Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't get money.
Notes: This was actually written back in December for a secret santa fic exchange. The person the fic is for requested, amongst other things: outsider POV Hannibal/Face, protective Hannibal, badass marksman and linguist Face. That's where this fic started.
Oh, and there's some Japanese mixed in here, but it should all be explained contextually. All you really need to know is that "nice middle" is Japanese English used to describe an attractive middle-aged man.
Fate is cruel,
Fwoom! Another bullet flew past their hiding place to embed itself in the flowerbed beside the sidewalk. And what was her supposed bodyguard doing? Was he pulling a gun out? Was he frowning savagely as he plotted out some dashing plan of counter attack? Was he doing anything that a proper bodyguard (one who was ex-military, no less) ought to be doing?
No. The pretty boy was smiling as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a mirror! The cruelty of Fate was confirmed and Yoshiko was reconfirmed in her belief that this so called Lieutenant Peck was nicknamed Face because that was all there was of him.
How did I end up here? Yoshiko asked herself as she retraced the steps of the day that had led her to this desperate situation: about to be brutally killed on foreign soil with only a campus guide and a charming, useless rogue to accompany her to the afterlife.
With each step through the dilapidated, dingy, disgraceful airport - steps closer to a distasteful meeting - the words had built up. Until finally-
"I don't like this, Father," Yoshiko said to her father as they picked up their bags from the cluttered carousel. "American. Military. Criminals." The three words that summed up her objections to this so called A-Team clipped out of her mouth, spat out like cherry stones... from unripe cherries.
"Given our family history, you cannot honestly object to the third," her father replied with a smile both in his voice and hovering at the corners of his mouth. With his mild voice and features and perpetual good humor, one would hardly think he was the scion of a yakuza family.
"But-" Hironobu Goto held up a hand and waved away her protest before she could voice it. She didn't really need to say it. Everyone knew that the younger Goto brother had no interest in crime. That, with the blessing of his elder brother - the fifth head of their syndicate - he was taking one of their front companies and pursuing legitimate business.
Everyone knew that... except a few of her uncle's more aggressive supporters... and the US authorities that could protect Yoshiko and her father from those supporters' assassins.
"Everything will be fine, Yoshiko. These are good men and they will keep us safe. Though I do not think we shall need them." He gave her a reassuring smile with those words.
"Fine," she sighed. "Can I freshen up before we meet them?" After nearly ten hours on a plane, Yoshiko was feeling decidedly icky.
"Five minutes."
That was not enough time to reapply her makeup and curl her hair. "Father-"
"They're just American military criminals, after all."
"Fine," she said again.
Five minutes later, they were walking a gauntlet of waiting people, stepping into the arrivals lobby of LAX, and scanning the waiting crowd for some old Colonel Smith.
"There he is," Hironobu said, pointing to a man holding a sign with their names on it.
No way. "Father, that's Colonel Sanders!" she hissed to him. The man waiting for them looked just like one of the figures outside KFC.
"An amusing disguise, isn't it?" Bodyguards weren't supposed to be amusing! "Mr. Smith," her father greeted the man cheerfully. "Or should I call you Colonel?"
"Call me Hannibal," the man replied in a pleasantly gravelly voice.
Old guy's nice to listen to if not to look at.
"Mr. Hannibal, this is my daughter Yoshiko."
"Ah... Nice to meet you, Mr. Hannibal," Yoshiko said nervously, bowing her head.
"And you," the colonel replied, holding out a gloved hand. Yoshiko eyed it with borderline distaste before gingerly - and briefly - shaking it. She had to get used to this if she was going to live and study in America. "And may I introduce my second in command, Lieutenant Templeton Peck." She followed his gesture, expecting to see some stone faced brute with a buzz cut.
What is this? She saw instead a golden haired, golden skinned man wearing sunglasses, nice clothes, and a smile - all of which seemed more suited to a swimsuit model than an Army... whatever he was. Is lieu-whatsit the Army name for office boy? She supposed even this A-Team needed someone to make tea and copies and pick up the fast food.
"Nice to meet you," she said mechanically, putting out her hand for another handshake. It wasn't taken.
Instead, the man removed his glasses (such a pretty blue… Yoshiko was momentarily distracted) and made a small bow, saying, "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu." (Her distraction ended.)
