Alpha Males

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: I'm on my knees begging the powers that be not to sue me. I only want to have a little fun and share it with others, at no charge. The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, and were developed by John Watson. The A-Team belong to Stephen Cannell, who also created them.

Description: A crossover fic with the A-Team – old west style. Four strangers and two nuns bring a lot of trouble to Four Corners, trouble that none of the men could have predicted.

Parts: Six

Notes: I always loved the fact that Heather and NotTasha put Ezra up on the tops of roofs, so I am borrowing that little character enhancement, if they don't mind. Parts of the story are borrowed from several A-Team episodes (see how many you can spot!), but it seemed a fun way to introduce the boys into this Mag 7 world of ours. :) Oh, and there is no Amy Allen. Just the guys. What can I say? Also, Lord knows why I got on the Greek kick. Please excuse the rabid references to the epics and tragedies of those folks in togas.

One other little note – Since it was the A-Team that got the AU treatment, they had to get the introduction. But don't despair, you'll soon see that this is a story not about them – it IS a Mag7 story. Besides the usual action, this is story that concerns Chris and Ezra primarily and that whole trust issue problem.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

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Part One: The A-Team come to Four Corners

The covered wagon drew stares, and not just because it was barely intact, but because it was LOUD.

Besides the creaking and cracking of wood that looked like someone had attacked it with a sledgehammer, someone was roaring like a grizzly bear in the back. He was yelling and arguing with someone, using language that would make a sailor blush. The odd thing was that the angry voice kept repeating the same word as if it were a name – "Face." A younger man's voice and a woman's voice responded unintelligibly.

Two tired horses pulled the ruined wagon, driven by an amused looking silver haired man clothed in blue denims and a pair of brown leather riding chaps, and a disgruntled looking nun. She was rubbing her hands nervously on her habit, clearly ill at ease. The silver haired man tipped his soft tan colored hat to the onlookers, and chewed on the thick cigar between his lips with a smile.

Behind the wagon a tall man with a lopsided grin on his face was riding a paint, pulling two other horses, a white mare and a tall dark brown gelding. He was young, maybe about thirty five, and good looking in an odd way, if one could get past the slightly wild look about the eyes. Shaggy brown hair stuck out from under flat brimmed dark brown hat, and he wore a short dark brown leather jacket over a pair of tan breeches.

Next to him, a fourth horse – a large black Arabian that looked meaner and bigger than even Chris's tall gelding -- trotted on its own. The horse by itself would have been unusual, its stock and breeding signaling it out as an incredible steed, but the red-stained leather saddle embroidered with native symbols and feathers had many looking in unabashed wonder. The horse bowed its head at the onlookers, as if used to the attention.

JD stepped off the boardwalk in front of the jail, and Buck leaned over the hitching post behind him. Like the others, they watched the parade with open mouths. Chris and Vin came out of the saloon, while Josiah cracked open the doors to the church and leaned against the doorframe. The preacher looked up to see a flash of red atop the mercantile as Ezra, who had been reading on the roof, leaned over to see what was going on.

A particularly loud yell came from the back of the wagon, and the nun sitting in front flinched. The voices from the wagon rose another level in volume.

"Hush up back there!" the silver-haired driver yelled firmly, his eyes expertly scanning the people on the street. He nodded at the man in black and his companions, sensing their authority. In the back of the wagon, the argument ceased...for all of a minute.

Less than a wheel turn later, it started up again with a yelp of pain, and someone was shoved out of the back of the wagon amidst more yelling. The silver-haired man put a hand to his face and sighed.

The shoved man rolled and ended up lying directly in the path of the large black horse. Stopping, it stared down at him...or rather, glared down at him.

The man was probably about Ezra's age, maybe a little older, with a mess of sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes that, after a startled moment, glared back at the beast staring down at him. He was dressed in the black vestments of the Catholic church, although the entire costume was covered entirely with dirt. He sneered at the horse, wagging a finger just inches from the horse's nose.

