FIC: Momma B (movieverse, gen, groupfic)

[danang1970]

Title: Momma B
Fandom: A-Team movieverse
Genre: Family/friendship, fluff
Rating: G
Summary: The movieverse A-Team meets BA's mother for the first time.

BA levelled a hard stare at Face. “Let me get this straight. You requisitioned my mom.”

The Lieutenant swallowed, unsure of how to read Bosco’s reaction. “Well, no, not like that.” Face shot a helpless glance to Murdock and Hannibal. The pilot held up his hands - This is your show, buddy. Hannibal just nodded encouragingly. Great. “I thought, that is, WE thought that since you haven’t seen her since you got re-enlisted, and since we’re in the States for now and Christmas is coming up, you know, maybe you’d appreciate some quality time...” He trailed off, uncharacteristically stymied by the intensity of BA’s gaze. “So. Um. Merry Christmas?”

BA frowned at each of them in turn, as if expecting some kind of trick. “You sayin’ she’s coming to base?”

“No!” Face got a bit of his groove back, shaking his head excitedly. “That’s the best part! I got her a house off-base, just a couple miles south, so she’d be more comfortable and you guys can have, um, quality time.” He cursed himself for the repetition but fuck, he was an orphanage kid. What did he know about what normal families did together? Well, he mentally amended as BA continued to size him up, more traditional families, at least. Couldn’t make any assumptions where BA was concerned.

“We hope you don’t mind the liberties we took, son.” Finally, Hannibal was stepping in. “We weren’t trying to intrude.”

Murdock beamed. “You’re gonna see your mom, big guy!” he rallied. “Yaaay!”

Bosco seemed to accept that they were telling the truth and weren’t just setting up an elaborate, pointless gag at his expense. For now. His tone was still guarded. “When’s she gonna be here?”

Face kept the smile plastered to his face, hoping that this would go down well. “She’s already here! She flew in this morning. Thought we’d give her a few hours to settle in, but she’s at the house now.”

Five minutes later, BA was roaring down the road in a jeep as the other three watched and waved.

As the car sped out of sight, Murdock turned to Face and Hannibal happily. “That went well, don’tcha think?”

Face didn’t have a clue. Hannibal shrugged and nodded. It went better than it could have. The team had been together for six months now and they were still working out a few kinks. As far as Hannibal could tell, his boys were getting along alright. They were certainly unmatched when it came to their skills and track record in the field. Four missions so far and each one completed without a hitch. Well, without too many major hitches. Out there, they operated like a well-oiled machine. Off-duty, however, it was a different kettle of fish.

Bosco had proven to be a hard nut to crack. Face was a genial person who could get along with most people instantly, regardless of his personal opinion of them. The Lieutenant seemed to genuinely like the bigger man though, which made it all the more puzzling for him when his constant attempts to charm and endear himself to his new teammate were met with monosyllabic grunts at best. Face wasn’t used to working for someone’s approval and friendship. From what Hannibal could see, once his ego got around the fact that he couldn’t instantly woo everybody into loving him, the blond appreciated the challenge.

It had been Face’s idea to contact Bosco’s mother as an early Christmas present and he’d been the one to snag her address from one of the care packages she’d sent her son. Hannibal and Murdock had agreed that it was a great idea and pitched in some money to rent her a house off-base for a couple of weeks and cover her travel costs. It was a strategic manoeuvre as much as a kind gesture on Hannibal’s part. He wanted his team happy, individually and collectively, and he thought that this might be a good way to relax Bosco as well as lowering his defences where their unit was concerned. It wasn’t enough for Hannibal to have a team that worked well together on missions. He knew the value of mutual respect and personal affection. He didn’t want a group of mindless soldiers. He wanted a team of brothers.

Murdock just thought everyone was awesome. At least when he wasn’t suspicious that they were hallucinations, doctors trying to trick him, or CIA agents using him for an experiment. Apart from those little episodes, which were lessening with every day that he woke up out of a straightjacket, he bounced around like a happily-manic puppy. He loved his room in the house the team was set up in, with its double bed and blue sheets and a lock on the inside rather than out. He loved that Hannibal lent him books and didn’t supervise him when he wanted to shave. He loved that he could fly again.

Most of all, he loved playing with Bosco. Therein lay a fairly large problem. No one, not Face, Hannibal or even BA in his most violent of tempers, could persuade Murdock that his free time would be better spent in less borderline-suicidal pursuits than trying to convince Bosco to play fetch with an invisible dog, or meticulously sewing all of BA’s socks together so none of the pairs would be separated. Murdock just smiled his lopsided smile as Bosco ranted and raved, usually waving wrenches or fists in the crazy man’s direction. Hannibal couldn’t decide if the fact that BA had yet to actually follow through with his many creative physical threats was a sign that the Corporal’s tolerance for Murdock was greater than he’d have them believe, or a strategic ruse to deflect suspicion from him in the event that the Captain’s dead body was ever found with throttle marks around the throat.

