AN/ I have no idea what prompted this – I think the a-team kink meme may be to blame – , only that it is probably a total disaster. I've never even written a crossover, never mind bringing so many different and conflicting characters into one piece before. So if this is mind-bogglingly awful, please tell me.

Enjoy my random attempt regardless. =]

Rating: T for language.


Convergence

There was a lion at the end of his bed when he woke up.

Face glanced blearily at it with eyes filled with sleep, trying to make out the blurry shape as his vision focused itself to attempt to make sense of the fuzzy image. He then made a little sound at the back of his throat, like a half-hearted grunt that usually signalled that whatever it was that demanded his attention, it could wait until he finished; unless it was Murdock about to engage in a ferocious duel by hitting him over the head with a pillow, or if Hannibal was shouting for him to get up (because whenever Hannibal shouted, it usually spelled bad, if not very bad, news). As neither appeared to be forthcoming, he ignored what he had seen - most likely just some elongated shadow that a speedy enough glance had turned into something three dimensional.

He lay back down, rolling over onto his other side and closing his eyes again, putting enough consideration into his movements to remember to pull the covers back over his head, blocking out the unmoving phantasm. Dopiness wrapped around him like a second duvet, and his mind struggled with the cogs and gears it possessed to put together a cohesive thought. Somewhere in his sleep-addled brain, there was a sticking point in what he had just seen. He didn't realise what was wrong as he mulled it over with all the brain-power he owned at this hour of the morning, but something obviously out of joint. He just couldn't put his finger on it, and he thumped the side of his pillow with a shove of his fists to plump it up as he tried to deal with this bothersome thought. After all, what was so strange about a fully grown lion at the foot of his bed...?

He started with a quick jolting motion, raising himself up and out of the cocoon his duvet had made with a suddenness that made his head pang and complain at the motion, dizziness rising in a tide before receding as fast as it had arisen. Eyes wild, and his breathing having rapidly increased from its usual calm tempo, his heartbeat following suit, thrumming a frantic dithyrambic rhythm, he stared unashamedly at the figure he saw. Taking in the golden mane of fine hair, the deep set brown eyes, the black line of the mouth which probably held rows and rows of sharp... carnivorous teeth...

The lion looked back at him, tilting his head in a way Face would almost have described as curious. His eyes studied Face in some detail, roaming over his appearance with an interested glance.

And then, if things couldn't have become any stranger, it spoke.

"Excuse me," it said, in a clear brogue "I wonder if you could tell me where I am?"

Face swallowed once, then twice for good measure, feeling his Adam's apple bob in his throat. The lion talked. Right. OK then. Because that was obviously what all lions did. Or at least this one. Maybe lions had always been able to speak; after all, it wasn't as though Face had ever tried to engage one in conversation. He considered faintly whether the years of being under psychological and physical strain as a soldier, coupled with the constant near-death experiences and being on the run had finally sent him over the edge. That was the answer. He'd gone mad. Excellent. It seemed the most plausible reason as any to explain why at eight in the morning there was a lion in his room, tail swishing and looking like it belonged more in a Serengeti killing zebras or gazelle's than it did in a tastefully decorated bedroom in a safe house in America.

So obviously, Face had lost his marbles some time in the night.

At least if they all got caught by the FBI he could occupy the room next door to Murdock's in the VA, he thought, attempting to look on the bright side. There wasn't much more he could do, if truth be told. Apart from screaming in a decidedly feminine and unmanly way. And Face had at least some dignity remaining for him not to go down that route.

But a problem still persisted, and that problem was made up of the fact that there was a large, intimidating lion seated at the end of his bed. Which might eat him. Who also could talk.

Not a massive issue then.

And then the lion smiled in what was meant to be a reassuring way, showing off the pearly whites of his teeth – and yes, they were as sharp and pointy as Face had imagined.

It was the final straw, and Face had learned over years that there was only one action to take in situations like this, when things got a little too much for him to handle.

Call for backup.

"Hannibal!"


Hannibal Smith had not been having a good morning. He'd been up late last night, nursing a glass of scotch, unable to sleep from a slow headache that had been building up over the course of the day. One of the horrible kinds that refused to budge. And refused it had, stoically remaining for the most part of the night as well, apparently impervious to paracetamol. So as a direct result, he was tired, and that usually meant he was prone to irritability. A man needed his sleep after all. And this morning was setting up to fare no better than the night before, when his couple of hours broken interrupted sleep were cut short abruptly with a blood-curdling shout from Face's room. A shout that spoke of kidnappers, terrorists, the FBI, or even the husband of one of Face's conquests coming looking for revenge. Hannibal had seen it all.