If his Japanese is so bad, it would be better not to use it all! Even the older man was looking quizzically at his subordinate as Hironobu returned the salutation. Even Gramps here knows that's a terrible accent. And what did he mean, anyway? "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu." As if we can rely on Prince Charming here to do anything besides smile and wave from his white horse!
"Let's go and meet the rest of the team," Hannibal said to the Gotos before giving his office boy another questioning look. It was returned with an infinitesimal shrug and the hint of a wink. The corners of Hannibal's eyes and mouth suggested a smile that was answered by a brief flash of white teeth.
Fascinating, Yoshiko thought as she glanced back and forth between the two men, taking in their silent communication. Well, at least I won't be bored. If only the older man were more attractive! Yoshiko observed them further as she followed them out of the airport and to the parking structure. They both seemed to be in good shape. If she just imagined everything except the colonel's face...
"Here we are." Yoshiko's heated fancies were interrupted by the man in question. She looked up and ahead to see-
A mohawk! She froze in her tracks. "Father!" She exclaimed in Japanese before she could stop herself. "You cannot expect me to go anywhere with that gorilla!" Actually, the man might be even larger than a gorilla. He looked like he could pick his teeth with her.
"Yoshiko!" Hironobu scolded her. "Manners."
"Sorry."
More introductions went around. The large black man was BA, apparently. She hadn't understood his full name... or most of what he'd said. She had trouble understanding the pilot guy, too. He was speaking even faster and with a much heavier accent (and using even more unfamiliar words)... something about good health and jet fuel?
Wonderful. Insane, incomprehensible American military criminals. She might as well wear neon lights to help the assassins target her.
"So." A firm, leather-clad clap of Hannibal's hands brought Yoshiko's attention back to the discussion. "BA and Murdock will be seeing to the security of your hotel room. I will be with you, Mr. Goto. And Face will accompany your daughter."
Face? There was an apt nickname.
"Mr. Hannibal," her father began to protest. Yoshiko considered joining him. Certainly, of all this team, Face was the only one she'd be willing to be seen with (that Murdock wasn't bad visually, but mentally?). Still, she shared her father's doubts.
"Mr. Goto, Yoshiko." Hannibal removed the glasses and fake beard that made up his simple disguise to regard them both seriously.
Nice middle! Underneath the KFC facade was a man more worthy of Yoshiko's daydreams... But it was not the time for such thoughts.
"I can assure both of you that every member of my team is equally willing and more than capable of defending you in a crisis. Lieutenant Peck here is a superior marksman and a quick thinker. He can also speak Japanese, if the need arises."
"Just a little," Face said in Japanese. Yoshiko was too distracted by the look on Hannibal's face to cringe at the accent. The colonel's voice had been filled with pride when he spoke of his team. But when he got to Face in particular, a warmer glow than mere pride seemed to fill his eyes. So that's why he keeps Prince Charming around.
"Very well, Mr. Hannibal," Hironobu replied. "Shall we, then?"
"Right." Hannibal gave a quick nod of his head. BA and Murdock got into a large black van and drove off, bickering like boys in a schoolyard the whole time.
"Well, we need to know if she brought her uniform with her." Yoshiko could understand the pilot's words better now as his accent seemed to have magically disappeared. "Japanese schoolgirls get special powers from those sailor outfits."
BA's response was also easy to understand. And short. "Shut up, fool." The other man did not shut up, but the closing of the van's doors rendered the rest of the "discussion" inaudible.
"Now Face," Hannibal was saying to his subordinate as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring with that crazy conversation. "I want you to check in regularly. Yoshiko's father will be very concerned about her safety." Was it only her father's concern? Yoshiko noted the gloved hand that briefly clasped the younger man's shoulder. She liked that. She would have liked it even more if Face had dared return the hand clasp… and if her stomach hadn't given a twinge of misgiving at the subtle display of concern.
It will be fine, she told herself and she tried to focus instead on the smiles on the two Americans faces as they took their leave of one another.
It was not fine. It had not been fine all morning, nor in the early afternoon. The taxi ride to Yoshiko's future college campus had been alright, she supposed. She'd avoided the necessity of conversation by grooming and fixing her makeup. Her so-called bodyguard had made himself useful by holding her mirror and offering a few skin tips, though he hadn't been sure how they'd work for Asian skin. She was quite comfortable around him now.
