It was dark, it must've been close to eleven at night. Despite the hour, it was fairly warm still; the heat from the long August day lingering on.
In a cluttered old garage, a man leaned over the engine of an old black van, one that hadn't been used in awhile but that still ran perfectly, due mainly to the man currently working on it.
Straightening up with a groan, the man simply stood and looked at the perfect engine for a moment before grabbing a nearby rag and rubbing some of the oil off his hands. Tossing the rag back on the table, he closed the hood of the van and stepped out into the night air.
The radio was playing, quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors (as if they'd be disturbed anyway, this was inner-city Chicago, they were louder anyway) but loud enough that he could make out the words.
A man was rapping about how he wished he could go back to a simpler time, and how if only all the rappers out there didn't sell out their music. BA Baracus chuckled to himself, the whole "Y'all are sell-outs and we should all go back to a simpler time" was so overplayed these days, it was practically a sell-out itself.
Sitting down on a wooden crate outside the garage, BA looked up at the sky and thought on his own past. It made sense, really. Out of all the members of the A-Team, everyone always sort of knew he'd last the longest. "Because you're about as strong as a brick wall," Face had once said. "If you hit one full on, the wall would crumble before your hand broke."
Face had been the first to go. A single bullet, a tiny piece of metal had taken down the suave and conniving gentleman they had all known and loved. A lucky shot from the pistol of an angry and humiliated mob boss, breaking through the defenses and striking him right in the heart. He had died instantly. That was during the summer of 91. That had been their last mission as a team.
BA had been angry, so angry. It had been everything Hannibal could do to keep him from avenging their handsome young lieutenant right then and there. For weeks afterwards, BA didn't say a word to anyone. He just worked on cars, and growled at everyone who so much as gave him a pitying glance.
The shock had sent Murdock back to the VA hospital, where Hannibal would sneak in and visit the man from time to time, using various disguises to avoid detection. Not BA, though. His excuse was that with all the MP's watching for the team to contact Murdock, he would be spotted too easily.
The truth, he didn't even want to admit to himself. He couldn't stand seeing the crazy fool, not now. Not now that Face was gone. Not while every word spoken by the pilot would bring back haunting memories of a time when they had all been whole.
So he stayed behind. He stayed at his house, in his apartment. Working as a mechanic to pay the bills, working at the day-care center to take his mind off things. BA had thrown himself into his work before, but now... now he worked twice as hard. One shift for him, one shift for Face. Maybe that way, the two of them could continue working to help the people of America.
Hannibal didn't approve of BA's decision to stay away from Murdock. BA still remembered the time Hannibal had shown up at his doorstep, a cigar in his mouth, and a glare in his eye.
"He needs you, you know," he had said by way of a greeting. BA didn't have to guess to know who he was talking about.
"What'chu talkin' 'bout, Hannibal?" He'd asked testily, feigning confusion.
"BA..." Hannibal had said wearily.
BA shifted his weight. "Sorry, Hannibal," he'd said. "I won't do it. You can't make me."
"He thinks you're angry with him," Hannibal said. "He's blaming himself."
"What?" BA demanded, frowning. "Why would he do that? It ain't his fault!"
"It isn't yours either, Sergeant," Hannibal had said, but then he'd sighed. "Murdock had the chance to take Rios out earlier. He left him with a warning instead."
BA let out a low hiss. "So now the fool thinks that if he'd taken the shot, Faceman would still be alive," he said.
Hannibal nodded. "And he thinks that you won't visit him because you're angry at him for it. I've tried to tell him why you couldn't be there, but he's a lot smarter than he seems to be. He's seen through every one of your excuses."
BA lost his scowl and let his emotions show, in a rare moment of complete honesty and vulnerability. "I can't do it, Hannibal," he'd said. "I'm sorry, I just can't. I'll write him a letter, I'll tell him that I don't blame him. But I can't go in there and talk to him. I just can't."
And that had to be enough. Because no matter what Hannibal said, now matter how hard he pled, BA simply would not go to the VA hospital.
