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thecrazyalaskanShe was clearly a Vietnam veteran—not so much because of any physical indicator or even by way of conversation, but the jacket. She was fiercely proud of that thing, a leather bomber jacket she customized herself in the psych ward, with a tiger and Da Nang 1970 emblazoned across the back. It was comfortable as all hell, too, and HM Murdock was never seen without it, not even in the middle of nowhere Kansas in the dead heat of July—just one more reason BA called her a crazy fool.
That was how one could tell her apart from any other woman in the café—that and her companion, a man easily twice her size and wearing enough gold to serve as the coffer for a small European nation, seated across from her.
For the most part, no one took notice of her, her companion or her jacket—until today, when a male voice from behind her said, "'Da Nang 1972?'"
Murdock looked up form her menu and turned in the rickety chair in which she sat. The speaker, yes definitely male, was about five years younger than her. "Excuse me?"
"You serve in Vietnam?" he asked, indicating the back of her jacket.
"I did, yeah," she confirmed, wondering why this was of note. "Pilot." She turned back to the menu, effectively ending the conversation.
"How many?"
Murdock flicked her eyes up at BA, rolling them slightly. Some people…! "Sorry?" she asked, not really looking over at him.
"How many women and children'd you kill?"
Murdock dropped the menu and stood, facing the man who'd been bothering her for far too long now. He was about her height, but had more muscle. "What'd you just say?" she asked, her voice low.
"You heard me," he told her levelly.
She crossed her arms, drawing herself up to her full six-one. "You serve over there?" The words were clipped, and spoken with a Southern accent twice its usual thickness.
"I was too young," he replied.
"Then don't you talk to me 'bout 'Nam," she hissed, pointing a finger. "Don't think like you know what I did, or didn't do, or had to do. I never laid a hand on someone unless they were tryin' to blow my own head off first, you un'erstan' that?" She stepped closer, meeting his eyes. "You turn yourself around and let me and my boyfriend eat our lunch 'fore I take you out back and put you in a world of hurt."
"That some kind of a threat?" Then he did something no sane man who knew HM Murdock or BA Baracus would even consider—he pushed her. She staggered backwards a few inches, bumping the table and rattling the place settings slightly.
BA was on his feet and shouldering past Murdock before the table quit shaking. "You lay a hand on this lady?" He didn't wait for an answer, but balled his fists in the other, suddenly much more timid man's shirt collar and pulled him outside.
Murdock straightened her frame slightly, adjusted her ball cap and settled back in her chair, ignoring the looks she knew she was getting. That was really something that should have been carried on outsi—
"What's going on?" It was the server (mid 40s, female, plastic name tag said Donna), returning with the drinks the pair had ordered before everything started to go to seed.
Murdock looked up as the waitress set the drinks on the table, glancing out the window. "Well, you see that big, scary guy talkin' to that other big, not-quite-as-scary guy?" she said, pointing through a nearby picture window that offered a lovely view of the front porch, the main drag, and BA pinning the guy in question against a support pole.
"Hm-hmm."
"Well, he's just schoolin' him on how to treat a lady—oh and if we could get two more place settings? We're waiting on friends."
Murdock remained seated at the table, not even glancing out the window, for close to five minutes when the door opened and the pair returned. "Uh… ma'am?"
Murdock couldn't help but smile at how timid the fool sounded before she turned to look at him with a serene, almost expectant smile. "I, uh… I owe you an apology," he stammered quickly.
Murdock held up her hand, having heard plenty and wanting to spare the poor sap even a little dignity. "Apology accepted—not get outta my face and let me eat my lunch in peace."
He practically bolted from the table, and BA sat back down across from Murdock with a satisfied nod. "I hope you weren't too mean to him, Bosco," Murdock commented idly, not looking up from the menus. She flicked her eyes up at him and couldn't help but grin at his severely unamused expression. "Don't give me that look, I was just teasing."
After a few minutes, the door to the café opened again, and two familiar voices called out to the pair. Murdock looked over her shoulder and smiled, waving the new arrivals, a man in his early thirties with sandy blonde hair and a second, older man with a cigar, over. "Hi, Face." She offered the older man a sincere smile. "Hello, Hannibal."
