A Mother's Love - Part Nine
Oct. 4th, 2011 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indigo_angelsThey took a taxi to La Maison, both wearing suits, Hannibal’s dark grey, white shirt and a deep blue tie, Face’s black, black shirt, no tie; neither of them could tear their eyes away from the other.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” Hannibal whispered as the taxi driver crawled through the busy streets, his hand sliding up surreptitiously onto Face’s thigh.
Face smiled back at him, still flushing even after all the years of Hannibal’s compliments. “So do you,” he whispered back, his voice just a little hoarse.
Hannibal smiled but couldn’t hide the tension around his eyes that instantly had Face worrying. He knew he’d hurt the boss’ feelings by sleeping in with Murdock last night, but it hadn’t been like that at all really, had never been a conscious decision to stay away all night.
Face had a sick swooping feeling as he thought back to the whole unpleasant incident; the way he’d been so hurt at the thought that Hannibal had only initiated the session on the sofa to try and get around him over his mother again, then the refuge he sought out with Murdock, but, tired as they both were, they had ended up falling asleep right in the middle of a game. And then the dream, nightmare, memory, whatever it was that flitted into his head almost as soon as he had drifted to sleep, how he’d woken up, struggling, crying and how Murdock hadn’t said anything to him, nothing more than soft, soothing sounds, anyway, how he hadn’t tried to pry from him the reasons for his tears, hadn’t demanded an explanation for the nightmare, had just crawled across the bed to him and held him tightly and it had felt so damn good that Face just couldn’t make himself leave.
But his actions had hurt Hannibal, he knew that now, and that had never been his intention. There was so much hurt, and anger too in the boss’ expression that morning that Face felt awful about it, hurting Hannibal was never something he enjoyed.
Thoughts of last night however, soon brought his mind around to the nightmare and he shuddered slightly, looking out of the window to try and move his thoughts elsewhere but it was too late, the 7-Eleven they drove by all lit up in the darkness soon brought everything back in crystal clarity.
”Are you ready to play our special game then, Danny?”
He’d nodded enthusiastically, although somewhere in the back of his mind he had the vague idea that this game was wrong, that she shouldn’t be asking him to do this for her. But then he had looked into her smiling face and just felt happy that she was happy with him.
They went into the store and wandered about a little bit. Danny looked hopefully up at the shelf with the Oreo cookies on it, but she quickly ushered him away, heading for the aisle with the liquor. He knew what she wanted, she liked the clear bottles with the red words on, and she liked it when he got the big bottles. But he was nervous today, it seemed to him like the man dressed like a police man by the door was staring at him and so he only picked up a small bottle, the one he knew he could fit down his pants okay.
They wandered around a bit more, and then eventually she picked up a jar of jelly and his heart sank, he’d really had his mind set on those Oreo cookies, and they wandered over to the counter. She talked to the cashier a little bit while he stood off to one side, and then at last they were ready to go.
She took his hand and they walked outside into the sunshine. He could feel his relief that it was all over, that she would very soon be thrilled with him for what he’d done, and she might even get him one of those little tanks he’d seen in the window of the toy store they walked past on their way here. But then there was the shout and all those lovely ideas disintegrated instantly.
She dropped his hand so he whirled on the spot and saw the security guard shouting at them. He looked back and saw her running from him and so he took off after her, as fast as the terror he was feeling could pump his muscles for him.
They pounded down the street, and as they ran around the corner, his shorter legs leaving him further behind with every stride, the bottle worked loose from his waist band and slid down his trouser leg, smashing noisily as it did. He kept on running, but saw the way she had turned at the sound of breaking glass, saw the disappointed set to her mouth and knew there would be no tank for him now. He would be lucky if he even got any supper. He had to blink back the tears as he ran.
Even just the thought of it made Face’s heart pound and a thin sheen of sweat break out on his face. He ran a shaky hand other his mouth and wondered what the hell was going on with him. He’d never had any memories of his mother or his life before the orphanage at all before now, so where were all these flash backs coming from? And was that even what they were? He was no expert in the memories of four year olds or child psychology in general, but he doubted that those kind of detailed remembrances were the norm for such young children. So what were these dreams? Were they really memories of a time gone by, deeply suppressed for so long and raising their ugly heads now with the reappearance of his mother? Or was it his brain just filling in blanks for him? Providing him with a past when he so dearly wanted one, even if it wasn’t the past he desired. He couldn’t work it out at all.
