So I decided to rewrite this fic, if you like it please keep reading and review, if you don't like it, don't read it. It features a female OC, it may eventually feature a MC/OC pairing. I intend for it to be darker than the show but I will do my best to be faithful to the characters of the show. This is something I do in my spare time so apologies if there are mistakes, typos etc. Please enjoy!
John "Hannibal" Smith was, for a rare first, in a state of disbelief. As he peered through his tinted brown shades at the woman he considered dryly that perhaps he should have sent Murdock to meet this one instead of coming himself. In a show of arrogance and irony he had adopted the disguise of a private investigator. He and the woman, Ms. Nuttell, were currently in a shady office that had been mocked up hastily to resemble the office of weary investigator Elias Horne.
Ms. Nuttell appeared alert and hopeful despite the runaround Hannibal had given her. First had been the standard meeting with Mr. Lee who had directed her to a bus with a moody driver who had taken her to a stop on the outskirts of the town where her only clue was a tattered flyer in the bus stop for investigator E Horne. Hannibal hadn't been certain she would take the hint but Face had let him know she was on her way giving him little time to don his final disguise.
"A magician?" Hannibal repeated in a feigned gritty Brooklyn accent. "Lady don't waste my time with hocus pocus."
"A thief," Ms. Nuttell said seriously as she held his gaze with an iron stare that made Hannibal briefly forget her small, unimposing stature and snap to attention. "He played the role of magician, he played many roles," she added in a tone of disgust, "but he was just a dirty criminal. My daughter didn't know, she couldn't have, she was besotted with him."
Hannibal nodded along though he had his doubts about this.
"So this magician, what was his name again, Phoenix?"
Ms. Nuttell nodded. "The Ever Rising Phoenix," she said with a slight sneer, "Jeremy Fenix, and she was his glamorous assistant, my daughter Summer Nuttell but they called her his Firebird. He was a thief for hire and he used his magician show to get him access. He got away with it for five years, longer than he should have but then he bit off more than he could chew in Mexico City and he dragged my daughter into it."
"Mexico City?" Hannibal parroted as his eyes widened beneath the shades. This was going to be a tall order. Getting himself, a fugitive, and three other fugitives over the border had always proved to be a tricky order, possible most definitely but always a risk.
Ms. Nuttell nodded solemnly. She kept up an admirable appearance of energetic determination but Hannibal could see the bloodshot veins in her eyes that betrayed her growing exhaustion and the pluck at her thin lips that showed her despair breaking through. "I don't know what he was after but he was caught, they both were," she finished in a sharp whisper. "He got away, whether he took something with him or not I don't know and I don't care Mr. Horne I just know my daughter is the one paying the price for his crimes."
Hannibal leaned across the stained veneer desk with intrigue. "How do you know that?" he demanded.
Ms. Nuttell turned her attention to the old, black leather handbag on her lap at last and opened the clasp delicately. She tugged out a blank videotape carefully before handing it over to Hannibal with a barely suppressed tremble. "I got this in the post," she confessed hoarsely, "and a demand for ten thousand American dollars for her release." She blinked back tears as Hannibal took the tape in one hand. "I don't have that money Mr. Horne and even if I did I doubt it would secure her release, they've tortured her and the only reason she's alive is because they either want that magician's location or they want his secrets. He had skills I believe, ways of infiltrating places and stealing things, sleight of hand and all that crafty trickery."
Hannibal turned the tape over his hand and glanced at it briefly, there were no markings on it and no label.
Ms. Nuttell tugged out a laced handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her eyes delicately with it before summoning a cool expression to her face. "I don't have much Mr. Horne, maybe not even enough to hire your acquaintances," she said calmly, almost defensively, "but I have no one else to turn to. I'll give your acquaintances all the money I do have, I'll sell my house and my car if I have to, whatever it takes to compel them to help my daughter."
Hannibal placed the tape back on the desk, knowing he should watch it before making his decision but not wanting to. He pulled off his sunglasses at last and slipped them into the breast pocket of his yellowed ivory shirt. "When did you get this tape?" he pried.
"A week ago," she confessed, "and I've been searching desperately for help since. I don't know when they filmed it or decided to post it, I don't know how long she's been suffering down there."
"You don't know she's definitely alive then," he said darkly, letting his accent drop at last.
"I have a mother's surety," Ms. Nuttell answered with such conviction that Hannibal, against his better nature, was compelled to believe her.
"And I'm to tell my friends that?" he scorned her. "A mother's surety?" he taunted as he slammed his right hand down hard on the desk for good measure.
The woman was unfazed and continued to hold his stare with her own serious stare. "I'll meet them if you want and look them in the eye, all of them, and let them see that I know she's alive," she said quietly in a serious voice.
Hannibal tugged off his dark curly wig at last and ignored Ms. Nuttell's soft gasp as he reached for the rubber of his prosthetic nose and abandoned the remnants of it to the table. "You've already done it for one of us," he assured her. "Ms. Nuttell congratulations, you've hired the A-Team."
San Diego, California, USA
There was crazy and then there was batshit no man would ever do it crazy. Templeton 'Faceman' Peck was fairly certain this was the latter. Oh sure it was the stereotype for fugitives to want to cross the border into Mexico but to openly drive up to it like they weren't wanted, that was the crazy part.
The batshit part was that they were going to try and save someone from the cartel. He couldn't argue about it anymore, he'd given up after watching the tape and suffered an odd moment of silent debate.
