Manipulation - Final Chapter - Alternative Ending Pt 1

Ten minutes later, Murdock radioed in with news of yet another body, not Face and not Yousafzai. That meant just the boss man left and Hannibal paused to consider his options.

 

He knew that, bleeding the way he was, Face would be weakening. Yousafzai was obviously skilled in moving through terrain like this, and definitely had the motivation to keep stalking Face, so he quickly came to a decision. The time for stealth was off, it was time Face knew he had some backup, and then maybe they could get this thing over a done with sooner rather than later.

 

He lifted his radio to his mouth and was just about to call the others when a shout caught his attention, he froze, listening hard, and jerked into action when he realised it wasn’t any of his men. Instantly he was on the move, covering the thick terrain as fast as he could, as quietly as he could, accidently dropping the radio as he ran, zeroing in on that shout all the time, and then he saw them.

 

Face was slumped against the trunk of a tree and Hannibal winced at the state he was in, beaten, bloody, pale and exhausted, it was obvious that the kid was right at the end of his rope. Yousafzai was partly hidden by a tree, but Hannibal could see they both had their guns up, were in a standoff, one that he could finish off pretty damn quickly once he got into a good place for a shot.

 

Dropping to his haunches he moved silently, around to the right, counting his steps, knowing that he wouldn’t have chance for a good look before he needed to put his shot in. He stopped as soon as he felt he’d gone far enough and immediately rose up through the bushes. Yousafzai was there, right in front of him, gun still pointing at Face and Hannibal lifted his gun and just shot.

 

It wasn’t the best shot he’d ever taken, certainly wasn’t the most careful aim, but it did the trick. Suddenly, the silence of the forest was ripped apart by gunfire. Yousafzai went down, Hannibal saw his own shot catch the man in the arm, blood blooming like a red flower in the gloom, but he also noted a head shot impact and knew that Yousafzai was dead even as he fell. Taylor would not be happy, Hannibal thought as he spun on his feet to turn to Face and froze.

 

Face was staring at him, wide blue eyes looking right at Hannibal as they had done almost every day for the last seventeen years. But not like this, never like this, this time there was a gun pointing there as well. Hannibal dropped his own gun and lifted his hands up, palms facing, in obvious surrender, and took a step in, his feet almost on autopilot. “Kid...” he whispered, the catch in his voice stopping him and he just stared, his eyes taking everything in, everything.

 

Those quick blue eyes looked at the too large clothes with trouser legs rolled up and blood stains all over them, they took in the clumsy, swollen fingers, obviously been tied too tight and still trying to recover, they took in the bruised and swollen face, cut above his right eye, left eye almost swollen shut, they took in the bullet hole, neat and round in the tree trunk not three inches above Face’s head, and the gun, still pointing at him but starting to waver now, as if it were too heavy to hold up. “Hannibal?” Face’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as he dropped his gun and that’s when everything just stopped working, instinct took over and Hannibal fell to his knees at Face’s side, arms instantly gathering him up close.

 

“Oh, my boy,” he whispered, holding him close against his chest, feeling Face shake against him, those desperate fingers clawing at his shirt, holding him tight, keeping them together.

 

“Yousafzai?” Face whispered, his body shaking more with each passing second.

 

“He’s dead,” Hannibal replied, one big hand stroking Face’s hair, holding his head against his chest, knowing his heart was pounding in the kid’s ear, “You’re safe, they’re all dead.”

 

“I’m cold,” Face was shaking even harder and Hannibal wondered if he was going into shock, the adrenalin seeping away, leaving him empty, “I hurt,” he whispered, the pain clear in every word, “and, god, boss, I was so scared...”

 

 “I know, kid, I know,” Hannibal started to get to his feet, holding on to Face the whole time, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, we looked, I swear we did, we’ve looked ever since they took you.”

