I'd like to dare anyone reading this to give Frankie the benefit of the doubt. I don't think he's such a bad guy, and in fact, is pretty fun to write with. He's fun and funny! A lot of fans complain that he's just like a mix of Murdock and Face. He kind of is, isn't he? ... But, don't we like Murdock and Face? We wouldn't like it if it were a mix of Dolores Umbridge and Jar Jar Binks ... this is much better in comparison, wouldn't you say?

I don't own these characters, but I will defend them to the end. Even the villains. :) I think I'm over-devoted.

Anyway-I dare you to like Frankie. Seriously, give him a chance, he's great.

Post reviews if you'd like to see more, and I'll try to get it up in a timely manner, I promise (not that that's worth all that much). :) ... Also just post reviews. I like those. They make me feel noticed. ;)

It wasn't Frankie's fault (not that it ever was). He hadn't meant to get kidnapped-these sorts of things just happened! They just seemed to happen more often since Stockwell had blackmailed him into becoming a member of the A-Team (not that it had happened all that often before …).

So, due to a strange visit to the local grocery store, and what must have been an accidental mugging; Frankie was now waking up with a sore head, a blindfold, and tightly tied hands.

It was a thick blindfold too, since no light was filtering through, and yet he could feel that he was outside. Of course, it could have been nighttime, but that was impossible. It had been 8:00 am when he'd been clocked, and there was no way it had been that hard.

As his ears began to hear again, he immediately recognized the sound of leaves rustling and … crickets chirping? Okay. So maybe it had been that hard.

His cheek was pressed up against dirt and felt sticky and wet. He'd chalked it up as sweat earlier, but now …, now he could feel the steady throb of his heartbeat in his left temple; the throb that spoke of excessive force.

'Oh man.' He thought, trying to sit up, 'I better not have blood on my shirt, or someone owes me a new one.'

Problem was, he couldn't tell.

Sitting up turned out to be something his head wasn't okay with, but he only found that out when he hit the dirt once again. He stifled a moan. Surely by now the guys had noticed. Hannibal had to have noticed!

"You're awake." An awfully low voice oozed from the darkness to his … left?

"I am?" He replied while his mind raced to attach the voice to any face that he knew (no, not that Face!). Nothing came up as the voice chuckled. Evilly. (Frankie would recognize evil chuckles by now. Murdock was actually fairly adept at them.)

"Unfortunately for you, yes." The laugh somehow managed to continue living through the sentence, making the unknown man sound very amused. Frankie hoped he didn't look that funny, and was suddenly a little peeved. That guy was laughing at him!

"Okay, yeah-funny, funny." He went to sit up again, and the tension in his chest made his next words unintentionally breathy, "Whaddaya want?"

"The A-Team." Frankie fell back again. Maybe the mugging hadn't been a case of mistaken identity after all.

"The who-now?" Playing dumb wasn't something the A-Team had taught him.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about. You've been seen with them, and I in fact know that you're a member of their team."

"No one told me." Frankie had stopped trying to get up.

"I have footage." Came the calm reply, again, a slight laugh in the voice. It only took Frankie a moment to come up with his reply. He began laughing too,

"Man, someone is messin' wid your head. I have no idea what you're talkin' about!"

"I will let you go." The man spoke, then waited. Frankie was a master at this little tête-à-tête , and waited as well, for the 'but' that he knew was right behind that statement.

There was a beat of awkward silence, and then Frankie decided to prompt the guy. Even masters couldn't wait forever, "And?"

"First you must tell me the whereabouts of the A-Team." The response was immediate and serious, the laughing having stopped. Not for Frankie though. He busted up laughing again (which he quickly regretted),

"Look man, I don't know who you're talkin' about!"

"That's your final answer?"

"That's my only answer, man." Frankie hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt.

"You'll talk." Came the reply, and footsteps moved towards him, "And you'll wish you'd talked now."

"Look, I don't-" Frankie began, but was cut off by a hard kick to his already sore head.

Well. At least now he knew what it felt like to explode.