Totally a companion-piece to "Frankie and Johnny". I think it's better if you read that one first (but maybe that's just because I've written that one first). But honestly, there's no spoilers in either for the other, so I guess it doesn't matter which you read first, after all.

-v-

With a sense of grim satisfaction Hannibal fought his way out of the - now generously leaking - water-tank. They were expecting him to do God knows what in that little water-filled tin-box, and it just didn't work. He'd told them as much, but they hadn't listened. Well...

Oh, they would patch the tin-box up, and then stick him right back in, no doubt. But at least for the next half-hour or so he should have some peace. And coffe for sure, a gallon at least, because he was freezing to the bone. Not that he complained about that. It was supposed to be seawater, after all, and one thing about the sea was: It was not warm.

Still.

Motivated by the prospect of hot liquid Hannibal waddled over to the food-truck.

"Little help?" He asked no-one in particular.

Two hands reached for his head, pulling open the velcro. "Hey, Johnny, break?"

Ah, Frankie. Good, Hannibal liked the boy. He was enthusiastic and passionate. Sometimes more than was good for him, but hey, who was he to judge people for their passion? "Break, mishap..." he answered, "what's the ultimate difference, as long as it gets me a hot cup of coffee?"

Frankie grinned. "Mishap?"

Hannibal put his rubber head down on the counter and ordered himself a coffee with just a quick wave of the hand. "Something or other happened to the water-tank," he elaborated a little. "Can't go on, until it's fixed."

"Something or other?" Frankie insisted, his grin never faltering.

Hannibal allowed the mischieveous grin tugging at his lips to happen. "I told them, it's too small. They wouldn't listen." His grin broadened. "So I proved it." - Ah, there was his coffee! Julio knew him and his needs well enough to have put a straw into the cup; helped with the drinking.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just take those off?" Frankie asked with a glance at the monster-claw-gloves.

Hannibal shook his head. Putting them on was a hassle, even when they were dry. Putting them on when they were wet was next to impossible. But he had a reputation to uphold, so he said with sincere conviction, "they help me stay in character."

Frankie shook his head and sipped his own coffee. "You really should switch to more serious acting."

"Frankie..." Hannibal wished he could, sometimes. But being John Hannibal Smith, commander of the A-Team, rubber suits and masks he could hide behind were a lot safer. And most days he honestly didn't mind. Only sometimes, when a particularly untalented actor managed to squeeze a successful carreer out of Hollywood, it irked him.

"I know, I know. But really, is that how you wanna go down in Hollywood history?" Frankie waved his hands demonstratively up and down Hannibal' rubber-clad body. "As the guy who played the most D-movie monsters?"

"And why not? As long as I'm the best at something..." There was a kernel of truth in his defense. He didn't despise the characters he played, he liked them. Still... but no.

"Well, not me," Frankie declared with some grandeur. "I'm gonna work A-rate one day. This... This is just to start me out, you know, give me the opportunity to learn the basics."

"You're going at it the wrong way."

"What? I wanna know..." Frankie started an explanation.

"A-rate works differently than D-rate", Hannibal interrupted. "If it didn't, there'd be no A or D or any other letter of the alphabet." Really, Frankie wasn't stupid, how had he not worked that out for himself?

"Like the A-Team is the A-Team, not the D-Team?"

Hannibal promptly got his coffee down the wrong way. "The what?" He squeaked. His vocal chords were still laced with coffee. Because surely, it wasn't nerves. Colonel John Hannibal Smith didn't do nerves.

"Yeah, couple of guys have been talking about it," Frankie explained, seemingly totally ignorant about what had just happened. "There are rumours that big producers are planning on turning the story into a movie. - You've heard of the A-Team, haven't you? They've been in the papers a bit lately."

Yep, definitely totally ignorant. Thank God! Hannibal was pretty sure that Frankie wouldn't sell him out, but the boy couldn't keep a secret to keep his own heart beating. Hannibal relaxed and played along: "Right, yeah. Something strikes a bell there, far back in my mind." - He knew about those rumours, of course, and they were like an itch he wasn't allowed to scratch.

"You gotta admit, it would make a good movie," Frankie went on, still oblivious. "I mean, it has all the ingredients: action, drama, a touch of heroism..."

"Touch of?" Hannibal couldn't stop himself. It was a far cry from humility, but hey, honestly! They'd done a great number of pretty heroic stuff over the years. In Nam as well as back home in the US of A. Well, maybe not a great number, but definitely a number.

"They were convicted of some crime, I forgot what, nothing violent though. Then they escaped and now they're doing good work for the helpless. You got to admit, it's one hell of a story. If they don't mess it up with the writing..."

Indeed, that was Hannibal's one and only worry. The unscratchable itch. "But they are felons," he said to get away from the topic of writing. "That's bound to put a few spots on the otherwise white west."

Of course, Frankie waved it off. "That's easily fixed in writing. All you have to do is claim, that the conviction was unjust, they were tricked or something. Or the judge was out to get them, a personal vendetta or something."

Hannibal laughed softly to himself. Without knowing it, Frankie had hit the nail on the head with his first guess.

"What?" Frankie complained, who interpreted the laugh incorrectly.

