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sonora_conejaPairing: Murdock/Face
Rating: g
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
de-anoning for fluff fill. I'm moving this week, and have to leave my dog with my parents. :( She's an 8lb mini dachshund.
So. I think there's already been a dog!fic, but I would love if Murdock found a small, adorable fluffy creature that is of no apparent asset to the team and demands to keep it, and for antics to ensue. I'd love if it too could be a dachshund, but if you're not familiar, another similar dog would suit.
(edited to point out the inherent hilarity of owning a dachshund - "I have to take my weiner for a walk," or, "my weiner can't be alone for more than 2 hours," or "I have to go home and wash my weiner," and etc.)
if you need some inspiration - look here: http://snack-size.livejournal.com/9342.html
And, many delicious baked treats if someone fills this.
I love the stuff Snacks puts out for us all to munch on. Really great. How could I resist?
Murdock finds a dog. The dog seems suspiciously like Billy, and Billy seems suspiciously similar to a dachshund...
Face tosses his hip holster on the foyer table. He’s very pleased with the house he’d gotten them this time. Big, expansive, tasteful, cute housekeeper, international financier owner in the Bahamas for the next three months... nice. There’s a flower arrangement on that table that’s bigger than he is, full of species he can barely pronounce.
Yeah, nice is nice.
Then he hears a crash. Followed by a “Billy! Stop!”
Murdock. He smiles.
Face almost gets lost on his way to the TV den, where he left Murdock and a stack of Disney DVDs a few hours ago while he met with the client. BA and Hannibal are still out picking up supplies. Dropped him off. To deal with Murdock.
“Hey, buddy, what’s Billy up to now?” Face asks, rounding the corner, grinning at the lovely sight of the pilot’s ass, straight up in the air as he inspects the underside of the huge sofa.
“Dove under here after breakin’ that,” Murdock replies, waving his hand in the vague direction of some horrible piece of modern art that had, until moments before, been on a low little ledge.
“Oh, not the Ming,” he says, rolling his eyes. Face didn’t like it anyway. He gets down next to Murdock. “You walked Billy today?”
“Can’t. He’s been all wound up all day.”
“Why can’t you?”
“His leash didn’t come with him... oh, see, there you are, boy,” Murdock says, clapping his hands and tugging something the rest of the way out from under the couch. Face thinks it’s a pretty good mime job, until he takes a second look.
There’s a little chocolate-colored dog in Murdock’s arms. A long-haired, furry, big-eyed, adorable, completely incongruent, little... dachshund. Licking his face. Tail wagging furiously. The animal casts a suspicious glance over at Face, and barks once. “Hush, Billy dog,” Murdock says affectionately, giving him a quick pat.
Face stares. “Uh, Murdock?”
“Yes, Face?”
“As in, the Billy? The one you’ve been telling us about all these years?”
“Course,” Murdock says, and plants a big wet one behind the dog’s ear. Face is never kissing him again. “Don’t you recognize him?”
“Isn’t Billy, uh, er, imaginary?” What the hell was going on here?
“Looks like transubstantiated, don’t it?” Murdock says, beaming, and the dog barks again. “Oh, right there, Billy. We are gonna need to get you a few things.”
“Murdock, I swear to God...”
“Come on, facey. Let’s hit the store. Billy can come with, right?”
He sets the dog down, and Face isn’t quite sure that he’s not hallucinating this until Billy bites him on the ankle.
“Ruff!” the dog declares.
“Oh, don’t worry, Billy,” Murdock tells him. “Face’ll warm up to you.”
Face sits down. Hard.
"Come on, Face. Now is not the time to be lolly-gaggin'," Murdock says, hands on his hips, the dog curling up by his foot. "My weiner needs some attention!"
Billy barks.
Oh, dear Christ.
+++++
This is what they get for leaving Murdock alone, Face thinks with a sigh.
He backs the car out of the garage slowly, eying the dog sitting quietly in Murdock’s lap. They don't have a carrier for him, and Murdock freaked at the admittedly unfunny suggestion. Face would feel bad about it, but Billy’s not real.
He refuses to believe.
The dog’s got his little paws up on the window, and Murdock rolls it down, keeping a firm grip on him as they roll through the SoCal suburb. His ears flap in the breeze, tongue lolling out, practically prancing on his back legs. A couple of little girls on bikes squeal and wave. Murdock waves one of Billy’s paws back at them, and the dog starts barking happily again.
Face refuses to believe that any of this is happening.
They get to the local pet store without incident. Face checked the internet before they left, found one with a vet’s office. “Murdock, we gotta at least check if he’s chipped.”
The dog doesn’t have a collar, no sign of ever having worn one, but his coat’s glossy, his eyes clean and he doesn’t look anything like Face imagines a stray would be.
“You wanna let some stranger look at my weiner?” Murdock gasps, and holds a little tighter onto Billy. The dog. Crap. Now he’s got Face doing it.
“We need to check.”
“You don’t believe me.
Face thinks fast. “Well, you said he transubstantiated. Came from somewhere, right? So maybe there’s a little girl back there who’s missing him, and maybe she put a chip in him, just in case something like this happened.”
Murdock thinks about this for a minute, and then nods in that way that usually means he's getting ready to say something really geeky. “Does the electromagnetic spectrum operate the same there? Cause an RFID in an alternate reality...”
The conman’s brain is in overload, but he can manage one more. “Changed right along with him.”
With a little huff, Murdock consents.
The veterinary assistant pulls out the scanning gun and checks the dog. Face makes a comment about strays, and she shrugs. Murdock asks her if she likes handling his weiner, and she starts giggling. She rubs him down, does a quick x-ray. Billy, the little dachshund, is clean.
Murdock’s smug as they load Billy into a shopping cart and start into the store.
Face manages to keep it to the bare essentials. Food, a couple of dishes, a collar, a leash, a couple of dachshund-sized toys, a small crate and a little ramp that Murdock won’t budge on.
“What’s he need that for?”
“You want him hurting himself jumpin’ on the sofa?”
“He’s never had a problem before.”
“He had his own back there!” Murdock protests.
Face grumbles through check-out, while Murdock has an entire conversation with Billy, the dog up on his back legs again, long body reaching up to Murdock, intent on reaching him, really rather cute, and the lieutenant would almost swear that the dog smiled at him.
They’re all going crazy. It’s the only explanation.
+++++
Face gets a beer out of the fridge in the kitchen - who cares if it’s two in the afternoon - and takes up a position by the counter, just watching the madness. Exhausted already.
Murdock’s almost done assembling the crate on the tile floor of the kitchen as soon as they get back. He’s got the bowls washed and cleaned by now, laid out in a little alcove, a little bit of food out, some water. He’s tossing a ball around absently as he works, the dog chasing after it.
Face is just waiting for the signs. He doesn’t believe for a second that it’s really Billy. Murdock’s Billy, the one that likes morning walks and steals their underwear and more than once started an chain reaction of chaos and mayhem. He’s a little subdued. But he’s still just so comfortable with Murdock. In fact Billy, bouncing around in his new collar, his entire little butt moving as he wags his tail, seems jazzed about the entire thing.
