She was a cute little thing, Face thought to himself as he watched Natalie follow Olivia sheepishly. They were all pretty sweet – except the tall one, what's-her-face, Liv. There was something feral and hawkish about her that made him think of snipers and assassins. But the one who really caught his eye was the middle one, Brose – she had some nice curves to her, with a positively adorable mouth which looked utterly kissable. And, of course, that I'll-kick-your-ass-if-you-mess-with-me look, which always interested him. She had a serious chip on her shoulder, that was certain, and she pouted like a five year old when Liv took away her booze. Brose was lighting up another cigarette and letting the smoke curl seductively between her fingers, and when she caught his eye, she grinned at him. It wasn't a playful, cheerful grin of friendship and camaraderie. It was a grin of sarcastic foreboding, a promise of a wrestling match and perhaps broken bones then next time he looked at her like that. He felt himself perk up a little. Maybe all he needed was a challenge – it had been too easy to get women lately. The girl with the black spiky hair might just be the emotional perk he needed to get his head in gear for this mission. Besides, romance was very inspiring, and he needed to be inspired right now. He followed Hannibal and the rest off the plane and stretched his legs as he hit the concrete. The flight had been long and tense, with the two teams retreating to opposite ends of the plane and shooting each other suspicious glances. Cracking his knuckles and then twisting his neck, Face strolled casually alongside Brose, who was smoking her cigarette as though they would be outlawed the next day.
"Hey," He said, in an offhand way. Instead of even bothering to respond, she flicked him a glance and tapped the ashes from her cigarette. He licked his lips and tried again. "We're getting hired by a presidential candidate. Pretty wild, huh?"
"You know what would be awesome?" Brose said suddenly, turning to him. He saw with growing appreciation that her eyes were a complex and multi-faceted shade of hazel and tawny gold. He gave her his lady-killer smile, that devilish grin which quirked the side of his mouth and showed off his even, white teeth.
"What?" He responded. She leaned in close and he got a whiff of her gin-laced breath and got smoke in his hair.
"If you shut the hell up and quit checking me out." She smirked right back at him, her hazel eyes narrowing in satisfaction. "That would be awesome. And you know what else, Pretty Boy? If you cut out the strutting around like you're God's gift to women everywhere. That's seriously pissing me off, and when I get pissed off, people start getting hurt." She dropped her cigarette at his feet and swaggered off, her hips rolling from side to side as she followed her team leader towards the large gray building before them. He couldn't stop the genuinely cheerful smile from spreading across his face.
Ooh-la-la.
Liv turned up the collar of her denim jacket and followed the pilot, who seemed as though he knew exactly where he was going. To her left was the skinny man with the shifty grin and the funny-koala hat, who seemed to be humming opera to himself and doing a little step-step-skip which was bugging her. Everyone was uncommonly quiet, even BA, and the dull roar of planes taking off swarmed inside her ears. Natalie was running her thumb across the ridged edge of her throwing knife, the one she always kept in her hip pocket, and Liv noticed the movement. Natalie had been nervous and worried about the upcoming mission; despite her occasional lapses in sanity and her abhorrence towards partying, alcohol, and cigarettes of any kind, she was the mothering one of the group. Brose and Liv would both die for the team, but Natalie was the one who cooked and tried to keep them in clean clothes, keep them in legal jobs in between missions. Liv, the girls knew, would just as soon ditch civilian life and head for a life of crime if it meant getting reinstated, and Brose was happy wherever there were drinks. Liv nudged the petite blonde, and Natalie looked up, her scared eyes catching Liv's dark black ones. Somehow, that always comforted her, and Natalie expelled a deep breath between her teeth and stopped caressing her knife. Things would be okay. She didn't know about this mission – she hated killing – but she trusted Liv implicitly. Liv would have a plan. She always did, and it was always a plan which they could count on.
The doors hissed open, and the biting winds which had been slowly peeling the skin from their cheeks melted inside the lush, warm interior, and they all unconsciously sighed in appreciation. BA rolled his shoulders and dragged his hands across his arms, dispelling the goose bumps and shrugging off his nerves. The pilot had hardly waited until the door closed and the frosty air disappeared before punching the elevator button and waiting silently. There was a long, awkward silence while the two teams tried not to have any physical contact of any kind, which was difficult, considering the room was rather cozy and the ceiling was low. After a moment, the elevator dinged once, and the dented doors slid open, revealing an even tighter space in which to cram inside. Silently, the pilot gestured for them to go inside, and reluctantly the seven of them stuffed themselves inside the elevator. With a nod, the pilot pressed the button again and the doors closed, separating him from the teams, and they were left with just themselves. Brose fidgeted uncomfortably, aware that she was in very close proximity to a coldly silent Hannibal, who was glancing derisively at Liv. Something had happened between the two of them, and Brose was determined to find out whose nose to break.