 

“It’s okay boss, I shouldn’t have left you, how could I ever leave you? What was I thinking...” Face’s teeth were chattering now and the shaking was getting almost convulsive.

 

“Hey,” Hannibal soothed him, “It’s okay, Face, we’ve got you back now,” he adjusted his grip, prepared to lift him up in his arms, “let’s get you out of here.”

 

“I can walk myself,” Face shivered.

 

“I know you can,” Hannibal answered and then Samantha’s words sprang into his head, ‘You think I can’t see he’s in love with Smith? You think I can’t see how the old man keeps him at arm’s length all the time? That’s what he needs is it?’ , he realised that they were probably the only true words she’d ever spoken and knew it was time for things to change. He slid his hands up to cup Face’s cheeks and turn his eyes up to meet his own.  “But I want to hold you,” he whispered, keeping eye contact the whole time. “I want to feel you in my arms and know that you are safe, that you are here with me,” he paused and swallowed hard, “that you are mine...”

 

Face just stared at him, his glassy eyes wide and Hannibal wondered how much of anything the poor kid was taking in, so instead he leaned down and dropped a kiss onto his forehead, keeping away from the still bleeding gash and then wrapped him in his arms again, standing up slowly, and making for the edge of the trees.

 

______________________

 

  

Murdock and BA paced frustratedly up and down the field, their silent radios in their hands, eyes on the tree line all the time.   

 

“Where the hell is Smith?” Taylor seethed. “I need to get Yousafzai into interrogation as soon as possible. Who knows which other rats are running for the woodwork while we wait here?”

 

He didn’t get an answer. Neither Murdock or BA had been able to raise Hannibal on the radio since they had heard the shots echoing around the far side of the wood. They’d already decided to give it five more minutes before going in and looking for him.

 

“At last!” Taylor seethed and the two men swung on their heels to see Hannibal appear from the woods much further down and in his arms he was carrying...

 

“Face!” Murdock yelled and started off running.

 

“He’s okay!” Hannibal shouted seeing the panic in Murdock’s face, “But he needs a medic – now!”

 

BA didn’t hesitate, just turned on his heel and sprinted for the medics he knew were waiting up at the house just as Hannibal reached Murdock, settling Face down onto the grass with the pilot’s help.

 

Like Hannibal before him, Murdock’s eyes took everything in, one piece of information at a time, Hannibal’s expression, intense and concerned, Face’s dead weight heavy in his arms, head lolling loosely over the boss’ arm, blood, so much blood on his leg, his chest, his head. And like Hannibal before him, his hands fluttered anxiously over his friend, seeming to need to touch just to reassure himself that Face really was here with them.

 

“What’s the matter with him, Colonel?” Murdock asked, “Why is he unconscious?”

 

Hannibal was still cradling Face’s head in his lap, stroking the filthy hair off his forehead as he replied. “I don't know,” he admitted, “he just passed out, possibly he’s gone to sleep, he’s exhausted. I don’t know, but I’ll feel a lot better once those medics get here.”

 

They both looked up as BA and the medics came running across the field, but unfortunately, Taylor got there before them.

 

“Smith!” he snapped, barely sparing a glance for Face. “Where the hell is Yousafzai? You were supposed to bring him out with you!”

 

“Yeah?” Hannibal didn’t even look up from where he was stroking Face’s cheek, “Well I brought Face out instead. Tough shit.”

 

There was a second’s silence before Taylor could control his anger enough to speak, “That wasn’t our deal,” he spat dangerously, “so you had better get your butt back in there and find him!”

 

As the medics finally arrived and dropped to Face’s side, Hannibal and BA both snapped their head’s around to glare at Taylor.

 

 “Right, you!” BA snarled, “I think I have just about had enough-”

 

And he stopped dead as Murdock rose like a phoenix from the ashes right in front of Taylor and decked him with one, well aimed punch to the jaw. “Yeah,” he scowled, “I think we’ve all had enough of you, matey!”

