Retrospective Two: How It Should Have Ended

"Five votes?" Face sounded distraught. "Five votes? How could they have done that? My own pretend home town…"

"Face," BA said shortly, "shut up, man. I want to enjoy my dinner."

They had gone out to eat after returning from the job late in the day. Not to Gino's but to a Chinese restaurant that Murdock liked. Amy was glad of it. She sipped her third glass of wine and listened to Face's griping with her heart full and her mind distracted and spinning. She had called her boss from the restaurant while the others were ordering.

He had some big news for her – they wanted her for the Jakarta office.

Before she left, her editor had pulled her aside and pointedly mentioned that the Jakarta position was still open, waiting for a good application from a well regarded journalist who wouldn't be scared off by a potentially dangerous posting. He'd winked at her. She took it as a good sign and handed him her letter of application three hours later. She didn't know whether she actually wanted to move to another country, to take up the higher exposure and responsibility offered by this position, but the fact that she had been asked to apply had been flattering. More than flattering, it had been exhilarating. That same exhilaration was coursing through her veins like the best Jazz on offer as she worked at containing herself.

Running with the A-Team had taught Amy more than she had ever thought possible about control. She enjoyed control, she had realized, over herself and over the situations in which she found herself – but when you were in the middle of one of Hannibal's plans, control was seldom something you could exercise. Therefore, and mostly thanks to Hannibal, Amy had learned that adaptability was the strongest measure of control that could be applied to any situation. There was always a way out of anything but you had to be flexible enough to find it - the plan was only as good as far as you could deviate from it.

Control yourself, kid, and you can control any pile you find yourself in. Rolling with the punches means you're still standing and sometimes turning tail means you're still standing too.

More used to plans and structure, she still wasn't sure she was comfortable with it, but she knew that she could do it and enjoy the sense of power it gave her and that, above all else, gave her the confidence to apply for this Jakarta transfer.

Would she accept? She wasn't sure yet – but she had the choice and that was what mattered. She, Amy Allen, could take centre stage for a change if she wanted to.

"Well, I think it was your lovely wife that got you through," Murdock was saying, grinning at Amy. "She's pretty quiet on the topic though."

"Huh?" Amy blanked out. She was still thinking of Jakarta. "I'm not sure."

"Sure of what? You totally fit the part," Murdock replied. "Mrs Morgan, First Lady. Such a lovely couple."

"Mrs Morgan?" Face sounded pained. "I'm the one who got pipped at the post by a criminal."

"You're a criminal as well, remember?" Amy said, unable to resist. "Besides, it was mostly just the wig that made me First Lady material. I felt very…"

"Presidential?" Hannibal asked.

Amy shook her head. "Dowdy. Itchy."

Hannibal shook his head with a gleeful, rueful expression. "Cheap wigs."

Amy grinned, still high from her news. "Don't take it badly Face, it wasn't you they weren't voting for, it was Joe Morgan. You have to admit you were a little unconvincing."

"Unconvincing? I was a paragon," Face groused.

"My point exactly."

Face shot her an extremely dirty look. "Well you married me."

"Oh no," Amy said, surprised but not dismayed to hear a little nasty edge to her voice. It had been building for days. The set up that kept her and Face so close to each other and demanded that they portray intimacy had been wearing and, at times, the cold, careful distance he maintained by throwing up every shield and barrier he could between them had been agonizing. "I married Joe Morgan, the paragon."

"Oh, the paragon, what a wonderful guy," Face replied cattily. Amy was aware of the other three looking from him to her, following the exchange like a tennis match.

"Yes," she went on, her mouth moving without much conscious control from her. "You know, the nice, respectable guy, not the kind who leads a girl on then –"

"It was all just pretend, Amy," Face said with searing finality. "The job's over."

"And a good thing too," Amy said sharply, and then bit her tongue, glaring at her wineglass. Damn. She really didn't want to do this. She probably should have just shut up. Her anger was more with herself than Face and she didn't want to say anything more in front of the others. Control yourself, Amy. Shut up.

"Uh, guys," Hannibal interrupted, eyes narrowed and shrewd. "I think that's enough."

"Yes," Face said, looking harried. "That's plenty."

"No, no," Murdock said around a mouthful of egg roll. "How edifying. Please continue."

