One Christmas Eve

by Raine Wynd

A Mack Bolan fanfic ©12.19.99

Christmas Eve, 1300 hours
Stony Man Farm

Barbara Price sighed and shook her head as she glanced up at the mistletoe hanging over the entrance to the War Room. Considering the fact that she and Carmen Delahunt were the only women on staff who would enter the room, she wondered who had hung the mistletoe. If she had to place a bet, she'd lay a wager on T.J., though with several jokers among the Stony Man crew, it could be almost anyone. She knew she wouldn't find out who it was, since nearly all of the commandos had left earlier that day. Even as she thought this, her fingers easily keyed in the access code that would unlock the door. The door slid open, recessing into the wall, and she stepped through.

"Mistletoe alert," Carl "Ironman" Lyons intoned seconds before grabbing her and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Laughing, she pushed him away. "Don't you ever leave here, Carl?" she demanded, only mildly annoyed. Of all the commandos, he was the one who stayed at the Farm the most as he had nothing to go back to when there wasn't a mission. For appearance's sake, he kept an apartment in Los Angeles, where he'd been a cop, but Barb doubted that he'd spent more than a few days in the last six months there.

The blond, muscular ex-cop smiled, his blue eyes full of humor. "Don't worry, Barb, I'll be out of here soon enough. I'm meeting Tommy in D.C. and we're having dinner." Ironman shook his head. "My son is a goddamn FBI agent."

Barb heard the pride lurking under the disgusted tone and stifled a smile. She knew that although Ironman was divorced and had rarely seen Tommy since the divorce, he'd managed to keep a quiet track of his son over the years. That quiet track had become especially vocal since a mission that had forcefully reminded Ironman of what he had left behind in his choice to join what would later become Stony Man. Tommy's graduation from the FBI training academy had been over for a few months now, but this would be the first chance Ironman had gotten to see his son in several years. Barb almost wished she could be there to witness the reunion.

"More's the pity," Barb remarked. "And here I was thinking he might follow in your footsteps." She picked up the file folder she'd come into the War Room for off the conference table and started to head out the door.

Ironman blocked her exit. "Don't you go pulling strings, Barb. Bad enough he's gonna be a cop like I was, he doesn't need any special duty."

Barb looked at him mildly. "If he's anything like you, Carl," she reminded him, "he's going to get noticed. I'm not going to make you any promises I can't keep."

He let out a breath and regarded her with troubled eyes. "I know." He shrugged resignedly and stepped aside to let her pass, then followed her out of the War Room and into the mission control room.

"So is Mack stopping by later?" he asked her as they reached her office.

"Johnny called this morning," Barb answered, and tried to keep the disappointment from showing in her high-boned face. She brushed a stray lock of straight blond hair away from her eyes and attempted a smile. "Said that Mack wanted to tell everyone to have a merry Christmas, but that he's out of the country and probably won't make it back this way unless we needed him urgently. Mack would've called directly except that he was checking in with his brother anyway."

Ironman wasn't fooled by her casualness. His usually somber expression took on a sympathetic cast. Everyone knew that she and Mack were sometime lovers, and while she did her level best to be reasonable about their relationship, she couldn't deny that she cared deeply about Mack and wanted to be with him whenever possible. Holidays were the worst times for her, especially like now, when Stony Man wasn't faced with a crisis situation.

"He'll be here eventually," Ironman assured her. "You gonna be all right?"

She nodded and forced her wishful thoughts away. "I think Cowboy's got something planned for later, if it stays quiet like it's been all day. Bear's been monitoring stuff, but as you can see -" She gestured to the deserted computer room. "Everyone's taken off to get some R and R until 1800 hours."

Ironman glanced at his watch, calculating the time. "Sure the place can manage for five hours?" he asked skeptically. "Maybe I'd better hang around."

"Got your pager on?" she asked instead.

He patted his belt, where an alphanumeric pager hung. "Cell phone's in my car."

"Then get going," she admonished him. "You know I'll call you if we need you."

He looked at her one last time before he turned to leave. "Merry Christmas, Barb."

Alone, Barb allowed herself one shuddering breath of regret before she turned to file the folder she'd retrieved from the War Room. She reminded herself that Hal had warned her, all those years ago, that what she would be doing would become her life, and that one of the reasons she had been chosen for the position was because she had no family ties. She hadn't expected to discover that the men under her command would become the brothers she'd never had, that the unofficial man in charge would become someone she cared about more than she was supposed to, perhaps even more than she should.

