Chapter 27

Lockhart looked through squinted, sleepy eyes at that demanding general that had come to see him at the hospital as soon as he had left the ICU.

The major had been there for more than a week before the doctors decided he wasn't going to die, or at least, it was less likely now. It had been a hellish experience of pain, still ongoing, despite the heavy sedation and the stupid amounts of painkillers he'd been given, with whopping doses that hardly kept him semi-comfortable, but that had probably turned him into a drug addict already. He feared a withdrawal crisis to deal with when the doctors cut the supply later on, but at the moment, he couldn't live without the painkilling drugs.

He had abdominal surgery in three different occasions, with the large scar that ran from his sternum to his pubis as a permanent reminder of the events, for ever. As the surgeons had to re-open that wound twice, he wondered if it would be worth it having a zipper sewed in instead, to allow continuous, easy access to his guts, rather than closing the gap with stitches and surgical staples every time. Bits and pieces had got removed from his damaged entrails, cut off during surgery, and he had endured several abdominal lavages and other gruesome procedures, some of them performed while conscious. He still had tubes and drains sticking out of various holes in his belly, and he was fed through one of them directly into his guts because he had not been allowed to eat anything yet, adding to his misery, as he felt constantly hungry. On top of everything, the insidious peritonitis would take ages to resolve, if it was ever going to. For all those reasons, and a few more, he couldn't deal with stupid questions like that one right now.

"I don't know."

"Are you sure?" the general said.

"Yes. You do realize I wasn't very aware of what was going on in that plane during the last few hours of that flight, don't you? I was busy dying. Actually, I can't remember much of the whole damn thing since we left Bangkok, sorry. I suffer from traumatic amnesia. Or that's what the doctors say."

The ICU nurses had told him how that crazy pilot had flown the plane at top speed ignoring the commands of the air traffic controllers, and how he drove it on the streets like a car to reach the hospital as soon as possible with all the military police chasing him, destroying the A&E entrance when he arrived. The doctors had told him if he had arrived at the hospital only half an hour later than he did, he would surely be dead. So now, he felt strangely reluctant to talk about the A-Team or anything related to them to the military authorities, because maybe, after all, just maybe, they were not the bad guys, as they always claimed. He would be transferred to a military hospital soon, where he would be questioned and grilled about them and the circumstances of their escape, without a doubt, but at the moment, he didn't feel like touching the subject at all.

"All right. In that case, I won't bother you anymore, Major. But, if you remember anything when your mind clears a bit, please, let me know."

"I will, don't worry. I've got your number." Fuck off, he thought as he smiled at that slimy man who dared to look at him with such contempt, not trying to hide it at all.

Stockwell left the hospital with his slow but purposeful stride, back to his limo. It didn't matter. He didn't need the help of that wasted, ghastly looking, half-dead man to find the A-Team. He had his ways, and they always paid off. He would find them, soon. No problem.

At the limo he got a phone call that put a twisted smile on his face. One of the agents assigned to keep Captain Harlow's wife under surveillance told him the POWs had contacted her, and now they were following them as they drove along the country in the A-Team's Corvette.

The A-Team couldn't use a more conspicuous car or van, could they? Idiots.

He had no idea how the incompetent Military Police had failed to arrest them in the fourteen years they've been on the run. Unbelievable. That Colonel Decker must have been failing on purpose, or he was a complete moron.

AAA

"Quang, we've been thinking," Hannibal said from the sofa where he was resting while Quang worked on his leg to speed up the bone healing process. "What about if we set up a holistic clinic for you? Would you like that?"

"What do you mean? I have no papers, and I never got any formal qualifications in medicine, I told you that before."

"It doesn't matter," Face said, joining the conversation. "I could get fake IDs and forged papers for you and Tia, no problem. As that lovely head nurse told me in Thailand: where there is a will, there is a way."

"That would be great, Face," Hannibal said. "You see, Quang, we have several businesses running already, and if we fund a holistic clinic for you, we could get your help every time we get injured in the future. And, with your unusual skills, you'll have plenty of clients, I'm sure of that."

"Specially the Hollywood bunch. They'll love this kind of stuff," Face said, pointing at Quang's hands as he handled the injured leg. "And they have more money than sense. This could be really profitable."

