AN: So, here's the next chapter. Please keep in mind that his story is one of my old ones. I know I keep repeating myself, but I look at the story and say, "Whoa! You've gotten WAY better in your writing!"

And I made up dynoamacillin. As far as I know of, there is nothing in the world named that.

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, nobody does. The Team owns themselves, and they love stories written about them.

How do I know this? I asked Murdock.

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"Auuuugh!" He screamed in pain again as the barbed wire cut into his wrists.

He hung by his wrists, barbed wire preventing them from moving without pain as he was hit again. His body lurched forward and the wire cut into his wrists again.

His eyes were covered with a blindfold. It was another form of torture- sense deprivation. A man could go crazy.

"Talk! Tell us what we want to know! We will let you go free!" A captor yelled at him.

He didn't answer. He had said it a million times, and he didn't feel like saying it again.

I will never betray my friends.

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I lurched awake, my body in a cold sweat.

I trembled with fear from the nightmare. It was dark in the house, and I heard laughter downstairs.

No one was in the room. I was alone.

That was good. At least nobody saw my reaction when I woke up. I sighed in relief.

But the dark scared me. It was dark in my dream. My eyes were covered in a blindfold.

How come you remember the prison camp, but you don't remember who you are or what your past is?

I could only remember what I had dreamed. It scared me, and I trembled again.

Someone entered my room, and the nightstand light went on. "Hey, Face. Maggie says you need to eat." It was Hannibal.

I struggled to sit up. Hannibal had carried in a plastic tray with some food.

"You ok?" Hannibal asked, pulling up a chair and handing me the tray.

I didn't trust my voice, so I nodded my head and picked up the fork on the side of the tray. My hand was trembling, and the fork quavered in my hand as I picked at the food.

"Face?" Hannibal asked, looking at my hand. "What's going on?"

"I... It's nothing," I said as I attempted to eat some of the food.

"No, it's not," he said, taking my fork and tray away. "What's wrong?"

I looked at him, then trembled again and looked at my bandaged wrists. My hands shook as I held them up. An unwavering feeling of trust in this man told me it was alright to tell him.

"It happened all over again," I said, my voice shaky and nearly inaudible. "I can't remember anything else but the prison camp. I..." My voice trailed off.

"Face," said Hannibal, "It's alright. We all have our nightmares of the past, and sometimes they seem so real it scares us. But whatever our nightmares may be, you gotta remember that it's behind you. You don't need to suffer in that prison camp again. We rescued you. You're safe with us."

I nodded my head silently. "But... I don't remember you. I don't remember anything except what I recall in my dreams."

Hannibal sighed. "Face, I know what you're going through. I went through it myself once, too." He hesitated. "I have a medicine to get your memory back."

"You do?" I asked, not quite believing.

"Yes. It's called dynoamacillin and its extremely painful. I've worked with it before, and we had to tie the patent down as a precaution. One almost broke away he was so crazed with pain," Hannibal said. "I can't administer it to you yet, because you need to heal up a bit first."

"Ok," I said, willing to take any amount of pain to get my memory back. "Can I eat now?"

Hannibal smiled as he handed the tray back to me. "Sure."

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