I don't own the A-Team.

This is my first attempt of an A-Team story. Based on the movie, takes place at the harbor scene.

Face sat with his back against the wall of the container, his breaths coming in long, pained drags. Coldness licked at his skin, despite the warmth spreading across his stomach from the bullet wound he had so unfortunately taken. BA had done his best to prevent it, that he hadn't the slightest desire to tell him his efforts had failed. Instead, he cheered his teammate and displayed the most convincing smile, before he watched BA run to Hannibal's aid thinking Face was following him. But he didn't follow.

He placed a shaky hand over his abdomen where excruciating pain was radiating, making his legs feel weak and his lungs underdeveloped. He stumbled back to lean against the wall of the container and slid to the ground. In the distance he heard the sound of a gunshot. He flinched and squeezed his stomach a bit tighter, before praying that the released bullet hadn't wounded Hannibal, Murdock or BA. The sounds of sirens brought him out of his worry, but his mind struggled to focus. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the mud that sloshed in his head and the black that was seeping at the edges of his vision.

He felt his heavy eyelids close, and couldn't find the strength to open them until he felt a new warmth against the side of his face and neck. With great effort, his blue eyes flickered open.

Hannibal was squatted down in front of him, the dirt and grim that covered his face not hiding the lines of worry that showed easily on his face.

"Face? You with me?" His voice was gruff and Face couldn't help but wince as it mixed with the shrill sound ringing in his hears.

"Kid, look at me. C'mon, Face." Hannibal tried again. "Lieutenant!"

Face sucked in a shaky breath, his hand tensing around his wound and locked eyes with Hannibal. The colonel was swaying, or so he appeared to be to Face, but it didn't stop the Lieutenant from trying to focus on him.

"Ha'bil." He tried, but it sounded like the mud clogging his brain was in his throat.

"Quiet, kid."

Face sighed in relief that Hannibal didn't want him to speak, wasn't demanding answers. He closed his eyes again, but reopened them when the warmth at the side of his neck and face disappeared. Fearing that Hannibal had left him, he blinked several times trying to clear his vision as fast as he could to see the colonel.

The man he was searching for was still squatting in front of him, but his gaze was on his stomach, causing him to tighten his arm around it subconsciously. However, Hannibal gently, but with a firm hand, grabbed his wrist and moved his arm away.

All of a sudden, great pressure was applied to his injured abdomen and he couldn't help but arch his back and writhe in pain. He prided himself on not screaming out, while weakly pushing at Hannibal's chest to get him to stop.

"Easy, easy. Stay with me, kid."

Hannibal's voice was so gentle that Face sluggishly opened his eyes to look up at the man. His face was set, stern and focused, yet worry lines gave away the colonel's facade. He wanted Hannibal to order him, call him by his rank, to stop being so damn nice, but he couldn't move his mouth to make the demand.

Face was never one to admit to fear. He pretended he didn't know what fear felt like, but the reality of the situation had allowed fear to wrap around his heart like a ball and chain, dragging it down a dark corridor.

He pushed weakly at Hannibal's chest once more, but to no effect. The pain was diminishing, although he wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but Hannibal's hand still applied pressure. Face kept his hand against the colonel's chest and felt a cigar inside the jacket. With shaky, slick fingers he removed the item with some difficulty, unaware of Hannibal's question as to what he was doing or the look the older man was giving him.

Once the cigar was in his fingertips, he twisted it as he looked at it then looked up at Hannibal who was staring intently at him. He gave a pained laugh before holding the cigar up to its rightful owner in offering.

Hannibal watched as Face removed the cigar from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, ignoring the sounds of BA and Murdock running up behind him. He had no idea why the kid wanted his cigar, until Face held it up to him as if offering him a brand new one. He understood.

He forced a laugh.


He applied more pressure on the wound with one hand as he removed his other to reach inside for his lighter. Once he had it, he placed it on the ground, then took his cigar back from Face. He stuck it in the corner of his mouth and with some difficulty of only using one hand, he lit it.

Face watched Hannibal light his cigar, the corner of his mouth raising slightly as he did. He did his best to take in the familiar scent and for a few short seconds he reveled in the normalcy. For a few seconds, Hannibal wasn't squatting down next to him, keeping him from bleeding out. He wasn't talking easy to him. He didn't looked worried. He just looked like Hannibal. His Hannibal, his colonel, his mentor, his friend. He looked liked a father, but a father that would never let go of his son. He looked like a father Face never had, until now.

Face was brought back from the dark corridor and into the light of his family that he finally had.

The ball and chain that fear had secured around his heart with was released with one puff of a cigar.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!