Murdock snaps the last clamp into place and spreads out a soft towel. The dog runs in and sits down, waiting with what could only be described as enthusiasm.
If he was a stray, Face asks himself, would he really be this good at following orders?
“You, er, crate trained him?”
“Course,” Murdock says, looking injured. “I know how to take care of my dog. Training’s an important part of the process.”
And that’s probably true. Murdock’s had Billy for years.
Imaginary Billy. Murdock’s had imaginary Billy for years.
Murdock pats his knee, and Billy comes obediently back out, lays his head down. Murdock scratches an ear absently. Somehow, he manages to look exactly like the dog, same blissful, slightly bewildered expression, looking up at Face.
Damnit, their eyes are even the same color.
“You don’t like him, do ya, faceman?”
A little pang of guilt runs through Face, cold, and he shrugs, not knowing why or what to say.
“I, uh, never, we never had a dog or anything in the orphanage, never had one in a foster home,” the lieutenant says.
The pilot’s mouth falls open. “Never had a pet or nothin’?”
“I got to take care of Mr. Diggles, er, the rabbit from my sixth grade class over the summer that one year,” he admits, thinking back about how much he hated his then-foster family, about the big spotted thing, living in his room, sitting on his bed, the way he’d talk to it, how it always seemed to listen, how he’d gone in the bathroom and cried when he’d had to take him back. He chokes back a completely unrelated sniffle. “That was about it.”
"Mr. Diggles, huh?"
"Man, I did not name him."
"C'm'here."
Murdock pats his knee again, and Face is on the floor next to him before he realizes it’s the exact same gesture he used to get the dog out of the crate. Billy perks his ears up.
The pilot covers Face’s hand in his own, and picks it slowly off the tile, moving it over to the dog’s long back. “Just pet him, nice and slow. You’re gonna like Face here, Billy. He's a friend.”
Okay, the dog definitely responded to that name, Face thinks.
That coat is silky, and Face remembers that he hasn’t actually touched Billy yet. It’s... nice. “I know how to pet stuff, Murdock.”
“Hey, this ain’t your latest conquest! Be nice to my weiner.” Murdock says, holding Face’s hand tight against protest, allowing him only the slightest of pressure as Billy turns around to sniff him. “You gotta be gentle. They ain’t the most friendly of breeds right off, but I think he’s gonna warm up to ya real quick.”
“Breeds are different?”
Murdock stares at him like he’s from a different planet. How the hell was he supposed to know this stuff?
They sit there for long minutes, Face slowly feeling himself relax, Murdock’s hand soft over his own, Billy starting that tail-wagging thing again.
Then the van pulls into the driveway, and off Billy goes, barking at the top of his lungs, Murdock scrambling after him. Face goes back to his beer as he hears the garage door open into the house, something hard hit the floor. Cursing.
Hannibal.
He grins to himself.
This ought to be interesting.
Face takes the beer with him. If he learned anything in the Army, it’s that loud noises usually require inspection.
Hannibal’s laying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling, Billy barking furiously. Murdock’s trying to call Billy off and pick up spilled bags of groceries, voice canting up into the frantic range. And BA’s bent double against the wall, laughing. Face starts chuckling himself.
“Billy not letting you up, boss?”
“Face, you, Murdock, I swear to god...” Hannibal sputters, trying to bat the dog away, which gets him a light little nip on the hand and a growl. “What did you do?”
“Me or Murdock?” Face asks, taking a swig. It’s nice not to be the new one to this situation.
“You, Face!”
The lieutenant moves over, feet right next to Hannibal’s shoulder, looking down at an angle, grinning. He holds out a hand, helping the older man up. “He’s like a ten pound animal, boss. What're you worried about?”
“Not the time, Face,” Hannibal sighs, and looks at both of them, hard, before settling on Face, and the conman throws his hands up.
“Wormholes or some shit like that, right Murdock?”
“Transdimensional matter conveyance, probably initiated and guided by the electronic charge across my front cortex. Tricky area of the brain to control, bossman,” Murdock corrects, still a little hesitant. He tosses a package of American cheese singles back into the bag, Billy coming over to investigate, and brightens. “We doin’ burgers tonight, guys?”
The look on Hannibal’s face is priceless, but his fingers tighten into a fist and there’s some shit coming, he can just tell.
BA’s still laughing, but he’s helping Murdock with the groceries now. “Crazy fool,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. Murdock flashes him a quick smile.
“TV room, Face, right now,” Hannibal says, and there’s no arguing with that.
The conman flops down on the nearest sofa, just waiting for it. Hannibal’s doing that pacing thing, the one that makes him look like he’s on the prowl for an ass-chewing.
“So, dog?” he finally says.
Face doesn’t have any other answer, and not one that makes sense to him, so he just goes for it. “I think he might be right.”
“About what?”
“Billy.”
In the next room over, the slider overlooking the backyard bangs open and shut, and there’s some loud exchange going on about the integrity of hamburger meat that’s been on the floor and weren’t-the-conditions-worse-in-Iraq that’s cut off mid-stream.
Hannibal sighs. “Face, I know things have been tense lately, but you can't fix this for Murdock by throwing him further into some fantasy world by getting him a dog...”
“I got back, the dog was here. I didn't do this! What are we going to do with a dog?”
“Look at them out there,” Hannibal muses. "Murdock looks happy, doesn't he?"
Murdock’s standing on the deck, tossing a ball off into the grass, a yellow blur out of his hand, cheering as the little dog squirts off after it at amazing speeds. BA’s fussing with the grill and trying to hide a smile.
Face knows he’s sprawled out, deliberately casual, painfully blase about this, purposely pushing Hannibal’s buttons, trying to keep the heat off Murdock, and he really expects that this if going to get worse.
But Hannibal’s still watching the little scene out the window, the dog bouncing up around Murdock’s knees, the ball zooming out again, BA going down the stairs, the dog dropping the ball at Murdock’s feet and keeping a little bit of distance, front end down, butt up and moving of its own accord as Murdock tosses the ball back and forth before passing it off to a surprised BA, who launches it high and far down the perfect lawn. The dog leaps up, ears flapping up, and sprints off.
Hannibal looks back at him, that scowl cracks a little. “He’s pretty damn cute, Face.” He pauses, and then shakes his head. “So, you didn't...you don’t believe that’s really Billy, do you? What if it’s...”
“... already checked on that.”
“Anything?”
“Nada."
"Interesting."
+++++
It’s getting dark and Murdock lights the tiki lanterns on the deck before anyone can stop him. He’s got a habit of lighting his sleeve on fire. But the smell from the grill alone is heavenly, buns toasting up next to the burgers , and the pilot’s got a giant bowl of slaw and baked beans with extra bacon besides and BA’s popping open another round of beers and Hannibal’s telling a story about the glory days of the Cold War and Billy’s passed out on his side under the table as Face comes back out of the house. He almost trips on him, hopping over just in time, grinning at Hannibal, who rolls his eyes and goes to talking about the company Christmas party of ‘88, gesturing broadly to illustrate. They’re all laughing.
