Title: Glasses

By: Junkfoodmonkey

Rated: PG13

Warnings: Possible mild implied slash

Summary: Face gets a reminder of the inevitability of ageing.

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

Glasses

"I need glasses?" Face stared at the optometrist in horror. He'd noticed lately that he'd been having trouble focussing when reading, but was sure it would be something temporary, probably some eye drops would clear it up. In the meantime if he just held things further away he was fine. Well fine as long as he could get his arms to grow a little bit longer.

"Well a man of your age…" the optometrist began.

"What do you mean, a man of my age, I'm only thirty-five!" Face protested. This was met with a very dubious look.

"And how many years have you been thirty-five, sir?"

Face bristled at the question.

"Presbyopia is an inescapable part of ageing, Mr Peck. Now I don’t need to give you a prescription, you can buy a pair of reading glasses at a drugstore, you need to get a pair with diopter strength of 1.75. Or of course you can purchase some from the wide range of fashionable and elegant styles we have available…"

Face stopped listening to the sales pitch and went into a kind of trance. Twenty minutes later he was handing over a ludicrous amount of money and leaving the optometrists with a small bag.

As he drove home in the Corvette he started to mutter to himself.

"Guy doesn't know what he's talking about. Just doing it to sell glasses. Why do they cost so damn much anyway? Just a con. I can see perfectly. Man of my age indeed!" He thought about the collection of plain-glassed spectacles they kept for disguises and cons. Well at least the pair he'd just bought was more stylish than any of those. Maybe they would come in useful on some future scam. Sure wouldn't be useful for anything else. Probably were just plain glass, it was all a con.

He arrived home and picked up his mail as he went inside, started to sort through it. There were nine pieces of mail with eight different names between them. Who knows what the mailman thought went on at this house. As he opened the envelopes he realised he was holding them at arm's length in order to read them. He dropped them all onto the hall table in frustration.

He went to the bathroom, to the mirror above the sink, and took the hated glasses out of their case. They were rectangular with dark metal frames and really were very smart. Well very smart for someone else to wear, Face thought. Someone middle aged, not him, not Templeton Peck, dashing young Lieutenant, who spent his time tripping over the women who threw themselves at his feet. He slipped them on, looked at his reflection for about half a second and pulled them off again with a moan of disgust.

"Hey, Face, what ya doin'?" Face almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Murdock's voice. He turned, putting the glasses behind his back, to see his friend standing in the bathroom doorway.

"Murdock! What are you still doing here, you said you'd be gone by the time I got back."

Murdock shrugged. "Well they were running back to back episodes of The Twilight Zone on one of the cable channels we don't get back at the VA. I was waiting for that one with Shatner, you know. 'There something on the wing! There's something on the wing!'." He grinned then looked at Face quizzically. "What you got there, Face?"

"Nothing. What? Got where? Don't know what you're talking about." He cringed. Why could he scam everyone in the world except his best friend? And apparently his optometrist.

"Behind your back." Murdock said. "Oooh, you got a secret?"

Well there was probably little point in putting off the inevitable. Face brought his hand out from behind his back and showed Murdock the glasses.

"Reading glasses, Murdock. You know what this means don't you?"

"You don't need someone to hold the newspaper twenty feet away so you can read it?" Murdock asked, smirking. So the others had noticed.

"It means I'm getting old," Face said miserably.

"Oh, Face you're not old." Murdock said. "You're maturing, like a fine wine, or a good cheese."

"So now you're saying that I'm either covered in dust or I smell like feet?" Face asked.

"Attaboy, at least you still got your sense of humour, that’s the first thing to go when senility strikes, you know." But Murdock's teasing didn't seem to be working, Face still looked gloomy. "C'mon, put them on. Let me see how you look." Reluctantly Face did so.

"They're great," Murdock said, enthusiastically, "really stylish. Designer frames I'll bet."

Face nodded. "Cost a bundle."

"They really suit you, Face."

Face shrugged, glanced at himself in the mirror again. Maybe they weren't so bad.

"And you know what the best thing about wearing glasses is?" Murdock came closer. "Someone can do this." He reached up and carefully took the glasses off Face and allowing his Southern drawl to come out full force he said. "Why, Mr Peck, you're beautiful."

end