His headache still hadn't abated, he noted with a world-weary sigh; sighing because yet again, there was a problem that needed his attention. There was a thudding at his temple, and he resolved to go find some aspirin when he had sorted out this, or to even seek out Murdock – whose pancakes (with something secretive added to the syrup that the pilot wouldn't reveal the origins of) gave a kick that could cure and clear out pretty much anything. But first, he needed to attend to Face.

With reflexes that reflected the many years – too many years he sometimes thought – he'd been dealing with predicaments such as this one (especially when it came to Face, who seemed to be very good at getting himself into some sort of trouble with his gung-ho-jump-in-first-without-thinking-and-expect-Hannibal-to-get-you-out-of-it attitude), he had grabbed at his holster lying on a chair nearby, slickly affixing it around his hips and pulling the side arm free, flicking the safety off. He threw the door of his room open, and rushed down the short corridor, slamming into Face's room, using his shoulder to force entry instead of the usual entrance by way of turning the handle so the door would open. His shoulder protested painfully and while he consoled himself with the fact that it did look very heroic, crashing into whatever hive of evil Face was dealing with, unnecessarily damaging his shoulder was not the best way he could have gone about it

when he could have saved the pain his synapses were currently transmitting and the expenses for the replacement lock he was going to have to purchase.

A lion, admittedly, was not what he had been expecting when he took in the perceived danger.

Face, screaming, he had been.

"Get rid of it!" Face shouted, the bed covers bunching up at his feet, shuffling further up the bed with all the panicked speed he could muster as though distance would help things. His eyes didn't move away from the mammal that he held in his line of sight, eyeing it with the vague expectation that this hallucination was merely the product of Murdock's zany cooking additions , and would disappear soon. The hope died when he saw that Hannibal could see the lion too, knowing that however much he wanted it, the likelihood of both of them sharing the same delusion was small, if not zero.

"Really, Face?" Hannibal didn't lower his gun, but an edge of tension left his posture. Finding a safari animal in the bedroom – while not being the best thing he could have hoped for when he had bolted in here like the hounds of hell were at his heels – at least wasn't terrorists with guns, or the FBI barging in through the window. In fact, he was kind of irritated that he had been pulled from his perfectly comfortable bed for something as complex and bizarre as this. Something ordinary, something grounded in reality – the usual sorts of dangers he dealt with – that would have been fine and worth him spending his energy on fixing, but this... There had been an indent in his pillow where his head had lain. He had been – if nothing else – comfortable, being smothered by something toasty and stuffed with goose-down. And the bed had been warm. Now that serenity had been wasted, would have dissipated to the morning by the time he had returned from this strange excursion, and frankly he doubted why he'd even responded to Face's shout. So there was no surprise that his response initially might have been a bit snappy, and a little less sympathetic "And how exactly do you propose I go about that?"

"Just get rid of it!" Face appeared to be losing what little control he possessed with every passing second, gaze fixated on the animal and stoically refusing to focus even on Hannibal in case the lion took the opportunity and dived at him with claws outstretched and mouth open and snarling. He was sporting an expression verging on fear; the type and species of fear – the 'being eaten by a lion fear' close to the idea of being trapped somewhere for a long period of time with none of his male beauty products, perhaps placed a little lower than the extremely severe atom-bomb/Defcon 1 fear of being caught out not wearing smart clothes on Face's scale of disasters. Because such things were to be taken extremely seriously.

And then the lion tsked.

"Charming" it said dryly, and if Hannibal wasn't seeing things (and he hadn't quite put away that idea out of his mind just yet) it could almost be construed that the lion had actually rolled its eyes.

The beast also seemed to have a slight Irish accent.

Go figure.

Hannibal decided, lowering his weapon away from pointing at the animal, flicking the safety off, and returning the gun to its holder, that if the lion was going to talk aloud, it was at least polite to address him/it/whatever like Hannibal would a normal person. It was common decency. He made this decision in a split second of thought, partly because his mother had not brought her John up to be impolite to strangers no matter what background they can from, but also because if he didn't, the lion might decide he looked edible, more edible than Face. And those were very sharp teeth...

