Okay.. this is my first stab at A-Team fanfic. I'm looking towards a longer story arc, possibly with a couple of related fics. I'm not an expert on any of this stuff, but I try my best to be somewhat accurate. A few things to note:

This starts during the Vietnam Era, which means this isn't Movieverse, obviously.

There will be an OC in it, and I might open it up to accepting a few more user-created OCs as the timeline moves into the 80's soldier of fortune period. I solemnly swear to avoid Sueness whenever possible and will not be too heavy-handed with application of said OC(s).

I'm not going to be a canon-nazi, because I'm not writing an episode of the show. It's just a bit of fun, but I'll try not to write desperately out-of-character things. I might write Murdock a bit saner than he ought to be sometimes, or Face a bit less suave but I wouldn't go far as to have BA be a drag queen or anything truly ridiculous.

This is a slash-free fic. Not that I mind slash or don't read it, but I just don't write it. Sorry slashfans. -_-

That being said, there will be swearing and possible future references to substance use/abuse, sexual references, torture and other basic war gore. So I'm going to rate it M because I have no idea where it'll go.

With those warnings in place, read at your peril.

XXX

Da Nang, May 1969

In the end, it wasn't the hollow moans or the bright, sharp stink of blood that pulled him to the surface of consciousness.

It was the faintest note of perfume. L'Heure Bleue. Only a tease of vanilla lingered, suggesting it had been sparingly applied to a wrist so many hours ago. The scent hooked his fogged mind, and the deceptively cool touch of slim fingers skimming his sweaty brow reeled him in.

He must have muttered something because a quiet voice responded.

"You're at the 95th Evac, Lieutenant Murdock." The fingers tugged gently at a bandage just above his right temple. "Try not to move sir, you've had a knock to your head."

Another voice, strained and definitely male, chimed in.

"That man is crazier than a shithouse rat!"

"Settle down Lieutenant Peck, you'll pull your sutures!" The nurse at Peck's bedside sighed and shook down a thermometer with several quick snaps and then popped it into her patient's protesting mouth. "Don't you say another word or I won't get an accurate reading," she insisted, tucking a sweat-damp curl behind her ear. She glanced over at the wounded pilot and the diminutive nurse changing his dressing.

"What's his status, Dixon?" she asked, ignoring Lieutenant Peck's muttering around the thermometer.

"Wound is clean, dry and intact ma'am. Temperature 98.4. Blood pressure 160/90 – likely a pain response," Second Lieutenant Kathleen Dixon said, producing a syringe from her pocket. "I'd like to give him about 10 mg of morphine if we can spare it."

Captain Theresa Lane nodded and removed the thermometer from Peck's mouth, which spurred a fresh round of complaints.

"Never seen flying like that in my life!" Peck said. "Supposed to land about three klicks from Dong Ap Bia and reunite me with my team. We come under a little fire and he goes nuts!"

"You're normal," Captain Lane said, shaking the thermometer briskly once again.

Second Lieutenant Templeton Peck paused briefly during his tirade and gave the tall nurse an appreciative look.

"You're not so bad yourself." A white smile popped against his tan.

Captain Lane closed her eyes briefly then turned her attention to another patient.

Murdock couldn't stop the nauseating, swirling sensation in his head as he tried to follow the conversation. He cracked open an eye and watched as a young Army nurse gently flicked a syringe. Her light brown hair hung in two sweaty tails that settled tiredly on her narrow shoulders.

"My bird," he croaked.

"Out of commission sir. You're both lucky to be alive, let alone relatively unharmed. Apparently, you're quite a pilot." Dixon disentangled his IV line as she talked.

"Might be the best," he said, his voice unsteady.

This declaration drew a derisive snort from Peck and a torrent of expletives.

Dixon started the slow push of morphine. A thin trickle of sweat coursed down the flat plane of the pilot's chest and pooled near the artful twist of his navel. "All right Lieutenant," she said, as much to soothe Murdock as to quiet Peck.

Peck wouldn't be quieted. "I have to get back out there!" he said, his voice rising sharply. "They'll die!"

A warm sensation crept down Murdock's spine and he flicked his eyes up to the little nurse standing over him. He registered tiny constellations of pale freckles scattered across her nose, her blue eyes gauging his response to the drug.

"Welcome to Da Nang, flyboy," she said as sleep crept up and claimed him

XXX

Hey, I never said it would be great - but I can't get better unless you push that review button. Working on the next chapter.