This just came to me reading a fanfic when Face was giving out about the number of hours he spends in cells. And, the fact that not a single person has ever considered this fact (or if they have, why haven't they written it down!!!) Oh, and I don't own the team, yadda yadda.
One
"Man, oh man, not again. This happens too often." Peck frowned at the man standing opposite the cell to him. That man was staring into space, apparently extremely intrigued by a dust particle (or something normal eyes couldn't see).
"What does, Faceman?" his accent was off, and Face's frown increased minorly.
"Us. This. Getting locked up. I'm sick of it. I mean, maybe there's something nice about being a wanted man, but still, it's not fun. I seem to spend half my time in a cell, big or small." This particular mission had gone wrong in a big way.
"Oh. Poor you." Face looked over at Murdoch. What he saw took him by surprise. Murdoch stared straight at him, angry and focused, two things uncharacteristic in the madman, especially together.
"What do you mean, poor me? It's true."
"Oh, yeah, poor Face. Like the rest of us all have it good."
"What are you talking about, Murdoch? You're not on the run, trying to avoid someone, always trying to stay out of the way!"
"You know, you're right. All I do is stay in the one room for years on end, have anybody who comes into me be frightened of me, have ten thousand needle marks in my arm, and the only time I leave that room without being broken out is going for a nice session of electrocution!" He started at Face with bottled up anger, and a venom that quite frankly scared the willies out of him. Face found he couldn't look at Murdoch anymore, and turned his head to look at the floor.
"I'm gonna go to sleep now." He lay down on the only bed in the cell, a plank hanging from thick chains against the wall. As he did, Face saw the arms of his sleeve slide up, and he briefly saw a flash of dirty, red points on Murdoch's arm. Face shivered as the pilot slowly dropped off, the closeness between them suddenly destroyed.. The night passed, but by the time the sun rose, Face had found a way out.
"Murdoch, I've-"
"Yeah, I heard you talking about it last night. Maybe they should commit you." He had no smile on his face, no gleam in his eye. The sad relationship between them, fragile at best, was gone forever.
"I love it when a plan comes together." Hannibal chewed on a lit cigar, happily contemplating the fact the A-Team had once again gone against all odds (and obstacles) and gotten themselves a bit of cash. And no small feat, either. But as they drove the three hours back to the VA to drop (or possibly sneak) Murdoch back, Murdoch fell asleep. Face kept looking over at the man sleeping in the chair beside him, but he didn't stir. For an hour, the journey was uneventful. But not for long.
BANG!!! The noise ricocheted cross the vast expanse of the freeway, as the helicopter guns left off the beginning of a round that would make the Van look very shortly like a rather large slice of Swiss Cheese. BA swung into action, or rather the Van into action. Its wheels spun, as it made a 180-degree turn in the space of about 3 seconds. This is not a generally good thing for shock absorbers, and with a pang and a creak and groan, one by one they popped above the wheels. One wheel was punctured, and the Van spun with a sickening screech. Face woke up suddenly, followed by the errant Captain. A round of bullet fire ricocheted off the roof. But BA didn't even break out in a sweat. He turned and twisted, and moved quickly into the sliproad going off the Highway. It joined a line of cars entering the city, forcing the helicopter to give up its pursuit. As the noise quietened down, Face glanced at Murdoch. The pilot's eyes were open aimlessly. He mouthed, Face', and then shut his eyes again. He was gone in moments.
The Van approached the VA and slowed about a block from the building. Face went to wake the pilot, who did not stir. Hannibal stopped him.
"D'you hear that?"
"Hannibal, he-"
"Listen." Face suddenly became aware of a faint whistling sound. He looked up. There was a tiny bullet-sized hole in the ceiling. It was directly above where Murdoch now lay. Fearful, Face tore open his friends' leather jacket. A gathering pool of blood gushed out onto his hands. As he felt the pilot's forehead, he realised that the man was stone cold.
"And so, we commend the spirit of our brother to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" The priest rambled on. From the shade of the nearby tree, three figures watched silently. As the coffin was lowered to the ground, they turned to leave. Decker let them go. This was not the time nor place. He idly thought about all of the squandered opportunities he had had to capture the A-Team, when he had had the link to them right under his nose the whole time. But for now, the hunt was suspended. Let the deer lick its wounds.
THE END
Ahem ahem ahem sorry about that, it all got away from me short but (bitter)sweet