Clearing his throat, he spoke "Excuse me..." He felt ridiculous, addressing a fully grown male lion, but soldiered on, aware of its gaze upon him and feeling not just a little bit uneasy. Because now he'd actually deliberately got its attention – the idea of which was looking less and less intelligent the longer he stood there feeling like the meal choice at TGI Fridays "...but I wonder if you could tell me what you're doing here?"

"Stop encouraging this delusion, Hannibal!" Face hissed, giving him a glare that clearly doubted his sanity, but the lion looked at him with new brightness in its amber eyes. Damn animal was almost smiling at him. It wasn't doing much to creep Hannibal out to a lower extent than he had already reached , but at least the reaction he had garnered wasn't the bending of hind legs before pouncing like the lion he had watched on a nature documentary a few weeks ago attacking a gazelle.

He was starting to sympathise with the gazelle.

"Thank goodness," it said– probably a he, Hannibal thought; if he was going to treat the animal as human he would at least have to anthropomorphise its gender. "I was beginning to wonder if you could understand me" Glancing over at Face and back again, the lion asked, with a touch of concern in his low voice: "Is there something wrong with him?"

Hannibal, despite it all gave a laugh, more of a bark really and teetering closely on the edges of relieved hysteria, but a laugh nonetheless "That's debatable" Upon seeing the indignant expression Face was shooting him, he amended himself hastily "No, he's not, it's just that... well, here, talking lions aren't exactly the norm" He paused, before his curiosity got the better of him. Not many chances a man gets to converse with a lion who has suddenly appeared from nowhere in your lieutenant's bedroom "Where do you come from exactly?"

At this point, if the lion had responded that he was from the furthest reach of outer space, Hannibal wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

"I am from a land called Narnia..." the lion began to explain – that accent was really beginning to make Hannibal uncomfortable; did all Narnians sound like they had just immigrated from Country Antrim? – when there was a holler from inside Murdock's room.

"Hannibal!"

The shout went straight through the colonel's still aching head with a painful twinge, and he was reminded about his need for aspirin again. Yet there was no time for self pity as his pilot slammed the door open and stumbled out of his room – he must have been up and awake already, for he was fully clothed down to the red cap on his head (unless he'd stayed up all night fighting enemies on his Game Boy while hiding under the covers.) He was followed after a few seconds, during which Hannibal's mind went overdrive imaging what horrors awaited inside the pilot's room, by a tall man in what appeared to be a long brown cloak, with some sort of beige undershirt, long hair pulled to the back of his head and let to flow over his shoulders, a beard of a similar colour allowed to grow to a respectable length.

He looked exactly like Hannibal. Maybe a few years difference, Hannibal's shade of hair reaching a more distinguished level of grey veering into white, and the colonel felt slightly better about it by the fact that he would never, at least, be seen dead in what was effectively a nut-brown dressing gown.

"Hannibal!" Murdock scrambled over to the colonel, his expressions deviating between fear and pure excitement, sliding over each other so fast it was hard to read which one had dominance. "I don't know whether it's those pills that your doctor friend gave me, but there's a Jedi in my room and he isn't goin' away even when I close my eyes and count to ten."

Hannibal consoled his pilot with a tight smile. "It's ok, captain. I see him too"

"Jesus, Hannibal" Face had finally decided to speak up, pulling himself up in his half seated position, seeming to blank the lion from his scope of reality in the hope that that meant it wouldn't bother him "He looks like you"

The obviousness of the statement made Hannibal want to roll his eyes "Your input is always appreciated, kid" He flicked him a glance – he really was not in the mood this morning – and turned back to the newcomer. It really was uncanny, the likeness, it had to be said.

"Excuse me," the robed man said politely, and Hannibal was grateful to hear that his voice, while still low and in possession of a suggestion of some sort of accent, was neutral and controlled enough to not sound too similar to Hannibal's. It was nice to add another difference to the list he was compiling in his head. Although there was a hint there, underneath the gravely voice. Hannibal tried not to think too much on it. He imagined he might be having some sort of identity crisis should this continue. "but I believe that I am lost. My ship was travelling to Coruscant when it hit some sort of ionic disturbance. Somehow I have ended up here"

"Hannibal, he's got a lightsaber" Murdock appeared to be having a small fan-boyish fit, almost whimpering as he said 'lightsaber'. And although if any one of his team were to display such behaviour, he would have banked on it being Murdock every time, it was bizarre to watch a fully grown man reduced to talking in reverent words about things that were completely fictional "It's the green model with the single Adegan crystal and scalloped hand grip..." The rest of what he said was lost in a burble of contented gibberish that Hannibal could barely make out, inter-spaced by words along the lines of Phantom Menace, Naboo, something about Jedi . He stopped listening after a short while. It was hard enough to try and understand what was happening now without dealing with his obsessive pilot.