"Don't give me that, you arrogant piece of horseflesh. It's not my fault. Well," he paused, licking his lips, "maybe it is a little, but...Oh what am I doing? Get away from me! I am not arguing with a horse!" He swatted the offending beast's nose, and the big black bared its teeth in response...and promptly stepped over him as if he were no more than mud in the road.

Nearby, the tall man started to laugh out loud. The priest, if that's what he was, pushed himself up off the ground and glared at his friend.

"And you, you just shut up! This is your fault too, Murdock! You were supposed to be helping me!"

"On the contrary, you said you didn't need me," the man on the horse retorted. He started waving his hand in front of his face, "In fact, you specifically told me to go the other way, so who was I to say nay?" He pointed an accusatory finger at the priest, "There's no glory in changing your story! Just ask the nuns, they'll tell you it's shunned. Why, if you were me, I'd be embarrassed to be me...being you, being me....see?" The finger trailed random patterns in the air as the tall man worked out what he just said in his mind.

The priest just stared at him a second, eyes wide with confusion, then he swiftly smacked a hand to his forehead and dragged it down his face in an exasperated gesture.

"Oh great, great," he mumbled through the hand, "we're back to rhyming again. Terrific. Wonderful. Could my day get any better?"

"LIEUTENANT!" bellowed a stern voice from where the cart had pulled up in front of Nathan's clinic. The resident healer hung over the railing above them, talking to the nun. Another nun emerged from the back of the wagon and peeked over at her sister. The man who had bellowed was the one with the silver hair, and he was staring impatiently at the priest.

The young man sighed, "Apparently not. Coming!"

With a few futile attempts to get some of the dust off of his clothes, he jogged lightly over to the wagon. Murdock followed slowly with the horses, the goofy grin back. The big black was already there, trying to stick its head inside the wagon, to which the nun inside let out a few startled shrieks. The priest arrived in time to manhandle the big black out there to give her enough room to get out. After shoving the big black back, the priest tossed a purse of coins to the silver haired man, then climbed up into the wagon again.

The yelling started up immediately.

"I'm going to get you for this, Face! You hear me! You are a dead man! This is your fault, you fool! Get off me! Let me go!"

"BA, you've got a fairly sizeable hole in your leg, now, you really shouldn't be exerting yourself...."

"Exerting myself? Exerting myself? I'll show you exerting myself!"

"Hey Now, Hey...watch it! HANNIBAL! Help me! OW! BA! Let go!"

The silver haired man was standing with the Yosemite, paying him some change to take care of the horses. The one called Murdock dismounted and passed the reins of the white mare and the other gelding to Yosemite, before looking across at his leader.

"Colonel, maybe I should be with the big guy? I know he needs me. My brother BA is suffering, and I don't think Face is on the case."

"Oh I don't know," Colonel Hannibal Smith tilted his head to the side and listened to Face and BA arguing in the back of the wagon as Face tried to get BA to move forward, "Face seems to be doing just fine, Murdock."

At that same instant, Lieutenant Templeton "Face" Peck, still wearing the robes of a priest, got shoved out the back of the wagon again to land with an audible thump on the ground on his rear.

"HANNIBAL!" he whined, burying his face in his hands. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Let BA get shot, by not covering when you were supposed to, kid," Hannibal gently reminded him, stepping over Face much the same way the big black Arabian had (who was still standing outside the livery and glaring at both men). With a grin, the Colonel stubbed out his cigar and climbed into the wagon to say something which quieted the man within. In a few moments, Hannibal pulled back the tarp and smiled at the man on the ground with a full mouth of perfectly straight white teeth.

"Ready?" he asked.

Face stared back with a defeated expression. "That's not a smile," he replied sarcastically, "just a bunch of teeth playing with my mind!" With a grunt, he got up and joined Hannibal inside the wagon.

Meanwhile, the onlookers had, for the most part, gone on their way, having gotten bored when the wagon reached the clinic and out of general hearing. Buck and JD had wondered across to the saloon, to join Chris and Vin who had moved to sit down in front. Much of the conversation that had just occurred among the strangers had been unheard, but they still watched.