She chuckled hollowly, knowing that the reason she was feeling more melancholy than usual had more to do with the photograph she'd found stuck between her desk and the wall earlier in the day, and less to do with the fact that Mack wouldn't be around. A file had become wedged in that crevice, and when she'd pulled it out, the photograph had fallen to the floor. Picking it up, she'd found that it depicted Mack and a tall, red-haired, strikingly attractive woman. The woman's back was against a tree, while Mack lay sleeping, his head cradled in her lap. Her eyes were closed, and a satisfied smile graced her lips.

Without being told, Barb knew that whoever took the picture had to have been one of the commandos. No one else could have sneaked up on Mack and taken such a photograph. Even as a part of her relished the rare photo, Barb heard another part recite the violation of security the photo represented.

"Hey, Barb," David McCarter's East London-flavored voice cut into her thoughts.

Startled, she jumped, and turned to face the British commando. "What are you doing here? I thought you were headed for London."

David shrugged. "Forgot how much I hate flying when I'm not in the cockpit," he told her. "Also forgot I haven't checked my passport in a while. The one in my real name, that is." He looked sheepish. "Can't believe it expired."

She looked at him, disbelieving. Then she realized that, with all the traveling he did on behalf of Stony Man, he never needed a passport in his own name. "Give it to me, and I'll make a phone call," she told him. "Janice is probably upset that you're not going to be on time."

David shrugged again. "If she was still my girlfriend, she probably would be. Seems she found that rich, attentive gentleman I was always telling her that she deserved. Good thing I called her to tell her I was coming, instead of showing up like I normally do."

"Did you still want to go home?" Barb asked, concerned. "I could get it renewed or you could use the David Green identity you used on the last mission."

David shook his head. "Don't go pulling strings you don't have to, Barb," he told her. "My own bloody fault for not paying attention. Least if I stay here, I'm not going to go stir crazy in my flat."

"David, you go stir crazy no matter where you are," she said dryly, then relented. "You might check with Cowboy and see if he's done playing around with the new weapons he picked up."

At the mention of new weapons, David's expression changed instantly to that of a kid in a candy store. He started for the door, then stopped in half-turn. "I don't suppose you could...?" he began, pulling out his passport.

Barb chuckled knowingly and went to take the passport from him. As she did so, David caught sight of the picture in her hand. Deftly, he swapped her his passport for the picture.

"Bloody hell, I haven't seen this in a while," he declared gruffly. "Thought it was destroyed like all the other pictures."

"Other pictures?"

"Keio took a whole roll of them. Pol dared him to, actually. Easiest fifty bucks I've ever won off him," David reminisced. "Pol didn't think Keio would get close enough without waking Mack up." David snickered at the memory. "Keio staked out a position, got a telephoto lens, and just clicked away. Pissed off Ironman because he used the bathroom as a darkroom, and Ironman couldn't stand the smell of the chemicals."

"Keio?"

David's face shuttered a moment.

"Sorry," Barb said as she finally placed the name. "It's okay, David. I know." She took a deep breath, then continued, "The woman in the picture was April, wasn't it?"

David nodded tightly. "Yeah," he agreed. He said nothing for a long moment, looking at the picture again. Very quietly, he said, "I'd better go and get rid of this." He started again for the door, one hand reaching for the lighter he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"David, wait."

He stopped and looked at her, puzzled. "It's a violation of security to take photographs on the grounds. You know that."

"I know," Barb agreed. "But I'd like to give someone the opportunity to see it once before it's turned to ashes."

David smiled and stepped back to hand her the photograph. "I think I'll go up to the northwest corner, take a look around," he announced casually. "See if you can see the Annex from there."

Barb suppressed a smile at David's subterfuge. She knew perfectly well that the nearly-completed building couldn't be seen from that corner of the property. By tacit agreement, that corner was pristine except for a pair of matching graves. "You do that," she agreed gravely.

He nodded, then walked out the door.

1400 hours
Georgia

"You're kidding, right?" T.J. looked at his companions. "Calvin, tell me Gary's kidding."