“Hey,” Hannibal’s concerned voice interrupted his musing and he looked around to find the boss watching him, eyes creased in worry. “You okay, kiddo?”
Face shook off the memories of the dream and nodded, offering up a poor excuse for a smile. “Sure boss,” he patted Hannibal on the knee. “Absolutely fine.”
_______________________
Murdock finished another lap of the living room and sighed as he stopped at the window, staring out into the front yard; there was no way he could deny it any longer, he felt guilty about his conversation with Hannibal today. It really wasn’t his role to interfere between him and Face, they had been together long enough to be able to sort out their own relationship. It was just, he loved Face, really did; he was his best friend in all the world and as much as he understood that Hannibal loved him too, loved him as deeply and as passionately as Face deserved, sometimes he felt that the boss just didn’t get him.
As far as he was concerned, Face was easy to read, easy to understand. Every expression on his face was like an open book for Murdock, every reaction he made easy to predict, but Hannibal... well, it was like he didn’t understand Face at all. And all this business over Face’s mother, it burned Murdock up to see Hannibal making it worse at every turn, making Face feel more alone, more confused, more unloved. It was just wrong.
But no, sticking his nose into their relationship was just wrong as well and certainly wouldn’t help anything get sorted out in the long run. This meal out tonight was a good idea of Hannibal’s, it would be the perfect way for them to talk things over, and maybe at the end of it all, Hannibal would have a better understanding of Face’s point of view.
Murdock smiled to himself, an idea suddenly forming in his head and he pulled his phone out, flipping it open and finding the number for La Maison in his address book. He was going to buy them a really nice bottle of wine. He knew Face liked red, maybe they had a good Châteauneuf-du-Pape he could get, or a Bardolino, he’d bought Face one of those at Christmas, and he’d really enjoyed it.
His call was answered on the third ring, the usual efficiently pompous Maitre d’ that these restaurants seemed to employ on the other end of the line. Murdock smiled to himself and adopted a gruff deep voice. “Ah, yes, hello there, it’s John Smith here, I have a table for two booked for this evening, I would like to pre-order a bottle of wine please.”
Murdock smiled to himself as he imagined Face and Hannibal’s surprise at his gift, he hoped it would maybe smooth things over with the colonel a little as well; Murdock hated it when there was an atmosphere in the team.
And then the Maitre d’ was back, his words wiping the smile from Murdock’s face in a second. “Monsieur Smith? Ah, yes I have your booking here, but, has there been some mistake? We have you down as a table for three, not two. Is there are problem with that?”
Murdock stuttered some explanation or apology or reason out of his mouth and then hung up, completely forgetting to order the wine, and then he stood, staring blankly at the wall as the Maitre d’s words swirled around in his head. He tried really, really hard to think of another reason that Hannibal would have booked a table for three, but there wasn’t one, wasn’t another reason in the whole damn world. He swore under his breath and grabbed the keys for the Chevy off the table.
He thought about how Face had looked as he’d followed Hannibal across the front yard and out to the cab earlier that evening, happy, excited, relaxed, clueless; like a lamb to the fucking slaughter, and shook his head. “Hannibal, you sneaky, rotten, bastard,” he muttered to himself as he strode purposefully out of the door.
________________________
For the second half of the taxi ride, Face had made an effort to be more communicative with Hannibal, after all, the boss had gone to all of this effort for him, the least he could do was be pleasant company. He turned and smiled, not missing the look of concern that Hannibal was still throwing his way. “So,” he sat back in his seat trying to appear more relaxed than he felt, “what do you fancy tonight then?”
“You,” Hannibal responded quick as a flash, his eyes positively burning into Face.
Face smiled, “Hmm. Well, I can’t see that going down too well in the restaurant boss, maybe you should try something to eat first?”
Hannibal returned his smile. “If you insist. Perhaps they will have that nice lamb on the menu again, the last time we were here, that was beautiful.”
