The Long and Winding Road - Face/Hannibal Part 2

Three hours later he was in the Whiskey Sky downing Jack Daniel’s and trying to pretend that he was really sitting in Hannibal’s apartment up in the Santa Monica Mountains and looking out at the Pacific Ocean, instead of staring across Lake Michigan and trying to dupe himself into believing that he wasn’t going to get up the next morning and drive some more drugs for Joey Pacitto.

 

It wasn’t working.

 

But he was also uncomfortable. Face had been starred at enough over the years to have some kind of sixth sense for it now and he’d felt that feeling all night. He sat tight and waited, not in the mood for the chase, but not going to turn anything down if it landed in his lap. Well, anything female at any rate, he didn’t intend spending the night with a man any time soon, that was one can of worms he had no intention of opening up for a good few years.

 

Just as the whiskey haze was getting a bit too thick to think straight, she made her move, sliding into the chair opposite him with a nervous smile.

 

She was nothing like Face had imagined. For someone who had been giving him that much of the eye all night, Face had pictured a real looker, six foot, dyed blonde, lipstick as brash as her personality, figure to die for, heels you could kill with. What he got instead was a slight elfin figure, hair a natural white blonde cut to frame her face, green eyes that seemed to dart around constantly on the lookout for, what? Her cropped jeans, navy ballet pumps and white cashmere jumper marking her out in the urban sophistication of the bar.

 

Her eyes flicked round the room once more before finally settling on Face’s blue ones, “Hey,” she sounded nervous, “You okay here? You don’t look so... good...”

 

Face laughed and downed the rest of his JD, “As chat up lines go, I’ve certainly heard better.”    

 

His visitor frowned and shuffled in her seat, “Who said anything about chatting you up?” she actually looked offended; “I was just checking you were alright!”

 

Face raised his eyebrows at her and gestured at the bar keep, “Yeah? Well you should know, you’ve certainly been checking me out for long enough.”

 

For a second he thought she was going to get up and walk off again, but then the bar keep arrived with another JD and something that looked suspiciously like orange juice and she laughed instead, holding her hand out across the table, “Jessie Connors, pleased to meet you.”

 

Face found himself returning her smile and it felt strange on him, “Rob Taylor, pleased to meet you.”

 

She nodded back and looked thoughtful for a moment before taking a sip of her juice, “So, you have been looking pretty down. Are you okay?”

 

And then the strangest thing happened, Face took a deep breath and actually told the truth, “I’ve certainly been better,” he shrugged, “Shit happens, yeah?”

 

To his surprise, Jessie laughed again and took another mouthful of juice. “Certainly does. So tell me, those two over there by the door, you think they really hate each other or d’you think they’re really hot for each other and just playing it cool...?”

 

Face laughed and glanced up at the mirror behind the bar so he could check out said couple without being seen.

 

__________________________ 

 

The alarm was piercing and Face cracked an eye open as he tried to swat it into silence. By the time he succeeded he’d remembered that he was supposed to be out driving for Pacitto and Accrombo again this morning and groaned as he rolled out of the bed. He was half way to the bathroom before he remembered Jessie and turned on his heel, checking out the king sized bed, expecting to see her there – but it was empty.

 

He frowned in confusion, trying to think around his hangover and remember what had happened last night, but his head was pounding too hard and time was pushing on so he buried his thoughts and his despair about what he was going to do, and headed into the bathroom to get dressed.

 

______________________

 

Nine hours had passed before he hauled himself back into his suite, pocket full of money and shame gnawing at the edges of his soul. Accrombo had gone to great lengths to piss him off today, putting him down in front of anyone who was around, making him wait for his job and then accusing him of being late and docking his pay. Face had swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and walked out, the money he received better than nothing.

 

An hour in the shower wasn’t long enough to wash the bitter taste away or to scour the humiliation from his skin, but it was long enough to make sure that all the local bars were open and Face scraped his wet hair back, threw on some clothes set out to see what he could find along the lake front.   

 

It was one of those nights where things just seemed to get a little out of hand. Face hadn’t been looking for trouble, not consciously at any rate, but then he was being accused of touching someone else’s girl and the bouncers were suddenly in his face and he possibly threw a punch and the next think he knew he was face down on the lake front path, boots in his ribs and insults in his ears.

 

Eventually they left him alone and he was just crawling up onto his knees and thanking his stars that at least they hadn’t robbed him when a cold knife appeared at his throat and a voice hissed, “Hand it over, loser,” right into his ear.

 

Face groaned and checked out his options. He was drunk, he knew that, too drunk to put up a good fight, and he could feel blood running down his neck from the pressure of the knife, it was obviously fucking sharp. He forced his eyes open and saw everything in double, he’d felt at least one punch right in the side of the head as he had been hauled from the bar, so that’s maybe where the double vision was coming from. He didn’t see another way out, so slid his hand into his pocket muttering, “Okay, okay, take it easy...”

 

Then the knife was gone, and so was the money and an elbow to the side of the head sent him sprawling to the ground once more but then he heard a voice, clear and calm and very female, ring out in the night.

 

“Hold it right there you motherfucker, and drop your knife,” Face squinted up into the darkness and could just about make out something white in the night, almost like a halo shining in the dark before his vision started to swim and he had to duck his head, wait for the world to stop spinning.

 

There was indistinct muttering before Face heard that voice again, “You want to try that out then do you? You want to risk my aim? ‘Cause I promise you, I can put a bullet right between your eyes quicker than you can blink...” and he was sure he recognised it.

 

There was the sound of the knife hitting the ground and Face had enough left about him to grope about in the darkness and scoop it up.

 

“And the money, dick-wad...” more indistinct muttering, “Now, fuck off before I change my mind...” and the sound of feet running away down the path met Face’s ears.

 

He cracked his eyes open again and was relieved to find that the double vision had morphed into one, albeit still swimming image, just as a face ducked right down to his eye line.

 

“Oh, God, Rob, look at the state of you, what the hell have you been doing?”

 

Face squinted and forced his eyes to settle, “Jessie? That you? Since when is ‘dick-wad’ even a word?”

 

Muted giggling reached his ears as he felt firm hands on his arms hauling him up, “C’mon, let’s get you back to your room before you find some more trouble.”  

 

_______________________

 

Face had certainly had better nights. Jessie managed to drag him back to his room, using the key from his pocket to unlock his door and held his head over the toilet while he threw up then hauled him over to his bed and cleaned him up while he drifted off into a drunken slumber.

 

He was never a deep sleeper, and the sound of someone’s muted cough had him jerking awake and scrambling to his feet at the side of the bed, eyes wide for danger just as the bedside clock ticked on to three ten a.m.

 

Jessie froze in the chair at the side of the bed; her face illuminated by the bedside lamp and stared in silence as Face’s brain caught up with the situation.

 

“Fuck...” he muttered as he sank back on the bed, “Didn’t know you were here, you scared the shit out of me...”

 

“Sorry,” Jessie got to her feet and dragged a denim jacket over her bare arms, “I was worried you’d choke on your own vomit,” and there was a bite to her voice that took Face by surprise.

 

He looked up, “Hey,” and she caught his eyes, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave. You just caught me unaware, that’s all.”

 

Jessie paused and seemed to consider her options for a moment before sinking back into the chair. “You feeling alright?” Face noted the bite had gone again. 

 

“No,” he muttered getting back to his feet and heading for the bathroom, “I feel like I’ve had too much to drink, been beaten up, stabbed, robbed and then thrown half my guts up. Not the best feeling.”

 

By the time he came out again, washed and toileted and feeling slightly more human, Jessie was curled up like a cat in the arm chair by the window, a mug of coffee in her hand, another one steaming away invitingly on his bedside table. Face sat on the bed, back against the head rest and took the coffee taking a long drag with his eyes closed; he let out a sigh and rested his head against the wall, “Thanks,”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“I mean for everything, not just the coffee.”

 

He opened his eyes again and Jessie met his gaze and smiled at him, “I know. You’re still welcome.”

 

They slipped into a companiable silence for a few minutes while Face let the caffeine do its work before he asked, “So, you been following me or something then?”

 

Jessie raised her eye brow at the forthrightness of the question before answering just as openly, “Yeah.”

 

Face cocked his head and frowned, “Any particular reason why?”

 

There was a pause as Jessie took a long mouthful of coffee and looked Face right in the eyes. It made him feel uncomfortable, honesty wasn’t a concept he dabbled in that much, but somehow with Jessie, it seemed the only thing on offer.

 

“I waited for you in the Whiskey Sky for a few hours, and when you didn’t show I went looking for you. The girl on the desk said she’d seen you head down towards the lakeshore so I wandered down there. Saw those bouncers throw you out. What had you done?”

 

Face shook his head, feeling that Jessie was trying to duck the issue, “Something and nothing. So you just happened to be in the right place at the right time then?” Jessie nodded, “With a piece?” Face held the gun up between his fingers and Jessie gasped, patting her pockets down and scowling at him.

 

“Yes,” she snapped, “I carry one all the time. Unless someone lifts it from me.”

 

Face checked the safety was on and then chucked it down on the end of the bed, eyeing Jessie up carefully.

 

“So, why are you following me?”

 

“Well, that depends,” Jessie held his stare, “Who are you hiding from?”

 

Face almost choked on his coffee.

 

“I thought so,” Jessie rubbed her chin thoughtfully; “She must have been someone pretty special to have you hiding out here all alone and drinking yourself into oblivion every night.”

 

Irritation flared in Face. He was a very private person and made it his life’s work to be deliberately difficult to read. It was something he prided himself on, how he could present any image, any impression of himself and anyone nearby would be fooled, taken in hook, line and sinker. But Jessie here, well, there she was just sitting in that chair in his suite like she owned the damn place and presuming to speculate about him. Of course, the fact that she was so close to the mark only made it worse. 

 

“Really?” Now he was the one with the bite to his voice, “Well, there is no ‘she’, so shows what you know.”

 

Jessie just nodded, “He then. Whatever. Still must have been a big thing to warrant all that money spending on Jack. So, what happened?”

 

Face got to his feet and stormed across the room, standing with his back to Jessie and starring out at the inky blackness that was Lake Michigan furious with her for her almost supernatural insights, but even more furious with himself for the desperate desire he suddenly felt building up within him to just tell her everything.

By the time the room service breakfast had been polished off, Face had talked more about himself than ever before. Jessie sat at the end of the bed licking syrup off her fingers and frowning as she contemplated Face’s story.

 

“So,” she fished a napkin off the tray and carefully wiped her fingers dry, “Let me get this straight then,” she tossed the napkin down. “This guy that you weren’t really involved with, not really, spent almost eighteen months trying to track you down when you walked out on him after you thought you’d done something wrong when you hadn’t, right?” Face nodded, “And when he does find you, he tells you that he loves you and he wants you to come back with him. Right again?” Face felt his cheeks heat as he gave another nod; Jessie’s frown deepened, “But you told him no, that you didn’t want to be with him?”

 

“Yes!” Face was finding this very uncomfortable and stalked back over to the window, finding watching the city come to life much easier than having Jessie watch him.

 

“So he left, and then you left and now he doesn’t know where you are, and you haven’t talked to him since?”

 

“That’s right,” Face ground out.

 

There was a few minutes of silence as Jessie pondered this over before coming up with her next question, “And why was that again?”

 

Face sighed, his hands clenching into tight fists, “I told you, ‘cause it’s for the best. I’m difficult to live with, it wouldn’t be fair on either of us, it would only end badly,” Face’s jaw ached with the effort of talking through gritted teeth.

 

“Oh, I get it!” Face heard Jessie shuffle round on the bed and almost felt her gaze land right between his shoulder blades, “So this is some kind of act of self preservation then? You think it’s all going to go pear shaped so you’ve put a stop to it from the start? It can’t go wrong if it doesn’t get the chance to get going? Let you live a happy life without the threat of heart break hanging over you? Is that it?”

 

“Exactly,” Yes, that was it, precisely, so why did Face have this mounting sense of nausea building within him?

 

“Okay,” he felt more than heard Jessie walk towards him, “Well, if that’s the case, Rob, then why are you so miserable?”

 

And the truth hit him like an icy punch in the gut.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 3

 

At 7pm Face took the elevator up to the Whiskey Sky on the lookout for Jessie; it was after all, the very least he could do after just about throwing her out of his hotel room before her breakfast had even had the chance to go down.

 

It was one of those painful epiphanies that come rarely in life. It had all seemed so logical before, so plain and straightforward and right. Just because it wasn’t easy it hadn’t really presented Face with much cause for concern, after all, not much in his life ever had been easy. He was used to having to fight, having shit thrown at him from every direction, having to look out for himself, make his own hard decisions. Maybe that’s why he’d turned Hannibal down? Maybe having something actually go right and be good and to have someone want to stand up with him and beside him and behind him had just been a step too far, a commitment too secure?

 

Yes, he loved Hannibal, of course he did, he had since the day they’d met. But now? Well, he’d fucked it up big style. FUBARs were a speciality of his, but this one? Even for him it was monumental. Even if he went back to Hannibal now, even if he crawled back on his hands and knees and begged him to take him back, Hannibal wouldn’t be interested. Face had proved himself to be insincere and a coward, two qualities he knew the boss just couldn’t stomach. No, that chance had gone, so he could either sit around and mope over his stupidity, or he could wise up and try to get his life back together before he destroyed his liver.

 

He spotted Jessie straight away. She was sitting right in the far corner of the bar, feet tucked up onto the chair in front of her, untouched glass of OJ in her hand, an anxious cloud across her eyes as her teeth constantly worried at her bottom lip. 

 

She saw Face as he wove around the tables to join her, an easy smile on his face, seemingly oblivious to the looks his battered and bruised features were attracting. He leaned over the empty chair opposite, dropping a kiss on the top of her head and sliding a bunch of tightly wrapped anemones across the table to her before slipping into the chair, contrite expression firmly in place.

 

“I’m sorry I threw you out this morning.”

 

Jessie lifted the flowers to her nose and inhaled before setting them back on the table and offering a thin smile, “It’s okay. You had things to think about. I get that.”

 

Her eyes quickly flicked to the door and then back to the dark cityscape lit by its points of light outside the window and Face frowned, “Is everything alright?”

 

“Yes!” Jessie snapped then took a deep breath as Face raised an eyebrow at her, “I’m just tired that’s all. Not much sleep last night,” she added, sending a meaningful glance his way. He laughed and took a mouthful of the JD the barkeeper had dropped on the end of the table. “So...” Jessie leaned in towards him, “You made any decisions yet then?”

 

Face frowned again, “Decisions?”

 

“About your guy. You going back to him?”

 

For a moment Face was silent as his stomach did that annoying twisting thing, but then he laughed a dry bitter laugh that made Jessie wince. “Of course not,” he downed the rest of the JD, “What would be the point in that? You want another?” he gestured to her drink as he rose in his chair.

 

Jessie’s eyes flicked to the door once more, she was very clearly on edge, “No, I’d rather not. Listen,” she held his eyes and he could see some kind of entreaty there, “Would you mind if we took this back to your room? I’m not really in the mood to be here tonight...”

 

Face paused just for a beat and then smiled at her, “Of course, let’s go and empty the mini bar, that sounds like fun!”

 

Jessie smiled in response, but it was strained to say the least.

 

__________________________

 

Face’s watch beeped at midnight, just as Jessie hit the punch line of the story she’d been recounting and they both fell about laughing, empty miniature bottles rolling from the table as it was knocked.

 

“You’re kidding?” Face actually had tears of mirth in his eyes, “And her name really was Muriel?”

 

Jessie couldn’t answer for laughing, her fingers jammed in her mouth to try and stifle her outburst, so settled for nodding instead which just set Face off again.

 

They came down to earth slowly, and Face wiped his eyes, “Oh that is priceless, wait ‘til I tell Murdock-” and suddenly, the humour had gone.

 

Jessie took a sip from one of the few miniatures that still stood upright on the table, “Murdock? Who’s that then? That your guy?”

 

Face’s eyes fell on a fallen bottle and he span it slowly between his fingers, “Nah, he’s my buddy, my best friend,” and he hated the way his throat tightened.

 

“You never did tell me what your guy was called...”

 

Silence stretched for whole minutes as the bottle slowly rotated under Face’s fingers before he replied, “Hannibal...” in an almost whisper.

 

Jessie physically jumped. “Hannibal?!” and her response made Face jump in return.

 

He looked up quizzically at her, “Yeah. Why?”

 

It took her just a couple of seconds to get it back together, force her body to relax and offer a smile to Face, “Nothing. Just an unusual name that’s all,” she shrugged.

 

“Unusual guy,” Face muttered and rose from the table in one fluid movement, slipping through the sliding doors and out into the chill night air of the balcony.

 

Jessie followed him out and slid her arms around his waist from behind, “You miss him...”

 

“Of course.”

 

“You should go back.”

 

“I can’t...”

 

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

 

Face sighed and turned round in her arms, slipping his own around her shoulders and keeping her close, “I can’t,” he whispered, “Too much has changed, I’ve made too many mistakes, it just wouldn’t work.”

 

“How do you know before you even try?”

 

Face laughed, “I know him.”

 

“You think a man who searched for you for sixteen months will turn you away if you come back to him three months later? That’s crazy...”

 

Face frowned and leaned in, dropping a soft kiss onto Jessie’s lips. She immediately leaned back out of his reach, “What are you doing?”

 

He stayed in her personal space, his eyes wide and sincere and holding hers so intimately. “I’m lonely,” he whispered, “I’m so damn lonely it almost cripples me and I just don’t know what to do about it.”

 

Jessie wasn’t moving away but there was an angry fire in her eyes, “And so you figure that I’ll do as a bed warmer for the night then?”

 

Face dipped his head, resting his chilled skin against her flushed forehead, “No, not at all. I just see that same loneliness in your eyes, that same hunger for warmth and touch and intimacy. For love.”

 

Jessie frowned, “You don’t love me.”

 

“I’m not in love with you, no, but, I don’t know, it’s weird, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life...” He dropped another kiss to her lips and this time she didn’t pull away, “I can see you are running from your own demons, you’ve got your own fears and worries. I could make you feel better; forget about all that, just for a few hours. What do you say?”

 

They were sharing the same air now, and Jessie could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. God, it was tempting. As much as this had never been on her agenda, she had wanted Face from the first moment she’d seen him. It was crazy, but maybe he was right. He’d been through so much, still was, and so was she, so didn’t they both deserve just this little bit of comfort? She felt her resolve weakening. “No strings?” she whispered into his mouth.

 

“No strings,” he replied and they surged together, two desperate, lonely bodies meeting in the cold of the night.

 

Interlude

The desert sky is a pin cushion of tiny points of light with the moon sitting proudly in the centre like a doting parent, but Face, hopelessly scanning the horizon for any sign of a rescue, has no time for such beauty tonight. He turns and scrambles back through the ruined remains of people’s lives, shattered bricks and glass tearing at his shins and ankles, his hands as he falls, and he swears constantly under his breath.

 

What went wrong tonight? This was supposed to have been a cheerleader mission, sweet and easy and they should have been back at base in time for a beer. But no, no fucking luck.

 

He pulls himself into the crumbling goat shed, the only building in the whole village still standing relatively intact, and drops down at Hannibal’s side, fingers automatically sliding to the pulse point on his boss’s neck.

 

He sags in relief as he feels the steady thump against his skin and he reaches down to pull the space blanket back up over his CO’s shoulders.

 

“Face?” Hannibal’s voice is strong and that’s the best news Face has had in the last hour.

 

“Yeah, boss, I’m here.”

 

Hannibal turns to the sound of his voice and manages to pick him out in the light of the full moon, “We in the shit here, kid?”

 

Face manages a tired laugh, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve set off a beacon; the good guys will be here in no time at all.”

 

“How bad am I?”

 

Face’s stomach twists, but he knows better than to lie to his boss, “You were a little too close to one of those bastard shells. Took a bit of shrapnel, not too bad. You’ll make it.”

 

Hannibal nods, content that Face wouldn’t lie to him. “And you?” he reaches up and touches Face’s temple, his fingers coming away with blood on them, “You’re bleeding.”

 

“Ditto. But luckily for me you took most of the shit headed my way.”

 

Hannibal laughs, but breaks it off as it flares pain right through his chest.

 

“Take it easy boss, just relax there.”

 

Face watches as Hannibal closes his eyes against the pain and obviously tries to steady his breathing. Within ten minutes he’s breathing slowly and deeply and Face smoothes the blanket down again and leans up against the wall in the corner, one hand on Hannibal’s shin, one hand on his gun, just waiting.