BA didn't see Murdock until 1998, when he was left with the painful chore of sneaking in to inform the man of the death of their beloved Hannibal himself.
He'd already put it off for two days, he'd gotten word from Stockwell himself. The A-Team had respectfully told the agent that they were done playing puppet in 1988, and had gone back to their earlier duties of hiring themselves out as mercenaries.
But it seemed that after the death of the A-Team, Hannibal had needed to continue serving his country, just as BA had needed to. But whereas BA threw himself into providing a future for the next young generation, Hannibal had gone back to Stockwell, to offer his services as an agent for the CIA.
BA never learned of Hannibal's cause of death, nor when, where and how it had taken place. Stockwell had been very vague on the details, sending the only one of his agents he was reasonably sure would come back alive. Frankie.
Frankie had stayed on in the CIA, and indeed, had become a sort of protegee of Hannibal's. After telling BA, Frankie had asked if he should also go tell Murdock, or if BA wanted to do so himself.
BA wanted more than anything to let Frankie handle the pilot, but then he'd remembered that night, that conversation with Hannibal, and decided he owed it to Murdock to tell him in person.
As he'd stood outside the one-time familiar door of the room, he'd wondered just how much his friend had changed in the seven years since he'd last seen him. He'd remembered the wild, loud, exuberant person he'd been so annoyed by, but who he'd always felt was a brother to him, despite all that he'd said. But Murdock was changed.
Oh, he looked the same, at first glance. He still had his baseball cap, he still wore his bomber jacket, he even had the same shoes, ratty though they were.
He looked up when BA came through the door, and his brown eyes grew wide.
"BA," he'd said, smiling a sort of half-smile. "You came! I thought you'd never come. I know how much this place gives you the willies..."
BA looked at the man, sitting in the middle of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, and he wondered how long Murdock had been sitting there, how long it had been since he'd gotten out into the world.
A pang of guilt came over BA, who decided suddenly that Murdock would get his chance to be outside again, before he told him.
"Hey there, suckah," he'd said, trying to be as gruff as he could be. "You're coming with me."
Murdock blinked. "Where're we goin'?" He'd asked, standing up.
"We goin' out," BA had said, frowning at the man. "I ain't stayin' here longer than I have to. So let's go."
He'd turned and walked out, glancing behind to see Murdock following, sending a few confused glances down the different corridors.
"Does Hannibal have a plan?" He'd asked, causing BA to freeze.
"...What?" He'd asked.
Murdock looked confused. "You know, to get me out," he'd said. "Any fake papers to sign, any 'new medications' to have a bad reaction to, am I supposed to have some kind of disease, like tapeworm, or seasickness, or tuberculosis-" He stopped suddenly and blinked a few times before looking down at the floor, for reasons unknown to BA, who took a few deep breaths, swallowed, and then addressed the man.
"No," he said. "No plan. We just leavin'."
"Oh, the direct approach?" Murdock said, looking back up at BA. "Fine then, come with me, I'll show you the best window to climb out of."
Without anything planned, BA took Murdock back to his apartment. Murdock sat quietly on the couch and looked around.
"When's he gonna get here?" He asked innocently.
BA hesitated. "I don't know," he finally said. "Do you want a Pepsi or something?"
"No thanks," Murdock said. "I'm trying a new diet at the VA. You gotta cleanse your system, keep those organs shiny and squeakin'."
BA had looked at the man for a moment. He couldn't mean... "Your doctors," he said. "They put you on this diet?"
"Nope," Murdock said with a small laugh. "They're against it. They keep making me dirty up my system. I keep trying to get it clean, but I guess they ain't into new trends these days. Even put me on the tube once."
BA noticed for the first time how pale the pilot really was, and how his bomber jacket seemed to hang off of him.
"Oh, Murdock," He'd said in remorse. "I'm sorry!"
Murdock frowned in confusion. "...Huh?" He'd asked.
"Man, Hannibal was right," BA continued. "I shouldn't've left you alone. I should'a been there for you when you needed me."