Josiah sat in front of the church whittling on a piece of wood, also still watching, though he was more interested in the nuns and the young man in the priest's habit. The nuns, for the most part, had remained silent and somewhat apart from what was happening. The older woman had a hand on the younger one's shoulder. Meanwhile, Nathan had come down the clinic stairs and was waiting for the men inside the wagon to come out.

And, up on the roof of the building next to the livery, Ezra propped his hands under his chin and watched with avid fascination to what was happening down below. A curious smile graced his face as he listened. From his placement, he could hear everything, and he had absolutely no remorse about his blatant eavesdropping. It was just too interesting.

"All right, here we go BA, nice and easy. It's going to be all right."

"Nothing's going to be all right so long as Face here still has a face," a voice grumbled.

"Now BA, never say that!" the younger man's voice entreated. "Where would you be without my face, huh?"

"Somewhere safe and warm, without a bullet in my leg!" BA spat.

"It's just a deep graze BA," Hannibal said tiredly.

"I'll remind you that you said that next time you get a 'graze,' Hannibal," the hurt man groused.

Ezra leaned forward as the cloth tarps got pulled back on the wagon and the priest emerged to stand on the ground. He reached out and Ezra's eyes widened as a dark, impossibly muscled arm emerged to snake around the "priest's" neck.

The last of the four strangers was stout and built like an ox, all muscle and sinew. He was a black man, wearing dark blue denim overalls that looked as if they had been patched one too many times. Under he wore a dark green shirt with the sleeves ripped off – clearly with the intention to show off his arms, and a necklace of what looked like cougar teeth hung around his neck. Ezra shook his head, imaging how much money this man could have gotten him boxing in the hippodromes back east. The black hair on his head was shaved in a strange imitation of what looked like a Mohawk hairdo, except that it was cut short and near to his head.

The man continued to send threats at Face as he got his good leg under him and Hannibal emerged to take his other arm. Together, the three hopped, pulled and, with Nathan's help, carried BA up the stairs of the clinic. By the time they reached the top, all the men were sweating.

Down below, the tall man called Murdock stepped outside the livery and looked at the big black. It bared its teeth in response and lowered its head menacingly, like a bull thinking about charging. Murdock took a step back.

"Hannibal? Someone's gotta take care of Vandal!" he yelled up the stairs. The horse shook his head, almost as if it were laughing, then bared his teeth once more at Murdock and took a step forward. The man physically jumped, almost knocking into the two nuns. The younger one emitted a tiny cry and was quickly shushed.

A few minutes later, the Face came out from the clinic and made his way slowly down the stairs, suddenly seeming much older. When he reached Murdock he sighed.

"Go on up. I got Van," he said. Murdock grinned, patted him on the back (which caused several large dust clouds to puff up), and jogged up the stairs of the clinic. When he reached the door, the sound of BA growling at his arrival was easily heard. Murdock was not fazed, shouting quite loudly:

"BA, have no fear! Your angel of mercy is here!"

Face shook his head and walked towards Vandal.

"Um..." one of the nuns spoke up as Face reached to grab Vandal's reins, "what about us?"

Face patted the horse's hide, ignoring the bored look it gave him, "Well, Hannibal fixed it so the livery owner here will fix your wagon up tonight. As soon as I get us rooms, we'll stay the night at the hotel, and then you can head back to join your sisters down in Mexico. Oh, and here," he dropped the reins and pulled out a wallet from his pockets.

Ezra almost whistled as Face opened the wallet to display a wad of cash, a sum that looked close to five thousand dollars in size. The "priest" handed it across with the wallet to the older nun.

"Is this...is this all of it?" the older nun asked.

"Yep. That's everything they stole from you. Should have no trouble building that mission now." He smiled, a genuine one that lit up his whole face.

"Oh thank you!" the younger nun cried, jumping forward to embrace Face in a fierce hug.

"Sister Matilde! Control yourself!" the older one chastised.