Face was distracted as the cab pulled up outside the restaurant and Hannibal leaned over to pay. They climbed out, Face adjusting his suit so that it hung perfectly before they walked in through the doors that were courteously opened for them.
“What about you, kid?” Hannibal asked as they were shown to their table.
“Yeah,” Face agreed, “the lamb was nice, but I think I am more in the mood for fish tonight. That or maybe-” he stopped short, his feet frozen into the deep carpet as the waiter tried to usher them forwards, towards their discrete corner table, right at the back of the restaurant, right out of the way. The table where someone was already sitting, looking at the menu.
Hannibal suddenly felt unsure as he looked at Face’s stark expression, the way that all the blood had drained from his skin, the horror in his eyes, eyes that were now swimming in tears.
“Face?” he asked, voice tentative.
His word caught the attention of the woman at the table who looked up at them and smiled, getting to her feet. “Danny,” she greeted them, “how lovely that you wanted to meet with me,” Face’s wet eyes flicked over to her. “Come here and let me hug you.”
Face took a step back, almost walking into the waiter who was watching the scene in confusion and his eyes left Adele, and landed on Hannibal instead. “John,” he whispered and Hannibal was appalled at the hurt evident in his voice, “how could you do this?”
Hannibal just stared at him, convinced now that this had been a mistake, that his conviction that Face would melt once he actually came face to face with Adele was misguided at best. “Face...” he repeated, reaching out to touch his arm but Face recoiled immediately from him.
“Sir?” the waiter looked from Hannibal to Face and then back again, “Is there a problem with this table?”
“What?” Hannibal looked across at him, “Er, no. No, it’s fine,” while Face took advantage of the distraction to whirl on his heel and head for the exit as fast as he could.
“Face!” Hannibal took off after him, ignoring Adele’s frown as she sank slowly back into her seat, and Face broke into a jog, attracting curious stares from the other diners. “Face!” he called again even as his eyes were drawn to a commotion over at the Maitre d’s desk in the hallway beyond the door.
“I am sorry, sir!” the Maitre d’ could be heard exclaiming, “But you can’t just walk in there without a reservation! And we do have a very strict dress code you know!”
Face reached the doorway and burst through just as a loud Texan voice could be heard bemoaning his treatment.
Face’s sudden appearance however, quickly shut everyone up and Murdock took one look at his friend’s desperate expression and stepped forward, right in front of him, his hands going to his rigid arms. “Buddy,” he whispered and Face looked straight at him, the first tear slipping down his cheek.
“Murdock,” he choked out and then stopped, swallowing heavily, hyper aware of all the people around who were staring at him.
“I know, buddy, I know,” Murdock soothed, his own voice thick with emotion. “Here,” he fished into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the car. “It’s parked outside, wait for me there, right?”
Face nodded gratefully and took the keys, disappearing the next second with his head tucked down onto his chest.
Hannibal appeared at the doorway from the main hall and froze in his tracks as he saw Murdock standing there glaring at him, the accusation clear in his expression. “Murdock,” he swallowed hard, “I thought...” and tailed off, his words sounding so empty even in his own head.
“Yeah?” Murdock spat at him glaring hard, “Well you thought wrong, didn’t you?”
Hannibal could only stand still and stare, the truth of Murdock’s words hitting him right between the eyes as the pilot just shook his head and retreated out after Face. Oblivious to the looks he was receiving from the waiters and the Maitre d’, Hannibal watched the doors swing closed after them and wondered just how on earth he would ever be able to fix this mess he’d made.
_________________________
Murdock ran around the parking lot until he saw the car and almost sagged with relief when he spotted Face’s figure bolt upright in the passenger seat; he’d been worried that he would just run for it, either on foot or in the car, and the realisation that he hadn’t calmed his shredded nerves somewhat.
He slid into the driver’s side and glanced over, taking in Face’s almost grey complexion, the rigid set to his jaw and the way that his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. He sighed and shook his head, picking up the keys off the dash and turning the engine over.