 

He knows they will come, but he knows that the insurgents just might come back first; he needs to stay awake and stay alert or they will both end up dead. There’s a hitch though, that shell fragment that struck his head almost knocked him to Timbuktu; he knows he’s concussed, he feels as sick as a dog and now the damn room won’t stop spinning. He closes his eyes, just to try and make it stop, and slips under before he can stop himself.

 

He wakes at the sound of boots scuffling in the sand and for one glorious moment thinks their saviours have arrived, but then his eyes actually focus and he sees a figure in Arab robes kneeling over his boss, the blade of a knife shining in the moonlight and he just reacts.

 

His gun is still in his hand, the insurgent obviously hadn’t noticed him propped up in the shadows as he is, but he’s worried about hitting Hannibal so swings it round, using it as a club, and pounding it into his target again and again and again. Terror fuels his attack, what if this bastard has already slit Hannibal’s throat? What if he’s already slid that damn knife between his boss’s ribs? Why did Face have to go and fall asleep as well? How can he go on if Hannibal is dead?

 

“Face!” a voice knocks at the edge of his consciousness and he sees Hannibal’s eyes wide open, staring at him in shock, “That’s enough! Stop!” But he can’t, the fear is still there, driving him forward and he raises his gun butt again and again. “Stand down, soldier!”

 

But he’s too damn scared, what if this guy gets up again?

 

“You’re scaring me!” Hannibal’s voice suddenly sounded different, “Rob! Stop it!”

                             

And Face stopped, leaning forward, head in his hands and breathing heavily.

 

A tentative hand touched his back and Jessie’s voice, frightened in the dark reached out to soothe him, “It’s okay, it was a dream. You’re okay, Hannibal’s okay, it’s all okay.”

 

He reached back and took her fingers in his own, trying to stop the tremors that wracked his body, “Nightmare...” even his voice shook.

 

“I know,” Jessie folded her body along his back and the warmth was comforting, “But it’s over now.”

 

Face screwed his eyes shut and wished it really was, but that was one of his regular nightmares, an old favourite from the early days in Iraq and he knew it would be back to haunt him again. He’d been so terrified for Hannibal that he had killed that guy with his bare hands, wasn’t even an insurgent, just some opportunist looter who picked the wrong building to sneak into...

 

The look on Hannibal’s face had been horrendous, it was like he didn’t even know Face, like he didn’t recognise the person with that much violence inside of him, like he was frightened of him...

 

Oh, shit...

 

“Jessie,” he turned in the sheets, feeling her soft curves press against him, “I’m sorry! Are you alright? Did I...” he couldn’t say the words.

 

“I’m fine!” Hands stroked his cheeks and lips gently brushed his own, “You scared the shit out of me,” she even chuckled a little at that and Face felt the ice round his heart loosen just a tiny bit, “But you didn’t hurt me. Come here,” and she sat back against the headboard, pulling him down onto her chest and gently stroking his hair, “Just relax. I’ve got you now, go back to sleep.”

 

And slowly he did. Deserts and knives locked away again - until another night.  

 

_______________

Face stirred as his watch alarm beeped mercilessly on his wrist. He tired to lift his other hand to switch it off but found something warm and heavy weighing it down and opened his eyes to find himself looking into Jessie’s sleeping face. She looked fine, no marks as souvenirs of his terror in the night. He shuddered at the memory and slid his arm out from underneath her, silencing his watch and slipping out of bed to shower; he had another job with Accrombo.

 

He was shaved, showered and dressed in eight minutes and crept back into the bedroom to find his shoes and leave Jessie a note, but her eyes flicked open as he slipped in through the half open door.

 

“Hey,” her voice was thick with sleep, “You don’t have to creep out of your own hotel room the next morning you know?”

 

Face chuckled and dropped a kiss onto her head, “Go back to sleep. I have a job to do.”

 

But Jessie was instantly awake, her eyes wide and fearful, “With Accrombo? Oh, I was going to talk to you about this! That guy is bad news; you shouldn’t have anything to do with him!”

 

Face froze in the act of buttoning up his shirt and stared at Jessie suspiciously, “How the hell do you know about Accrombo?”

 

Jessie looked frightened, and Face was suddenly reminded of her nervousness when they had met in the bar last night. She pulled the sheets tightly around herself and offered a shaky smile, “Crazy stalker girl remember? I’ve been following you?”

 

Yeah, he remembered that conversation, but why didn’t they ever get round to finishing it off? How come he never made her tell him why she’d been following him? Something here made no sense at all...

 

“Don’t go...” Jessie’s plea brought his gaze back to her face, “Do you have any idea what is in those vans you drive?”

 

Face bristled at the perceived insult, “What the hell do I care as long as I get paid?”

 

Jessie’s eyes widened, “You know?” He folded his arms. “You know and you still do it? What is wrong with you?”

 

Irritation burned deep in Face’s chest and he scowled at Jessie, “Sometimes there just isn’t much choice.”

 

Sadly, Jessie shook her head, “There is always a choice and you are better than this. What would Hannibal say if he knew what you were doing?”

 

That comment was like a red rag to a bull and Face exploded. In three strides he was at the side of the bed, his fists clenched, leaning over Jessie threateningly. In response she knelt up and stared at him, her own eyes flashing a retort. “What would you know? You don’t know Hannibal! You don’t know me! I only met you three days ago!”

 

“You’d be surprised what I know about the both of you! And it doesn’t take a genius to work out he would be horrified if he knew what you were up to, any sane person would! And more to the point you know this, and that’s why you are so pissed! Why you think you can get away with intimidating me!”

 

Face took a step back but the fury was still evident in his expression, “You know nothing,” he reiterated then glanced at his watch, “Shit! I have to go,” he couldn’t be late and give Accrombo an excuse to be pissed with him. He snatched his coat and backed towards the door. “You!” he stabbed a finger in Jessie’s direction, “Stay here, I’ll be back around one, and then I want some answers!”

 

But Jessie’s eyes suddenly lost their anger as she flicked them at the bedside clock, “I can’t. I’ve got – things on,” and Face could see real fear in her expression. “I’ll meet you tonight instead? In the bar?”

 

He nodded tersely and headed out.

 

“Please tell him, Face,” Jessie’s voice was tinged with panic, “Please tell him you are through with the driving. It’s just not worth selling your soul to the devil...”

 

Face slammed the door much harder than he needed to and ran down the corridor headed for the fire escape rather than wait for the elevator; he was going to have to really motor if he stood any chance of getting there on time today.

 

It was only when he’d finally reached the entrance to the garage and he was being buzzed in by Accrombo himself, that he realised Jessie had called him Face.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 4

Face sighed and tuned the van’s radio to another station. The bland pop he’d been listening to for the past half hour had finally turned his brain to mush and he was hoping to find something with a little more bite and some more useful traffic reports. He hadn’t moved a metre in the last thirty minutes and the traffic reports he’d been listening to provided nothing more than the length of the jam he was sitting in; no reason why, and more importantly, no idea as to when he would finally get moving.

 

He switched the engine off and kicked his seat back a little, straightening his legs out and knitting his fingers behind his head to stretch his arms. He was as tense as all hell, and he knew it, there was so much going on in his head and he just didn’t know where to start to try and sort it all out.

 

Jessie for starters; the more he thought about it, the more suspect her appearance in his life seemed. She was the one who had come to him in the Whiskey Sky, and then turned up again the night he was thrown out of that bar on the lake front. And why had she been so interested in him? God, he’d well and truly spilled his guts the other night in the hotel. What was all that about? Face never told anyone anything, and suddenly there he was, confessing all to an almost total stranger. What had he been thinking? If she’d been DCIS then he would be wrapped up nice and snug in the middle of some high security prison by now, never to see the light of day again. Where was all the caution that Hannibal had spent years pounding into him? And thinking of Hannibal, she’d certainly freaked when he’d said his name, there was no doubt there. So what was all that about? And she’d said something about knowing them better than he could guess, and of course she had called him Face, so that was obviously true...

 

It felt uncomfortably like she had been playing him the whole time, but why? To get into his bed? He didn’t think so, she’d certainly been a willing participant in the end, but she’d never flirted with him before that. To sell him out? Betray him to the MPs or one of the many enemies the team had amassed over the years? No. If that was the plan then she would have done it before now. So what was going on?

 

Face hated feeling he was out of the loop, and hated knowing that he’d brought this all on himself by letting his guard down too fast and too far, and that was annoying in itself, because he never did that. He bashed his fist against the window and realised he was even more tense now than ten minutes ago. This whole situation was crazy; the only thing for it was to sit Jessie down tonight and not let her move until she answered his questions. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and wondered just what question he should start with.

 

Suddenly the traffic announcements cut into his radio station and he turned the dial up to listen. Great. There was a multi-car pileup and the whole of the Dan Ryan Expressway was snarled up. He wasn’t going anywhere soon. Just excellent, Accrombo would love every second of this.

 

And that brought his thoughts back to what the hell he was doing here.

 

He cast his glance back through the mirror to the neat boxes stacked in rows behind him. Hair straighteners they said, or hairdryers. Some said styling tongs, and some of the boxes even contained what they were supposed to. But of course some didn’t, and Face knew damn well what was in those ones.    

 

A sick churning started up in his stomach and he could almost hear Jessie’s voice in his head, ’He would be horrified if he knew what you were up to...’

 

Of course he would, and Face had always known that. And not just Hannibal either, but BA and Murdock too. Murdock hated<i/> drugs of any kind, they’d messed with his mind for so long now, he had every right, and BA had spent too many years living in neighbourhoods destroyed by drugs and the gangs they create to have much patience with people who contribute to their presence on the streets. People like him, he realised with shame.

                                               

And what did any of that matter anyway? Why should it come down to what his team thought about drugs? Hell, he certainly had no time for them at all! Living on the streets as he had, he’d seen daily the lives they could wreck, the promise and potential they could snuff out in a matter of hours. He’d sworn to himself when he was barely in double figures that he would never get sucked into that kind of life, he would never fall for the empty promises in a wrap of coke. It’s a shame he’d never included running in that vow...

 

So what was he doing here? ’Sometimes there just isn’t much choice...’ A pathetic excuse and one he knew he was just trying to fool himself with. He knew all about choices, he’d had to make some pretty horrific ones over the years, but he knew there was always an option; you just had to have the balls to take it.

 

So, that’s all he needed then, some balls; well, no one had ever accused him of lacking in that department. With barely a second’s pause, Face clicked off the radio and opened the driver’s door of the van, sliding out onto the side of the expressway. He walked round to the crash barriers at the side of the road and leaned over, perfect, straight down into the Chicago River.

 

He slid back into the driver’s seat, and in a manoeuvre BA would have been proud of, managed to edge the van around until it was almost perpendicular to the surrounding cars. Then, ignoring the bemused stares of his fellow drivers, he backed up as far as he could towards the car in the inside lane and made sure the shifter was in park. Flashing a grin at the leggy brunette in the roadster next to him he fished a lump of concrete from the roadside and weighed it in his hand. Satisfied, he stood in the doorway of the van, leaned in and pushed the shifter into drive, dropped the concrete block onto the gas pedal and stood back as the van surged forward, smashing through the barriers and pounding, engine screaming, into the black waters of the river.  

 

He allowed himself just the slightest grin as he peered over the side at the mess he had created, then, as people surged from their cars, shock and incredulity written all over their faces, he vaulted over the central barrier, wove through a couple of lines of cars, swung himself up onto the concrete barricade at the edge of the interchange and dropped down onto the roof of a bus shelter on the sidewalk below. Grinning broadly at the old lady waiting there, he slipped through four lanes of traffic and then disappeared into the subway just as the first police bike was arriving on the scene.

 

Face’s good mood had evaporated by the time he arrived back at the W; he still had Jessie to deal with and he had to make plans to move on as well, Joey Pacitto would not be too thrilled to find one of his shipments at the bottom of the Chicago River...

 

So he showered, packed up, and at 7pm precisely took the elevator up to the Whiskey Sky. Once settled at their usual table, he ordered a diet coke, angled himself towards the doorway, anger simmering gently just under his skin, and waited.

 

By 2.30am his annoyance had long since disappeared, replaced instead by gut wrenching dread, and he knew that if he ever looked at another bottle of diet coke again in his entire life it would be too soon. He finally took the hint from the long suffering barkeep who had wiped his table over about eight times in the last twenty minutes and reluctantly left the bar.

 

Face had a fairly good radar for situations like this, Hannibal had long since learnt to go with his gut instincts that something was wrong, and he knew that this was much more than Jessie standing him up. All the things that had been niggling him about her came back to plague him, along with memories of how spooked she’d looked last night, how she hadn’t wanted to stay in the bar, how she’d looked positively terrified when she realised Face was going back to Accrombo that morning, but now he realised that they all fitted together.

 

He opened the door to his suite and slipped inside; making sure the door was locked and chained behind him. Then he wandered over to the window and stared out into the darkness, wondering what his next move should be. He suddenly felt very alone again, hadn’t realised how much he’d got used to Jessie being around.

 

A slight scuffling noise in the corridor made him freeze, and he found himself wishing for a nice solid firearm in his hand, an M9 would do just fine, but instead he picked up the solid glass ash tray from the table and crept to the door, sneaking a look through the peep hole.

 

He swore softly under his breath, dropped the ash tray on the carpet and quickly unlocked and unchained the door. Jessie was pale and obviously shaky, looking over her shoulder almost constantly as Face reached out and grabbed her by the coat dragging her into the suite and in to his arms. He held her close to his chest as he slammed the door behind her and slid the chain back into place, “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jessie clung to him with her face buried in his shirt, “I’ve had some... trouble...”

 

Face steered her to the table and sat her down before reaching into the minibar and pulling out a random bottle, “Here.”

 

Jessie took it off him with shaking fingers and struggled to open it so he took it back and unscrewed the cap, pushing it back into her hand and waiting while she lifted it to her lips and downed the whole bottle in one.

 

When she’d finished she let the bottle fall to the floor and drew her feet up onto the chair in front of her wrapping her arms around her legs as if she was holding herself together and meeting Face’s eyes over her knees, “I am sorry...”

 

Face pulled a chair up and sat right on the edge, one hand on her shin, the other on her ankle, “I think it’s time that you talked to me.”

 

Jessie nodded and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand before reaching out and wrapping her hands over his, “I’ve not been exactly honest with you,” she whispered.

 

He raised his eyebrows and smiled thinly at her, “So I figured. You gonna put that right then?”

 

Jessie sighed, “Okay, well, my name isn’t Jessie Connors for a start, she was my best friend in college, much cooler than I ever was!” but Face didn’t return her weak laugh.

 

“So, what should I call you then?” his tone was decidedly cool.

 

“Jessie is fine, but I’m Jessica Gaarder.”

 

“Swedish?”

 

Jessie smiled, “Close. Norwegian. My father is anyway, my mother is American and we moved over here when I was two. Eight years ago my family moved back to Norway and asked me to go with them, but,” Jessie shook her head ironically, “well, suffice it to say I knew better, wanted to do things my way, so I stayed behind.”

 

Face reached round to squeeze her fingers, he could certainly relate to decisions like that.

 

Jessie squeezed back, “So anyway, I struggled to make a mark in anything much, ended up as a croupier, obviously met a guy...” another sad smile, “and I thought that was me sorted. He was rich and suave and handsome and kind and for a few months everything was great.” Jessie’s eyes drifted over to the window and she seemed to be looking out into the past.

 

“But?” Face prompted.

 

Turning back Jessie met his eyes, “But it turns out he was a complete nutcase, and I’m not talking the good kind of crazy,” she raised her eyes significantly, “I’m talking the terrifying, completely unpredictable kind of crazy. The kind where people who annoy you turn up chained to a pile of bricks at the bottom of Lake Michigan.” Jessie shuddered and Face squeezed her fingers again.

 

“So I decided I’d had enough, wanted out, but I’m not stupid,” she held Face’s eyes with her own and they were suddenly deadly serious, “I knew that if I left I wouldn’t last a week. And if I went back to my family like I wanted to, we would all be dead by the end of the month. They’d probably never even find our bodies.” Face was expressionless. “So I decided I needed some help, I went to the police, but I wasn’t interested in testifying against my boyfriend so they weren’t interested in helping me. Instead I went on the internet and found out about-”

 

“The A-Team...” Face interjected quietly. Of course.

 

Jessie smiled at him. “Yeah. You seemed the answer to my prayers; I had the money to pay you, just needed to find you.” She laughed ironically. “Seems, unfortunately, I picked the time that you and Hannibal had your... misunderstanding and you left. No wonder I couldn’t find you.”

 

“I’m sorry. I-”

 

Jessie leaned over and put her finger on his lips, “Shhh. I know you didn’t. I didn’t want to tell you all this, didn’t want to add to your pressures.”

 

He lifted her hand away and kissed her finger tips before sliding his hand into hers.

 

“But anyway, I did my research, found out as much as I could about you all, kept looking, hoping for some success. And then...” Jessie laughed now, a genuine happy laugh, “I saw you! I was just walking past the hotel outside, and you went straight past me! Came in here and checked in! I couldn’t believe it.”

 

Face smiled back at her.

 

“So I hung around all day until you went into Whiskey Sky and I followed you in there, determined I was going to approach you, check out hiring the whole team to get me out of this mess, but...” her face fell once more, “I sat and watched you all that night, and I could just feel how sad you were, it was like I was tuned right into you and suddenly my problem just wasn’t the most important thing in the world – making you happier was.”

 

Face blinked rapidly as his eyes suddenly started stinging and leaned forward to drop a feather light kiss onto Jessie’s lips. She slipped her hand up onto his cheek, “I determined that I wouldn’t bother you with any of my troubles until we’d sorted out yours, but...” her eyes and her hand dropped from his face.

 

“But what?”

 

“He’s been getting more and more suspicious all week, all the time I’ve been spending with you. He’s had me followed all day; I had real trouble getting away.”

 

“You sure you weren’t followed here?” She shook her head and Face nodded, “Jessie, you should have told me!” he admonished, “I’d have helped you, you know I would. I still will, both of us are getting out of here, right now. In fact,” he smiled a crooked smile at her, “I think I may have overstayed my welcome in Chicago.”

 

“So I’ve heard!” Face frowned but before he had chance to ask what she meant, Jessie had a question for him, “So, where are we going then? Back to Hannibal?”

 

Face felt his heart lurch at her words and his forehead creased in a frown. “No. Nothing’s changed there. That’s just not going to happen.”   

 

“But, Face!” she leaned into him, “I could be just the excuse you need! You take me back to Hannibal as a client, and while you are doing whatever it is that you guys do, you can have some time to sort your differences! It’s perfect! Don’t you think?”

 

A stony silence met her words.

 

“Come on! Don’t you see what an opportunity this is?” Face looked away and Jessie missed the warning in his eyes, “You could be with him in two days, just two days and all this could be sorted and think how that would feel to see him again, to talk to him again, and-”

 

“No!” Face jumped to his feet turning back to Jessie and she was horrified to see tears standing in his eyes, “I can’t! I just can’t!” He closed his eyes and the tears broke free, running down his cheeks and reflecting the light from the skyline outside.

 

“Oh, honey...” Jessie was at his side in a moment, reaching up to wipe the tears away before they reached his jaw line.

 

Face looked at her, agony burning in his eyes, “I can never go back to him. I’m not saying won’t, I’m saying can’t!” He took a deep breath, eyes shining with fresh tears, “I’m absolutely downright terrified of what he will say, I’d rather live like this than have him reject me,” he shook his head hopelessly, “You think this is bad? If he sent me away I would die,” and the bleakness in his eyes tore at Jessie’s heart.

 

 “He wouldn’t turn you down. Who could do that to you?”

 

Those blue eyes, so utterly devoid of any warmth, held her stare, “You want the whole list?”

 

And Jessie’s heart broke for him, suddenly realising just how deep his vein of insecurity ran. She reached up and pulled him in, hands smoothing over the muscles in his back, rigid with tension.

 

His arms wound around her, stroking her back, sliding around to her stomach, edging higher...

 

Jessie closed her eyes and hung on to his neck as the fire in her belly reawakened. He didn’t need this, she wasn’t what he needed, but how could she turn him away like this?

 

“Jessie?” he whispered into her hair.

 

“It’s okay,” she lifted her head and his lips brushed hers as she replied, “It’s all okay, no strings remember...”

 

_______________

Afterwards, Face held her in his arms as he surfed lazily through the post orgasm endorphins. They needed to get going, they really couldn’t get out of Chicago too fast for his liking, so where to go next...? Face had well and truly had enough of the cold, so what about Florida? Maybe, or, Arizona, yeah, that was better, nice dry heat!

 

He wondered if Jessie was asleep, she was certainly quiet. He’d give her another five minutes then they really should get going.

 

“How long have you known him?”

