Motivation - H/F - Part 8

[indigo_angels]

Dougie’s room was two floors up and Hannibal took the stairs, unable to stand still for even the couple of minutes that he needed to wait for the lift. As he piled up the steps, two or three at a time, snatches of memories and conversations flitted in and out of his head.

 

He thought of Dougie and how he had been when they were both young men, manipulative even then, but somehow Hannibal had always defended him, always made excuses for his actions. But it was no accident that they hadn’t kept in touch. Honestly examining his memories now, Hannibal could see that he was starting to get concerned over the way that Dougie used people even then, how they were all just a means to an end for him. Expendable.

 

And now he’d let him loose on Face... Face who had done too much and seen too many things but was really just an innocent at heart, a child still, and Hannibal had let Dougie get to him and tug at him and... God only knows what else. If anything had happened to that boy... Hannibal wanted to feel anger, righteous indignation, resentment, anything that would fuel his fury. Anything other than this sick, churning fear which was all he had.

 

He was at the door and forced himself to stop, pressing an ear to the wood, checking out the silence, the pulse in his head making it almost impossible to hear anything else, and then he took step back, a deep breath and kicked the door right in.

 

It was hard to make anything out at first, the room was a mess, the chair and the desk upturned, both the beds stripped of covers, the one lamp still shining on its side on the carpet near the door. Hannibal stepped in silently and picked the lamp up, straightening its shade and holding it up like a flaming torch, trying to illuminate all the dark corners.

 

Long, bare legs lying at an awkward angle from between the two beds caught his eye and with a heart full of trepidation he sank to his knees, inching around the corner, hands shaking as he reached out to touch. He traced the line of the limbs upwards until he could make out dark boxer shorts and a bare, scared back. Forcing himself to keep breathing, Hannibal edged further forward and saw the blood pooling out of the gash on the back of the head, soaking into the carpet, a lot of blood. Too much blood to lose and survive... “Oh, shit,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

 

Hannibal forced himself to look for just a second longer, skimming for signs of life that just weren’t apparent before he turned from Dougie’s inert form and scanned the rest of the room.

 

“Face?” his voice was too loud to his own ears, but then if no one had heard the fight that had obviously happened here earlier on, then they were hardly going to hear his whisper.

“Where are you, kid?” 

 

A movement to his left caught his eye and he turned, the sight that met him breaking his heart in two there and then.

 

Face was crushed up in the corner of the room, white, bloodied fingers gripping the curtains like a vice. His knees were right up under his chin, and his eyes so wide and utterly, utterly terrified.

 

“Oh, god, kid...” Hannibal started edging towards him, treating him like a beaten dog, noticing with horror how he was cringing away, trying to back even further into the corner. “It’s okay,” he whispered, wondering if Face even knew where he was right now, “You know I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you, you’re safe...” He kept up the gentle words as he crept forward, one hand reaching out, gently touching a cold, bare ankle, feeling the flinch but then running his hand up Face’s leg, resting on his knee, crawling that bit closer in, reaching out with both hands now, one still resting on his knee, still and secure, one running up his arm, over his shoulder, into his neck and Face just fell into him, all that cold skin suddenly in his arms and Hannibal held on tight, so tight, so relieved just to have him back, despite... everything.

   

Hannibal’s hands were shaking so hard he almost couldn’t hold him, but he folded his body around Face’s just keeping him close, trying to look him over in the half light from the single lamp. He was littered in scrapes and bumps, bruises and scratches, but Hannibal couldn’t see any other signs of obvious injury. He was naked though, and Hannibal couldn’t help but close his eyes as the implication of that fact ran through him.

 

God, he’d failed this kid so, so, badly. He should have just followed his instincts and run them both home as soon as that stupid volley ball match had ended. Instead they had stayed and found themselves in the middle of this nightmare.

 

“Hannibal...” the word was like a breath against his skin and he pulled Face tighter to him, not wanting him to speak, not wanting him to say the words that would blast his own selfish life apart and sentence him to an eternity of guilt.

 

“It’s okay, kid,” meaningless words, but it was almost as if Hannibal said them enough it would be true.

 

“I killed him...” and Hannibal almost sobbed because of all the crap that had gone down tonight, that would be the one thing that Face would hang on to. He’d killed before, on his first mission with the team and Hannibal had felt sorrow then at the maturity it forced onto him, but even that was different. To kill back at home, someone you know, in circumstances like these. Different. Very different. And Hannibal hated Dougie even more for this final wound he had inflicted on them.

