Chapter Text
Shana Glass, matriarchal manager of BA’s youth centre, was a stocky middle aged woman with gentle brown eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. There were many rumours about what she’d done before the centre, from drill instructor to professional wrestler, but nobody had any doubt that her devotion to ‘her’ kids was absolute and unshakable.
Being called to her office still sent a tremor of unease through BA as he walked the dull upper corridors of the centre, past the staff lockers and the break room, past all the pinned drawings the kids had given them, past the accountant’s office which Face occasionally borrowed to do paperwork in, and past the cleaning cupboard which Murdock had been locked in for three hours through no fault of BA’s whatsoever. It was like being back at school, called to the principal’s office. He could still remember the sound of the kids outside, the squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor, and principal Whitlow’s sigh as he found BA in his office once again.
“Fighting again?” Mr Whitlow would ask, shaking his head, “Mr Baracus, you are better than this.”
BA wondered if Mr Whitlow would still sigh at him. Probably, he thought with a fond smile.
Shana’s office was at the end, her name on a gold plate on the door. BA raised his hand to knock, took a breath, and rapped twice.
“Come in,” Shana called.
BA slipped in almost apologetically. “You wanted to see me?”
Shana nodded once, and BA sat in the chair opposite her desk. “Someone just made a big mistake.”
BA tensed even through he was sure it wasn’t him, “what’s up?”
“You remember that nice old guy who’s been helping us with the holiday stuff?”
“Sure,” BA frowned, “what’s the matter?”
“Someone’s trying to mess with him. Here,” she unfolded a note off her desk and held it out for him.
BA took the note, scanning his eyes over the words. It was a very clear threat to close up shop, or else.
“What do you think?” Shana asked.
BA met her gaze, “I think someone just made a big mistake.”
___
“He’s got a shop on 34th street,” BA said, arms crossed over his chest with a glare that dared Hannibal to argue. Even if he wasn’t already on board with the mission, Hannibal valued his life too much to do so
“Why would anyone want a toy shop shut down?” Hannibal lent back in his chair, looking up at BA who loomed over him.
“The kinda scumbags who need an introduction to my fists,” BA growled, dropping his arms to pound one fist into his palm, “nobody’s gonna shake down a nice old man on my watch.”
Hannibal raised his hands soothingly, “agreed.”
BA grunted, dropping his hands and withdrawing a couple of steps to allow Hannibal to sit up.
Hannibal had just finished a two week, uncredited stint on a fairly big budget movie, a stand in for another stunt man who’d broken his wrist. Now he was staying in a tiny one-room apartment that he’d found, despite Face’s offer to find one for him. He liked to do these things himself occasionally, just to prove he could, even if it mostly ended up reminding him why he usually got Face to do it instead. A table and a couch were crammed into the sitting area, and it had a small kitchenette that was hardly more than a buzzing refrigerator and a microwave.
“Does Mr Massey know we’re coming?” Hannibal asked.
“No, why?” BA asked. He crossed his arms again defensively, ready to challenge whatever Hannibal might have to say next. His righteous anger always made him seem bigger, and now he filled the apartment with it.
“Because he may not want our help. Not everyone wants to hire mercenaries, you know.”
“He ain’t hiring us,” BA said, “this is a free ride.” He dropped his arms to jab a finger aggressively towards Hannibal, “and you better tell Face when you call him that I don’t want any bitching about the money.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “will you can it with the snarling dog act?” He said sternly, “I wasn’t asking about the money and you know it.”
BA paused, then growled under his breath and stalked to the couch to sit down.
“And I think you’re being pretty unfair to Face too,” Hannibal added, “or do you really think so little of us?”
“I…” BA seemed to deflate as the anger turned to contrition, “no, ‘course not.”
“Ok,” Hannibal inclined his head in acknowledgement, “so let’s try this again, huh?”
“Sorry,” BA mumbled, “just this guy’s trying to help out the kids, and for free, and now some assholes are trying to shake him down… makes me see red.” He ground his fist into his palm, “an’ at Christmas, too.”
“I don’t like it either,” Hannibal said, “and that’s why we’re going to do something about it. So save it for the guys who deserve it, huh?”
BA nodded. He took a deep breath, “so what we gonna do?”
“First we need to make sure Massey isn’t going to immediately turn us into the cops,” Hannibal said, raising his hand as BA opened his mouth to protest, “we can’t help anyone if we’re being chased around LA, and just because Massey is a nice guy doesn’t mean he’s a friend of ours. There’s a lot of nice people who don’t want anything to do with fugitives, no matter whose side they’re on.”
