A Mother's Love - Part Seven
Oct. 2nd, 2011 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indigo_angelsHannibal cleaned him up and calmed him down a bit before leading him back to bed and settling them both together under the covers, Face’s head on his chest, his hands stroking through sweat damp hair and smoothing his almost rigid back.
“Feeling better, kid?” he whispered eventually, glad that the look of devastation he’d seen in Face’s eyes in the bathroom had faded. He felt Face nod silently against him. “You want to talk about it?”
No. Absolutely not, that was the last thing Face would ever want to do. He shook his head slightly.
Hannibal sighed. “You sure? I think you should, it always makes you feel better.”
Face flushed at those words, he really was some kind of expert in nightmares, had them almost every night in one form or another, from very vivid flashbacks, to the out and out terrifying reliving of an ambush gone wrong or a buddy that didn’t make it or a time when he thought he was going to lose one of his team, his family. And Hannibal was right, whatever his dream, he would tell him all about it and that would make it lose half its fear right there and then. Face had never hesitated over telling Hannibal a dream before, they were partners, shared everything, there were no secrets between them, well, not until that woman had shown up anyway.
But that dream... he suspected what is was, not a dream as such but an old memory, repressed or forgotten over the years, coming back to bite him as soon as his mother decided to make a reappearance in his life. He screwed his eyes closed, trying without any modicum of success to blank out the images he’d never wanted to see, his mother almost passed out on the bench, only pleased to see him as her vodka had run out, those boys and their comments, the rundown trailer parked on a patch of scrub land. Although he’d long ago stopped thinking he might be the son of a deposed Royal Family somewhere, hidden for his own protection, he’d never really considered that he might be the unwanted offspring of a morally dubious alcoholic, dragged up in the dirt in some godforsaken trailer park. Trailer trash.
And how, how on earth, could he tell that to Hannibal? Hannibal who had grown up in a sprawling ranch, caring parents, brothers and sisters aplenty, who’d had a good education, West Point, the whole thing. How could Face tell that man that the person he had chosen to live his life with was not the person anyone thought he was? He wasn’t any of the things Hannibal thought of him, none at all, no, he was the lowest of the low and it would have saved everyone a whole lot of bother if he’d never even been born.
“Kid?” the worry was clear in Hannibal’s voice and it almost broke Face’s heart to hear it, knowing that, if Hannibal ever found out the truth about him, he would be horrified at what he’d let into his bed. But Face knew he was selfish to the core, and also realistic; he knew he would never be able to cope without Hannibal, never in million years, he would simply disintegrate on the spot, so for now, and the foreseeable future, the deception had to continue.
He lifted his head and looked into Hannibal’s eyes, the light drifting in from the full moon outside, just about making him visible. “Boss,” he whispered, fear of rejection making his throat tight, “I need you. I need us to make love.”
Hannibal’s forehead creased into a frown and instantly his hands were up on Face’s cheeks, stroking the edge of his stubble, “Oh, baby,” he murmured, wishing, not for the first time, that he could see what was going on inside Face’s head, “tell me what the problem is. Please don’t shut me out here.”
“It’s nothing,” Face replied, eyes never quite meeting with Hannibal’s, “I just need this, boss, I need...” he struggled for the right word, “us.”
Leaning up, Hannibal kissed him, feeling the familiar shape of his lips above his own, then he pulled back and looked at him, noticed Face averting his eyes and felt a sharp pain in his chest. Over twenty years he’d known this man, more intimately than he had ever known anyone before but... he shook his head, at times like this he felt like he just didn’t know him at all.
Face was watching him carefully and saw the slight shake of his head, instantly interpreted it wrongly, and with tears burning in his eyes, tried to pull away. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered darkly, “Forget I said anything.”
“No, no, no, no,” Hannibal moved with him so he was sitting up in bed, his hands still cupping his lieutenant’s face. “I didn’t mean I didn't want you, kid, you know I will always want you, always give you just what you need. It’s just,” he shook his head again, “I don’t understand this, I know you are hurting and I don't know why you won’t talk to me about it.”
