The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 9

[indigo_angels]

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.

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