Disclaimer: no recognizable characters are mine. Any characters you don't recognize means you haven't read some of my other A-Team fics, because I have a problem with inserting OCs. (very cheeky grin)

This little conversation piece between B.A. and Angel came about after discovering the MOST GIANT PLOT HOLE in the movie. I'm almost embarrassed it took a year to discover it, but then again, without a plot hole, any chance for a sequel is even more down the toilet than it already is.

Enjoy!

"Tell me again."

"Tell you what again?"

"I can't sleep. Tell me again how you didn't go to jail the second time."

The room was dim but the flash of his smile was visible. B.A. was tired, but knew she would pester him till he gave in. It was funny how her and Murdock's habits could be similar; what was funnier was that he didn't mind an iota as much when she did it.

Angel turned onto her side and curled her arm under her head. She used the fingernails on her free hand to draw tiny designs on his chest.

"No sleep for the weary?" he asked.

"Not without a bedtime story for me."

B.A. smiled again, caught her hand, and kissed her fingertips.

"We had this whole plan set up," he began. "Face's plan. To expose that guy Lynch and clear our names. The whole thing was going down at the LA dock works—"

"Not all that," Angel interrupted. "Just when you thought everything had come together and life was going to be peachy . . . "

Picking at mental scabs, he thought to himself. She didn't like to hear about physical injuries or hurts, just psychological ones. B.A. didn't pick, he'd rather let the past stay in the past. Nothing could change it, so there was no reason to dwell.

Her asking about it, though, brought the memories back like a slideshow. Accompanying them were all the crazy emotions that rocked the team. Surprise, hurt, betrayal, disbelief—and then the determination that they weren't going back, they were getting out. Legality be damned.

B.A. remembered Murdock sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, looking shell shocked and out of it. B.A. had joked with him that he hoped he needed stitches, please let me put in some stitches—Murdock had vaguely declined. When B.A. saw the darkening bruise appearing on the pilot's temple, and realized that Kevlar or not, being shot in the head couldn't have been a great experience, he sat down with Murdock and let him lean against him for support.

Angel gave his chest an open-palmed squeeze as he recounted that to her.

Confusion reigned supreme around them. Face and Hannibal were talking, shouting to medics and for Sosa and trying to make sure they were heard and that the situation wasn't going to misconstrued or misrepresented—

Then all the confusion turned to chaos. Out of nowhere, it seemed, MPs surrounded them. Them grabbing Murdock by the upper arms and yanking him to his feet flipped a switch in the dazed man's head—instead of passive and stunned, Murdock became a whirling dervish, screaming,

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Don't—"

B.A. was on his feet, shaking off the MPs trying to hold him in order to get them off Murdock. Face was doing the same, all the while demanding answers. As two more MPs piled on B.A., driving him hard into the ground, he heard Hannibal order his men to stand down, and continue calmly, like this was not-a-big-deal:

"—we've cleared our names but breaking out of jail is still illegal."

Unable to wipe the grit and blood off his face, B.A. glared daggers at the former Colonel as he was forced into the back of the transport vehicle. He took the seat across from Murdock; Hannibal sat down next to the pilot.

Face was last, apparently able to charm a few more seconds of freedom out of their captors. When he finally sat down beside B.A., Murdock was done with dazed, done with frenzied, and was now just bewildered. B.A. himself was so angry he could barely speak besides,

"This is bullshit. Bullshit!"

Hannibal did his best to calm them down.

Face sat there, looking smug—strike that—just looking like Face, until a pause in everyone's personal reactions allowed him the attention he desired.

Producing a handcuff key, the attitude in the back of the van transformed from pissed and panicky to slightly less pissed and gleeful.

"Getting away from the MPs was easy," B.A. told Angel.

Once the handcuffs were removed and Murdock threw another fit—it was incredibly realistic, with nonsensical phrases and foam in the corners of his mouth, so much so that B.A. told Angel privately that it was too good, too realistic, and made him wonder if the man was insane at all or just the best damn actor on earth—Face screamed through the dividing window that they needed help, this was the guy who got shot in the head and didn't receive medical attention, GET BACK HERE AND HELP HIM RIGHT NOW.

