DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Belongs to 2 TV gods by name of Frank Lupo and Stephen J. Cannell and is now a movie directed by Joe Carnahan. Will put the toys back when I'm done.DISCLAIMER TO SAVE MY SOUL FROM GOING TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET: Bring more popcorn - Murdock's spiked the last batch with Gawd only knows what spices...
WARNING: This story is part of a fan fiction series with slash elements. As in, two men being sweet on each other. So if this is not your cuppa tea, time to clicky-click on the back button and run for it.
Shadow is burnt yellow dance and we turn
My lashes are dry purple teardrops I cry
It don't have a price loving you is cherry pie
Cause you know that baby I
I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me
Baby there's no other superstar you know that I'll be
Your papa paparazzi
Your beloved Colonel Smith.
Charissa Sosa flings the words at Templeton Peck like a slap in the face.
Dead on. Bull's eye. She gets the satisfaction of seeing him flinch but it's only apparent to someone who knows the one they call "Faceman" very well. Face dons masks like most people would put on clothes and one will never know who the real man is. And now, he infuriates her with the smiling and the jokes and the inane chatter about a lousy CD. That was Face for you – all flash and glitter and smooth talk and charming smiles.
Charissa really needs to keep thinking of him that way. It would make the hurting less. It would make the pain stop.
Your beloved Colonel Smith.
She's hurled it at him before, when she finally made that decision to walk out of his life and leave him behind. Face could think all he wanted that she had simply moved on to put her career first, to scale ambition's ladder with swift sure steps – still no mean feat for any woman in the military. But she'd meant those words, even if she had not truly appreciated all the implications at the time.
You freaked. I got serious and you freaked and you walked away.
It is his turn to fling the accusations at her, much much later, in the instant ID photo booth. She stills as it went home, stills even as desire flares in the pit of her belly, the old proverbial flame rekindling with just his touch and the proximity of his body next to hers. She bats it down with the strict discipline that has ruled all her life and thank God, she succeeds.
She didn't know what she would do if she gave in to it.
She didn't think she could take that.
This time, this is all Face, just plain Templeton Peck, being perfectly serious. She doesn't doubt his feelings for her – far from it. She knows he wanted that commitment three years ago. She knows that things could have been different between them, had she chose.
But she also knows there was always that something else
standing between them. And she knew Face could never give that up, never let that go, because that bond was and always would be far stronger than any the two of them could forge together.
And that hurt most of all, didn't it? A competition where there shouldn't be a competition, the knowledge That would always come first, even if Face tells her that she would be first in his life.
God love him, he might even mean it at the time.
With all due respect, sir, this is chickenshit!
This time, she directs her venom at her boss, Director McCready. It wasn't right, it wasn't fucking fair. She might not like John "Hannibal" Smith and maybe this was for Face's sake but she had given her word.
Hannibal had brought the plates back and he and his team had shone the light on the real puppet master pulling the strings. Wasn't all the damage and the heartache and the months in prison worth letting it go, giving them what they had so rightfully earned?
Things like duty and honor weren't obsolete – she'd be damnned before she would let that happen.
But this cold, logical part of her mind could understand why. Russell Morrison, a decorated general supposedly buried at Arlington as a "hero" revealed as nothing more than a greedy, backstabbing thief? The whole-scale property damage spanning two continents?
She'd seen natural disasters that cost less. No wonder they were so eager to sweep Face and the others under the carpet. Less messy that way.
So Charissa sees Face and the others resisting, Hannibal the voice of reason, unsurprised at the treatment that they were suddenly getting at the hands of the MP's. Pity Hannibal didn't use that foresight to realize that he and his team were being used six months back.
She hopes the knowledge of that hurts him and haunts him through many sleepless nights and it probably does. Although it makes her ashamed of herself for even thinking it, she can't help that. She's only human after all. She could put herself in his shoes, in that situation, at that time and she knows she could follow that path he took easily. So it was hypocritical of her to even criticize but his wasn't the only life ruined, was it?
They had options – of course. They could go and go quietly and wait in jail for their retrials, wait for the system to catch up to them. Hannibal would more than likely take the fall for his team in the end – he was that kind of leader, God damn him, the kind any man would sell his soul to follow.
The same kind of leader who would damn the rest of them to Hell and take his team out of the line of fire, even if it cost him his own life.
Honor. Duty. They weren't just words to John "Hannibal" Smith either.
(And Face had sold his soul long ago, hadn't he?)
So Charissa makes the only decision she could make and calls out to Face. She gives in to that desire, that passion, because that was real, even if it couldn't really last, couldn't really work out between them. His mouth is hot and as sweet as she remembers it, even as her tongue cleverly slips him the handcuff key.
Let the other men watching laugh and snicker quietly to themselves at the Ice Bitch melting at the notorious Faceman's touch. She didn't give a damn.
And then, she lets him go, wanting him to stay, knowing that he couldn't, wouldn't even if things were different.
Templeton Peck would follow John Smith to the ends of the earth and Charissa hates it that the man would never even have to ask.
Your beloved Colonel Smith.
She had only been speaking the truth after all.
- end -
I know, I'm evil that way.
(Why yes, the Bunnehs are still gnawing at my head.)
This grew out of several IMs between PrettyArbitrary and I. She innocently claims that she has nothing to do with the Plot Bunnehs spawning even more stuff for my poor brain to chew on. Personally, I doubt that. :P