“... and the commander’s wife has her top off by this point, three sheets to the wind. Before he can get up there and stop her, she’s got the guy next to me by the tie, kissing him full on the lips, and everybody’s fucking cheering as she's going for it...”
Murdock wipes his hands on his apron and takes the paper plates from Face, slapping him on the butt, waving him over to the table. “Don’t step on my weiner, Facey,” he says, but the dog barely looks up. Little guy seems content, Face thinks.
They all do.
“Is this before or after the lieutenant who wasn’t you tried to do the moonwalk up on the DJ’s table?” Face asks, grinning at the old tale. It gets more outrageous every time Hannibal tells it.
BA nods, and hands him a beer. “After, but before the drunken fight out in the alley...”
“Oh, the duel with the sergeant-major and the wrapping paper tubes? Jump ahead to that part, boss,” Murdock says eagerly, picking the buns off the grill and setting them aside. “Who wants cheese?”
All hands go up. Murdock starts peeling singles.
“Wasn’t that because the guy’s wife was a midget or something?” Face asks BA, smirking.
“She was Thai, really short,” BA says.
Face leans over to smile at Hannibal. “How did you ever make it to colonel, boss?”
Hannibal sinks down in his seat a little. “It was a different Army back then, boys,” he says in that expansive voice he uses when he wants them all to shut up. “Murdock, I’m starving here!”
The pilot’s getting the burgers onto the buns, and winks at Hannibal, handing him the first place. But as he reaches for it, Billy’s back up on his haunches, barking, and the startled colonel drops the plate.
He glares at Murdock, who gives Billy a sharp look in turn. “Billy, mind your manners!”
The dog disappears under the table in a little whine, tail between his legs.
“Gosh, boss, I’m sorry...”
Hannibal waves it off. “No problem, captain. Just not used to him yet.”
In short order, they’re all seated, telling more stories they’ve all heard and all love, laughing again, the slight smoke from the torches somehow making the already delicious food taste that much better. Murdock’s really outdone himself on a simple burger burn, and Face suspects he’s trying to make up for the little dachshund somehow. Apologize, maybe. But it doesn’t really seem necessary. Nobody's upset.
Face catches movement, looks down. Billy scurries out from beneath Murdock’s section of bench towards Hannibal’s fallen plate, casting a sly backwards glance at Face, like they’re sharing a secret. Face winks in reply. The little dog retrieves the cheeseburger and tugs it backwards, hidden again.
"Not used to him?" Murdock asks, sudden and breathless, reaching down to pet the dog under his feet.
Hannibal looks at Face, then back to Murdock. "Well, Billy's never been an issue before..."
Face squeezes Murdock’s hand, resting between them on the bench, hoping the pilot catches the subtext. He feels a little shiver of excitement in the other man.
Yeah. It’s a good evening.
After BA and Face clean up the plates and Murdock double-checks the gas and Hannibal lights a stogie and they all have another beer or three and the night wears down, Face declares it to be TV time and piles himself back onto that comfy, comfy sofa.
He freaking loves this house. Things are just so much better when they’re conned, he thinks to himself. Just fantastic, this sofa.
Murdock scoots the ramp up to the edge of it, flopping down next to him and stealing the remote. Cartoons. Murdock’s pressed against his side, warm and settled. Face can live with that.
“Where’s Billy?”
“BA’s playin’ a little more fetch, but I told him not too much. There’re coyotes in the neighborhood,” Murdock says, leaning his head down on Face’s shoulder, and Face automatically puts a protective arm around him.
“We’re not going to let anything happen to Billy, Murdock,” Hannibal says, taking the armchair. “Cartoons?”
“Does that mean, does that mean he gets t’ stay, boss?”
“It’ll be a bit of a logistics challenge,” Hannibal begins, and Face feels Murdock’s good mood start to fall a little, “but I’m sure we can work something out.”
Face gives the pilot another squeeze, and Billy comes barreling into the room, up the ramp and straight down between him and Murdock, legs sticking out over theirs, panting.
Murdock cranes his neck around. BA’s laughing a little, grinning from ear to ear, but sobers up when he see theym looking at him. “I, uh, I got a thing tonight...”
“Be back by zero-one-hundred,” Hannibal smirks.
BA rolls his eyes. “Sure, mom. And Murdock?”
The pilot turns around a little more, his hand resting on Billy’s neck, .
“I don’t believe for a second this is your damn fool imaginary friend. But wherever he from, he okay by me.”
Murdock nods. “Thanks Bosco.” As soon as the garage door closes, he snorts a little. “Not really Billy,” he says. “Can you believe him?”
Face and Hannibal exchange a look. “Obviously, captain. He’ll figure it out,” Hannibal says, and fakes a yawn. “You two boys going to stay up and watch the tube? Good. I’m going to bed.” He comes over, gives Billy another quick pat, and the dog makes a little happy noise. “Congratulations, Murdock.”
Murdock grabs Face’s hand, moves it up next to his on Billy. Face has to admit, sitting here, curled up into each other like always feels good. But this, this warm little body, fast little heart, panting little tongue and bright little eyes, stretched out between him and Murdock, feels even better. Feels normal. Feels true. Feels right.
Just like Billy’s always been there.
“You okay with this, Face?” Murdock asks softly. “I think I can send him back...”
“Hannibal’s okay with it, BA, and...”
Murdock lifts a little, breath hot in the conman’s ear. “Wanna know what you think.”
The way the captain’s holding his shirt, he doesn’t just want Face’s opinion, his approval. He needs it. Face runs his hand over Billy a few more times, the dog pressing his muzzle up into Face’s hand, and isn’t that a quiet little miracle?
“More than...”
“Face,” Murdock asks urgently, cutting him off, sniffing. “Why does Billy smell like cheeseburger?”
“He, uh, he ate that one that hit the deck...”
“And you let him?” Murdock says, pulling back, shock registering on his face. “We can’t let him have table scraps! That’s jus’ common sense.”
“Sorry...”
“We’re gonna have some rules around here,” Murdock mutters, and Face nods.
“You’re the expert on this kind of thing,” Face agrees.
Murdock nods, sighs, and settles in, eyes glued to the TV, body warm against Face’s, hand on his dog.
Like it’s always been this way.
Because, when he really thinks about it, it has.
+++++
Murdock has Face out in the yard, a little square shovel and rake thing in hand.
“You gotta get it all up, Facey!” he yells from the deck. The pilot’s got a huge, sweating glass of lemonade in front of him.
“Why do I have to pick up the dog shit again?” Face yells back.
“Get all of it, or it’s gonna turn the grass yellow!”
“Don’t we have maids for this around here?” the conman asks Billy, who’s following him around with a smugness that clearly, clearly indicates that yeah, this dog knows damn well what he’s got his people trained to do.