"Yes, Sister Catherine," the younger one muttered, pulling out of the embrace. Face just gave them both a lopsided grin.

"Yes," the older nun said solemnly, looking at face with dark eyes, "I suppose we should thank you. I just wish I could be sure those men won't be back to threaten us."

"Most of them are locked up in a Mexican prison now, Sister Catherine, and, as for the rest, they no longer believe you have anything they want. They believe we have it all. When they come, it will be for me and my friends, and we will take care of them, I promise. Hannibal has a plan....and his plans usually work...sort of."

"How can you be so sure?"

Face just smiled, "You just have to have faith, sister."

"Normally, Mr. Peck, faith is something I have in abundance, but my faith in others is sorely lacking at this moment," Sister Catherine sighed, looking vaguely in the direction of the livery and the ruined wagon. Little Matilde took her arm and leaned against her.

Face just nodded, "Hannibal did not expect them to follow us so far. But, if Hannibal's right about this town, they won't follow us in here. Now, you and Sister Matilde here should get some food. I saw a small restaurant as I came in attached to the hotel. I'll meet you in there after I acquire us some accommodations."

The older nun nodded, took the younger nun's arm in her own, and headed back in the direction of the main town.

Face sighed, and pushed a tired hand through his hair again as he watched them leave. Then he looked at Vandal and shook his head. As he grabbed the big black's reins, someone clearing his throat caused him to look up at the clinic.

Hannibal looked down, "Did you give it all to them?"

Face nodded, "Yeah. I wish you had let us keep some Hannibal. How am I supposed to find us a place to stay tonight?"

The silver-haired man grinned, "Oh, you'll think of something. You always do. Besides, Murdock's going to stay up here tonight, so it'll just be you and me and the nuns to take care of."

Face sighed and nodded, then pulled sharply in Vandal's reins to pull the horse into the livery. Unlike Murdock, the horse responded to his command, even though he didn't look pleased at doing so.

Up above on the roof, the gambler grinned, enjoying this more and more. This was going to be an interesting day.

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Vin and Chris were still watching the livery when the priest emerged, still brushing dust off of his clothes. Buck and JD had long gone inside the saloon. The priest looked up and, seeing them looking at him, nodded a hello and smiled. Chris inclined his head once in return.

Face held on to the smile as best he could, but couldn't ignore the tension that these men in front of the saloon radiated. He guessed they were the local bruisers. Nothing to worry about, he silently told himself. Gathering his wits, he took on a casual gait and headed in the direction of the hotel.

"Shall we ask what is going on?" Vin asked, following the man with his eyes.

"He's not the one to ask," Chris replied.

"Oh?"

"Nope. Its the one with the silver hair who is in charge."

"Ah, yeah, I know. But that one's a priest. He might be more willing to talk to us."

Chris pursed his lips, "Not so sure. Something odd about him and those others." He looked at his shoes, as if they had the answer. Suddenly Vin chuckled, and Chris looked up.

"Looks like we don't have to worry," the tracker said, his eyes lifted to the roofs across the way. Chris glanced up as well, and a small smile graced his face.

Jumping from the bank to the apothecary's roof was Ezra, red coat flashing like a beacon on high, trailing the movements of the man down below. At one point, the priest stopped and looked back, as if he heard someone, then, abruptly, he looked up. But Ezra had already hidden himself. With a frown, the priest continued on his way, though clearly less at ease than he had been.

Vin and Chris continued to watch as Ezra leaped onto the Potter's roof, and then, in a quick jump, made it to the hotel. In moments, he had the trap door leading to the roof wrestled open and had disappeared inside. A few minutes later, the priest also entered the hotel – by the front door.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if Ezra ain't part squirrel," Vin grinned, putting his hands behind his head.

"He's part something all right," Chris agreed with an answering smile. "But I think squirrel may be a little kind."

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Ezra skidded to a stop atop the landing atop the stairs just above the front desk, well within hearing range, and settled in to listen. The day clerk, a Mr. Chambers, was busy reading the Clarion when the "priest" entered. He looked up when the dust young man reached the desk.

