Mr. and Mrs. Smith

I.

Hannibal had a big grin on his face. He chewed on his cigar and blinked into the sun of Berlin. This was how freedom tastes. After years on the run and many maddening month under Stockwell's command he was free, got his pardon. He would enjoy this mission. It also was his first single mission for month. Although he loved to be with his men, he also could enjoy working on his own. Unaccompanied he could take greater risks, he had no responsibilities, except for his own life, which he considered as nearly indestructible.

For a friend at the Pentagon he should stop a CIA agent. He didn't knew to much details, except that this agent, called Smith, was going to meet some high KGB officials and that the Pentagon wasn't sure about the agent's loyalty any more. As if Cold War is over! Hannibal smirked. He had the feeling in the Pentagon nobody would be too irritated if he would kill this agent.

Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin, 9th November, 9:11 p.m., this was the meeting point, where the supposed disloyal American agent and a staff member of the Russian embassy should meet. The staff member would bring the agent to the actual meeting point. Of course Hannibal had a plan. He observed the Russian embassy that wasn't far from Checkpoint Charlie.

At 8:55 p.m. a black limousine left the back gateway to the Russian embassy and drove down a narrow street of Berlin Mitte, to reach the Friedrichstraße. Now Hannibal would see if he could still use his stuntman skills.

The driver of the black limousine was clueless. A drunken bum stumbled on the lane directly in front of his car. Suddenly he was there and than not to be seen anymore. The driver braked hard and jumped out of the car to look what happened. He expected the man to lie in front of his car, but instead he felt a hard hit on his head and his world faded to black. Hannibal checked the vital signs of the driver and dragged him on the sidewalk. He slipped out of the crinkled coat, under which he had a uniform that looked pretty much like the driver's uniform.

At 9:09 p.m. he was at Checkpoint Charlie. Slowly he drove the car though the evening traffic. He observed tourists and souvenir traders around the historical sights. Whoever Smith was, the agent would buy at 9:11 a Russian army medal from one of the souvenir traders, who earned their money with symbols of the Iron Curtain that divided the City until 1989.

Indeed at 9:11 a trader handed a medal over to a person in trench coat. Hannibal piloted the car to the sidewalk where the trader and his very customer stood. The agent looked around and her gaze stopped at the dark limousine with the license plate that showed the car belonged to a diplomat. Smith is a woman. Things become interesting. Hannibal threw a glance into the rear-view mirror and checked his faked black beard and hair, and then he let down the window. The woman marched towards his car and looked at him. Hannibal looked back and as he gazed at the face of the agent his heart stopped beating and his brain stopped thinking for at least a second.

II.

As he managed to think and breathe again the agent, whom he identified as nobody less than Amy Amanda Allen, was sitting already in the back of the car. Alerted he started the car.

"Welcome to Berlin", he mumbled. He had no problems with faking a heavy Russian accent. Damn, this can't be pure chance.

"Where are we driving, Mister…?"

"You'll see."

"I don't want to see, I want to know", Amy Allen said calm but not without some force in her voice. "And what was your name please?"

Hannibal took a deep breath. "My name isn't relevant, Mrs. Smith."

"Wow you're informed. Ok, relax; I just don't like unpleasant surprises."

"Me neither." Hannibal needed time. Time to think. Everything had changed now. I cannot just handover her to the contact man at the American embassy. When they think she isn't loyal they'll handle her quit hard. Damn, since when the kid is a CIA agent? And since when they bother about her loyalty? Hannibal glanced through the mirror at his strange and yet so familiar passenger. What if she isn't the kiddow any more? Time passed by for her, too. God knows what she has been though, since she left the team. What if she tries to fulfil her duty anyway? Are you ready to fight her, Smith? Hannibal knew the answer and he clenched his hands around the wheel. More feelings where rushing through his head and heart than he could manage. What should I do now? Just remove the fake beard and say, "Hi Allen, long time no see?" And why exactly she calls herself Mrs. Smith? Just for camouflage? Has she married?

Hannibal drove the car into one of the famous backyards of Berlin and stopped the car.

