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“Just because I take it up the ass on a regular basis from three former Army rangers doesn't mean I want to wear a dress!”
“Look, Face, we've gotta get one of us backstage at the drag club, and the only way they let anybody back there is if they're a performer! There's no way that BA's going to fit into any sort of women's clothing, and-”
“Why don't you do it then?”
“Because I'm the leader, and that means I get special privileges. Besides, I'm not nearly as pretty as you are.”
“I'll show you pretty-”
“I'll do it.”
Face, Hannibal, and BA looked up at Murdock. Hannibal was the first to speak.
“Um. What?”
Murdock shrugged. “I don't mind. I've done it before.” While the rest of his teammates were staring at him, trying to figure things out, he grabbed a piece of paper from Hannibal's planning notebook and scribbled some things down. “Here. Go and get everything on this list.”
Hannibal scanned it while Face and BA leaned over his shoulder curiously.
“Eyeliner...wig...glitter...”
“Murdock, what the hell does a chicken quesadilla have do with you in a dress?”
“I'm hungry,” the pilot informed them.
“Hannibal, you better take me shopping with you,” Face informed their leader, resting his head comfortably on Hannibal's shoulder. “Judging from your expression, you can't tell a stick of eyeliner from a stick of dynamite.”
“I know what dynamite looks like,” Hannibal grumbled. “All right, fine. Let's go. When we get back, we'll go over the plan for tonight.”
“Have you got a plan, boss?” BA asked with a hint of a grin. “I mean, besides putting Murdock in a dress?”
“Oh, I have a plan,” Hannibal grinned back, rolling around the cigar that he kept perpetually clenched between his teeth. “And it's a good plan, too.”
“Okay, time to go.” Face flung an overly friendly arm over Hannibal's shoulder and led him out the door.
BA and Murdock looked at each other.
“I call first shower,” Murdock said -- rather unnecessarily, as there were two bathrooms in the house, and two of them.
“Uh...sure, man.”
BA made himself a sandwich with extra roast beef while listening to the radio, with the shower running in the background. After a few minutes, the shower shut off, and BA could hear an off-tune rendition of Lady Gaga's latest hit coming from upstairs, but Murdock didn't emerge.
Several minutes passed.
Still no Murdock.
Finally, muttering to himself, BA headed upstairs, knocking on the bathroom door. “Murdock? You drown or something?”
“Nope! Just had to finish shaving!”
“Shaving? You shaved this morn-” BA opened the door, and stopped dead. Murdock was perched on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel with another one wound like a turban around his head. He was rubbing lotion into his legs, which looked significantly smoother than they had the night before.
“Well, I can't wear a dress looking like a llama,” Murdock said absentmindedly, not looking up from his task. “Not that there's anything wrong with llamas. Llamas are really cute. Do you think Hannibal would let us have one as a pet?”
“You crazy fool,” BA breathed.
“We could name it George and -- BA? What are you doing? What- oh boy!”
When Face and Hannibal arrived back home not long after, laden with loot, they stopped almost as soon as the door was shut behind them. They could hear a loud thumping coming from upstairs, followed by a crash. Face winced, recognizing the sound of his lavishly expensive salon-brand shampoo hitting the bathroom floor.
“Honestly, you can't leave those two alone anywhere,” he muttered, slightly flushed. “One day, we're going to come home and find a smoking hole in the ground, and in the middle of it, those two will still be-”
“Murdock! BA! Get down here!”
“-do they even have a clue how expensive that shampoo is-”
“We have to put the plan together!”
Some muffled words came floating down. Face was relatively certain that “five more minutes” was among them.
“Now, gentlemen!”
In the bathroom, Murdock sighed.
“You're going to have to put me down.”
BA growled, a deep and rumbling sound. “Really, Murdock? Really?”
Murdock shrugged as best he could with his shoulders pinned effectively to the wall. “I gotta get dressed.”
BA didn't look convinced.
“I'll be wearing heels...”
The former ranger's expression didn't change.
“I'll wear heels while cooking you curry tapenade after all this is over...”
BA thought about that for a long moment. “With toast?”
“Of course with toast.”
The larger man sighed, and a few moments later, Hannibal was handing a bag of assorted things -- including a chicken quesadilla, no peppers, just the way Murdock liked it -- to their pilot, who grinned, stuffed the food in his mouth, and scampered off.
