seem more…settled…than that.” I'd given him an insulted look. “I meant that as a compliment,” he had hurried to explain. “You seem like someone who really knows who she is, who got everything out of her system.”

“Everything?” I'd asked, wondering if that was the team had been, just me working off the last of my youthful rebellion.

“You seem very comfortable,” Wayne had replied. “I like that.”

“Amy?” Wayne asked, touching my hand.

I pulled myself back into the room. “I'm here.”

“You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?”

I gave him a smile. “No, sorry. I was thinking.”

“I said I'm going to get in the shower. I need to be at work in a couple of hours.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the microwave. It was 6:15. “Oh!” I swatted at Wayne. “You could have nudged me, you know.”

“You were fine,” Wayne assured me. “Bob and I got a chance to get to know one another a little.” He stood up and kissed me on top of the head. “Don't worry about breakfast. The sandwiches will hold me.”

“Okay.” I watched him walk down the hall, listened for the bedroom door to open and close. I looked at Murdock, my eyebrows up. Murdock waggled his eyebrows in reply. I listened to the bedroom door open again, heard the bathroom door open and close. The shower started a few seconds later. I opened my mouth to start asking questions.

“No ring,” Murdock said, exaggerating a pout and reaching over to tap my left-hand ring finger. “And a gentleman staying over.” He shook his head, waving a finger at me. “For shame.”

“I used to spend the night with four men in a van,” I hissed at him, curling my hand into a fist.

“Shocking!” Murdock replied, pressing a hand to his forehead like he was about to faint. “Such terrible habits you young people have.”

“Murdock, what happened?”

He kept his hand on his forehead for a moment, watching me to gauge my level of seriousness. His hand dropped from his forehead, he leaned towards me, his hands around his coffee mug. “There's a mom and pop twenty blocks from here,” he said, all joking gone from his tone. “They were getting threatened by a local gang. Broken windows, graffiti, and stuff like that. Then one of the kids threw a Molotov through the window.” He shook his head when I gasped. “It didn't go off, somehow, but it scared the crap out of them. They found us. We took the job.”

Of course they did, I thought. It was exactly the sort of thing they always took, no matter how much Face might grumble at the low payday. I focused my hearing down the hallway for a second. The shower was still going. I could hear the murmur of the radio Wayne had hung over the showerhead a few weeks ago. “What happened?” I asked. “How'd you get pulled in for a local job?”

“I am a very talented man,” Murdock replied, overdrawing his twang. “I am useful everywhere.”

“Why were you undercover?” I clarified. “It's usually Hannibal or Face.” Or it was, I thought, when I was with you all.

“I bear a striking resemblance to the pop at the mom and pop,” Murdock explained. “After the Molotov incident, he and the mom felt the need to get away for a few days and leave his trusted brother in charge.”

“And?”

“And I was excellent.” Murdock preened, straightening his collar and batting his eyelashes. “I expect my Oscar in the mail any day now.”

“Can't wait to hear your speech,” I nearly growled at him in frustration. “How'd it go sideways?”

Murdock shrugged and took a long drink of his coffee. “Someone saw us and recognized us, probably. Or someone called someone to ask questions and someone was listening. Or Decker was really bored and driving around the city hoping to spot us. Or—”

“I get it, Murdock,” I cut him off. “You don't know.”

“Nope.”

“So you had to cut and run, and you ran here.”

Murdock beamed. “And you were here! And now we've had time to catch up, and it's great!”

“Yeah, it's fantastic,” I snapped. “Except that I've been back from Jakarta for a year, and you—and most likely the others—know my address, and not one of you has called or dropped by.”

Murdock's face fell. He stared into his coffee cup. “Amy—”

“And you took me off your visiting list,” I added. “I tried to stop by and see you when I got back, and I was told I wasn't allowed in. The nurse told me I'd been off your list for months.”

All the humor in Murdock's eyes disappeared. He worked his jaw back and forth for a moment. “Amy…” the joking was gone from his tone, and his voice was soft, nearly a whisper. “It was for protection. Decker was sure you were helping us, and we had to clear you out of the picture once you decided to leave.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Believe me, beautiful, no one doubts that. But it's not the same as helping us pull a con. You'd be looking at federal time. And you're tough, but you're not federal-time tough. Hell, even BA ain't federal-time tough.”

“I can take care of myself,” I repeated. “Did just fine before I met you, and I did just fine after I spent time with you all.”

“Oh, we know.” Murdock tried to grin, but his face fell when I glared at him. “Not that we've been keeping tabs from afar. That'd be rude.”

“That'd be beyond rude,” I replied. “Even ruder than being twenty blocks away and running a job without checking in with me. Or not answering the messages I've left at the answering services. Or not letting me know any of you were alive. At all.”

Murdock tried to grin again, but it was shaky at the edges. He took a long drink of his coffee, watching me from the corner of his eye as he swallowed down the rest of his drink. “You might have a point,” he said when he was out of coffee. “But you have to understand—”

“Honey!” Wayne called from the bathroom, and Murdock and I both froze. We'd gotten too involved in our conversation, and we hadn't heard the shower turn off.

“Yeah?” I called in return, and Murdock stood up, coffee cup in hand. He grabbed mine as well as he walked to coffee maker.

“Is my blue tie here?”

I stood up from the table as well, walked down the hall to the bedroom. Wayne was searching through the drawer I'd emptied for him a month ago, a handful of ties in his right hand. “You have lots of blue ties,” I told him. “Which blue tie?”

“The blue tie with the silver stripe.”

I knocked him with my hip to get him to move, reached behind the back of the drawer, and felt the silk of a tie. I pulled it forward. Blue with a silver stripe. “This it?”

“You're fantastic,” Wayne said, and he kissed me on the cheek. He paused when he pulled back and cocked his head at me. “You all right? You're tense all of a sudden.”