They had all watched the tape together- he, B.A, Murdock and Hannibal, a second viewing for him. Hannibal had figured he would let the tape do all his arguing for him. Things had been tense after, Murdock had been uncharacteristically quiet and B.A sullen, Face had made a half-hearted argument against going to Mexico but deep down he knew after what they had watched they were going.
Face kept telling himself he had seen worse in the war, hell maybe he had done worse but somehow that didn't lessen the horror of the snuff film. The young woman in it wasn't an enemy soldier, she wasn't armed, she was defenceless, screaming in pain as a man in the shadows forced her to face the camera whilst barking demands for ten thousand American dollars. It was ludicrous, Face couldn't imagine any magic trick that was worth this woman's pain or her silence. For once the screams passed the silence came and then, after someone had introduced burning to the variants of torture, a roll of her eyes that suggested she wasn't quite all there any more.
Even as Face made himself give a wide, cheery smile as they reached border patrol he wondered if there was anything left of the woman to rescue. Was she still alive? If she was alive was she still mentally all there? What if they just rescued a shell of a person?
"Sit Billy," Murdock snapped from behind.
Face glanced up in the rear view mirror of the motor home he had procured for the journey and spied the pilot wagging a finger down at his invisible dog. He realised that mentally broken or not the woman was still worth saving.
"Show time," Hannibal said confidently as he readied himself to greet the patrol guard.
Face stopped the vehicle, grabbed the passport and pamphlet resting in the seat pocket beside him and opened the driver's door to greet the tired looking guard. As he did the heat of the afternoon flooded into the vehicle bringing with it the odour of petrol and dust. Face resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose and instead continued to smile winningly. "Good afternoon," he greeted chirpily, "and I must say what a beautiful afternoon it's turned out to be."
The officer glanced back at Face stonily through his green tinted shades before thumbing them down slightly to eye the documents clutched in Face's hands. "How many on board?" he grunted.
"Four good sir," Face answered brightly.
"Purpose of visit?"
"Missionary work."
The office stared hard at Face through his shades, evidently disapproving of his purpose on some level. "Alright," he murmured at last, "well I've got to take a quick look before I let you through."
Face nodded as he stepped back into the vehicle and gestured for the officer to follow him.
The office bordered slowly, pausing to look steadily at Hannibal who occupied the front passenger seat and was fanning himself with a collection of leaflets. Hannibal paused and smiled up at the officer. "Afternoon," he greeted chirpily, "and such a warm one. Care for a leaflet?" He offered one out.
The officer tipped his sunglasses down with his right hand to study the leaflet. "Brethren of Hope," he scorned.
"That's us," Hannibal affirmed.
The officer shook his head before pushing his glasses up and continuing on his way down the caravan.
Face was blocking the way staring at the spot where Murdock was before looking at B.A quizzically.
The imposing soldier of fortune looked as low key as best one of his size and build could. He was clad in a long sleeved, light linen shirt with matching long shorts, both pale taupe, and hanging about his chest on a simple string was a wooden cross, a far cry from his usual golden décor. B.A met Face's worried stare and offered a shrug.
"I thought you said there were four of you," the officer said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. He had leaned past Face to spy B.A.
"I did," Face retorted quietly.
There was a flush from the toilet before the lock clicked. Face filled with relief as the door opened and Murdock emerged. His relief was short lived as he took in the large, black and tasselled sombrero on Murdock's head which only seemed to highlight the crazy that lurked in his eyes and drew attention to his wild tufts of dark hair.
"Well you've seen us all and our humble home," Face said as he turned to face the officer swiftly, hoping to avoid giving him a chance to query Murdock's attire choice. "Perhaps you'd like to hear about our mission?"
The officer, who had been ready to ask some questions, swallowed them down and shook his head. He was soaked in sweat, irritable with the heat and his throat was dry from inhaling exhaust fumes all morning. He did not want to spend the sticky afternoon hearing about Jesus on top of all that. "Save it," he grumbled, "just have your passports ready for the counter." He turned and headed back the way he had come.
"Pamphlet?" Hannibal offered innocently as he thrust one out in the officer's path.
"Nah, keep it for someone who wants saving," the officer scorned as he headed out.
Face shut the door with a small smile. "Nothing gets people away faster than attempting to convert them," he mocked before heading back to the wheel. He paused and looked in the mirror to Murdock again as the pilot's singing travelled up the motor home.
"Down in Mexicali, there's a crazy little place that I know."
"Of course there is," B.A scorned, "shut up already fool, you could've got us lifted!"
"Where the drinks are hotter than the chilli sauce and the boss is a cat named Joe," Murdock continued singing.
Face tensed slightly at that, he knew the song though he wasn't a fan of it and he hated how relevant the lyrics suddenly seemed. It was a Josias 'Joe' Castillo's domain that they were heading for, intel suggested if he didn't have the magician's assistant he would know who did. Joe had been the one doing the burning after all.
"He wears a red bandanna, plays a blues pianna," Murdock sang.
"Shut up now," B.A ordered, "we need you to act sane for five seconds."
Murdock fell silent as he exchanged a glower with B.A as the motor home came to a halt for a second time. His nostrils flared and his mouth turned at the corners as he debated the risk of provoking B.A.
Passport control was a breeze, their false documents were barely looked over as once again the topic of conversion got them waved through quickly.
Feeling a touch of relief, Face relaxed a little in his seat as they headed for Tijuana.
"So how are we getting to Mexico City?" B.A demanded. "This heap of junk isn't going to get us there quickly."
"I've got a plan," Hannibal assured.
"What kind?" B.A demanded with a suspicious stare.
"Fail safe," Hannibal retorted confidently.
