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Disclaimer: The A-Team doesn't belong to me, I'm not making any money from this.
Summary: Face isn't himself and the rest of the team have to go to extraordinary lengths to get him back to normal.
Templeton Peck entered his apartment and was surprised to find the rest of the team there waiting for him. They looked tense.
"Hey guys, what's up? A new case?"
"We're really sorry about this, Face." Hannibal said. Face frowned, puzzled.
"Sorry about what?"
"OK, guys, now." Hannibal nodded at BA and Murdock who quickly moved behind Face and grabbed his arms. Face twisted, trying to escape their grasp, bewildered.
"What are you doing? Is this some kind of joke?"
"Don't struggle, Face." Murdock said, "This is for your own good."
"Let me go!" Face snapped, more serious now. "This isn't funny any more." He tried harder to pull away from BA and Murdock but their grip tightened. Hannibal reached into his pocket and took out a small brown bottle and a cotton wool pad. He soaked the pad with the bottle's contents, the unmistakable odour of chloroform filled the room.
"No!" Face started to struggle in earnest against his team mates.
"Please, Faceman, don't fight, I don't wanna hurt ya." BA's voice had an unfamiliar note of pleading in it.
"Why are you doing this? Why?" Face panted as Hannibal moved towards him.
"We have to," Murdock said, his voice trembling. "You're not yourself."
"It's for the best, Face." Hannibal was in front of Face now, the cotton pad poised. "You'll thank us later." He pressed the pad over Face's mouth and nose, trying not to look at the expression of fear and betrayal in his Lieutenant's eyes. As the chloroform took effect Face went limp and BA and Murdock lowered him gently to the floor.
"Murdock, get the gear." Hannibal ordered. As they waited for Murdock to return, BA, kneeling by Face's head said,
"Man, he ain't never going to forgive us for this."
"Sure he will BA, after all you've always forgiven us for drugging you and putting you on planes, haven't you?"
"No I haven't." BA scowled. "I just ain't thought of the best way to get back at you guys yet."
"Oh," Hannibal looked worried at that. "Ah, thanks, Murdock," he said as the pilot returned. "Now hold his head real still, BA." He reached into the bag Murdock held and picked up the blade.
Templeton Peck woke up slowly, feeling sick and dizzy. He managed to push himself up on one elbow and took stock. He was lying on his own bed, fully clothed except for his shoes and the jacket he'd been wearing. The latter was had been hung over the back of a chair. The memory of what had happened came back along with a wave of anger and betrayal. Why had his team mates done this to him? They were meant to be his friends.
He got to his feet and made his way slightly unsteadily into the living room, the smell of chloroform still hung in the air. There was no one there, but he saw a white envelope on the coffee table, addressed to him, in Hannibal's writing. He tore it open and found a note inside:
We're all really sorry it had to come to this, but you just wouldn't listen. I know in the end you'll see we did the right thing and forgive us.
As a peace offering there's a booking for you and a guest at Chez Henri at eight o'clock tonight. The bill is all taken care of, have whatever you want, our treat.
Hannibal, BA and Murdock"
Chez Henri, one of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in the city, Face was now as much baffled as he was angry. At least until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the fireplace and did a double take. Heat flushed his cheeks in a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. So that's what this was about. The guys had been complaining for a month and he'd ignored them, he never thought they'd resort to such desperate measures. Face studied his reflection for a few more minutes, wondering if maybe the team had a point.
He sat down and picked up his little black book, it was time to find the perfect date for the evening. Annabel? No, a model, no use. Belinda? No, an actress. Ah, Celia, perhaps not the prettiest girl in his list, but good company and, more importantly possessed of the largest appetite between here and Santa Monica. He reached for the phone.
"Celia, hi, baby, it's Templeton. Listen, how about dinner tonight?…Chez Henri, of course, I hear their lobster is just fabulous these days…What? Oh, that. No, I er…" he self-consciously rubbed his freshly shorn upper lip. "I shaved it off….Great! I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." He put the phone down and grinned at the reflection of his now clean shaven face in the mirror. OK, maybe the guys were right about the moustache, but that didn't mean they weren't going to pay.
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