 

“You were protecting yourself,” Hannibal whispered into his hair, “it’s not your fault. Not at all.” But he knew it wouldn’t  make any difference to Face, knew the way the kid’s mind worked, knew how he would beat himself up with this for the rest of his life. So he just tucked the kid’s head under his chin, pulled one of the duvets up off the floor to wrap around him and held on tight.

 

It was hard to say how much time passed like that. Hannibal knew he had things he should be doing, he should have put a call into 911 straight away, but he was just stalling, trying to protect Face from all that would come next for as long as possible, but eventually he could put it off no longer. He was just about to shift his position, move Face back out of the way while he had a proper look at Dougie when the door burst back open and the main light clicked on.

 

Face wrenched himself out of Hannibal’s arms and back into the corner as Hannibal, blinking at the sudden light, scrambled to his feet.

 

Tosh slammed the door shut behind him and Hannibal watched as his eyes flicked from Dougie to Hannibal and finally to Face, “Oh, fucking hell...” he whispered as he took in Face’s expression from the corner of the room. “You bastard!” he hissed as he took a swing at Dougie’s side, his trainer connecting smartly with his CO’s ribs. Hannibal leapt to stop him, as a low moan filled the room.

 

Everyone froze, looking down at the figure on the floor, then Hannibal dove into action, “Tosh, get on that phone and call 911, get a medic team up here quick, and you’d better phone the front desk and ask them to send General Crowther up here as well.” Hannibal was on his knees now next to Dougie, pressing a towel onto his head trying his best to stem the bleeding. He listened as Tosh made the calls but kept looking back over his shoulder at Face who was still huddled in the duvet and looking like he was right on the edge. As soon as Tosh had finished, Hannibal called him over and gave him the cloth, “Press here,” he instructed, moving back over to Face.

 

“I’m not helping him!” Tosh exclaimed, his voice strained and tight, “I hate the bastard!”

 

Hannibal sighed and came back up to him, “Tosh, come on son, you are better than this. This isn’t the end for you, I told you that,” he put his hand on Tosh’s arm, “There are people who will listen to you now, both of you,” he gestured behind him at Face, “and all the others I bet are out there...” Hannibal shook his head, “It’s over. He needs to face the music, and for that, he needs to stay alive.” He looked Tosh right in the eyes, “And for that to happen, you have to press hard, right there.”

 

Tosh looked back at him for a second, his eyes shining, and nodded, taking the bloody cloth from Hannibal and pressing hard. Hannibal patted his shoulder and looked back over at Face who was staring, wide eyed, at the wall. “I’m going to take Face back down to my room, okay? Send a medic down there as soon as you get the chance.”

 

Tosh nodded and Hannibal crept back over to Face.

 

_______________________

 

Hannibal was glad it was the middle of the night, as he could take Face, still wrapped in a duvet, down two stories in the elevator without bumping into another soul. They slipped into his room, and Hannibal sat him on the edge of the bed where Face pulled the duvet even more tightly around him and stared, unseeing at the dark television in front of him. Hannibal frowned and crouched down in between Face’s knees, finding two cold hands in the folds of the duvet and holding onto them as they fiercely gripped the material. He waited until Face’s eyes drifted from the flat screen to rest on Hannibal’s face before he spoke, slowly and calmly, as if trying to soothe a frightened animal. “In a minute I need you to get dressed,” Face just looked at him, “Some people will be coming here and they will want to take you to the hospital and talk to you about what’s happened tonight.”

 

For a moment Face didn’t reply, then his eyes seemed to gain a touch of clarity and the edge of a frown pulled at his features, “They’re gonna throw me out for this...” he whispered, suppressed panic clear in his voice.

 

Hannibal squeezed his hands a little tighter, “No. They aren’t.”

 

But Face had gone again, eyes troubled as they stared at the carpet, his shoulders clearly shaking under the duvet.

 

Hannibal felt like screaming in frustration and smashing something, preferably Dougie’s head, but he swallowed it all down and instead smoothed his hands through Face’s hair, feeling the softness through his fingers and whispered, “I’m going to nip to your room, get you some clothes. I’ll be one minute. You okay here?”

 

There was no reply so Hannibal grabbed Face’s key card from the desk and dashed out.

 

He was back within two minutes, but Face hadn’t moved a muscle. Hannibal tried to get him to get himself dressed but it was like the kid couldn’t even hear him, so with a heavy heart, Hannibal set about helping him. He talked all the time, soft, soothing nonsense, as he lifted an arm here, a foot there, dressing Face like he was a child, but there was no response at all. Hannibal made sure he averted his eyes as much as he could, apart from respecting Face’s dignity, he really, really didn’t want to see any evidence that Dougie might have left behind of his recent violation. He knew that anything he saw would be burnt into his mind for the rest of his days, but apart from that, it might shatter the last thread of reason that was stopping him from just storming back upstairs and giving his old friend the hiding of his life. 

