Written for the A-Team Prompts December Advent Calendar prompt: fishing trip. And because I absolutely could not resist.


Fishin(g) with the B'ys

"Whattaya at, Skipper?"

Face jolted awake at the kitchen table, knees knocking at the underside as Murdock walked in the room, belting out a mess of syllables that sounded like some kind of greeting.

Seated across from Face, Hannibal looked up from the newspaper clippings he was studying and noted the shocked, sleepy look of his lieutenant. "Run that by me again, Captain?" he asked, as Murdock breezed by the table and hopped up to sit on the counter.

"How're yeh b'ys gettin' on?"

Hannibal glanced at Face again, only to find him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. No help there. "Slow it down a little, Murdock," Hannibal suggested.

Murdock's mind was clearly moving a mile a minute, and his heels were kicking the cupboard doors almost as fast, swinging in turn to produce loud and constant judders and thuds. "How do you guys feel about Canada?"

Hannibal leaned away from the newspaper clippings and took a sip of coffee. It was getting late, Face was falling asleep, and their research was going nowhere for the night – might as well take a break and see how the conversation would play out.

"Canada?" Face croaked, and then cleared his throat. "Sure, yeah, Canada's great, they've got –"

"Can we go, Boss?"

Hannibal stood up a little so that he could turn his chair to face Murdock better, and settled in. "Well, it's a big place Murdock. Where do you want to go?"

In his glee, Murdock almost fell when he jumped off the counter. "Well Bossman, funny you should ask! Y'see, I just ran into Barry again –"

"Wait, Barry's from Canada?" Face interrupted. Barry was a guy they'd met at the airport when they'd flown into New York – he'd been lost and confused, staring hopelessly at a wall map ('You are here' never really seemed to help much), and since Murdock had been through there a couple of times and had an innate sense of direction, he'd stopped to help out. Barry spoke three miles a minute and to be quite honest Hannibal had only understood about a quarter of what he'd said. "I thought he was Irish?" Face asked.

"Nah b'y." And of course, if Murdock had spent any amount of time talking to Barry that explained the latest accent he seemed to have adopted. Murdock banged open a couple of cupboard doors, hunting for food the only way he could in the apartment Face had scammed them. He found a bag of chips and tore it open as he spoke. "Barry's from out 'n Newf'nland."

Face blinked a beat too long, so Hannibal figured it'd be best if he took the reigns of the conversation. "Where, sorry?" he asked.

"Newf'nland. New-found-land. The Rock. Where they keeps da b'ys dat builds da boats."

Face lay his head down on the table, and Hannibal nodded. "Right, right." He'd met a few people from Newfoundland before, but he hadn't been able to place the accent since he was busy trying to understand it.

"Barry's been teachin' me to talk like a Newfoundlander," Murdock explained. "He says that if we can get out that way, he'll take us out troutin'," Murdock continued. "So can we go?"

Hannibal took another sip of coffee.

Well, he did enjoy fishing.

End.


Sometimes I have trouble deciding whether I'm thinking of movie-verse or TV-verse as I'm writing. I've decided very firmly that this one is movie-verse (probably out of a not-so-subtle desire to have Movie!Face and Movie!Murdock come visit me), so please forgive the strangeness of Hannibal and Face doing mission research using newspaper clippings.