But the more he smiled and preened and admired her cordless, rechargeable curling iron, the less confident she had felt in his ability to protect her. Oh, she supposed he had saved her from a bit of a burn when their driver made a sudden stop on the freeway (possibly at the cost of a burn to himself, though she doubted it – he hadn't shown any indication of pain from the contact with the hot ceramic) and he had rescued her ears from the cabby's angry words to other drivers (though she wouldn't have understood most of them) by telling outrageous stories about rolling across a desert in a bathrobe and tires and flying a tank and other such rubbish. However, he had never seemed to be doing any bodyguard-type stuff, like standing behind her, looking lethal, checking behind them and around corners, or talking into an earpiece.
Rather, he'd had many brief conversations with his boss that might have been coded, they were so short and apparently uninformative, except that there was too much… jocularity. And instead of checking around corners, he kept checking a mirror! He was a dandy and no mistake.
And a cheater. He'd flirted nonstop (and in two languages – apparently his Spanish or Italian or Portuguese or whatever was better than his Japanese) with the woman who was taking her through her private campus orientation. Yoshiko suspected that he constantly cheated on his sexy-voiced boss. So much for Prince Charming. She'd come up with several other nicknames for him over the course of the day and she muttered them to herself under her breath.
At the moment, as Face checked himself out yet again in his pocket mirror – no doubt making sure he was pretty enough to be seen outside the Fine Arts building they were just leaving - she was muttering the one she'd ended up using most often. "Yakutatazu," the Japanese for useless. He re-earned the nickname as, in the act of putting the mirror away again, he stumbled over the clutter just outside the doorway (the other woman had said it was old student artwork, though Yoshiko wasn't sure how a sculpture of a turtle shell on wheels qualified as fine art) and somehow managed to bump their guide and send some of her papers flying out ahead of them.
There was a strange kind of whistling swish and a dull, hissing thud, and the papers landed with a small hole in them. The sound repeated itself a few times and it wasn't until her campus guide began screaming and waving her arms about as Face flattened them against doorway they'd just exited that Yoshiko realized what was happening.
Someone's shooting at us, she thought vaguely, stunned. Then the sharp, shrill panic of the other woman pierced the bubble of shock around Yoshiko. SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME AND I'M GOING TO DIE HERE WITH USELESS PRINCE CHARMING AND MY RESTLESS GHOST WILL HAUNT THIS UNIVERSITY FOR ALL ETERNITY!
"Open the door!" She screeched at her guide. "Open the door!"
"The keys, the keys, the keys," the woman babbled shrilly.
"I don't care about the keys! OPEN THE DOOR!"
"I-I-I threw the k-keys when Templeton pushed me back!"
Shit! Yoshiko shifted her attention to the man her father was paying to protect her in this event. Her sense of impending doom sank her stomach even further as she saw her "bodyguard" smiling as he pulled out his damned mirror.
"What are you doing!" She shrieked at him.
"Looking for the other guy," he replied calmly.
Huh? "Other guy?"
"Yeah, the one who's been tailing us. It can't be the same one who's shooting at us because there was no way our tail was packing anything of this caliber. Miranda darling," he said then, turning to their guide, "I don't suppose you could calm down a bit? It's a little difficult to focus… Ah hell," he sighed, seeing it was no use. He set down his mirror and gently grasped Miranda's face, pulling her in for the most explicit kiss Yoshiko had ever witnessed live.
"What are you doing?" she repeated the question, surprise cutting its volume and shrillness by a good 80 percent.
"That's better," Face said, ignoring Yoshiko's question and easing the dazed (but quiet) Miranda against the door. "Now, Yoshiko. Could I borrow your mirror? I hate to say it, but it's so much bigger than mine." She complied, feeling rather dazed herself. Her eyes followed his motions, uncomprehending, as he positioned the mirror carefully against the edge of the entrance. Then he rose and began pulling other things from his pockets: pieces of ceramic or metal that he began putting together with quick, deft motions even as his eyes kept track of Yoshiko's mirror. "A gift from your uncle," he explained off-hand as he worked. "Apparently you're his favorite niece." The gift began to take shape: some kind of gun, larger than a handgun, but not big like a rifle or a machine gun. "I think a few men may be sinking into Tokyo Bay after this."