"I agree. That's enough. Sorry Face." Amy drained her wineglass and placed it carefully on the table. "I'm just overtired. I think I'll call it a night."

"Good idea," Hannibal agreed, watching her closely. "BA, why don't you give Amy a lift home?"

As Amy collected her coat, for once not willing to argue with Hannibal's orders, and walked with BA out of the restaurant she saw Hannibal turn grimly to Face.

"Lieutenant, have you been…?"

BA dropped her to the door of her building. She watched him drive away with a pang of something like regret. She really hadn't meant to let that out. The news about the Jakarta job had made her reckless. She would have to apologise tomorrow when her head cleared and she could think clearly about her future with the A-Team.

She turned to the entry and reached into her bag for her keys. Did she even have a future? Things were awkward enough with Face, especially when she broke it off with Daniel so quickly. She may as well have just stamped REBOUND on his head before she sent him packing. There was a situation she had no hope of controlling. Every time she saw Face now her heart did a little flip flop in her chest and her cheeks burned at the memory of the humiliating scene outside Gino's. She owed Templeton Peck nothing, she reasoned, but… she owed the A-Team everything. Everything she had written, everything that had brought her to the attention of the selection board for the Jakarta correspondent role, had been written while she was riding the coat tails of the A-Team. Wasn't that the reason she'd hooked up with them in the first place? The reason she'd stayed? More importantly, could she justify staying near them at all, with Decker dangerously close to putting the pieces together and using them to build a trap for the team with her as the bait? He was now far too close for comfort and she was losing all plausible deniability. And where the hell were her keys?

She thrust her hand farther into the corner recesses of her handbag, peering into the opening, when a hand closed over her elbow. Without thinking she drove it up hard into the solar plexus of the man standing next to her, following through with her balled fist to his face. He released her and doubled over with a surprised grunt. She stepped back, preparing to land her high heel on his instep and punch him again when his hand shot up and arrested hers that she realized whom she had hit.

"Face?"

"Uh huh," he gasped, and released her.

She hesitated for a moment, then laid her hands tentatively on his shoulders, straightening him up. "Oh, geez, Face. I didn't realize it was you. What were you doing?"

"Ow," he said through his hands, which were cupped around his nose. "Who taught you that?"

"BA," she said. "He said I might need to escape a mugger."

Face gave her a pained look. "I'm not a mugger."

"Well I didn't know that!" She sighed, exasperated. "Let me see."

He submitted to her careful probing, flinching when she got to the bridge of his nose.

"It's not broken," she said. "But I'll give you some ice."

"Gee, thanks," he replied sarcastically. She found her keys in her coat pocket and led him up to her apartment.

"Thanks to you," Face said bitingly as she opened her door and stood aside for him to enter, "Hannibal gave me a lecture on fraternizing. He thinks I tried to seduce you."

Amy closed the door behind them. "So you thought you'd come over and finish the fight?"

She dropped her bag and coat onto the floor and crossed into her kitchen to find some ice. When she emerged, Face was sitting on the arm of her couch, rubbing his chest where she'd elbowed him.

"You sure took BA's teaching to heart," he said, accepting the ice pack from her. "But if I'd been a real mugger, I wouldn't have let you hit me."

Amy ignored that. She looked at him closely.

"So why did you follow me?"

Face sighed and held the ice pack to his face. "I wanted to apologise."

"Apologise?" That was unexpected. Face didn't often apologise. She sat down next to him.

"Yes. For what happened in the restaurant."

"Which one?" she asked before she could stop herself. He lifted the ice pack long enough to shoot her a wary sidelong glance. He didn't reply.

"You know," she said after a moment, "when I first met you, I thought, 'Trouble, keep clear.' I'd met a thousand guys like you in college, all charm and a nice smile, and one track minds. I steered pretty clear of them."

"That's funny," he said without looking at her. "I thought the same thing about you. Only, a thousand girls."

"And you didn't steer clear."

He shrugged with a little half smile. "Those were the days. Only, you're wrong about that. College was when I had Leslie."

"Oh." Amy leaned back and regarded him. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone? He lifted the ice pack again and smiled at her, his gaze lingering just a little. Her heart registered a little hollow tug. Oh, yes, that was why.