The pair greeted BA and Murdock as they sat down, Face on the booth seat against the wall, next to BA, and Hannibal in the chair next to Murdock. "So what'd we miss?" Face asked, taking up a menu and flipping through it casually.
Murdock and BA looked up at each other. After a moment, they replied in unison, "Nothing…"
-.-.-.-
Title: How to Treat a Lady
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: The A-Team, TV-verse
Characters / Pairings: BA x Murdock (see notes), NPCs, Hannibal, Face
Genre: T
Rating: General
Word Count: 934
Warnings / Notes: Genderswapped Murdock
Summary: Lesson One: Never insult a lady, especially in the presence of her significant other.
Uhm… Shit I should start writing down or otherwise remembering where my bunnies come from. It would come in handy for bunnies like this one. ^^; I swear to you, I think I got this one when I was in the car on the way to the post office.
I still stand by my belief that Hannibal is Murdock’s daddy. Can you imagine how Up to Eleven it would be with Murdock as a woman? Poor schlub ought to be grateful it was BA and not Hannibal—or God forbid, BA and Hannibal.
I’m ashamed to admit, I know very little about the Vietnam War, despite it being my favorite era of American history, so if any of this information is inaccurate, I do apologize, and please let me know so I can fix it.
BA is like the biggest freaking marshmallow ever. I swear, the man can break your neck without breaking a sweat, turn around and be so frickin’ nice to moms and their babies. And if you don’t think scenes like that are cute, you have no soul. (My favorite moment has to be when he’s talking to this little Mexican girl who ran away from an illegal immigration ring—“What’s your name?” “Maria.” “Do you live around here, Maria?” “…” “Do you want to be my friend?” “…*nodnod*” Oh God, I think I’m going to start crying…! ;w; Yes, it’s that cute that the mere memory makes me cry a little. Go find it—it’s somewhere in season two and is cute as all hell.)
…Okay I admit it—I want Murdock’s jacket.
BA Baracus, HM Murdock, Face, Hannibal, The A-Team © Stephen J Cannell and Frank Lupo
That was how one could tell her apart from any other woman in the café—that and her companion, a man easily twice her size and wearing enough gold to serve as the coffer for a small European nation, seated across from her.
For the most part, no one took notice of her, her companion or her jacket—until today, when a male voice from behind her said, "'Da Nang 1972?'"
Murdock looked up form her menu and turned in the rickety chair in which she sat. The speaker, yes definitely male, was about five years younger than her. "Excuse me?"
"You serve in Vietnam?" he asked, indicating the back of her jacket.
"I did, yeah," she confirmed, wondering why this was of note. "Pilot." She turned back to the menu, effectively ending the conversation.
"How many?"
Murdock flicked her eyes up at BA, rolling them slightly. Some people…! "Sorry?" she asked, not really looking over at him.
"How many women and children'd you kill?"
Murdock dropped the menu and stood, facing the man who'd been bothering her for far too long now. He was about her height, but had more muscle. "What'd you just say?" she asked, her voice low.
"You heard me," he told her levelly.
She crossed her arms, drawing herself up to her full six-one. "You serve over there?" The words were clipped, and spoken with a Southern accent twice its usual thickness.
"I was too young," he replied.
"Then don't you talk to me 'bout 'Nam," she hissed, pointing a finger. "Don't think like you know what I did, or didn't do, or had to do. I never laid a hand on someone unless they were tryin' to blow my own head off first, you un'erstan' that?" She stepped closer, meeting his eyes. "You turn yourself around and let me and my boyfriend eat our lunch 'fore I take you out back and put you in a world of hurt."
"That some kind of a threat?" Then he did something no sane man who knew HM Murdock or BA Baracus would even consider—he pushed her. She staggered backwards a few inches, bumping the table and rattling the place settings slightly.
BA was on his feet and shouldering past Murdock before the table quit shaking. "You lay a hand on this lady?" He didn't wait for an answer, but balled his fists in the other, suddenly much more timid man's shirt collar and pulled him outside.
