There was the feeling of freedom and the wind in his hair and, really, that was all he needed.

The moment he'd spotted her, alone and silent, he'd known she was the one for him. She was elegant and simple and beautifully archaic and exactally what he'd been looking for. to him, she was Perfection personfied. well sort of.

Her proper name was the Sikorsky H-19 Chickasaw, but he liked to call her Sheila. BA liked to call her the "demonic fool hunk of junk that would most likely kill them all in a fiery blaze of terror and distruction". when murdock had brought up that that was really too long and improper a name to give to such a classy lady, The mehanic had merely rolled his eyes and muttered about "damn crazy fools" and "evil death machines".

But none of that mattered to the pilot. When he looked at her he didn't see any of those things BA described. He only saw the things she could give him. the passion and delight and unbridaled thrill of flying was present in her sturdy mettallic frame. to him, She represented everything he had ever loved.

the first time he laid his eyes on her he'd had the briefest of flash backs. He remembered Mexico and the happiest day of his life. The day when Hannibal had rescued him, When he'd first done something to annoy Boscoe, or impress Face, The day when he'd become a card carrying member of the Ateam, the craziest, most unorthodox, and most effective clandestined unit the military could offer.

it was also the day he'd been given back his wings and become whole again. Once he was back in the air he'd finnaly been able to leave the worst of the crazy behind. the worst of the voices and hallucinations and the nagging self doubt that left him crippled and unsure gradually faded to the back of his conciousness untill he was left only with the unsurpassable Joy that came when he slid into the pilot's seat and away from the ground beneith him.

And now planted firmly behind Sheila's controlls he felt that rush all over again. Dodgeing missles and bullets and whatever the hell else the enemy thought to throw at him. With Hannibal smirking and Face-man egging him on and Boscoe's (he was sure) encouraging snores radiating from the rear.

Because there was the feeling of freedom and the wind in his hair and his team at his side. And, really, that was all he needed.


NOTE: First A-team fic! in response to a prompt on the A-team kink meme on LJ."I would like a short fic, it can even be a 100 word drabble, idc. Pairing doesn't matter, neither does plot. I just want something based on the captcha you get, since now we all get captchas."So my captcha was Aircraft joy . . . and this happened

the pairing's sort of Murdock/Helicoptor which is odd, but there you have it. Especially since face makes me swoon. also i know nothing about helicopters but saw this and thought it fit the picture in my head. sorry for rambling by the way, i'll just . . . stop now . . .