They’d all hoped that BA would appreciate this gesture of bringing his mother out. He didn’t speak much about his personal life but he received regular care packages and letters from his mother and wrote to her often. Murdock had tried asking about her once, but all he’d managed to learn was that she lived in Chicago and made delicious cookies. (The latter was not information offered by BA, but rather a personal assessment the Captain made after stealing one of the biscuits she’d sent her son. Hannibal didn’t know how he’d even tasted it - he’d had to wolf it down without chewing while running at full sprint from an enraged BA. He’d ended up choking halfway through and needing to be given the Heimlich manoeuvre by Face.)

Three hours after leaving with haste to see his mother, BA returned. He approached the others with the closest thing to a sheepish expression that they’d seen on him.

“You guys didn’t have to do that,” he told them gruffly. “But thanks. It was real good to see my mamma again.” BA cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly. “She told me to tell you she wants to have you around for dinner tonight. Said it’s the least she can do and she ain’t taking no for an answer.”He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if she’d sent him to deliver that message dressed as Little Lord Fauntleroy, lace cuffs and all.

“Home cooking!” wooped Murdock, jigging on the spot. “Sounds good to me. Whatdya say, fellas?”

Face and Hannibal couldn’t say no. Really. They couldn’t. If Momma B was anything like her son, there’d be hell to pay for politely declining her hospitable offer.

“That sounds lovely, Corporal,” answered Hannibal. “We’ll be there.”

And they were, at eighteen thirty on the dot. Face had spoken to her on the phone to arrange this surprise visit of course, but none of them had met Mrs Baracus in person. A chauffeur had been arranged to ferry her from the airport and BA never showed them any pictures. Still, it was no surprise when the door was opened to reveal a large woman with a floral apron and no-nonsense aura.

BA stepped forward first. “Hi again, momma,” he muttered, self-consciously kissing her on the cheek. “This is the team.”

“Don’t you tell me,” Momma Baracus said with a tone that was so reminiscent of her son that Hannibal had to hide a grin. “Let me guess.” Her eyes fell on Face. “You must be Lieutenant Peck. We spoke on the phone.”

Face stepped forward with a dazzling smile. “Please, call me Face. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, ma’am.”

He reached forward to take her hand, but she swatted him away. “None of that, now. Come here.” Because he knew what was happening, Face was pulled forwards and engulfed in a huge, bosomy hug. She pulled him down so his head was cradled on her shoulder, seemingly unconcerned with the awkward way this bent his back. Murdock giggled.

After a moment, Momma didn’t so much release Face as push him back, hands on his shoulders as she eyed him critically. “If you’re Face, I’m Momma, you understand?”

“Yes ma- Momma,” he recited, automatically slipping back into the obedient role that he’d perfected during his days at the orphanage.

Momma squeezed his shoulders approvingly. “Good.” Her gaze turned to Murdock. “And you must be the one who stole all of Scooter’s cookies.”

BA groaned. Murdock looked like all his Christmases, birthdays and Easter egg hunts had come at once. “Now ma’am, I only stole one of Scooter’s cookies,” he told her, so full of innocuous Southern charm that Bosco want to punch him in the nose. “I do apologise for that but you see, we get so few home-cooked foods and those treats you bake always look so delicious.”

Momma raised an eyebrow. Hannibal got the feeling she knew full well that she was being duped by Murdock’s bashfulness and big cow eyes, but she didn’t disapprove.  She looked him over as she’d done Face. “Don’t your momma send you care packages?” she asked almost accusingly, as if she’d get the woman on the phone and give her an earful right now if the answer was no.

Murdock looked slightly thrown by the question. “Uh, no ma’am. She died when I was five.”

Face and BA looked surprised. Hannibal had known, of course, but the rest of the team still hadn’t gotten that personal yet. This was exactly the sort of barrier that the Colonel wanted them to break through.

Momma just grunted, pulling Murdock in for a hug as she’d done to Face. “I’ll have to start sending an extra package then.” She released the pilot and looked Face over again. “One for you too. Both of you, too damn skinny.” She shook her head and clucked.

Hannibal stepped forward next. “Momma?” he tried, holding out his hand and smiling warmly.