The African-American commando lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Happened before I came along and joined the insanity," he informed the newest member of the team. "If Gary said David entered him in a Christmas marathon in Miami, and nearly got killed in the process, then I believe him."

The three men were taking the rare opportunity to relax away from Stony Man, and were currently making their way through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers at the mall closest to T.J.'s family home outside of Fort Benning, Georgia. As they had just finished a mission in Panama, T.J. hadn't had the chance to buy his mother and siblings gifts. He'd invited Gary and James along for Christmas dinner; David had chosen to head back to London to be with his long-suffering girlfriend, while Rafael had elected to head home to Miami.

"You're talking about the same guy who's supposed to be in charge of us, right?"

"Yep, the one who's always trying to get us killed," Calvin agreed. "Aren't you glad we reminded David he had a girlfriend?"

T.J. considered this for a moment as he paused in front of a women's clothing store.

"Let me guess," Gary observed dryly, "He had something interesting lined up for you, if you'd come to London with him, but he wouldn't tell you what it was until you showed up."

It was on the tip of T.J.'s tongue to ask how Gary knew. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and knew that Gary would know from first hand-experience. "Yeah," T.J. agreed. "Getting killed on my free time ain't what this boy needs for Christmas."

His friends laughed.

"So who all is on your Christmas list?" Calvin prompted as they resumed their stroll.

"Think I'm gonna just get 'em a couple of gift certificates," T.J. decided. "I haven't a clue what else to get; I've barely been home all year thanks to you guys. What's next, Alaska?"

"Been there," Gary retorted mildly.

"Hey, don't go jinxing us now," Calvin protested. "I'm cold enough as it is."

Suddenly, Gary grunted in surprise and jostled Calvin as he dropped to his knees. Instinctively, Calvin turned to find the source of the threat. He very nearly pulled out the knife hidden in a quick-draw sheath before he realized a small mass of humanity had crashed into Gary.

"Whoa, where you going in such a hurry?" Gary was asking the little girl. She looked like a porcelain doll with her ivory skin, raven-black hair, fragile bone structure, and perfectly matched plaid dress.

The girl blinked wide blue eyes at him. "Are you my daddy?" she inquired.

"No."

"Oh." She looked disappointed, then brightened as a thought occurred to her. "Are you a policeman?"

Gary glanced at his friends, both of whom were trying not to laugh at the situation. Mentally, he sighed, aware he would probably get razzed on this later. "Are you lost, honey?" he asked the girl instead.

"Uh-huh," the girl declared, vigorously shaking her head, causing her long hair to go flying. "Mommy's not moving."

"Not moving?" Cal questioned.

"Uh huh," the girl nodded.

"Where is your mama, sweetheart?" T.J. asked.

The girl turned and pointed down the hallway. "Down there."

"Would you take us to her?" Gary requested.

The girl studied him for a long moment. "Carry me."

T.J. smothered a chuckle, but barely. Gary shot him a look, but picked up the little girl nonetheless.

"I'm Gary, and these are my friends Calvin and T.J. What's your name?" Gary asked as they walked briskly to where she had pointed.

"Rhiannon Fleetwood. I'm seven years old," she announced proudly. "Mommy's in the car."

They reached the parking lot a few minutes later. "Okay, Rhiannon," Gary said. "What kind of car does Mommy drive?"

"It's blue," Rhiannon told them, and T.J. barely bit back a groan, suppressing it only after Calvin shot him a look.

"How many doors does it have?" Gary asked.

Rhiannon thought for a minute and counted off her fingers. "Four," she said. "Mommy said she had to get a Saturn because it's safer, and I have to ride in the back." The way she spoke told the three men she was repeating an oft-made statement. "I wanna grow up and ride in the front."

"Do you know how far back Mommy parked?"

"Uh huh," Rhiannon said, nodding. "She always makes me count. Seven."

Without a word, T.J. and Calvin headed off to canvass the lot in the opposite direction of Gary. They knew they probably wouldn't get a more detailed description out of Rhiannon, even though she seemed very intelligent for her age. Fortunately, Cal was the first to locate the Fleetwood family car.

As Gary, T.J. and Cal had been carrying the cellular phones supplied to them by Stony Man, all T.J. had to do was dial a number.

Gary snatched up the phone as it rang, somehow managing not to drop Rhiannon as he did so. "Where?"