Face had already taken the silver wire-rimmed glasses out of his pocket and put them on, pushing them up his nose with a sniff as he smiled at the clerk.

Mr. Chambers smiled back, "Good afternoon Father."

"Afternoon, my son. And how are we on this bounteous day?" A slight Irish brogue had been added to the man's voice, and, up above, Ezra's smile widened to a grin.

"Oh, well, well, Father. Lovely, in fact. And yourself?"

Here Face sighed, his shoulders slumping, "Well, I'll tell you, sir, it has been a hard day for me and my sisters. Our wagon broke down, some renegades attacked us, and, frankly, all I could think of was getting here and taking a long nap. I swear, when I saw the town's buildings from atop that rise out there, I was never more pleased to see a place in my life."

Mr. Chambers showed the proper amount of consternation, shaking his head in dismay. "Oh, it is a sad day when honest folk of the church get treated so badly. I would have thought even the lowest in our society would at least have the decency to leave you alone. I wish there were something I could do for you, Father."

"No, no, of course not," Face sighed again and pushed the slipping glasses back up his nose. "Honestly, if you could just see your way clear to showing me to the room I reserved, I'll be more than happy."

"Reserved?" Mr. Chambers frowned, moving to the guestbook. "Did you say reserved?"

"Aye, son. Two rooms, I reserved. The name's O'Malley, Father O'Malley."

"O'Malley," the clerk repeated, his finger trailing down the ledger's page. He really didn't need to, as he knew there were no reservations marked for today.

"Yes, I sent a wire here with the money a week ago. You see, I'm traveling with two of my sisters, nuns of the St. Vincent's Convent in Hillside, and my uncle John. The rooms are for us. We are on out way to take our new positions at a Mission down in San Pietro."

"A wire, you say?"

"Yes, and I have the response here, somewhere..." he patted his jacket, causing more dust to rise off of him, until finally he reached a hand in his pocket and retrieved a yellow piece of parchment.

"Ah, yes, here we go." He held up the paper to read, keeping it just out of Chambers' view, "To Father Timothy O'Malley, Kansas City. Have received payment and rooms reserved as requested. Signed, Mitchell Castleman, Plainstown Hotel." Finished, Face looked up and smiled at the clerk.

"Plainstown...," Mr. Chambers stuttered, "Ah, that explains it. This isn't Plainstown, Father, it is Four Corners."

"Four..?" Face looked aghast, his mouth open. "Oh Heaven's above, what a fool. After the attack, I must have gotten us turned around. Four Corners, oh Lord, what are we to do?" He slumped over the counter, his head in his hands. "What will I tell the sisters?" He looked up, his blue eyes bright with worry, "Are they here already?"

"The nuns?" Mr. Chambers said, his mind remembering the two tired looking nuns that had come in about ten minutes ago, "Oh, yes. They're in the restaurant."

"The restaurant...and us with only pennies left. Oh Heavens..." Face buried his head again. Mr. Chambers frowned, and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Now, now, don't worry about a thing Father. I'll get this sorted out. Just hold on a moment," nodding comfortingly, the clerk turned and went to knock on the manager's door at the end of the desk. When someone called "come in," he went inside and closed the door. Face watched him leave, then smiled brightly. Moving away from the desk, he looked into the restaurant, and waved to the two nuns sitting by the window. They waved back.

A few minutes later, Mr. Chambers returned with the Hotel Manager in tow. The kindly older man took one look at Face and nodded.

"Of course you can stay here, Father. On the house. And the food as well. I'll see to it," the manager stated. Mr. Chambers smiled.

"Oh no, no, you don't have to...," Face began.

"I insist!" the hotel manager replied, raising a hand in silence. "There will be no more discussion on the matter. Chambers, you will give the sisters the front room on the second floor, and the Father here and his uncle one of the back rooms. How long will you be staying sir?"

"Oh, just a night. And I will pay you back, kind sir. You are most gracious."