Face may not have Hannibal's deep authoritative voice, but he could compel people to do what he wanted anyway.

The vehicle stopped. Face stood against the dividing window to prevent the driver from seeing what was happening. The driver ordered him away, but Face raised his voice to an alarmed pitch and replied he thought Murdock was having a grand mal seizure, and he might be swallowing his tongue. Murdock thrashed and hit the side of the van so hard it reverberated.

Two of the three MPs came to the back. Hannibal and B.A., hands still behind their backs, waited. Instinctively they marked the sound of the boots on the gravel and knew where the two guards stood. As the sound of the lock snapped open, B.A.'s eyes met Hannibal's. The older man gave a nod, and the moment the double doors cracked open, the two were out and wrestling the MPs.

Face still didn't move and Murdock still didn't stop his commotion. The driver still demanded Face move out of the way of the window.

Once the MPs were subdued and handcuffed, Hannibal crept to the right side of the van, B.A. to the left. Hannibal knocked lightly on the passenger door, and as the driver was distracted, B.A. yanked open his door and pulled him out.

Face howled with laughter as he exited the back of the vehicle. Murdock was slower, and told them he was going to need a nap. He was clapped on the back and promised his nap as soon as possible.

They relieved the MPs of their weapons, cell phones, money and boots, and handcuffed them together with their backs to a sizable tree.

B.A. took the keys, Hannibal climbed in the passenger seat, and Face attended Murdock in the back again.

Hannibal directed them to a crappy residential area. None of them were incredibly pleased about having to steal someone's ride—Face even suggested boosting a nice car from a nice neighborhood, and B.A. didn't think it was because he didn't want to ride in a beater—but they all knew that stealing a car from this area wouldn't have consequences quite as quick.

Once their ride was exchanged, they found a crappy motel. Hannibal didn't want to high-tail it out via the airport. Too much security there, and he had more contacts in the States anyway. Once they got their bearings and rested, they could make better decisions.

"Better decisions?" Angel snorted beside him.

B.A. picked his head up to look over at her.

"Right. Better decisions," he repeated. "We were jet-lagged and none of us had any adrenaline left—Murdock was practically unconscious—"

"Hannibal must've been completely brain dead too. Murdock at least had an excuse," the woman beside him mused.

"What you goin' on about?" he asked. Although there could be reason for it, there wasn't much bite in his question.

Angel resumed rubbing his chest. "All I'm saying is, it seems none of you could think straight after being arrested again. I mean, what was the purpose of breaking out of custody a second time?"

"Purpose? Purpose? They were sending us back to prison, babe, even after we cleared our names and this time there wouldn't be a second chance ta get out—"

"That's the point!" she interrupted with an odd gleefulness in her voice. "You cleared your names. The plates were found, Lynch was fingered as the bad guy. You're right, you would have had to go back because you broke out, but since you escaped again, you'll never be able to get a clean record or re-instated!

"If you'd all just sat tight and let the system catch up to you, you'd all have been out in less than a year. With your full ranks and benefits and commendations intact."

B.A. opened his mouth to argue, and then realized she was right. What the hell had Face been thinking, and Hannibal going along with it? That was definitely the last time he followed anything Face came up with . . .

"But if I'd gone back into the military, I'd never have met you," he finally decided to say. As sappy as that might sound, it was true. And it was easier to tell her that than to tell Hannibal he didn't really want re-instated, which was a resolution he'd made a while ago but hadn't had the balls to say out loud.

"Oh, you're so sweet!" she cooed, and finally cuddled into his side.

He stretched and kissed her forehead, and listened to her slip into sleep. She did this a lot: asking him to tell her something that he wished was just buried, making some poignant comment about it and twisting his thoughts in a different direction, and then falling asleep like it was no big deal.

B.A. smiled to himself. Would he have it any other way?

fin, and damn you Angel, for being logical.