+++++
On the job, everything’s find. Great. Dandy. Fucking perfect. The set-up’s all there, the shot clean, the angle easy. Face adjusts his grip on the rifle, gravel biting under his feet. Just a few more seconds, and Hannibal wil be clear...
Behind him, he hears Billy start barking. Oh, shit, not now. Now is not the time for this at all. He looks back, and sees a small brown dachshund sprinting straight towards him, leasing trailing out behind him, Murdock hot in pursuit but no match for that speed. Looks forward, down the alley, and sees the bad guys pulling out their guns.
Double shit.
Hannibal’s body language is changing, getting concerned. The shot’s still there. Should he take it? He could almost take it...
There’s no way he can now.
But he hears a scream, and something metallic hit the ground, and there’s Billy, teeth deep in the fleshy arm of the one guy they were missing from the warehouse. He’s reaching a hand up, trying to pull Billy off, and Face is right there, kicking the gun away, his own to the guy’s temple.
“Hurt him and you’re dead, asshole.”
“Fucking... dog...”
“Ignore him, Billy. Did good.”
+++++
Something’s scratching at the bedroom door which is... oh, crap? Face lets his head fall back into the pillows as Murdock bounds up and there’s the patter of little feet on the ramp, and a heavy, pleased, panting little body crashes next to his.
“Scoot over, Billy,” Murdock says and gets back in bed.
The dog’s between them, tail beating hard and fast on the covers. So much for the evening.
“Oh, don’t get like that, Face,” Murdock says, leaning over to stroke his hair. “I’ll get BA to play with him next time.”
Damn it, don’t they get any privacy anymore?
+++++
“Murdock!” BA hollers, storming into the safe house.
Billy hides behind one of Murdock’s legs, and the pilot gives him a little pat. “What’s up, Bosco?”
“Your friggin’ dog... puked in the van!”
Face freezes, his spoonful of cereal suspended between bowl and mouth, milk dripping off it. This is going to not be good.
Murdock levelly returns the gaze. “That’s what happens when you feed him french fries!”
BA, to Face’s undying surprise, looks sheepish. “He just likes ‘em...”
“I know, Bosco, I know.”
Then the hard exterior covers that soft, chewy center right back up. “But you’re still cleanin’ it up, fool!”
+++++
Christmas. They’re stuck up in Portland, Maine and it’s been snowing outside for three days straight, and Face finally understands all those Stephen King novels. Maine is weird.
Murdock gets Face a box of those local coconut candies, which go a long way to making this all okay.
And, of course, FedEx was still getting through, so Face is able to get Murdock - and Billy’s - gift in in time.
“Oh, Face, it’s perfect!” Murdock practically squeals, the high-pitched enthusiasm causing Hannibal to wince and BA to cover his ears.
The next time they fly, a week later, getting the hell out of this place, Billy’s sitting in the cockpit with Murdock, his new bomber cap, complete with goggles, cocked on his head. And the dog has the good grace actually look proud.
+++++
They all know Hannibal’s a little messed up. Sick. A cold. He won’t admit it, of course, but he’s definitely got a cold. So Face makes him stay in bed while he and Murdock go scam a chopper, while BA goes to find a cutting torch. They get back first, and when they get into the house, and sneak into Hannibal’s room, Murdock wanting to offer soup, Face wanting to crack some jokes, they both just kind of stop and smile.
Billy’s long body’s curled up in the crook of Hannibal’s arm, head resting on his shoulder, Hannibal’s other hand resting on top of them, both of them half asleep, watching Oprah.
+++++
Face comes down to the kitchen one morning, missing the familiar warmth in his bed but hoping for waffles. Murdock’s been on a real waffle kick right now. They’ve been on four continents in the last month, and they’re all wiped.
He’s sitting on the floor, tears in his eyes, Billy perched in his lap, head pressing into the man’s chest. Murdock’s talking in a low voice, and Billy’s whimpering a little, pawing him gently, but in the end, the pilot’s long fingers undo the collar, and Billy hits the bell by the door with his nose, and disappears outside.
“Murdock...” Face begins, but can’t finish the question, because Murdock’s hiding his face in Face’s shoulder.
“You were right, Face,” Murdock says, hands gripping down hard. “He’s got his family back there waitin’ for him, too. Needs to go back for a while. Don’t know when he can...”
Face wants to tell Murdock that he was just kidding about that crap last year, that he can’t just let Billy loose out here, that he’s their dog and they’ve taken care of him and he doesn’t need to go anywhere. But it’s too late. There’s something like headlights passing by the windows, and when Face looks out, there’s nothing there.
+++++
Murdock’s been inconsolable. Billy’s still around, he still takes him for walks, still pets him, but it’s not the same anymore and they all know it. So Face makes some calls and asks around and uncorks one of his bank accounts and gets Hannibal to tell Murdock they’ve got a mission in just the right place, and off they go.
“This don’t look like...” Murdock says, squinting at the address and then up at the house as BA stops the car. They’re out in the country, not quite in the farmland, but near enough. “Where are we?”
“Come on, buddy,” Face says, casting a quick glance at Hannibal, who nods and blinks away a tear.
They go up the long driveway to a small blue house, where a nice woman with messy hair and a tired, sincere smile welcomes them in with coffee and cookies.
“Your friend here told me you recently lost a dog,” she says, sympathetic.
Murdock leans back into Face a little for support. “He can’t figure out how to get back to our...”
“Yes ma’am, that’s right,” Face interrupts, not because he doesn’t believe anymore. He just doesn’t want her accidently hurting Murdock any more than he already is.
She nods, and gets up. “Come on, gentlemen, I’ve got just the thing.”
In the backyard, she’s got big exercise pen set up, six or seven little furry torpedos tearassing around inside. A female dachshund’s cleaning her paw in the corner, watching with a motherly amusement the antics of her puppies. Murdock looks at the pen, then back at Face, and a long, slow smile starts spreading, making Face’s stomach do that little flip-flop thing it does sometimes.
“For me?” he asks.
“Any one you want,” the breeder confirms. “They’re about five weeks old, but your friend here reserved the entire litter. And you’ll get your deposit back, of course...”
Face just waves her off. It’s worth it, to see Murdock happy again.
The pilot is watching the puppies intently, looking for something, something Face can’t figure out until he twists back around. “Can I?” he asks, and the breeder opens a corner for him. He’s mobbed with puppies, licking, biting, rolling. The mother dog steps over all of them, sniffs him, and wags her tail.
The pilot starts picking them up, looking at them closely, letting them play around him until one comes out of the crowd, separating neatly and definitively, resting a paw on his leg.
“What are you going to name him? Another Billy?” Face asks, sitting back on his heels near the wire.
“Naw, Billy’s still around, but I think he’ll enjoy having a little friend,” Murdock says with a nod, and cuddles the puppy, chocolate and cream, to his chest. “And I was thinking about Diggles. What d’ya think? Does it fit?”
Face can’t say anything to that. But there’s no way he’s crying.
Well, maybe just a little.
