One of those ideas that won't let you go to sleep at night and will continue haunting you until you write them down.
Simple drabble, non-slash, I don't own the A-Team (which is unfortunate!)
Enjoy and I would like to hear what you think :).
The morning sun made its way through the gap between the curtains. Not wanting to open his eyes yet, Face lay in the comfortable warmth of the sun and the covers for a few more minutes. Finally opening his eyes, he glanced at the hotel-standard alarm clock. A couple of minutes past 6. He'd make it. Easy.
He sat up and stretched. Looking behind him as he yawned, his eyes rested upon the stunning blonde he'd picked up the night before.
Sarah, Suzy, Sally, Sandy, Stella.. something with an 'S'.
Putting his socks on, he looked around the room, spotting his suit neatly draped over a chair. Spontaneous nights of passion are all fun and games but if you can't get away looking spotless the next day you're just not playing the game well enough. Pants on, belt fastened and shirt buttoned – all with practiced silence as to not awaken sleeping beauty, of course – Face looked for his wallet. He pulled out a 'hastily' pre-written "emergency at the office" excuse note and left it on the dresser by the door. He wouldn't leave the poor girl without some closure, artificial as it may be. Besides, the 'mysterious disappearing stranger' routine was tacky. He figured he should probably feel worse about this type of thing. Some introspective psychobabble about abusing the trust of others so easily when his own faith in people had been thrown back in his face so often over the years.
His curiosity got the better of him and he took a quick look in the blond's purse. Lipstick, mirror, address book (its most recent addition the friendly businessman Steve Richardson), cigarettes, hairbrush and – ah! – wallet.
'Melissa'. Oh well, close enough.
He put the driver's license back in place and put it back in the purse. Couldn't be expected to remember everything, could he?
On the subject of trust, wouldn't he be a pretty lousy conman if he kept each and every promise he made? A couple of 'forgive me Father, for I have sinned' were part of his daily routine.
Outside, he straightened his tie and checked his watch. Without having to look he knew the van had pulled up, recognizing the hum of the engine instantaneously. 6:30 on the dot. He smiled.
"Get in, Face."
The self-reflecting moral debates could wait another day.