"Suruga Bay," Yoshiko corrected, not sure what she was saying or why. "We're from Fujinomiya."
"Sorry abou—Damn!" he cursed, eyes intent on the mirror. "I'm not ready for you yet." Those beautiful blue eyes, though, showed no distress (quite the opposite, in fact) as they scanned the cluttered entrance. "Ah yeah! Do you play video games, Yoshiko?"
"What?"
"Coming from the land of Nintendo, I think you're going to love this." He shifted his half-constructed weapon to one hand as he reached around Yoshiko with the other to pull out the turtle shell sculpture. He quickly set it at an angle at the top of the steps that descended from the entrance, causing a few more shots to fly past their shelter. Then, hands resuming their interrupted task, he stomped down on the hard, slick rim of the shell, sending the piece of art flying over the steps and careening down one of the paths that angled away from the building. "There we go," he said as his gun gave an apparently final click and a strangled off Japanese curse sounded from not too far away. "Now for our wannabe sniper." He pulled out his own mirror again and held it out in the open. "Gotcha!" he breathed, even as another little whoosh sounded and the mirror shattered away from his fingertips. "Now, if I could borrow one more thing-"
Without waiting for a response, he pulled the ribboned headband Yoshiko was wearing off of her head, tossed it into the open, and, as shots flew at the airborne accessory, he darted out, firing three shots at the second floor of the next building.
"Alpha! Mike! Foxtrot!" Face shouted gleefully in time with the shots. "Saraba, bakayaro!" he added more quietly as brief cry of pain sounded from an open window.
"You… you… you…" Yoshiko was lost for words. "What…" Wait a minute! "What did you say?"
"I know, sorry. It was the closest I could get in Japanese to 'adios, mother fu-'"
"You speak Japanese!"
"Hannibal told you I did. And," he continued, leaning closer to Yoshiko, dazzling her with the blue of his eyes and the white of his teeth, "you might have noticed that we've been speaking Japanese for quite a while now." So they had been, she realized as her panic began to leave her.
"I—you… I'm sorry." She finally settled on an apology as the best thing to say. "I've been so unkind and insulting to you. I'm really very sorry."
"Don't worry about it. This skin is as tough as it is tan. Besides," he added, a wicked edge curving his smile further, "it's been fun."
The sound of a cell phone ringing prevented any response she might have made to that. "Sorry, Boss," Face said as he took the call. "Miss Goto here and I were finally starting to communicate… Yeah. Everything's fine. We're just shooting the breeze."
A quick clean up, a lot of slick talking (most of which Yoshiko hadn't understood), and a passionate farewell to Miranda later found Face and his charge again in the back of a taxi. This time, though, there was no strained silence or disdain. They were conversing rapidly in Japanese, though it was broken often by Yoshiko's fangirly squeals.
"You were so awesome back there with that real life koopa shell! Amazing!" she gushed, eyes locked on the wonderful face of her knight in shining armor.
"Ah, you should see the boss in action. I was slow and clumsy back there, but Hannibal…" He then regaled her with stories of the things he and his colonel had done together.
"I'm sorry I ever thought of you as an office boy!" Yoshiko apologized again after a thrilling story of daring plans and hairbreadth escapes. A golden eyebrow lifted at the previously unvoiced nickname. "Your colonel and you are like a samurai lord and his kosho," she breathed with a happy sigh.
"Kosho? Pepper?" For the first time, Face was confused by her Japanese.
"No, no, no," she said in English, laughing. "A kosho was a young man (usually pretty) who served a samurai lord. He would serve him like a kind of valet, I guess, and fight beside him in battle and often-" She trailed off with a blush. Oops.
"Often…?"
"Um, well… He often, er, helped his lord out in the bedchamber as well. You know…" She realized how that might sound and she added quickly, "Not that I'm saying that you and Mr. Hannibal do that or-" She cut herself off again. No. Way. It was difficult to tell with his tan, but… I think he's blushing! "Oh my god!"
"Oh look!" Face said, cheeks clearly red now. "We've reached the hotel." A giggle was the only answer Yoshiko gave him.
She was really going to enjoy her time in Los Angeles. She'd only regret that all too soon, her father's men would arrive and they'd have to say farewell to the A-Team.