Catching - Hannibal & Face (Epilogue)
Nov. 6th, 2010 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indigo_angelsEpilogue
One Week Later...
Hannibal chucks the last few things into his kit bag and pulls the zip across. The clock on the bedside table tells him there's still twenty minutes to go before the taxi arrives, so with nothing else to do to kill time, he wanders out onto the hotel balcony and looks at the city spread out in front of him.
He'd always kinda liked Atlanta, particularly loved being in town for the film festival and had even visited during the Olympics, only time he's ever done that. But now... The city looks grey and drab spread out in the late afternoon gloom, and Hannibal feels it will be too soon if he ever comes back; the sun hasn't shone all week, but its been hot and Hannibal has felt like the city has been slowly draining the life out of him.
In reflection, his state of mind is probably nothing to do with the city and everything to do with Murdock's jittery nerves, BA's accusing stares and his own choking conscience.
Russ came to see him the afternoon after his early morning confrontation with Face and Hannibal had known from the second he opened the door that the news wasn't good. Face had been back to see Russ, had thought a lot about his future, and was determined he wanted out of Hannibal’s unit.
He'd continued to be fairly tight lipped about the reasons why, and when Russ had told him he couldn't transfer without a good reason, Face had instead, announced he would leave the army altogether. Eventually Russ had relented. He had his doubts about Face at times, but essentially he was a damn fine soldier. So he'd been reassigned to another unit and told to report to his new CO in Afghanistan in two weeks.
Hannibal had left almost immediately. Fort Benning was suddenly too claustrophobic for him, and driven to Atlanta. However, once he'd shared the news with Murdock and BA, Atlanta had been fairly stifling too. And that had nothing to do with the heat.
Tiredly, Hannibal rubs a hand over his face. He's no idea where he's going to go, or what he's going to do. Russ keeps calling, he wants to talk about a replacement for Face, but really? Hannibal just can't ever see that happening. And in reality, does he even want to be in the army any more? For the first time in his life, he seriously doubts he's the right person for the job... Could anyone have treated a man in his unit any worse than he's treated Face? He doubts it.
So he's called a cab to take him to the airport. He's gonna get on the first flight he can, and just see what happens next. It's the first time in his life he doesn't have a plan.
Thoughts of the cab pull his eyes back to the blinking red numbers on the bedside clock. Time to go. He reaches down and swings the kit bag up onto his shoulder, grabbing his key card on the way out.
The corridor is empty. No one's waiting for the elevator and Hannibal is glad, he's in no mood to be polite. He presses the button for the lobby and idly watches the numbers as they flick through their sequence, a faintly irritating 'bing' announcing its arrival on his floor. A second's pause and the doors slide open. Hannibal steps in as someone else steps out and they have one of those awkward dances, both trying to get out of each other's way.
“Sorry,” Hannibal mutters, flicks his eyes up to the person in the lift and freezes.
Face, stepping around Hannibal as the lift doors slide closed behind him, does the same.
A strained smile twitches the corner of Face's mouth, “You seem to be saying that to me a lot lately...”
Hannibal can't smile back, can't do much else but stare really 'cause he thought he would never get to stand this close to Face ever again, and he's making sure he's milking every second for all it's worth.
His eyes take it all in. Face is pale, more than a few days of stubble hiding his grey skin. His eyes are bloodshot, dark smudges, almost violet in colour, underneath. “You look like shit, kid.” It's a stupid thing to say, but the only thing that comes to mind.
Face let's out a dry laugh and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah,” his voice is tight, “I feel it too.”
Hannibal can't think of a reply.
Face's tired eyes travel down to the kit bag now at Hannibal's feet. “You going somewhere, boss?” he asks and it's the use of that word that sends Hannibal's heart into overdrive.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, “Didn't think there was anything here for me to hang around for.”
The air around them is thick with expectation as Face finally looks up to meet Hannibal's eyes. The silence so heavy that Hannibal can hardly take a breath. This is Face's move now, it has to be although he can barely stand the wait.
It looks like Face finally comes to some decision as he straightens up a bit, puts his shoulders back and takes a breath. Hannibal feels like he's facing the firing squad...
“About... what you said...” Face tails off and his nerve seems to falter. Hannibal suffers a moment of panic as Face mutters, “Shit...” and turns on his tail, finger reaching for the lift button, but in a split second he's back again, looking Hannibal in the eye, that strained smile lifting his lips and the tension visibly radiating from him, he lets out a dry laugh and runs his hand through his hair again, then shaking it out and flexing his fingers.
Hannibal has never seen the kid more tongue tied; he decides to help out. “You wanna give this a go?” he's embarrassed to hear his voice shake.
Face's nervous fidgets all stop and the smile becomes the tiniest bit more real. He looks right into Hannibal's eyes, right into his soul. “Yeah...”