He pulled out into the early evening traffic, his mind whirling with possibilities. Face was building up to a break down, he could see it written in every line of tension on his friend’s body, and they needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere private before that happened. The house was the obvious destination, but Murdock turned left instead of right at the junction that would have taken them there; Face didn’t need to see Hannibal right now, words would be exchanged, accusations thrown and neither of them needed those extra wounds at the minute. He supposed he could have taken Face into his room for the night, but no, in consideration of how that had gone last night, that maybe wasn’t such a good idea. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and set out to make alternative arrangements.
_____________________________
The second that the cab pulled up outside the house Hannibal knew that his fears had been realised and that Face hadn’t gone home. The empty space where the Chevy should have been parked mocked him as he crossed the front yard and let himself into the quiet house, his heart as heavy as his feet.
Hindsight was a cruel thing, coming along just too late to allow him to change any of the decisions he had made, any of the damage he had done. And if the realisations that he had made a huge miscalculation hadn’t come with the look he’d seen on his boy’s face in the restaurant, it would certainly have come when he returned to the table to talk with Adele once more.
He had expected her to be upset; Face was her only child after all, the one she had gone to the effort of tracing after all these year, had travelled right across the country to meet., and he had just walked out on her, snubbed her in the most personal way possible; that was bound to hurt. But as soon as he had dragged himself back into the restaurant, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from the other diners and walked slowly back to their table, he realised that he had just made yet another totally false assumption.
Adele Armando was still sitting at the table, her face smooth and untroubled as she carefully and neatly made her way through a bowl of Moules Marinières, placing the empty shells delicately into another bowl at her left the second she had scooped out the flesh. In a move scarily reminiscent of Face not five minutes earlier, Hannibal froze on the spot, staring incredulously at her.
She stopped, sensing Hannibal’s eyes on her and lifted her face, smiling at him. “So sorry I didn’t wait for you, John, but I have been starving myself all day in anticipation of tonight’s meal and so I was a little hungry.” Hannibal just stared. “Don’t worry,” she looked up at him from under her lashes, “I took the liberty of ordering you some as well,” she pointed to the bowl standing at the place setting directly next to her, “and a lovely bottle of Chablis, always goes so well with mussels I think.” Still Hannibal just looked at her and eventually she frowned. “Well, come on then,” she chided, her voice slipping into little girl mode, “I need you to come and sit with me while we decide what to do about that stubborn little boy of mine before he breaks my heart any further!” Any poignancy her words might have held was instantly obliterated by the flirtatious expression she wore and the way she suggestively rubbed the empty couch seat right next to her.
Hannibal had turned and walked out without a word.
But all of those sudden realisations were doing him no good at all now, not when Face was estranged from him, gone off who knew where with Murdock. He’d called them both more than once, and was less than surprised to find both of their phones switched off. He closed the door behind himself and stood leaning against it, eyes closed against his headache, when BA’s voice reached him from down the hall.
“Murdock? That you? Where’d you take off to in sucha hurry then? I-” BA froze as he rounded the door at the end of the hallway and saw Hannibal slumped in the dark. “Boss?” the worry was clear in his voice and he quickly closed the gap between him and his commander, “What is it? Where’s Face? I thought you two would be out all nigh’. And Murdock’s gone too, he just-” And he stopped again, the worry morphing from his face to be replaced with a look of anger. “Oh, no,” he muttered, one big hand reaching up to rub over his Mohawk, “tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t set Face up with this dinner...”
Hannibal stared at the floor. “I thought it would work out,” he murmured, “I thought it would be okay once he saw her.” The voice was as small and as sad as BA could ever remember hearing it.
“Oh, boss...” BA muttered rubbing both hands over his face now, his anger at Hannibal disappearing at the obvious devastation in his words. “Where is he now?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Hannibal carried on staring at the patterns in the wooden floor, “I don’t know. Murdock turned up and they went off together.”
BA let out a long sigh. “Well, at least we know he’ll be safe then.”
“I suppose,” Hannibal sounded less than convinced and as he looked up into BA’s face for the first time, the Corporal was horrified at the tears he saw standing in those blue eyes. “But BA,” and now the voice was even more broken than before, “what if he never comes back?”