I pulled him into a hug, careful not to wrinkle his shirt. “I'm all right,” I said. “Just worried about Bob.” It was true enough that admitting it made me relax a little. “And I think I've had half a pot of coffee.”

Wayne rubbed my back a little, kissed me on the temple. “Like half a pot of coffee actually hurts you.”

I laughed a little, swallowing back a yawn as I glanced at the clock. “I should call into work now,” I said before Wayne could think to ask why I was worried about Bob. Muggings happened, and Murdock wasn't hurt or even too shaken up. I'd have to come up with a big enough reason to be worried, and I'd already spun enough half-truths and outright lies for the night. “If I leave a message with the overnight secretary, she can tell the daytime editor when he comes in.”

“Any plans with Bob?”

“I'll probably just see him off and hit the sack,” I told him. It was close enough to the truth. I'd interrogate Murdock before I let him leave, but I would see him off and go to sleep. “Don't worry about me.”

“Never do.” Wayne grinned at me, and I followed him down the hall, watched him shake Murdock's hand before he grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and kissed me goodbye. “See you tonight.”

“Bye, honey.” I closed the door behind him and threw the dead bolt. When I turned around, Murdock was combing his hair straight back from his forehead trying to get rid of his part. “I have to call in,” I told him. “You stay quiet.”

“As a mouse,” Murdock promised, holding a finger over his lips while I dialed the paper. He tip-toed with exaggerated care into the living room and then threw himself full-force onto the couch. I turned away to hide my smile.

“Los Angeles Courier. This is Matilda.”

“Matilda, this is Amy Allen. Is Gary in, yet?”

“Hi, Amy. He isn't. Do you need me to pass along a message?”

“I'm taking a personal day. Just let him know.”

“Can he reach you at home if he needs to?”

I glanced at the couch. Murdock was flipping through a magazine, tapping his feet to a song he was humming under his breath. “I'm not certain,” I told Matilda. “I had a friend get mugged last night. I'll have my answering machine on.”

“I'll pass it along. Good luck with your friend.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone and walked into the living room, putting my hands on my hips when Murdock looked up from his magazine, all wide eyes and bright smile.

“Breakfast?” he asked. “I could make you biscuits and gravy like my dear old momma used to make.” His grin widened. “With grease!”

It was genuinely tempting. Murdock had cooked for me on a few occasions—each time with a ridiculous accent and at least a handful of thrown flour—and he always cooked great food, but I was still angry and hurt and wanted to get him away from me before the jazz took over my blood. “We should get you back to the VA,” I said. “They'll put out a notice if you're gone much longer.”

The smile slid off of Murdock's face. He sat up, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “If you're sure,” he said, and there was no joking in his voice.

“I'm not the one who cut contact,” I pointed out.

“You went away,” Murdock replied, and there was something in his eyes, dark and angry. “You left first.” His shoulders slumped. “And your timing was pretty obvious.”

“My timing?” I asked. “What about my timing? It was an assignment, Murdock. I put in for it months before I left. I told you all that.”

He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes. “I had Face con your application for Jakarta—”

“Why would you—”

“You put in the day after,” Murdock carried on. He looked at me again. His mouth was turned down, but it wasn't exaggerated at all. “The day after,” he repeated.

I breathed in through my nose, trying to find an answer. There was a sharp knock on the door, three precise hits that made the jazz running low in my blood spike up. I knew that knock. Murdock was absolutely still. He knew that knock, too. We stared at one another for a second. “Guest bedroom,” I whispered. “Across from the bathroom.”

Murdock nodded once. He stood up and walked down the hallway in absolute silence. I watched him until the door of the guest bedroom closed. The knock came again, three sharp raps, and I walked to the door, looked through the peephole, and counted to five before undoing the locks.

“Colonel Decker,” I greeted, not having to fake my surprise, “what brings you here?”

Decker narrowed his eyes at me. The two men standing a step behind him were also in uniform, but neither was looking at me with suspicion. “I have a few questions, Miss Allen.”

I blinked a few times, covered my mouth when I yawned. “Come in,” I invited and stepped aside.

Decker looked me over as he and his men stepped over the threshold, taking in my pajamas and staring hard at my face. “Late night, Miss Allen?” he asked, accusation lacing his tone.

“I had a friend show up late,” I told him. “He was mugged close by and woke me up.”

“Is that friend here now?”

“No. He just left.” Decker didn't appear winded or sweaty. I lived six floors up. “You probably passed him on the stairs.”

“I took the elevator.”

I'd called it right. “What can I do for you, Colonel?” I asked. I yawned again and walked into the kitchen for coffee. The men with Decker split off, one standing next to the couch, the other standing behind one of chairs at the table. Decker stood in front of the kitchen island, not quite close enough to be intimidating me, but close enough that he could if he wanted to. “Can I get you some coffee?” I offered. Murdock had refilled the pot when I'd been in the bedroom with Wayne, and he'd washed the mugs and left them upside down in the sink.

“We don't need coffee,” Decker told me. “We're not here about coffee.”

“Okay.” I picked up the blue mug Murdock had used earlier and pulled myself a cup. I sweetened it, and when I turned back around, Decker's man who had been behind one of my dining chairs was standing closer to the door. The man in the living room was standing near my curtained picture window, and Decker had taken a step back from the island. It wasn't his style, I thought, but I couldn't call him on it. Being suspicious of his movement would make him suspicious of mine. I had to keep him away from the guest bedroom. “What can I do for you, Colonel?”

Decker's eyes narrowed again. “You don't sound surprised to see me.”

I sipped my coffee and pushed my hair away from my face. “I'm tired,” I explained. “I was getting back into bed when you knocked.”

“Why are you having coffee, then? This might only take a minute.”

I didn't have to work at the disbelieving look on my face. “Colonel, I haven't seen you since I returned to the States. You can't be here just to check in on me. Something's happened with the A-Team.”

“You sound certain.”