One Week Later...
Hannibal chucks the last few things into his kit bag and pulls the zip across. The clock on the bedside table tells him there's still twenty minutes to go before the taxi arrives, so with nothing else to do to kill time, he wanders out onto the hotel balcony and looks at the city spread out in front of him.
He'd always kinda liked Atlanta, particularly loved being in town for the film festival and had even visited during the Olympics, only time he's ever done that. But now... The city looks grey and drab spread out in the late afternoon gloom, and Hannibal feels it will be too soon if he ever comes back; the sun hasn't shone all week, but its been hot and Hannibal has felt like the city has been slowly draining the life out of him.
In reflection, his state of mind is probably nothing to do with the city and everything to do with Murdock's jittery nerves, BA's accusing stares and his own choking conscience.
Russ came to see him the afternoon after his early morning confrontation with Face and Hannibal had known from the second he opened the door that the news wasn't good. Face had been back to see Russ, had thought a lot about his future, and was determined he wanted out of Hannibal’s unit.
He'd continued to be fairly tight lipped about the reasons why, and when Russ had told him he couldn't transfer without a good reason, Face had instead, announced he would leave the army altogether. Eventually Russ had relented. He had his doubts about Face at times, but essentially he was a damn fine soldier. So he'd been reassigned to another unit and told to report to his new CO in Afghanistan in two weeks.
Hannibal had left almost immediately. Fort Benning was suddenly too claustrophobic for him, and driven to Atlanta. However, once he'd shared the news with Murdock and BA, Atlanta had been fairly stifling too. And that had nothing to do with the heat.
Tiredly, Hannibal rubs a hand over his face. He's no idea where he's going to go, or what he's going to do. Russ keeps calling, he wants to talk about a replacement for Face, but really? Hannibal just can't ever see that happening. And in reality, does he even want to be in the army any more? For the first time in his life, he seriously doubts he's the right person for the job... Could anyone have treated a man in his unit any worse than he's treated Face? He doubts it.
So he's called a cab to take him to the airport. He's gonna get on the first flight he can, and just see what happens next. It's the first time in his life he doesn't have a plan.
Thoughts of the cab pull his eyes back to the blinking red numbers on the bedside clock. Time to go. He reaches down and swings the kit bag up onto his shoulder, grabbing his key card on the way out.
The corridor is empty. No one's waiting for the elevator and Hannibal is glad, he's in no mood to be polite. He presses the button for the lobby and idly watches the numbers as they flick through their sequence, a faintly irritating 'bing' announcing its arrival on his floor. A second's pause and the doors slide open. Hannibal steps in as someone else steps out and they have one of those awkward dances, both trying to get out of each other's way.
“Sorry,” Hannibal mutters, flicks his eyes up to the person in the lift and freezes.
Face, stepping around Hannibal as the lift doors slide closed behind him, does the same.
A strained smile twitches the corner of Face's mouth, “You seem to be saying that to me a lot lately...”
Hannibal can't smile back, can't do much else but stare really 'cause he thought he would never get to stand this close to Face ever again, and he's making sure he's milking every second for all it's worth.
His eyes take it all in. Face is pale, more than a few days of stubble hiding his grey skin. His eyes are bloodshot, dark smudges, almost violet in colour, underneath. “You look like shit, kid.” It's a stupid thing to say, but the only thing that comes to mind.
Face let's out a dry laugh and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah,” his voice is tight, “I feel it too.”
Hannibal can't think of a reply.
Face's tired eyes travel down to the kit bag now at Hannibal's feet. “You going somewhere, boss?” he asks and it's the use of that word that sends Hannibal's heart into overdrive.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, “Didn't think there was anything here for me to hang around for.”
The air around them is thick with expectation as Face finally looks up to meet Hannibal's eyes. The silence so heavy that Hannibal can hardly take a breath. This is Face's move now, it has to be although he can barely stand the wait.
It looks like Face finally comes to some decision as he straightens up a bit, puts his shoulders back and takes a breath. Hannibal feels like he's facing the firing squad...
“About... what you said...” Face tails off and his nerve seems to falter. Hannibal suffers a moment of panic as Face mutters, “Shit...” and turns on his tail, finger reaching for the lift button, but in a split second he's back again, looking Hannibal in the eye, that strained smile lifting his lips and the tension visibly radiating from him, he lets out a dry laugh and runs his hand through his hair again, then shaking it out and flexing his fingers.
Hannibal has never seen the kid more tongue tied; he decides to help out. “You wanna give this a go?” he's embarrassed to hear his voice shake.
Face's nervous fidgets all stop and the smile becomes the tiniest bit more real. He looks right into Hannibal's eyes, right into his soul. “Yeah...”
It's enough.