Face closed his eyes, Hannibal’s honest examination of him too much to take right now, and then he felt the boss almost sag and heard as a long breath left his lips, and knew that, just for now, Hannibal was letting it go. “Come here then, my love,” he whispered instead, and Face kept his eyes closed as Hannibal pulled him down, finding his lips again in the darkness and claiming them once again for his own.
______________________
Half an hour later, Face was sleeping once more, his head on Hannibal’s chest, tears still wet on his cheeks as Hannibal stroked through his hair, eyes fixed, unstaring at the ceiling.
He loved Face with all his heart, every single atom in his body belonged to the kid, and it was obvious that this business with Adele Armando was tearing him apart. He needed to meet her, Hannibal was sure of that now, no matter what Face decided to do afterwards, he needed to meet this woman and get his facts straight, and then maybe it wouldn’t be chew him up so badly.
Every time Hannibal closed his eyes, the last few minutes of their lovemaking played out in his head clear as day. He could see Face above him, illuminated by the light of the moon, looking astounding beautiful as he thrust into Hannibal, bringing them both closer to the edge. But then he shifted slightly forward and the moon fell right over him and Hannibal’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the tears streaking down his beloved boy’s face. Hannibal’s own orgasm had deserted him at that point, but Face had carried on, coming soon after and collapsing onto Hannibal’s chest, falling asleep almost immediately.
This time it was Hannibal who was awake to see the new dawn.
________________________
"You can choose your friends but you sho' can't choose your family, an' they're still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge 'em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don't." - Harper Lee (in To Kill A Mockingbird)
Face stood at the doorway in his running gear, staring across the front yard and trying to decide if he was going to do this or not. He hated himself for being so pathetic, what the hell was he going to do? Hide out indoors for the rest of his life? Worried his mother would try to see him?
The word ‘mother’ sent unpleasant shivers down his spine in the wake of his dream from last night. When he’d thought of her before he’d felt nothing, absolutely nothing at all, no emotional link there whatsoever. Didn’t mean he didn’t have an emotional response, sure there was plenty of anger and bitterness there he knew that, but actual emotions – nope not a thing. And now... the image of her, younger than the woman he’d seen yesterday, but undeniably the same one, sweating and pale on that bench, wanting her vodka, not even noticing as he slipped out, already too far gone to care. Well, that triggered a whole bunch of emotions running through him, fear and a sharp, sharp hurt being the two that were really freaking him out. He was an Army Ranger for fuck’s sake – how the hell could he be frightened of his own damn mother?
He shook his head, appalled at himself but decision made; he couldn’t do this, not today anyway. He couldn’t face her; he didn’t trust himself not to just melt down if she jumped out on him again. Self disgust swirling through him he turned and ran almost slap bang into Murdock, standing at the foot of the stairs, bright forced grin in place, still pulling his old Nike running t-shirt down over his stomach.
“Face!” he said, faking the surprise at seeing him there really badly. “You going running? I was jus’ gonna go!” his smile suddenly got even wider; “Maybe we could go together?”
Face opened his mouth to say no, to tell Murdock that he didn’t want to go with him, couldn’t trust him again after yesterday’s deception, but then saw the almost desperate gleam in Murdock’s eyes and realised that, no, he couldn’t do that. He sighed. He knew what it was like to have to follow unwanted orders from Hannibal, if Hannibal had ordered him not to tell Face the truth about that woman... well; he could understand why Murdock hadn’t. And he did want to go for a run, and maybe with Murdock there then that woman would stay away from him. Jesus, since when did he need a fucking body guard?
Have gave himself a shake, sick of the day’s dramas already and it was only 0840. “Sure,” he eventually replied, plastering on his own false smile and feeling a tiny bit better as Murdock’s face lit up like Times Square.
_________________________________
BA was tinkering with the engine on the old Chevy when Hannibal took a coffee out for him, leaning in the shade as he watched the corporal work.
“We got any jobs lined up then, boss?” BA eventually asked from the depths of the engine.
“Hmmm. Nothing concrete,” Hannibal admitted, “a couple maybe that might come to something; I’m still working on it.”