“That’s right,” she confirmed, ignoring his hand to pull him into a hug too. “Hannibal Smith,” she sighed before letting him go. “Man of legend, so Scooter tells me.” Momma looked him boldly in the eye, frowning slightly. Hannibal liked her.

“I’m taking good care of your son, Momma,” he told her sincerely.

Momma nodded. “I know.” Something passed between them, some kind of understanding and mutual respect. And that was that. She broke eye contact, satisfied, and ushered them inside. In the small house, it smelled delicious - like cooked meats and roasted vegetables with an underlay of spices.

Dinner was already on the table. It was a feast. Roast chicken and steak, mounds of mashed potatoes, fresh steamed vegetables, fluffy rolls that were clearly made from scratch and two types of gravy. It wasn’t the fanciest of fares but it looked well-made and had everyone’s mouths watering.

“Now,” said Momma as they all found their seats. “Who’s going to say grace?”

“Uh.” It wasn’t clear who said it, but all eyes turned to Face. The new team didn’t know much about each other’s pasts, but Murdock and Bosco were under the impression that Face had been raised Catholic. The blond met their stares but didn’t say anything.

Momma “hmmph”ed at the lack of enthusiastic volunteers. “I will then,” she told them, sounding very much like an indulgent babysitter. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together. The four men at her table awkwardly did the same. “Dear Lord, I thank you for this food we are about to eat. Thank you for the men who allowed me to be here with my son. Please keep all of them safe. Amen.”

Four deep voices muttered, “Amen.” Momma opened her eyes and passed Hannibal the mashed potatoes.

“So,” said Face a few minutes later, swallowing a juicy bite of chicken, “Have you always lived in Chicago, Momma?”

She shook her head and took a sip of water. “I’m from Philadelphia originally. Moved to Chicago in ’82 after Scooter’s father died.”

Face’s eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he said, glancing at BA. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, not with the Corporal so reticent with him as it was. Bosco didn’t seem to mind, just chewed his steak and listened to the conversation.

Momma didn’t look surprised that Scooter hadn’t shared personal details with his new team. She also didn’t have any qualms about telling them what he hadn’t. “Rodney was a police officer,” she said. “He got shot down one night - kids high on drugs who didn’t know what they were doing.” Momma shook her head. Whether in remorse or disgust, Hannibal couldn’t tell. “Scooter was eight. After that, I didn’t much want to be in that city anymore, so we packed up and moved to Chicago. I have a sister there.”

“How is Aunt Rita?” asked BA lowly.

Momma smiled. “She’s fine. She told me to make sure you’re eating well and keeping your temper.”

Murdock let out a sound that didn’t fool anyone into thinking it was a cough and not a laugh. “Scooter, temper?” he asked, eyes wide. “Never!”

Face snorted at that. BA didn’t bite, just rolled his eyes and ducked his head slightly to avoid his mother’s stern gaze. Hannibal was pleased. It seemed that this had been the right course of action after all. Gentle ribbing without threats of acute bodily harm: Baby steps, but steps nonetheless.

“What was BA’s father like?”

At Face’s question, Hannibal felt the familiar pang in his chest. He wanted to be everything he could for his boys - friend, mentor, leader, even counsellor if they needed it - but from the start it had been painfully obvious that the lack of stable parental figures in Face’s life had left a conspicuous hole. The younger man displayed an almost obsessive interest in other people’s families at times, soaking up stories of “normal” childhoods and nuclear interactions like he needed them to vicariously ground him. Hannibal wished the kid could see that he didn’t need that, had never needed that. Face had grown into an exceptional young man and the absence of a mother and father had no impact on his potential. He didn’t need a traditional family to excel. Hannibal hoped that one day he’d be able to make his Lieutenant see that.

Momma regarded Face thoughtfully, considering the question. “He was strong,” she said. “He was very patient.”

BA chuckled at that. “I remember when I was five, he got me one of those little wind-up cars,” he said fondly. Murdock clapped and bounced on his chair, excited to hear a story from Bosco’s childhood. BA ignored him. “I wound it so hard it smashed into the wall, broke into a million pieces.”

“I never did get that mark off the wall,” his mother told him with mock exasperation.

“Was he mad?” asked Face.

BA shook his head. “Nah. Momma was,” he laughed. “But daddy just looked at the pieces and said, ‘Well, unless you can fix it, you got no toy anymore’. Then he goes, gets his tool-kit and dumps it next to me and walks off.”

“What’s a five year old gonna do with a tool kit?” Momma asked rhetorically.

Hannibal shot BA a knowing look. “Bet you fixed it though, didn’t you?”