 

Jessie’s voice, clear and wide awake startled him and he glanced down at the top of her head. “Hannibal? I dunno exactly. A long time I suppose.”

 

Jessie stayed where she was, curled up on his chest, “According to my internet sessions you’ve served with him since you were eighteen. Plenty of time to get to know a guy.”

 

Face wondered where this was going. “Yeah, I’d say I know him inside out.”

 

“Is he a good commander?”

 

“The best.”

 

“And you trust him?”

 

“Implicitly.”

 

“You trust his decisions?”

 

“Always.”

 

“So...” Jessie wriggled a little at his side, “if you’ve had all that time to get to know him, then he’s had all that time to get to know you too, right?” Face frowned, “And if he has made the decision that he loves you, based on all those years of knowing you, how come you don’t trust him enough to let him prove it?”

 

Silence fell as Jessie’s words fluttered over Face’s skin. She lay still once more, her head on his chest, one hand absently stroking his ribs as the minutes ticked by and then, as Face shifted underneath her she sat up, resting one hand on the bed as she turned to look at him.

 

Face brushed a strand of hair back off her face and cracked a half smile, “Okay. You win. We go to Hannibal,” and the air was instantly knocked out of his lungs as Jessie threw herself at him.

 

“Oh, yes! Oh, Face that’s brilliant, I can’t believe you’ve seen sense at last!” she pulled back to beam at him and he found her optimism contagious.

 

Maybe she was right, and maybe this wouldn’t be another unmitigated disaster. Maybe.

 

He smiled cautiously back at her, “So, why so happy? What do you get out of this?”

 

Her response was immediate, “Oh, I get to see you happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you!”

 

He frowned, “We’ve not even known each other a week...”

 

“I know,” Jessie’s expression morphed into one of confusion, “it’s crazy isn’t it? But your happiness is so important to me. It’s like you said, I feel like we’ve known each other forever. Hey!” her eyes brightened again, “Maybe we were like, twins!, in another life or something!”

 

At Face’s unsure expression Jessie blanched and threw a hand over her mouth, “Oh, God, no! I hope not, not after all this!” and she waved her hand expressively around the bed, and then gasped again, “Which all has to stop by the way! I’ll hardly be able to look him in the eye as it is, without us ever doing that again! I don’t care how damn irresistible you are, it stops!” she leaned over him to grab the phone.

 

Face laughed at the look of horror on her face, “Don’t worry about Hannibal; we’ve never really been exclusive, he won’t mind at all. And what are you doing?”

 

Jessie paused in the act of dialling to stare at him, “I’m ordering us some champagne from room service to celebrate you wising up. And he won’t mind? God, Face you really are clueless!”

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 5

 

It really felt like the hundredth day in a row that Face had woken up with a thumping headache. Why did he continue to drink like this? How much longer would his liver hold out? Maybe he should start drinking coke instead...

 

Coke. That stirred something in his head and he frowned. Last night... his head hurt so much that the memories were pretty vague to say the least, but hang on, last night he hadn’t drank at all, it was diet cokes all night. Until Jessie had got that champagne, but even then he’d only had a glass, half a glass really. And then? Well, then it all went blank. He must have fallen asleep.

 

He was laid on his stomach, facing the window and he could see that the sun was up, still early though, maybe about seven, they had to get going. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, they were going back to Hannibal...

 

He pushed himself up on his hands and turned to Jessie, “Come on Sleeping Beauty, we need to head out. I told you-” and he stopped. In half a second he was out of the bed, backing towards the windows, a hand jammed over his mouth to stop the hysteria that was threatening.

 

Jessie was laid on her back, beside his now empty side of the bed, eyes closed and hands resting lightly on her stomach, just underneath the knife that was sticking straight up and out of her heart.

 

He hit the windows with a thud and froze; chest heaving as he tried to force his eyes to take that knife out of the picture, but it just wouldn’t go.

 

She was dead. That much was plainly obvious. The crimson stain of blood on her sheets not even that big, the knife must have stopped her heart almost immediately. At least she didn’t look like she had known much about it.

 

Suddenly Face recoiled in horror as he recognised the handle of the knife; it was the one he had taken off that punk on the lakeshore the other night, the one who had tried to rob him. He’d had it on him ever since, had thrown it in his kit bag last night. So, what did that mean?

 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

 

Memories of his nightmare the other night flashed back at him. He hadn’t... had he? Jesus Christ, what if he had...

 

He had to get out. He wanted to scream and shout and grab Jessie from that bed and just squeeze the life back into her, but he knew there was nothing he could do for her now, he just had to get out, he could feel the absolute panic about to drown him. He turned to the chair where he knew he had left his bag, but there was nothing there. Maybe Jessie had moved it and he cast around frantically, trying to track it down. Nothing. He scrubbed at his eyes. Where the fuck was his stuff? Things just didn’t disappear!

 

His jacket was gone, he ran into the bathroom and saw that the robes had gone, even the towels. Back into the bedroom, trying so hard not to look at Jessie lying there so still and pale, but even her clothes had gone. So had the bed covers, only one blood stained sheet remained.

 

His sixth sense for danger was screaming at him now, get out, get out, get out... and he knew that was a warning he should never ignore.

 

He ran to the door and cracked it open, noticing the chain was off when he knew damn well he had put it on last night. The corridor was empty so he took one last glimpse at Jessie’s still form, and silently slipped out, closing the door behind him.

 

The fire escape was mercifully close as Face was painfully aware of being naked, and being so early it was deserted as he tore down the stairs, three and four at a time. He reached the basement without being seen and tracked round the deserted service corridor looking for the laundry room. It was helpfully signposted, but unhelpfully locked, and just as Face was about to head off to find a fire extinguisher to smash the door down with, he heard it open and ducked out of the way as an elderly porter pushed a trolley full of clean sheets out into the corridor. Face let him go and slid out of his hiding place just in time to catch the door before it clicked locked again.

 

Once he was inside it only took few minutes before he struck gold, an entire three piece suit, including a freshly pressed white shirt and shined up shoes, just waiting for him. He dressed in a rush, the trousers slightly too big, but wearable, then slipped back out into the corridor and up the stairs towards the lobby.

 

One newspaper hastily snatched from outside a bedroom and a briefcase from next to the lift, and his cover was complete. He walked out through the foyer, keeping his head down and his pace discrete just as a Police cruiser pulled up at the front.

 

Headed for the city centre, he just kept walking.

 

______________

Hannibal crossed his legs and rested the opened newspaper across them, pretending to read while he discretely scanned the boardwalk and surrounding area. It was early but promising to be a beautiful day and he was glad he’d thrown a t-shirt and some shorts on, feeling the sun on his bare skin was revitalizing. He took a sip of coffee and glanced up at the roof where he knew Murdock was laid out flat on his stomach, and then at the parking lot just behind a row of souvenir shops where BA waited in a rental car. Venice Beach may not have been his first choice for a meeting with Sosa, but at least, between him and his boys, he knew they had it wrapped up tight.

 

“Hey there Muchacho,” a voice sounded in his earpiece, “I think I see ol’ Diablo woman herself, coming up on your left, black running gear,” Hannibal tried not to wince as a low whistle hissed directly into his ear, “Oh, she is one fit lady! In more ways than one!”

 

“Keep your eyes off the women and on the job, fool!” A low voice growled in reply and Hannibal lifted his coffee cup again to shield his mouth.

 

“Knock it off guys; let’s see what the lady wants.”

 

He had spotted her himself now, running up the boardwalk towards him, obviously going for the jogging story as cover. He wondered if it had occurred to her that most joggers don’t stop for coffee mid route, but he wasn’t too concerned about their cover being blown, he and the boys had been here since 4am, there was nothing suspicious out here at all.

 

He took a deep breath and tried to coral his naturally antagonistic attitude towards her. He’d never appreciated the way she had treated Face, both when they were together and after they’d split. She’d been the only woman who’d ever been able to really get to him, and boy, she’d taken full advantage of that fact. And then there was the text she’d sent him yesterday, We need to talk about that problem child of ours. Schulzies, Venice Beach, tomorrow, 8am. There was a lot to resent about that text; the way she’d referred to Face, the implication that she still had some vested interest in him, the inferred order in her words... but Hannibal swallowed it all down. If she had something she needed to say, then he would listen.  

 

He nodded politely as she dropped into the seat in front of him, not even sweating which made him question just how far she had run, and he pushed an empty coffee cup towards her. She shook her head tersely, looking around in a nervous fashion and Hannibal wondered just how much undercover work she actually did.

 

“You summoned me, Captain?” he was fairly keen to get this over with.

 

Sosa turned her eyes on him and if she picked up on the undercurrent of hostility in his voice then she didn’t let on. She leaned across the table, keeping her voice low. “You told me that you would keep him safe, what the hell has been going on?”

 

Hannibal bristled at her words and leaned in himself, aware that Murdock and BA were listening to every word. “He’s a grown man. I’m not his keeper and you know damn well he’s not with us at the minute.”

 

“Well, maybe he should be!”

 

Hannibal sighed around his annoyance, he had this conversation with BA on a daily basis, he sure as hell didn’t intend having it again today with Sosa. “Face is perfectly capable of looking after himself.”

 

Sosa leaned back and folded her arms. “Really?”

 

Hannibal shook his head, “If you have something to tell me, then please, just get on with it.”

 

For a second it looked as if she was going to get up and stalk off, but then she reached around in her backpack and withdrew an A5 sized envelope. She pulled out some photographs and placed them in a pile in front of Hannibal leaning over to tap on the top one. “Jessica Gaarder, duel US/Norwegian national, sometime girlfriend of Chicago mob king pin, Joseph Pacitto.” Hannibal looked at the slightly grainy CCTV cap of a slight woman with white blonde hair standing waiting for an elevator and nodded as Sosa took the photo away to show him the one underneath, “More CCTV footage shows her in Face’s company numerous times in the last few days,” she flipped through four or five more photographs.

 

“Where is this?” Hannibal asked, recognising a large inner-city hotel when he saw one.

 

“W Lakeshore, Chicago,” Sosa replied stopping at a photograph of Face and Jessie walking along a corridor together. Hannibal found his eyes drawn to where their hands appeared to meet in the middle and his chest constricted.

 

He sat back, “And why should this interest me?”

 

Sosa eyed him carefully, “Because yesterday morning Jessica Gaarder was found dead in a suite at W rented by Face under the alias Rob Taylor,” she handed Hannibal the next photograph showing a naked female body, covered by a bloodstained sheet, murder weapon still in situ and Hannibal felt a cold shiver run down his back.

 

“You think the mob did this?”

 

Sosa brushed her hair out of her eyes, “Face’s fingerprints are all over the knife, his DNA is all over the victim.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes flashed up to her face, “What do you mean, ‘all over the victim’?”

 

For a split second something akin to sympathy flashed across Sosa’s features before it was chased away, “They were obviously lovers. Preliminary reports indicate that sexual intercourse took place between the two of them sometime in the three hours before Gaarder’s death. Initial investigations suggest that it was not forced.”

 

“’Not forced?!” Hannibal’s heart was thumping uncomfortably hard against his ribs, “Just what are you suggesting here, Captain?”

 

Sosa met his glare head on, “I’m not suggesting anything. I am simply informing you of the facts.”

 

Hannibal pushed the photographs back. “So where is he now?”

 

“No idea,” she took the bottom photograph from the pile and pushed it back to him. “This may or may not be an image of him leaving the hotel five minutes after an anonymous tip off was called in with the whereabouts of Gaarder’s body.” Hannibal could tell it was him, even though he was obviously angling his face away from the camera and trying to blend in with the morning workers with his briefcase and newspaper. “No one has seen him since.”

 

Silence fell as Hannibal stared at that last image of Face leaving the hotel, his mind in a complete maelstrom.

 

“Hannibal,” Sosa leant over the table again, the severity of the situation obvious in her eyes, “Once his prints were picked up at the scene he instantly became America’s most wanted. All this info has landed on my desk as I am still heading the hunt for you guys, but it’s out of my hands now. If you have a way to get in touch with him, you’d better reel him in, damn quick.”

 

Hannibal tore his eyes away from the photo, “He didn’t do this.”

 

Sosa sighed, “I didn’t say he did. I’m just saying that there is nothing I can do to protect him.”

 

Hannibal’s nerves were stretched to breaking point, “And why would you even want to?”

 

The temperature dropped noticeably. Sosa snatched the photographs from the table and stuffed them back into the envelope, “Because I don’t want to see him in trouble. You’re not the only one who cares about him you know.”

 

“Didn’t bother you when you walked out on him.”

 

Rising to her feet, Sosa shot him a cold stare, “Who said I ever wanted to? It was getting kind of crowded in our relationship though,” she glared meaningfully at Hannibal and flicked the envelope in her hand, “Perhaps now you know how that feels?” Hannibal’s returning glare was as cold as her own. “Don’t let him burn,” and then she was gone.

 

Hannibal looked back at the single image still grasped in his hand, “Boys?” he knew they were listening, probably as much in shock as he was.

 

“Chicago right, boss?”

 

__________

Forty-eight hours saw Hannibal, Murdock and BA relocated to Chicago and an operations base set up in the Embassy Suites down the block from W Lakeshore. BA managed to tap straight into the communications line for the Police Operation while Murdock camped out at the e-mail account they had been using to communicate with Face over the last few months.

 

Hannibal had spoken very little to the rest of his team since leaving Venice Beach. Well, obviously that wasn’t entirely accurate, there had been plenty of conversations about plans, arrangements, flights, accommodation, BA had offered to fly as long as he would be sedated for the trip, a measure of the magnitude of his concern, but no conversation at all about the conversation with Sosa. Murdock and BA had heard everything after all and it was obvious from the set of Hannibal’s eyes that he really didn’t want to go over any of that again.

 

But it was all the boss had thought about. Not the murder, he knew that Face hadn’t done that, there was absolutely no doubt of that in his mind. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that Face was capable of killing, knew that there was a streak of violence within him that could surface from time to time and Face struggled to hold it back. But he knew he hadn’t done this. It was the mob, must have been, men like Joey Pacitto didn’t tolerate infidelity well, but for some reason, they hadn’t got to Face. Not yet.

 

Infidelity. That was another thought that wouldn’t settle in Hannibal’s head. What had been going on with Face and this woman? Hannibal knew Face almost as well as he knew himself, or did he now? He’d have staked his life on the fact that Face loved him back, just needed a bit of time to sort himself out. Hannibal’s declaration had caught him out, pushed him into a corner, and if there was one thing Face couldn’t cope with it was corners. Put him in a corner and he would run or fight, and this time he’d chosen to run. Again.

 

So what was going on with Jessica Gaarder? The sex didn’t surprise Hannibal at all, he wasn’t pleased, of course he wasn’t, but again he knew Face well enough to know that this was just what his lieutenant did. Sex was a hobby to Face, like squash or fossil collecting; it had very little to do with emotion. No, it was that image of them in the corridor holding hands that had floored him. The sex meant nothing, Face could sleep with anyone and it would mean nothing, but holding hands, that implied some kind of emotion attachment. How had Hannibal been so wrong in his reading of the situation? How could Face have ever been in love with him if he had moved on so quickly and effortlessly?

 

Seems that Hannibal had been fooling himself all along. Nothing like a bit of wishful thinking to delude a lonely old man.    

 

Anyway, he shook unhelpful thoughts out of his head, none of that mattered now. Face was in trouble and needed him, and Hannibal would always be there for him. Always. No matter what Face did or where he went, he would always be there. They just needed to find where ‘there’ was.

 

“Boss,” BA’s voice cut into his musing and Hannibal picked his way across the tangle of wires strewn across the carpet of the hotel room.

 

“Yeah, big guy?”

 

BA was hunched over a couple of laptops, headphones in place over his ears. “Forensic report just come in on a couple of champagne glasses in Face’s room.”

 

Again Hannibal’s chest tightened, champagne? What did they need champagne for? What on earth were they celebrating? He really didn’t want to go there just now, so he leant over the back of his chair and looked at the screen that BA was tapping with his finger. “Traces of Flunitrazepam... what’s that?”

 

Murdock appeared at his shoulder, “It’s a Benzodiazepine, a sedative. Knocks people out...”

 

Hannibal and BA traded glances, “Someone wanted Faceman out of action, Boss.”

 

“Yeah,” Hannibal straightened up, “And Sosa said he only just made it out before the cops arrived after an anonymous tip off. Sound to me like the mob left him alive to take the blame for the murder. No sign of where the doped drink had come from?”

 

BA turned back to the screen, “Nah. No bottle or anything like that in the room. In fact,” Hannibal bent to read over his shoulder, “This report says that there was nothing of personal interest in the room. No clothes, toiletries, anything, even though Face had stayed there most of the week.”

 

Hannibal frowned. “Weird. I doubt Face packed them both up before he disappeared.” He watched as Murdock slouched back across the room and collapsed onto the bed in front of his own laptop, “You alright there, Captain?”

 

Murdock looked up and caught his eye before shrugging and pressing the F5 button on his laptop. “Sure...”

 

Hannibal followed him over and perched on the end of the bed, looking at the inbox that Murdock was compulsively refreshing. Twelve or thirteen neat little emails from Face were stacked up on the page, the last one being from exactly a week ago. “Did he say anything in his last email that might give us a clue what’s been going on?”

 

Murdock shook his head, “Just the usual crap. Lies about going on hikes in the mountains, stuff like that.”

 

“Right,” Hannibal sighed, “You’ve phoned Montana then?”

 

“Yeah. He left two weeks after us, Boss! Never told me, he’s been lying to me all this time!”

 

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder; he knew all that, had made his own phone calls yesterday. “Don’t judge him, HM; let’s give him the chance to explain first.”

 

Murdock flashed him an angry glance, “How can you stand up for him? After he’s been with her as well?”

 

Hannibal really didn’t want to do this now, “Murdock, we don’t own him, he-” but he was cut off by the ding-dong of a message arriving into the inbox.

 

All three of them whirled to the screen as a new email from Face flashed onto the page and Murdock pounced on the keyboard to open it up. There was no subject line, and the body of the text simply read, ‘I can’t. I think I killed her.’

 

BA frowned, “What does that mean? What did you say to him?” Murdock scrolled down to the body of his message, ’Face, we know you are in trouble, let us know where you are, buddy, and we’ll come and get you.’ and BA shook his head, “Why would he think he’d killed her?”

 

Hannibal knew instantly, “Nightmares,” he muttered, “he thinks he killed her in a nightmare. You know how he gets.”

 

“Oh, man...” BA rubbed his head, “but he didn’t though. I saw the pictures of that girl and Face didn’t do that. When he has a nightmare he just loses it; that was one carefully placed knife. They’re setting him up.”

 

Murdock shook his head and pressed F5 again before clicking on reply, “What shall I say boss? He might still be there? What shall I say?”

 

Hannibal leaned over the screen, “Tell him that. Warn him the mob will be after him and get a location. We’ll pick him up now.”

 

A tense silence fell over the room as Murdock frantically typed a reply then hit send and five tortuous minutes passed by before a reply dropped into the box.

 

“Yes!” BA hissed as Murdock opened it up to reveal the address of an internet cafe up on North Avenue.

 

“BA, you know where that is?” Hannibal asked urgently.

 

“Yeah, man, it’s near the Chicago History Museum, ten minutes max.”

 

“Okay,” Hannibal was already dragging his jacket on, “Murdock, stay on with him, tell him we’re coming, don’t let him disappear again. BA, let’s go.”

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 6

Joey Pacitto smiled at the screen of the laptop in front of him. “You were right George; he is using that e-mail account. Now, get someone out there to pick him up before the cavalry arrives.”    

 

“Yes, Boss,” and George, Pacitto’s burly henchman immediately flipped open his phone and started barking instructions into it.

 

Pacitto laughed to himself as he watched messages flick up onto his screen, “You may have evaded the authorities, Peck, but you sure as hell aren’t going to get away from me that easily.”

 

__________________________

 

BA couldn’t park so dropped Hannibal at the interchange and said he would do a couple of laps waiting to pick them up again.

 

Hannibal saw the cafe across the road and was just about to start making his way through the traffic when the whole world seemed to explode. He threw himself to the ground as gun shots rang out in the afternoon air, quickly followed by the sounds of running and screaming as pedestrians all around were thrown into a panic. He dragged his gun out of the holster under his jacket and frantically scanned the surrounding area, his eyes picking out Face as he vaulted over a bench and sprinted for the trees bordering the edge of the park. He was wearing the same suit that had shown up in the CCTV cap and was being followed by two guys in black suits, both wielding guns.

 

“Oh, shit...”

 

Hannibal was on his feet, weaving through the traffic, own gun held at the ready as BA’s voice cut in on the radio. “Are they shots?! What’s goin’ on big man?”

