"Oh and before I go, happy Valentines Day, Shila," Face said. "Though I guess it's technically the fifteenth now, so I sort of missed it, sorry."

"Oh, that's okay, I'm still counting it as Valentine's."

"Get lots of cards?" Face asked.

She giggled. "I'm not telling you that!"

Face grinned. "If I could have sent you one I would have." He kicked himself mentally for not getting his brain in gear a week ago. He could have got a message out, to Mrs Baracus maybe and got her to send a card on his behalf.

"Did you get one?" Shila asked and giggled again.

"No, thank god!" Face said, laughing. "That would have been worrying! Especially if it had been anonymous. And anonymous in the real sense and not in the 'so-called anonymous but obviously from Murdock' sense." He grinned. He should have sent Hannibal one and signed it 'Rod'. That would have freaked him out.

His grin changed to a scowl then when he thought about Hannibal. Where the hell did Hannibal get off asking him to try to get information out of Shila? And what the hell did that oh so hilarious "your girlfriend" remark mean? Did he think that Face was just playing? Just stringing her along? Did he think that's all there was to Face? That he couldn't have a sincere connection with a woman without that being something for the colonel to exploit for one of his oh so brilliant plans?

"Templeton?" Shila said. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about something." He glanced at the clock. He'd been on here talking for over an hour now. An hour was the limit they'd agreed on, to conserve power. Face sighed. "I really have to go, Shila, I'm sorry."

"Oh that's okay, you need to be careful with the power, I understand."

She was a very understanding person, Face thought. A sweet person. He couldn't imagine her being the sort who would send you a divorce petition on Valentine's Day.

Face signed off reluctantly and left the radio room. He frowned down the corridor. A light was showing in the rec room. Had someone left one on? Dammit, did the words "frozen to death" mean nothing to these people? He hurried along there, seeing the way with his flashlight. The door into the room was ajar, letting the light leak out. And the room was occupied.

~~~~

Decker looked up as Face came into the rec room.

"Oh, hey, it's you," Face said, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Decker. "I thought someone had left a light on."

Decker, sitting on a couch, shrugged. "Switch it off if you like."

Face frowned, came over and stood by the couch. "You okay?"

"You care?" Decker snapped, and then bit his lip. That wasn't fair. Face looked sincere, sounded sincere. Surely not everything the man said or did was a lie? "I'm sorry." He said. "Just... can't sleep."

"Thinking about your wife?"

Decker nodded. "Her and... other things." He ran a hand though his hair. "God, I need a cigarette." When he'd tried giving up in the past he'd always kept one pack, hidden away. For emergencies. This time he'd kept one cigarette. He'd smoked it two days later. The emergency had been that he really really needed a cigarette.

"Hang on," Face said. He dragged a chair over to the tallest bookcase in the room, stood on it and reached around behind the books. "Ah ha." He picked something up, a Tupperware box, Decker saw when Face came down from the chair and back over to the couch. Face sat beside Decker who frowned at him, puzzled. Face opened the box and a strong smell of tobacco wafted out.

"Hannibal's last cigar," Face said. "He doesn't know that I know where he has it hidden."

Decker stared at him, astonished. "Peck, are you offering me...?"

"Take it," Face said. "The day you've had today... Take it, Colonel."

Decker reached into the box slowly and took the cigar out. He rolled it in his fingers. He ran it under his nose and breathed it in. The smell of tobacco hit his brain and the almost forgotten cravings came roaring back to the front of his mind. Decker noticed a cigar clipper in the box too, picked it out and sliced off the end of the cigar. He turned to Face.

"Got a light?"

Face grinned. He reached into his pocket and rummaged around a bit, then came out with a lighter.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Decker said and leant forward to let Face light the cigar for him. A moment later the smoke filled his mouth and lungs. He coughed, it been a few weeks since his last cigarette, but then he blew out the smoke and sighed, leaned back the sofa, feeling as if his bones had gone limp. He gazed lovingly at the cigar.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, that's good."

Face smiled and sat back too. They sat in silence for a moment while Decker smoked Hannibal's cigar.

"What 'other things'?" Face said after a moment. "You said you were thinking about your wife and other things."

"Vietnam. I dreamt about it tonight." He looked at Face. "Do you dream about it a lot?"

Face shrugged, not looking at him.

"More than I'd like to."

"I guess you dream about things that were done to you, as a prisoner, I mean -"

"Don't really want to discuss that," Face said, his voice strained. He turned to look at Decker.

His eyes, Decker thought, I never saw them look like that before. So blank. So closed. Like he just pulled down a shutter.

"I dream more about... things I did." Decker said. "Things I... regret."

"None of us were saints over there, Rod. We all did things we're ashamed of."

"I know. And some of them I even manage to justify to myself. Some of them." He looked at Face in the lamplight. Face's eyes weren't blank any more, they understood.

God, Decker thought, realising it suddenly, seeing as if for the first time, his hair is the exact same colour as hers used to be. He used to be able to tell her things, even the bad things he'd done. She never judged. She just listened and when he needed it, she held him.

"There was a village." Decker said, softly, so softly Face had to lean closer. Could he really tell Face about this? This man was part of the A-Team. His quarry, his prisoner. He couldn't trust Face, surely? Decker looked at the cigar in his hands.

"There was a village," Decker repeated, looking into Face's eyes again. "The people there knew where some Vietcong were holed up nearby, waiting to ambush us. I needed that information." Face didn't move, his eyes still understood. "My sergeant came to me, said he would take some men into the village and that he would get the information. That I should wait outside. That I didn't have to be involved."

"What did you do?" Face asked, quietly.

"I let him do it." Decker flinched, physically flinched at the memories. The screams. "He got the information. I didn't even have the guts to do it myself."

"The village?"

"Isn't there any more."

Face's eyes closed for a second.

"And when we got to where they told us the guerrillas were hiding, they had moved on anyway. They'd left days before."

For nothing. All dead for nothing. He turned away from Face, closed his eyes.

"Rod, you were only -"

"Don't." Decker opened his eyes. "Don't say anything, Face. That's the one I never managed to justify to myself. Of all the shit I did out there, that's the one I can't put a shine on."

If she was here then about now would be when she held him, warm body pressed against his, his face buried in soft golden hair. He looked at Face, at those still sympathetic and understanding eyes.

"Face, I..." Decker gulped and suddenly stood up. "I need to go to bed."

"Okay." Face looked up at him, smiled. "Be careful with the cigar; don't set the place on fire."

Something's on fire, Decker thought. I have been here too long. Why the hell did Face have to stop us all going out into the snow? Being an ice cube would be better than this.

"Goodnight," Decker said hoarsely and turned away from The Smile.