I shrugged and sat down at the head of the table. Decker sat down at the foot and nodded to his men to sit on either side. “I could play coy, Colonel, but it'd be an insult both to your intelligence and mine. I know you're trying to capture the A-Team, and you know about the rumors of my helping them.”

“Rumors,” Decker sniffed. I didn't rise to the bait, and he folded his arms on the table. “When was the last time you saw them?” he asked. I raised my eyebrows, and he leaned harder against the table. “If you're not going to play coy, Miss Allen, you should go all the way.”

“I'm not in the mood to be brought up on charges for my alleged attachment to the A-Team,” I responded.

Decker looked at both his men, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm not looking to bring you in, Miss Allen. Our information has you free and clear of the A-Team since you returned to the States. I see no reason to pursue charges on you for aiding and abetting.”

I sipped my coffee and considered it. He didn't look smug, but he looked certain. He really didn't think I'd had any contact with the team since I'd gotten back. I could give him the honest truth up to Murdock showing up that morning and be in the clear. “I tried to get ahold of them when I got back,” I admitted. Decker didn't move, but his men sat up a little straighter. “They didn't return my calls.”

“You went to see Captain Murdock,” Decker said. “You signed in at the VA a week after you got back.”

“That went nowhere.” I didn't have to fake the anger in my tone. “He pulled me from his visitors list.”

“Why were you going to see him?”

“To see him.” I rolled my eyes when Decker glared at me. “It's the truth.” I looked at Decker's men. They were both watching me. “We were friends. You know that,” I said to Decker. “I checked him out of the VA—legitimately checked him out of the VA—and we spent time together. We went to lunch. We took walks.”

“You met him through the A-Team.”

“I met him when I was searching for the A-Team,” I corrected. Decker had said he wouldn't bring me up on charges, but there was no reason to let him create a different version of events than what had actually happened. “I went back to see him again after I tried to hire the team—”

“Did hire the team,” Decker interrupted.

“Tried to hire,” I repeated. I knew he couldn't prove I'd actually hired the team; he'd have used it as leverage when I was still working with them. “And Murdock and I ended up getting along.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“A week before I left for Jakarta,” I said. “I stopped by his room to say goodbye.”

“And you stopped by to see him when you returned?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing since then? No contact?”

I made sure I kept looking Decker squarely in the eyes when I answered him. “None. I tried a few more times to see Murdock, but I was never on the list.”

Decker leaned back, uncrossed his arms. I watched the way his mouth shifted. He didn't quite smile, but he looked very pleased. He thought he had something on me. “Haven't seen him at all?” he asked. “Him or the rest of the A-Team?”

“No, sir.”

“That's very interesting.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I have reliable eye witnesses who say they saw Captain Murdock come into your building very early this morning. Somewhere between two and three hours ago.”

There was no way, I thought. No way. “This is the first I'm hearing of it.”

“You said you had a friend over late,” Decker said. “And I have people who say they saw Captain Murdock coming into your building.”

“Really? By name?” I nearly bit my tongue after I said it. I was too tired to do this properly, too keyed-up on the low-level jazz to not get a little sarcastic.

“Male,” Decker replied, the light in his eyes telling me he thought he had me. “Approximately six feet, light brown hair, thin build.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “Colonel, I'm a reporter. I know facts. That description could be any of a hundred thousand people in this city.”

“It could also be Murdock.”

“It could also be Bob.” I took a small thrill in watching the victory fade slightly from Decker's eyes. “The friend you just missed,” I told him. “He's about six feet, thin, and has light brown hair.”

“Bob?” Decker asked. He narrowed his eyes. “Does this Bob have a last name?”

We hadn't made one up. Wayne hadn't asked. “Richardson,” I ad-libbed. I pushed down the urge to add any more details without Decker asking. The first sign of a lie, Face had taught me, was someone handing over too much information.

“Bob Richardson,” Decker said. “Pretty boring name.”

“He's kind of a boring guy.”

“What does he do?”

“He sells insurance.”

Decker's eyes narrowed again. He was going to check everything I said, I knew. If I gave him nothing else, it'd buy a little time. Maybe enough time for me to find a way to fake information for a non-existent Bob Richardson.

“What proof can you give me, Miss Allen?”

I felt my eyebrows rise before I could rein myself in. “Excuse me?”

Decker leaned on the table, his hands flat on my tabletop. “What proof, Miss Allen? I have a reliable description of Captain Murdock—”

“And any number of beach bums.”

“But you don't seem to know many beach bums, Miss Allen. You know the A-Team. And a man named Wayne. Who appears, on paper, to be an upstanding citizen.”

He'd researched Wayne. How long had he been watching the apartment? Did he actually know that Murdock was here? I stared him down while I tried to invent some proof. The jazz rose up in my blood, and I had it. “His clothes are in my washing machine,” I told Decker. “He showed up muddy last night, and I offered to wash his clothes.”

“And he didn't take them with him?”

“Wayne lent him something to wear.”

Decker worked his jaw back and forth, watching me. “In the washing machine?”

“Yes, sir.” I stood up and led him to the washer, opening it and stepping away so he could look in.

Decker pulled out each piece of clothing and looked it over closely, like the gray twill pants, tan button-down shirt, and denim jacket would suddenly turn into khakis, a cartoon T-shirt, and a leather bomber jacket. “We'll be taking these with us.” He glanced towards the door and saw Murdock’s mud-caked loafers. “And those?”

“Also his.”

“He left barefoot?”

“Wayne lent him shoes.”

Decker nodded towards the shoes. “Grab them,” he ordered, and one of his men walked over and picked them up.

“And when Bob comes to pick them up, what do I say?” I snapped.

“Tell Captain Murdock we said hello,” Decker replied. He turned on his heel and walked out the door, his men trailing behind him.