"So, what do you think?" Hannibal said.

"I feel like taking advantage of your kindness, but yes, I think that would be a good idea, especially if I can help you the next time you get hurt."

"Not that we really want to get hurt again, especially not me, in particular," Face said, shaking his head with apprehension, "but yes, that's the idea. Our businesses are like symbiotic relationships with our friends, you know: two-way helping roads, that kind of thing?"

"What about Tia?" Quang said.

"She could be your receptionist, or your nurse, if she wants, until she decides what she wants to do with her life," Face said. "She's at the lake, fishing with Murdock. We'll ask her when she comes back."

"So, do we have a new partner?" Hannibal said, offering his hand.

"Yes, you do," Quang said, taking it.

"Excellent. Nice. This calls for a celebration."

"A cigar?" Face said.

"Of course. What else?" Hannibal said, grinning, taking one from his front pocket.

AAA

Harlow returned with the corvette ten days later. The moment he stepped into the cabin, everybody sensed that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Harlow, welcome back. How was your trip?" Hannibal said, inviting him to sit down with him on the sofa, but he declined the invitation, and stood in the middle of the room, a bit awkwardly.

"OK, it was OK," he said, evasive.

He kept silent after that, and Hannibal didn't say anything else either, while waiting for Conley to appear. But he didn't.

"Where's Conley? Did he stay with his father?"

Harlow shook his head, and then his upper lip started to tremble, right before he covered his face with his hands, trying to stop the incoming tears.

Shit, Hannibal thought, suspecting the reason.

"Come on man, what's wrong? Come, sit down with us," Murdock said, taking Harlow to the sofa. The POW dropped on the middle seat, between Hannibal and Murdock, who was very touchy-feely, passing an arm over his shoulders, and tapping his knee. "Come on, tell us what happened."

"He killed himself," Harlow said, dropping his head, holding it in his hands again. "I couldn't stop him. After we visited his father, we stopped at a T-junction, and he suddenly got out of the car and jumped in front of a lorry. He was dead before he hit the ground, instantly. I… I was afraid I would get caught, so I didn't stay with him. I pulled his dog tag, that he still wore on his neck, and I left."

Harlow broke down in tears then, and Murdock and Hannibal tried to comfort him while the others watched him with great pity and concern, but nothing they could say or do could give him much consolation.

"His father didn't recognize him. That was the last straw for him. I knew he was very depressed since Lockhart told him the rest of his family had died, and he looked a bit jealous of me because at least mine are alive. While we were at that prison he only talked about going home, that was all he wanted, what kept him going. I should have known something like this could happen! But he didn't say a word. I could have tried talking him out of suicide, but he did it when I less expected it, without warning."

"Come on, man, as you said, you couldn't stop him. Stop torturing yourself," B.A said.

"How could he kill himself now, after all we've been through? I am the only one left now. They are all dead: Scott, Conley, and all the others. All gone."

"And what about you? Did you talk to your wife? Did you get to see your daughter?" Murdock said while looking at Hannibal, sharing his concern.

"Yes. I saw my wife. And I want to be with them, but I can't," he said through his tears.

Shit, Hannibal thought. As he suspected when Conley didn't show up, he had killed himself. And this man was also high on the list of suicide candidates. They would need to watch him closely over the next few days to prevent any attempts. Damn. The whole story of misery of these men was heart-breaking.

"I know what you must be thinking: that I want to punch my ticket too," Harlow said, lifting his head to look at Hannibal with those drenched, red eyes, as if he could read his mind. "But that's not what I want to do, so don't worry. I want to keep in touch with my daughter, and be there for her. I know she doesn't need me much, as she has a fantastic stepfather, but just in case."

"That's the spirit, Jack, I'm so proud of you," Hannibal said, tapping his arm. Definitely, the resilience of that man was epic.

"My wife… ex-wife, I mean, told me that my daughter has my picture at her bedroom, on the shelf, the last official photo they took of me in uniform before I went to 'Nam. I got her picture. Look, she's so pretty," he said, taking the already tatty looking picture from his pocket, as he had been handling it so much during the last few days. "And clever. She'll go to college soon. She wants to be a lawyer."

Everybody gathered around him to look at the picture, complimenting the young lady. She was certainly pretty, and she looked so happy and bubbly, they hoped she could be a good enough reason to keep that drained man alive.