Murdock straightened her frame slightly, adjusted her ball cap and settled back in her chair, ignoring the looks she knew she was getting. That was really something that should have been carried on outsi—
"What's going on?" It was the server (mid 40s, female, plastic name tag said Donna), returning with the drinks the pair had ordered before everything started to go to seed.
Murdock looked up as the waitress set the drinks on the table, glancing out the window. "Well, you see that big, scary guy talkin' to that other big, not-quite-as-scary guy?" she said, pointing through a nearby picture window that offered a lovely view of the front porch, the main drag, and BA pinning the guy in question against a support pole.
"Hm-hmm."
"Well, he's just schoolin' him on how to treat a lady—oh and if we could get two more place settings? We're waiting on friends."
Murdock remained seated at the table, not even glancing out the window, for close to five minutes when the door opened and the pair returned. "Uh… ma'am?"
Murdock couldn't help but smile at how timid the fool sounded before she turned to look at him with a serene, almost expectant smile. "I, uh… I owe you an apology," he stammered quickly.
Murdock held up her hand, having heard plenty and wanting to spare the poor sap even a little dignity. "Apology accepted—not get outta my face and let me eat my lunch in peace."
He practically bolted from the table, and BA sat back down across from Murdock with a satisfied nod. "I hope you weren't too mean to him, Bosco," Murdock commented idly, not looking up from the menus. She flicked her eyes up at him and couldn't help but grin at his severely unamused expression. "Don't give me that look, I was just teasing."
After a few minutes, the door to the café opened again, and two familiar voices called out to the pair. Murdock looked over her shoulder and smiled, waving the new arrivals, a man in his early thirties with sandy blonde hair and a second, older man with a cigar, over. "Hi, Face." She offered the older man a sincere smile. "Hello, Hannibal."
The pair greeted BA and Murdock as they sat down, Face on the booth seat against the wall, next to BA, and Hannibal in the chair next to Murdock. "So what'd we miss?" Face asked, taking up a menu and flipping through it casually.
Murdock and BA looked up at each other. After a moment, they replied in unison, "Nothing…"
-.-.-.-
Title: How to Treat a Lady
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: The A-Team, TV-verse
Characters / Pairings: BA x Murdock (see notes), NPCs, Hannibal, Face
Genre: T
Rating: General
Word Count: 934
Warnings / Notes: Genderswapped Murdock
Summary: Lesson One: Never insult a lady, especially in the presence of her significant other.
Uhm… Shit I should start writing down or otherwise remembering where my bunnies come from. It would come in handy for bunnies like this one. ^^; I swear to you, I think I got this one when I was in the car on the way to the post office.
I still stand by my belief that Hannibal is Murdock’s daddy. Can you imagine how Up to Eleven it would be with Murdock as a woman? Poor schlub ought to be grateful it was BA and not Hannibal—or God forbid, BA and Hannibal.
I’m ashamed to admit, I know very little about the Vietnam War, despite it being my favorite era of American history, so if any of this information is inaccurate, I do apologize, and please let me know so I can fix it.
BA is like the biggest freaking marshmallow ever. I swear, the man can break your neck without breaking a sweat, turn around and be so frickin’ nice to moms and their babies. And if you don’t think scenes like that are cute, you have no soul. (My favorite moment has to be when he’s talking to this little Mexican girl who ran away from an illegal immigration ring—“What’s your name?” “Maria.” “Do you live around here, Maria?” “…” “Do you want to be my friend?” “…*nodnod*” Oh God, I think I’m going to start crying…! ;w; Yes, it’s that cute that the mere memory makes me cry a little. Go find it—it’s somewhere in season two and is cute as all hell.)
…Okay I admit it—I want Murdock’s jacket.
BA Baracus, HM Murdock, Face, Hannibal, The A-Team © Stephen J Cannell and Frank Lupo
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-29 02:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-29 02:38 am (UTC)*gasp* Oh dear Lord, that's amazing. I'm a little afraid to ask how much that'd set me back, though. xD
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-29 02:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-29 02:42 am (UTC)I don't know how it would hold up to Alaskan winters, but I'd definitely wear it in the spring and fall, plus you figure a Halloween costume.