I walked to the picture window and flicked the drape to the side, flattening myself against the wall so I could see outside but not be seen. Decker and his men walked to an umarked dark sedan, and got in, none of them looking back toward my apartment. The jazz rose up in my blood again. One of them should have looked back.

B.A. had been the one to teach me about bugs. People inexperienced at planting bugs put them in obvious places—under counters, near phones—and they acted out of character when they left. Decker wasn't manic like Lynch; he didn't snap at the first sign of trouble. He was smart and well-trained. The kind to remind you that he was watching you.

He should have looked back.

They'd stood at the table and at the counter. I crouched at the table and ducked my head under, trying not to make any sounds. It was three inches from the edge. I stood up and curled my hand under the table; my fingers just barely brushed the edge of the bug. A man's hand, an inch or two larger than mine, could have easily placed that bug.

There was another under the edge of the kitchen island and there was—as B.A. had taught me—one on the underside of the shelf under my phone. I bit my lip and breathed in deeply. I looked at the bugs again as I tried to remember everything I'd been taught. Long-term bugs had to have a power source. The bugs didn't have a battery pack attached, and they weren't connected to any wiring. Short-term, then. They were good for maybe forty-eight hours.

I stood up again and walked to the guest room, opening and closing the door as quietly as possible. I wasn't sure if the bugs were sensitive enough to pick up the noise. The guest room looked empty, and I considered the options. Murdock could be in the closet, waiting to jump out and scare me. He could be under the bed. He could, knowing him, be hanging from the window by his fingertips just to get the adrenaline rush.

I checked the closet. No Murdock. I checked the window. No Murdock. I lay prone on the floor, and Murdock grinned at me from under the bed. He opened his mouth and froze when I pressed a finger to my lips. I stood up and stepped back so Murdock could ease out from under the bed. He didn’t make a sound.

He raised his eyebrows at me, the question all over his face. I took his right arm and skittered my fingers up the inside of his forearm. He mouthed the word “bugs” at me, and I nodded. He pursed his mouth to the left side and tapped his chin. His eyes lit up.

I mouthed the word “no” at him. He pouted. I mouthed it again. Murdock pointed his right hand at me like a sock puppet and opened and closed it. We needed to talk, he was saying.

I raised my eyebrows to ask him how. We both knew we couldn't leave. There were bugs, and where there were bugs, there was someone on watch. The light in Murdock's eyes got even brighter. He held a fist over my head and opened and closed it.

The shower. No matter the delicacy of the bugs, we could have a conversation as long as we whispered. I nodded to show him I agreed, and I led the way to the bathroom.

The shower rattled against the curtain and the wall when I started it. “Decker—” I started in a whisper, but Murdock put a hand to my mouth.

“Get in,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” Even in a whisper, my voice squeaked.

“Decker's smart,” Murdock explained. “If he can pick up the shower, he'll know what it sounds like empty.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He narrowed his in return. I put my hands on my hips, and Murdock mirrored me. I sighed silently. He was right. I twirled my finger, and Murdock turned around. I stripped out of my pajamas and stepped into the shower. I closed my eyes when the water hit my face and gave myself a moment under the spray to get oriented, let the hot water push the jazz out of my blood. I turned around and opened my eyes. Murdock was standing in the shower with me, fully clothed. He slid a hand over my mouth before I could yelp.

“Easy,” he whispered in my ear. “We can't talk through the curtain.” He took his hand off my mouth.

“Murdock,” I hissed. “I'm naked.”

“I'm not looking down,” he replied like that was the point.

“Murdock!”

“Scouts’ honor.” He held up his fingers in the Boy Scout sign, his eyes never leaving mine.

Pushing him out of the shower would cause enough noise to raise suspicion. I crossed my arms over my chest. “There are at least three bugs in my kitchen,” I whispered. “One under the table, one under the phone, and one under the island.”

“Wash your hair.”

“Mur—”

“They might know,” he interrupted and handed me the shampoo.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he turned around. I shampooed my hair and rinsed it. When I tried to reach around Murdock, he handed me the conditioner. I coated my hair and handed the bottle back, then crossed my arms again. “Okay.”

Murdock turned around, eyes still on my face. “How long?”

“Two minutes,” I replied. “Assuming we're working on the theory that Decker understands deep conditioning.”

Murdock nodded, his gaze wandering for a moment before I kicked him in the shin. “Sorry.” He beamed at me. “You're pretty.”

“A minute and forty,” I reminded him.

His face lost all amusement. “If I go back to the VA today, they'll nab me. They'll ask where I've been.”

“Lie.”

He frowned at me. Not a joking frown, but a real one. “They'll find ways to track me back. They'll find out I was here. I don't—”

“Don't,” I cut him off. “You could have kept me out of this by not showing up last night.”

“You could have turned me in,” he retorted.

I stared at him for a few seconds—four, I estimated, still trying to keep track of our time in my head. “I wouldn't do that. God, Murdock, I wouldn't—” He pressed two fingers to my mouth, not to make sure I kept silent, but to stop me.

“I know,” he said. “I shouldn't have come, but…” He shook his head and looked away from me, staring at the shower curtain.

Forty seconds, I figured, until I'd have to rinse out my hair. “I missed you.” I whispered it even more quietly than the rest of the conversation. “I missed all of you, but especially…” Murdock turned his head to look at me. “But especially you,” I admitted. “You could have kept me on your visitors list.”

“You put in the application the day after,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don't know what that means, Murdock. The day after what?”

He stared at me. “The day after,” he repeated.

Fifteen seconds to go. I could maybe stretch it to twenty. “There were a lot of day afters. The day after explosions. The day after a job. The day—” He kissed my forehead, pressed his lips there for three seconds.

“The day after,” he said yet again, but this time I knew exactly what he meant.

He turned around before I could question him, and I rinsed my hair automatically. He stepped out of the shower without rattling the curtain, and I grabbed the soap as I watched his silhouette in the shower curtain, worked the soap to a lather as I watched his shadow take off his soaking wet clothes.