"I don't know why you're here," he addressed the man with the same level of politeness, but offered what he hoped was a reassuring look. He didn't fancy a run in with that lightsaber any more than he fancied going up against the lion's teeth."We're just as confused as you are. We'll try and sort this all out as soon as we can"

"Maybe introductions would help?" Face offered tentatively, sliding off the bed and over to Hannibal, feeling awkward and under dressed in only his silk pyjamas surrounded by so many strangers (but really the bearded one was wearing a bathrobe, so it could be worse). He had only seen the Phantom Menace once, recognising the man before him from his single viewing, despite the fact that much of it had been interrupted by Murdock's indignant running comments about 'that irritating kid' and 'damn George Lucas' (that phrase had been repeated quite a few times). He'd given up trying to add anything to the conversation, or god forbid actually get Murdock to quiet down long enough for Face to hear the dialogue and understand the plot, when he had dared to call the strange creature with floppy ears 'amusing'. Murdock had not been happy.

The lion bowed his head in a curiously civil manner, the way in which he held himself possessed of an inner pose. His mane appeared almost golden as he spoke "I am Aslan" he offered his name first out of all of them. "King of the Beasts and son of the Emperor-over-the-sea"

The man in brown – Hannibal couldn't bring himself to say Jedi quite yet – did not seem to find a talking lion at all off-putting. "Qui Gon Jinn" he introduced himself, and Murdock gave a little shriek of excitement, trying to quell it by putting his hands over his mouth, gazing up at the man with wonderment in his eyes. His hands didn't muffle the sound much, but everyone present ignored him anyway. "Jedi Master and member of the Order"

"I'm – " Hannibal began, but another shout interrupted him; a lower grumbling tone, violent and angry. He didn't even bother to feel worried about it. The only thought that honestly ran through his mind was a weary 'What is it this time?'. There wasn't much he'd probably be able to do about it anyway, so he was just going to let any issue play out and and unfold before him.

"Hannibal! Get that damn fool pilot outta my room! It's too early for any o' his shit"

The colonel turned to take in Murdock, standing before him, looking just as clueless as the rest of them were. He shrugged, giving a look of innocence, and turned to focus on the opening door of BA's bedroom which stood immediately opposite Face's room, broken only by a narrow corridor. Hannibal copied the pilot, and tuned into the voices emanating from the inside.

"Ey, slow down there mate – slow down – you ain't doing yourself any favours gettin' all worked up there. Ey mate? Just calm down, calm down..." There was a 'oof' noise, and another quieter curse word that was unintelligible, and BA came stomping out of the door and through into Face's room without breaking his stride, a struggling man held at arms length that he had clenched by the back of his jacket; the unfortunate soul looking as freaked-out as he probably felt in the grasp of such a large and angry man. He most likely had no idea what had happened either.

He was making up for his lack of knowledge however, by filling in the gap with panicky words that spewed out like rapid fire. "You get the fook off me, mate, ok? You get off me..." The man was writhing in BA's grasp, wanting desperately to achieve freedom, and Hannibal heard a strong South African tint to his words, which made a nice change from the sudden sea of northern Irish he found himself in. Admittedly, it was also comforting to know that it was not just his look-a-likes that were turning up unexpectedly and for no obvious reason. Murdock was also now getting a turn. It was only fair, really.

The pilot, whose eyes had been trailing back to examine on the lightsaber on Qui Gon's belt, perhaps planning to make a bid at borrowing it, gazed at the man, a rare silence falling across him. BA – who had noticed that the Murdock he was holding in his grasp wasn't the Murdock he had thought it was – glanced over at Hannibal as though he might provide some answers.

"Is it me, or we suddenly got two o' this fool?"

