Nowhere Man - Face/Hannibal - Part 1

[indigo_angels]

Face

September

 

It's like the bottom just dropped out of Face's entire world. It's not even like he was looking at the TVs as he passed the shop window, but something, maybe some weird sixth sense, just made his head turn, and it was CNN, and the scrolling news bar across the bottom of the screen caught his eye and before he knew it he'd read it and then he was frozen in place with horror.

 

It's just ten words: Body found in car park believed to be Senator's daughter, but it's enough, metaphorically, to bring him to his knees.

 

He couldn't move, he was frozen in time and space as he watched the breaking news scroll round and round the screen. It never changed, he didn't really know what he was hoping it would say, maybe 'Oh, sorry everyone, that was a mistake, she's not dead after all.' Or perhaps it would turn out to be another Senator's daughter and not Tasha Coleman, the seventeen year old he was supposed to have been protecting. But it didn't, it just mocked him with its black and white facts, forced him to swallow the magnitude of his mistake.

 

They'd taken twelve hour shifts sitting outside her door, one of them acting as bodyguard, the other three trying to get some kind of handle on the psycho who was stalking her. She was a nice kid. Mom and dad no longer together, Mom off in Florida somewhere, her living with Dad in LA. He was Charles Coleman, from a long line of Colemans, all involved in politics in some way of another, but Charles was the only one who had officially 'made it'.

 

Face didn't like him. He was arrogant, too far up his own backside and treated Tasha like she was a brainless simpleton. But Face wasn't paid to have an opinion on the client, and he liked Tasha, certainly didn't want her to fall victim to her flaky stalker, so he held his tongue and suffered her puffed up father with reasonable humour.

 

When Face was on body guard detail, Tasha often came outside to talk to him. At first he'd been worried that she had some kind of crush on him, but as the time went on, he became less sure. They talked about films, music, cartoons, harmless, simple things and he had been impressed with her wit, her brains and the fact that she wasn't freaked out that a crazed stalker was out to get her.

 

But then he'd fucked up.

 

Senator Coleman was getting very antsy, was moaning at Hannibal all the time, thought he'd paid for quality, didn't they know what would happen to his career if anyone found out he was paying federal fugitives to catch his daughter's stalker? It had been four whole days and still no one had been apprehended. Hannibal had done his best to calm the situation down but had also doubled everyone's shifts, and so it was that when Face turned up to relieve Murdock for his 2am-2pm body guard detail, he hadn't been to bed in over thirty hours.

 

But even so, he was still a soldier, he hadn't felt that bad, and he'd certainly gone for longer periods without sleep in the past. So he'd settled down, and within ten minutes Tasha had appeared in the hallway, two cans of diet coke in her hands, and they'd gone over the latest episode of '24' in fine detail.

 

Then Tasha had gone back to her room and Face, stupidly, carelessly, irresponsibly, unbelievably had fallen asleep.

 

He awoke five hours later to find her bedroom door open, and Tasha gone.

 

He'd flown out the door before he was even fully awake; fingers finding the speed dial to Hannibal's mobile almost of their own accord. He remembered that conversation in every appalling detail...

 

“Hey, kid, how's it going?”

 

He'd swallowed down the bile in his throat, “We have a real situation here, Hannibal, Tasha's gone.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“You have a lead?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What the fuck happened?”

 

Face had to stop, one hand bracing himself against the brick wall at the corner of the apartment block, “I fell asleep, boss...”

 

He could hear the fury in Hannibal's silence and the nausea threatened again.

 

“Call round her friends, family, anyone you can think of, but keep away from Coleman, I'll handle him.”

 

Face was ridiculously relieved that Hannibal had moved straight into problem solving mode and skipped over that fact that he'd royally fucked up. 

 

“Sure thing, boss...” and he knew the relief was evident in his voice, but it was short lived.

 

“And you'd better start praying that we find her, lieutenant.”

 

So Face had called every single person who had been listed in Tasha's phone, but no one had seen her, no one had heard from her. He'd asked all her friends where she might go, and they all supplied the same answer – the Mall, so that's where he'd gone. For four hours he'd walked up and down, in and out of shops, trailing through cafés and bars. And then he'd walked past that TV shop...

 

He was still there; ignoring the strange looks from the salesmen inside, transfixed with the little CNN scrolling news bar and those ten words that had blasted his life apart.

 

It's not Tasha, he tried to tell himself, It just can't be... but any scrap of hope he may have had was shattered when the picture flashed onto the screen. Face might not have been able to hear the audio but he didn't need to. The newscaster's solemn face, the picture of Tasha in a pink vest top, eyes alight and laughing, her strawberry blonde hair curling to her shoulders, was all he needed. It was true. She was dead. What the fuck had he done?

 

After a couple of minutes the photo was gone, replaced by a load of college students who looked like they were trying to break the world record for the longest line dancing line or something, but Face couldn't look away. He was still frozen, unsure what to do with his life at this point.