Rating: g
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
de-anoning for fluff fill. I'm moving this week, and have to leave my dog with my parents. :( She's an 8lb mini dachshund.
So. I think there's already been a dog!fic, but I would love if Murdock found a small, adorable fluffy creature that is of no apparent asset to the team and demands to keep it, and for antics to ensue. I'd love if it too could be a dachshund, but if you're not familiar, another similar dog would suit.
(edited to point out the inherent hilarity of owning a dachshund - "I have to take my weiner for a walk," or, "my weiner can't be alone for more than 2 hours," or "I have to go home and wash my weiner," and etc.)
if you need some inspiration - look here: http://snack-size.livejournal.com/9342.html
And, many delicious baked treats if someone fills this.
I love the stuff Snacks puts out for us all to munch on. Really great. How could I resist?
Murdock finds a dog. The dog seems suspiciously like Billy, and Billy seems suspiciously similar to a dachshund...
Face tosses his hip holster on the foyer table. He’s very pleased with the house he’d gotten them this time. Big, expansive, tasteful, cute housekeeper, international financier owner in the Bahamas for the next three months... nice. There’s a flower arrangement on that table that’s bigger than he is, full of species he can barely pronounce.
Yeah, nice is nice.
Then he hears a crash. Followed by a “Billy! Stop!”
Murdock. He smiles.
Face almost gets lost on his way to the TV den, where he left Murdock and a stack of Disney DVDs a few hours ago while he met with the client. BA and Hannibal are still out picking up supplies. Dropped him off. To deal with Murdock.
“Hey, buddy, what’s Billy up to now?” Face asks, rounding the corner, grinning at the lovely sight of the pilot’s ass, straight up in the air as he inspects the underside of the huge sofa.
“Dove under here after breakin’ that,” Murdock replies, waving his hand in the vague direction of some horrible piece of modern art that had, until moments before, been on a low little ledge.
“Oh, not the Ming,” he says, rolling his eyes. Face didn’t like it anyway. He gets down next to Murdock. “You walked Billy today?”
“Can’t. He’s been all wound up all day.”
“Why can’t you?”
“His leash didn’t come with him... oh, see, there you are, boy,” Murdock says, clapping his hands and tugging something the rest of the way out from under the couch. Face thinks it’s a pretty good mime job, until he takes a second look.
There’s a little chocolate-colored dog in Murdock’s arms. A long-haired, furry, big-eyed, adorable, completely incongruent, little... dachshund. Licking his face. Tail wagging furiously. The animal casts a suspicious glance over at Face, and barks once. “Hush, Billy dog,” Murdock says affectionately, giving him a quick pat.
Face stares. “Uh, Murdock?”
“Yes, Face?”
“As in, the Billy? The one you’ve been telling us about all these years?”
“Course,” Murdock says, and plants a big wet one behind the dog’s ear. Face is never kissing him again. “Don’t you recognize him?”
“Isn’t Billy, uh, er, imaginary?” What the hell was going on here?
“Looks like transubstantiated, don’t it?” Murdock says, beaming, and the dog barks again. “Oh, right there, Billy. We are gonna need to get you a few things.”
“Murdock, I swear to God...”
“Come on, facey. Let’s hit the store. Billy can come with, right?”
He sets the dog down, and Face isn’t quite sure that he’s not hallucinating this until Billy bites him on the ankle.
“Ruff!” the dog declares.
“Oh, don’t worry, Billy,” Murdock tells him. “Face’ll warm up to you.”
Face sits down. Hard.
"Come on, Face. Now is not the time to be lolly-gaggin'," Murdock says, hands on his hips, the dog curling up by his foot. "My weiner needs some attention!"
Billy barks.
Oh, dear Christ.
+++++
This is what they get for leaving Murdock alone, Face thinks with a sigh.
He backs the car out of the garage slowly, eying the dog sitting quietly in Murdock’s lap. They don't have a carrier for him, and Murdock freaked at the admittedly unfunny suggestion. Face would feel bad about it, but Billy’s not real.
He refuses to believe.
The dog’s got his little paws up on the window, and Murdock rolls it down, keeping a firm grip on him as they roll through the SoCal suburb. His ears flap in the breeze, tongue lolling out, practically prancing on his back legs. A couple of little girls on bikes squeal and wave. Murdock waves one of Billy’s paws back at them, and the dog starts barking happily again.
Face refuses to believe that any of this is happening.
They get to the local pet store without incident. Face checked the internet before they left, found one with a vet’s office. “Murdock, we gotta at least check if he’s chipped.”
The dog doesn’t have a collar, no sign of ever having worn one, but his coat’s glossy, his eyes clean and he doesn’t look anything like Face imagines a stray would be.
“You wanna let some stranger look at my weiner?” Murdock gasps, and holds a little tighter onto Billy. The dog. Crap. Now he’s got Face doing it.
“We need to check.”
“You don’t believe me.
Face thinks fast. “Well, you said he transubstantiated. Came from somewhere, right? So maybe there’s a little girl back there who’s missing him, and maybe she put a chip in him, just in case something like this happened.”
Murdock thinks about this for a minute, and then nods in that way that usually means he's getting ready to say something really geeky. “Does the electromagnetic spectrum operate the same there? Cause an RFID in an alternate reality...”
The conman’s brain is in overload, but he can manage one more. “Changed right along with him.”
With a little huff, Murdock consents.
The veterinary assistant pulls out the scanning gun and checks the dog. Face makes a comment about strays, and she shrugs. Murdock asks her if she likes handling his weiner, and she starts giggling. She rubs him down, does a quick x-ray. Billy, the little dachshund, is clean.
Murdock’s smug as they load Billy into a shopping cart and start into the store.
Face manages to keep it to the bare essentials. Food, a couple of dishes, a collar, a leash, a couple of dachshund-sized toys, a small crate and a little ramp that Murdock won’t budge on.
“What’s he need that for?”
“You want him hurting himself jumpin’ on the sofa?”
“He’s never had a problem before.”
“He had his own back there!” Murdock protests.
Face grumbles through check-out, while Murdock has an entire conversation with Billy, the dog up on his back legs again, long body reaching up to Murdock, intent on reaching him, really rather cute, and the lieutenant would almost swear that the dog smiled at him.
They’re all going crazy. It’s the only explanation.
+++++
Face gets a beer out of the fridge in the kitchen - who cares if it’s two in the afternoon - and takes up a position by the counter, just watching the madness. Exhausted already.
Murdock’s almost done assembling the crate on the tile floor of the kitchen as soon as they get back. He’s got the bowls washed and cleaned by now, laid out in a little alcove, a little bit of food out, some water. He’s tossing a ball around absently as he works, the dog chasing after it.
Face is just waiting for the signs. He doesn’t believe for a second that it’s really Billy. Murdock’s Billy, the one that likes morning walks and steals their underwear and more than once started an chain reaction of chaos and mayhem. He’s a little subdued. But he’s still just so comfortable with Murdock. In fact Billy, bouncing around in his new collar, his entire little butt moving as he wags his tail, seems jazzed about the entire thing.