"You put me down, yeah," the man continued, and his eyes were of some level of interest to Hannibal as they took in the room; one a normal blue close to Murdock's own shade, while the other had a pupil which had enlarged and blown out, wider than normal and ringed with a sickly amber yellow. "I know people, yeah, important people. They gonna come lookin' for me, then you goin' to be fookin' sorry..."

It was a complete bluff, and generally quite a pathetic attempt at bravado, all endeavour of which dissipated as soon as he caught sight of the pilot wearing a red cap and leather jacket before him. Who, if you ignored the slightly different cut of the hair and the vague moustache on the upper lip of the newcomer, would be his twin.

"I take it back." he gulped out "You a good mate there, yeah? You a good mate, we good pals. Just take me back, kay, just back in there away from him. Rather take on those fookin' prawns then..."

"Quiet down, fool!" BA growled, clearly not in the mood. The man immediately shut up, but continued to flick his gaze between staring dumbfounded at Murdock, his eyes blinking rapidly, and glancing beseechingly at the door leading back into BA's room, with the small hope that if he had turned up out of the blue there, he could go home via the same route and with a few miracles.

"Hey big guy, put him down" Murdock finally spoke, coming to the conclusion that he should stick up for the poor man . Who really did look a right state, taking in his appearance closely, his clothes all muddy and tattered with dirt and stained blood, a painful gash on his forehead and obviously something wrong with his arm, due to the fact he was cradling it to him like he didn't know what else to do but protect it. The guy also did look like him, which evidently counted for something. "He ain't gonna harm anybody. You probably scarin' him more what with your shouting. So just let him be, yeah?"

"Exactly, exactly" The south African looked relieved to have someone on his side. BA let go of him with a sigh, glaring at him once more before loosening his grip on the man's jacket and dropping him to the ground. The man scrambled up and sided immediately with Murdock, stumbling in his steps over to the pilot and almost falling if Murdock hadn't caught him and brought him to his feet steadily "It's good to have someone talkin' normal round here, you know what I'm saying?" He peered closely at Murdock, paling to a slightly more porcelain colour than he had already achieved. "Fook, man you lookin' just like me you are, like a clone or something..."

"He thinks Murdock's the normal one?" Face interjected with incredulity, but Hannibal shushed him.

"What is your name my friend?" Aslan asked the most obvious introductory question kindly, giving what Hannibal imagined was a smile by the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards, showing hints of glinting teeth. Yet it seemed to have been a bad course of action, as any progress the man had been making from the sudden shock of turning up in a foreign place surrounded by strangers melted away as soon he saw who was speaking to him. It was a safe bet there was no such thing as talking lions wherever he came from either.

Murdock, strangely enough, hadn't really commented on the phenomena . Hannibal was mostly assured that whatever craziness happened, Murdock had experienced far worse in the recesses of his own imaginings.

"Oh god, oh fook," the South African clasped onto Murdock feverishly with one of his hands, staring wide eyed at Aslan. "I think I lost it mate, I really think I'm goin' crazy, you know?"

BA smirked. "That fool pilot'd know somethin' bout that"

Murdock ignored him, and spoke in soothing calming tones that Hannibal had rarely heard him use to the man, pitching his voice quiet and low so as not to come across as threatening. "It's alright. I know it's all bit strange, this is all a bit new to me too, so we'll figure this out together, ok? You're alright, you're safe here. And yes, that is a lion talking to you, but don't worry about it for the moment. We'll deal with that in a minute. Just tell me your name first off."

"W-Wikus" the man stuttered out, managing to tear his eyes away from Aslan back to his doppelgänger. Murdock nodded encouragingly.

"OK then Wikus, I'm Murdock. I think we should go into the kitchen ok? That cut on your forehead is lookin' a tad nasty, an' I think we've got some first aid in one of the cupboards, that right Hannibal?" He turned to the colonel for an answer.

"One on the furtherest right" Hannibal directed, getting a glimpse of the man's arm that he was trying to desperately to hide as the cloth covering it slid up a fraction, displaying a flash of mottled black skin and three elongated fingers that definitely didn't appear human. The colonel imagined that antiseptic and band-aids really weren't going to cut it when it came to that.

Murdock nodded, and led the dazed man out of Face's bedroom and turning left and along, leading into the kitchen, placing a arm around Wikus' shoulder to steer him in the right direction. With the two gone, BA breathed out a frustrated sigh.