AAA

B.A, Murdock and Hannibal waited for Face in the van, by the beach. The conman had taken Tia on a shopping spree to Beverly Hills with the corvette, to show her some of the good stuff America had to offer. It was the first time she visited LA, and she was very excited about it.

More than a month had gone by since they returned from Vietnam, and it was the first day they had left the cabin. Face, Hannibal and Murdock had recovered nicely from their injuries with Quang's help, who took care of them in that isolated cabin in the woods, away from hospitals, civilization, and especially, the MPs.

Today, Quang had accompanied Harlow to visit his daughter again, using a rental car, keeping an eye on him, just in case he had any funny ideas about the value of life, but so far, he hadn't given them any concerns. Besides, Harlow's wife had given him half of the money she made when she sold their house, and at least he didn't need to worry about finances at the moment, while he avoided the military police, the same as them, because he was still a liability to the government and in danger of getting locked in a cell for ever, away from the public. He was a ghost with no identity, who could not claim a pension or any kind of help from the US Army, which he had to avoid like the pest, because he was also an accessory to the A-Team's escape.

He could have made a scandal, giving interviews on TV and telling the world the fate of those POWs and his personal, sad story, and Hollywood films would have been made about him, but he preferred to keep quiet, under the radar, and carry on with his life. He didn't want the complications, because it would change nothing for those unfortunate men, and he didn't want to be in the spotlight.

On this visit, he had taken all the soldier's dog tags to give them to Karen, who would take them to the National League of POW/MIA Families, pretending Margaret Everson had sent them to her before she died on that plane, so all the deceased soldiers would be accounted for, and their families informed. Harlow had kept his tag, and also Conley's, as there was no one else to pass it on.

Hannibal had a plan to make a deal with the military, so they would leave Harlow alone, as long as he would not go public with the issue of the POWs, but that would have to wait a bit. He wanted to involve Major Lockhart on that plot, as he had heard he didn't die from his injuries and had become quite partial to their cause, as if having an epiphany on that plane, refusing to cooperate in the hunt of the A-Team now. But the major was still on the long road to recovery, still at the hospital. Now that he was finally using his leg again, Hannibal wanted to pay him a visit, under one of his multiple disguises. He was looking forward to that, because it would be so much fun!

Murdock opened the side door to get some fresh air. Shortly after, Face arrived. He slowly drove past the van and parked by the small pier. The Vette was still moving when Tia stood up with her high heeled boots on the passenger's seat. The moment Face hit the break, she stepped on the side rim and jumped out of the car without bothering to open the door first.

"Well, how's Beverly Hills?" Hannibal mumbled, with the sempiternal cigar back in his mouth.

"Expensive," Face said after stepping out of the car. He walked around it slowly, still resenting the distal portion of his fractured sternum, that was taking a long time to heal completely because of all those extra blows he had received in that area after breaking it in the crash, that had displaced the fragments, and then he approached the expectant group. "That, young lady, it's the door. You see, you open it to get in the car," he said, demonstrating the movement with his hands, annoyed by her carelessness. His left arm had healed alright, and against all odds he had recovered full function of it, without any neurological deficits, but he was still wary of giving it full use, moving it quite gently. Behind him, Murdock leaned over the car door while he talked, snooping around the bags of clothes in the back.

"I'm sorry, Mr Faceman," she said, over-polite, displaying pure innocence on her young face.

"Just call me Face," he said, trying to ignore his own irritation. That cheeky young lady had never called him Mr Anything before. There was no need to take the piss now!

Tia turned to show Hannibal her brand-new yellow blouse, excited.

"He bought me all these new, interesting clothes."

Hannibal took the cigar off his mouth and smiled at her while B.A blinked and nodded approvingly at her choice.

"How did you afford all the stuff?" Murdock said, examining the bunch of receipts he had found in the car, quickly adding up the figures in his head.

"Oh, well, I figured as long as we're still wanted men, you know, why not go for it," Face said casually. "In for a penny, in for a…"

"Two thousand dollars?" Murdock interrupted, shocked by his calculations. Had the conman been conned this time?

"What?" Hannibal snapped, biting his cigar hard, crossing his arms over his chest, looking stern. Face snatched the receipts from his friend's hands and hid them in his pocket, annoyed.