Murdock snaps the last clamp into place and spreads out a soft towel. The dog runs in and sits down, waiting with what could only be described as enthusiasm.
If he was a stray, Face asks himself, would he really be this good at following orders?
“You, er, crate trained him?”
“Course,” Murdock says, looking injured. “I know how to take care of my dog. Training’s an important part of the process.”
And that’s probably true. Murdock’s had Billy for years.
Imaginary Billy. Murdock’s had imaginary Billy for years.
Murdock pats his knee, and Billy comes obediently back out, lays his head down. Murdock scratches an ear absently. Somehow, he manages to look exactly like the dog, same blissful, slightly bewildered expression, looking up at Face.
Damnit, their eyes are even the same color.
“You don’t like him, do ya, faceman?”
A little pang of guilt runs through Face, cold, and he shrugs, not knowing why or what to say.
“I, uh, never, we never had a dog or anything in the orphanage, never had one in a foster home,” the lieutenant says.
The pilot’s mouth falls open. “Never had a pet or nothin’?”
“I got to take care of Mr. Diggles, er, the rabbit from my sixth grade class over the summer that one year,” he admits, thinking back about how much he hated his then-foster family, about the big spotted thing, living in his room, sitting on his bed, the way he’d talk to it, how it always seemed to listen, how he’d gone in the bathroom and cried when he’d had to take him back. He chokes back a completely unrelated sniffle. “That was about it.”
"Mr. Diggles, huh?"
"Man, I did not name him."
"C'm'here."
Murdock pats his knee again, and Face is on the floor next to him before he realizes it’s the exact same gesture he used to get the dog out of the crate. Billy perks his ears up.
The pilot covers Face’s hand in his own, and picks it slowly off the tile, moving it over to the dog’s long back. “Just pet him, nice and slow. You’re gonna like Face here, Billy. He's a friend.”
Okay, the dog definitely responded to that name, Face thinks.
That coat is silky, and Face remembers that he hasn’t actually touched Billy yet. It’s... nice. “I know how to pet stuff, Murdock.”
“Hey, this ain’t your latest conquest! Be nice to my weiner.” Murdock says, holding Face’s hand tight against protest, allowing him only the slightest of pressure as Billy turns around to sniff him. “You gotta be gentle. They ain’t the most friendly of breeds right off, but I think he’s gonna warm up to ya real quick.”
“Breeds are different?”
Murdock stares at him like he’s from a different planet. How the hell was he supposed to know this stuff?
They sit there for long minutes, Face slowly feeling himself relax, Murdock’s hand soft over his own, Billy starting that tail-wagging thing again.
Then the van pulls into the driveway, and off Billy goes, barking at the top of his lungs, Murdock scrambling after him. Face goes back to his beer as he hears the garage door open into the house, something hard hit the floor. Cursing.
Hannibal.
He grins to himself.
This ought to be interesting.
Face takes the beer with him. If he learned anything in the Army, it’s that loud noises usually require inspection.
Hannibal’s laying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling, Billy barking furiously. Murdock’s trying to call Billy off and pick up spilled bags of groceries, voice canting up into the frantic range. And BA’s bent double against the wall, laughing. Face starts chuckling himself.
“Billy not letting you up, boss?”
“Face, you, Murdock, I swear to god...” Hannibal sputters, trying to bat the dog away, which gets him a light little nip on the hand and a growl. “What did you do?”
“Me or Murdock?” Face asks, taking a swig. It’s nice not to be the new one to this situation.
“You, Face!”
The lieutenant moves over, feet right next to Hannibal’s shoulder, looking down at an angle, grinning. He holds out a hand, helping the older man up. “He’s like a ten pound animal, boss. What're you worried about?”
“Not the time, Face,” Hannibal sighs, and looks at both of them, hard, before settling on Face, and the conman throws his hands up.
“Wormholes or some shit like that, right Murdock?”
“Transdimensional matter conveyance, probably initiated and guided by the electronic charge across my front cortex. Tricky area of the brain to control, bossman,” Murdock corrects, still a little hesitant. He tosses a package of American cheese singles back into the bag, Billy coming over to investigate, and brightens. “We doin’ burgers tonight, guys?”
The look on Hannibal’s face is priceless, but his fingers tighten into a fist and there’s some shit coming, he can just tell.
BA’s still laughing, but he’s helping Murdock with the groceries now. “Crazy fool,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. Murdock flashes him a quick smile.
“TV room, Face, right now,” Hannibal says, and there’s no arguing with that.
The conman flops down on the nearest sofa, just waiting for it. Hannibal’s doing that pacing thing, the one that makes him look like he’s on the prowl for an ass-chewing.
“So, dog?” he finally says.
Face doesn’t have any other answer, and not one that makes sense to him, so he just goes for it. “I think he might be right.”
“About what?”
“Billy.”
In the next room over, the slider overlooking the backyard bangs open and shut, and there’s some loud exchange going on about the integrity of hamburger meat that’s been on the floor and weren’t-the-conditions-worse-in-Iraq that’s cut off mid-stream.
Hannibal sighs. “Face, I know things have been tense lately, but you can't fix this for Murdock by throwing him further into some fantasy world by getting him a dog...”
“I got back, the dog was here. I didn't do this! What are we going to do with a dog?”
“Look at them out there,” Hannibal muses. "Murdock looks happy, doesn't he?"
Murdock’s standing on the deck, tossing a ball off into the grass, a yellow blur out of his hand, cheering as the little dog squirts off after it at amazing speeds. BA’s fussing with the grill and trying to hide a smile.
Face knows he’s sprawled out, deliberately casual, painfully blase about this, purposely pushing Hannibal’s buttons, trying to keep the heat off Murdock, and he really expects that this if going to get worse.
But Hannibal’s still watching the little scene out the window, the dog bouncing up around Murdock’s knees, the ball zooming out again, BA going down the stairs, the dog dropping the ball at Murdock’s feet and keeping a little bit of distance, front end down, butt up and moving of its own accord as Murdock tosses the ball back and forth before passing it off to a surprised BA, who launches it high and far down the perfect lawn. The dog leaps up, ears flapping up, and sprints off.
Hannibal looks back at him, that scowl cracks a little. “He’s pretty damn cute, Face.” He pauses, and then shakes his head. “So, you didn't...you don’t believe that’s really Billy, do you? What if it’s...”
“... already checked on that.”
“Anything?”
“Nada."
"Interesting."
+++++
It’s getting dark and Murdock lights the tiki lanterns on the deck before anyone can stop him. He’s got a habit of lighting his sleeve on fire. But the smell from the grill alone is heavenly, buns toasting up next to the burgers , and the pilot’s got a giant bowl of slaw and baked beans with extra bacon besides and BA’s popping open another round of beers and Hannibal’s telling a story about the glory days of the Cold War and Billy’s passed out on his side under the table as Face comes back out of the house. He almost trips on him, hopping over just in time, grinning at Hannibal, who rolls his eyes and goes to talking about the company Christmas party of ‘88, gesturing broadly to illustrate. They’re all laughing.