It seemed like forever, but in reality the elevator ride only lasted a few seconds before the doors opened and they spilled, relieved, out into a long, carpeted hallway. At the end was a door, and also a man of medium height and build, his brown hair slicked back and his frameless glasses settled on the edge of his nose. He had an easy, casual smile which appeared often and seemed to linger in his eyes, and he extended his hand for Hannibal to shake. "Jack Kinnons," He said smilingly. "Good to meet you in person, Colonel. And you, Miss Marks." He flashed her his grin, which seemed a little more off kilter to her up close than it had on the television screen. "I'm assuming you want to check out some hardware from out expansive collection of weaponry, and I also have blueprints of the compound, if you're interested."
Something about this didn't quite ring true to Hannibal, but he kept his mouth shut. Half of all battles could be avoided by paying attention to details, and he stuck to that religiously. He noticed that Liv was mentally studying Kinnons for weapons, observed that Murdock was checking out Natalie from behind, and also that BA was distinctly uneasy. Kinnons punched in a key code into a small number pad near the door, and there was a brief, sharp, klaxon buzz as the door popped open. Kinnons pushed the door open further and gestured inside. "And this – is where the magic happens," He said, following the two groups inside. There was a muttered curse by Brose and BA and seven identical faces of awe as they looked at the warehouse of weapons in front of them.
Crates of explosives were lined in neat piles, opened boxes of guns gleamed wetly in the industrial overhead lights. Tarps covered some rows entirely, but the machinery that was visible looked invitingly menacing and suitably dangerous. There was a suped-up trike with fat tires and a shimmering black finish, complete with speed stripes on the side, and there was a whole carton of knives right next to it. Sniper rifles, complete with cases, were stacked waist high, and Liv's eyes were drawn magnetically towards a harness with small black containers along the side. There were grenades and ammo belts, blocks of C-4 and sticks of dynamite, armored trucks and samurai swords. Brose looked like a kid in a candy shop as she hefted an AK-47 and sighted along the barrel, smiling around her cigarette. BA slapped his hands together with an "Aw, yeah, baby!" and mounted the suped-up trike. Even Hannibal seemed impressed, and was closely examining a wide ammo belt which could be secreted beneath an actual belt. Liv, to Hannibal's surprise, wasn't drawn to the weapons as he had originally thought, but instead slid inside an armored truck, slamming the door behind her.
"As you can see, we have quite a selection," Kinnons said smilingly. "And anything you need is yours, of course. We have a plane for you to take to Russia – unfortunately, I can't give you a pilot, otherwise my situation would be compromised, but I hear you have a suitable, ah, pilot of your own." He said, glancing uncertainly at Murdock. Admittedly, Murdock was running his hands along a chopper which was taking up the majority of the left hand side of the room, murmuring endearments in Chinese, which he seemed to speak fluently.
"Murdock will be fine," Hannibal said gruffly, taking his cigar from his mouth and piercing Kinnons with his calm blue eyes. "You said you had blueprints?"
"Yes," Kinnons said, and took out a folded piece of paper from his vest pocket. "Now, normally I would ask you how you're going to get in there," He said, "But today I just want you to come back in one piece. Okay? So don't tell me how, and don't tell me when, but it would be great if I can get a nice little surge by mid-February."
"You're expecting this to take a month?" Natalie said, looking up with her brows furrowed. Kinnons smiled at her – he smiled at everyone, but this one seemed more like a creepy leer than a grin. Natalie, however, was completely unfazed by the fact that Kinnons answered her with his eyes fastened on her chest. She had, after all, grown up with it.
"Russia is a long ways off," He said. "And I want to give you guys a little wiggle room. Okay? Okay. I'll have someone see you to the flight deck when you're ready to fly."
"We'll need rations," Liv said, poking her head from the armored truck and resting her elbow on the roof of it. "Lots of them, if you expect this to take a month."
Kinnons waved his hand dismissively. "I have a contact in Russia who will give you everything you need by ways of food and survival packs," He said. "Now, is there anything else you need? Because I have a press conference at two, and I would really hate to be late for my own party."
"One question, Mr. Kinnons," Hannibal said quietly, "How do I know we'll get paid?"
"C'mon, Colonel," Kinnons said laughingly. "Don't you trust me?"
Hannibal's voice was low and certain. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't." Kinnons waved a hand dismissively.
"Believe me, you'll get your money," He said. "It's a drop in the bucket. Now, have fun, I gotta run." He winked at Natalie, and stepped out through the doors.