"Oh," Murdock said. "That's okay, BA. It isn't so bad. The doctors are all nice to me, and I take a therapy painting class every Friday, and Hannibal still visits whenever he can. He gave me your letter, you know. I know you don't blame me for... well, you know."
"No, I should have been there too," BA said firmly. "I let you down when you needed me. No more. You ain't going back to the VA anymore. You gonna stay with me!"
Murdock looked surprised. "I am?" He'd asked.
BA nodded. "They tryin' their best," he said. "But you messed up, man! You need someone strong enough that can make you eat your vegetables!"
Murdock laughed. "We're gonna be roommates?" He asked. "I always knew you cared, you angry mudsucker! What does Hannibal think about all this?"
BA paused, then sighed. "About that," he said. "There's something you need to know."
Murdock's smile faded slightly. "What?" He said.
"Hannibal..." BA said. "Hannibal was workin' for Stockwell again."
"I know," Murdock said. "He told me once. Said he was workin' to get our pardons. He said all four of 'em."
BA felt a lump come up in his throat. All four of them. "Well," he said quietly. "I'm afraid we ain't never getting those pardons now."
Murdock was quiet for a moment. "...You mean..." He said, but he couldn't say anymore.
"I'm sorry," BA said again. "They said he was on a mission. They won't tell me nothin' else. I don't even know if there's gonna be no funeral. I don't think there is. Not for a wanted fugitive, or for no secret agent."
Murdock had gone into shock. He'd muttered and shaken his head and downright refused to believe it, and then he'd freaked and started yelling and thrashing around, and BA had never been more afraid in his life. Not afraid for himself, but for Murdock. He'd finally managed to calm the man down enough to get him to lay down in the guest bed, and he stayed up all night while Murdock tossed and turned and whimpered and screamed.
In the morning, Murdock seemed to snap to himself, and he sat up.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, brown eyes sunken and haunted. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose control, really, I am, I haven't had an episode like that since..."
He trailed off and shuddered.
BA opened his mouth, and shut it again. He'd always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Murdock had episodes like that, but he'd never seen one before, never witnessed it live.
Murdock interpreted his silence as displeasure.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "Please don't send me back, please don't leave me behind!"
BA found his voice. "Send you back?" He repeated incredulously. "You crazy fool! I ain't never sendin' you away! I let you down for seven years, I gonna take care of you now!"
Murdock blinked. "But, but I thought-"
"Doesn't matter what you thought," BA said. "We blood brothers, remember? I ain't been much of a brother lately, and I'm sorry for that. But now we together, we gonna take care of each other. You got that, suckah?"
Murdock gave a weak smile. "Yeah," he said. "Got it."
Stockwell was nothing if not a man of his word, however late it took him to hold up his end of the deal, and it wasn't long before the news was buzzing not only with the official and long-awaited pardons of all four members of the A-Team, but also with the obituaries of both 1st Lieutenant Templeton Peck and Colonel John Smith, now proclaimed true American heroes.
There was a huge memorial service held for them both, and a grand burial, though it was all for show; both caskets were empty.
Stockwell still maintained that Hannibal's mission had been too crucial to inform them of even the slightest detail of what had happened, but Frankie told them in secret that they had never recovered the body. And as for Face, he had already been buried for seven years, in a small graveyard next to the church of his youth, a short walk away from the orphanage. His grave, containing only the best, newest, and most expensive and luxurious coffin available, was marked with a plain granite headstone reading only the cryptic message:
Friend and brother, goodbye.
All our waiting has paid off.
Cares are gone, all is done,
Enjoy your long-awaited rest.
12-7-50 to 7-18-91
After the pardon, BA and Murdock paid a quiet visit and added two more dates to the headstone:
1972 to 1998
The memorial, as stated earlier, was quite the affair. BA was asked to speak, he declined. Both he and Murdock attended in disguise, and were surprised to find that, in lieu of BA's refusal, Colonel Decker had been asked to speak.
"I'm not going to lie to any of you people standing around, out here on this beautiful day, to pay your respects," Decker had said. "But none of us deserve to be standing here right now."