“... and the commander’s wife has her top off by this point, three sheets to the wind. Before he can get up there and stop her, she’s got the guy next to me by the tie, kissing him full on the lips, and everybody’s fucking cheering as she's going for it...”
Murdock wipes his hands on his apron and takes the paper plates from Face, slapping him on the butt, waving him over to the table. “Don’t step on my weiner, Facey,” he says, but the dog barely looks up. Little guy seems content, Face thinks.
They all do.
“Is this before or after the lieutenant who wasn’t you tried to do the moonwalk up on the DJ’s table?” Face asks, grinning at the old tale. It gets more outrageous every time Hannibal tells it.
BA nods, and hands him a beer. “After, but before the drunken fight out in the alley...”
“Oh, the duel with the sergeant-major and the wrapping paper tubes? Jump ahead to that part, boss,” Murdock says eagerly, picking the buns off the grill and setting them aside. “Who wants cheese?”
All hands go up. Murdock starts peeling singles.
“Wasn’t that because the guy’s wife was a midget or something?” Face asks BA, smirking.
“She was Thai, really short,” BA says.
Face leans over to smile at Hannibal. “How did you ever make it to colonel, boss?”
Hannibal sinks down in his seat a little. “It was a different Army back then, boys,” he says in that expansive voice he uses when he wants them all to shut up. “Murdock, I’m starving here!”
The pilot’s getting the burgers onto the buns, and winks at Hannibal, handing him the first place. But as he reaches for it, Billy’s back up on his haunches, barking, and the startled colonel drops the plate.
He glares at Murdock, who gives Billy a sharp look in turn. “Billy, mind your manners!”
The dog disappears under the table in a little whine, tail between his legs.
“Gosh, boss, I’m sorry...”
Hannibal waves it off. “No problem, captain. Just not used to him yet.”
In short order, they’re all seated, telling more stories they’ve all heard and all love, laughing again, the slight smoke from the torches somehow making the already delicious food taste that much better. Murdock’s really outdone himself on a simple burger burn, and Face suspects he’s trying to make up for the little dachshund somehow. Apologize, maybe. But it doesn’t really seem necessary. Nobody's upset.
Face catches movement, looks down. Billy scurries out from beneath Murdock’s section of bench towards Hannibal’s fallen plate, casting a sly backwards glance at Face, like they’re sharing a secret. Face winks in reply. The little dog retrieves the cheeseburger and tugs it backwards, hidden again.
"Not used to him?" Murdock asks, sudden and breathless, reaching down to pet the dog under his feet.
Hannibal looks at Face, then back to Murdock. "Well, Billy's never been an issue before..."
Face squeezes Murdock’s hand, resting between them on the bench, hoping the pilot catches the subtext. He feels a little shiver of excitement in the other man.
Yeah. It’s a good evening.
After BA and Face clean up the plates and Murdock double-checks the gas and Hannibal lights a stogie and they all have another beer or three and the night wears down, Face declares it to be TV time and piles himself back onto that comfy, comfy sofa.
He freaking loves this house. Things are just so much better when they’re conned, he thinks to himself. Just fantastic, this sofa.
Murdock scoots the ramp up to the edge of it, flopping down next to him and stealing the remote. Cartoons. Murdock’s pressed against his side, warm and settled. Face can live with that.
“Where’s Billy?”
“BA’s playin’ a little more fetch, but I told him not too much. There’re coyotes in the neighborhood,” Murdock says, leaning his head down on Face’s shoulder, and Face automatically puts a protective arm around him.
“We’re not going to let anything happen to Billy, Murdock,” Hannibal says, taking the armchair. “Cartoons?”
“Does that mean, does that mean he gets t’ stay, boss?”
“It’ll be a bit of a logistics challenge,” Hannibal begins, and Face feels Murdock’s good mood start to fall a little, “but I’m sure we can work something out.”
Face gives the pilot another squeeze, and Billy comes barreling into the room, up the ramp and straight down between him and Murdock, legs sticking out over theirs, panting.
Murdock cranes his neck around. BA’s laughing a little, grinning from ear to ear, but sobers up when he see theym looking at him. “I, uh, I got a thing tonight...”
“Be back by zero-one-hundred,” Hannibal smirks.
BA rolls his eyes. “Sure, mom. And Murdock?”
The pilot turns around a little more, his hand resting on Billy’s neck, .
“I don’t believe for a second this is your damn fool imaginary friend. But wherever he from, he okay by me.”
Murdock nods. “Thanks Bosco.” As soon as the garage door closes, he snorts a little. “Not really Billy,” he says. “Can you believe him?”
Face and Hannibal exchange a look. “Obviously, captain. He’ll figure it out,” Hannibal says, and fakes a yawn. “You two boys going to stay up and watch the tube? Good. I’m going to bed.” He comes over, gives Billy another quick pat, and the dog makes a little happy noise. “Congratulations, Murdock.”
Murdock grabs Face’s hand, moves it up next to his on Billy. Face has to admit, sitting here, curled up into each other like always feels good. But this, this warm little body, fast little heart, panting little tongue and bright little eyes, stretched out between him and Murdock, feels even better. Feels normal. Feels true. Feels right.
Just like Billy’s always been there.
“You okay with this, Face?” Murdock asks softly. “I think I can send him back...”
“Hannibal’s okay with it, BA, and...”
Murdock lifts a little, breath hot in the conman’s ear. “Wanna know what you think.”
The way the captain’s holding his shirt, he doesn’t just want Face’s opinion, his approval. He needs it. Face runs his hand over Billy a few more times, the dog pressing his muzzle up into Face’s hand, and isn’t that a quiet little miracle?
“More than...”
“Face,” Murdock asks urgently, cutting him off, sniffing. “Why does Billy smell like cheeseburger?”
“He, uh, he ate that one that hit the deck...”
“And you let him?” Murdock says, pulling back, shock registering on his face. “We can’t let him have table scraps! That’s jus’ common sense.”
“Sorry...”
“We’re gonna have some rules around here,” Murdock mutters, and Face nods.
“You’re the expert on this kind of thing,” Face agrees.
Murdock nods, sighs, and settles in, eyes glued to the TV, body warm against Face’s, hand on his dog.
Like it’s always been this way.
Because, when he really thinks about it, it has.
+++++
Murdock has Face out in the yard, a little square shovel and rake thing in hand.
“You gotta get it all up, Facey!” he yells from the deck. The pilot’s got a huge, sweating glass of lemonade in front of him.
“Why do I have to pick up the dog shit again?” Face yells back.
“Get all of it, or it’s gonna turn the grass yellow!”
“Don’t we have maids for this around here?” the conman asks Billy, who’s following him around with a smugness that clearly, clearly indicates that yeah, this dog knows damn well what he’s got his people trained to do.