 

Hannibal and BA both stared at him in shock, but Taylor didn’t reply, it’s hard to when you’re out cold.

 

________________________

 

Seven days later Hannibal stands on the edge of the deck, staring out over the hills and mountains, valleys and lakes that roll out far below. In his hands is a coffee, cold and untouched as he thinks back over the events of the last week.

 

He still feels as if this is all quite surreal, the walk from the woods with Face in his arms and then the sudden panic as the medics started feeding lines into him and using words like ‘collapse’ and ‘shock’ and ‘internal bleeding’. The rush to the Army Community Hospital at Fort Irvin had been tense, with Hannibal riding in the ambulance, clinging tightly to Face’s hand while Murdock and BA followed behind in the van, expecting at any moment to be detained. But Samantha had assured them that they wouldn’t, and she was true to her word. Face was kept in a private room, at the end of a corridor guarded by men in suits and no one bothered the team at all, not for the forty eight hours they were there. But then they were taken away again, whisked out in the middle of the night, before Face had even managed to haul himself free of the sedatives he’d been given and deposited in this private retreat, high in the Sierra mountains, whole lodge to themselves, paramedic on duty twenty four hours a day and a whole fleet of staff to wait on their every need.

 

For the first two days all Face had done was slept. The paramedic said that ‘in the circumstances’ it would be kinder to keep him sedated until he was stronger. Hannibal had wondered which particular ‘circumstances’ the guy had meant, the pain, the memories of his torture, the fact that he was now, once again a wanted man; his pardon revealed as fake, General Dobson brought up for Court Martial, Agent Taylor and Samantha vanished off the face of the earth. But whatever the circumstance, Hannibal found himself agreeing with them and just sitting at the kid’s side for most of the time, leaving to eat and stretch his legs, sleeping on the couch in the corner and trying to work through his guilt at letting him down by being here for him now.

 

But that oasis of calm didn’t last for long. As soon as the sedatives were lightened, the trauma kicked in. Two days of almost constant nightmares and terrors, it didn’t seem to matter whether Face was asleep or awake, it seemed that the memories could reach him anywhere. Hannibal tried to talk to him about the pardon, wanted him to know the position he was in in case he took it into his head to take off at any time, but he wasn’t even sure that Face could really hear him. The kid was alternatively seized by incapacitating tremors and the violent desire to run at any cost. Hannibal barely slept in those forty eight hours, he wouldn’t leave Face, his calm monotone sometimes the only thing that was holding the kid to the earth. And when it got too bad, when the pain, both in body and mind became too much, he would just hold him, let him sob and rant and cling to Hannibal like a terrified child.  

 

And then, in the early hours of the fifth day in the mountains, Face eventually relaxed into a deep, calm, sleep. Hannibal stayed with him, the kid was nestled up against his chest, one hand fisted tight in his t-shirt and he didn’t dare move, couldn’t risk waking him up again. So eventually Hannibal slipped into a desperately needed sleep as well, waking to find Face looking up at him, blue eyes wide and wary, as much distance between them in the double bed as possible.

 

Hannibal was up in half a second flat, horrified at being caught in Face’s bed like that, running a hand awkwardly through his dishevelled hair and making his excuses to leave pretty damn quick. He went for a shower, anything to give him some time and space to think, and when he came out, Face was up, wandering around in a white bath robe looking pale and thin and exhausted, and refusing any offers of help, of support or comfort.

 

And that’s how it had stayed. Face was what could only be described as aloof with them all. Spending as much time in his room on his own as possible, locking the door on a night so that Hannibal could hear his nightmares and sobs through the walls but not be able to do a damn thing about them.