"Two Murdocks" he complained loudly "Why did it have to be two of him? Yo' arrivals –" he directed his comment at Hannibal "– ain't that unusual compared to some shoutin' South African waking me up jabbering bout prawns, or sommat crazy. No offence" he addressed the 'arrivals' for the first time, and he barely even blinked at the sight of a man who resembled Hannibal (if Hannibal had gone through a long-haired hippy phase) and a lion. If he had any issue with the two, he made no mention of it.

"None taken" Aslan replied.

"I believe it would make sense to discover why we are here" Qui Gon interjected, and his expression was thoughtful "Having been experimenting with my powers, I can still feel a connection to the Force." He paused, as though wondering whether explaining what exactly the Force was might to some good, before deciding to go ahead anyway "Upon reaching out, after due concentration it appears that there are cracks in the fabric of this universe that pivot around this central point."

"People from other worlds have always been able to enter my own through such gateways" Aslan added, picking up on Qui Gon's train of thought "But rarely does it work the other way around, and without a doorway of some sort, I cannot think of how I came here"

"This world I can deduce is not the same as my own, nor that of my acquaintance here " Qui Gon said thoughtfully, referencing Aslan "I gather you three," he looked at BA, Face and Hannibal "are native to this environment. So I can only come to the basic conclusion that for some reason our existences and realities have merged upon each other into one single existence. I still have some connection to the Force, which suggests that our own reality's are still where we left them. It is simply myself and Aslan that have moved. Why, I do not know but – "

"Whoa, this is some fucked up shit" There was another voice sounding from the doorway to Face's room, interrupting the impromptu conference on their circumstances, and the remaining five looked around to see Face standing there, brown hair looking dishevelled, a tanned hand pulling down sunglasses to gaze at what he saw. He grinned a wide reckless smile "I mean, I thought those roofies woulda worn off by now, but man, this is weird"

Face – the real Face, not the new one – gave out a whining noise. He had probably hoped that whatever this was, it would focus on Hannibal and Murdock instead of dragging him into it. The man noticed.

"Hey you – oh my god – you look just like me. Like, absolutely on the fucking dot." he came closer, peering at Face closely, the grin never leaving his face. Hannibal wondered whether he was high. " That is fucking awesome, you know that? It's like having a full height Mini-Me, from The Island or something like that. You using prosthetics or something? Did Stu put you up to this? Oh no, it was Doug, wasn't it? Come on, tell me, it was Doug, yeah? I knew that bastard was acting shifty when we got back from the wedding." He winked at Face. "Nice pyjama's by the way"

"Hannibal..." was all that Face could moan, expecting the man to miraculously disappear. His prayers as yet weren't being answered.

"Face, just take him out of here" Hannibal rubbed his forehead, sighing. He missed his bed. And his aspirin. "Into the kitchen or something, introduce him to Murdock, I don't know. I need to figure out how to get all these people back to where they belong"

"You got anything to drink?" the new-Face was enquiring of the original version "I mean some proper stuff, not any of that lager shit – ," he looked across at the three standing over to the side, apparently not noticing that two of the company appeared identical, only that one was a Jedi pulled straight from Murdock's beloved Star Wars. "What is this?" he eyed up Qui Gon "Comic-Con's not for a few months you know – Whoa!" He stopped dead, and that grin got inexplicably wider "You got a damn lion here! You know, I stole a tiger once. Now that was fun, not when it woke up, admittedly, but you can't have everything... Turns out they hate cinnamon as well, who knew..."

Aslan obviously didn't appreciate being called a 'damn lion', and growled in the back of his throat. Hannibal quietly hoped the lion would go for him. If not to get rid of one more problem to add to the growing pile but at least to shut the guy up. He was beginning to grate on his nerves slightly.

"Yeah, mate" Face said weakly, walking towards the stranger, his footsteps shuffling and miserable, as though he was having to force himself to take every step closer "I think I got some stuff in the fridge. You got a name then?" he asked as the two moved out of the bedroom and slightly down the corridor into the kitchen.

"Phil" was all Hannibal heard as a reply as the two departed from their company.

"You think that those two will be ok in there, what with Murdock an' his pal?" BA asked, appearing concerned. He had good reason to be.

Hannibal gave an encouraging half smile, trying to portray a surety he didn't believe in. "I'm sure they'll be fine" There was a crash as something fell to the floor, whatever it was clearly broken now, and shouting permeated through the walls with an impressive immediacy.