BA closed his mouth and clenched his jaw, nodding.
“We will help,” Hannibal promised him, “but we can’t just charge in there like bulls and expect everything to fall into place.”
“Ain’t that what you always do?”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes and smiled, “I resent that.”
BA slumped back into the cushions, letting his hands drop into his lap, “so what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go over there and talk to him,” Hannibal grinned, “like a normal person.”
BA cast him a sceptical frown, “you even know what that looks like?”
Hannibal replied with a sardonic smirk, “and to think you guys used to call me ‘sir’.”
“Yeah, I dunno what we were thinking,” BA stood a smile breaking free. “Guess we were all younger back then.”
Hannibal tutted, rising to his feet. He nodded to the door, “come on then, sergeant, let’s get to work.”
BA laughed, leading the way out. “Sure thing, Hannibal.”
___
Massey’s toy store looked like it had sprung to life from the picture on a chocolate box. The Victorian-style store front was painted forest green, with red and gold lettering above the door reading ‘Toyland’. In the long bay window beside the door a Christmas tableau had been created from toys, everything from a construction-set Ferris wheel to a tiny train racing between doll houses and a small Christmas tree surrounded by teddy bears in winter outfits. Fake snow dusted the scene, and looking in the window Hannibal could almost forget the LA sunshine.
He was wearing a fake moustache and glasses, a flat cap on his head. He hadn’t chosen a persona, he wanted to play it fairly straight, show Massey that they were earnest in their intentions. Most of the time they had to test their clients, it was rare they had to prove themselves in the other direction.
The shop bell jingled as Hannibal entered. The interior was warm and smelled of spiced oranges, and Christmas music played from the radio by the counter. Model aircraft hung from the ceiling, and the floor was painted with giant multicoloured puzzle pieces. The shelves were crammed with toys, brand new Cabbage Patch Kids and Transformers sitting almost jarringly beside wooden horses and popguns. Hannibal picked up a GI Joe and turned it over, reading the back, and admitting to himself he’d have given his eye-teeth for most of the toys in the store when he was a kid.
“Good morning,” a cheerful voice greeted him from behind the curved wooden counter.
Hannibal turned to the man who could only be Mr Massey and smiled, “morning.”
“Anything I can help with?” Massey was almost apple shaped, with a round face and neatly trimmed, pure white bead. His hair was also white, falling in short, gentle curls in an old-fashioned style. He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine humour.
Hannibal put the toy back and approached the counter, “just having a look around, a lovely place you got here.”
“Thank you,” Massey said, “my helpers and I put in a lot of work,” he chuckled.
“Have you been here long?”
“Oh, a couple of years now.”
Hannibal nodded. “I can imagine you do good business.”
“Oh I do alright,” Massey said, “so long as I make enough to keep open, that’s fine by me.”
“I would’ve loved a shop like this when I was a kid,” Hannibal said, “I would’ve asked for everything in sight.”
Massey laughed again, “I’ll bet. And you mother always told you to ask Santa, hm?”
“She sure did. Never did get that Howitzer though.” Hannibal said, smiling at a sudden memory of hunching over the kitchen table, trying to write in his very best handwriting. For a moment he was lost in thought, remembering how carefully he copied ‘Buck Rogers Ray Gun’ from the advertisement in the back of his adventure magazine, nearly wearing a hole in the paper with his eraser as he tried and failed to spell ‘Monopoly’. He suddenly shook himself and cleared his throat, “I guess even Santa has a limit.”
“Ah, well, things are so different now,” Massey said, “it used to be a handful of nuts, an orange, the occasional lump of coal,” he winked, “and now it’s computer games, talking teddy bears…” he smiled wistfully, “children now have things we could’ve never dreamed of in the past.”
Hannibal nodded, glancing back towards the walls of toys, “almost makes you want to be a kid again.”
“You’re never to old too have fun,” Massey said sagely.
“Amen to that,” Hannibal turned back with a smile.
The jingle of the door bell made Massey look over and for a moment his smile faltered. Hannibal followed his gaze and saw two men in long dark trench-coats walk in. They walked up to the counter, standing either side of Hannibal.
“Get out of here,” the taller man told Hannibal, his face like a granite block, “we got some business with the shop owner here.”
Hannibal considered his options. Leaving, of course, wasn’t on the list, but neither did he want to tip his hand too early, and before even being hired was a tad too early even for him.
“Listen I was here first,” Hannibal said indignantly, “you can wait in line.”
The taller man pushed him back, “I said get out of here.”