"Please, it is our pleasure." Turning to the clerk the hotel manager nodded, "See that it is done, Chambers." In response, the clerk bounced across to the guestbook and started writing their names down. A moment later, he grabbed two sets of keys off the rack behind him. Meanwhile, the hotel manager nodded once more at Face, then took his leave by returning to his office.

"Do you have any bags?" the clerk asked, handing over the keys.

"No, though I think the nuns may have a small one. Most everything we had was taken," Face smiled. "Thank you again."

"Really, it's nothing, Father."

"It means a lot to me," Face shook the man's hand. "Thank you again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will join my sisters for some dinner, to inform them of your kindness." With a nod, he turned and walked into the restaurant.

Mr. Chambers grinned, happy to have done something so good today. Leaning on the counter, he didn't even notice as Ezra descended the stairs to stand at the head of the desk. The gambler cleared his throat, causing the clerk to jump.

"Mr. Standish! I never saw you come in!"

"No, and you wouldn't. I just wanted to tell you...you are a good man Chambers. I heard what you just did."

The clerk grinned more broadly, pulling himself up to stand at full height. "Yes, well, just doing my civic duty, Mr. Standish."

Ezra offered him a crooked smile, and, with one last glance into the restaurant, took his leave through the front doors.

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Josiah stood just outside the hotel doors, looking as if her were composing something in his head as he paced the boards. He looked up as Ezra emerged, frowned, and turned back to staring at the wood beneath his feet. The gambler tilted his head and offered a knowing smile.

"Looking for someone, my friend?"

The preacher frowned even deeper and shot Ezra an annoyed look. The gambler's grin widened.

"They're in the restaurant, but I wouldn't worry about making a good impression. They're only here for the night and from the looks of it, are very tired, so probably won't be up for talking. In particular, don't expect much from the priest, he's not what he appears." Ezra tipped his hat and strode away, leaving a slightly puzzled preacher behind him. Shaking his head, Josiah sighed, straightened his jacket, and turned to go into the hotel.

Chris straightened as Ezra approached, his body silently telling the gambler that he expected a report. Next to the gunslinger, Vin merely tipped his hat back, not bothering to adjust his lean. Ezra smiled at them both.

"Gentlemen, I expect you want to know what I leaned?"

"If you would be so kind," Chris replied.

"Very little, I'm afraid. They are merely passing through. Nothing to worry about."

"Passing through?" Vin frowned, looking in the direction of the clinic. "But ain't one of 'em hurt?"

"A graze. I doubt it will be enough to slow the injured party down for very long, he looks hardier than Josiah," he leaned against a post and tapped a boot heel on the boardwalk.

"What if they bring whoever put that bullet in his leg here?" Chris said sharply. Ezra flexed an eyebrow.

"I believe that they will do their best not to hurt the two sisters in their party. As such, I imagine they do not think the outlaws who attacked them will follow them in here. I heard as much from my vantage point."

"You hear anything about why they were attacked?"

"I did, though only enough to know that these men are on the right side. If I may," he shot Chris a brief glance, then turned back to watching the wood beneath his feet, "I would ask that we not interfere with these men." He paused, holding his breath slightly, waiting. Chris frowned, his eyes darkening.

"Why?"

Ezra didn't answer, he just shrugged. Vin watched him curiously, his eyes bright, his expression a sharp contrast to that of the suspicious looking gunslinger next to him. Chris stared at the clinic, then at the hotel. Eventually, he sighed. Fact was, he saw no reason to stir anything up, and he saw no reason to deny Ezra's opinion...for now.

"Fine," Chris agreed. "So long as they stay out of trouble, I'll leave them alone."

As he spoke, he noted that the silver haired man had come down from the clinic, taking the stairs slowly. Ezra offered one last glance in that direction, then sighed as he pushed off the post and headed into the saloon.

"Leave 'em alone, huh," Vin said, pulling the hat once more over his eyes. "Should be easy to do."

"I'll remember you said that," Chris smiled.