BA nodded. That was usually a job Hannibal and Face did together, two very suspicious minds doing the job much better than one. Much better than Murdock either who just believed any old crap people told him, and much better than BA who was so suspicious of people wanting to track them down they’d never get any business. It was easier for clients to contact them since Face had set up an e-mail address; they were literally searchable on Google now, but still safely anonymous. However, it was also easier for nutters and time wasters and people after the prices on their heads to contact them as well, so all that crap needed very careful weeding out.
But financially they were doing okay, Face handled all that kind of stuff and BA knew he was putting some away, investing it, he’d told BA, and BA trusted him, knew the kid had a sharp mind for figures and all that stuff, trusted him implicitly. Didn’t mean they didn’t need the jobs though, at least one a month Face reckoned to keep them going, and the way Face’s head was screwed on backwards at the minute meant that BA didn’t see them going on a job for a while yet. He hoped those investments were sound.
“So,” he eventually said, straightening up and grabbing his mug from the ground, “that Face I heard thowin’ up las’ night?”
Hannibal frowned, “Yeah. He had a nightmare.”
BA nodded, that was nothing out of the ordinary at all, Face had nightmares all the damn time. When they were on manoeuvres BA had even schooled himself to sleep through them, the shouting and crashing about, all those whispered pleas and whimpers. He’d felt bad at first, but Hannibal was always there and Murdock would wake up as well, sitting on his own cot, eyes wide as he watched Hannibal trying to gently wake Face up or soothe him back into sleep. But throwing up? That was new.
“What about?” BA took a sip of his coffee and forced back a grimace. Hannibal, who drank it black, always made it too damn strong. Face’s was better, but Murdock who made it with all milk, warmed first in a pan, made the best coffee going.
Hannibal missed the face as those deep frown lines appeared across his forehead. “I dunno,” he admitted quietly, “he wouldn’t tell me.”
BA was surprised. As far as he could ever work out, Face told Hannibal everything, it was like Hannibal was every important figure in the kid’s life all rolled into one; lover, father, mentor, friend, mother, brother, advisor, CO, all of them, and there wasn’t a thing in his life he wouldn’t tell Hannibal in one of his roles. So this? Well, this was odd.
“You know BA,” Hannibal sighed, “this is getting ridiculous, he just needs to meet her, get it all over and done with. No one is saying he needs to keep in touch with her afterwards, I mean with our life the way it is at the minute then that's hardly possible anyway, but he definitely needs to meet her.”
BA considered that carefully. “Why you thinking that now? Cause of the nightmare?”
Hannibal nodded. “It must have been about her otherwise why wouldn't he tell me? He doesn't even want to talk about it with me at all. Which again is another reason why. You know what he's like BA, puts his head in the sand, won't deal with things when they come up. That's why he gets so many damn nightmares in the first place; they all come out on a night.” Hannibal’s hand clenched into fists. “I won't let this business with his mother turn into just another thing for him to lose sleep over.”
Holding onto his coffee instead of drinking it, BA stared down at the ground. “I'm with you on that man, you know I am, but what can we do? It's not like we haven't tried. Every time we mention it he just gets himself all tied up in knots an' ends up runnin' off on us again.”
“Hmm,” Hannibal thought in silence for a moment, weighing up how much he should say to BA. “Which is why I was thinking about just not mentioning it...” he eventually said.
BA looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Hannibal calmly replied, “he can't run off if he doesn't know what's coming, can he?”
Shaking his head, BA whistled out through his teeth, “Hell, I don't know about that, man...”
“C'mon BA,” Hannibal leaned forward intently, “it makes perfect sense. We both know what's right for him, he's not gonna see it that way, not until she's long gone and maybe not contactable again, he'll thank us for it in the end.”
Far from convinced, BA shook his head again. “In the end, maybe, but how long is he gonna hate us for first?” Hannibal didn’t reply, just held his stare that bit longer. “It's a hell of a risk,” BA continued, “why don't we just try talking to him, one more time?”
Hannibal gave a harsh laugh, “What, and bolt all the doors this time?”
BA eventually gave up on the coffee and set it down on the ground as he turned back to the Chevvy. “Unless you just speak to him on your own, maybe he's more likely to open up without us there?”