Hannibal squared his shoulders, “and I said wait in line.” He stepped back to the counter and Massey made a softly unhappy sound.
“Now now,” Massey said, raising his hands in a calming gesture, “there’s no need to-”
The taller man gripped Hannibal by the arm and spun him around to face him with a snarl. “I told you to get out.”
Hannibal met his gaze coolly, a thin, dangerous smirk on his lips, “and I told you to wait in line.”
The man hesitated, looking towards his companion and then let go of Hannibal with a slight shove. He threw a glare at Massey, “we’ll be back.” He stalked out, the other man hurrying behind.
Massey relaxed with a sigh, “I’m so sorry about that-”
“I could never tolerate a bully,” Hannibal said. “You seem like you could use some help.”
Massey looked at him, eyes bright and keen, as if he was reading something on Hannibal’s face. “Ah, perhaps…” he hurried around the counter and locked the door, turning the sign that read ‘back in ten minutes’. “You’re the one Shana sent, aren’t you?”
Hannibal smiled broadly and extended his hand, “I am. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself but I didn’t know how much Shana had told you. Hannibal Smith.”
Massey grasped his hand in both his own and shook it, “I understand completely. Come along to the back, would you?”
Hannibal followed him through the door behind the counter, where a small round table and chairs sat in the middle of a square stockroom packed with boxes. A chest of drawers sat near the door, with a heating plate and a kettle on top. A desk with a typewriter was pushed up against a wall, and another door led into a bathroom.
“Can I get you anything?” Massey said, “I made coffee cake,” he rummaged behind some of the boxes, “and I always like to keep a few cookies about the place...”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Hannibal sat at the small table, “do you know who wants you out of your shop?”
Massey turned to him with a regretful shake of his head, having produced a round metal tin from somewhere. It had a picture of a robin wearing a scarf on the top, and he brought it to the table to open it, revealing slices of cake and a selection of cookies. “Help yourself,” he said with a smile.
Hannibal smiled softly and took a cookie, “how long have they been making threats?”
“It started at the beginning of November,” Massey said, “just those two making a nuisance of themselves,” he nodded back towards the front of the shop, “then I started getting the letters.” He sighed and sat down, “did you see the last note?”
“Is that the one you gave Shana?”
Massey nodded.
“Then yes,” Hannibal sat back.
“Christmas eve,” Massey shook his head, “what kind of person wants to shut a toy shop down on Christmas eve?”
“A real Scrooge,” Hannibal said, “and they’re not demanding money, wanting you to take packages, nothing like that?”
Massey shook his head, “that’s what’s baffling me so much. I’m not naive, I’d understand if they were shaking me down, but just to close up and move out…” he shrugged helplessly, “it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Do you own this building?”
“No, I’ve leased it,” Massey said, “it used to be a Sweeney Todd themed barber shop,” he added, “that’s why the font is the way it is. When I saw I knew it was perfect.”
“A Sweeney Todd themed barber shop?” Hannibal echoed in disbelief.
“I know, can’t imagine why they closed down,” Massey said lightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Hannibal laughed, quietening into a pause, “did Shana tell you who we are?”
Massey shook his head, “but I recognised your name. You’re the A-Team.”
“Then you know us?”
Massey replied with a small sigh, “I don’t like violence, and I don’t want to get anyone hurt, but I’ve reached a point where I just don’t know what else to do. I talked the police and they said they’d ‘look into it’ and that was the last I heard about it. I don’t want to close down, not before Christmas… I have a duty you see, there are people relying on me. The children at the youth centre…” he sighed again, “if it were June I would simply move to another location, but December? No, it’s much too late now.”
“You shouldn’t have to move at any time of the year,” Hannibal said. “we’ll find them, and we’ll stop them.”
“Thank you,” Massey said earnestly, “Perhaps it’s too much to ask, but if we can avoid conflict as much as we can…” he paused with a heavy sigh, “I don’t know how far these people are willing to go, but no amount of toys is worth a life.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Massey, lives are the one thing I’m always careful with.” Hannibal smiled reassuringly. Normally he would explain how, with their involvement, conflict was inevitable, but somehow it felt oddly inappropriate. There was a kind of gentleness about the toys store he didn’t want to disturb. It would also provide an interesting challenge, and he could never resist a challenge. “I can’t promise there wont be any violence, but I do promise we’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Massey said, “I realise it’s foolish to ask mercenaries not to do what they’ve been hired to do, but… it is Christmas.”
Hannibal shook his head, “it’s not foolish to want peace, Mr Massey.”
Massey smiled back,“thank you. And please, call me Chris.”