"Six rows west of the entrance," he heard T.J. say. "I already called 911. Cal's started CPR."

Gary scanned the area and headed in that direction. "Roger that. Coming right at you."

Gary's long strides brought them quickly to the car. One glance at Cal's expression told him that the Phoenix Force team medic didn't think the woman was going to make it. That left Gary with the task of trying to protect Rhiannon.

The ambulance and police arrived eight minutes later. As the paramedics took over from Cal and T.J., a male officer approached the three men and Rhiannon.

"I'm Officer Roberts. Which one of you is T.J.?"

"I am," T.J. identified himself.

"Full name for the record?"

T.J. hesitated, unsure of the security protocol.

"He hates it," Gary interjected, smoothly covering the hesitation. "We just call him T.J., save him the embarrassment.".

The police officer didn't blink. "Okay, T.J. How do you know the victim?"

"I don't," T.J. said calmly. "Rhiannon just ran up to Gary here and said her mom needed help."

Roberts noted the little girl then. "Okay, Rhiannon. Your mommy has to go to the hospital. You'll have to come with me."

"No," Rhiannon said firmly, and grabbed a death hold on Gary's arm, which was the nearest object she could grasp.

Officer Roberts sighed and turned to the three men. "She's not going to let go. She's too young to go to the hospital alone, and Child Protection Services will want to see to her needs."

Calvin, the ex-cop, knew what that meant. He glanced at Gary.

"We'll go with her."

Ms. Fleetwood did survive her heart attack, and Rhiannon was saved from going into foster care. Yet as far as Rhiannon was concerned, she'd found her Christmas angels, and never forgot their names as long as she lived.

As for T.J., Gary, and Cal, they eventually made it to dinner at T.J.'s mother's house, only to be paged into service as soon as they sat down.

Washington, D.C.
1625 hours

I should've gone with Pol and Gadgets to L.A., Ironman thought as he parked the sedan he'd checked out of the Stony Man vehicle pool and got out. Least I know Toni hates my guts, but she wouldn't speak her mind in front of her and Pol's parents. I might even enjoy baiting her; it's been a long time since we've argued over nothing.

He was nervous, and hated the feeling. There were a lot of other things he'd rather face than dinner at a mid-scale restaurant with a son he knew from a distance. He reminded himself that Tommy had been the one to track him down this time, and the least he could do was follow through.

Resolutely, he stepped into the restaurant and up to the hostess.

"Welcome to The Left Bank," the hostess greeted, her voice and expression professional, but her eyes betraying the fact she viewed Ironman as just another customer. "Are you meeting anyone this evening?"

Before Carl could respond, he heard a voice exclaim, "Dad!"

He turned, and was immediately gripped in a fierce hug. "You came," Tommy said, beaming as he stepped back. "The woman I spoke to at your office said you might not make it because your business trip might take longer than anticipated."

A sliver of pain knifed through Carl at the silent rebuke he heard in his son's words. "I'm here," he agreed. He took a careful look at his son, and marveled at how much Tommy had grown since the last time Carl had seen him. The punk look was gone, replaced by a more professional style.

Tommy smiled foolishly a moment longer, then turned to the waiting hostess. "I have a five-thirty reservation for Lyons," he told her.

She checked her clipboard, then made a small notation on neighboring sheet. "Right this way, sir," she said, and led them to a table in the corner of the restaurant.

Neither spoke other than to place their orders. That business completed, Tommy leaned forward. "So are you still doing that stuff you can't talk about?"

Carl smiled. "I can't say," he answered gravely. "I'm just a businessman."

Understanding flickered in his son's eyes. "There was a story on CNN a few weeks ago about some guy up in Paradise Hills, Minnesota who was holding a bunch of people hostage and was planning on releasing anthrax unless someone in the government answered his demands," Tommy said carefully. "Some federal agents came in and pissed the sheriff off, but they got the guy and saved the hostages."

Carl's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't on CNN."

"I thought it was you," Tommy declared. "Meg McKenzie called me up the other day and was going on and on about how this guy looked like an older version of me and what an asshole he was to her."

Realizing Tommy had inside information about a mission Able Team had handled, Carl decided there wasn't much use in denying the truth, or at least as much of it that he could safely spare. "You a friend of hers?"