"I will pay you back, Face," Tia said, looking worried. "I'll repay all of you for what you have done for me. You'll see, I won't be just an extra burden to you."

Murdock and Face looked at each other, appalled by her naivety, not knowing what to say.

"Tia, I don't think you understand something. We brought you out of Vietnam because you're…" Hannibal paused for a moment, trying to find the most adequate words to avoid hurting her. "Now you're wanted, you're a criminal. You'll be hunted by the government. And that's our situation here."

"Yeah, you see, it's a very irregular job," Face said, thinking on any vague excuse to put her off. "We never eat on time."

"Yeah, besides, B.A's got a terrible temper," Murdock said, also jumping at the excuses' wagon.

"I do not!" B.A cried.

"You see?"

Tia looked sad, and lost, and she had to explain herself, and her worries.

"What was my home for twenty years no longer is. I don't belong here. I'm without papers or proof of who my father was. If I am caught, what will happen to me?"

The four men looked at each other, uncomfortable. They understood her predicament, but they couldn't babysit her or drag her along as a member of the team.

"Maybe you can stick with us until we figure something out," Hannibal said. They still had to find a place for Quang to set up the clinic, but Tia wasn't very keen on the receptionist role. She was probably thinking on following them around, kicking her way with her Kung Fu skills, which could be quite useful to them, to be honest, but they didn't want to endanger her like that. She would be safer with Quang.

Tia smiled at him gratefully, and carried on talking, enthusiastically.

"Can we celebrate? Can we go to those nightclubs Face told me about?"

"Nightclubs?" B.A said, looking disgusted.

"Yes, well, I was, you know, explaining to her certain aspects of American life…" Face said while they all looked at him disapprovingly. "For when she is older! Never mind… Can we just get something to eat?"

"Sure. Follow us," Hannibal said. He opened the door, but before he could get in the van, Murdock called him.

"Colonel. Colonel, can I ask you a question? Before we went back, did you think about it?"

Hannibal looked at him, serious. Murdock looked nervous, fighting with his own demons again.

"I remembered it, but I didn't think about it." But I may think about our second trip there from now on. This damn leg hurts every time it's going to rain, he thought, looking at the grey sky with apprehension. Murdock seemed to understand, as he got in the van without a further word. And so did he.

No, he didn't think about the war before, and he still didn't want to think about it. Why would anyone think about stuff that could only cause them nightmares? But Murdock was different, and he couldn't help it.

AAA

From the back seat of a limo parked across the road, Stockwell watched the black and red, custom GMG Vandura leave the seaside, heading into town, followed by the flashy corvette.

There should be a reason why both their vehicles had a red stripe, but he couldn't think of one good enough. Maybe a slash of blood in the flesh on their enemies painted across both, their white angel and black demon versions? He'll have to ask them some day. But maybe he was over-thinking, as he liked to find reasons and symbolisms on everything, that sometimes could just be pure coincidence. Probably, they hadn't even noticed, and the red stripe in both vehicles was only due to fashion.

Red stripe or not, he had found the A-Team again, let them recover from their injuries, and now he would only need to set up a trap for them. And then, he'll own them. Soon.

"Take me back to the plane, please. We are done here."

The driver manoeuvred the large, black limo back on the road, heading in the opposite direction the A-Team had taken.

Soon. I'll see you soon.

He knew how to find them, not like the incompetent MPs. No problem. Easy as pie.

AAAAAAA

A.N – Done! Finally! All those pesky loose ends tied up, linking the story to the last scene of the episode, and even throwing Stockwell in, ready for his appearance in season 5.

I LOVE IT WHEN A STORY COMES TOGETHER!

It took me nearly 100.000 words, while to the screenwriters of the show, it only took them two seconds of black screen between the helicopter scene in Vietnam where Murdock got shot, and the final scene with Tia at the sea side in LA. That is what I call an easy, uncomplicated, "abridged" version! LOL

I hope you enjoyed reading this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for your wonderful reviews, PMs, favs and follows. And one more thing: if you are reading this story years after it was posted, you can still say something about it, please, don't be shy. Reviews are always welcome, no matter how old a story is.

Thanks! Now, like the head nurse, after all the hard work, I need a vacation ;)