Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine. Thanks to The Fratellis (indie rock band from Glasgow, Scotland) for the most awesome name ever for a Roller Derby participant, a spy, or a Mary Sue. The song is awesome too: it's just right for celebration when a goal is scored during football, American football, or hockey.
This was created to satisfy a fill at the A-Team Kink Meme: A Mary Sue-fic. A very cheesy, very horrible Mary Sue-fic, to be exact. With her being an expert at everything, making better plans than Hannibal, being a better con-artist than Face, maybe even getting BA over his fear of flying, and oh: being crazier than Murdock.
It's a mish-mash of move!verse and TV!verse. Enjoy!
There were certain times when a tap on a vehicle might be expected. A police officer might tap after he pulled it over. A waitress at one of those retro drive-ins might tap to take your order. A hooker might tap, if the vehicle paused too long next to her spot on the curb.
But a tap was not expected when said vehicle was stopped at a traffic light.
The tap came again, and B.A. immediately swelled in rage that something—somebody—dared to touch his beloved. Even regular people who weren't aware of his idiosyncrasies were supposed to just know about that.
"What the hell?" he burst out.
Hannibal shushed him. It was at his window, after all.
He could see the woman in the passenger mirror, and carefully rolled down the window.
"Can I help you?"
"Hmm . . . I'm thinking more along the lines of: can I help you?"
At the sultry voice, Face popped open the side door.
The statuesque woman standing on the curb shifted her weight to put a high-heeled boot on the running board and cocked a leather-clad hip in his direction.
"Hey there, handsome," she purred.
Her perfectly made up lips and coiffed raven hair—not to mention the black corset that accentuated her waist and pushed up in just. the. right. spot—made Face's tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.
"We ain't lookin' for no professional!" B.A. boomed from the driver's seat. "Git away from my van!"
The woman t'sked. "Oh, I'm not a working girl, B.A."
"What? How you know my name?"
"Oh, who doesn't know your name?" she giggled. The sound was like wind chimes. "Corporal B.A. Baracus. Colonel John Hannibal Smith. Lieutenant Templeton Peck, and Captain H.M. Murdock. If you move in the right circles, talk to the right people, everyone knows who you are."
Hannibal never liked being behind on information, and her cocky swagger grated on him.
"What can we do for you, miss?" he asked gruffly, deciding it wasn't worth trying to deny who they were. It wasn't like back in the early 80s when there was no internet and it was easier to hide. "You looking to hire the A-Team?"
"No. I think you need to hire me."
Stunned, incredulous silence rolled from the van. She plucked the forgotten cigar from Hannibal's hand and stuck it in her mouth.
"My name's Chelsea Dagger, and I've got what you need. The government denies knowing anything about me, even though I was trained by the US military. I'm a Ranger! I've got wicked computer skills, I can infiltrate the highest security levels you've ever seen, I'm witty, and I'm a damn fine cook.
"You and your team need me, Smith," she finished pompously. "But hey—your light's green now. I'll catch up to you later. Thanks for the cigar!"
She pushed her foot off the van. B.A. didn't even wait for Face to close the door before he started through the intersection.
"What in the hell was that?" B.A. asked.
Hannibal shrugged, and watched the woman shrink in the distance through the mirror. "Something no good, I can assure you."
"She had a weird accent," Face mused. "Couldn't put my finger on it."
"South African," Murdock piped up.
Hannibal looked back at him. "Really? I got the distinct impression she had an Irish lilt to her voice."
"Yer both crazy," B.A. said. "That girl is definitely from Chicago."
They all waited for Face to add his two cents. He shrugged and said, "I don't know. Pittsburgh?"
The other three of them laughed at his choice ("not enough "yinz" and "n'ats" when she talked, Faceman!" and "She wasn't wearing any black and gold!") and the incident was pushed to the back of their minds.