"I think I should probably go," he said. "I've apologized. You've hit me. It's time to call it a night." He handed her the ice pack and stood up. She lay it on the couch and followed him to the door.

"You know," he said, his hand on the handle. He turned to face her, opening the door as he did so. "I thought you did a good job as Mrs Joe. You run a decent con."

"I'm… sorry you lost the election," she replied. "I'll have a word with Hannibal."

"Oh, would you?" he said sarcastically. She frowned at him, annoyed.

"Clear things up. Make sure he knows we're just friends," she said firmly. "I'm doing you a favour, although at this moment I have no idea why."

He didn't reply. Something in his face made her pause and hold her breath.

"Friends," he repeated slowly, sounding thoughtful. "Good. Good for us."

"Good friends," she repeated, suddenly breathless. He turned and opened the door but paused and turned back to her, wearing an unreadable expression.

"Good night, Face." She reached out and laid a hand on his chest. The distance between them seemed to shrink, felt thick and suddenly magnetic. Amy looked up into his face, feeling her cheeks flush, gratified when she saw his do the same. She clenched her hand into a fist to stop herself reaching up to brush those five strands of hair off his forehead. Her heart gave her that little tug again, making her mouth go dry. No, she thought, I'm done with this. Keep clear. I'm done…

"I think," he began, swallowing, "I think I'd better…"

"Yes," she whispered, leaning into his space, sliding her hand down his arm and into his larger one, unaware she was doing it.

"Hannibal's gonna be mad," Face breathed, putting a decisive hand behind her neck and pulling her in for a kiss as he closed the door with his other hand. Amy wrapped her arms around his waist as he pushed her against the door frame and kissed her hard, making her head spin with the suddenness of her reaction to him. He felt warm and solid under her fingers, his hair crisp, his shirt just a distraction. She felt a slow, delicious urgency building under her skin as he ran his tongue over hers and let one hand drift past her waist as the other pressed her tightly to his chest.

She tugged his polo shirt out of his waistband and let her hands slide beneath it, over his warm skin, across his back. He let out a barely audible moan and shifted his attention to her neck, kissing and nibbling down to her collarbone.

His other hand left her waist and stroked firmly across the curve of her ribcage to rest lightly on her breast. She arched into him.

"Oh God, Face," she whispered. A tiny corner of her mind was trying to rationally process what was happening, what was probably about to happen, but her response to his touch overrode it completely. All those months of wondering about this… and here she was with his lips on her skin and his clever fingers… she sighed and trembled beneath his hands and curled one leg around his. He reached down and hooked a hand under her knees, pulling her into his arms as he turned around and headed for the couch. She pulled him down on top of her, aware of his arousal pressed against her, aware of her own heat. Suddenly she was gasping with shock as the abandoned ice pack connected with her shoulder blade. She flinched away from the cold, knocking her forehead into Face's nose. He pulled back, hands going to his face, eyes pressed shut in pain.

"Ouch!"

"Oh. Oh no!" she gasped, reaching out to pull him to her, to lay some gentle kisses on his nose and cheeks, to remind him what they were doing. He reached behind her, colour high, and swept the ice pack onto the carpet.

"Where were we?" he said in a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine as he pushed her back down onto the cushions. He reached for her, undoing the top button of her shirt with practiced fingers, then another and another until he was sliding his hands across her bare skin and pulling her to him for another long firm kiss. She reached eagerly for him as he pushed her away for a moment and sat up to shuck off his own shirt. It caught on his chin for a moment as he pulled it off and he had to work it off over his head, finally emerging with his hair ruffled and his eyes bright. She tentatively ran her fingers through the light hair on his chest as he caught her gaze and held it. He slid a hand up her spine to her bra clasp, the other one cupping her cheek as she leaned into his lips and ran her tongue over them. She moved into his embrace, trying to slip a leg over his lap to straddle him. After a moment's struggle, he held her steady while she moved ungracefully into his lap. He smiled delightedly at her new position as she steadied herself and he undid her bra. She arched her back and sighed as he slipped his hand up under the wire and squeezed her gently.

Then he stopped.

She looked down at him. He was staring at her with a clear, serious expression, his hand still on her breast, inches from his face.

"What?" she asked huskily. She let her hand fall over his, stroking down his wrist.