 

“Two hostiles running Face down into the park!” Hannibal yelled back, “Get back here BA!”

 

“On my way!”

 

But it was never going to be enough. Hannibal leaped over the barriers across the centre of the road as a white van swung off the street and into the entrance of the park. Face, glancing over his shoulder, saw it coming for him and quickly changed direction, tacking sharply back towards the road, but not sharply enough. The side of the van caught him side on as it swung round in a wide arc propelling him head first into the railings at the side of the sidewalk. He didn’t get back up.

 

Fear coursed through Hannibal’s veins as he realised he wasn’t going to get there in time so he dropped to one knee and started firing at the van and the two black suits who were approaching Face from the side. It still wasn’t enough. The side door of the van slid open and one of the black suits picked Face up like he was a sack of coal and threw him through the doorway as the other pinned Hannibal down with returning fire.

 

In seconds it was all over. The two suits were in the van, the van was back in the traffic and Face was being ripped away from Hannibal at high speed, just when he had been so, so close to getting him back.

 

______________

Face woke up tied to a chair with some foul tasting material shoved in his mouth and yet another monster headache.

 

Years of waking up in unpleasant situations like this had schooled him in the act of playing possum, using that time before the hostiles realised he was back in the land of the living to gather as much information as possible.

 

Keeping his head down and his breathing slow and steady he allowed his eyes to open and slowly track around the room. It looked like he was in an empty apartment. Small and poorly decorated as it had been; it was now clearly derelict and lacking heating, lighting, carpets and furniture. The smell of rodents was almost overpowering.

 

He could hear voices, two men, probably in an adjoining room, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

 

_________________________

 

 “I don’t like it!” BA folded his arms and leaned against the wall glaring at Hannibal, “It’s a crazy plan Hannibal, and I just don’t like it!”

 

Murdock was huddled at the end of the bed, chewing on a strawberry lace and watching his team mates through wide eyes.

 

“BA,” Hannibal was using his most patient, talking to a toddler voice, “We just don’t have the time come up with anything else. Pacitto has taken Face because he’s humiliated him. He wants his pound of flesh and he’ll take it out of Face unless we get an alternative offer in pretty damn quick!”

 

BA rolled his eyes, “I’m not sayin’ none of that’s true bossman, but I am sayin’ this is not gonna work!”

 

“We’ve done variations on this theme time and time again; it always works out just fine.”

 

“But we always use a safety net and now we’ve no time to set up no safety nets or nothing!”

 

“But that’s the point!” Hannibal leaned forward and BA could see the desperation in his eyes, “We are talking hours here BA,” he glanced, quick as a flash, at Murdock before hissing under his breath, “He’ll be dead in hours unless we get him out.”

 

BA sank to the end of the bed and rubbed both hands over his Mohawk and down to the back of his neck, “We could lose you both here, man...”

 

He heard Hannibal’s sigh but it was Murdock who answered him from behind, “You’re wasting your time, big guy. The boss don’t want to live without Face. He’ll risk everything he’s got to save him. Always has.”

 

There was a moment’s stunned silence.

 

“Murdock...” Hannibal’s voice was tight, “I’d do anything to save any one of you boys, I’ve told you that before.”

 

The last of the strawberry lace was quickly dispatched as Murdock swung his feet down onto the carpet, “C’mon Bosco. He’s doing this with or without us, and without us he’s dead meat, so we’d better help out.”

 

____________________________

 

Face thought back to the circumstances of his capture. He’d been emailing Murdock, HM had told him BA and Hannibal were on their way to pick him up and he was so ridiculously relieved that he thought he was going to cry. Murdock also told him that Joey Pacitto’s mob had been responsible for Jessie’s murder and while this news flooded him with relief, it also stoked his guilt and anger. Jessie had been totally innocent in all of this and they’d killed her simply to get back at him for the drugs Face had ditched in the river. It was all his fault, they should have run sooner.

 

But then Face had glanced up out of the window, seen the men in suits crossing the road and had just known they were coming for him. He’d bolted, almost made it to the cover of the trees in the park before they’d hit him with that damn van, and that was all he could remember. He checked through his injuries, trying out each part of his body slowly and carefully so as anyone watching wouldn’t spot the movements. It seemed like his left thigh and hip had taken the brunt of the impact from the van, and his head had also run into something pretty hard too. But apart from that he seemed to be in reasonably good shape and was fairly confident he would be able to run if he needed to.

 

He wondered when Hannibal had arrived at the Cybercafé and what he had thought when Face wasn’t where he had said he was. A cold chill ran through him as he realised that Hannibal would probably just assume that Face had bolted on him. Again. He wouldn’t realise that Pacitto had him, would never know that Face had wanted to make things good with him.

 

And then something else occurred to him, if no one knew he was here, then no one was coming for him. Hannibal always came for him, every scrape he’d ever got himself into, Hannibal had been there to haul him out of it. Guns, ropes, glaciers, tyres, lakes, cellars, cliffs, deserts, sheds, never made any difference, the boss came and the boss saved him. But not this time. Hannibal had always warned him that this day would come, that he needed to take more care of himself, to think before he acted, that one day Hannibal just wouldn’t be there to catch him. He’d never really believed him. Well, it looked like today was the day Hannibal’s prediction came true; if he was going to get out of this mess, he was going to have to make it happen himself.

 

______________________________

 

Luckily they had a stash of money in Chicago. This was one of the ones that Hannibal had set up after Face had disappeared following Tasha Coleman’s death. $100,000 in used notes, a fee for a job Hannibal couldn’t even remember. He knew it wouldn’t be enough to buy his lieutenant’s life, but he hoped it would be enough to buy him some time.

 

With a final dark stare from BA, he slid out of the rented van and walked determinedly up the marble steps and into the foyer of PSG Construction Ltd.

 

______________________________

 

Face may have been able to play possum for an almost unlimited time, if it hadn’t been for the rats and he hated rats, they’d literally plagued him his entire life. His overwhelming memory of the night that his mother left him on the steps of St. Alphonsus RC Church, wasn’t the feeling of abandonment, although that was still pretty sharp, it wasn’t the fear of being alone in the cold and the dark, though that stayed with him even today, it wasn’t even the trauma that was so deep at the time he’d never been able to remember his real name, no, his overriding memory of that night was eventually falling asleep on the stone steps and waking up to find rats running all over him, biting him, tugging at his hair... It was his screams that had eventually woken the nuns.

 

Since that day he’d run into rats with alarming regularity, in the attic bedroom he’d had to sleep in at one of the care homes, in the alleys he lived in when he was on the streets, when they were captured in Iran that time they weren’t even supposed to be there, Afghani caves, Iraqi sewers, container ships, warehouses, sheds, garages, didn’t matter where he went, the bloody rats were always there. It was like he smelled of rat cologne or something, and of course today was no different.

 

He’d been looking at the windows, boarded up but with some of the boards pulled away to let some light in, trying to work out where he was, see if he could see anything that would give him a reference point when he sensed a movement down by his leg. He glanced down just as the world’s biggest rat had reared up onto its hind legs to sniff at the blood on his trousers from where he’d scraped his shin as the van took him out. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t scream or yell or leap onto the chair and lift his skirts up (all very difficult bound and gagged as he was anyway), but he did twitch his leg away, and as one of his minders just happened to be looking over at that point, he may as well have done any of the others.

 

The rat ran off, laughing at him as it went, and as he heard the footsteps approaching from the other room he knew the game was up.

 

A rough hand grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his neck back so hard it cracked and Face closed his eyes against the sudden glare coming through the top of the window.

 

“Okay Louis,” a voice growled out, “Call the boss and tell him Peck is finally awake. He wanted to see this.”

 

Face couldn’t help the way his stomach churned at those words; this didn’t sound good. 

 

__________________________

 

Hannibal sat still and silent in the lobby outside Joey Pacitto’s office, forcing himself to be calm, to stay focussed. This would work. Pacitto knew he was here, he would be too curious not to meet with him and that’s all Hannibal needed. He made eye contact with the secretary seated behind the Reception desk and smiled broadly at her before going back to staring at the door to Pacitto’s office.

 

__________________________

 

It only took twenty minutes for Pacitto to turn up, but it was long enough for Face to work one of his hands out of the binds. The nylon cord was thin, tough and immobile and he’d torn all the skin on his wrists, but he had one hand out, and with a bit more manoeuvring he got the other one out too. He heard footsteps in the passage way and Pacitto’s distinctive voice and knew his time was short. He staggered to his feet, wincing as his weight fell on his battered hip and leg and yanked the rag out of his mouth. The window was his route of choice, but he knew he wouldn’t have enough time to pull off even one of the boards so instead he picked up a broken piece of skirting board and backed up to the door frame, lifting his makeshift club and waiting.

 

As soon as he saw the shadow fill the doorway he made his move, swinging the board into the gut of the first guy and as he doubled over in pain, stepping round to smack it higher up and into the face of grunt number two. His appearance caused mayhem and he took his chance to grab the gun out of number two’s waistband and, unsure of how much ammo he had, contented himself with pointing it straight into Pacitto’s eyes, “Alright dickheads, out of my way or I ventilate your boss’s head.”

 

No one moved.

 

“I’m not kidding here!” His hip was throbbing and he stumbled slightly but kept the gun steady.

 

Pacitto glared at him but nodded curtly at his men who parted to let him pass and Face backed off, dragging the mob boss with him, and keeping his eyes on his henchmen, he could feel the cool air from outside at his back and knew he was so close to making it outside, but then his leg buckled under him and he hit the wall, dropping the gun as a fist caught him in the side of the head.

 

Everything exploded in a hail of fists and boots and before he knew it he was back in the chair with his elbows tied together behind his back and that foul rag in his mouth once more. His head fell to his chest as he struggled to get his breath back, but then a hand was in his hair again dragging him up forcing him to look into Joey Pacitto’s furious face.

 

“You little fucker!” Pacitto spat at him. Blood was trickling from his mouth and Face enjoyed a second’s vicious pleasure at the sight before his head was almost knocked clean off his shoulders by Pacitto’s sharp backhand. He rolled with it as much as he could, but there were still spots swimming in his vision by the time he forced his eyes back to his tormenter; there was no way he was going to let the bastard see how much that had hurt.

 

Pacitto had straightened up and was dabbing the blood from his chin and straightening his tie and his rings and Face could feel hot blood running down his cheek from where the rings had met his skin.

 

“Do you have a strong desire to meet a violent and painful death Mr. Peck?” Face felt that must be a rhetorical question as Pacitto made no move to take the gag from his mouth. “To piss me off the way you have this week, you must have.” He took a step closer in. “First you ditch a whole van load of quality gear into the river, and then you decide to fuck my girl!”

 

Face couldn’t help the frown of confusion that crossed his features, fucked his girl? No way. Face had fucked many highly incongruous people in the past, but to move in on a mobster’s woman, no, Pacitto was right, you’d have to have a death wish for that. There’d only been Jessie in weeks and - oh, shit - the penny finally dropped. Jessie’s crazy boyfriend, the one who dumped people in Lake Michigan. Of course. Why the fuck hadn’t she told him? They’d have run faster, harder, further and then, maybe one of them might have survived.

 

He looked up to find Pacitto watching him closely, “I know who you are, Peck, a member of the legendary A-Team no less. And I’ve heard your reputation for whoring, and for lying. That’s why you are gagged. I’ve no time to listen to your lies, but you still try and con me anyway! You think I would believe you didn’t know who she was?”

 

Face saw the backhand coming this time, but didn’t manage to avoid much of its force. By the time his vision focussed again, Pacitto was leaning against the far wall, ankles crossed and arms folded.

 

“I thought I would leave you for the police to deal with. I know how long you have run from the law; it amused me to think of you rotting away in an army jail for the rest of your days. But you managed to wriggle out of that one, so now we will have to do this the traditional way.” He glanced at his watch, “Strip him down and string him up, men, I have a meeting at three.” He smiled as he saw the bleak look in Face’s eyes, “And get rid of that gag, I want to hear this.”

 

___________________________

 

Hannibal was finding it harder and harder to swallow down the feeling of sickness in his throat. Where the hell was Pacitto? Hannibal had been here almost an hour now, what if he wasn’t going to see him? What if they were too late and Face was already dead? No, Hannibal wasn’t going to go there.

 

He was just coming to the conclusion that they would have to abandon plan A and move onto BA’s plan B when the sound of a helicopter’s rotors filled the lobby. The receptionist looked out of the window behind her and then back at Hannibal, smiling slightly, “That’s Mr. Pacitto now, Mr. Smith. You can go into his office and take a seat.”

 

Picking up his briefcase, Hannibal let himself into the huge corner office and sat at the desk, his whole body turned to the spiral staircase at the side of the room. He didn’t have to wait long, within minutes Joey Pacitto’s bulk was coming down the wrought iron stairs and Hannibal’s heart sank at the smug expression on his face.

 

“John Hannibal Smith, leader of the A-Team, in my office!” Pacitto shook his head dramatically, “Who would have thought it!” He leaned over and the two shook hands, briefly and sharply, “To what do I owe this honour?”

 

Hannibal waited until he had lowered himself into the huge leather seat at the back of the desk before answering. “You have something of mine, Mr. Pacitto,” he kept his voice quiet, calm and authoritative, “and I want him back.”

 

Pacitto raised his eyes as he rested his chin on steepled fingers, “Well, if you know I have him, then you must know what he has done, destroying my goods, fucking my property,” he shook his head again, “I can’t let things like that just go...”

 

Destroying his goods? Face had obviously been busier than Hannibal knew; he hoped that wouldn’t make this harder than it already was. “No, but you are are a business man, and I’m sure you will be up for making a deal.” Hannibal brought the briefcase up from the floor and set it on his knee.

 

There was a moments silence as the two men stared at each other, each weighing the other up.

 

“Okay then, Smith,” Pacitto smiled at him, “How much is he worth to you?”

 

Hannibal didn’t like the tone of that remark but he let it go, “$100,000.”

 

Pacitto scoffed, “I thought you were desperate to get him back?!”

 

Again Hannibal let that go, this wasn’t about the money, it never had been. Hannibal seriously doubted that Pacitto would let Face go for $100,000,000. It was all about pride and keeping up appearances, and there was no amount of money that would persuade Pacitto to take a knock to his dignity. He appeared to think it over though, and Hannibal hoped it was enough money to tempt Pacitto into doing just that tiny bit of extra work.   

 

Eventually he smiled and held out his hand, “Okay Mr. Smith, you have got yourself a deal!”

 

Hannibal leant over to shake, but allowed himself to look surprised and a little flustered, “What, just like that? He’s not already dead is he?”

 

Pacitto seemed genuinely amused, “Oh, no, he’s not dead, not at all! No, I admire your spunk, coming in here with so little money and offering me a deal, takes guts.” He rose and held his hand out for the briefcase, “Now if you will just hand the money over, George here will take you to your man and as soon as you get there, you are both free to go.”

 

Keeping the briefcase clutched tightly to his chest, Hannibal frowned, “No. I’m not handing the money over until the end of the transaction. You can’t blame me for my caution.”

 

“Oh, I don’t!” Pacitto kept his hand extended, “But you don’t have any real choice here,” he nodded at George and Hannibal turned to find himself looking straight into a gun barrel. George reached into Hannibal’s holster and removed his gun before frisking him down and taking his phone, keys, loose change and knife.

 

“You double crossing me?” Hannibal snarled.

 

“Not at all!” Pacitto managed to look aggrieved, “We shook on a deal and I am a man of my word!” He took the briefcase from Hannibal’s hands and flicked it open. “Now I have the payment, as I promised, George will take you to your man, and you are both free to go. Everyone a winner!” His smile was decidedly disturbing, but Hannibal had no choice but to let the money go and take an uncertain step towards George as the burly man turned for the door.

 

“Nice doing business with you Mr. Smith! And George!” Pacitto called as he started unloading the money from the briefcase, “You should take the chopper, you will be pushed for time otherwise.”

 

George nodded and turned towards the spiral staircase, but the look of anticipation that crossed his face was enough to chill Hannibal’s blood.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 7

 

The chopper was in the air for only five minutes and Hannibal was glad, he had no idea what was waiting for him at their destination and he really didn’t want to be too far away from his backup. He felt uneasy about all of this, it had gone down far, far too smoothly. He had expected Pacitto to take the money, but had also expected to be taken to Face as a prisoner, not just be free to leave like this. There was a hitch coming, he just knew it; both Pacitto and George were just too damn cheerful. He just hoped the tracking device was working okay, it was always a risk to swallow it, but he couldn’t take the chance that it would be found.

 

They touched down at the edge of a derelict housing estate in the Near North Side of Chicago and Hannibal recognised it as Cabrini Green, an estate once notorious for drugs and violence and now in the latter stages of complete demolition, by Hannibal noted from the signs, PSG Construction Ltd. Of course. 

 

The rotors of the chopper kept turning and George made no attempt to get out, instead he pulled his gun and waved Hannibal towards the door. “This is your stop, old man.”

 

Hannibal held his ground, “Where is he?”

 

George pointed to a high rise apartment building on their right, “In there. Ground floor. You can’t miss him.”

 

Glancing quickly in the direction George gestured, Hannibal noted the new signage and his heart sank, and there was the hitch. He clenched his fists, “How long ‘til it blows?”

 

Laughter filled the chopper, “Now where is the fun in that? You’d better get going though...”

 

Hannibal swore under his breath and jumped out of the chopper, ducking under the down draft and sprinting for the building where he hoped he’d find his lieutenant. At least now he understood why Pacitto was so keen to make a deal.

 

The doors had been removed and Hannibal skidded round the corner of the entrance hall as he heard the chopper take off. “Face!” he yelled as loud as he could, noting the sticks of explosives buried into the walls at strategic points. There was no answer to his shout so he tried again, “Face!” Still nothing.

 

He burst through the first door on his left and found himself in what must have been the building supervisor’s office. It was getting dark outside, thick black rain clouds not helping the situation and the lack of electricity in the building made it hard to see but after a quick look round, Hannibal drew a blank so ran across the corridor to try the first apartment.

 

The stench as he burst in hit him hard and he gagged as the mixed odours of urine and rats and vomit almost choked him. He jogged down the narrow entrance hall and kicked open the door to the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, all coming up empty before he crashed into the main room at the end of the corridor and knew instantly he’d found him.

 

It was very dark, the boarded up windows just letting in tiny slivers of dim light from outside, but the smell was worse and the dark shape stretched out in the shadows under the window made Hannibal’s heart skip a beat. “Face!” he was on his knees next to that shape within seconds, beating down equal amounts of fury and despair as he took in the sight in front of him.

 

Face was laid on his front, head turned towards the wall. His arms were chained behind his back, one shoulder obviously dislocated, and then fastened tightly to the pipe which led from the radiator and disappeared under the floorboards. His naked body was a patchwork of colours, blood and bruising and filth covering every inch of him. Hannibal was shaking as he reached out a tentative hand to touch cold unresponsive flesh, “Face...”

 

There was still no reply and Hannibal steeled himself, taking a grip of Face’s arm, feeling his skin, wet with blood and something else, the smell of urine too strong for Hannibal to not be able to guess what, and slowly, gently, turned him from the wall, leaning over to get a look at his face.

 

He inhaled sharply as he did. Blood flowed from a gash in his hair line and covered one side of his face. One eye was swollen closed and more blood leaked from his nose, lip and ear. A murderous rage quietly built up inside Hannibal and he carefully stored it away. That would wait, this, unfortunately wouldn’t.

 

The chains wouldn’t let Face move any further so Hannibal gently laid him back on his stomach and slid his fingers around his neck, looking for that tell tale fluttering. It was there and warm relief flooded him as he gently tipped his lieutenant the other way, resting his back against the radiator and easing the pressure off his wrists. “Face...” he stroked his cheek, his forehead, anywhere he could see relatively unmarked skin, “C’mon kid, give me a sign or something here, tell me you can hear me.” He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced as it came away sticky with who knows what, “Face? It’s Hannibal, I’ve come for you kid, now come on, wake up.”

 

Face moaned and Hannibal’s pulse kicked up a notch. He rubbed his face gently, “Come on, open your eyes.”

 

Face’s eyes remained stubbornly closed but his parched lips moved, “Just kill me,” he whispered.

 

Those words had been heard by Hannibal countless times as he hauled his horrifically hung over lieutenant out of bed for early morning manoeuvres back in the army. But there was something about the cold and empty way they were delivered this rainy evening in Chicago that chilled Hannibal to his very marrow. Those utter bastards...

 

 “Face,” he tried again, but his words stuck in his throat.

 

“Hannibal?” Face’s voice was nothing but a slurred whisper but it sounded like the most beautiful sound in the world to Hannibal and he watched as Face cracked open his one good eye.