The day after we'd kissed, he meant. I'd put in for Jakarta the day after we'd kissed.

I rinsed off a final time and turned off the water. When I poked my head around the curtain, Murdock had his back to me, a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his outstretched left hand. His soaking wet clothes were in a heap on the bath mat. I wrapped myself in the towel and pushed aside the shower curtain. Murdock led the way out of the bathroom, a finger to his lips. He walked into the kitchen and ducked by the island to look at the bug. He waggled his eyebrows at it like he was having a conversation with it. He pointed at me and made the talking-puppet hand gesture. He needed me to make noise.

“Smart, Amy,” I muttered slightly louder than I would if I were alone. “You want to get some sleep, and you drank more coffee. I hate it when Decker's right.”

Murdock grinned and gave me a thumbs up, then rotated his wrist to tell me to keep going. Before I could come up with anything else to talk about, the phone rang. I stepped around Murdock to answer it, and he pressed a hand to his ear like he was a switchboard operator.

“Hello?”

“Honey, it's me.” Wayne's voice was clipped. “Do you know the A-Team?”

My stomach dropped, and I clutched at the phone. “What?” I turned to watch Murdock as he poked at the bug. “Who told you I knew anything about the A-Team?” Murdock whirled around, eyes wide. I waved him off, pointing at the bug, turning away again so he couldn't see my face.

“A man named Colonel Decker just left here,” Wayne continued. “He told me that you had ties with the A-Team. He said that you used to spend time with them.”

“Wayne—” a high-pitched whine sliced through the call, and I pulled the phone away from my ear. I looked over my shoulder. Murdock had a wire in his hand, and the bug under the island wasn't flashing anymore.

“Amy?”

“I'm here, hon.” I watched Murdock crouch by the table to see the bug there. His towel started sliding down, and I turned away as he flailed for it. “Colonel Decker is—”

“He says he's been hunting the A-Team for years,” Wayne interrupted. “Do you know them?”

“I tried to hire them once,” I admitted.

“What?!” Wayne sounded absolutely scandalized. “Why would you do that?”

“Extenuating circumstances, honey.” Murdock caught my eye over the edge of the table. I pulled the phone from my ear as he pulled the wire.

“What the hell is happening with the phone?” Wayne asked.

“They're probably working on the lines,” I replied. I shifted away from the phone so Murdock could get to the bug under the shelf. “Look, honey, let me call you back, okay? I should probably call the telephone company and make sure—”

“Who's Murdock?”

“What?”

“Colonel Decker said you and a man named Murdock had a relationship.”

I pressed my forehead against the wall. “I had information he was the A-Team pilot,” I said. “I went to visit him—he's a resident at the VA—and he was a nice guy, so I visited him sometimes.”

Murdock looked up from the shelf, something in his eyes I couldn't read. His smile was small but genuine before he turned his attention back to the bug.

“You never mentioned him,” Wayne said.

“When I came back from Jakarta, he'd taken me off his visitors list.” I turned my face away in case Murdock tried to look at me again. “It's in the past.”

“Did you know them?”

I took a deep breath. “Never met them,” I said. “I only knew Murdock, and I didn't mention him because I didn't want you to worry.”

Wayne breathed out hard. I could picture him in his office at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one finger. “He said that this Murdock fellow was near your place last night. I told him the description he gave me sounded like Bob, and then he asked a bunch of questions about Bob, and I had to explain that I'd only met him that night.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Decker came here right after you left, but I didn't think he'd go bother you at work. If I thought it was of any consequence, I would have warned you.” Murdock tapped my arm, and I looked down. He had his fingers wrapped around the connecting wire on the last bug. “Wayne, I have to go.”

“Amy—”

“I'm exhausted.” I let my actual tiredness slide into my voice. “And I know you have work and you probably have to explain to your bosses why a bunch of military men stormed into your office, and I think it'd be better if we talked about this tonight, okay?”

Wayne didn't say anything for a few seconds. Murdock tapped my arm with more urgency. “Okay,” Wayne finally agreed. “We'll talk tonight. Get some sleep.”

“I will. And I'm sorry.”

“Promise me I'll get the whole story tonight.”

I bit my lip before answering, shaking off Murdock's even more insistent tapping. “I promise,” I agreed. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Murdock pulled the wire as soon as I put down the phone. He stood up, flailing for the towel again and grinned at me. It was wild on the edges. “He sounds happy.”

“Don't,” I ordered. Murdock's grin got wilder. “What now?” I asked to distract him. “Decker's not stupid. He'll know the bugs were ripped.”

“Yup.” Murdock grabbed my hand and dropped the wires into my palm. “Dollars to doughnuts there's a guy waiting in the hallway to report any weirdness.” Murdock ruffled my hair and gave my towel a small tug. “Go give him weirdness.”

I swatted at his hands and tightened my towel. “I'm putting on—”

“Nope.” Murdock mimed flicking his hair over his shoulder and planted his hands on his hips. “You are an angry woman,” he started, his voice rising into falsetto, “wrongly accused of spending time with those awful, awful men.” He flicked a hand like he was dismissing me. “And you come out of your shower, get an angry call from your boyfriend, and discover that that horrid Colonel Decker bugged your home.” He threw up his hands in outrage. “In your home!”

“Murdock, your towel fell off.” I stared at the ceiling when he bent over. “What will you be doing while I complain?”

“Scheming.”

I chanced a look. Murdock had knotted his towel at the hip, and he was standing with his hands under his chin, tapping his fingertips together. “How much of my day is this scheming going to take?” He raised his eyebrows and said nothing. “Will I have time to put on clothes?” He waggled his eyebrows. I sighed. “Great.” I walked around him and pushed my hair over my shoulder, the wet ends smacking Murdock on the chest.