Hannibal thought about this. “Maybe,” he sighed. “I guess you are right, BA, one more try wouldn't hurt. But not now, I don't think either of us could stand it just yet. I'll leave it until later.”
-------------------------------------------------
Sitting in the shade of the gatepost, Murdock lifted his beer bottle to his lips and tipped it up, disappointed and a little surprised to find it empty. He placed it carefully on the ground next to its empty brother and looked at the slightly warm full one next to it.
“Hey, Facey," he called. "You havin' this beer?”
Face didn't even look over from where he was dribbling down the drive, his eye on the hoop fastened above the garage door, “Nah, bud, busy.”
Murdock sighed but picked up the bottle anyway and took a swig, cringing at the warmth in his mouth. As his eyes tracked Face back down the drive away from the hoop he had just attempted, he frowned, thinking how tired he was and he'd ducked out of the hoop game almost an hour ago. “Face,” he called out but was ignored, “Face...” he tried again, letting a whinge enter his tone.
Face quickly glanced his way as he looped around the gate post, but then looked away as he loped back down towards another point. “What?”
Murdock sighed, “Come an' sit down, you're making me tired just watching you.” Murdock had long lost pleasure in the game even before he sat down; he'd only kept on going to keep Face company.
“I'm fine,” Face told him, even as he shot at another hoop, missing for the third time in a row. “Don't want to sit down.”
Sighing again, Murdock slumped back against the wall and looked his friend over. Face was still dressed in his navy running shorts and a pale grey t-shirt which was now stained almost black with sweat. His arms and legs were slick and wet, while his hair was stuck to his scalp in tight damp curls. “Buddy,” he whined, “you're dripping in sweat and keep missin' your hoops. You never miss; you're annoyingly reliable in that way, usually.” He saw Face's twitch of a smile. “Come an' sit down, you're smelly and pretty rubbish – what's the point in goin' on?”
This time Face just threw him a dirty look and continued onto try for another hoop, getting the ball straight through the ring this time, turning and sticking his tongue up as he ran back towards Murdock. “Who's rubbish?” he muttered, turning on the spot to head back down again.
Murdock sighed and shifted his numb behind on the concrete, realising they were going to be here for the long haul.
Next
“Feeling better, kid?” he whispered eventually, glad that the look of devastation he’d seen in Face’s eyes in the bathroom had faded. He felt Face nod silently against him. “You want to talk about it?”
No. Absolutely not, that was the last thing Face would ever want to do. He shook his head slightly.
Hannibal sighed. “You sure? I think you should, it always makes you feel better.”
Face flushed at those words, he really was some kind of expert in nightmares, had them almost every night in one form or another, from very vivid flashbacks, to the out and out terrifying reliving of an ambush gone wrong or a buddy that didn’t make it or a time when he thought he was going to lose one of his team, his family. And Hannibal was right, whatever his dream, he would tell him all about it and that would make it lose half its fear right there and then. Face had never hesitated over telling Hannibal a dream before, they were partners, shared everything, there were no secrets between them, well, not until that woman had shown up anyway.
But that dream... he suspected what is was, not a dream as such but an old memory, repressed or forgotten over the years, coming back to bite him as soon as his mother decided to make a reappearance in his life. He screwed his eyes closed, trying without any modicum of success to blank out the images he’d never wanted to see, his mother almost passed out on the bench, only pleased to see him as her vodka had run out, those boys and their comments, the rundown trailer parked on a patch of scrub land. Although he’d long ago stopped thinking he might be the son of a deposed Royal Family somewhere, hidden for his own protection, he’d never really considered that he might be the unwanted offspring of a morally dubious alcoholic, dragged up in the dirt in some godforsaken trailer park. Trailer trash.
And how, how on earth, could he tell that to Hannibal? Hannibal who had grown up in a sprawling ranch, caring parents, brothers and sisters aplenty, who’d had a good education, West Point, the whole thing. How could Face tell that man that the person he had chosen to live his life with was not the person anyone thought he was? He wasn’t any of the things Hannibal thought of him, none at all, no, he was the lowest of the low and it would have saved everyone a whole lot of bother if he’d never even been born.
