Five Birthdays - Birthday Four

Hannibal walks into the kitchen and to find Face already there, taking bowls out of the cupboard and lining them up on the side, the concentration on his face betraying how hard he finds this seemingly easy task.

 

“Hey, kid!” Hannibal reaches out and pats him easily on the back, “Happy Birthday!”

 

“Thanks,” Face offers up a hesitant smile as he reaches up for the cereal, “I was making breakfast and I know I can get it for you as well, but I didn’t know about the guys, didn’t know if I should get them any or not...” the worried knot on his forehead chases his smile away and Hannibal feels that familiar pang of sadness yet again that Face should be like this, continuously cautious and worried, anxious that he will do the ‘wrong’ thing and pain and humiliation will follow.

 

They’ve come a long way in the last year, Face will talk now, even without a direct order, and is happy to go outside as long as one of the others is with him. He is eating normally and even running again with Hannibal, bulking himself back up, losing the Concentration Camp figure. But he is far from normal. Nightmares, sleeping on the floor, stripping off his top as soon as he gets anxious... worrying about every little thing, looking for permission or approval in everything he does. Hannibal knows that Face has always been insecure, but that it was so well hidden that only those very closest to him could see it. Now however, well, it’s there for all the world to see.

 

They’ve taken on a few jobs recently, they had to. All the funds they had accumulated over the years had gone; their pardons had come through but no sniff of compensation for false imprisonment and loss of earnings, and no offer of reinstatement, not that he’d want it anyway, not with Face like he is. Hannibal is pretty sure that once Face gets back on his game, he will be able to sort out their compensation claims and get their discharges made honourable, but until then, they have been forced back into work. Agent Dark has put a few things their way, but Hannibal is very careful to keep Face out of the limelight, he knows damn well that he won’t be able to handle anything much right now, so all their jobs are paper trail based, easy money, nothing too physical just yet. And the fact that Face knows all this and isn’t complaining, tells Hannibal all he needs to know.

 

There is a noise behind them in the corridor and suddenly Murdock and BA appear in their PJs and the relief is clear in Face’s expression, now that everyone is here, he doesn’t need to worry.

 

The day goes by well, with lunch out and a baseball game, followed by a BBQ back on the deck. Face seems a little reserved about his present, the sleek and beautiful black Victory Vegas 8-ball motorbike that the guys have got for him and Hannibal wonders if he is tired, finding the demands of the day a little stressful.

 

So by seven pm he packs Murdock and BA off. They’d stayed over last night anyway, and BA has a job he’s doing for a friend early tomorrow, so they are quite happy to go, and before he knows it, Hannibal has Face to himself on the deck at the back of the house, and they start to tidy away the leftover food.

 

“You had a beer yet?” Hannibal asks him as they work in companiable silence.

 

Face shakes his head, he’s off all his meds now, but he is wary about the effect that alcohol has on him, tends to push him into the melancholy and really, that’s the last thing Face needs right now.

 

“Why don't you take the bike for a spin then? Give her a run, see how she goes?” Hannibal is looking down so misses the naked fear that flashes over the kid’s face.

 

“Nah, I’m fine, I’ll help you instead,” he says.

 

“Face, come on!” Hannibal pushes, “It’s your birthday! Get out and have some, fun, leave the tidying to me.”

 

“I said no!” The flash of anger is there, a flash that Hannibal hasn’t seen in a long, long time. Not since the day he first brought him home, two years ago today and he stares as Face drops his head, meek again, wiping chip crumbs off the table.

 

Hannibal watches him carefully. “Go on,” he says, “get going or I’ll think you don't like it.”

 

For a second Hannibal thinks he’s going to fight back, that spark flares in his eyes for just a second and then it is gone, he hangs his head once more and turns to trudge down the steps to the garage, defeat screaming from every pore. Hannibal knows just how he feels.

 

Time stretches out as Hannibal continues to tidy the deck and the kitchen, keeping one ear out for the throaty roar of the bike as he busies himself. It never comes. After twenty five minutes Hannibal can’t stand it anymore and heads down to the garage himself wondering what the hell is going on.