--------------------------

Vin tilted his head to look sideways up at the gunslinger, sensing the tension that seemed to grow within his friend as the stranger made his way up the street. Chris couldn't take his eyes off of him, and Vin would have bet without looking that the stranger was matching the stare. Blowing a deep breath out, he tipped the hat back again to watch.

Hannibal walked steadily towards the saloon. He had planned to join Face and the sisters at the restaurant, but he could sense the challenge being thrown at him from the black-clad gunslinger, and Hannibal Smith never backed down from a challenge. Besides, he still had Face's change purse...and he needed a drink.

As he approached, he pulled the half smoked cigar from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

Chris straightened so that he was standing perfectly straight, his shoulders back in an authoritative stance. Vin tried not to smile.

Hannibal smiled around the cigar, betraying the same perfectly white teeth that he had shown Face. Teeth that healthy were a rarity in the west, and Vin had to say he was impressed. As the silver haired man stepped onto the boardwalk, he looked first at Chris, then turned to Vin.

"Got a light, friend?"

Vin offered a catlike smile, and shook his head. "Don't smoke. But he does."

Hannibal nodded, and turned to the gunslinger.

Chris had already pulled out the book of matches from his pocket, and was striking a match. The flare lit up the light blue eyes of the stranger as Hannibal leaned forward, hands raised to protect the cigar from the wind. Without a word, Chris lit the cigar and leaned back, waving the match to put out the tiny flame, his own eyes black beneath the shadows of his low brimmed hat.

At no point during this exchange did either man break eye contact.

Hannibal nodded his thanks, and entered the saloon.

Chris let him go, then moved to lean once more against the wall. Vin shook his head. Behind them, Ezra wandered back out with three shots of whiskey balanced between his fingers. He handed them around, then took a sip from his. Chris and Vin both downed theirs.

"Well, that was fun to watch," the gambler noted idly.

"I think there are icicles hanging off their hats," Vin agreed. Ezra smiled.

"Well said, Mr. Tanner. Indeed, I believe I have a better idea now of how Hector and Ajax reacted to each other upon meeting on the battlefields of Troy."

"Hector and Ajax?" Vin asked, curious despite himself. Chris never even looked at Ezra.

"They were two of history's greatest heroes, and when they met in a duel, neither could gain the upper hand, they were so evenly matched. When the duel ended in a draw, the two sworn enemies exchanged gifts out of respect for each other. Of course, Hector would fail in the end, but back then, heroes were not decided by who won or lost, but by the measure of the man, regardless of the side he was on."

Vin stared at Ezra a second longer, digesting this. Two heroes, he thought, interesting comparison. Ezra's impression of these strangers must be even higher than he had let on. Still leaning against the post, Chris snorted slightly, then turned to go inside, tossing his empty shot glass back to Ezra.

Vin and Ezra nearly collided with each other in their attempt to follow.

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The silver haired man was sitting alone at a table, his feet propped up on a chair. He had a full bottle of Red-Eye in front of him, and two shot glasses, one of which he pushed in the direction of the black-clad gunslinger. Striding confidently up to the table, Chris took an empty chair, took the shot glass and filled it. The silver haired man didn't blink. He even smiled again.

"Hannibal Smith," the newcomer said, drawing a few short puffs on the cigar. Chris downed the drink and wiped his bottom lip with his hand.

"Larabee, Chris Larabee. The law here. I understand you are just passing through?"

"Your man in red there is very quick to find out information."

"He likes to think so."

"Well, he is right. We are only passing through. You have nothing to worry about from us."

"Good." A loud silence filled the space, neither man giving an inch.

Sitting with Vin, Buck and JD, "the man in red" was finding this all somewhat ridiculous. He drew the cards out from his pocket and started shuffling. When no more conversation seemed to be coming from the other table, he stood and wandered over.

"Can I interest you gentlemen in a game?"