BA knew what he was talking about, knew that Hannibal didn’t mean come back to the team and he just shook his head, what on earth could he say to that?
Next
“You look fucking gorgeous,” Hannibal whispered as the taxi driver crawled through the busy streets, his hand sliding up surreptitiously onto Face’s thigh.
Face smiled back at him, still flushing even after all the years of Hannibal’s compliments. “So do you,” he whispered back, his voice just a little hoarse.
Hannibal smiled but couldn’t hide the tension around his eyes that instantly had Face worrying. He knew he’d hurt the boss’ feelings by sleeping in with Murdock last night, but it hadn’t been like that at all really, had never been a conscious decision to stay away all night.
Face had a sick swooping feeling as he thought back to the whole unpleasant incident; the way he’d been so hurt at the thought that Hannibal had only initiated the session on the sofa to try and get around him over his mother again, then the refuge he sought out with Murdock, but, tired as they both were, they had ended up falling asleep right in the middle of a game. And then the dream, nightmare, memory, whatever it was that flitted into his head almost as soon as he had drifted to sleep, how he’d woken up, struggling, crying and how Murdock hadn’t said anything to him, nothing more than soft, soothing sounds, anyway, how he hadn’t tried to pry from him the reasons for his tears, hadn’t demanded an explanation for the nightmare, had just crawled across the bed to him and held him tightly and it had felt so damn good that Face just couldn’t make himself leave.
But his actions had hurt Hannibal, he knew that now, and that had never been his intention. There was so much hurt, and anger too in the boss’ expression that morning that Face felt awful about it, hurting Hannibal was never something he enjoyed.
Thoughts of last night however, soon brought his mind around to the nightmare and he shuddered slightly, looking out of the window to try and move his thoughts elsewhere but it was too late, the 7-Eleven they drove by all lit up in the darkness soon brought everything back in crystal clarity.
”Are you ready to play our special game then, Danny?”
He’d nodded enthusiastically, although somewhere in the back of his mind he had the vague idea that this game was wrong, that she shouldn’t be asking him to do this for her. But then he had looked into her smiling face and just felt happy that she was happy with him.
They went into the store and wandered about a little bit. Danny looked hopefully up at the shelf with the Oreo cookies on it, but she quickly ushered him away, heading for the aisle with the liquor. He knew what she wanted, she liked the clear bottles with the red words on, and she liked it when he got the big bottles. But he was nervous today, it seemed to him like the man dressed like a police man by the door was staring at him and so he only picked up a small bottle, the one he knew he could fit down his pants okay.
They wandered around a bit more, and then eventually she picked up a jar of jelly and his heart sank, he’d really had his mind set on those Oreo cookies, and they wandered over to the counter. She talked to the cashier a little bit while he stood off to one side, and then at last they were ready to go.
She took his hand and they walked outside into the sunshine. He could feel his relief that it was all over, that she would very soon be thrilled with him for what he’d done, and she might even get him one of those little tanks he’d seen in the window of the toy store they walked past on their way here. But then there was the shout and all those lovely ideas disintegrated instantly.
She dropped his hand so he whirled on the spot and saw the security guard shouting at them. He looked back and saw her running from him and so he took off after her, as fast as the terror he was feeling could pump his muscles for him.
They pounded down the street, and as they ran around the corner, his shorter legs leaving him further behind with every stride, the bottle worked loose from his waist band and slid down his trouser leg, smashing noisily as it did. He kept on running, but saw the way she had turned at the sound of breaking glass, saw the disappointed set to her mouth and knew there would be no tank for him now. He would be lucky if he even got any supper. He had to blink back the tears as he ran.
Even just the thought of it made Face’s heart pound and a thin sheen of sweat break out on his face. He ran a shaky hand other his mouth and wondered what the hell was going on with him. He’d never had any memories of his mother or his life before the orphanage at all before now, so where were all these flash backs coming from? And was that even what they were? He was no expert in the memories of four year olds or child psychology in general, but he doubted that those kind of detailed remembrances were the norm for such young children. So what were these dreams? Were they really memories of a time gone by, deeply suppressed for so long and raising their ugly heads now with the reappearance of his mother? Or was it his brain just filling in blanks for him? Providing him with a past when he so dearly wanted one, even if it wasn’t the past he desired. He couldn’t work it out at all.