“Kid?” the worry was clear in Hannibal’s voice and it almost broke Face’s heart to hear it, knowing that, if Hannibal ever found out the truth about him, he would be horrified at what he’d let into his bed. But Face knew he was selfish to the core, and also realistic; he knew he would never be able to cope without Hannibal, never in million years, he would simply disintegrate on the spot, so for now, and the foreseeable future, the deception had to continue.
He lifted his head and looked into Hannibal’s eyes, the light drifting in from the full moon outside, just about making him visible. “Boss,” he whispered, fear of rejection making his throat tight, “I need you. I need us to make love.”
Hannibal’s forehead creased into a frown and instantly his hands were up on Face’s cheeks, stroking the edge of his stubble, “Oh, baby,” he murmured, wishing, not for the first time, that he could see what was going on inside Face’s head, “tell me what the problem is. Please don’t shut me out here.”
“It’s nothing,” Face replied, eyes never quite meeting with Hannibal’s, “I just need this, boss, I need...” he struggled for the right word, “us.”
Leaning up, Hannibal kissed him, feeling the familiar shape of his lips above his own, then he pulled back and looked at him, noticed Face averting his eyes and felt a sharp pain in his chest. Over twenty years he’d known this man, more intimately than he had ever known anyone before but... he shook his head, at times like this he felt like he just didn’t know him at all.
Face was watching him carefully and saw the slight shake of his head, instantly interpreted it wrongly, and with tears burning in his eyes, tried to pull away. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered darkly, “Forget I said anything.”
“No, no, no, no,” Hannibal moved with him so he was sitting up in bed, his hands still cupping his lieutenant’s face. “I didn’t mean I didn't want you, kid, you know I will always want you, always give you just what you need. It’s just,” he shook his head again, “I don’t understand this, I know you are hurting and I don't know why you won’t talk to me about it.”
Face closed his eyes, Hannibal’s honest examination of him too much to take right now, and then he felt the boss almost sag and heard as a long breath left his lips, and knew that, just for now, Hannibal was letting it go. “Come here then, my love,” he whispered instead, and Face kept his eyes closed as Hannibal pulled him down, finding his lips again in the darkness and claiming them once again for his own.
______________________
Half an hour later, Face was sleeping once more, his head on Hannibal’s chest, tears still wet on his cheeks as Hannibal stroked through his hair, eyes fixed, unstaring at the ceiling.
He loved Face with all his heart, every single atom in his body belonged to the kid, and it was obvious that this business with Adele Armando was tearing him apart. He needed to meet her, Hannibal was sure of that now, no matter what Face decided to do afterwards, he needed to meet this woman and get his facts straight, and then maybe it wouldn’t be chew him up so badly.
Every time Hannibal closed his eyes, the last few minutes of their lovemaking played out in his head clear as day. He could see Face above him, illuminated by the light of the moon, looking astounding beautiful as he thrust into Hannibal, bringing them both closer to the edge. But then he shifted slightly forward and the moon fell right over him and Hannibal’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the tears streaking down his beloved boy’s face. Hannibal’s own orgasm had deserted him at that point, but Face had carried on, coming soon after and collapsing onto Hannibal’s chest, falling asleep almost immediately.
This time it was Hannibal who was awake to see the new dawn.
________________________
"You can choose your friends but you sho' can't choose your family, an' they're still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge 'em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don't." - Harper Lee (in To Kill A Mockingbird)
Face stood at the doorway in his running gear, staring across the front yard and trying to decide if he was going to do this or not. He hated himself for being so pathetic, what the hell was he going to do? Hide out indoors for the rest of his life? Worried his mother would try to see him?
The word ‘mother’ sent unpleasant shivers down his spine in the wake of his dream from last night. When he’d thought of her before he’d felt nothing, absolutely nothing at all, no emotional link there whatsoever. Didn’t mean he didn’t have an emotional response, sure there was plenty of anger and bitterness there he knew that, but actual emotions – nope not a thing. And now... the image of her, younger than the woman he’d seen yesterday, but undeniably the same one, sweating and pale on that bench, wanting her vodka, not even noticing as he slipped out, already too far gone to care. Well, that triggered a whole bunch of emotions running through him, fear and a sharp, sharp hurt being the two that were really freaking him out. He was an Army Ranger for fuck’s sake – how the hell could he be frightened of his own damn mother?