That opening statement had surprised BA and Murdock, but they closed their mouths and leaned forward, to hear the rest of the speech.
"We're here to honor two of the greatest soldiers who ever lived," Decker continued. "And what made them great? Not the war they fought. Not the lives they saved. Not the amount of medals they earned. No, what made these soldiers great is what happened after the war, what happened after they saved our lives."
He took a deep breath and looked around before continuing. "Because after all they'd done for us, we turned around and made them fugitives," He said with a frown. "No, what makes these men great, is that even though we turned our backs on them, even though we ignored what they'd done for us and for our country, they just kept on fighting."
"They fought for what they knew was right, despite all the years we spent hunting them down for it." Decker let out a small smile. "I'm sorry to say, I chased them down myself, even to the point of near catching them once or twice," he said.
"I s'pose I knew Colonel Smith as well as anybody, save the few lucky enough to call themselves his friends," he continued. "And let me tell you, he was a good man, and I wish I'd taken the time to see it earlier, so that I could have counted myself among those who reserved the right to call him by his preferred nickname, Hannibal."
After the address, Decker saluted the empty casket of John 'Hannibal' Smith, then he turned and saluted the empty casket of 1st lieutenant Templeton 'Faceman' Peck - Richard Bancroft.
"Well, what'd'ya know," Murdock said as they walked back to BA's apartment. "He liked us this whole time!"
His tone and expression were a little lackluster, however. Neither of them were up for much talking that evening. They just sat at the apartment and thought.
Amy Allen came to visit the next day, she'd put her skills as a journalist to use (along with a few conning skills Face had taught her) and managed to get the location of BA's apartment from the landlord's landlord's landlord.
She was great, she didn't feel the need to "offer her condolences," she didn't recount old stories of old times, she just came and sat with them, and talked small-talk. She even had an in-depth conversation with Murdock about shapes in the clouds, when he insisted someone mention something about the weather.
She did bring milk and cookies, however. A big tin of six different kinds of cookies, and four cartons of milk. The three of them ate all the cookies that day, and they drank all the milk together, raising the first glass in toast, to "The Coming Together of Plans."
At one point during the night, BA remembered that Murdock commented "It's a good thing you decided to bring cookies instead of flowers."
"Why's that?" Amy had asked.
"Because flowers look real pretty, But cookies taste so much better." Murdock had explained. "Imagine having to eat orchids or lilies. Trust me, it don't go down easy, no matter how much milk ya drink."
Murdock stayed with BA, just as BA had promised, and he got better. BA took care of him; he made him eat regularly, he allowed him to accompany BA to the shop and the daycare center. And he lent a touch of normalcy to the pilot's life, calling him "crazy fool," scowling at him when he asked too many questions, and threatening to tie his head to a post using his arms as a rope when Murdock touched his gold or his van. Murdock knew that BA was only teasing, and he appreciated the gesture.
Sometimes, though, BA would wake up in the middle of the night and hear Murdock crying out in the other room, and BA would go in to try and calm him, and end up sitting up with him the rest of the night while Murdock rocked back and forth and muttered and shook his head.
As time passed, that became more and more rare, however. And although Murdock never did "normal," he definitely got better.
And then, one day in 2004, BA came home from the daycare to find a man in a suit waiting for him, to tell him the news. He explained that he tried to phone, but he didn't have BA's number.
Always the hero, Murdock had been in a corner store and tried to stop an armed robbery. Apparently, the thieves had taken a young kid hostage, and Murdock had seen an opportunity to pull the girl to safety and try to wrestle the gun from the robber's hand. The police had gotten there soon enough to catch the thieves, but the thief still managed to get a shot in, right over the heart, where he still had the old scar. Murdock was far from the young man he once had been, and he hadn't made it to the hospital.
BA had felt lost. He'd felt so lost, helpless, alone. When Face had died, he'd had Hannibal. When Hannibal had died, he'd gone to see Murdock. Now... Now there was nothing for him here.