“Hey,” Hannibal’s concerned voice interrupted his musing and he looked around to find the boss watching him, eyes creased in worry. “You okay, kiddo?”
Face shook off the memories of the dream and nodded, offering up a poor excuse for a smile. “Sure boss,” he patted Hannibal on the knee. “Absolutely fine.”
_______________________
Murdock finished another lap of the living room and sighed as he stopped at the window, staring out into the front yard; there was no way he could deny it any longer, he felt guilty about his conversation with Hannibal today. It really wasn’t his role to interfere between him and Face, they had been together long enough to be able to sort out their own relationship. It was just, he loved Face, really did; he was his best friend in all the world and as much as he understood that Hannibal loved him too, loved him as deeply and as passionately as Face deserved, sometimes he felt that the boss just didn’t get him.
As far as he was concerned, Face was easy to read, easy to understand. Every expression on his face was like an open book for Murdock, every reaction he made easy to predict, but Hannibal... well, it was like he didn’t understand Face at all. And all this business over Face’s mother, it burned Murdock up to see Hannibal making it worse at every turn, making Face feel more alone, more confused, more unloved. It was just wrong.
But no, sticking his nose into their relationship was just wrong as well and certainly wouldn’t help anything get sorted out in the long run. This meal out tonight was a good idea of Hannibal’s, it would be the perfect way for them to talk things over, and maybe at the end of it all, Hannibal would have a better understanding of Face’s point of view.
Murdock smiled to himself, an idea suddenly forming in his head and he pulled his phone out, flipping it open and finding the number for La Maison in his address book. He was going to buy them a really nice bottle of wine. He knew Face liked red, maybe they had a good Châteauneuf-du-Pape he could get, or a Bardolino, he’d bought Face one of those at Christmas, and he’d really enjoyed it.
His call was answered on the third ring, the usual efficiently pompous Maitre d’ that these restaurants seemed to employ on the other end of the line. Murdock smiled to himself and adopted a gruff deep voice. “Ah, yes, hello there, it’s John Smith here, I have a table for two booked for this evening, I would like to pre-order a bottle of wine please.”
Murdock smiled to himself as he imagined Face and Hannibal’s surprise at his gift, he hoped it would maybe smooth things over with the colonel a little as well; Murdock hated it when there was an atmosphere in the team.
And then the Maitre d’ was back, his words wiping the smile from Murdock’s face in a second. “Monsieur Smith? Ah, yes I have your booking here, but, has there been some mistake? We have you down as a table for three, not two. Is there are problem with that?”
Murdock stuttered some explanation or apology or reason out of his mouth and then hung up, completely forgetting to order the wine, and then he stood, staring blankly at the wall as the Maitre d’s words swirled around in his head. He tried really, really hard to think of another reason that Hannibal would have booked a table for three, but there wasn’t one, wasn’t another reason in the whole damn world. He swore under his breath and grabbed the keys for the Chevy off the table.
He thought about how Face had looked as he’d followed Hannibal across the front yard and out to the cab earlier that evening, happy, excited, relaxed, clueless; like a lamb to the fucking slaughter, and shook his head. “Hannibal, you sneaky, rotten, bastard,” he muttered to himself as he strode purposefully out of the door.
________________________
For the second half of the taxi ride, Face had made an effort to be more communicative with Hannibal, after all, the boss had gone to all of this effort for him, the least he could do was be pleasant company. He turned and smiled, not missing the look of concern that Hannibal was still throwing his way. “So,” he sat back in his seat trying to appear more relaxed than he felt, “what do you fancy tonight then?”
“You,” Hannibal responded quick as a flash, his eyes positively burning into Face.
Face smiled, “Hmm. Well, I can’t see that going down too well in the restaurant boss, maybe you should try something to eat first?”
Hannibal returned his smile. “If you insist. Perhaps they will have that nice lamb on the menu again, the last time we were here, that was beautiful.”
Face was distracted as the cab pulled up outside the restaurant and Hannibal leaned over to pay. They climbed out, Face adjusting his suit so that it hung perfectly before they walked in through the doors that were courteously opened for them.