He shook his head, appalled at himself but decision made; he couldn’t do this, not today anyway. He couldn’t face her; he didn’t trust himself not to just melt down if she jumped out on him again. Self disgust swirling through him he turned and ran almost slap bang into Murdock, standing at the foot of the stairs, bright forced grin in place, still pulling his old Nike running t-shirt down over his stomach.
“Face!” he said, faking the surprise at seeing him there really badly. “You going running? I was jus’ gonna go!” his smile suddenly got even wider; “Maybe we could go together?”
Face opened his mouth to say no, to tell Murdock that he didn’t want to go with him, couldn’t trust him again after yesterday’s deception, but then saw the almost desperate gleam in Murdock’s eyes and realised that, no, he couldn’t do that. He sighed. He knew what it was like to have to follow unwanted orders from Hannibal, if Hannibal had ordered him not to tell Face the truth about that woman... well; he could understand why Murdock hadn’t. And he did want to go for a run, and maybe with Murdock there then that woman would stay away from him. Jesus, since when did he need a fucking body guard?
Have gave himself a shake, sick of the day’s dramas already and it was only 0840. “Sure,” he eventually replied, plastering on his own false smile and feeling a tiny bit better as Murdock’s face lit up like Times Square.
_________________________________
BA was tinkering with the engine on the old Chevy when Hannibal took a coffee out for him, leaning in the shade as he watched the corporal work.
“We got any jobs lined up then, boss?” BA eventually asked from the depths of the engine.
“Hmmm. Nothing concrete,” Hannibal admitted, “a couple maybe that might come to something; I’m still working on it.”
BA nodded. That was usually a job Hannibal and Face did together, two very suspicious minds doing the job much better than one. Much better than Murdock either who just believed any old crap people told him, and much better than BA who was so suspicious of people wanting to track them down they’d never get any business. It was easier for clients to contact them since Face had set up an e-mail address; they were literally searchable on Google now, but still safely anonymous. However, it was also easier for nutters and time wasters and people after the prices on their heads to contact them as well, so all that crap needed very careful weeding out.
But financially they were doing okay, Face handled all that kind of stuff and BA knew he was putting some away, investing it, he’d told BA, and BA trusted him, knew the kid had a sharp mind for figures and all that stuff, trusted him implicitly. Didn’t mean they didn’t need the jobs though, at least one a month Face reckoned to keep them going, and the way Face’s head was screwed on backwards at the minute meant that BA didn’t see them going on a job for a while yet. He hoped those investments were sound.
“So,” he eventually said, straightening up and grabbing his mug from the ground, “that Face I heard thowin’ up las’ night?”
Hannibal frowned, “Yeah. He had a nightmare.”
BA nodded, that was nothing out of the ordinary at all, Face had nightmares all the damn time. When they were on manoeuvres BA had even schooled himself to sleep through them, the shouting and crashing about, all those whispered pleas and whimpers. He’d felt bad at first, but Hannibal was always there and Murdock would wake up as well, sitting on his own cot, eyes wide as he watched Hannibal trying to gently wake Face up or soothe him back into sleep. But throwing up? That was new.
“What about?” BA took a sip of his coffee and forced back a grimace. Hannibal, who drank it black, always made it too damn strong. Face’s was better, but Murdock who made it with all milk, warmed first in a pan, made the best coffee going.
Hannibal missed the face as those deep frown lines appeared across his forehead. “I dunno,” he admitted quietly, “he wouldn’t tell me.”
BA was surprised. As far as he could ever work out, Face told Hannibal everything, it was like Hannibal was every important figure in the kid’s life all rolled into one; lover, father, mentor, friend, mother, brother, advisor, CO, all of them, and there wasn’t a thing in his life he wouldn’t tell Hannibal in one of his roles. So this? Well, this was odd.
