Title: Murdock and The Queen's English

By: Junkfoodmonkey

Rated: PG

Summary: 500 words exactly. Dr Richter really shouldn't have taken Murdock along to that conference in London. The team have to put up with the results..

Acknowledgement: Thanks to Leia for help with the title.

Disclaimer: The A-Team does not belong to me, I'm not making any money from this.

Murdock and The Queen's English

Murdock had been British for the last four days. The rest of the team were getting pretty sick of it. His accent has been careening all over the British Isles like an American tourist trying to "do" England in one day.

"I say, old chap, pull over." Murdock said to BA. "It's four o'clock, time for tea." That was another thing, he wanted to have a "tea break" every couple of hours.

"We should never have let Richter take him to that conference in London." Face said again. "I think he spent the whole time watching TV. Sorry, Murdock, watching 'telly'."

"Och, c'mon, laddie, a nice wee cuppa, do ya the world o' good." The accent suddenly moved north of the border. At least it wasn't the Glaswegian one this time. He'd done that for about three hours yesterday and they'd been unable to understand a word he said the whole time.

"Sorry, Murdock, we have to keep going," Hannibal said. "We have to reach the Clarkson's mill before Evans and his sleaze balls show up."

"Aye," Murdock conceded the point, becoming a Yorkshireman temporarily. "There's trouble at 'mill." Face rolled his eyes. BA growled. His patience was being stretched to its limits.

"Shut up, fool. You ain't no Englishman, so just quit with the crazy voices."

"What, ye got a problem wi' me, pal?" The Glaswegian was back.

"Yeah, I got a problem," BA snapped, "And I like to bury ma problems."

"Cool it, BA." Hannibal said. "And Murdock, knock it off for a bit, would ya?"

"Roger, wilco, old chap." Murdock sounded as if he was speaking from the cockpit of a Spitfire. Then he grinned sheepishly and in his normal voice said. "Sorry, Colonel. Will do." He went quiet as they sped on through the afternoon. Apart from one time where he looked at some grey clouds and said "Ah hope it dis'nea rain, ah've fergo'en ma brolly," he laid off the accents.

The afternoon faded into evening and they drove on without stopping. Finally they approached their client's lumber mill. There were several cars outside and some kind of standoff seemed to be going on. Mr Clarkson and his two sons stood at the gate with shotguns while a group of men sheltered behind vehicles.

"Damn," Hannibal said. "Okay, get ready, guys." The van screeched to a halt between the vehicles and the gates. The team piled out. A hard faced young man, Evans, stood up.

"Who the hell are you?" He snapped.

Murdock's voice was pure South London.

"We're the A-Team, son, and we 'aven't 'ad any dinner."

Minutes later Evans and his men were groaning on the ground. Murdock picked something off the ground and bent over one of the thugs.

"Is this a piece of your brain?" He asked in a loud, patronising and of course English, voice.

Hannibal grinned triumphantly and lit up a cigar.

"Captain," he said to Murdock. "I think you've earned that tea break." Murdock grinned back.

"Top hole!"

end