“What about you, kid?” Hannibal asked as they were shown to their table.
“Yeah,” Face agreed, “the lamb was nice, but I think I am more in the mood for fish tonight. That or maybe-” he stopped short, his feet frozen into the deep carpet as the waiter tried to usher them forwards, towards their discrete corner table, right at the back of the restaurant, right out of the way. The table where someone was already sitting, looking at the menu.
Hannibal suddenly felt unsure as he looked at Face’s stark expression, the way that all the blood had drained from his skin, the horror in his eyes, eyes that were now swimming in tears.
“Face?” he asked, voice tentative.
His word caught the attention of the woman at the table who looked up at them and smiled, getting to her feet. “Danny,” she greeted them, “how lovely that you wanted to meet with me,” Face’s wet eyes flicked over to her. “Come here and let me hug you.”
Face took a step back, almost walking into the waiter who was watching the scene in confusion and his eyes left Adele, and landed on Hannibal instead. “John,” he whispered and Hannibal was appalled at the hurt evident in his voice, “how could you do this?”
Hannibal just stared at him, convinced now that this had been a mistake, that his conviction that Face would melt once he actually came face to face with Adele was misguided at best. “Face...” he repeated, reaching out to touch his arm but Face recoiled immediately from him.
“Sir?” the waiter looked from Hannibal to Face and then back again, “Is there a problem with this table?”
“What?” Hannibal looked across at him, “Er, no. No, it’s fine,” while Face took advantage of the distraction to whirl on his heel and head for the exit as fast as he could.
“Face!” Hannibal took off after him, ignoring Adele’s frown as she sank slowly back into her seat, and Face broke into a jog, attracting curious stares from the other diners. “Face!” he called again even as his eyes were drawn to a commotion over at the Maitre d’s desk in the hallway beyond the door.
“I am sorry, sir!” the Maitre d’ could be heard exclaiming, “But you can’t just walk in there without a reservation! And we do have a very strict dress code you know!”
Face reached the doorway and burst through just as a loud Texan voice could be heard bemoaning his treatment.
Face’s sudden appearance however, quickly shut everyone up and Murdock took one look at his friend’s desperate expression and stepped forward, right in front of him, his hands going to his rigid arms. “Buddy,” he whispered and Face looked straight at him, the first tear slipping down his cheek.
“Murdock,” he choked out and then stopped, swallowing heavily, hyper aware of all the people around who were staring at him.
“I know, buddy, I know,” Murdock soothed, his own voice thick with emotion. “Here,” he fished into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the car. “It’s parked outside, wait for me there, right?”
Face nodded gratefully and took the keys, disappearing the next second with his head tucked down onto his chest.
Hannibal appeared at the doorway from the main hall and froze in his tracks as he saw Murdock standing there glaring at him, the accusation clear in his expression. “Murdock,” he swallowed hard, “I thought...” and tailed off, his words sounding so empty even in his own head.
“Yeah?” Murdock spat at him glaring hard, “Well you thought wrong, didn’t you?”
Hannibal could only stand still and stare, the truth of Murdock’s words hitting him right between the eyes as the pilot just shook his head and retreated out after Face. Oblivious to the looks he was receiving from the waiters and the Maitre d’, Hannibal watched the doors swing closed after them and wondered just how on earth he would ever be able to fix this mess he’d made.
_________________________
Murdock ran around the parking lot until he saw the car and almost sagged with relief when he spotted Face’s figure bolt upright in the passenger seat; he’d been worried that he would just run for it, either on foot or in the car, and the realisation that he hadn’t calmed his shredded nerves somewhat.
He slid into the driver’s side and glanced over, taking in Face’s almost grey complexion, the rigid set to his jaw and the way that his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. He sighed and shook his head, picking up the keys off the dash and turning the engine over.
He pulled out into the early evening traffic, his mind whirling with possibilities. Face was building up to a break down, he could see it written in every line of tension on his friend’s body, and they needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere private before that happened. The house was the obvious destination, but Murdock turned left instead of right at the junction that would have taken them there; Face didn’t need to see Hannibal right now, words would be exchanged, accusations thrown and neither of them needed those extra wounds at the minute. He supposed he could have taken Face into his room for the night, but no, in consideration of how that had gone last night, that maybe wasn’t such a good idea. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and set out to make alternative arrangements.