 

“Yeah, kid, I’m here.”

 

“Good. Thought I was gonna die.”

 

Hannibal’s stomach churned as Pacitto’s plan suddenly came clearly into focus. He’d said both he and Face were free to go, and that was certainly true in terms of there were no goons here to stop them. But the whole apartment block was rigged to blow and there was no way he could get Face’s chains off without some kind of cutting equipment, so what choice did that leave for him?

 

No choice, there’d never been a choice for him as far as Face was concerned.

 

 

Hannibal slid his coat off and draped it across Face’s chest and stomach. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he could pick out numerous red wheals on Face’s skin, long lines, some bleeding, others not. He glanced behind him and saw long lengths of electrician’s wiring strewn all over the floor, some clearly marked with blood. There was also a concentration of splattered blood on the carpet directly under the light fitting and Hannibal had guessed they fastened him up there while they worked him over.

 

He forced his anger down and slid himself up against the wall, gently tipping Face’s head so it was leaning against his thigh. He slipped his arms under his jacket, tenderly wrapping his lieutenant up in an embrace, mindful of his flayed skin and the fact that he must have at least a few broken ribs.

 

“It’s good to see you, boss.”    

 

And suddenly everything that was going to happen was worth it, for that one sentence alone.

 

“Oh, it’s good to see you, kiddo. Just wish it was in slightly better circumstances.”

 

“Can’t get the chains off, huh?”

 

“No. But don’t worry; I’ve got a tracker on me. BA and Murdock will be here in no time and there are tools in the van. We’ll get you out.” The lie slipped easily from his lips and it seemed to be worth it as Face relaxed back into him, letting his head rest heavily on Hannibal’s leg. His eyes dropped closed and Hannibal lifted a finger to gently trace his jaw line, “Try and stay awake for me,” he whispered.

 

Face’s eyelid lifted immediately and his eye found Hannibal above him in the gloom, “I’m trying boss, but everything fucking hurts so much. It’s just easier.”

 

Again that sick feeling hit Hannibal’s stomach and he realised that the kid might just be right. Why should he know what was going to happen any moment now? Wouldn’t he be better off asleep? Oblivious to the death that awaited them?

 

“Okay then,” he leaned over and dropped a kiss to Face’s lips, “you sleep. I’ll stay here and just hold you.”

 

A slight frown touched Face’s forehead, “You not gonna order me to stay awake? Tell me I’m concussed and try and make me talk rubbish to keep me awake? That’s what you usually do.”

 

“It’s alright,” Hannibal stroked his face, “go to sleep.”

 

Suddenly Face stiffened and tried to sit up, hissing in pain as his injuries vied for his attention, “Oh, fuck, they’re blowing the building aren’t they?”

 

Hannibal took hold of his shoulders and tried to ease him back down, “Easy there Face, just relax. Here, lie down again.”

 

“Get off me!” Face yelled and tried to turn to Hannibal, “They told me they were going to blow it with me inside, you know this,” he glanced down at Hannibal’s free arms and legs, “You’re not chained up, what the fuck are you still doing in here?!”

 

It was obvious the game was up so Hannibal decided to go for honesty, “I’m not leaving you here, Face.”

 

“You’re not...” Face shook his head incredulously, “Get the fuck out of here, Hannibal, now!”

 

“No!” Hannibal met the fury in his face with his own, “I’m not leaving you to die!”

 

“So you think dying with me will make it better? Make it less permanent or hurt less? Get real!”

 

“Face,” Hannibal looked him right in the eye, “I always swore to you that I would never leave you behind, that we were a team for life,” he shook his head sadly, “and you’ve never believed me. Well, here’s your proof, I’m not leaving you alone here.”

 

“Aargh!” Face yelled out in fury, “You stubborn, self-righteous, bastard! You’d die just so you can prove me wrong?!”

 

Hannibal couldn’t believe that Face could misread him so easily, “No! I’d die just because I can’t ever bring myself to leave you!”

 

Face shook his head. “You. Need. To. Go. I already have Jessie’s death on my conscience; I don’t want to add yours to that list!”

 

Hannibal’s expression froze. Jessie. Of course. “I’m not leaving without you!”

 

“Well, you’re not leaving with me!” He rattled the chains significantly.

 

“BA and Murdock will come-”

 

“No they won’t! This place is a fucking rabbit warren and if you’ve swallowed that tracker it’s probably not working either, and if they do come don’t you realise you are just drawing them to their deaths too? When this place goes the rubble will flatten everything around!”

 

“Face-”

 

“No!” Face squirmed round onto his knees, the terror he felt for Hannibal gripping his heart so tightly it beat the pain into submission, “No more arguments, just leave!”

 

The coat fell off him, exposing his abused body to Hannibal’s eyes once more and that was too much for his CO to stand, “Face,” he reached out his hand, “I’m staying with you.”

 

Face was desperate now, the daylight outside was almost gone and he knew that they wouldn’t demolish the building in the dark. He had one more card to play. He looked Hannibal right in the eye and lowered his voice, forcing it to be calm and controlled. This had to work, it just had to. Hannibal couldn’t die.

 

“I don’t want you,” he whispered, watching carefully for signs his handiwork was being effective, “I’ve not wanted you for a long time. I told you that up in Montana, I came here to try and get away from you again, but you keep following me! What will it take to make you understand? I don’t love you, I don’t want you and I need you to leave me the hell alone!”

 

Hannibal was up on his feet by the end of Face’s tirade, breathing heavily and running a shaking hand through his hair, but he wasn’t leaving.

 

“Temp,” the tremor in his voice almost crushed Face where he knelt.

 

“GO!”

 

The sound of a van’s engine filled the room. Hannibal wrenched his eyes from Face’s and ran to the window, “It’s them,” he turned and sprinted from the room leaving Face kneeling up on trembling legs, the pain slowly reasserting its dominance. A mournful hooter suddenly sounded out across the demolition sight and Face knew that now he was too late to save any of them and that’s what sapped his last bit of strength; he crumpled to the floor as darkness swallowed him.

 

'Waiting for the end to come,

Wishing I had strength to stand,

This is not what I had planned,

It’s out of my control.’

 

 

They made it out by the skin of their teeth. Only BA’s brute strength was enough to rip the radiator from the wall when the bolt cutters wouldn’t cut through the chains. Hannibal was glad that Face was unconscious the whole time; otherwise the pressure on his dislocated shoulder would have been unbearable. The second he was free, Hannibal had hauled him into his arms and they had run to where Murdock was waiting for them in the van, engine revving, back doors open.

 

Hannibal almost threw Face inside and leaped in after him as BA followed behind and Murdock floored the gas pedal. The blast, when it came, almost lifted them off their wheels. BA had managed to slam the rear doors just in time, but Hannibal could hear chunks of masonry falling down on them like lethal hailstones as they sped away. More than once Murdock needed to swerve as huge chunks of twisted concrete landed in front of them, but still the plucky little van kept going.

 

They burst through the wire gates and onto the expressway just as the sky opened and huge, heavy raindrops started to fall.

 

Hannibal had been laid full length in the van as they made their mad getaway, wrapping Face’s body in his own to protect it from the bangs and jolts of the escape, but once they were on the expressway he was able to peel himself away and try to put Face in a more comfortable position. That was easier said than done however; the chains were still fastening his wrists behind his back and there would be no way to relocate his shoulder until they were gone.

 

“Man, he’s a mess,” BA muttered as he appeared at Hannibal’s side, thick blanket in his hands.

 

“Yeah,” Hannibal just didn’t know where to start, “We need to get these chains off him.”

 

BA muttered something in agreement and then clambered to the front of the van. Within moments, Murdock had replaced him, creeping cautiously to Hannibal’s side and placing a rather insubstantial looking First Aid kit into his hands. He didn’t speak, but Hannibal could see his own murderous rage reflected in his Captain’s eyes.

 

They drove for an hour and a half, stopping once at a hardware store BA noticed so they could buy a better set of bolt cutters, before following the directions of the Sat Nav straight up the driveway of a huge house standing right on the edge of Crystal Lake.

 

Hannibal didn’t even look up as the Sat Nav announced they had made their destination, but BA whistled in appreciation as they rolled up the drive, “Hey, good job Murdock! Whose house did you say this was?”

 

Murdock’s head popped up over his shoulder, “Jake Housman, you know that doctor guy from Afghanistan?”

 

“Yeah, I know him. You sure he’s cool about this?”

 

“No worries big guy, he’d owed me a favour. It’s all good.”

 

BA nodded, satisfied, as Murdock jumped out and retrieved the keys from under the mat, waving them proudly at BA before opening the garage and closing the doors behind the nondescript white van after it had edged in.

 

Conversation between the two of them was light but edgy as they opened the house up and checked out the different bedrooms. There was a large two bedded room with an en suite which they thought would be ideal for Face and BA headed back to the garage for Hannibal while Murdock started preparing the room.

 

The garage was silent and BA suffered a moment’s panic before he turned the corner and looked into the back of the van to find Hannibal sitting there, his back to where Face was huddled in blankets and a worryingly blank expression on his face.

 

“Boss?”

 

Hannibal seemed to snap to life and blinked at the garage as if he hadn’t realised where he was before, “Hey. You found a good room?”

 

“They all good,” BA answered as he opened the doors wide, “but we got a great one.” He paused with his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, “You okay?”

 

Hannibal smiled at him, “Sure, BA, sure. Let’s get him inside.”

 

__________________________

 

 

It took them almost two hours before Face was settled in the middle of one of the huge, soft beds. Hannibal and BA had relocated his shoulder as he lay on the floor of the van to make it easier to carry him upstairs. By the time they reached the bedroom Murdock had the shower running and Hannibal stepped right in, fully clothed, holding Face upright against him.

 

Murdock stripped his top off and leaned in to the cubicle with them, gently soaping and cleaning as Hannibal stood, immobile as a rock, cradling Face’s head against his neck, keeping the water and soap out of his eyes and nose. It took twenty minutes until the water had stopped running rusty red and Murdock shut the spray off and in all that time Hannibal hadn’t spoken a word.

 

Murdock kept shooting him surreptitious little glances but he was always inscrutable, his eyes taking everything in, but emotion locked up somewhere out of sight. At the silence that followed the water shutting off, BA appeared in the doorway of the en-suite and took Face from Hannibal, carrying him as he would a child and lying him down in the nest of towels he had made in the bed.

 

Hannibal stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped himself in another towel as the three set about doing what they could for Face. Wounds were dressed or stitched, ribs were taped and anaesthetic cream applied to the angry red welts all over his body. BA hissed in surprise as he saw the bruising that stretched along Face’s left side from his ribs to his knee, but no one spoke unless absolutely necessary. Hannibal’s expression seemed to darken with every passing moment, something that was not lost on either Murdock or BA who kept exchanging concerned looks when he wasn’t watching.

 

And then they were done. BA had found a pair of pyjamas, shorts and t-shirt, which he knew wouldn’t offend Face’s fashion sense too much and Murdock gently lifted his friend’s limbs as BA carefully, carefully slid them on. They pulled the quilt up and dimmed the lights down just as the door clicked shut behind Hannibal leaving.

 

Murdock turned to BA immediately, “What the fuck is up with him?”

 

BA sank onto the other chair, “No idea man, been weird since I saw him in that apartment with Face.”

 

Murdock glanced at Face, then back to BA. “He always gets pissed when someone gets hurt, but... well, never like this. Not even for Face. You think...” he trailed off and BA lifted a curious eyebrow, “You know, you think they made him... watch?”

 

“Oh shit,” BA rubbed a tired hand over his face, “I dunno. I dunno what’s going on with these two anymore. Fed up of tryin’ to work it out. Givin’ me a headache.”

 

“Can’t see why they don’t just sort it out,” Murdock grumbled, a scowl creasing his face, “and I’m telling you, big guy, if Hannibal doesn’t fix it this time, as soon as Face is on his feet he’ll be outta that door all over. And I swear, if he does that, we’ll never see him again.”

 

As their eyes met, it was hard to tell whose expression was the bleakest.

 

Murdock sighed and patted BA on the shoulder, “Go get some sleep. I’ll sit with Face and we’ll let the Colonel, well, do whatever it is he’s gone off to do. Okay?”

 

Hauling his boots off, BA crawled up into the other bed, “Okay. I’ll do next shift. Wake me up,” and within minutes he was snoring.

 

Settled into the chair at the side of the bed, Murdock adjusted the ice pack over Face’s eye, and satisfied for now that he could do no more, curled his legs up under himself and watched the steady rise and fall of his friend’s chest.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 8

The army had taught BA many useful things, but possibly the most useful of all was the skill of being able to fall asleep in almost any circumstance or position. None of them had slept well since Hannibal received that text from Sosa, and he felt so much better to have Face back under the same roof as the rest of them, all be it slightly worse for wear, that it wasn’t surprising he fell asleep so deeply and so quickly.

 

It may not have been surprising but it was certainly frustrating for Murdock who was struggling to wake him.

 

“BA!” There was no response, “B-A!! Wake up you big ugly brute!” Murdock was shouting loud enough to wake the dead but BA only stirred. Murdock tried another tactic and this time BA jolted wide awake as a rather worn baseball boot hit him in the mouth.

 

“Wha?!” He was awake and on his feet in seconds. One thing you could say for Bosco, he might take ages to wake up, but once he was awake he was ready for action immediately. He instantly took in the look on Murdock’s face and was at his side in moments, “What is it? He not so good?”

 

Face was writhing in the bed and Murdock was kneeling on the carpet next to him, both hands trying to gently hold him down, “I don’t know!” he hissed and BA could see the panic edging into his eyes, “It’s like he’s having a really bad dream, but I can’t get him to wake up!” They both turned back to the bed as Face arched up and cried out, “He won’t keep still an’ he’s pulling all his stitches out,” Murdock shook his head, “an’ he keeps calling for the boss...”

 

He caught BA’s eye again and the big guy instantly knew what was needed, “Okay,” he sighed, “I’ll go find him.”

 

_____________________________

 

BA could see the red glow from the end of a cigar out on the decking so he slid the French doors open and stepped out into the cold night air. He couldn’t help but shiver as he walked over to where Hannibal sat, it was March, just north of Chicago and it was cold.

 

“Hey, Boss,” Hannibal was reclining in one of the wooden dining chairs, his feet crossed at the ankle and propped up on the table, cigar in one hand, bottle of beer resting on the arm of the chair, a few empties were lined up neatly on the decking under his seat. BA stood at the end of the table and shoved his hands deep into his pockets to try and keep warm.

 

“BA,” there was still that weird tone to the boss’ voice.

 

“How you doin’, man?”

 

Hannibal turned to look at BA, then turned away again, pulling on his cigar, “Fine,” he answered through a mouthful of smoke, “Go back inside.”

 

BA frowned, “Face is askin’ for you.”

 

He saw Hannibal tense, “He is? He awake then?”

 

BA shook his head, “Nah, he’s havin’ some kind of weird nightmare, Murdock can’t wake him up, he’s tossin’ an’ turnin’ all over the place.”

 

Turning back to the lake, Hannibal settled down again, “It’ll be the morphine Murdock gave him. You know he doesn’t do well on morphine. It’ll pass.”

 

Another frown creased BA’s forehead, “He still needs you, man!”

 

Hannibal picked up his beer and took a swig before setting it carefully back down on the chair arm, “No he doesn’t.”

 

BA sighed and went to turn back to the house, but then he stopped and pulled out a chair, sitting himself down right in Hannibal’s eye line, “Talk to me, boss.”

 

Now it was Hannibal’s turn to frown, “Nothing to say.”

 

“Course there’s stuff to say! Like why you been so weird since we picked Face up!”

 

There was a dull click as Hannibal rolled his neck across the back of his chair, “Been planning,” he answered, looking around BA to the lights across the lake, “Can’t have Face walking round wanted for murder now can we? And anyway,” his eyes darkened, “No one does that to one of my men and gets away with it...”

 

BA watched him carefully, “Yeah, but that’s not it.”

 

The cigar flared red again in Hannibal’s fingers.

 

“So what else boss?”

 

Silence reined.

 

BA wasn’t one for big emotional conversations, fist bumps and high fives were about as demonstrative as he liked to get. But underneath it all, he loved his team like his family, and he couldn’t just let this go on. So he went for it.

 

“Murdock says if you don’t sort this with Face then he’ll walk out again,” Hannibal stubbornly refused to meet his eye, “An’ if he does, he won’t come back this time.”

 

The slightest hint of a frown on Hannibal’s face was the only reaction BA could pick up on.

 

“Boss?”

 

“Well, maybe,” Hannibal paused, “maybe, we should just let him go.” He finally looked BA in the eye, “Maybe it’s time we cut him loose.”

 

BA frowned, “You don’t mean that...”

 

“Don’t I?” Hannibal shook his head and turned back to the lake.

 

“I told you, man,” BA leant forward across the table, “If you’d ordered him to come back with us from Montana, he would have done it. He wouldn’t buck one of your orders. And then he wouldn’t be in this shit now!” 

 

Hannibal shook his head sadly, “I was never going to order him, Bosco, we’re not in the army now,” he paused, and suddenly seemed to be miles away. “The first time I saw him, when he was just this wild kid, he looked scared to death and... trapped. That’s what drew me to him then, I wanted to find out what it was that had him all snared up, and I wanted to be the one who set him free.” BA listened in silence, “But in all these years, I’ve accomplished nothing with him.” He rubbed his face tiredly and BA was suddenly struck by how worn he looked. “If being away from us, from me, is what he needs to find himself,” Hannibal shrugged, “Then that’s what we should let him do.”

 

“He doesn’t need to be away from you!” BA scoffed, “He needs to be with you. Always has!”

 

A dry laugh sounded in the damp air, “No, BA, he doesn’t.”

 

“Yeah?” BA could feel himself getting angry, “Says who?”

 

There was a moment’s silence before Hannibal turned to BA, “He does.”

 

BA positively started, “When?”

 

“This afternoon, when I found him at Cabrini Green.”

 

“Oh, man! You can’t listen to anything he told you then! He’d just had seven shades of shit kicked out of him, his head wasn’t on straight!”

 

Hannibal kept his voice level, “And in Montana.”

 

BA sighed, some things needed saying; he really didn’t want to be the one to say them, but since there was no one else around... He took a deep breath, “Boss,” Hannibal looked over at the new tone of his voice, “Ever since I met you, you an’ Face have been this kind of...” he shrugged, “Well, you had this, partners thing going on that was more than just you been his CO or been in the army together or the same unit or whatever, it was, you know, more. It’s like you aint right if he’s not there, an’ he aint right if you’re not there! It’s weird and you guys don’t see it ‘cause, well you only see what he’s like when he’s with you, and...” he glanced at Hannibal, “Well, don’t get me wrong, I love Face, you know I do man, he’s my brother, it’s just...”

 

Hannibal studied him carefully, “Spit it out, BA.”

 

He looked Hannibal right in the eye, “Well, he’s fucked up, man, really fucked up, you know? In here?” he tapped his chest meaningfully, “He always has been and I guess he always will be now. Does crazy stuff, says crazy things,” BA shook his head, “I mean , it’s not his fault, I know that, I know he’s had people linin’ up to fuck him over ever since he was jus’ a little kid, but...” He ran his hand through his Mohawk, “He doesn’t know what he wants, man, and well, he’s so much better when he’s with you, it’s like you – I don’t know – fill in his empty bits or somethin’!” He frowned, “Shit, that doesn’t even make sense...”

 

Hannibal turned back to the lake and a cloud of smoke curled almost lovingly around his head, “Thing is though, Bosco,” BA frowned at the catch in his boss’ voice, “I just don’t think I can do this anymore.”

 

Silence.

 

“I can’t keep hauling myself over the coals for him, I just can’t.” He turned to look BA in the eye and his Corporal was appalled to see the moisture shining in his eyes, “He’s always got a place in this team and he’s always got a home here with us if he wants it. But me and him?” He shook his head, “It’s not what he wants.”

 

“And what about what you want?”

 

Hannibal’s sigh cut right through BA, “That’s really simple big guy. I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

 

_____________________________

 

An hour later, Hannibal decided to turn in for the night. He paused at the doorway to Face’s room and slowly opened the door. The lights were on dim, so he could easily make out BA’s bulk in the far bed, snoring softly. He turned to Face’s bed and his heart jumped. Face was quiet now, sleeping silently on his side, wrapped up tightly in Murdock’s arms.

 

Hannibal and Murdock made eye contact and the look of reproach in the pilot’s face made Hannibal’s stomach churn.

 

“Is he settled now?” Hannibal whispered, trying to steady his pounding heart.

 

“Bit fucking late for you to start caring!” Murdock hissed back at him.