Alternative Ending Part Two

Manipulation - Final Chapter - Alternative Ending Pt 2

He stayed in the bathrobe. Hannibal had seen his injuries, they all had, and in places on his front the skin was almost flayed right off. Not a part of him was untouched, from his chest to his feet they had worked methodically on him to ensure that their sticks and whips and lashes had reached every square centimetre of skin. In some places it was a livid red, hot to the touch still, whilst in others the skin was blistered and broken, but there were places where a thin, rough cord had obviously been used on him with great force, and there the skin had been sliced open, right into his flesh. It was not surprising he couldn’t bear to have clothes on, Hannibal had been so glad he was unconscious when they had reached Fort Irvin, being awake while they peeled Taz’s stolen clothes off his weeping, inflamed skin would have been a whole new brand of torture in itself.   

 

So he forced a pair of loose boxers on, his genitals had most certainly not escaped the sticks and lashes, and wandered around in the white bathrobe looking pale and ill and avoiding all contact and conversation with his team.

 

On the night of the sixth day, as Murdock, Hannibal and BA sat around in the living area watching TV and listening to Face’s nightmares drifting through the open windows, BA finally reached the end of his tether. He knocked the magazine he’d been reading off his knee and across the wooden floor and turned to Hannibal, desperation in his eyes, “Bossman, you got to talk to him, we can’t go on like this, none of us can!”

 

Hannibal just took in a long breath and stared at the television, BA was right, but what the hell he was supposed to say was anyone’s guess.

 

________________

 

And so the seventh day dawned, and Murdock and BA left really early to hike up into the mountains, Hannibal watched them go with an ironic glance, he certainly wasn’t born yesterday, and then took his coffee out onto the deck to admire the view and think; an hour later, all he had left was cold coffee and a serious lack of ideas.

 

__________________

 

A noise behind him makes him start and he turns in time to see Face just about to withdraw back to the solitude of the lodge. “Hey,” he says loudly, just to let Face know he’s been rumbled and watches as Face, obviously wanting to leave, turns and takes a step closer in, knowing the older man has seen him.

 

“Where’s Murdock and BA?” Face asks hesitantly walking out to stand with Hannibal at the railing.

 

Hannibal turns and leans his back on the smooth stainless steel rail as he looks his lieutenant over. Another clean white robe, the staff here really are efficient, dark shadows mixing with the bruising on his face, pale skin, further washed out by the glare of the sun and the colour of the robe, cheek bones standing out over tight skin, two days of stubble on his face. Hannibal just about manages to hold back a sigh; the kid still looks like shit. “Hiking. How you doing?” he asks and is surprised by the tenderness he hears in his own voice.

 

So it seems is Face, surprised and annoyed. He steps away and Hannibal wonders if this is not it, the crux of the problem that he’s just stumbled onto here. Does Face suspect the depth of Hannibal’s feelings? Does it disturb him? Were Murdock and Samantha wrong? He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

 

They stare at each other, the wall obvious between them and Face caves in first, turning on his heel, stalking away and leaving Hannibal wondering what the hell just happened. He turns back to the view, and prepares to tell BA that he had tried, but then Samantha’s words come back to him once again, ‘He’s worth much more than pining away for a dry old fool who doesn’t want him! Can’t you see that?’ and once again he knows she is right. Taking a deep breath, he follows Face down the corridor to his bedroom.

 

The door is open and he looks in, breath catching in his throat. Face is standing, staring into the holdall of clothes provided by the CIA, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, evidence of his days in hell laid bare for Hannibal to see. Face looks up at the sound from the doorway and Hannibal’s throat tightens as he sees him lift his chin slightly, he recognises the familiar defiant gesture from many, many confrontations of the past.

 

“Face,” that tenderness is still there, “we need to talk.”

 

Face looks away, back into the holdall and pulls out a t-shirt, holding it up, wondering how painful it will be to wear. “Don’t worry about it boss,” he replies, his voice light and full of false cheer, “I’ll be heading off tomorrow. Get out of your hair.”

 

For a minute Hannibal is speechless. He watches as Face throws the t-shirt back into the bag and takes another one out, feeling the material between his fingers. “What?” he eventually stutters, it’s hardly the most eloquent sentence he’s ever produced.