"My god, what the fuck is wrong with your arm?"

"What is your problem mate? Just sneakin' up and screaming in people's faces, ey? That what you do to everyone?"

"Does it move?"

"It's my fookin' arm! 'Course it does!"

"Can I touch it?"

"No!"

"See?" Hannibal smiled weakly, wondering how long it'd be before the new Face/Phil and Murdock's part-alien Wikus killed each other. He considered taking bets. It had reached that stage in the proceedings where everything was shaded in a unsurprised apathy to his circumstances "Like a house on fire"

"Look, boss," BA pointed over at where Aslan had stood. He frowned. "The lion's gone"

Sure enough, Hannibal turned around – and he was not going to admit to being pleased that one of the strange additions to the household had been taken off his hands – to find that the mammal had vanished, leaving only Qui Gon standing next to where he had been before.

"The effect must be only temporarily" the Jedi surmised, and whatever he was saying, Hannibal was considering good – if not brilliant – news "Having studied the Force at the time of each new arrival, there appears to be an aura that surrounds each person not originally existing in this universe, and it gets weaker and weaker as more time progresses. When the initial barrier weakens enough, we are able to be subconsciously pulled back into our own time, as evidenced by Aslan"

There were a lot of long and unnecessary ways of explaining things in those sentences but Hannibal got the gist of what he was saying.

"He arrived before everybody else" He agreed with his almost-doppelgänger, his shoulders relaxing and losing some of their tension, relief swamping through him for the first time that day. He could go get some pills now. Maybe even a coffee – really spoil himself. Maybe he'd write the whole day off and remain bed-bound as a reward for keeping a steady head on his shoulders despite it all.

"So we just gotta wait till they all leave?" BA raised an eyebrow, and from the look on his face, he looked as thankful as Hannibal. He hadn't appreciated being awoken by this crisis either.

Hannibal nodded with a new buoyancy in his movements "Seems like it." Leaving time couldn't arrive quick enough.

Then suddenly;

"Arggh! I've been shot!" A black man in a woolly hat was suddenly before BA, crashing down the ground, his leg broken and clutching his hand, covered in blood. And he was getting stains on the nice clean carpet as well. Hannibal sighed internally, but refused to allow pessimism to take control just yet. "Man, he shot me! I know he did but..." he looked around, withdrawing from his pain for a moment to stare bewildered and angry at Hannibal "What the hell is this? I was on the train"

"Oh, hell no" was all BA groaned.

"Murdock, we need that first aid kit!" Hannibal shouted out of the door down to the occupants of the kitchen. Just one moments peace. Was it really too much to ask for?

"Jus' give me a minute, sir" There was sounds of scuffling "Wikus? Wikus, give me back the bandages, ok? Phil didn't mean it"

"I'm not going to give them back, I'm going to strangle that bestard with them!"

"I was just trying to see the join on his arm. This is some professional work here, mate, it looks real"

"Phil, Phil, get away from him. Stop trying to touch it, leave him alone" Murdock seemed to be trying to keep the peace and failing miserably. Hannibal tried to feel some sympathy, but couldn't muster much energy.

"I'm going to fookin' kill you!"

"Got to admit, it's like a crab claw, isn't it?" Hannibal heard Face comment.

"That ain't helpin' things Facey"

"Just let them at each other , HM. Get them to release some of this built up tension"

"I am in agony here!" the BA doppelgänger yelled at the door, adding his voice to the cacophony of sound and Hannibal felt a strong inclination to simply leave the room in the belief that this was all a bizarre dream. It couldn't very well get worse.

"I AM ZEUS! LORD OF THE SKIES AND RULER OF MEN AND OLYMPIANS! WHO DARES DISTURB ME?"

Apparently it could. Hannibal groaned aloud as he caught sight of himself – tall and standing proud– dressed in extravagant silver plated armour, yet another version of him with a lot a facial hair.

This was not shaping up to be a good day.


Films referenced; The Narnia Chronicles, Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace, District 9, The Hangover, The Midnight Meat Train, Clash of the Titans (2010) and of course The A-Team. =]

(I know Midnight Meat Train might seem to be a bit of a strange addition as Rampage Jackson is really only an extra who gets two minutes of screen time and a fight scene before he gets shot, but it's really the only nameable film I've seen him in =]. The clip is on Youtube if you're wanting any contextual information.)