Hannibal actually grinned, a pure one this time, without guile. "Was wondering when you'd come over, kid," he chuckled. "But, If you are anything like a friend of mine, and I think you are, I'd rather keep my money. Thanks anyway." Still grinning, he stood and tipped his hat at Chris, then Ezra. "In fact, I think I'm going to meet that friend and get some food. If you will excuse me, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris simply nodded. Hannibal picked up the bottle he had purchased and placed it squarely down in front of the gunslinger. Then he walked out of the saloon, Ezra watching him carefully with a somewhat disgruntled look on his face.

"Something wrong, Ezra?" Chris asked quietly, reaching for the bottle with a smile. The gambler grimaced.

"He called me kid. No one has called me that since I was one. I am well into my thirties, Mr. Larabee, I am most certainly not...."

"Ezra," Chris interrupted, shoving out a chair with his foot, "shut up and start dealing."

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Night came quickly, and the newcomers retired early. Josiah had learned very little from the sisters, and nothing at all from the young priest, though the young man had talked a great deal. It was an impressive trick, the preacher thought later, wondering if it had been on purpose. When the silver haired man had joined them at the restaurant, Josiah had excused himself to join the others at the saloon. Nathan arrived a little while later, shaking his head in amazement. Apparently the new patient and the one called Murdock had not stopped arguing since arrival, though he had to admit, it was more playful in tone than virulent.

When Inez and Ezra finally shut the saloon on everyone's face, the remaining six all went to sleep, except JD. The kid had something itching at the back of his head all night, and, upon returning to his room at the boarding house, pulled out his growing collection of dime novels. After about ten minutes, he as at Chris's door, knocking loudly.

Groaning, the gunslinger pushed himself up off the bed to sit propped up on his elbows.

"WHAT!"

"Chris...something important! These men, I know who they are! They're fugitives, Chris! They're wanted by the army!"

Chris stared at the thick oak door, seeing without needing to, JD on the other side, jumping excitedly from foot to foot. His mind wondered if Ezra had known this. With a deep frown, it occurred to him that Ezra probably HAD known. Damn it.

Without relighting the wick on his lamp, he got to his feet and stumbled to the door in the darkness. Wrenching it open to see the boy on his doorstep, he squinted at the light from the low burning wicks in the hall, giving his face a ferocious gleam and causing JD to back up a step.

"Tell me quickly, JD. I want to go to sleep."

"Oh, this is going to wake you up, Chris, I promise!" With swift move, he shoved the dime store novel in Chris's face. With an irritated huff, the half asleep gunslinger grabbed it from him and inspected the cover. Sure enough, four faces looked back at him – the same four that had arrived in town today.

"Once famed as the Union's Alpha Troop," he read, "this crack frontier unit was arrested and imprisoned for a crime they didn't commit. Promptly escaping from a military stockade, they wander the country as mercenaries, the champions of lost causes, helping those who can't help themselves, all the while eluding capture. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the A-Team." He grimaced, taking in the four faces and bending back the thin cover to read the descriptions within. Lieutenant-Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith, the leader, a brilliant strategist and tactician, knifeman and weapons expert. Lieutenant Templeton "Face" Peck, second in command, supply officer, cardsharp and con artist. Captain Howlin' Mad Murdock, sharpshooter, rodeo star, certified insane during the civil war but never institutionalized. And Sergeant BA "Bad Attitude" Baracus, artillery sergeant, mechanical genius and former prizefighter.

Chris flipped a little further, reading of the introductions to some of the chapters, his face frowning more deeply with each one. Finally, he shut the thin paperback and handed it back. JD looked expectant.

"Should we arrest them?" the kid asked. Chris couldn't tell if there was real excitement in that voice, or trepidation. He smiled down at JD, and shook his head.

"It's late kid, and we're not sheriffs. We don't have to arrest every low-life that comes to town, else we'd never sleep. They haven't done anything to us, and, besides, dime store novels are about as honest as a snake oil salesman. I'm not doing anything without proof." He shrugged at the kid, backed into his room and shut the door, leaving JD in the hallway. The kid rolled up the paperback into a tube and tapped his thigh. After a moment, he sighed and wandered down the corridor to his own room.

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Continued in Part Two

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