+++++
On the job, everything’s find. Great. Dandy. Fucking perfect. The set-up’s all there, the shot clean, the angle easy. Face adjusts his grip on the rifle, gravel biting under his feet. Just a few more seconds, and Hannibal wil be clear...
Behind him, he hears Billy start barking. Oh, shit, not now. Now is not the time for this at all. He looks back, and sees a small brown dachshund sprinting straight towards him, leasing trailing out behind him, Murdock hot in pursuit but no match for that speed. Looks forward, down the alley, and sees the bad guys pulling out their guns.
Double shit.
Hannibal’s body language is changing, getting concerned. The shot’s still there. Should he take it? He could almost take it...
There’s no way he can now.
But he hears a scream, and something metallic hit the ground, and there’s Billy, teeth deep in the fleshy arm of the one guy they were missing from the warehouse. He’s reaching a hand up, trying to pull Billy off, and Face is right there, kicking the gun away, his own to the guy’s temple.
“Hurt him and you’re dead, asshole.”
“Fucking... dog...”
“Ignore him, Billy. Did good.”
+++++
Something’s scratching at the bedroom door which is... oh, crap? Face lets his head fall back into the pillows as Murdock bounds up and there’s the patter of little feet on the ramp, and a heavy, pleased, panting little body crashes next to his.
“Scoot over, Billy,” Murdock says and gets back in bed.
The dog’s between them, tail beating hard and fast on the covers. So much for the evening.
“Oh, don’t get like that, Face,” Murdock says, leaning over to stroke his hair. “I’ll get BA to play with him next time.”
Damn it, don’t they get any privacy anymore?
+++++
“Murdock!” BA hollers, storming into the safe house.
Billy hides behind one of Murdock’s legs, and the pilot gives him a little pat. “What’s up, Bosco?”
“Your friggin’ dog... puked in the van!”
Face freezes, his spoonful of cereal suspended between bowl and mouth, milk dripping off it. This is going to not be good.
Murdock levelly returns the gaze. “That’s what happens when you feed him french fries!”
BA, to Face’s undying surprise, looks sheepish. “He just likes ‘em...”
“I know, Bosco, I know.”
Then the hard exterior covers that soft, chewy center right back up. “But you’re still cleanin’ it up, fool!”
+++++
Christmas. They’re stuck up in Portland, Maine and it’s been snowing outside for three days straight, and Face finally understands all those Stephen King novels. Maine is weird.
Murdock gets Face a box of those local coconut candies, which go a long way to making this all okay.
And, of course, FedEx was still getting through, so Face is able to get Murdock - and Billy’s - gift in in time.
“Oh, Face, it’s perfect!” Murdock practically squeals, the high-pitched enthusiasm causing Hannibal to wince and BA to cover his ears.
The next time they fly, a week later, getting the hell out of this place, Billy’s sitting in the cockpit with Murdock, his new bomber cap, complete with goggles, cocked on his head. And the dog has the good grace actually look proud.
+++++
They all know Hannibal’s a little messed up. Sick. A cold. He won’t admit it, of course, but he’s definitely got a cold. So Face makes him stay in bed while he and Murdock go scam a chopper, while BA goes to find a cutting torch. They get back first, and when they get into the house, and sneak into Hannibal’s room, Murdock wanting to offer soup, Face wanting to crack some jokes, they both just kind of stop and smile.
Billy’s long body’s curled up in the crook of Hannibal’s arm, head resting on his shoulder, Hannibal’s other hand resting on top of them, both of them half asleep, watching Oprah.
+++++
Face comes down to the kitchen one morning, missing the familiar warmth in his bed but hoping for waffles. Murdock’s been on a real waffle kick right now. They’ve been on four continents in the last month, and they’re all wiped.
He’s sitting on the floor, tears in his eyes, Billy perched in his lap, head pressing into the man’s chest. Murdock’s talking in a low voice, and Billy’s whimpering a little, pawing him gently, but in the end, the pilot’s long fingers undo the collar, and Billy hits the bell by the door with his nose, and disappears outside.
“Murdock...” Face begins, but can’t finish the question, because Murdock’s hiding his face in Face’s shoulder.
“You were right, Face,” Murdock says, hands gripping down hard. “He’s got his family back there waitin’ for him, too. Needs to go back for a while. Don’t know when he can...”
Face wants to tell Murdock that he was just kidding about that crap last year, that he can’t just let Billy loose out here, that he’s their dog and they’ve taken care of him and he doesn’t need to go anywhere. But it’s too late. There’s something like headlights passing by the windows, and when Face looks out, there’s nothing there.
+++++
Murdock’s been inconsolable. Billy’s still around, he still takes him for walks, still pets him, but it’s not the same anymore and they all know it. So Face makes some calls and asks around and uncorks one of his bank accounts and gets Hannibal to tell Murdock they’ve got a mission in just the right place, and off they go.
“This don’t look like...” Murdock says, squinting at the address and then up at the house as BA stops the car. They’re out in the country, not quite in the farmland, but near enough. “Where are we?”
“Come on, buddy,” Face says, casting a quick glance at Hannibal, who nods and blinks away a tear.
They go up the long driveway to a small blue house, where a nice woman with messy hair and a tired, sincere smile welcomes them in with coffee and cookies.
“Your friend here told me you recently lost a dog,” she says, sympathetic.
Murdock leans back into Face a little for support. “He can’t figure out how to get back to our...”
“Yes ma’am, that’s right,” Face interrupts, not because he doesn’t believe anymore. He just doesn’t want her accidently hurting Murdock any more than he already is.
She nods, and gets up. “Come on, gentlemen, I’ve got just the thing.”
In the backyard, she’s got big exercise pen set up, six or seven little furry torpedos tearassing around inside. A female dachshund’s cleaning her paw in the corner, watching with a motherly amusement the antics of her puppies. Murdock looks at the pen, then back at Face, and a long, slow smile starts spreading, making Face’s stomach do that little flip-flop thing it does sometimes.
“For me?” he asks.
“Any one you want,” the breeder confirms. “They’re about five weeks old, but your friend here reserved the entire litter. And you’ll get your deposit back, of course...”
Face just waves her off. It’s worth it, to see Murdock happy again.
The pilot is watching the puppies intently, looking for something, something Face can’t figure out until he twists back around. “Can I?” he asks, and the breeder opens a corner for him. He’s mobbed with puppies, licking, biting, rolling. The mother dog steps over all of them, sniffs him, and wags her tail.
The pilot starts picking them up, looking at them closely, letting them play around him until one comes out of the crowd, separating neatly and definitively, resting a paw on his leg.
“What are you going to name him? Another Billy?” Face asks, sitting back on his heels near the wire.
“Naw, Billy’s still around, but I think he’ll enjoy having a little friend,” Murdock says with a nod, and cuddles the puppy, chocolate and cream, to his chest. “And I was thinking about Diggles. What d’ya think? Does it fit?”
Face can’t say anything to that. But there’s no way he’s crying.
Well, maybe just a little.
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 12:59 pm (UTC)When aren't dogs awesome?