 

Hannibal took one last glance at his sleeping lieutenant and softly closed the door.

 

____________

It seemed to be an established aspect of Face’s life that the first thing that greeted him every time he opened his eyes was a splitting headache. Although, in fairness, this time there was so much pain from the rest of his body that he almost didn’t notice his head. He decided he would be better off not opening his eyes again, in fact not moving at all was probably the way forward, as one by one, all the damage to his body announced itself and he delved back into his memories to try and work out how he’d got so banged up.

 

It took a while, everything was strangely fuzzy, but then he remembered Pacitto and being tied to that chair... His eyes flew open in shock and he tried to sit up, he had to get away, they were going to kill him, he had to get out, but the sudden movement seemed to set his whole body on fire and he couldn’t help the cry of pain that was ripped from his throat. Then there were hands on him and he tried to fight them off, but it was like his limbs weren’t his own, his shoulder screamed in agony every time he attempted to move his arm and the edges of his mind were starting to grey out as he slumped back onto the bed.

 

A bed... well that was an improvement at least. He fought the black shadows that were crowding into his mind and forced his eyes open at last, determined to see who was holding him down, but it was a losing battle. He was so tired and his eyes just wouldn’t focus, but there was a sense there of comfort and security... and love. He reached out a hand, blindly groping for just a taste of that comfort and, as the blackness swallowed him completely, he thought he felt a large, familiar hand gripping his.

 

________________________

 

His sleep was long but shallow, punctuated with wild dreams and nightmares, fragile awareness of a deep soothing voice, big hands stroking and calming him, lips, cool against his flushed forehead, the inside of his wrist, each one of his fingers...  A long, firm body stretched out alongside his, holding him close, keeping him safe and chasing away the demons that vied for his consciousness.

 

________________________

 

Then that voice was there again, slow and steady, a rhythm that could only come from poetry and at last Face felt himself starting to slip into something deeper and more restful. A sleep that would finally allow his body time to heal, but the touches and the voice and the presence stayed with him the whole time.

 

________________________

 

But when he finally awoke, opening his eyes without the obligatory headache trying to crush him, he found it was all a cruel lie. He was alone.

 

He lay still and quiet, trying to piece the disjointed memories in his head together to form some kind of coherent picture, but they just wouldn’t come. He got as far as that chair with Pacitto leaning over him every time, and then it all went blank. Well, he thought, eventually frustrated by his lack of success, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing he couldn’t remember. Whatever had happened to put him this state probably wasn’t going to be a happy memory. Sometimes it was just best to let those defence mechanisms take over.

 

He tried to sit up, but the screaming pain in his shoulder beat him back and he lay down, frustration beginning to nip at his heels. He needed to see where he was, who had saved his ass, he needed a pee, he needed a drink, and here he was, as helpless as a baby.

 

He gritted his teeth and tried again, pushing himself up with his left arm, his right held tight across his ribs, and almost made it, but then his arm locked and he was trapped, the muscles trembling as he forced them into holding his weight even though he knew it was a losing battle and it was only seconds before he was going to end up on the floor, and in the state he was in – that was going to hurt.

 

Then suddenly the door was opening behind him and footsteps sounded on the thick carpet before strong hands gripped his arm and his shoulder pulling him back from the brink and setting him back on the pillows, “Hey, man, what you tryin’ to do to yourself?” and Face was ashamed of the crushing disappointment that washed over him.

 

BA helped him to the toilet then back to bed, brought him more painkillers and orange juice and finally a bowl of soup before he got round to asking the questions that had been niggling at him ever since he woke. “So,” he poked unenthusiastically at the soup with his spoon, “You guys found me then?”

 

“Yeah,” BA was lounging back in the chair at his bedside, ankles crossed on the duvet, “Hannibal went in with a tracker. Bit like that job in Belize. Me and Murdock followed him in.”

 

“Right,” Face stared into the soup as if it would bring back his memories, “I don’t remember.” He looked up, “Thanks, though. For coming.”

 

A grin split BA’s face, “No problem, brother, it’s good to have you back.”

 

And there was that uncomfortable squirm in Face’s stomach again.

 

“Where are they then? Murdock and Hannibal?”

 

BA’s pause was just a little too long, “Ah, supply run. Should be back soon.”

 

Face pushed the bowl away and lay back in the pillows once more, instantly BA was hovering above him, “You okay? You feelin’ bad again?”

 

He was, but he couldn’t tell BA why. “I’m just tired,” he mumbled instead, and it wasn’t a complete lie, the trip to the toilet, the drink, the brief conversation, had all combined to sap his strength.

 

“Okay,” BA stood and took the tray from his lap, “I’ll let you sleep then. But I’ll keep coming up, see if you are alright.”

 

Face nodded, suddenly too exhausted to speak and just let the welcome nothingness of sleep claim him again.

 

_________________________

 

For three days and nights the pattern hardly altered. Face slept a lot and woke for short periods. Murdock or BA would bring him drinks and pain med and food, sometimes even feeding him when he was too exhausted to even lift a spoon. They would sit with him if he was awake and watch TV in the bedroom. One of them slept in the other bed every night to be close by in case he needed them, and Murdock even bathed him when Face couldn’t stand feeling sticky and sweaty for another second.

 

But he never saw Hannibal. It seemed the boss was out, or busy, or sleeping or just something every time Face was awake. At first he had wondered if the boss was even here or if had disappeared somewhere, but then he realised that he could hear him walking around, could hear the deep rumble of his voice downstairs and often awoke with that strange feeling of a <presence again, watching over him while he slept. But after two days he stopped asking, it was obvious the boss wasn’t going to come near him, was avoiding him, and that knowledge made him sick to his stomach.

 

___________

He woke on the fourth morning feeling almost human once more. He still hurt all over, and knew he wouldn’t be able to run a marathon for a long time yet, but at least he didn’t feel like just curling up and dying any more.

 

Holding tightly to the head board of the bed, he hauled himself carefully to his feet, standing still for a moment to let the world stop spinning, then, taking care not to wake Murdock who was sprawled sideways across the other bed, crept to the door and slid out onto the landing.

 

He could hear footsteps walking about on the floor below and the smell of fresh coffee actually made his stomach rumble and his heart miss a beat. Hannibal.

 

He headed for the top of the stairs and looked down with a hint of trepidation. It was a long, sweeping staircase, and his legs still felt a bit like jelly, but he took deep breath, and gripping the banister tightly, slowly made his way down.

 

It was a beautiful house. Modern, spacious and light with huge picture windows at the back affording a view over the lake. It was also open plan which meant that Face spotted Hannibal the second he got to the bottom of the staircase. The horrendous events of the last three months almost faded into nothing as Face saw him standing there, pouring coffee at the counter while turning the pages of the newspaper with his other hand, and he suddenly realised with painful clarity what an idiot he had been to send Hannibal away in Montana. He wondered if it was too late to fix any of that...

 

The open plan design also meant that the second Face moved away from the foot of the stairs, Hannibal looked up and their eyes met. He froze in the act of bringing his cup up to his mouth and for just a second Face could see a whirlwind of emotions in his features before they were carefully schooled into neutrality.

 

“Hey, kid, good to see you up,” he turned his back to open a cupboard, “you want some coffee?” and his words hurt Face almost as much as his recent beating.

 

Hope withering away inside him like a dead butterfly, Face composed his own expression into a mask of detachment before replying, “Yeah, sure,” in what he hoped was a composed tone.

 

He slid onto a stool at the counter and looked out of the window to avoid looking at Hannibal, missing the concerned glance his CO threw his way, “Nice place you got here.”

 

“Yeah, it is. Murdock got us it.”

 

Again Face’s stomach churned, didn’t sound like they missed him much then.

 

“How you feeling, kid?” The enquiry was made brightly, as if Face had been off it with a bit of a cold, not almost beaten to death by a bunch of psychopathic mobsters.

 

“Fine,” Face lied, “be out of your hair in no time.”

 

Hannibal froze as he reached out for the milk jug and Face winced to himself. What the fuck had he said that for? One day he would learn to engage his brain before speaking.

 

“Great!” and there was that stupid fucking voice again; Face realised his headache was back.

 

He cast about for something else to say, anything to fill the awful silence, when he noticed that the living area had been turned into some hi-tech communication’s centre with wires and monitors and laptops strewn everywhere. He leaned forward for a better view, “What’s all that lot then?”

 

Hannibal glanced into the den as if he had never seen any of that equipment before in his life and quickly placed himself to block Face’s view, “Ah, nothing much, you know,” Face held his stare, “It’s just some stuff we are using for the job we’re working on at the minute. Probably best if you don’t go near it.”

 

This time Face’s stomach just froze and he felt the liquid anger bubbling up within him.

 

 “Right,” he said in his own version of the falsely bright voice, “probably best if I just stayed upstairs then? Out of the way?” and he pushed away his stool, heading for the stairs.

 

“Face,” the tone of anguish in Hannibal’s voice was just enough to make him stop. They looked at each other before Hannibal looked away, “You’ve forgotten your coffee.”

 

Face was back on the move again instantly, pushing past Murdock who was heading down the stairs. “Thanks for coming for me, boss!” he threw over his shoulder as he hauled himself back up the thickly carpeted staircase.

 

“Always...” Hannibal muttered under his breath as he turned away from the accusing stare Murdock was sending his way.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 9

Face headed straight for the family bathroom at the top of the stairs, he needed to be alone, didn’t trust himself with what he might say if anyone came after him. As soon as the door was locked he slumped down onto the toilet seat and let his head sink into his hands. This was a nightmare.

 

Hannibal didn’t want him here, that much was for sure. They were obviously still in the middle of whatever job it was that had brought them up to Illinois and Face was just getting in their way. As soon as he could he would leave, staying here was helping no one. It seemed that Jessie had been wrong about Hannibal all along; he didn’t want him back at all.

 

Not for the first time he wished Jessie was here. He’d hardly had the chance to mourn her, and it made him sick to his stomach that anyone who knew her would think he had killed her. He shook his head, he had very few people in his life he liked and trusted, and as much as he hadn’t known Jessie long, he just knew they would have ended up as the closest of friends. Life wasn’t fair.

 

He stood up and caught sight of himself in the mirrored tiles that covered one wall of the bathroom; it wasn’t a pretty sight. It seemed that almost every inch of visible skin was covered in bruising, black, purple and blue in places, fading to green and yellow in others. He stepped forward and lifted his t-shirt, wincing as the movement tugged his shoulder and grated against his broken ribs. He still had the wrapping around his chest but he could see the bruising covering his stomach and sides, disappearing under the wraps and then blooming up out of the top again. He turned the other way and tugged down his shorts, inspecting the deep black stain that stretched from his knee right up and over his hip, merging seamlessly into his broken ribs. Shit. It was no wonder he hurt like hell. He peered into the mirror above the sink and lifted his hair to examine the neatly stitched gash just under his hair line, before gently prodding the purplish swelling around his eye. And then he turned to the thin red lacerations all over him, tracing one or two with a finger, feeling the roughness of the scabs under his skin. It was obvious they’d used some kind of whip on him and his stomach churned as he recognised for the first time what a true blessing his selective amnesia was. That was one memory he knew he could do without, but he realised it was only a matter of time before it crept into his dreams. He shuddered and turned away from the glass, not wanting to look anymore; and suddenly it was very plain to see why Hannibal didn’t want him either. 

 

He slipped out of the bathroom and back into his bed, pulling the covers up over his head and just checking out. He couldn’t do this, he had to get better and he had to leave.

 

_____________________________

 

 

When he awoke again, it was dark and he could hear the sounds of an argument drifting up the stairs. He strained to listen, that was Hannibal and Murdock who were shouting at each other, and he could also make out BA’s baritone interjecting now and again, but in a quieter voice. He couldn’t make out what they were arguing about, and it was weird, Hannibal and Murdock never fought. Or at least they never used to, Face had to remind himself he wasn’t a part of this team now, hadn’t been for almost two years and a lot could change in that time. He turned onto his side and pulled the pillow up over his head.

 

He drifted back into sleep within five minutes, missing the end of the argument as Murdock stormed off up the stairs shouting back over his shoulder, “You need to fix it, Colonel! If he leaves again over you, I swear, I will never forgive you!”

 

_______________________________

 

He slept late the next morning, and the house was still and silent. He pulled himself out of bed and visited the bathroom, taking care to avoid the mirror, before his empty stomach forced him to venture downstairs. He took the stairs cautiously, unwilling to run into Hannibal again, but he needn’t have worried, the white van was gone from the parking space outside and only BA appeared to be at home, crouched over the laptops with headphones over his ears.

 

Face took the long way round to the kitchen and helped himself to a box of cereal and a jug of milk before creeping back upstairs and the joys of daytime TV.

 

It was early afternoon before he heard the van pull up outside and within minutes Murdock had burst into his room, so hyper he was practically buzzing.

 

“Hey, Facey! What you up to? You’re looking better, bud, what you doing still up here? We’ve brought pizza in and beers, and I’ve got one of those Kinect things for the Xbox! You coming down?”

 

Face looked up coolly from his fourth bowl of cereal, “You having some kind of party?”

 

Murdock’s eyes were alight, “Yeah! The job went really well today! Couple more days and we’ll be done and then we can-”

 

“Great,” Face interrupted flatly, “Listen Murdock, you want to move out of the way of the TV? Kind of busy here.”

 

Murdock stopped as if he had been slapped, then looked over his shoulder at the flat screen that Face’s eyes were stubbornly attached to, “Oprah? Reruns of Oprah? Face, you gotta be kidding me here...”

 

“It’s interesting.”

 

There was a beat of silence and Face squirmed uncomfortably as he could almost hear Murdock deflating.

 

“You not coming down then?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Right. Fine,” and he turned to stomp out muttering something that sounded a little like, “both as fucking stubborn as the other...” under his breath.

 

Face sighed and shoved his cereal bowl away, trying to ignore the aroma of hot pizzas drifting up from downstairs.

 

__________________________

 

 

No one came near him for the rest of the day. He heard Hannibal and Murdock come upstairs around ten pm, and felt a pang of guilt as Murdock chose another bedroom to sleep in. Eventually his growling stomach forced him into action and he stole silently down the stairs and into the kitchen.

 

There were half empty pizza boxes all over the counters in the kitchen and Face stood at the window, watching the lights on the other side of the lake as he helped himself to cold slices. A movement from the den caught his eye and he saw BA stacking a pile of DVDs onto the shelf before flicking off the lights and heading for the stairs. Face waited until he heard the bathroom door close and the shower switch on before he snuck into the den with his pizza and picked up the top disc.

 

It was a blank single use DVD, but BA had scrawled on it in a permanent marker, ‘Chicago Globe, Trust me, you want to watch this!’ Face frowned and looked at the next on the stack, it was similarly labelled, but this time addressed to the Chicago Sun Times, the next to the Chicago Tribune and so on. He glanced around until he spotted a DVD/TV combi unit, flicked it on and slid the DVD in place. Turning the volume down as low as he could, he sat on the carpet in front of the screen and waited to find out what his team he been up to without him.

When the picture flicked into view, Face almost choked on his last mouthful of pizza. The screen was split into two, almost like those interviews on news programmes where the anchorman is in the studio talking to the correspondent out in the field. But this wasn’t a news programme, it seemed to be some kind of video conferencing, and there was no CNN anchor man, only two guys in suits and, Face’s blood ran cold, Joey Pacitto.

 

For one horrible moment Face was almost back in that room, he could almost taste the gag in his mouth and the fear in his heart, ’ Strip him down and string him up, men, and get rid of that gag, I want to hear this.’ but he wasn’t well practiced in the art of denial for nothing. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head before opening them up again and starring at the screen, forcing his memories away and concentrating on the conversation already taking place.

 

“What are you implying here?” Pacitto’s voice still made Face’s skin crawl, but he concentrated on the tone instead, and was interested to note that the mobster seemed on the back foot, threatened even.

 

“Nothing,” the reply came in a heavy Russian accent and Face glanced at the two guys in suits before doing a literal double take; it was Murdock and Hannibal, both heavily disguised but Face hadn’t worked with them for so many years without being able to see through any disguise they could pull. His heart began to hammer.

 

“We are just wary about investing so much money.” Despite his anxiety, Face couldn’t help but smile at the impeccable Russian accent Murdock was producing, no one could do accents like Murdock, “Mr. Alexandrei, here does not deal with incompetents.”

 

“Incompetents!” Pacitto looked ready to burst, “And how do you figure you have the right to say things like that to me?”

 

“We have done our research,” this was Hannibal, his accent much thicker than Murdock’s in a move Face knew, that was designed to keep Pacitto away from his true identity. “It seems you have had a few ‘incidents’ in your organisation recently?”

 

“What type of incidents?” Pacitto growled.

 

Murdock consulted a clip board in front of him, “A shipment was seized in New York, Police successfully raided a warehouse of yours in Mexico, one of your own drivers dumped a whole van load of drugs into the river, you were implicated in the recent trial of Deputy John Ambrose. Shall I continue?”

 Pacitto was starting to sweat, “Those are the risks you take in an operation like mine. Any operation worldwide would be the same. Even an idiot would know that!”

 

“I am not an idiot,” Hannibal’s voice was cold, “And I am aware at the risks involved in international drug operations. That is not the point.”

 

“What is then?”

 

“The way it is dealt with. I need to know that you will deal with issues like this quickly and firmly.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Face swallowed at the masochistic gleam that suddenly lit up in Pacitto’s eye. “The guy who lost that shipment in New York? Dead. The guy who dumped the drugs in the river? Dead. You can rely on me Mr. Alexandrei.” The bastard actually looked proud of himself.

 

“Hmm,” it was testimony to Hannibal’s skills as an actor that he carried on effortlessly when Face found himself shaking. Or maybe Hannibal just didn’t care... “That’s all good with an employee; you are not so forthcoming when it is someone you know personally.”

 

Pacitto frowned, “What?”

 

Again Murdock consulted his notes, “Our sources report you have had a bit of trouble with your woman recently? She has been a bit of a...” he frowned, “blyad, I don’t know your word for it,”

 

“Whore,” Face and Hannibal helpfully provided at the same time and Pacitto’s expression darkened again.

 

“That has been taken care of,” he spat.

 

“But not by you,” Hannibal let his words hang. “How can I trust a man who is not even strong enough to keep his own woman in check?”

 

Pacitto leant forward, his eyes flashing with his rage, “It was taken care of!”

 

“By the sooka who was bedding her?” Hannibal shook his head, “Not proper, Mr. Pacitto. Weak.”

 

“He didn’t kill her!” Pacitto was livid, “Don’t you assholes get that? I set him up! Stabbed the bitch myself with my very own hand! With this fucking knife!” He pulled a knife from the inside of his sleeve, “Then used his as well, made it look good and tipped the cops off! I’m not fucking weak!”

 

Face’s breath was stuck in his chest. Oh, Hannibal, you clever, clever, bastard... He’d never thought he’d be able to get the millstone of Jessie’s murder from round his neck, thought it would dog his every step and maybe even see him on death row one day. But Hannibal had done it, for him.

 

He’d missed the last few sentences of the conversation and before he knew it, the clip had finished and the screen was blank, shrouding the room in darkness, but Face couldn’t move and stayed huddled on the carpet, his mind in a whirl.

 

________________

He awoke to the sound of duck calls and cracked his eyes open in confusion. He found himself still on the floor in the den, looking out over the decking where BA was throwing handfuls of bread out onto the lake. There was a pillow behind his head and a duvet thrown over him.

 

He looked up into the screen of the DVD player and thought back to what he had seen the night before. Hannibal had freed him, there was no doubt in his mind about that, but he still couldn’t help the simmering resentment that they had excluded him; that his input into Hannibal’s grand plan had been neither needed nor requested. In fact, Hannibal had even told him to stay away from it all and that made him feel like there was a shard of ice lodged in his chest.

 

The doors from the deck slid open again and BA walked in, grinning at him, “Mornin’. There’s bacon in the kitchen if you want it,” Face rubbed at his eyes, wincing at the ache of the bruising, “You gotta start eating right man, cereal and cold pizza? You gettin’ as bad as the fool!”

 

“Yeah,” Face hauled himself to his feet, “And the quicker you can feed me up, the quicker you can ship me out again, huh?”

 

BA paused in the act of pouring himself a glass of juice and threw Face a cold stare before he turned and headed over to one of the laptops, powering it up.

 

Face climbed onto the sofa and pulled the duvet back over himself to keep off the chill, “Where are the others?”

 

BA didn’t look at him, “Finishin’ the job.”

 

The stack of DVDs were still on the shelf, the one Face had been watching replaced at the top of the pile, “I saw the DVD.”

 

“Guessed you did.”