 

“Yeah, well,” Face’s eyes are hard as he turns to look at him, “things are a bit tense around here at the minute, I can’t stay with you, not after leaving you all like I did,” for a second, a shadow of shame flits across his expression, “and I know you would all prefer it if I left so...” he shrugs and turns his attention to trying to find some trousers that won’t reopen all the healing cuts on his legs. 

 

“You do know your pardon was revoked don’t you?” Hannibal snaps, shock making his mouth run away with him a little and he feels a jolt of pain in his chest as he sees Face’s shoulders sag at his words.

 

“Yes,” the word is barely audible.

 

Hannibal takes a step in, “So, where the hell are you going to go?”

 

Throwing the last pair of trousers back into the bag in disappointment Face turns to him, anger in his eyes, “I don’t know John. I’ll think of something!”

 

Silence falls again as Face goes back to the bag a yanks out a pair of combat pants that he had once disregarded and starts to pull them on, hissing in pain as he does so. “Face...” Hannibal starts towards him, hating to see him hurt.

 

“What?!” Face whirls on his heels to face Hannibal, his eyes bright and furious. “You got something to say to me Hannibal? You got a reason that I don't have to go?”

 

Hannibal just stands, wishing he had the words, the nerve, to say what he needs to and for a second Face stands and waits, but then, with a tired and ironic laugh he turns away, staring out of the window at the mountains as Hannibal stands mute behind him.

 

Minutes tick by, and then Face speaks again, his voice calm and quiet once more. “You know this has been coming, Hannibal don’t you?” Hannibal doesn’t answer. “I suppose it’s been building for a while, years even. Where do you think we went wrong?” there’s still no reply so Face carries on, still staring out of the window. “I suppose it was when you stopped trusting me...”

 

“Of course I trust you!” Hannibal at last finds his voice.

 

“Yeah? That’s why you went to Father David’s funeral then?” Hannibal can’t answer that, how can he tell Face that the reason he went was because he was so damn terrified that Face would get himself caught, that Hannibal had to be there just for that one, slim chance?

 

“You really think I would buck one of your orders? Come on Hannibal, how many times have I ever done that?”

 

 “You said you only followed my orders out of pity,” Hannibal counters, the pain clear in his voice, that comment still a barb in his memory after all these weeks.

 

“I know,” Face shakes his head into the silence, “And that’s what I mean about us. I didn't mean that, you must know, deep down, that I’d never mean something like that about you. It’s just... it’s like we’re not happy unless we’re hurting each other. I can’t spend my life just sniping at you like this; I just can’t have that kind of relationship with you.”

 

Hannibal’s heart is pounding hard in his chest, as he realises that this is no spur of the moment decision for Face, this is obviously something the kid was thinking about long before the fake pardon came through and unless he does something fairly drastic, then Face is going to walk out of here again.

 

He steps up, two tentative strides are all it takes to bring him right up behind Face, his eyes drawn to the few marks littering his back, the imprint of a belt buckle just under his left shoulder and the desire to touch and smooth away all that hurt is compelling. “So,” he says, his voice husky and unsure, “what kind of relationship do you want with me?”

 

He sees Face stiffen and then turn, and his eyes are guarded, reserved, as he looks at Hannibal. “What do you mean?”

 

Taking another tiny step brings Hannibal right into Face’s personal space and he forces himself to stay there, not to run but to hold those bright blue eyes with his own, reminding himself what his life was like when he thought Face had left him, when he thought Yousafzai had taken him forever. “You don’t like this relationship we have? Well, let’s make another one; any one you want.”