Now Hannibal waved it off. It was the only thing he could do, because there was no way to explain it. Instead he ordered another coffee, and for a while they just stood there, side by side, each busy with his own wonderful hot beverage.

"You know what we should do once this comes to fruition?" Frankie picked the topic up again. "We should try and get hired for that movie. I bet there's a lot to do for an explosives expert like me."

That much was certainly true, but... "And what do you suggest I do? Play the imaginary fairy-queen that makes it all come together in a happy end?"

Frankie only shook his head. "You could go and audition for one of the Team," he suggested earnestly.

Hannibal couldn't help himself, he laughed. "Sure thing, Frank. I'll go and audition for the leader of the Team." He really, truly just couldn't help himself. He could almost see it, and wasn't that a hoot and a half? Murdock would bounce like a rubber-ball on speed. BA would grunt and frown and call him a fool, and Face... Face would declare him insane while secretly begrudging him the opportunity.

"And why not?" Frankie insisted, blissfully unaware of the thoughts swirling around Hannibal's brain. "Hey, you even fit the general description of the real team leader." He beamed.

"I do?" Hannibal hadn't known his description was floating around. That meant they had descriptions of BA and Face as well. He'd have to tell the guys to not pick him up from the set for a while.

"Mid fifties, physically fit, none too shabby looks."

The "non too shabb looks" filled Hannibal with pride, but he hid it well. "Is that it?" He asked instead, putting a hint of reproach into it. "Not much of a description. No wonder, they don't catch him. That description fits me and couple thousand other guys." Which was nothing but god's honest truth.

Frankie squirmed a bit. "That's a fair point, I guess."

"And also, you're forgetting this is Hollywood we're talking about. They don't care about what's the truth. They'll hire some young hot shot who can flex his muscles at the camera and has a perfect smile with perfect teeth, and his hair is blow-dried just like that and..." Hannibal interrupted himself, before he could talk himself into a rage. It wasn't worth getting upset over something like that. Hollywood could botch up this movie in much bigger ways than who played him.

"Another fair point", Frankie conceded.

"Yeah, I'm full of them today."

"If anything, you're full of it, man." Frankie grinned challengingly.

Hannibal took the bite. "That too." He said it with his most sincere, straight face. And it wasn't too hard, because... well, he was full of it. Talking about himself like that. Acting so indifferent, when it really struck the deepest chords. He ordered another coffee. Might as well do something sensible while he lied through his teeth to somebody who he considered... maybe not a friend, but a very dear colleague.

"But still, wouldn't it be great?" Frankie asked dreamily. He just wouldn't let it go.

Hannibal started to wonder just what it took to finally shut him up.

"Us working together on an A-movie? You as the teamleader, me as the guy who does all the explosions and bullets. You gotta admit it, that would be fun."

Would they fire him for decking the boom-boy?

"Hey, you yourself told me, not five minutes ago, that if I want to work in A-movies, I should get hired for an A-movie."

Yes - but does it have to be that one? Hannibal shouted with frustration inside his mind. Out loud he said: "That's right. But me? I'm quite happy where I am, thank you. I hold a torch for the little guys, the underdogs. I believe I can make a difference for D-movie monsters. They are underapprciated, ridiculed and just generally not taken seriously. Somebody has to do something about that." Damn. Spoken like the true leader of the A-Team, always fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves. That was not the way to dissuade Frankie. And the badly concealed appreciative look he got from him proved it. Frankie was now, more than ever, convinced that Hannibal should audition for the role of Hannibal. Insane.

"Just do me a favour," Hannibal said, spelling it out for Frankie, who apparantly had a bit of a dumb day today. "If you want to start working A-movies, don't start with this one."

"Why not? It's a great movie for F/X. All those bullets, exploding cars..."

Fair point, but... "Do you have any idea how often cars actually catch fire, not to speak of blow up?"

"Well, not more than once, I imagine."

Johnny grinned. "Right. But car's don't generally blow up. They just die on you." Or run into ditches, trees, walls, lakes... And yes, occasionally they did blow up.

"Not if you shoot at them," Frankie defended his point.

"Have you ever shot at a car?" He'd eat a broom complete with witch on top if he had - for real, that was.

"No, but neither have you," Frankie argued. "I mean, you haven't, right?"

Hannibal wondered briefly what about him made Frankie doubt himself there. "Why would I?" he said lightly. "I don't have anything against cars."

"Right." Frankie nodded, then let the nod turn in to a head-shake. "Never mind what really happens, cars do blow up in movies," he said with finality.

Hannibal searched his mind for a counter-argument, but there was none. "You got a point there. Still, I figure it's awfully boring. Bullet-holes in furniture. There's no pride in that, Frankie." He somehow had to get the boy off that stupid plan of his.

"Johnny?!"

Hannibal turned towards the irate voice. Jackson, responsible for the water-tin-box came running over. Well, there was one way of ending this conversation, Hannibal thought. "Coffee break's over, I imagine," he said and quickly downed the rest of his coffee.

"Just think about it," Frankie insisted. "Me and you, A-movies!"

"Sure. Now fix my head. Quickly, before he comes any closer. I love it when he thinks he stares me in the eyes when he actually talks to my nose."

END