After Murdock's funeral (Not as public or as grand as Hannibal's and not as quiet as Face's first) BA packed up his stuff and moved to Chicago. His mama had died a few years before, and he and Murdock had visited to pay their respects, but now, he was here to stay.
He rented an apartment, got plugged into a new city center where he could teach at the daycare, and worked as a mechanic to pay the bills. He slipped into a routine.
It had been six years now, and as BA sat on the box with his back against the garage wall that August night in 2010, he listened to the chorus of that song on the radio, and he looked up at the sky.
"Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?
I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now.
Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?
I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now."
There was a plane flying overhead right then, the lights twinkling in the distance. Closing his eyes, BA took a deep breath, and concentrated.
"Red carpet flight 86 now ready for boarding, aaall passengers holding tickets will now be on board!"
Murdock smiled from where he was sitting in their make-shift "Ultra-light," the injured man strapped in next to him as the ten-horsey-power engine growled behind him.
"You got some structure weakness in the wing-struts," BA explained. "And it won't hold if you start any o' your aerobatics. Remember, keep it outta the silks, if it start to shred, take it down."
"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU CARED, SWEETHEART!" Murdock said, in a scarily accurate impersonation of some cartoon character. Then he reached up and took hold of BA's chain of gold jewelry, pulling him just a little bit closer. "Thanks, BA," he said happily. The air was his element.
"Don't thank me," BA, said gruffly, straightening back up. Then he let out a smile. "Just keep it outta the trees."
"Get this bird off the ground, that guy's sweatin' bullets," Hannibal said, his cigar hanging from his teeth.
"I WILL FIND CIVILIZATION, MUCHACHO!" Murdock yelled, the spanish word not fitting quite right with his German accent. "I WILL BRING BACK REINFORCEMENTS! WHAT ON EARTH WILL YOU BE DOING WHILE I AM GONE!?"
Hannibal grinned. "Just guess, Murdock," he said, his grin getting bigger as he walked past Face, who was wearing his priest costume. "Just guess."
They all watched as Murdock started the Ultra-light, and BA gulped, checking and re-checking the mechanics in his head. He had complete faith in his handiwork, of course, and complete faith in Murdock's skill as a pilot. But if something were to go wrong...
As the bird left the ground, Murdock began a song, some kinda German Opera, by the sound of it. It could be heard echoing through the trees, as Murdock belted out the lyrics, interrupting himself with a "Whoops!" That made the team stop and catch their breath.
But he stayed up, and Hannibal shook his head in wonder, that grin never leaving his face. "Beautiful," he said.
Up in the sky, Murdock circled overhead before beginning to fly away, still singing at the top of his lungs.
Face smiled and waved goodbye as Hannibal walked away, and BA shook his head. "The man is crazy," he said with a slight frown.
Still smiling, Face turned to follow Hannibal. "Yeah, but it's a good kinda crazy," he said without skipping a beat.
BA opened his eyes and looked up at the faraway plane. Time consumes all. Little by little, everything he once had known was gone. He was the last. He was the last of a great thing, and although it made him sad to remember it, it also made him... very happy. Very proud.
With a big grin spreading over his face and few tears running down it as well, he raised a hand and gave a salute to the make-shift shooting star.
"Hannibal, Face, and Murdock, you crazy fool," he thought. "Good luck to ya, wherever you are."
And as he stood up and went into his apartment for the night, he could almost swear he heard a voice from somewhere, from everywhere.
"And the same to you, Sergeant. You've made me proud to call myself your Commanding Officer."
"Take care of yourself, BA, and listen, stop blaming yourself. We all knew the risk, it's no one's fault but Rios'."
"Thanks for bein' my blood-brother, BA! Don't let 'em forget us, you big angry mudsucker!"
BA stopped at his door and sighed. He didn't turn around. He knew nothing was there. But he smiled all the same. "Goodbye, guys," he said.
As he stepped into his apartment and went up to bed, he felt at peace for the first time in 20 years. He was an old man now. Old and tired. But he'd had a good life. He'd had a good run. And although it was all over now, he wouldn't have traded it for all the gold in the world.