“You know BA,” Hannibal sighed, “this is getting ridiculous, he just needs to meet her, get it all over and done with. No one is saying he needs to keep in touch with her afterwards, I mean with our life the way it is at the minute then that's hardly possible anyway, but he definitely needs to meet her.”
BA considered that carefully. “Why you thinking that now? Cause of the nightmare?”
Hannibal nodded. “It must have been about her otherwise why wouldn't he tell me? He doesn't even want to talk about it with me at all. Which again is another reason why. You know what he's like BA, puts his head in the sand, won't deal with things when they come up. That's why he gets so many damn nightmares in the first place; they all come out on a night.” Hannibal’s hand clenched into fists. “I won't let this business with his mother turn into just another thing for him to lose sleep over.”
Holding onto his coffee instead of drinking it, BA stared down at the ground. “I'm with you on that man, you know I am, but what can we do? It's not like we haven't tried. Every time we mention it he just gets himself all tied up in knots an' ends up runnin' off on us again.”
“Hmm,” Hannibal thought in silence for a moment, weighing up how much he should say to BA. “Which is why I was thinking about just not mentioning it...” he eventually said.
BA looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Hannibal calmly replied, “he can't run off if he doesn't know what's coming, can he?”
Shaking his head, BA whistled out through his teeth, “Hell, I don't know about that, man...”
“C'mon BA,” Hannibal leaned forward intently, “it makes perfect sense. We both know what's right for him, he's not gonna see it that way, not until she's long gone and maybe not contactable again, he'll thank us for it in the end.”
Far from convinced, BA shook his head again. “In the end, maybe, but how long is he gonna hate us for first?” Hannibal didn’t reply, just held his stare that bit longer. “It's a hell of a risk,” BA continued, “why don't we just try talking to him, one more time?”
Hannibal gave a harsh laugh, “What, and bolt all the doors this time?”
BA eventually gave up on the coffee and set it down on the ground as he turned back to the Chevvy. “Unless you just speak to him on your own, maybe he's more likely to open up without us there?”
Hannibal thought about this. “Maybe,” he sighed. “I guess you are right, BA, one more try wouldn't hurt. But not now, I don't think either of us could stand it just yet. I'll leave it until later.”
-------------------------------------------------
Sitting in the shade of the gatepost, Murdock lifted his beer bottle to his lips and tipped it up, disappointed and a little surprised to find it empty. He placed it carefully on the ground next to its empty brother and looked at the slightly warm full one next to it.
“Hey, Facey," he called. "You havin' this beer?”
Face didn't even look over from where he was dribbling down the drive, his eye on the hoop fastened above the garage door, “Nah, bud, busy.”
Murdock sighed but picked up the bottle anyway and took a swig, cringing at the warmth in his mouth. As his eyes tracked Face back down the drive away from the hoop he had just attempted, he frowned, thinking how tired he was and he'd ducked out of the hoop game almost an hour ago. “Face,” he called out but was ignored, “Face...” he tried again, letting a whinge enter his tone.
Face quickly glanced his way as he looped around the gate post, but then looked away as he loped back down towards another point. “What?”
Murdock sighed, “Come an' sit down, you're making me tired just watching you.” Murdock had long lost pleasure in the game even before he sat down; he'd only kept on going to keep Face company.
“I'm fine,” Face told him, even as he shot at another hoop, missing for the third time in a row. “Don't want to sit down.”
Sighing again, Murdock slumped back against the wall and looked his friend over. Face was still dressed in his navy running shorts and a pale grey t-shirt which was now stained almost black with sweat. His arms and legs were slick and wet, while his hair was stuck to his scalp in tight damp curls. “Buddy,” he whined, “you're dripping in sweat and keep missin' your hoops. You never miss; you're annoyingly reliable in that way, usually.” He saw Face's twitch of a smile. “Come an' sit down, you're smelly and pretty rubbish – what's the point in goin' on?”
This time Face just threw him a dirty look and continued onto try for another hoop, getting the ball straight through the ring this time, turning and sticking his tongue up as he ran back towards Murdock. “Who's rubbish?” he muttered, turning on the spot to head back down again.
Murdock sighed and shifted his numb behind on the concrete, realising they were going to be here for the long haul.
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