 

He’d just finished tying both sets of trainer laces when there was a sound in the corridor and a soft knock at the door. The noise seemed to snap Face straight out of his stupor and his eyes, wide and desperate, met Hannibal’s.

 

“They can’t throw me out, boss,” he whispered, “Where am I going to go?”

 

Hannibal slid his big hands up to gently cup Face’s cheeks, “I promise you, kid,” he looked right into those wide blue eyes, “No one is going to throw you out. You just tell them exactly what happened, and you will be fine.”

 

Face shook his head, “No!” he hissed, “They can’t know! If they hear what I did, they’ll throw me out for sure...” and what little colour he had left drained right out of his features.  

 

“Trust me,” Hannibal entreated as the knocking at the door sounded louder, “I can stay with you all the time, just tell your story, it will be fine.”

 

Face looked far from convinced so Hannibal leaned in and dropped a kiss onto his forehead before rising and walking to the door, glancing over at Face who was back to staring at the carpet before slipping out into the corridor.

 

“Hey, Bossman, good to see you.”

 

Hannibal would have recognised that softly spoken voice anywhere and was truly pleased to see Capt. Steve Taggart, formerly a Lt. in Hannibal’s unit, standing out in the corridor flanked by two paramedics.

 

“Tag, looking good,” the two shook hands warmly.

 

“So,” Tag’s eyes flicked to the closed door, “Your LT, huh?”

 

Hannibal nodded; it had been clear from the second that he had opened the door that Tosh had filled them in on the events of the night. The horror and sympathy on their faces was all too apparent.

 

“How is he?”

 

Shrugging, Hannibal shoved his hands deep into his pockets, “Freaked out,” he replied, “You taking him to County General?”

 

“Yes sir,” one of the paramedics replied, “They’ve got a brand new... area... there that we use.”

 

Hannibal nodded. Rape Suite. That’s what the paramedic had wanted to say. Rape Suite. Jesus, when he got his hands on Charlie McArthur...

 

“Am I okay to go with him?”

 

“Of course, boss,” Tag looked relieved by this news, perhaps he’d seen the state that Face had left Dougie in upstairs and was a little worried about the soldier he’d been sent to escort but before Hannibal could say anything else, the door to his room swung open and Face stepped out.

 

All eyes swivelled to the new arrival and Face smiled widely at them all, “Hey, you the guy come to pick me up?” he asked.

 

For a second, Tag looked more than taken aback, but he hid it quickly and reached out to shake Face’s hand, “Steve Taggart,” he replied easily, “But you can call me, Tag, any friend of Hannibal’s is a friend of mine.”

 

Face nodded, missing Tag’s wince at his own cheesy introduction and turned to beam at the paramedics,  “Right, let’s go then!”

 

Tag’s eyes flicked to Hannibal who had been watching in mute shock, more than a little disturbed by Face’s rapid change in disposition. But Hannibal knew Face well, well enough to recognise a false smile when he saw one, and to see the coldness in his eyes, the rigid set to his neck and shoulders and quite frankly, what he saw was freaking him out.

 

“Hold on,” he said quietly, just letting his fingers brush against Face’s arm, “Let me get some shoes on and we’ll get going.”

 

“It’s okay boss,” Face was using a falsely bright voice that was giving Hannibal the creeps, “You don’t need to come. I’ve got this.”

 

They looked at each other.

 

“Face,” Hannibal’s voice carried that warning that Tag recognised well, “I’m your CO and I’m coming with you.”

 

Face turned to look him right in the eye, “You can come with me, boss, but you can’t insist on being there when I talk to these guys. Not if I don’t want you.”

 

Those words were like a vice around Hannibal’s gut, but narrowing his eyes, he reflected on the accuracy of that statement. He had a bad feeling about all of this, a very bad feeling.

 

“It’s okay,” this was Tag, stepping into the obvious confrontation that was building in front of him, “I’ll look out for him, boss, you know you can trust me!”

 

Tag smiled at Hannibal, but the colonel only looked back bleakly. It wasn’t Tag he didn’t trust right now...

 

There wasn’t much of a choice, however, and Hannibal knew that. Nodding his head tersely in recognition of his position, he stepped back, fixing Face with his eyes, “Tell them everything,” he muttered and just had time to recognise the flash of panic in Face’s expression, before he turned and walked down the corridor, fists clenched and shoulders tight.

 

Spinning on his heel, Tag made a phone gesture at Hannibal before following Face towards the elevators.

 

Hannibal stood, staring at the closed silver doors for a long time after the corridor fell silent again.

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