I opened the front door and poked my head out. Down the hall, halfway between the elevator and the stairs, was a man in a military uniform. If you're going to pull a con, Face had taught me, make sure you believe the con. I thought about not sleeping and Decker going to Wayne, and I thought about Murdock showing up and thinking that I might turn him in to Decker. I stalked into the hallway. “Excuse me.”

The soldier looked over, his eyes widening at my nearly naked state. “Ma'am?” he asked, and his eyes drifted downward.

I held out my left hand and showed him the wires. “I understand Colonel Decker thinks I'm some sort of cohort with the A-Team, and I understand that means I get to have an awkward conversation with my boyfriend, but this?” I shoved the wires under his nose. “Bugs?”

The soldier gaped at me. “Ma'am, I don't—”

“You weren't involved,” I interrupted, “Sure. Fine. Whatever. The point,” I poked him in the chest, “is that you're going to call Colonel Decker, and you're going to inform him that I know how to disable a bug because I'm a reporter, and that if he wants to know if I'm talking to the A-Team, bugging my apartment is not the way to win my help.”

“Ma'am—”

“I have confidential sources! Decker could have ruined my first amendment rights by ignoring my fourth amendment rights!”

“Ma’am—”

I raised my voice. “And don’t try to tell me he got a warrant. If he’d gotten a warrant, he would have had someone else plant the bugs. I know how this works.”

“Ma’am—”

“Call him,” I demanded. “And tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Ma'am—” the soldier paused, waiting to be interrupted again. “Colonel Decker isn't nearby. He couldn't talk to you for a few hours, at least.”

“You're right here,” I pointed out. “If I go anywhere, I'll give you an address.”

He blinked. “I'll call him,” he promised. He took the wires from my hands. “Sorry for the…inconvenience.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a sharp nod and turned on my heel, making sure to slam the door behind me when I went back inside. Murdock wasn't in the front of the apartment. He wasn't in the bathroom, and he wasn't in the guest room. In my bedroom, I found an outfit laid out—jeans, a yellow button-down, and sneakers—but no Murdock. My bedroom window was open, and when I stuck my head out, there was a note taped to the fire escape.

Out to lunch.

I ripped the note off the escape and flushed it down the toilet. Was the lack of an address Murdock being paranoid in case anyone else was watching, or was it his attempt to give me a way out? Laying out my clothes told me he wanted me to meet him, and the note was certainly a clue, but by not waiting for me to get dressed and sneak out with him, he was giving me the option to stay home and stay out of trouble.

Right?

I sat down on the bed and stared at the clothes. They were practical and common, something I could wear to blend in with a crowd. If I pulled my hair into a ponytail, I'd look like any random woman walking down the sidewalk. Murdock was expecting me to go with him wherever he was going. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just Murdock being Murdock, doing something strange to get a reaction later.

The problem with being friends with a legitimately crazy person meant that, sometimes, he was legitimately crazy. It'd been so long since I'd seen him; I couldn't properly weigh what he'd left me. The tiredness that had been pulling at me all morning was weighing heavier now. Stay or go?

I paced the room as I dried my hair and stared at myself as I combed it out in front of the mirror. When I went back into the bedroom, the clothes were still there with just as few clues as five minutes before.

Hannibal's advice, when a plan went sideways was to trust the jazz. “The jazz can't lie, kid,” he'd said. “It'll tell you if you're in trouble.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deep, thought back to my adventures with the team and the last few hours, let the jazz—finally—rise up and take over my blood. The jazz made me shiver, and I opened my eyes a few seconds later with the answer.

I got dressed and grabbed my keys and purse, pausing at the front door, my hand on the knob. The longer the soldier in the hallway thought I was in the apartment, the better head start I'd have. I walked back to the bedroom and climbed onto the fire escape, squinting to try and spot any guards Decker might have put into place. Pedestrian traffic was light, and I didn't see anyone standing or walking with the particular movements of a trained soldier. I rattled down the fire escape and stood with my back to the building, considering Murdock's note.

Out to lunch.

The Italian place, maybe? It was seven blocks over, far enough away Decker might not think to search it immediately once he got here, but Wayne could have mentioned it to him. Murdock would know that. He'd pick somewhere else. It might not be farther away than the Italian place, but it'd be more obscure. Someplace Decker wouldn't know about. Someplace just between us.

The jazz pointed me south, and I followed the instinct, bypassing a bus to flag down a cab. It was easier to be anonymous in a cab. Cab drivers rarely looked anyone in the face. I gave the driver an address and leaned back in the seat, relaxing my body while I kept watch for signs of Decker or his men.

The day before I'd put in for Jakarta, I'd stopped by the VA to take Murdock to lunch. The floor nurse had waved me on without even looking at my signed slip from Dr. Richter. “Good to see you, Amy.”

“You, too, Nadine. How is he?”

“In high spirits, as always.” She'd smiled and rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. “Today, he's been a pirate, a racecar driver, and either a fine Southern belle or an angry Southern general. There's some debate amongst the nurses on that last one.”

“I'll see what I can figure out over lunch,” I'd promised.

Murdock had greeted me with a bed sheet tied around his head, his comb held in his fist like a sword. “Milady!” he'd yelled. “You have come to negotiate my release!”

“It's only a temporary release,” I'd replied, playing along. “Just long enough for bread and water.”

Murdock had quirked his mouth at me and walked over slowly, his comb nearly touching my nose. He had eyed me, cocking his head. “And cola?”

“I can only promise to try,” I'd told him, trying to hold back my laughter.

Murdock had tapped me on the nose with his comb. “I accept.” The bed sheet had been whipped off his head, the comb placed on his bureau, and Murdock had slipped on his jacket and put on his ball cap and given me a grin. “Where to?”

“Miss.” The cabbie tapped on the divider glass and brought me out of my thoughts. “We're here.”

It was a seafood restaurant, best known for its grilled salmon. It's where Murdock and I had gone to lunch the day he'd played pirate. The day we'd kissed.