 

He realises he’s said the wrong thing when Face breaks eye contact, and his expression falls, he looks away, moisture shining in his eyes and a resigned smile on his face and Hannibal knows he’s so close to blowing this completely. “Hey,” he whispers, a hand shooting out to grab Face’s wrist, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say, I’m no good with words Face, but... I do know I can’t lose you, kid,” he shakes his head, “I just can’t.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes are swimming but he keeps them steady as Face turns back to look at him, something tentative in his expression, maybe something unfurling, “You know why I left.” It’s not a question because Hannibal does, they both know it, they know what Face was searching for, what he was lacking. “Is there a reason I should stay?”

 

And this is it, break point. The words that leave Hannibal’s mouth next are the ones that will shape the rest of his life. Never has so much rested on one sentence and he suddenly realises that there is only one thing he can say, one phrase that he has never said before. To anyone. He holds his breath and tightens his grip on Face’s wrist just a little. “Face,” his voice is shaking, “I’m in love with you. I want you to stay. With me.” 

 

It’s like the world holds its breath for a minute but then Face is moving, closing what is left of the gap between them, lifting his chin and pressing his lips up against Hannibal’s, nothing erotic, just a message, a confirmation, an offering. And then he pulls away but only to rest their forehead’s together and Hannibal can feel the lingering heat of infection in Face’s skin but nothing else matters as he hears the words he thought he never would, “God, boss, me too, I mean, I am too, I mean,” he lifts up and slides his hands onto Hannibal’s cheeks, pulling back enough to look him right in the eye but still the words won’t come, for the first time ever, Face is truly speechless.

 

 

But then it doesn’t matter as they are moving, lips sliding together, hands smoothing through hair, over skin and Hannibal can feel himself harden immediately, too many years spent dreaming of this moment for that not to happen. He slides a hand gently over Face’s back, pulling him in so they are chest to chest, hip to hip and instantly Face stiffens, a little cry of pain leaving his lips and Hannibal pulls back, still holding him but making a gap between them, looking down at Face’s abused chest, the bloom of fresh blood spreading over the hip pocket of his combats and he curses his own impatience.

 

“Jesus, kid, I’m sorry,” he whispers, instantly fumbling with the button of Face’s trousers.

 

Face tries to object but he is pale with the reawakening of his pain and instead lets Hannibal unzip him, and slide the heavy cotton down, his hands holding onto Hannibal’s shoulders in a death grip as the older man slowly works the trousers off, scraping over healing gashes, dressings, stitches as he goes.

 

By the time he is done, even Face’s now blood soaked boxers removed, the kid is laid on his back on the bed, towel underneath him, pale and clammy and breathing hard as Hannibal examines the damage. “I think the waist band of your trousers pulled a couple of stitches here,” he explains, cool fingers gently stroking around the livid red skin. “Just hang in here a second and I’ll go and get the medic, get you some pain relief and he can stitch you back up again.” Face nods wanly, sweat standing out on his forehead, and Hannibal folds the towel over him, drops a light kiss onto his lips and dashes out.

 

__________________________

 

The sun is at the highest point of the day and the mountains in front of them shining in bright light as Hannibal adjusts his hold on the man currently dozing against his chest. Six stitches and a painkilling injection have taken their toll on Face and he has been silent for well over an hour, only a light sheet ghosting over his body, too light to torment his wounds.

 

“You stayed,” his voice is quiet, full of pain and exhaustion, the nights full of terrors finally taking their toll.

 

Hannibal leans forward and drops a kiss to the top of his head, “So did you.”

 

Face lets out a quiet laugh, a delightful sound, but one edged with sleep. “I didn’t really want to leave,” he admits, drifting further with every second.

 

“Then don’t,” Hannibal replies. “Don’t leave me, and I swear I’ll never leave you. Stay with me, let me love you and care for you and love me back.”

 

“Yes...” Face agrees as he finally slips into sleep and Hannibal lets his own eyes close, a tiny smile on his lips. And when Murdock and BA get back an hour later and find the two men fast asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, they share their own smile of relief as they realise that maybe things might finally start to run a little smoother around here.

Epilogue