The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 8

[indigo_angels]

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.

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