 

“So, what is there to finish?”

 

BA looked over at him, incredulous expression on his face, “That proves nothing’ man, they need to get their hands on that knife.”

 

Face felt cold as all the blood drained from his features, “They can’t do that! The guy’s a psychopath!”

 

BA was typing on the laptop, a look of concentration on his face, “They know what they doin’.”  

 

“No they don’t!” Face was on his feet, “They don’t know what he’s like or what he’s capable of. Why the fuck didn’t Hannibal take me?!”

 

The sound of typing stopped as BA looked up at him, “You kiddin’ me right? You wanna know why Hannibal didn’t take you?”

 

Face flushed and his hands balled into fists, “Oh, yeah, right. I was forgetting that I don’t count anymore, that I’m not part of the team! Obviously the fact that me and Hannibal have done dozens of undercover ops together, that I know Pacitto’s operation and his goons inside out, that I’m fucking fluent in Russian, doesn’t matter ‘cause Hannibal’s just decided I’m not fucking good enough for this anymore!”

 

Face was upset, really upset and when he was upset his mouth just went onto autopilot and living through three of the worst months of his life had conspired to further concentrate his unfortunate habit. 

 

And BA knew all that, but unfortunately he was stressed and worried about his team and not in the mood to deal with Face and one of his emotional crises. He jumped to his feet and the defence of his CO. “Shut the fuck up about the boss! You have no idea the shit you put him through, the shit you always put him through, but these last two years...” He shook his head, “And still he came running when you needed him, we all did, and this is the thanks anyone gets for savin’ your sorry ass!”

 

“Yeah? Well I never asked anyone to! Do you think I want to be here like some unwanted relative staying over Christmas? As soon as I can, I’m out of here, and you can all go back to just pretending I don’t exist!”

 

BA swore under his breath, “You walk outta here again Face, and you’ll break his heart!”

 

Face laughed coldly, “BA, you’ve no idea what’s been going on...”

 

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” the anger was radiating from BA’s eyes, “I know you two have been fuckin’ and I know it obviously means more to him than it’ll ever mean to you ‘cause you’re about as shallow and cold as they come!”

 

 

He glanced down as the laptop started beeping, then back up at Face, but his anger was already ebbing, his concentration drawn elsewhere, “And he didn’t want you to go ‘cause he didn’t want you to have to think about that psycho and what he did to you an’ your girl, didn’t want you anywhere near the bastard, ever again.”

Face stared at him in silence, “He wanted to keep you safe, Face. An’ it’s time you got your head outta your ass and started seeing things properly,” he added, sinking down on the sofa and typing away once more.

 

Face sat back down heavily and pulled the duvet up over himself and they sat in silence for almost half an hour, BA working on the laptop, before he felt calm enough to speak steadily.

 

“If he just told me how he felt, or showed me... I’d find it easier to believe.”

 

BA looked up and this time there was nothing but sympathy and compassion in his eyes, “It’s not gonna happen bro, he’s made his move, thinks you want out. He aint gonna say nothin’ to try and make you stay.” He glanced at his watch, “And now I need to concentrate, it’s almost show time.” He lifted up a set of headphones and slipped them over his ears, his expression morphing into one of total concentration.

 

Face watched him for a second, then leaned over himself and snagged a second pair, fitting them carefully over his ears as he sat back and listened.

 

It was hard to work out at first what was going on, he had no idea where Hannibal and Murdock were and there seemed to be a lot of background noise and vehicle engines. But just at the point he was going to ask BA everything went much quieter and he could hear Mr. Alexandrei and Mr. Beketov being welcomed and led down a long corridor before another door opened and closed and Face could hear Pacitto’s voice. It still chilled him to the bone.

 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, Comrades! Welcome to America!” Face cringed; he’d never met a Russian who liked being called ‘comrade’ yet.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” this was Hannibal and Face’s heart started beating against his ribs, what if Pacitto recognised him? He hoped Hannibal had a back-up plan, a damn good one, ‘cause he and BA were far too far away to help.

 

“Your welcome is very hospitable,” Murdock’s accent was perfect as usual, “and before we get down to business, we have brought you some gifts from Mother Russia, little tokens of our good will.”

 

“Guys!” Face could hear the smile in Pacitto’s voice, “What can I say, that’s too, too generous of you!”

 

“Not at all,” Face heard the clunk of a briefcase on a table top then a strange hissing sound and lots of commotion.

 

He glanced at BA who held his hand up in their usual gesture for ‘wait’ and then Murdock’s voice came over the headset, muffled as if he were wearing a diving mask or something and without the Russian accent, “Colonel, what you doing? Let’s get going, we need to give the cops time to get here before they wake up!”

 

Face was still confused and BA read it in his expression, “Knock out gas,” he muttered and Face nodded slowly as he went back to listening.

 

“Just a minute. I want to have a chat with Joey here before we leave.” Hannibal’s voice was similarly muffled and Murdock could be heard muttering under his breath.

 

A loud crack sounded over the headphones followed by a muffled moan and then Hannibal’s voice was back, “Is that easier to breathe now Joey? Yeah? Well don’t get too comfy ‘cause you’re only borrowing it. Remember me?”

 

There was another moan and then Pacitto’s voice, also sounding like he was diving, came through Face’s headphones, “You? I thought you were dead!”

 

“Yeah well, you thought wrong shithead. Just like you thought wrong when you decided to work over my lieutenant.”

 

Pacitto let out a weak laugh, “You kidding me? Never had so much fun. Boy’s got a beautiful body and it took a lot of hammer before he started begging.”

 

Face felt BA looking at him but kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor as a sharp crack filled his ears quickly followed by Hannibal’s snarl, “Shut the fuck up. You like pain so much? Here, try some of your own!” There was another noise, a dull thud this time and Face ripped the ear phones off and fled for the stairs.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 10

Ten minutes later Face was laid on the bed staring at the ceiling when a tentative knock sounded on the bedroom door. He ignored it.

 

“Face?” BA sounded strangely subdued. “They are on their way back. All went to plan. The cops have picked Pacitto and his boys up and he had the knife on him.”

 

Face didn’t answer.

 

 “The cops already have their DVD, gonna go and deliver these others now. You okay, man?”

 

He wasn’t and he didn’t even know why he wasn’t, but he took a deep breath, “Yeah.”

 

“Okay. See you later,” and Face listened to his footsteps slowly fade away.

 

_____________________________

 

An hour passed before the van’s engine rumbled into Face’s consciousness and he felt himself tense, swinging his legs off the bed so he was sitting with his back to the door. He could feel everything they had been through in the past two years coming to a head in these next few moments.

 

He didn’t have long to wait. Within a few minutes he heard slow measured footsteps on the stairs and then a knock at the door. He steeled himself. “Yeah?” and Hannibal slipped in, closing the door behind him and leaning on it.

 

“Kid,” and Face was relieved he was using a normal voice, not that ridiculously bright one he had the other day, “You alright? BA said you were a bit freaked out...”

 

“Course,” he ran a shaky hand through his hair and managed a bit of a strained smile, “It’s just been a tough few weeks that’s all.”

 

“Yeah...” Hannibal’s expression darkened just a little.

 

Face knew that this was the time where he was supposed to ask about the job, to check it had all gone okay, that the police would find Jessie’s DNA on that knife and the truth would be known about her murder, but somehow he just couldn’t force himself down that path. Pacitto had taken up far too much of his thoughts these last few days as it was. He cast his eyes around for something else to say instead and that’s when he noticed five or six carrier bags grasped firmly in Hannibal’s big hands. “You been shopping, boss?” he asked instead.

 

Hannibal glanced down at the bags as if he had forgotten they were there, then held them out towards Face, “Yeah, got these for you, knew you’d lost all your stuff, can’t go round in PJs the rest of your life...”

 

Taking the offered bags, Face glanced self-consciously down at the shorts and top he was wearing. BA had found him two sets and someone, Murdock he presumed had been washing one set out for him while he slept so he always had clean clothes to change in to. But Hannibal was right; wearing nothing but PJs for a week was sloppy. Not like Face at all.

 

He upended the first bag on the bed and sifted through it in silence. T-shirts, all the kind he liked, not those ones that twist as soon as you wash them, and no loud colours either, just perfect. Jeans, ready washed and in his size, trunks and socks, a hoody. Emptying the next bag he found a couple of pairs of cargos, a jacket, some shirts and a couple of fleeces. The next bag, a non-crease suit, complete with shirt, tie and waistcoat. “It’s not Armani or anything, but I thought it would tide you over...” Hannibal sounded awkward. 

 

Face nodded, his throat was too tight to speak.

 

He looked inside a Target bag and saw toiletries, all his usual brands, everything he needed. Then he came across another bag with a pair of boots and a pair of shoes in it and a third little box at the bottom of the bag holding a brand new iPod. Face just held it in his hand, staring.

 

Hannibal took the smallest of steps towards him, “I haven’t had chance to put anything on it yet, but BA says all your stuff is still on one of the laptops so it should be really easy to transfer it over...”

 

He put the iPod carefully down on top of the pile of clothes and reached for the last bag, his words to BA only that morning coming back to him, ’If he just told me how he felt, or showed me... I’d find it easier to believe.’ Is that was this was? It certainly felt like it. There was a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long, long while.

 

The last bag was at his feet and he bent down to pick it up. It was large and flat and Face wondered absently what it could be as he dropped his hand inside and pulled out the contents. And then he froze. It was a kit bag.

 

His heart went into overdrive and he realised that Hannibal was talking to him but he couldn’t hear because of the pounding in his ears; this last bag just threw everything on its head. How could he have been so stupid? Thinking, just for a minute there that Hannibal had done all that for him, bought him all those things because he cared for him?

 

Of course he didn’t care for him, whoever did? He was a burden that’s all, a responsibility, like a problem child who never left home. And that’s what the bag and all the clothes were for, to help him leave. Hannibal’s message couldn’t be any clearer – he’d used up all his welcome here. It was time to go.

 

He was vaguely aware of Hannibal taking another step towards him and he turned to look, his mind still reeling.

 

“So,” Hannibal was watching him carefully, unsure of the look in his eyes, “BA said you had something you wanted to discuss with me? Something we should maybe talk about?”

 

Face looked down at the kit bag, and then back at Hannibal, “Yeah,” his voice sounded strangely tight, “You got me a passport too? Then I could leave the country and be out of your hair for good.”

 

Hannibal stepped back and looked at him, his brows drawing together, then he turned and walked silently out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him as he went.

 

Face stood for a minute, chest rising and falling with the effort of getting himself back under control, then he started folding all the clothes and packing them into the damn kit bag.  Definitely time to go.

 

______________

’I know what it takes to move on; I know how it feels to lie.

All I want to do is trade this life for something new.

Holding on to what I haven’t got...’

 

He was up and dressed before it was even properly light, he’d hardly slept all night anyway so it was no hardship. He’d chosen the jeans and frowned at the way they hung off his hips even though they were the right size, he supposed he must have lost some weight recently. He felt something in his pocket and slid his hand in, pulling out a tightly rolled wad of notes and his heart twisted; Hannibal obviously wanted rid of him so badly.

 

He pushed the money back into his pocket, he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t need it, but left the iPod on the bed, somehow if felt wrong to take that, and he crept out of the room. His stomach growled as he stole down the stairs, he hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, but he avoided the kitchen, he just needed to get out and would get something once he saw a takeout place somewhere. His hand was on the door handle and he paused, knowing that what he was doing here could never be reversed; once he walked out of the door, there was no going back. His gaze fell on the kit bag at his side and his mind was made up, he opened the door and slid out onto the gravelled drive.

 

The white van was parked on the drive but Face ignored it, wincing as he hoisted the kit bag onto his shoulder he headed for the road with the intention of getting a cab.

 

The early morning was deathly quiet, only a few birds welcoming another cloudy day when a voice rang out from behind him, making him jump out of his skin. “Need a lift somewhere, kid?”

 

It was Hannibal. Of course it was. Sitting on the top rail of the fence next to the garage, cup of coffee in his hand and carefully neutral expression on his features.

 

Face was speechless, he could only stare back. Caught red handed.

 

Hannibal slid off the fence and placed his empty coffee cup on the ground, “Don’t worry,” there was a tone of defeat in his voice that Face didn’t like to hear, “I won’t try and talk you into staying. I’m just offering you a ride.”

 

Still Face didn’t answer.

 

“So, where you going?” Hannibal drew the van keys out of his pocket, “Airport?”

 

Face cleared his throat, “No, Greyhound,” he’d already decided on that. A nice long over land trek would give him time to think.

 

Hannibal nodded, “Sure, hop in,” and walked around to the driver’s door.

 

Face stood undecided for a moment, then slowly walked to the van, throwing his bag into the back and sliding into the passenger’s seat, missing the look of relief that washed over Hannibal’s tired face.

 

’Flying at the speed of light,
Thoughts were spinning in my head,
So many things were left unsaid,
It's hard to let you go...’

 

_____________________

The engine rumbled into life and Hannibal drove slowly along the drive, picking up speed as soon as they were on the road and headed back towards Chicago. Neither one of them spoke until they hit the toll way when Hannibal broke the silence, his voice quiet under the sound of the engine, “Look, kid,” his fingers were white on the steering wheel as he stared straight out of the windshield, “I said I wouldn’t try to keep you here, and I’m not. If this is what you want to do, then that’s fine.” Face curled his hands up into fists, “I just know this has all been hard on you and I want you to know your options.”

 

Face didn’t speak.

 

Hannibal glanced at him then back to the road. “As far as I am concerned, you are still part of this team and always will be, so if you ever want to come back...” his voice tailed off.

 

“I won’t,” Face bit back, “There’s no point.”

 

Hannibal’s head bowed just slightly. “Face, I’m just trying to be civil here. I know you are pretty wiped out with losing Jessie. I know you...” Hannibal swallowed hard, “loved her. I’m offering you options, not pressure.”

 

Face turned to him, “Loved her?” the words were out of his mouth before he had chance to stop them, “I didn’t love her, not like I love-” you. He stopped himself just in time and looked back out of the windshield, “Not in the way you think anyway. I mean she was great, you would have liked her,” Hannibal seriously doubted that, “She was smart and funny and really sassy,” a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “But I was never in love with her.” He let himself drift in his memories for a while, “We were on our way to see you, I couldn’t wait for her to meet Murdock, she was just made for him...”

 

Hannibal looked over sharply, only Face would ever sleep with the girl he was lining up for his best friend, only Face... he shook his head. But what else was that he’d said? He didn’t love her? “You were on your way back?”

 

“Yeah,” Face’s throat was tight again and he turned his head away from Hannibal to stare out of the side window.

 

Hannibal watched him for a moment, “Why?”

 

Face just shrugged his shoulders.

 

“Face,” Hannibal’s voice had that intense pitch to it that gave Face goose bumps, “I need to know, kid, why were you coming back?”

 

“I don’t know!” Face muttered back, sounding like a petulant teenager.

 

They were just coming up to Paul Douglas Forest Preserve and Hannibal swung the van off the road, stopping at a pull in point just in the trees, right next to the picnic area. He killed the engine and swung in his seat to face his lieutenant, “I need to know, Face... please...” his voice was so low Face could almost feel it in his chest.

 

Face turned on him, “Why? Why do you need to know? What possible fucking difference would it make if you knew now?”

 

“It makes all the difference.”

 

“It makes none!” Face was livid. He was tired, hurt and confused, his body ached from head to foot with the effort of just being upright and moving about and he had no idea how he was going to get through even the next week without Hannibal and his team to support him, never mind the rest of his life; but Hannibal had backed him into a corner, and so he came out fighting. “No difference at all! It won’t change your mind, won’t change that you’ve had enough of me, that I’m just in your way. Won’t change that I’m not good enough for this team or for you and your fucking ridiculously high standards, won’t change that you just want me gone! So what if I was coming back to you ‘cause I couldn’t fucking live another day without you? So what? It doesn’t fucking matter!!!”

 

He was out of the door and storming away without even being aware of it, but then there was a firm hand on his arm hauling him back until he collided with the side of the van and had to bite back a shout of pain.   

 

“Who said any of that?!” anger shone in Hannibal’s eyes as well, “Who said I didn’t want you?”

 

“You didn’t need to!” Face was still shouting, “You never came near me the whole time I was in that house, not once! You think that’s not message enough for me?”

 

“That’s not true...” Hannibal ground out his reply, “Apart from the first night, I was there with you all the time you were sleeping, I held you through your nightmares, and talked to you, comforted you, read to you. Every night, Face!”

 

Confusion swept through Face, stoking his anger higher, “While I was asleep? What was the hell point in that? Why only be there when I’m asleep? Why hide when I’m awake?”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes as he sighed and when he opened them again Face could see the pain in them, “Why do you think? You told me I was following you remember? You were trying to get away from me? You didn’t want me...”

 

Face frowned and then it all came back, carefully locked away memories suddenly piled into his head, Cabrini Green, Pacitto, that room... those wires... and he staggered under their weight. But there was a strong hand at his elbow and he looked up into Hannibal’s face, suddenly remembering that conversation in all its terrifying detail. He fought his way back to the present and hung on to Hannibal’s eyes, taking the strength he needed to get him through, “I was lying, boss,” all the fight had left him now, “couldn’t you see I was lying? I had to get you to leave, couldn’t let you die with me...”

 

And time froze as they looked at each other, really looked at each other for the first time in almost two years.

 

But then Hannibal looked away. “Kid... I can’t do this anymore,” and Face felt his already weak knees sag a little, “All this up and down,” he looked back at him, “I just can’t do it, it’s tearing me up.”

 

Face just stared. So what did that mean? He did want him, but he didn’t? God, his head was pounding again.

 

“I can’t live my life with you, waking up every morning and wondering if you have disappeared on me again,” he shook his head, “I can’t do that.”

 

Face lifted a shaking hand and put it tentatively on Hannibal’s cheek, “I’m done running, boss,” his voice was barely perceptible over the distant highway traffic, “Don’t know why I ever ran from you in the first place ‘cause I sure as hell can’t live without you, you’re everything to me, everything I have and everything I need.” He felt Hannibal’s hands on his hips, just lightly, mindful of the bruising, just offering support if he needed it, and he did, he always would. “You see the thing is,” he swallowed hard, “I love you, John, I’m in love with you, I’ve never said those words to anyone before and if I ever have to live another day without you I don’t think I...” And he had to break off and drop his head as his throat closed up and his eyes filled with moisture.

 

“You won’t, kid, you won’t. I’m here, I love you too, come here...” And suddenly Hannibal’s warmth was all around him, holding him up and warming him up and just putting the whole world back where it should be. And Face realised he was sobbing, really sobbing, into Hannibal’s neck, he just couldn’t help it, as everything he had been through in the last few weeks, everything he had been through and pushed to one side in his whole damn life was suddenly there, fighting for prominence in his head. He clung to Hannibal and let it all wash through him, knowing that when it came back, he wouldn’t have to face it on his own.

 

There was rain in the air by the time Face had cried himself out and he felt Hannibal pulling back from him as huge raindrops splattered their backs and shoulders and pinged off the van. He leaned back and let Hannibal tip his face up so they were eye to eye, “I’ll never leave you, Temp, never,” and there was a fierceness in his eyes that banished any lingering doubts from Face’s mind.

 

He nodded, “And I’ll never leave you, boss. I swear from the very depths of my soul.”

 

Hannibal smiled and gently squeezed Face’s good shoulder, the rain falling heavier now. And as Face watched, Hannibal’s expression changed, his eyes became darker, his whole face more intense, and Face’s cock jumped as he recognised that look. Slowly, very slowly, keeping eye contact for as long as he could, Hannibal moved in to kiss him.

 

 

Face just opened up and surrendered completely to Hannibal, letting the boss push him against the side of the van, a hand in his hair, a hand on his hip, and reclaim ownership of his mouth, his heart and his very soul. He felt like he’d been hauled from the sea on the brink of drowning and Hannibal was the oxygen he had been starved of for so long; he drank him in greedily just wanting more and more, his own hands reaching to hold his head in place, pulling his hips closer and closer.

 

The rain pounded onto them now, but Face hardly noticed. His hair was wet, huge raindrops ran down his face, washing away the salt left by his tears, Hannibal’s t-shirt was clinging to him under Face’s hands, but neither of them cared.

 

He needed this even more than he had realised, he was rock hard and couldn’t help pushing himself into Hannibal, ignoring the pain in his hip and feeling a thrill down his spine as he felt how hard the boss was in response. And then Hannibal’s hand on his hip moved, sliding round to the front, trying to push some space in between them so he could gain access to the buttons on his jeans, but he just couldn’t move away, couldn’t pull back to let even that tiny amount of space come between them.