Tommy nodded. "Spent the year after high school hitchhiking across country. She picked me up and put me to work for a month so I could earn enough money to catch a bus home. She's the one who thought I might be good for the FBI."

Conversation paused as the waitress delivered their orders — a pair of thick steaks, medium rare, with garlic potatoes.

As soon as the waitress left, Tommy picked up the conversational thread. "I know you can't really confirm that you were there. I mean, I remember the conversation we had when I was sixteen and working at Orange Julius. I know the work you do is important, and I'm proud of you. But, damn it, Dad, did you have to tell Meg how to do her job?"

Carl picked up a piece of his steak and chewed it slowly, pondering the question. He knew the reason Sheriff McKenzie had vented her frustration was that she hadn't been able to use the simple solution of simply going up to where the nutcase had holed up and using force to get the hostages out. Moreover, she had wanted to know everything about Able Team, and he hadn't answered her. Even more importantly, Carl had seen how she ran her small cadre of officers, and had (in his mind) offered suggestions for improvement.

Carl swallowed and looked across the table to his son. "Isn't that what a Fed is supposed to do?" he asked innocently. "Tell local cops how to do their jobs?"

Tommy chuckled and lifted his glass of wine in salute. "Touché, Dad."

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before Carl broached a question that had been nagging at him. "Why the FBI, Tommy?"

Tommy chuckled ruefully. "Knew you'd get around to asking that," he remarked. "Would it sound too corny if I said I want to be like you?"

Carl's breath caught, and he had to set down his fork. Grabbing his water glass, he drank it deeply, then stared at his son. "Not corny," he said at last. "Stupid, foolish, and insane maybe. Do you know what you're getting into?"

"Yeah, Dad," Tommy replied steadily. "I paid attention in class this time." He paused. "I don't know if I want to do what you do," he added, "whatever the hell it is that you do exactly, but I know I want to make a difference."

Something clenched inside of Carl, then released. Damn, has it been that long? When did you grow up and become a man? he wondered silently. "You read that somewhere?" he teased Tommy gruffly.

Tommy smiled and shook his head. "Was going through the attic in Mom's house one day and came across a cassette tape with a label marked 'Idiot' on it. Stuck it in a player and heard this conversation. It was your voice and someone else's, some guy named Bolan that sounded really serious and commanding and military. You were debating windmills."

Carl felt his face crack into a reluctant grin as Tommy's words triggered a memory. "I couldn't enter that tape into evidence," he told his son now. "It would've been held against me."

"Figured as much," Tommy replied. "You would've lost everything if someone found out you helped a wanted fugitive escape."

Damn, the boy's quick, Carl thought with a flash of pride. "Was he a fugitive?" Carl asked. "I don't remember. I just thought he was wanted for conducting a war in L.A. without any authorization from anyone."

Tommy chuckled. "Don't worry, Dad, I won't tell anyone. I just looked up Bolan in the FBI files, and came up with all sorts of interesting information. It's a shame he's dead."

For one agonizing moment, Carl started to panic, thinking that perhaps the FBI knew something he didn't. Then he remembered the staged death in Central Park, and relaxed. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "That was a long time ago."

"You're not disappointed, are you?" Tommy asked in a sudden burst of insecurity. "I mean, it's probably crazy to be inspired by some guy who broke every law in the book and then some. Declaring war on the Mafia like they were some foreign country and then living to tell about it as long as he did. No wonder you called him an idiot for tilting at windmills."

Carl studied his son a moment, feeling a measure of regret at the things in his son's life he'd missed while out trying to save the world from those who would destroy it. Now Tommy wanted to do the same thing.

A part of him wanted to shake Tommy, to make him see just what he'd be giving up. However, the larger part, the one that a windmill-chasing guy named Mack Bolan had awakened on one fiery night in California when Tommy was just young enough to play with toy trucks, knew that what Tommy was doing was right.

"No," he told his son, "I was the idiot for not wanting to see the windmills for what they were in the first place." He raised his glass and toasted his son. "They're just obstacles to be overcome. Remember that."

A slow smile spread across Tommy's face and he picked up his glass to return the toast. "I will."

***The end***

Disclaimer: Mack Bolan, the Executioner, and associated characters/concepts belong to Gold Eagle.

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