“You look grumpy, big guy,” Face grinned, with a zany edge.
“I will kill you,” BA informed him.
“Now, now,” Hannibal said. “There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing later. We've got to go over the plan.”
“You and your plans...”
**********************************************************************************
“Face! You're zoning out again.”
Face shook his head, clearing the vision that insistently danced through. “Sorry. Murdock in those heels...”
“I know, but we have to focus. The owners of this club hired us to get rid of the drug dealers using their establishment, and by god, we're going to get rid of them. And stop drinking, you're on duty.”
Face obediently put his glass of scotch down and looked around at the crowed, smoky club with caricatures of women dancing across the stage and random bits of feathers and glitter floating through the air. BA was guarding the exit, security uniform making him look even more menacing than usual.
The song switched, to the Cyndi Lauper hit that was a staple of gay music everywhere, and a new performer slinked onto the stage. Face paused, blinked, and felt his heart skip several beats.
“Uh. Hannibal?”
“What, Face?”
“Murdock was just supposed to check and secure the backstage area, right?”
“Right.”
“Then what is he doing onstage?”
Hannibal whipped his head around fast enough to leave a whistling sound in its wake. There was their Murdock, their reckless, idiot, wonderful pilot, dancing around in five-inch platforms and lip-synching about how girls just wanted to have fun. The irony was not lost on a man of the world like Face.
“Uh. Hannibal?”
“What, Face?” Their leader's reply was slightly hoarse, and he grabbed Face's Scotch and downed it like it was Gatorade on a hot day.
“We didn't buy him that dress, right?”
“Right.”
“Then...where did it come from?”
“You know, Face, I've found that sometimes in life it's better not to ask questions.”
A moment later, Hannibal spotted a briefcase being slid across a table halfway across the club. He grinned and stuck a cigar between his teeth.
“Showtime.”
Three minutes, a multitude of screams, many frightened patrons, and a few wild punches later, three-quarters of the A-Team were squaring off against a small -- but very angry -- group of drug dealers. BA and Hannibal had immobilized and incapacitated two and were in the process of taking down two more.
At that moment, Face took a haymaker to the head from a dealer who had snuck up on his blind side. Disoriented, he let go of the crook he was in the process of pummeling. The two immediately ran down the dark and shadowy alleyway, grabbing a dropped briefcase along the way. Just as Hannibal turned to give chase, a rasping howl rent the night and a glittering figure dropped from an unseen ledge, using one of the escapees as a landing pad. He stood and whirled in record time as the remaining thug whipped out a knife. Calmly, he executed a textbook-perfect spinning kick that landed squarely on the thug's jaw.
“Now, now,” Murdock tutted. “That's no way to treat a lady.” He dusted off his hands -- releasing a puff of glitter in the process -- and strutted over to his team who were standing around gaping. Face was the one who grabbed him first.
“Oh god, do me,” he gasped once he let Murdock up for air.
“Okeydokey,” Murdock agreed, and continued his exploration of Face's tonsils.
“I can't believe he did that in those heels,” BA grumbled. “Doesn't that fool know he could have snapped an ankle? And then where would we be, with a pilot who can't work the pedals because he decided to go prancing around and fighting crime in heels-”
Hannibal chuckled and laid a placating hand on BA's shoulder. “You worry too much.”
“No, you don't worry enough!”
**********************************************************************************
The next morning, Face awoke pressed against Hannibal, which was business as usual. What was unusual was that Hannibal appeared to have a dusting of glitter on him.
“Hannibal!” he whispered, poking him and trying to avoid waking the entire team up. “Hannibal, why are you glittery?” He looked down at himself. “For that matter, why am I glittery?”
Their fearless leader yawned. “Murdock was covered in the stuff last night. It must have shed on us.”
Face shifted onto his other side -- an awkward maneuver, as he had to do it without letting to of Murdock, who was a massive snuggle slut -- and peered at BA, who looked so peaceful when he was asleep. Sparkly, too, apparently. He sighed happily and dozed off again.
He was rudely awakened fifteen minutes later by a familiar bellow.
“What the hell is this shit? I'm gonna kill that fool!”