 

He sees Face standing, ramrod straight, fists clenched tight staring at the beautiful bike, a look of pure loathing on his face. Hannibal frowns. The second that BA showed him a picture of that bike he knew that Face would love it, so what’s going on? Hannibal takes a cautious step in, maybe he’d been wrong, maybe the old Face would have loved the bike, the carefree, relaxed, loving, happy Face would have loved it, but this one, who is always anxious, tense, awkward, down-right terrified what is there left in the world for him to love?

 

He steps in again, “Face?”

 

“I can’t do it,” Face mutters, his voice thick with anger and pain.

 

“Do what?” Hannibal asks, risking another step in.

 

“This!!” Face suddenly yells, exploding in a blast of anger. “I can’t ride this bike!” He shouts, “I don’t know how, I don't know if I dare, I can’t go out on my own! What if I get lost?”

 

“Face, you can ride the bike,” Hannibal soothes. “You just haven’t done it for a while; you’ll soon get back into the swing of it.”

 

“It’s not just the bike!” and Hannibal can see the tension in his body, the anger and frustration looking for a way out after all this time, “It’s everything! It’s me! Look at me Hannibal! I can’t do anything! I’m pathetic!”

 

“Face, please...”

 

“No, I am!” He’s still yelling, his face flushed with rage, “I’m a fucking useless excuse for a man! There’s nothing left to me, Hannibal, nothing! I wouldn’t make the army; you don't want to run any proper missions with me... He’s taken everything from me, everything,” Hannibal can hear the hitch in his voice and takes another step in, “and I let him...” Face drops his head into his hands and starts to sag, “I just let him boss... what kind of man am I that I would just let him do those things to me...?”

 

Hannibal steps right up now, gathering Face up in his arms, pulling him close, letting him lean into the gap under his chin and letting him cry. Face has never cried, not like this, not with any awareness of why the tears are falling. He’s sobbed and screamed and yelled himself raw, but all of that while he wasn’t really there. And he’s never talked about what happened to him, never, and Hannibal thinks that maybe he should, especially if he is thinking thoughts like that.

 

Hannibal leads him into the house and onto the sofa and settles them both down with him still tucked firmly under his arm and his chin. Face has stopped sobbing now but he is still crying, silent tears streaking down his cheeks and dropping onto his shirt.

 

“There was nothing more that you could have done, kid,” Hannibal tells him softly, making sure he is holding him everywhere he can, offering him comfort through touch. “You fought him as hard as you could, harder than he expected you to. And if you hadn’t fought as hard as that, if you had given in easier, then you would have been dead, just like the others.”

 

Face turns his head to look up, concern in his eyes, “You know about the others?” he asks and Hannibal nods.

 

“Yeah, they found their bodies out in the orchard.”

 

Face drops his head again, “I couldn’t save them,” he mutters and Hannibal drops a kiss onto the top of his head.

 

“I know, Face,” he whispers, “You had enough on just keeping yourself alive. No one expected more from you than that.”

 

There’s a minute’s silence before Face speaks again, “Have you seen any of the DVDs?” His voice is scared and timid.

 

“No,” Hannibal tells him, not sure if that is the answer the kid wants or not but pulls him in tighter anyway.

 

“Good,” Face replies, “I would hate for you to see me like that. I hate to even be like that, like this,” he amends, “but for you to see it...”

 

He hangs his head and Hannibal feels his heart breaking. “Face,” his whispers, “don't do this to yourself; don't hurt yourself more than you have already been hurt. Don’t you see how strong you are, how you have survived something that no one else has? Ortiz is a sick, sick, bastard and he has tried to make you into something you’re not, but do you know what kid?” Hannibal’s hand slips down and lifts Face’s chin to look into his eyes, “He didn’t do it, because you are still you, you are inside here,” a finger reaches down to tap over Face’s heart, “and you are getting stronger every damn day, and every time I look at you I am so proud, so, so proud of how you have survived this...” And then he stops, the desire to tell Face that he loves him, that he’s in love with him and wants to spend the rest of their lives together is almost too strong to resist...

 

“I don't feel strong,” Face whispers, his hand creeping around under Hannibal’s ribs, a solid point of contact. “Especially not in the night, in the dark, when I’m alone.”

 

Hannibal pulls him in even tighter, two arms bringing him as close as he can, wishing he could offer to hold the kid all night.

 

“Can I sleep in with you?” Face asks, his voice timid in the night and Hannibal doesn’t hesitate.

 

“Of course,” he whispers and he feels the smile as it curves against his chin

Birthday Five