I paid the cabbie, tipping him enough to be remembered as a ridiculously average fare: jeans, brown hair, and a passable tip. I let myself into the restaurant and looked around. He'd be on the back wall, I knew. The team always sat along a back wall when they could help it. Near the back exit and with an eye on the door. The hostess walked up to me as I spotted a familiar ball cap near the kitchen. “I've got it,” I told her and walked away before she could ask me any questions or get a good look at my face.

Murdock had a plate of clams in front of him, his hat tipped back so he could get close to the plate. “Amy!” he greeted me around a mouthful. “You look lovely!” He leaned back in his chair and looked me over. He affected a British accent. “You're ravishing, darling.”

“Thanks,” I said as I dropped into the chair across from him. The waitress walked up. “The special,” I ordered, “and coffee. Lots of coffee.” She walked away, and I eyed Murdock. He was wearing another set of Wayne’s clothes, and he'd found his jacket and his cap. I glanced under the table. He'd found his shoes as well.

“Do you keep caches of your clothes around the city?” I asked.

Murdock's eyes widened. “Well, that's just plain crazy.” He slurped down a clam and pushed the plate towards me, wiping juice from his chin with the back of his hand.

“I can wait for my food,” I assured him as something inside me shook at he familiarity of it. We'd always split a plate of clams when we'd come here. “Murdock…” I started, but I didn't know where to go with it. The waitress came over, a cup of coffee on her tray along with a small bowl of creamer and sugar. I nodded my thanks, and she walked off.

Murdock finished the last clam, put the plate on the edge of the table. He wiped his mouth one more time, and when he dropped his napkin onto the table, his lips were a thin line of concern. “I shouldn't…” He quirked his mouth and took off his cap, ruffling his hair before jamming his cap back down.

“Shouldn't what?” I asked. He leaned away from me, crossed his arms and stared at his water glass. “Murdock…” I still didn't know what to say, but I knew his stance, the way his eyebrows were furrowing. One of us had to say something, and it would be easier for me. I'd be questioning everything that came out of my mouth, but at least I wouldn't be wondering if I sounded completely unhinged when I said it. “I've missed you.”

He looked up, and his tight-pressed lips curled into a tight-pressed smile. “I am unforgettable.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “So handsome. So worldly. I am always missed.”

“You are,” I agreed. “I…” I added sugar to my coffee and took a sip as something inside me shook so hard I shivered. “Wayne's a nice man,” I said. “He's a nice man.”

“Nice man,” Murdock said with a slow nod that I read as satiric. “Nice man with a nice job. A nice wardrobe.” He smoothed the sleeves of the shirt and straightened the cuffs. “Nice girlfriend,” he said without looking at me.

I laughed, and I wasn't sure why. “Yeah, I'm fantastic,” I agreed, “I've got a nice job and a nice apartment and a nice boyfriend, and he didn't know I had a gun in my bedside table.” I looked down at my hands on the tabletop. They were shaking a little. “And he'll let himself into my apartment tonight thinking I'm there and ready to talk to him about you and the others. And.” I looked up from my hands and straight into Murdock's eyes. The jazz was so high in my blood it was buzzing in my ears. “And I won't be there,” I said. “Will I?”

Murdock worked his mouth back and forth. “I do not know,” he said in a German accent. “Zis iz not my decizon. I am merely ze zerapist.”

I rubbed at my eyes and drank more coffee. Murdock watched me, his squinting caricature of a concerned therapist falling away to a serious expression the longer I said nothing. “Amy?” he finally asked, voice soft. “You're looking a little…crazy. And I'd know.” He gave a ghost of a grin. There was a wave of worry in his eyes. “I didn't—”

“I made my own decision,” I cut him off. “Just like before.” Murdock opened his mouth to reply, but the waitress came over with my food. I thanked her when she set it down and watched her walk away. “I went to Jakarta so I wouldn't run off with you all,” I said, not looking at Murdock. I cut into my fish and took a bite. When I looked up, Murdock was watching me with no expression on his face.

“You could have,” he said. “We'd have let you. You didn't take off after nearly getting killed by that cult. We decided then and there to let you be as much of the team as you wanted.”

“Voted by secret ballot, did you?”

“Probably the only time we all ever agreed on anything that wasn't one of Hannibal's plans.” Murdock smiled at me, earnest and hopeful. “We wouldn't have had a problem with you tagging along permanently.”

“That was—” I stopped myself. I was going to say “that was the problem,” but it wasn't. It had never been. I'd been the one to blackmail them into letting me tag along. “That wasn't the problem,” I said. “The acceptance.”

“Then what?” Murdock asked. He threw himself against the back of his chair and nearly slammed his hands on the table, stopping an inch above the formica. It'd bring too much attention. “What the hell would have been so bad about coming along?” The anger in his voice made his twang longer, and slurred the words together. I shivered again.

“It wasn't wanting to come along with the team,” I explained. “It was wanting to come along with you.” I watched Murdock's eyes. The rest of his face could do a dozen things at once, but I could always see the truth in his eyes. There was shock, confusion, anger—directed at which of us, I couldn't tell—and then blankness.

He shook his head, tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I shouldn't have—” He gnawed at his bottom lip and looked away from me, up on the high part of the wall where there was a mural of fish jumping in the waves. “You should go home,” he said to the fish. “I'll be all right.”

“Murdock?”

He looked at me again, and there was something bright in his eyes. Tears? I'd never seen him cry, and I'd seen some of his bad days, I knew. “You should go home,” he repeated. “Wayne's a nice man.”

“Murdock…” I watched him smile at me, hard on the edges like his face wasn’t supposed to bend that way. “You need somewhere to stay,” I said. “You need someone to keep you company until you can go back to—”

“Lies!” Murdock squeaked, loud enough the people at the next table looked over at us. He pressed a hand over his mouth then spread his fingers. “Lies,” he hissed between his teeth. “Lies, lies, lies, lies.” He closed his fingers again and stopped talking.