There was a beat of silence, and then BA looked up from the trike. "Hey, bossman, do we hafta fly to Russia?" He asked. Hannibal didn't even bother answering, but Brose picked up on the plea in his voice.
"Thought you guys were Rangers," She said, lying flat on her belly and peering through a scope to examine the far wall with pinpoint accuracy. Face laughed, and she looked up. He had a nice laugh, but a far too confident one. It was time to take him down a notch, she decided. "Or are all Rangers just scared shitless at the thought of flying?" She said sarcastically. Liv noticed Hannibal's tensing, and BA's gaze grew distinctly colder.
"Brose," Liv said warningly. Brose, whose gin-and-waters were finally going from her brain to her tongue, shrugged.
"What?" She asked. Liv rolled her eyes and stepped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. The sound was warningly loud in the large, echoic room, and Brose picked up on the hint. "Sorry," She grumbled. "Not often that you see Rangers with a fear of flying, though," She added. Liv marched over and pulled her up, taking the sniper's gun from her hands.
"C'mon, Brose," She said, tugging her off to one side and into another aisle. When they were safely out of earshot, Liv got right up in her face, and Brose saw how serious she was. "Hand it over," Liv demanded in a whisper. At Brose's feigned look of innocence, Liv elaborated. "Every drop of alcohol you have on your person or in your bag, Brose. Don't make me frisk you. You know I will."
"You can't be serious," Brose said, trying to laugh. She faltered when she saw Liv's hooded eyes flare. "Come off it, Liv, you always let me have a little fun before missions. There's no harm in it. I know when to stop, Liv, you have to trust me." She said, and noticed Liv's eyes hardening further still. Now they resembled marble-flecked orbs of dusty black, and Brose knew she was about to either jab her fingers into someone's solar plexus or chew someone a new asshole. Or both. "Liv, if this is about the other team, take it easy. They don't mind, I know they don't." She began, but Liv cut her off.
"No, they do mind, Brose!" Liv snapped. "You're right, I don't usually mind, but we're working with other team members, and I'm having to work with another team leader. You think this is easy, Brose? Huh? 'Cause it's not. I know what you've been through, I know what we've all been through, but I need you sober. I can't have you pissing everyone off when you run your mouth, okay? So either hand over the booze, or keep your lip buttoned. Because I swear to God, if you make one mistake, I'll break every single bottle over your head."
"What is wrong with you?" Brose hissed. "You're never this uptight before missions! What did that asshole say? Because whatever he said, it's making you into a bitch."
Liv seized two fistfuls of Brose's jacket, dragging her face close to hers. "I – will – do – anything – to get reinstated! If I have to go to Russia and scalp penguins in my underwear, I'll do it! It may be a picnic for the rest of you, but being a SEAL is what I am. It's what I do. And I'm not going to let a bottle of booze stand between me and my reinstatement, Brose!" She snarled.
"This is all about you, isn't it?" Brose growled. "It's always you, you, you! I thought team leaders were supposed to be that – team leaders!"
Wordlessly, Liv dropped Brose and snatched the cigarette from her hand. With a brisk stamp, she squashed it underfoot and looked at Brose evenly. "One whiff of alcohol on you, Brose, and I'm sending you home." She said quietly, and then left, shrugging her jacket over her shoulders and cracking her knuckles. Brose angrily lit another cigarette and tried to calm her raging temper. Hannibal had said something to her, that much was certain, and Brose was going to raise hell until she found out what. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and her nails clinked against the nip bottle of vodka in them, and she froze. She pulled it out, looking at the wax seal still surrounding the cap, and thought about what Liv had just said. She twisted the cap off, downed the contents, and then dropped it on the floor. Russia or not, she wouldn't stay awake shivering and shuddering the entire night while she wrestled with her fears of battle. Because whatever Liv wanted, Brose didn't want to be in active duty again. She had seen enough. She wanted out. And if that meant sinking deeper into the bottle, then she was fully prepared to do that.
Hannibal watched Liv come over to him, her narrow cheeks flushed, her brows higher and thicker than ever. She glared at him, and stuck her hand out, palm up. "Hand over those blueprints, Pops," She said. "You're not the only one whose good at making plans."
He took a drag on his cigar and allowed a smile to steal over his face. This might work out after all.
A/N: Not sure how this chapter came out. I'm currently a little under the weather, just sniffles and suchlike, but I watched The A-Team for the sixth time and I couldn't let this chapter just lie dormant in my mind. I was planning to have the Brose/Liv faceoff a little later, but I decided this was as good a time as any. Please tell me what you think!