"Amy…" his voice was rough, his cheeks flushed. He shook his head. "I can't."

Her stomach clenched. He removed his hands from her skin gently. She went to grab them back, her hands moving of their own frantic accord, but he caught her wrists and held them.

"Amy, I can't. I'm sorry."

She slid off his lap to the sofa, reaching behind herself to do her bra back up, cheeks burning. Her mind was spinning but she snapped to awareness with his words. He gave her a hectic, helpless look and leaned back with a sigh, covering his eyes with one hand.

"I know the rules. I can't. And it's…" he trailed away.

Amy snatched her shirt from the floor and began to slip it on, her heart in her throat.

"It's what?"

He paused and looked at her for a moment. "It's you. I mean, it's not you, it's me. I can't, not with you. It's not going to happen."

Amy didn't reply. She handed him his shirt and picked up the ice pack, standing up slowly. She felt her cheeks flaming with humiliation and disappointment as she crossed to the kitchen and opened the freezer, letting the chill air cool her face as she slowly replaced the ice pack. When she turned around, Face was standing by the front door.

"I should go," he said quietly. She swallowed, her throat tight.

"Why?" she asked, hating herself for it. He looked uncomfortable.

"You're… Amy, you're not the kind of girl I…"

There was a moment of horrible silence between them.

"I'm leaving the team," she said finally in a small voice. "I'm taking a job overseas."

"You're what?"

"I'm leaving the team," she said, tasting the words, trying on their meaning. It felt good. Face looked upset. Yes, it felt good.

He didn't reply. He nodded once, slowly, his expression resigned and unhappy, and then he turned and let himself out.

The team said their official goodbyes the day before she left. BA looked misty eyed and Murdock gave her a hug that lasted for a full minute. Hannibal, never one for demonstration, gave her a quick squeeze and a commemorative cigar. When she turned to Face, he hesitated before slipping his arms around her loosely for an unconvincing embrace that had even BA regarding him oddly.

"Well, goodbye," he said, wearing his unconvincingly charming smile. "Try to stay out of trouble." She just nodded, made uncomfortable by the way the sensation of his arms around her lingered on her skin. She turned then and walked away, back to her car, regretful tears in her eyes. She'd miss them all. She'd grown to love them all - and she doubted her developing taste for adventure would be properly satisfied again.

Face she refused to think about at all – which made things awkward when he turned up at the airport the next day to see her off. Her mother had spotted him first.

"Isn't that one of the A-Team?" her mother asked, nodding in Face's direction disapprovingly. It didn't surprise Amy that her mother recognized Face. She kept a scrapbook, still, of every article Amy published and recently a lot of them had featured that very same face that now regarded her warily across the concourse area at LAX. Her mother and father had kissed her then, warned her against too much foreign food, and becoming involved with a foreign man, extracted many promises to keep in touch and be home by Christmas, and let her go. Face was waiting for her by the gate to the departure lounges. His appearance made her heart feel like it had a strangle hold on her stomach, brought back tinges of past humiliation and present anger and a memory of his kiss. It reminded her why she was leaving. There were a lot of reasons and most of them were complicated - and one of them was something she would never admit to again. His expression made her wary.

"Face? What are you doing here?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye." He assumed a smooth jocularity that Amy could see through at once. "Did you pack that dress?"

"I gave it to goodwill, actually. Couldn't you have said goodbye yesterday? I mean -"

"You leaving," he interrupted. "Is it because of what happened? You know, between us."

She sighed. "I've worked my whole career to get here. This is a real promotion for me, Face. Besides," she said, not able to resist. "Not everything is about you."

He didn't respond. She glanced through the gate. It looked like boarding was beginning.

"I have to go, Face." She looked at him closely, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his briefly. He stood still as she kissed him. As she pulled away, he brushed a hand against her hip, fingers tangling for a moment in the fabric of her jacket, sliding inside and across the plane of her back.

"Amy, - "

"Bye, Face," she said firmly, cutting him off. "Thanks for coming."

He nodded, released her and smiled a small smile at her, and she turned away and walked onto the plane.

In retrospect, it was the only way things could have gone and…

… it almost ended there – except that it didn't, and five years later Amy found herself in trouble and only part of it was caused by criminals out for her head…