BA nodded. “Well, it didn’t run so good and it kept going backwards, but daddy was so proud of me. That’s when he started letting me watch him out back when he was working on the car.”

“So you got your interest in cars from him?” asked Face, biting into a bread roll.

“Yeah. Think he wanted me to be a mechanic but he never said so. Kept telling me I needed to finish school and get a degree before I started thinking about getting a job.”

“You can see how well he listened,” said Momma as the others chuckled. “Ran off to join the army at nineteen.” She reached across the table and squeezed BA’s arm. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“The Army’s in your blood, Momma,” said Hannibal. “If it’s gotten under your skin, well, there’s no fighting it.” BA, Murdock and Face nodded.

“Don’t I know it,” Momma replied. “Rodney was the same way with the Force.” She sighed, and it was a very heavy sound. “I just wish my boys felt pulled to careers that were gonna keep them safe.” Momma looked down at her plate, pausing in the act of cutting up some roast.

Hannibal felt a wave of sympathy. “Your son’s part of the best elite squad of Rangers America’s ever produced, Momma,” he told her with complete honesty. “He’s exceptional at what he does and so are we. As far as Army careers go, BA’s in one of the safest places he could be.” Well, maybe that part was stretching the truth a little. Stateside desk jobs probably got a little less life-threatening action, but BA could never be a pencil pusher.

Momma nodded, sniffing slightly and looking at BA. “I know. Sometimes I wish you’d wanted to be a dentist, though.” He returned her watery smile with a rueful, steady one of his own and squeezed her hand across the table.

Hannibal laughed. “My parents always wanted me to be a dental hygienist,” he explained. Face immediately pictured Hannibal looming over him, lowering metallic instruments into his mouth. He shuddered.

“Degrees ain’t all they’re cracked up to be,” said Murdock. “I got five myself and they still didn’t think I was compos mentis enough to sign myself out of the funny farm.”

“You still ain’t,” BA snorted. Momma looked like she was about to scold him, but Murdock just grinned so she let it slide.

“Then it’s lucky I got you to do the signing for me, Scooter,” the Southerner drawled sweetly, sticking his tongue out at Bosco.

“Oh my, five degrees,” said Momma, giving Murdock another once-over. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five, ma’am,” he replied, adding broccoli floret arms to the vegetable man he was making on his plate. He frowned in concentration then carefully added gravy hair.

Momma shook her head. “Your daddy must be very proud,” she said, still aware of her faux pas from earlier.

Unfortunately for Momma, Murdock shook his head again, smiling at her apologetically. “He could be, but neither of us would know. I never knew my daddy. My mom’s parents raised me after she died.” He giggled. “Like so many children’s pets, I was sent away to live on a big farm.”

BA frowned. “You really lived on a farm, fool?” he asked. “I thought you was just making up all that stuff about feeding chickens and playing with cows.”

“Nope, all completely factual, big guy,” confirmed Murdock. “I told you everything that comes out of my mouth is the god’s honest truth.”

“Sure, like your invisible dog and the fact that you got no idea what happened to the firing pin of my rifle two months ago.”

Momma looked perturbed by that. BA hadn’t said anything detailed but it was clear that she was uncomfortable with the reminder of the more dangerous aspects of her son’s life. Face liked Momma. She exuded a stern but welcoming presence that he imagined all mothers should have. She gave good hugs and made them a delicious home-cooked meal. He didn’t want her to be upset.

Which is why he found himself opening his mouth to change the subject. What he didn’t count on was his mouth saying, “I never knew my father either.”

All heads swivelled to him. For one of the first times in his life, Face squirmed under the spotlight. “Uh, well,” he continued lamely. “Or my mother.” He shrugged and gave what he hoped was a casual smile. “Orphanage brat. Then Army brat.” Face swallowed. When had he lost the ability to speak coherently? “I guess the Army’s kind of like my family.” Oh, smooth, Templeton. One faux-maternal hug and you get the dialogue of a corny recruitment video.

To Face’s surprise, BA nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” He looked at the Lieutenant seriously. “I remember my first drill sergeant saying we were gonna work, eat, sleep and shit together - sorry Momma.” He flushed before continuing. “He said we’d end up like family, and we’d either love each other or hate each other’s guts by the end of it.” BA looked down self-consciously. “I never really got was he was talking about ‘til now.”

Face shot Bosco a grateful look. Maybe it wasn’t just him. It was the healing power of Momma, or maybe she’d slipped something into the food that made it okay to let your guard down. Sodium pentothal?