 

It was like all the time they had been apart, he’d had this cold, empty hole in side of him, growing bigger with every day, threatening to get so big it swallowed him whole, and now Hannibal was filling it up, slowly pouring himself in. If Face pulled away now, before he was full, he may just fall apart again, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive that.

 

Hannibal seemed to understand. He stopped trying to prise them apart and instead reached over to open the side door of the van. As it opened, the support at Face’s back disappeared and he found himself falling backwards into the van; he braced himself, with busted ribs and Hannibal’s weight on top of him, he knew it was going to hurt. But the pain never came, Hannibal’s arm caught them both and rolled them to the floor of the van, kicking the sliding door closed with his foot, shutting out the rain and plunging them into darkness, and all the time, Face just kept drinking him in. He was breathing through his nose when he needed air, stroking Hannibal’s tongue with his own, licking through his boss’ mouth and his desperate hands just kept tugging him closer and closer, he could never get enough.

 

Then Hannibal’s thrusts started answering his own and he felt a moan surface deep in his throat. The boss’ mouth slipped from his and fell on his jawbone instead, tasting and nibbling while Face gasped air in through his mouth.

 

“Oh, God, kid...” there was a tremor in his voice that shot straight to Face’s hips and his thrusts became wild and erratic.

 

“I need... you...” Face stammered, mouth seeking his in the darkness, and then Hannibal was on him, pushing him into the floor of the van, mouth ravaging his, hips pounding out a desperate rhythm and Face felt himself being sucked down into the eye of the vortex. He pushed up as hard as he could, ignoring the blinding pain in his ribs, his shoulder, his hip, none of that mattered, all that mattered was this, fulfilling this desperate, primeval need inside him.

 

Then Hannibal’s rhythm stuttered and he moaned into Face’s mouth. Face felt an explosion of warmth over his jeans and with one last desperate thrust upwards he came as well, his release pulsing hard in his trunks, forcing all the fear and loneliness out with it and leaving him barely conscious of anything around him.

______________________

 

When he came back to himself he was laid in Hannibal’s arms, one hand stroking gently through his hair and he could just make out his boss’ worried expression in the gloom of the van. He smiled, a lazy, sleepy smile that still managed to light up his whole face and lifted a hand to rest on Hannibal’s flat stomach, “Hey, boss,”

 

He heard Hannibal’s answering chuckle, “Hey yourself,” but then the tone changed to one of concern, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

 

“No,” Face replied grimacing in pain as he let Hannibal pull him up, “Shit, boss, that was... intense!”

 

“Hmmm,” Hannibal’s arm was around his back, keeping him upright, and Face could hear the doubt in his voice, “that’s one word for it,” Face frowned up at him, “I haven’t done that since I was about seventeen...”

 

A snort of laughter burst from Face’s lips, forcing him to grab his ribs as they complained, “You’re embarrassed? Oh, Christ, boss, that’s priceless,” he laughed again, figuring the pain was worth it, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I made you come in your pants!”

 

“I haven’t missed your idea of a joke, kid,” Hannibal muttered as he leaned Face up against the wall of the van, “but...” and his eyes were suddenly intense as his hand slid up to rest on his cheek, “...But, shit, I’ve missed every god damned other thing about you.”

 

The humour slid from Face’s expression in an instant as he looked into Hannibal’s eyes, “I’m done running, boss. I swear it.” 

 

And that brought another smile to the boss’ face, “I know, kid, I know you are.”

 

“And,” Face flicked his eyes down to the wet patch on the front of his jeans, “As intense as that was,” he looked back and held Hannibal’s fiercely blue eyes, “It wasn’t enough,” he reached out and let his hand slide up a hard muscled thigh, his voice barely a whisper, “I need you, John, inside me, I need you to...” and he trailed off, uncertain.

 

But Hannibal understood, he knew that Face needed to feel claimed, owned, possessed, needed, wanted... all of those things, and that was exactly what Hannibal would give him, but not now.

 

He bent down and dropped a kiss to Face’s swollen lips, pulling away as Face tried to deepen it, “Not here,” he whispered, an undercurrent in his voice Face didn’t understand, “We can go back to the house, or to a hotel, or whatever you want, Face, but just not here.”

 

Face frowned but nodded, “Okay, the house then?” He’d had enough of hotels to last an entire lifetime.

 

“The house,” Hannibal confirmed, helping Face into the front passenger seat of the van before sliding in himself and starting up the engine. He glanced sideways at his lieutenant, his friend, his lover as they pulled back onto the toll way, and smiled. Yeah, the house would be great, if he’d seen Face naked again in the back of this van... dark memories crowded at the edge of his mind and he tried to shake them away. The blood, the chains, the smell of piss... No, he never wanted to face that again. The house was a much better idea.

Next

The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Final Part

They drove back to the house in silence, but it was a comfortable one, Face had leant up against Hannibal and let his eyes slide shut and Hannibal had just enjoyed the feeling of his solid warmth next to him after such a long time.

 

As he killed the engine on the driveway to the house it was obvious that Face was asleep, still leaning up against Hannibal’s shoulder and the boss took the time to just look at him. The bruising on his face was fading, retreating up towards his eye, but there were dark purple smudges that betrayed his state of constant tiredness. Hannibal realised with a sick lurch just how long it would take Face to recover from this, and how close he had come to losing him forever.

 

He saw the empty coffee cup on the drive near the fence and thought how different things would be if he hadn’t woken so early this morning. But then, he’d hardly slept at all through the night, there had been something in Face’s expression last night when he’d given him the clothes that had told him his lieutenant was going to run. What had tipped him over the edge, Hannibal still hadn’t worked out, but at least he had been there to catch him, Hannibal shuddered to think of the state the kid would be in by the end of the week if he hadn’t. And he’d promised he wouldn’t run again; more to the point, Hannibal knew he meant it.

 

He bent to stroke Face’s cheek, trying not to think of the very different circumstances of the last time he’d tried to wake him... But that was all over now and Joey Pacitto had paid highly for what he had done, oh, he’d made damn sure of that.

 

He’d wanted to have his little chat with Joey in private, had told Murdock to wait outside and watch the corridor but the Captain had refused. Hannibal had been pissed as all hell at the time, but had started with Joey anyway, knew he didn’t have the time to argue it out with Murdock, and when the red mist had eventually claimed him, it was Murdock who made him stop. By the time he was dragged away, Pacitto had been reduced to a bloody mess curled up in the corner, sobbing pathetically. Hannibal had absolutely no regrets about the justice he had meted out; Pacitto certainly hadn’t had any regrets about what he had done to Face, but he had eventually thanked Murdock for stepping in, without Pacitto alive to stand trial for Jessie’s murder, Face would never be completely absolved.

 

“Face,” his lips brushed the warm shell of an ear, “we’re back.”

 

He watched him carefully, knew that Face had a habit of exploding as he woke, but this time his eyes just flickered, then opened, and he smiled up at Hannibal, “Yeah? Must have dropped off...”

 

Their progress to the bedroom was slow, Face kept stopping at every corner and stair to crush his mouth against Hannibal, melding their bodies together at every opportunity, and while that in itself was very enjoyable for Hannibal, it was slowing him down in the completion of his overall plan which was to get Face upstairs and into his bed. 

 

Eventually they made it, Hannibal pushing them both through the door and kicking it shut behind them. Face lifted his head from where he had been nibbling on a patch of skin just under Hannibal’s jaw line and looked round the room. It was nowhere near as big as the one he had been in, no flat screen, no en-suite, just fitted wardrobes along one wall and a double bed pushed up into the corner. He turned a quizzical face to Hannibal who just shrugged, “Wanted to be out of the way...” and Face surged forward again, desperately trying to put right with his body, everything he’d done wrong with his actions.

 

 

 

They backed up to the bed, and Hannibal lowered Face gently down onto the duvet before climbing up him, straddling his hips and starting on the buttons of his shirt.

Face watched in silence, his erection trapped under Hannibal’s glorious weight, his heart beating hard in anticipation of what was to come. Hannibal smiled down at him and finished the last button. He opened Face’s shirt wide and his whole expression just fell, “Oh, my God...”

 

Face’s chin lifted just a tiny bit in that gloriously defiant way of his as he met Hannibal’s stare, “What?”

 

Hannibal had scooted off him and was now undoing the buttons on his jeans, but not in a remotely sexual way and Face knew exactly what was coming next, “It’s nothing, boss...”

 

His jeans were open and Hannibal slid them down, ignoring his rapidly deflating cock as it lay in his still damp shorts, “Jesus, Face, I had no idea it was still so bad...”

 

He was running his finger tips over bruised skin, skimming welts that were still vivid red, smoothing over hot, swollen joints, then his eyes moved up to Face’s and Face cringed at the look that was in there.

 

“Boss,” there was a bite in his voice, “don’t look at me like that! I don’t need your pity!”

 

Hannibal was at his side in an instant, hand in his hair, hand, ever so gently, on his stomach, “No, Temp, that is not what this is. Not pity, never pity, it’s love, kid. How can I not react like this to seeing you in so much pain? Jesus, I must have nearly killed you back in that van!” Face could see his appalled expression as he swung his legs off the bed and sat with his head in his hands, “There’s no way we are doing this, not until you have had the chance to heal properly,” he shook his head, disgusted in himself.

 

Face fell back into the bed, disappointment and frustration washing over him, there was no way they weren’t going to do this, no way at all. He looked over at Hannibal’s bent back and struggled into a sitting position making sure not one little tiny sound of pain escaped his lips, then he slipped off the bed and stood in front of him, slowly stripping down to his shorts, determined there would be no more surprises.

 

“Look at me, Hannibal,” he instructed and Hannibal’s eyes, red rimmed now, flicked over his body and up to his face. “I know I’m a mess,” Hannibal opened his mouth to protest but Face silenced him with his eyes, “and I won’t deny it does hurt, but John,” he dropped to his knees in front of Hannibal, “Being without you for all this time has been pain like I’ve never felt before,” he slid his hands up soft combats around hard thighs, “Please don’t turn me away when I need you so much. I can do this. We need to.”

 

“Face,” Hannibal’s hand was in his hair again, “I’ll hurt you.”

 

Face shook his head, imploring Hannibal with his eyes, “Not being with you would hurt me. We’ll be careful, it will be fine. Please.”

 

Minutes ticked by as Hannibal looked at him, indecision etched all over his face, but then the tiniest hint of a smile twitched at his lips and he ruffled Face’s hair gently, “How can I ever deny you anything? You’re like that damn cat in Shrek...”

 

“Puss,” Face corrected.

 

“Whatever. But I make the rules, and I’m on the bottom.”

 

“No way,” it wasn’t that Face didn’t like being a top, it was just not what he wanted now, “I told you, boss, I need you inside me... Need you to fill me.”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, “You trying to get me to come in my pants again, kid?”

 

“Oh, no,” Face leant in and used his most seductive voice, “I’m trying to get you to come in me.”

 

 

A laugh slipped from Hannibal’s lips just before Face moved in to claim them. He pulled his boss to his feet and started to undress him while his mouth kept up the distraction. He knew Hannibal well, if he allowed him time to think about this too much, then it wasn’t going to happen, he just had to keep things snowballing.

 

Luckily for him, Hannibal seemed to be quite easily distracted and as Face pulled away to yank the t-shirt over his head it was Hannibal who was there first, one hand flat on his back, pulling Face in for another kiss. He fumbled with trouser buttons and pushed the waistband of his combats down as far as he could reach, but then had to admit defeat and pull away from that gloriously hot mouth. He dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the damp front of Hannibal’s briefs as he made quick work of his boots and socks, yanking the combats off and throwing them out of his way as Hannibal gently petted his hair, “Efficient as always,” he chuckled as Face crawled back up him.

 

“That’s me, boss,” Face whispered as he drew Hannibal back onto the bed, “Now let’s get the job done.”

 

The briefs were gone before Hannibal had even realised, shoved down to his knees while Face bent and took his swollen cock into his mouth right down to the root. “Jesus! Face...”

 

But Face was too busy to answer, he reached down with one hand, flicking Hannibal’s last item of clothing across the room while his other hand wrapped round the base of his cock, holding him tight as he slowly, slowly pulled off.

 

“Fuuuuck,” Hannibal’s eyes were screwed shut as his head and heels tried to push right through the mattress. He was rapidly starting to lose himself in this as Face used his talented mouth to quite considerable effect, one minute flicking his tongue up and down the prominent vein, the next circling the velvety smooth head, the next sucking him in, hollowing his cheeks with the effort.

 

“Face,” Hannibal reached forward trying to swat him away with his hand, “enough of that, I’m not going to come in your mouth.” His fingers reached Face’s arm and he tugged, trying to pull his lieutenant back up to the top of the bed but Face came away with a yelp of pain and fell to the bed clutching his shoulder.

 

“Oh, God!” Hannibal was there in a second, “I’m sorry! Your shoulder, Jesus, I forgot, here let me see, you want some ice?”

 

He tried to slip off the bed but Face flew up onto his knees and shot his hand out to fasten tightly round his wrist, “Don’t,” he whispered and as Hannibal looked at him he could see the pain standing in his eyes.

 

“Face, this isn’t going to work...”

 

“Don’t, Hannibal,” and Hannibal was appalled that the pain in those eyes seemed to intensify, “Please. I need you, please...”

 

And Hannibal was lost again. He moved to kneel up against Face, rubbing his whole body along the length of his lieutenant’s, feeling the unwelcome barrier of his trunks, and then laying him down again on top of the covers, “Okay, okay, I know, baby,” and Face thought his heart would explode at the whispered endearment, “Come up here and lie still and let me take care of you then, yeah?”

 

Face couldn’t reply as he was gently laid out on the bed, Hannibal’s hands skimming softly over his skin, snagging the waistband of his trunks and peeling them away. He took forever to get them off, feather light touches over the swelling around his hip, Hannibal could still see the exact impact point that damn van made on his skin and then they were tossed to join the rest of their clothes somewhere on the floor.

 

“Okay, now lie still remember,” and Hannibal started to trace a path all over Face’s body, pausing at every mark or bruise or swelling to soothe it with his tongue and soon it was impossible to lie still any more, Face was squirming on the bed, his cock hard and red and begging for attention.

 

“Hannibal...”

 

“Shhh, just be patient,” he was kneeling up again, studying Face intently like he was mission plan.

 

“Boss,” Face reached out of him.

 

“It’s okay,” Hannibal soothed him, “I’m just working out how to do this,”

 

Face rolled his eyes, “Just do it! I’m going crazy here!”

 

 

Hannibal chuckled and lay down next to him on the bed, “Impatient brat, now turn on your side here,” he reached out his hand rolled Face onto his good hip.

 

“No!” as soon as Face realised his intention he tried to twist back, “Not like this! I want to see you...” he couldn’t stop thinking about that night in Montana when Hannibal had held his eyes the entire time he had been inside him, it had been the most mind blowingly intimate experience of his entire life. Ever. It was all he had thought about when he’d been alone in bed for the last three months.

 

“Face...” Hannibal was up against his back, a solid heat behind him, “This is how it’s got to be,” he gently lifted Face’s leg forward and felt him shudder as he pushed his cock into the warmth between his thighs, “I can’t hurt you again. Trust me; I’ll make it good...”

 

And Face capitulated, of course he trusted him, of course it was going to be good, it just wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. All such thoughts were swept from his head, however, the second he felt Hannibal’s tongue against his entrance and he closed his eyes as a low moan ripped out of him. But all too soon that wet heat was gone and as Face’s eyes flicked open again he realised that Hannibal was leaning over him, reaching for the wardrobe door, “Just thought of something,” he whispered and Face looked up as he pulled it open and found himself starring straight into a full length mirror.

 

Hannibal kissed him on the temple as he lay down behind him again, “Better?” he whispered and Face nodded, smiling.

 

“Yeah,” it wasn’t the same, but he appreciated the effort.   

   

Then Hannibal’s head disappeared between his thighs and that heat was back, and Face couldn’t stop himself from looking in the mirror and, holy crap!  that was hot.

 

It was sweet torture, Hannibal’s tongue and then his slicked fingers opening him up, stretching him out and promising so much more. He alternated between forcing his eyes open to stare in the mirror at Hannibal’s look of rapt concentration or letting them fall back into his head as a finger found that spot just there.

 

Without even realising it, his hand crept down to wrap around his own length and he felt himself starting to tip towards the edge.

 

“Not yet,” Hannibal’s whisper was in his ear and the boss was up at his shoulder, gently reaching over to remove his hand. “This is it kid, tell me if I hurt you,” and Face felt that hot length pushing up against his slick entrance.

 

“About bloody time,” he grumbled as he pulled his top thigh up as far as he could and braced himself against the mattress.

 

Hannibal pushed into him and the pain flared right through his hip as he tried to push back, he buried his face in the pillow to muffle any sound he made but Hannibal was too astute for that, “Look at me, kid,” he whispered, the effort of holding himself still clear in his voice.

 

Face emptied his expression of any trace of pain before looking up into the mirror and holding Hannibal’s gaze, and then Hannibal pushed again. Again that flare of pain, but Face held it back. He wanted this, more than anything and he wouldn’t let Hannibal know how much it hurt.

 

By the time Hannibal was buried deep inside him, he was sweating with the effort of biting back the fire in his hip, but then the boss moved, slowly and smoothly, back out and in and oh! Face did cry out this time, but not with pain. His fingers desperately scrabbled for something to grab onto and Hannibal’s big hand was there, wrapping their fingers up together and resting against Face’s stomach.

 

“Okay?” there was that slow withdrawal again and the tender snap back in and Face could only nod as Hannibal’s ice blue eyes bored into him in the mirror, watching every move, every twitch, checking he was alright, that this was what he needed.

 

“God, you are beautiful,” Hannibal’s voice was a husky whisper in his ear and it went straight to his cock.

 

 

Face wanted to look down at his body, at the marks and the bruises, but Hannibal’s eyes wouldn’t release his, “Don’t even think it,” that husky voice whispered again. Three months of being so out of tune with each other were wiped away as Hannibal instinctively knew what was in his mind, “You are beautiful and you are mine,” the last word came out as a growl and the snap of his hips was just a little more forceful. “And now, I want to watch you come,” his fingers released Face’s hand and found his cock instead, pulling from root to tip and back again, “Come on my beautiful boy, let go and come for me.”

 

And Face couldn’t keep his eyes open any more as Hannibal picked up the pace just a tiny bit, keeping time with his fist, always smooth and steady but catching him in the right place every time. He moaned and reached back, clutching at Hannibal’s hip as the boss continued to stoke him higher and higher, the grip on his cock red hot and stimulation of his prostrate driving him crazy.

 

“I love you,” Hannibal whispered in his ear, and that sent him right over the edge. He threw his head back onto Hannibal’s shoulder, a cry tearing from his lips as he came, thick white spurts of semen all over his boss’ hand and his own stomach; twitching and jerking and gripping down onto Hannibal’s thigh with enough pressure to bruise and Hannibal came with him, jamming himself deeper and deeper inside with every frantic thrust, spilling himself inside his boy, desperately trying to fill that emptiness he knew was there.

 

They slowly floated back to earth together. Face was exhausted, but the pain in his shoulder and his hip was just cranking up again. Hannibal gently pulled out of him and he winced as the support at his back disappeared, encouraging his ribs to join in as well. He lay on his back, trying to relax and breathe through it but then there was a warm wet flannel on his stomach, and a cold one on his forehead and he opened his eyes to see Hannibal leaning over him, that familiar concerned look on his face.

 

“I told you that was a mistake...” Hannibal gently wiped his face and his neck with the towel, “How bad is it?”

 

But Face smiled, his hand going up to still Hannibal’s wrist, “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he let out a tired little chuckle, “God, I missed that...”

 

Hannibal frowned but lay down next to him, one hand resting lightly on his hip. “Me too. That what you were looking for?” there was the tiniest edge of uncertainly in his voice that Face found endearing.

 

“Yeah,” Face yawned, struggling to stay awake now, “It wasn’t what I’d call a good pounding, but it certainly hit all the right buttons...”

 

“Cheeky whelp.” Face sniggered turning into Hannibal’s shoulder as Hannibal wiped his stomach clean and threw the wet cloth into a corner somewhere. “There’s plenty of time for pounding when you have got all your vitals back in the right places.”

 

“Yeah?” This time Face cracked open an eye, “Well, that’s an incentive to get back on my feet then!”

 

Hannibal smiled and kissed him then watched as he slowly drifted into sleep. He slipped from the bed to grab another duvet from the cupboard, then climbed back next to Face, pulling the covers over them both.

 

“Sleep tight kid,” he murmured, dropping a kiss into his messy hair, “and as soon as you wake up, I’m taking you home.” 

Epilogue1