Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, nor any of its amazing characters.

Hello! Sorry for the late update; it's been a very long week. I can't really think of anything important I need so say, so I'll let you guys read. ;)

Enjoy:

Chapter 4: Clarified Inquiries

The assisted breathing tube and the IV had been removed once he'd been declared stable, as well as the heart monitor and the other machines that had monitored his condition. He was given strong meds for his ribs, which were healing nicely. His memories had returned within the last few hours, though he still didn't remember how his ribs were broken, so he guessed it'd happened after he'd been injected with the toxins.

"Captain?"

Murdock blinked, sucking in a breath of air as he turned his head. Johnson stood at the foot of his hospital bed, bathed in golden light from the setting sun, and the Captain's brown eyes, puffy and tired from crying, caught her gaze.

"There's a Colonel here who wants to ask you some questions about what happened. Or rather, what was supposed to happen. Is that alright?"

A Colonel. Thinning white hair, embers falling from a cigar, a smug grin and bright eyes.

It wasn't him; it couldn't be. But the thought was still there. The flash of hope was still there, despite how quickly it withered and crushed his heart.

Maybe the Colonel can answer could answer some of his own questions.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

The doctor nodded and disappeared momentarily before reappearing with a tall man no older than fifty. His hair was still brown, though there were some grey in his roots; his eyes were dark brown, and he had a thin, sloping nose. Complete opposite of Hannibal.

"Not too many questions, alright?" Johnson whispered, though it was still loud enough for the pilot to hear. "He's mentally unstable already, and now his friend's are dead. Come and get me if anything happens." She turned to him, her features strict and emotionless as she shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. "Mr. Murdock, I'm going to leave you two alone."

The Captain blinked, and seconds later the doctor left, the door clicked shut behind her. Only then did the Colonel step forward, arm outstretched. Murdock shook his hand as he introduced himself.

"I'm Colonel Edward Roe," he said. His accent sounded vaguely southern. "I'm sorry to hear about your friends, son."

Murdock swallowed thickly, letting his hand fall to the side as Roe pulled his hand back. "Thanks. Me too."

The Colonel grabbed a chair from the opposite wall, clutching a manila folder under his arm as he dragged it to his bedside. "I'm sorry to have to do this, son, but the details of this operation are very unclear. Both the American and the Russian government are vying for answers."

"I understand," he lied.

It didn't matter anymore. His friends were dead. Why did they need answers?

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Just do your best to answer them, okay? It's alright if you don't know some."

Murdock nodded, letting his eyes close for a second as he gathered himself. "O-okay."

The Colonel flipped the manila folder open, pulling a pen from inside his formal uniform. "Let's start at the beginning, then, Captain. I'm aware that the A-Team hired themselves out as lone rangers, if you will, to help people. Who hired you doesn't matter right now; we can deal with that later. My first questions is: What were you doing when you were injected with the toxins?"

The pilot took a breath, hoping to clear his head. "I was um... Hannibal, that is, Colonel Smith, had a plan that I would... replace one of the Russians at their meetin'."

"And who were you to replace?"

"A guy named Ivan Gregory. He was a pilot, and since I'm the only pilot in the team, I was gonna his place. I got in okay; Hannibal was listenin' in for the passcode to the meeting from a bug we planted on the patio. But when I got in... They knew I was a fake 'n they drugged me with some stuff..."

"And what date was this?" he asked, scribbling some things on a sheet of paper.

Murdock licked his lips, feeling another headache growing behind his eyes. "That was Sunday. The, um... third. Dr. Johnson said I was admitted to the hospital on the fourth. And my friends... died on the sixth."

Glancing up at him, something unidentifiable flashed in Roe's eyes. "I'm sorry, son. It's never easy to lose a teammate. Much less three."

"Thanks."

"After you had infiltrated the Russians, how were you to contact your friends?"

"I was... um. We were supposed to meet up later that night—after I'd learned their plan. All we knew was where they were gonna make the exchange."

Roe nodded, flipping a page in the folder. "And where was that?"

"The Russians were gonna meet their partners on the docks. Pier 4, at ten in the mornin'. But we didn't know how they planned to transport the drugs, or who they were selling it to."

"And that's what you were supposed to find out?"

Nodding, Murdock sipped the cup of lukewarm water by his bedside.

"Do you have an idea of what the Colonel's plan of attack would have been?"

The pilot swallowed, flexing and unflexing his fingers nervously. It was an anxious tick Dr. Richter had pointed out during one of their session. "He... He was fond of a thing he called a 'half-pincer movement.' We used it in Nam a lot. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Faceman was the one who checked out the docks, so I'm not sure where they would have placed themselves, but it's a... It's pretty much a frontal attack, so they probably set up at the main entrance."

"Do you know how many men there would be?"

"Based on what Gregory told us, it was going to be a small operation. Two guys on the boat; two guys on the docks."

"So just four Russians?"

"Yeah," Murdock whispered.

Just four guys. How could everything had gone so wrong on the mission when there were only four guys? Hannibal could easily take two men at one; Faceman could probably take three at most; and B.A. could take four, alone. Not to mention the fact that they watched each other's backs, would have had automatic weapons, and, knowing Hannibal, would have had at least a dozen grenades. Granted, he didn't know how the Russians would be armed, but still…

How could they be gone?

He felt something warm slide down his cheek and immediately brought his hand up to wipe the tear away. A light blush tinged his skin, embarrassment flashing in his dark eyes. "Sorry."

Roe nodded before he started flipping the pen over the tips of his fingers. "That's alright, son. I think we're done here. Is there anything else you think I need to know?"

Murdock shook his head, sniffing.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

There was a moment of silence before the pilot nodded shortly. "Um... do you know exactly how they died? I mean... did they suffer?"

Roe looked down at his paperwork, sighing as he closed the folder. "No, Captain, I don't think they did. I don't know all the facts as to how they died, but I'm sure they didn't suffer."

"Dr. Johnson said th-that they were gonna be buried in LA."

"Yes, they are. And they had a proper burial, too, don't you worry. They may have been dubbed criminals, but they were still served the government honorably for many years."

Murdock looked down at his fingers, running his right thumb across the tip of his left forefinger. "Thank you."

"Of course. Oh, I did have one more question. We, uh... Did Smith or Peck have any immediate family members we should notify? We couldn't find anything in their files..."

"No, no, no," he answered. "Hannibal... I-I don't think he... He had a-a close friend, but I can't think of his info right now. Faceman... He did-didn't... No. No one."

Roe stood, straightening his uniform and putting the pen back into his inner pocket. He extended his arm again, and Murdock politely shook his hand. "Thank you, Captain. You've been very helpful."

The pilot bit his lip, trying to suppress the growing sorrow as the Colonel walked away.

Only two more chapters left; thanks for reading! :)