Title: Saving Amy

Author: Billy

Summary: 19 years since leaving the team, Amy's in trouble, the team track her down but get a bit more than they bargained for, the past is thrown back at them, they find out the real reason she left the team.

Ratings: PG-15

Warnings: No Hannibal, this is kind of set in present day, usual A Team violence and some swearing, and it could get a little mushy at one stage.

Notes: This is the first fic I ever wrote and appreciate it might not be that original.I got the idea to write this, from a message that was posted on the Shrine. We were discussing the "new" A Team movie, and someone posted why don't they set it in present day and use the original actors. So this is set in 2003, it's kind of my A Team movie (well the bare bones of one) – Sadly there is no Hannibal as GP has died but I've based it around the actor's actual ages in 2003, to what their characters would approximately be. It is also based on Amy leaving early 1984 (although White Ballot was shown late 1983) I always like to think she was with the team nearly 18 months.

Disclaimer: I don't own the A Team and I've not made a penny from this, I just do it for the jazz!

Part 1

It was a late September day, in 2003, the weather was blustery but the sun was shining and Face, BA and Murdock stood by a tombstone in full dress uniform. They each had their heads bowed as if in private thoughts and prayers and before them on the stone the words read:

Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith

1 June 1928 25 September 1995

Wherever he be,

May his plans come together,

Always lives the jazz

Now firmly in their fifties, Face, BA and Murdock were trying to lead what they called "normal" lives, since their pardons. However, they were never too far away from one another, call it old habit, and whatever they were doing, every year on 25th September they would meet at their Colonel's grave to pay their respect. Frankie would usually join them but on this particular day, he'd had other commitments, which he just couldn't get out of. So the three of them stood there, in their own private prayers to the Colonel.

That evening, returning from Hannibal's grave, Face was watching his TV in a rather sombre mood, flicking through the channels when he came across the local news. He just caught the last part of it. He hadn't heard that name in rather a long time. He'd stopped watching out for her along time ago.

"A freelance reporter, believed to be that of Amy Allen, feared to be missing on the borders of Mexico, although no one can confirm these rumours, the paper she had close relations with can not currently confirm her whereabouts." The newsreader went on in the background. Face picked the phone up immediately and dialled Murdock's number. It didn't ring for long.

"Murdock, put on the news." As he spoke, Face flicked the television channels to see if he could find any more news reports, to give him further information.

"Oh, hi Face, missed me already? I only left you an hour ago."

"Murdock, shut up a minute, it's Amy and I think she's in trouble."

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With her hands and feet tied, Amy for the first time in a long while felt pretty much beyond hope. The local authorities had refused to believe her when she'd tried to prove that a group of rebels were based locally and terrorising the local community. She'd tried to do something, but had ended up being dragged from her rented apartment and was now in some stinking vile lockup, which was hot, dark and causing her despair. She had no idea how long she'd been there, she felt grubby from the stickiness of her sweat and she was thirsty and hungry. Although her captures would occasionally come in and force water down her throat, it didn't quite quench her thirst.

Suddenly the door swung open, sunlight beamed in making her squint her eyes, as she wasn't use to the light. Angry male voices were giving orders and a young woman was thrown into the shed with her. She could barely work out the figure that was being tied opposite her. It was quite dark but as Amy's eyes readjusted, she could make out that the young woman was wearing a black eye and cut lip as if she'd put up a fight.

"Amanda, is that you?" Amy whispered.

"Yes…" the young woman groaned.

"Quiet" shouted a man in a Mexican accent. "You do not talk or I cut your throats". Then he slammed the door shut. She dare not say a word for fear of either of them being harmed but thoughts rushed through her head frantically. 'Did she manage to hide the bag? Had she been successful to hide it safely? Just in case'.

After a long period of silence, the young woman spoke. "Mom, are we going to die?"

"shhh…Amanda, please" Amy quickly responded. She had no idea what to tell her daughter. Amy had been in difficult situations before, when she was on the team, but somehow they'd always got out of the mess. The team were experts in their field, trained soldiers; there wasn't a tight hole they couldn't get out of.

Now, the only men she'd ever known in her life, who would have been able to get her out of this crisis, who would have given her a small glimpse of hope, weren't here and they didn't know she was here. She didn't even know where they were, if they were even alive. It had been along time since she'd even seen some sort of record or report to confirm that they were alive. Their coverage in the newspapers had gradually dropped since she'd left the team. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She could feel tears welling beneath her eyelids, but she tried to hold it in, she felt hopeless. Think, Amy, think she said to herself.