"Ok, Mrs. Smith. To the left small door, third floor, please. You'll go alone. I'll wait here." Through the mirror he could watch her. He knew this expression of hers all too well. She was concerned, but she knew she had no choice. Amy left the car and walked to the door.

Ok, Smith, now or never, standard procedure. Without any sound Hannibal also left the car and with some quick long steps he was behind her. Amy had no chance. He pushed her through the small door into the doorway of the house. Inside it was half dark and it smelt slightly mouldy. She tried to resist, but had no chance against the taller man. Hannibal pushed her against the wall, while holding her arm firm on her back. His free hand searched her body quickly. He could feel how her muscles tensed. It didn't take him long to find what he was searching for. Through her trench coat he felt a firearm on her left side of her chest. With routine and proficiency he opened her trench coat and grabbed for the weapon. Only then he loosened his grip and gave her the chance to turn around.

III.

Amy starred at her attacker. She felt for her empty holster and looked from her half open coat to her gun in Hannibal's hand. Her face expressed horror and confusion. Because Hannibal was still wearing the fake beard it took her a moment to realize who her attacker was. As she looked into steel blue eyes she knew.

"So sorry", he said in a calm voice, still holding her gun, feeling his own gun pressing against his stomach.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" Amy had recovered her speech.

"Do you can?" Hannibal searched her face, but tension seemed not to fade that easy. He tightened his fingers around the weapon and Amy noticed it.

"Does this means we're playing in different teams, Hannibal?" her voice vibrated with sadness.

"Hell, no!"

"Then hand me back my gun."

Their gazes met. Hannibal was uncertain. He seemed to be as cool as always but his heart was pumping fast. Oh god, this situation is so sickening. I'm standing here, thinking about if I can trust her or not. She's my teammate, my friend, my kiddow. – She was, he corrected himself.

"Oh Hannibal. How often I have thought about you and the team. How I have missed you. I knew, one day you would get your pardon and we would meet, but it wasn't supposed to happen this way. I don't wanted to meet the soldier Hannibal Smith, who took me by surprise and is ready to shoot me down if I do any false movement."

Hannibal felt a lump in his throat as he looked into the sad brown eyes of the woman he cared so much for.

"Damn, Allen, I never would shoot you down, but that doesn't mean I'll let you shoot me down." He loosened the grip around Amy's gun and sighed.

Suddenly Amy jumped forward; she threw Hannibal as hard as she could. Hannibal stumbled back and Amy grabbed the gut in his hand.

She held him at gunpoint. "Your firearm, c'mon." She gestured with the loaded weapon in her hands to the gun that stuck in Hannibal's belt. Hannibal raised his hands to appease her, before he grabbed for his gun and slowly let the gun slip to the ground.

"What's wrong with you John Hannibal Smith?" she blurted and turned down the weapon. For now her sadness had turned into anger.

"What about you, Miss? And since when you're working for the CIA?" he retorted.

"Since when you're working for the…what exactly?"

"Pentagon."

"Why's the Pentagon sending an agent after me, why they're sending you?"

"I don't know Amy. My job was to stop an agent who intended to meet with the KGB. They think you're a sort of double agent. As I recognized you I was totally caught off guard. I can't do the job anymore, surrendering you to my contact man at the embassy to Berlin, but I really don't know if I could trust you." He removed his fake beard and hair. "Now? Since when you're working for the Pentagon?" he pressed.

"Since I left the team."

"What?!"

"Oh, John that's a long story."

"I'm keen on listen to it."

IV.

Amy ran her hand through her hair. Hannibal studied her features, her light brown hair that fell to her shoulders, her brown eyes and those lips, that could form to a really big smile.

"They had me already, Hannibal."

"I don't understand."

"One day they just knocked on my door. I opened and several men arrested me. The list of charges was quit long and the evidence was impressive. They charged me because of breach of domestic peace in three cases, being an accessory to abduction in two cases, personal injury in one case, aided escape in thirteen cases and hit-and-run accident in one case. They told me it would at least sum up to eight years of jail."

Hannibal shoke his head. He removed his fake beard and hair and sat on the cold decayed steps of this house.