I stared at him, confused for the first time since our first meeting. “Lies?”

He face turned light pink, then darker pink, then something in the range of magenta. He dropped his hand from his mouth. “Yes,” he muttered to his empty plate of clams.

“What?” I took a long drink of coffee, wondering if I was having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. “What was lies?”

He pressed his fingertips to his mouth. His eyes widened. “All of it,” he said between gritted teeth. “Most of it,” he amended. “Pretty much everything. Except.” He pressed both hands over his mouth.

“Except?” I prompted. “Except what?”

Murdock's hands curled into fists, still pressed against his mouth. I stared at him until his fists dropped into his lap, until his eyes dropped to the tabletop. “We weren't on a mission,” he muttered, so low I barely heard him. “I haven't seen the guys in about a week.”

“You said—”

“I missed you,” he interrupted, and it was like the confession was all he needed to open the gates. “When you left, we agreed to cut you off to keep you safe. You chose to leave, and we all knew it was smarter to let you have your own life again, and you left.” He took off his cap, scrubbed at his hair, then worked the brim between his hands. “And Hannibal ordered us to not contact you. Even if you called, he said. Even if you went by the laundry, he said. We were supposed to let you have your life back, because that's what you wanted. And we did.” Murdock put his hat on the table, stroked his fingers over the brim like an apology. “We tried,” he amended. “I tried.”

“What…” I shook my head. “What are you saying, Murdock?”

“I missed you,” he said. “I wanted to see you.”

I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't look at me. It took a few seconds for my over-tired brain to make sense of what he was saying. “You weren't on assignment last night. You weren't—you weren't in danger, were you? At least, you didn't think you were.”

“No.”

The jazz fizzled out. Anger rose up to take its place. “Did you know?” I snapped. “Did you know Decker was following you?”

“It was…” Murdock licked his lips and reached for his hat. “It was a distinct possibility.” He put his hat back on his head. “He's been following me around for awhile.”

“What?!” I didn't realize I'd yelped until the same people as before glanced over at our table. “Murdock,” I whispered, “are you saying you knew for certain he'd show up?”

“Yes.”

“You put me—you put Wayne—in danger because you…” I couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence. “What the hell, Murdock?”

He looked at me, a wistful half-smile on his face. “I'm crazy?” he asked. “I'm lovably crazy?”

“No. No, you are not. Whatever issues you have—and I know you have some legitimate ones—you've never been crazy enough to put my well-being into jeopardy without checking with me.” I glared at Murdock. “What is wrong with you?”

“You decided to leave. The day after—”

“It wasn't because of the kiss,” I interrupted. “It was coincidence!” I took a deep breath, trying to take back some thread of my control. Across the table, Murdock just stared at me. “I wasn't even thinking about you when I put my name in. I signed up because it sounded exciting, because it was something I hadn't done.” I clenched my teeth to keep from yelling. “It wasn't a personal affront. It was an adventure.”

Murdock pressed his lips together. I could hear him tapping his feet under the table. “We were supposed to be the adventure,” he said so quietly I barely heard him.

I wanted to stand up and storm out, but I couldn't. Murdock looked genuinely sad, and he wasn't meeting my eyes. “You were,” I told him. “At first. But then…you became my friends. All of you. And it stopped being an adventure and started being about spending time with all of you.” I curled my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him. “It was about spending time with you. And Jakarta had nothing to do with you. The timing of everything was just coincidence.”

“Amy—”

“You could have just come by.” I cut him off. If I let him get a word in, I knew I'd probably lose. “Any time. I wouldn't have been entirely happy to see you given how you all cut me out, but it would have been honest.” I stood up before Murdock could put together a response. “Wayne's a nice man. I have to go explain things to him.”

“Amy—”

“Call next time, Murdock,” I said over my shoulder. “But make sure it's been awhile.” I walked away, not looking back, and didn't stop walking until I was six blocks away. I sagged against the wall of an office building and caught my breath for a moment. I scrubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand. I wasn't crying, I rationalized. My eyes were just dry from not getting enough sleep, and it was warm out, and…

“I've got a nice bridge I could sell you,” I muttered to myself. A woman walking by glanced at me in concern. I looked away before she could decide to be helpful. The building behind me had a lobby with a desk. I walked in and tried to smile at the man sitting behind it. He was older, probably around Hannibal's age, but with the soft edges of someone's grandfather.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you had a restroom I could use.”

“The restroom is only for clients of the companies upstairs, ma'am.” He gave me a polite, apologetic smile. “Unless your name's in my book, I can't give you the key. I'm sorry.”

“I understand, but this is something of an emergency. I just…” I tilted my head down slightly, “and I wasn’t expecting for it to start another day, and I wouldn't ask if I weren't so far from my apartment that it'd be an issue.”

The man looked at me, eyes going wide when he realized what I was saying. “I see.” He reached under the desk and handed me a key on an elastic band. “You're obviously a nice girl,” he said. “If anyone asks, you're my daughter from Oregon. They've never met her.”

The smile I gave him was real. “Thank you so much.” I clutched the key and followed his pointing finger to a hallway. The ladies’ room was at the end of the hall. It had a single toilet, a sink and mirror, and a small easy chair. I locked the door behind me and sank into the chair, tipping my head back to press against the wall.

Be mad, I ordered myself. Be mad. You have every reason to be mad. But I…couldn't. I sat there, staring at the ceiling tiles, and waited for the anger from the restaurant to take me over. It had been there, but now it was gone. All I had left was frustration, but I couldn't figure out what I was frustrated about.

Standing up, I smoothed my hair, washed my hands, and walked back to the lobby. “Thank you,” I said to the man at the desk, and he gave me a slightly embarrassed smile as he waved me out the door.

Part Two