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The second that the cab pulled up outside the house Hannibal knew that his fears had been realised and that Face hadn’t gone home. The empty space where the Chevy should have been parked mocked him as he crossed the front yard and let himself into the quiet house, his heart as heavy as his feet.
Hindsight was a cruel thing, coming along just too late to allow him to change any of the decisions he had made, any of the damage he had done. And if the realisations that he had made a huge miscalculation hadn’t come with the look he’d seen on his boy’s face in the restaurant, it would certainly have come when he returned to the table to talk with Adele once more.
He had expected her to be upset; Face was her only child after all, the one she had gone to the effort of tracing after all these year, had travelled right across the country to meet., and he had just walked out on her, snubbed her in the most personal way possible; that was bound to hurt. But as soon as he had dragged himself back into the restaurant, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from the other diners and walked slowly back to their table, he realised that he had just made yet another totally false assumption.
Adele Armando was still sitting at the table, her face smooth and untroubled as she carefully and neatly made her way through a bowl of Moules Marinières, placing the empty shells delicately into another bowl at her left the second she had scooped out the flesh. In a move scarily reminiscent of Face not five minutes earlier, Hannibal froze on the spot, staring incredulously at her.
She stopped, sensing Hannibal’s eyes on her and lifted her face, smiling at him. “So sorry I didn’t wait for you, John, but I have been starving myself all day in anticipation of tonight’s meal and so I was a little hungry.” Hannibal just stared. “Don’t worry,” she looked up at him from under her lashes, “I took the liberty of ordering you some as well,” she pointed to the bowl standing at the place setting directly next to her, “and a lovely bottle of Chablis, always goes so well with mussels I think.” Still Hannibal just looked at her and eventually she frowned. “Well, come on then,” she chided, her voice slipping into little girl mode, “I need you to come and sit with me while we decide what to do about that stubborn little boy of mine before he breaks my heart any further!” Any poignancy her words might have held was instantly obliterated by the flirtatious expression she wore and the way she suggestively rubbed the empty couch seat right next to her.
Hannibal had turned and walked out without a word.
But all of those sudden realisations were doing him no good at all now, not when Face was estranged from him, gone off who knew where with Murdock. He’d called them both more than once, and was less than surprised to find both of their phones switched off. He closed the door behind himself and stood leaning against it, eyes closed against his headache, when BA’s voice reached him from down the hall.
“Murdock? That you? Where’d you take off to in sucha hurry then? I-” BA froze as he rounded the door at the end of the hallway and saw Hannibal slumped in the dark. “Boss?” the worry was clear in his voice and he quickly closed the gap between him and his commander, “What is it? Where’s Face? I thought you two would be out all nigh’. And Murdock’s gone too, he just-” And he stopped again, the worry morphing from his face to be replaced with a look of anger. “Oh, no,” he muttered, one big hand reaching up to rub over his Mohawk, “tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t set Face up with this dinner...”
Hannibal stared at the floor. “I thought it would work out,” he murmured, “I thought it would be okay once he saw her.” The voice was as small and as sad as BA could ever remember hearing it.
“Oh, boss...” BA muttered rubbing both hands over his face now, his anger at Hannibal disappearing at the obvious devastation in his words. “Where is he now?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Hannibal carried on staring at the patterns in the wooden floor, “I don’t know. Murdock turned up and they went off together.”
BA let out a long sigh. “Well, at least we know he’ll be safe then.”
“I suppose,” Hannibal sounded less than convinced and as he looked up into BA’s face for the first time, the Corporal was horrified at the tears he saw standing in those blue eyes. “But BA,” and now the voice was even more broken than before, “what if he never comes back?”
BA knew what he was talking about, knew that Hannibal didn’t mean come back to the team and he just shook his head, what on earth could he say to that?
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Date: 2011-10-04 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 08:28 pm (UTC)Ha! I'd never thought of it like that! :)