HE CAN REMEMBER
A/N: This is my first A-TEAM fanfic so please forgive me if I get something wrong.
The old man sits by himself in an armchair, looking strangely out of place wearing a baseball cap and leather bomber jacket. A nurse tries to take it from him but he shakes his head and clutches tightly to the faded piece of clothing. He can remember when the jacket wasn't as faded, when the logo on the cap was readable: days when he wore them while flying his plane or even when it was ninety-five degrees outside.
On visitors day no one comes to see him. He can remember times when a well-dressed youthful looking man would waltz in carrying a fake ID and take him away to places far beyond the boundaries of the VA mental hospital; take him to help on a job or (very, very rarely) to help on a con or sometimes just to eat.
He glances out the window and into the parking lot. Sometimes he can remember a big, black van being driven by an even bigger, black man with gold chains all around his neck and gold rings on his fingers. He can still hear the man threatening death to whoever dared mess with his ride.
Nearby someone lights a cigarette and he can see the face of a man smoking a cigar while formulating a ridiculous plan that was sure to get them all killed but always worked out in the end.
He pulls out his wallet and looks at the picture inside, of the four men standing there with their arms around each other. Even Face had acquiesced to letting Murdoc put his arm around him while B.A. looked less than thrilled with both Murdoc's and Hannibal's arms around him.
Sometimes he misses them more than anything else in the world; misses Face's charming grin, B.A.'s growl, and Hannibal's cigar smell. Strange that the things he missed about them the most was what had gotten them killed. Face had, surprisingly enough, been the first to go; he had walked right into a trap and died while setting up a con, one of B.A.'s blood vessels had erupted while he was yelling at some poor soul who had been unfortunate enough to scratch his van, and Hannibal had eventually died of lung cancer. Murdoc was all that was left.
He starts to speak, his voice trembling. No one listens and if anyone does hear they think he's just another crazy old man that's rambling on. No one thinks that anything he's saying is true. They don't believe his stories about four soldiers of fortune helping people in need. No one thinks that Face, B.A., and Hannibal ever existed; they think that they are products of Murdoc's imagination much like his invisible dog Billy. But Murdoc knows. He knows they were real and that soon he would be joining them.
No one notices when the old man's voice trails away. No one notices that his breathing is growing shallower and eventually dies altogether. No one sees the strange smile on his face, no one notices the photograph clutched in his wrinkled hand. No one knows, or cares, that he is gone.
A/N: I am sorry about the ending. I know it needs something else but I can't figure out what that is. Please review and let me know what you think about the story. I really hope you guys like it.