"Then they suggested a deal. I could be free if I would help to arrest you and would testify as principal witness against you, B.A. and Face. I'm so sorry, even today I don't know how I would have decided. I only know that I'm glad that I didn't had to, man death penalty was waiting for you."

"Right, it was, but we've got our pardon lately." Hannibal said watching up to Amy who still stood.

"Yes I know."

"You know?" Hannibal asked in disbelieve.

"Murdock told me."

"Murdock?"

"I phoned him from time to time at the VA."

"You phoned him?" Hannibal's voice rose. He wanted to add 'why not me', but he kept silent about this.

"I knew you was disappointed about me leaving the team, but I couldn't tell you the truth. I was afraid to contact you, because I thought maybe they still hope I will guide them to the A-Team." Amy breathed heavily and looked at Hannibal. A small smile crept over her face. "When I last saw you, your hair was grey, now it is white." They both smiled for a moment.

"Well", Amy continued. "There was this man, Hunt Stockwell, I only saw him twice. He offered me to save me from jail and from being principal witness against you, if I would do what he wanted. This is how everything began. He wanted me to spy on Hans Blix. I was the ideal person for this, not known to any foreign secret service, being a young journalist. So I wrote this feature for Newsweek about Blix and his work in the Middle East and along the way I collected information about him. After the Hans Blix mission there came another and so on."

"I can't believe Stockwell is at the bottom of this all." He said in a strained tone.

"After I heard that you got your pardon I thought I should contact you, but something was holding me back. Dunno, I was afraid. Long time ago since I left."

Hannibal looked at her. So many things were running though his mind, he wanted to speak about, but he couldn't manage to say a single word.

"Hey Hannibal do you think this is the most fancy place of Berlin, or what?" Amy tried a big grin.

Together they left the house and went to the car. While Amy took place on the front passenger's seat she whispered something half to herself and only half to Hannibal, but the Colonel understood it quite clearly and it troubled him.

"I was terrified, realizing it was you who attacked me."

V.

"Hey kid, to put it straight, I never would do you any harm ok? I just wasn't sure on which side you're standing. I wouldn't have survived to say these words to you, if I would trust so easily. Trust is for the foolish ones." Hannibal took out a cigar and lit it up.

"Some things never change." Amy sighed. "But some should change."

"One thing."

"What?"

"I only ask you one thing about the time since you left the team."

"Ask straight away."

"Why do you call yourself Mrs. Smith? And don't say you've married." Hannibal studied Amys face.

"What exactly don't you like about me being married?" she asked with a teasing grin.

Hannibal preferred to ignore her last question. "C'mon, don't sidestep me, you know I don't like it."

Amy looked down to her shows. "Smith is the most common name in English. I just wanted to make sure that my identity remains a secret."

"Ah…" Hannibal chomped meaningful on his cigar.

"And", Amy added. "Yeah ok, it was sort of to remember you. Man I was just an associate to the team, no real member. And suddenly I was on my own, doing all this dangerous stuff alone. No one who had a plan, who infected me with the jazz. I needed my own plans, my own jazz. I often thought about what you would do. Later I just got used to it. If you change names too often, you have problems reacting if you're called."

Hannibal looked at her. His gaze almost penetrated her. "It took me some time to realize, probably too long, but now I know. You're no princess in a world full of dragons. You're a heroine yourself. That's what you are Triple A."

"Was it your way to say 'Welcome back'?" Now the big smile was fully restored on Amy's face.

Hannibal did his best to appear aloof. "We'll see."

Three days later the two arrived at Los Angles International Airport. As they left the building Amy chuckled.

"What's on Allen?"

"Well I know you love to tell weird stories…"

"Come to the point." Hannibal unwrapped a cigar.

"The whole Boy George story, I'll never believe it's true."

"As true as it can be, Amy."

"You'll really make me believe that Face hired Boy George instead of Cowboy George and in the and you all were on a Boy George live concert? B.A. a Boy George fan? Hannibal that's the most obvious lie, right after your faked Mister-Lee-set-of-teeth."

Hannibal just shrugged and put his hand on her shoulder. "Want to say 'Hallo' to the guys?"