Continuing the trend, Hannibal spoke next. “I think that’s why I never had the desire to settle down,” he said, glossing over quite a few of what his ex-girlfriends would call massive character flaws. “With the Army, you get drama, excitement and camaraderie.” Hannibal grinned. “What more could you want?”

“Decent steak every now and then would be good,” said Murdock absently, dissecting the left leg of his vegetable person.

“Well I don’t know about steak,” said Momma, and Face thought her eyes looked a little red, “but I’ll keep all of you in cookies and nice thick socks.” She glared at them sternly, as if their lack of relatives to correspond with was caused by an act of negligence on their parts. “Can’t believe you’ve been going this long without care packages. Man’s gotta know that there’s someone back home waiting for him to get home safe.” Momma said it as a statement of fact, looking squarely at each of the men in turn. “Well now you know, I’m that someone and I don’t expect any of you to let me down.” When no one objected, she turned back to her vegetables.

After dinner, Face, BA and Murdock volunteered to clear the dishes. Hannibal and Momma sat in the adjoining living room, each with a glass of the brandy that Momma had promised the boys they could also partake in if they cleaned up to her satisfaction.

“You’re a lucky man, Hannibal Smith,” Momma told him once they were alone.

He raised an eyebrow. Half an ear was listening to her while the other half made sure the boys were playing nicely and not breaking anything. Last time he’d made them do dishes, BA had rigged an industrial pressure hose to the hot water tank under Murdock’s assurance that it would “totally work, trust me”. Face had arranged the plates on the ground and they’d taken turns blasting them. It ended up a contest to see who could push the plates furthest before they broke. They all broke. After that, Hannibal arranged for a dishwasher to be installed.

“How do you mean?” he asked distractedly as there was a clatter of crockery from the kitchen.

“You got three damn fine boys looking up to you,” Momma said matter-of-factly. “I know you ain’t been a team long, but they’d do anything for you in a heartbeat. I could see that plain as day just sitting around that table.”

Hannibal tried to downplay it. He didn’t want her to think he was into this gig for the power play. “Well, getting them to do the dishes is one thing...” he joked as the sound of water sloshing onto the floor reached their ears.

Momma wouldn’t have a bar of his false modesty. “Those young men in there are devoted to you,” she told him plainly. “I don’t mind it, as far as Scooter’s concerned. I tried to be the best I could for him but I know there’s some things a boy needs in his life, and a good male role model is near the top of the list.”

Now this was something Hannibal had heard before in relation to Face, and it always made him squirm. “I’m not trying to be a father figure,” he protested gently.

“I know you aren’t,” Momma agreed. “That don’t mean they don’t need one. Father figure, friend, Colonel, whatever you want to call it, it’s clear to me that those boys see you as more than just a boss.”

He had to concede the truth in that. After all, wasn’t that exactly the type of bond he’d been trying to create: Something more than just adjacent soldiers?

“I think you’re lucky,” Momma continued, “because from what I heard tonight, those boys haven’t had much in the way of proud supporters in their lives. You got the opportunity that their real daddies didn’t: To see them grow and make themselves into men.”

Hannibal didn’t point out that BA, Face and Murdock were all in their mid-twenties. He still thought of them as “boys” and was fairly certain they’d never outgrow the title in his eyes. Especially not if they kept crashing cutlery around in the sink like that. Were they having a duel with the forks again?

“You’ve been Bosco’s supporter,” Hannibal said instead. Her eyes softened at that. “It shows. I know you’re rightfully proud of the man he’s becoming.”

She smiled, sipping at her brandy. “I just wish his father was here, sometimes. He would have been so proud. I know Scooter would have loved to tell him all about meeting you and being re-enlisted.”

“He told you,” reminded Hannibal. “I saw his face when he got back from calling you. He couldn’t have been happier.” He sighed and rubbed his chin absently. This was one of those moments that he’d normally punctuate with a puff of cigar smoke. “Bosco did deserve to have a father growing up. You deserved to have someone to share the joys and burden of parenthood with.” Momma met his eyes in gratitude for his understanding. “You didn’t get that, but I wouldn’t change a thing about the man BA’s life moulded him into.”

Momma sighed. “I’m proud of my son, Hannibal.” It looked like she wanted to say more, but she fell silent.

Hannibal leaned across the sofa and clinked his glass to hers. “I am too.”

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, until there was an especially loud crash and splash from the kitchen. Face’s mad cackling drowned out BA’s yelling and Murdock’s rapid-fire explanations, but Hannibal knew the drill. Rolling his eyes, he stood up, raising his glass to Momma before he went to do damage control.

“Our boys,” he toasted solemnly. She laughed and tossed back the rest of her drink.