Author: Mile from Home
Summary: Murdock is a ranger, but he's still no match for yarn. Especially when it's fuchsia.
Warnings: Crack. And knitting.
Character/Pairing: Murdock, Face (and BA and Hannibal)
Note: Here ya go, tasha. 'cause I said I would. Set during the eight year gap.
"That's an order, lieutenant." The door slams shut and Face is left fuming. Yes, okay, so he managed to break his leg on the last mission - but that trap door had been entirely unexpected and, seriously, who does those things these days? It's so... Indiana Jones-y - but that doesn't mean he can't go looking for Murdock with them. And okay, maybe he did manage to piss Hannibal off with his unrelenting insistence that really, he is fine and wouldn’t three people looking be better than two?
It isn't that they don't think the pilot can't take care of himself. If they thought that, they would never have let him go off into the city on their down time. Except he didn't turn up for dinner.
It doesn't take that much to remind them of the last time Murdock didn't show up for dinner. Or the time the police showed up with Murdock because he'd decided that one of the ornaments in a park fountain was called Sleipnir and was his horse. It had taken them three hours to snap Murdock out of just repeating his name, rank and serial number.
BA had been the first to grab his coat that evening. "Gonna look for the fool," he said, by way of explanation.
Face had made to get up, and, well, Hannibal had made his point very clear that Face could very well sit here and see if Murdock shows up on his own or if the police calls.
So he's left alone with just the television and a pizza they ordered and his mind that comes up with all kinds of things Murdock could have got himself into in the time he's gone. None of them are too pretty.
Murdock whistles. All in all it's been a good day. "Billy, quiet. No barking. Catwoman went back up the chimney." Or was that Santa? It's hard to keep them separated. Burglars are all the same. His key clicks in the lock.
He still whistles. Symphony No. 41, if he recalls. The plastic bag crinkles in his hand. "C'mon Billy, get in." He closes the door behind them.
"Murdock?!" Oh dear. Facey doesn't sound too happy. Now why would that be? He hears hobbling and the clunking of Face's plaster cast. "Where the hell have you been?!"
"Well, there were these aliens and they wanted me to teach their leader to dance the macarena so I couldn't say no to that." Obviously. Face should understand that. "It's not as if I didn't try but what are you supposed to do with all those extra arms? The macarena clearly calls for two arms and they got upset when I suggested they get rid of some of the extra limbs. And then-"
Face pinches the bridge of his nose. That's never good.
"Did you want to teach them the macarena? They already left in their ship but maybe we can get them back and then you can give it a go." Murdock frowns, suddenly. "I don't know if the unicorn they had there was real, though."
"No. No, I don't want to meet the aliens why don't you go and sit. Somewhere. Inside." Face hobbles back to the telephone.
Murdock can hear him talking to Hannibal, then BA, but has lost interest. If Face doesn't want to hear about the aliens of the non-probing kind then he doesn't want to hear about telephone conversations. Instead, he up-ends his bag of goodies on the table. Balls, or cakes, they called them cakes at the store but they don't look tasty at all, go flying everywhere. At least the colours are tasty looking. All kinds of bright. A pair of knitting needles clatters on the floor.
He looks at Face, who looks at the table like the first time he discovered the secret sauce's ingredients.
He hasn't knitted before, but it looked easy when he saw the nice ladies in the yarn store do it. They gave him tea and a slice of cake, so of course they're nice. Besides, he can fly anything so how difficult can knitting be? Two stick and a string.
"Faaaaace?" Murdock asks, later, when everyone has come back. "My yarn has staged a revolution."
"Yes. I can see that."
Hannibal snorts and pretends to read while BA has just given up on pretending not to notice the fact that the pilot is currently wrapped up in bright fuchsia pink yarn.
It isn't his fault. He just started but then his fingers got tangled up when he tried to make that cast on they'd shown him. That . . . uh . . . something that had a long tail. And then he tried to untangle that but his ball rolled behind him on the couch so he had to pick that up and he's absolutely certain that the ladies foisted some artificial intelligence yarn off on him.
The cake was a lie, a distraction while they plotted to bring him down and join their little cult of pointy sticks and string. Well, it wasn't working!
"Do you want me to help you squash the revolution?" See, at least Face understands him.
"Just get the fool a pair of scissors," BA says.
Murdock stares at him. Here he was thinking he was the crazy one and then BA goes and suggest that. "You can't cut it! You'd multiply the enemies and the AI Hydra will come out and take over your brain. Don't cut the yarn, don't cut the yarn, Facey, please don't cut it?"
He squirms and tries to get out again. He only ends up in a bigger tangle and it gets tighter. "Curse you, yarn. Curse you."
Face sits down next to him and picks at the yarn. "I won't cut it," he promises, "just hold still."
And Murdock does, because Face wouldn't lie to him about a matter of such utmost importance. It would suck if the enemy that will take over the country comes from their off-base apartment. Little bits of multiplying yarn that will slither into people's brains. It has to be the bright fuchsia. It's an evil colour.
Face picks what's left of the ball up and begins to wind the yarn around it. Sometimes he has to move it around Murdock, one hand in the front, one in the back and then he leans close and Murdock wonders if Face is secretly a fire person because he's so warm.
"I'll never understand how you managed this in an hour," Face says. He tries to force the yarn under a few tightly wound strings.
"Don't ask me, it's the yarn."
Face looks up, one arched eyebrow and then shrugs. "Yes, the yarn is tricky. I can see that."
"But just the fuchsia," Murdock goes on. "I think the orange will be far more cooperative."
Face decides not to argue.
Months later, Murdock presents Face with a scarf with more holes in it than fabric. It consists out of so many bright colours that Face is certain that he would be better off wearing a bull's eye on his forehead. He accepts the scarf anyway and even wears it once or twice.
The knitting needles are never seen again.