 

There was a buzzing against his leg, he realised it had been there for a long while and reached into his pocket. It was his phone of course, but now he could only look at it like he'd never seen it before. There was a word flashing on the screen, 'Boss' and Face knew he couldn't take that call just now.

 

Eventually the buzzing stopped, replaced by a '10 missed calls' message and somewhere deep in his numbness he was surprised there had been that many.

 

The phone buzzed in his hand yet again, this time the message on the screen just said 'HM' and that was a call that couldn't be ignored, even in his fugue Face knew that to ignore a call from Murdock could be to ignore a call for help.

 

He pressed that green button. “Hey.”

 

“Facey? That you? Where are-”

 

But Murdock disappeared, and there was another voice on the line, a deep, furious growl, “Get your sorry ass back here now, Lieutenant! I know you've heard the news...” and then it was gone and Face flicked his eyes back to the shop window just as Tasha's happy, smiling face flashed across twenty LCD TVs. 

 

His legs were like lead as he dragged himself up the steps to the apartment Hannibal was leasing under some assumed name or other. Face had found it for him, knew the second he saw it that the boss would love it. High up in the hills, the ocean, miles below, but filling the view from the balconies of the living area and the only bedroom. The number of times Face had woken up in that massive bed, the only thing he could see the blue of the sky melting into the blue of the sea...

 

The last couple of months he'd spent more time here than at his own pokey studio, he and Hannibal testing out the boundaries of this 'thing' that had started up between them. It was still such a fledgling experience, certainly couldn't even begin to call it a relationship, that Face knew it wouldn’t survive Hannibal's disgust at his actions today. And that was okay, because if that was the person he really was, then the boss was better off without him anyway.

 

He pushed open the door to the open plan living area, expecting an almost instantaneous tongue lashing from Hannibal. What he didn't expect, was BA grabbing handfuls of his shirt and throwing him against the wall so hard he heard the sound his head made on impact.

 

“You damn fool!” BA was right in his face, yelling so loudly he couldn't help but cringe back.

 

“All you had to do was watch her! A little girl Face, she was only a little girl!” BA pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back again, and again his head hit the wall with a crack.

 

“I'm sorry!” It was pathetic, he was pathetic. Was that the only think that he could think of saying to try and atone for the life of a seventeen year old girl? What the hell was wrong with him?

 

It didn't matter, it didn't seem that BA was listening to his sorry excuse anyway. He just needed to get it all off his chest, he needed to vent his rage, and if that meant beating Face's head to a pulp against the creamy white walls of Hannibal's apartment, then Face could go with that.

 

“What were you doing Face? Who were you doing that you couldn't even babysit a god-dammed baby?”

 

He was still pounding Face's head against the wall and Face was finding it harder to think with every blow, but what was BA saying here? That somehow Face had hooked up with someone? And that's why he hadn't done his job properly? How could he even think that? Is that what Hannibal thought too? And, come to think of it, where was Hannibal? Was he watching? Was he going to just let BA beat him to death here? Or... was it actually Hannibal’s idea? His blood ran cold. He certainly wasn't going to fight back and stop this from happening, he didn't have that right, but unless someone did... Well, things were starting to feel pretty fuzzy right about now...

 

“Enough!” At last; he didn't think he could keep his feet much longer, even with BA holding him up like this.

 

“Okay, BA, get off him! You've made your point, you're gonna kill him!” Was that even Hannibal's voice?

 

Face could feel hands on his arms dragging him sideways, but BA held on, trying to pound him into the wall again

 

“Hannibal!” the pull on his arms was stronger, painful now.

 

“BA.” And there was the boss, his voice calm but authoritative, and BA's hold instantly disappeared, leaving Face to stagger sideways into those arms that still tugged on him, but now held him upright as well. So that had to mean...

 

“Murdock...” Of course.

 

“I've got you buddy, it's okay, you're okay now...” And Face even laughed because, seriously? How was he ever going to be okay again?

 

“Face!” The laugh obviously hadn't been the right way to go, because Face recognised the tone of that  voice. He forced his vision to clear as Hannibal stepped right up to him and he felt Murdock's arms tighten around his chest. That tone of voice was one that Hannibal saved for the most extreme of fuck ups. The ones where Face well and truly parked his sense right at the back of his brain and just went with whatever flitted to the front instead.

 

But this job hadn't been like that at all. He'd been focussed on doing a good job. He'd had no 'distractions' to worry about, he hadn't made any last minute changes to the colonel’s plans, he'd just been there, doing his job like he should have been. But he'd been tired, he'd not slept in too long, so he'd fallen asleep. Yes, he'd fucked up, but, for the first time he could ever remember, he really and truly hadn't meant to. He knew what was coming next...

 

“Explain yourself.”

 

… and he had no ideas whatsoever.

 

BA filled the silence for him, and Face's eyes flicked to where the big guy was leaning, arms folded, against the kitchen counter, “He ain’t got nothing to say Hannibal! He was just doing what he does best and looking out for number one!”

 

Face felt that one, right in his chest, and he even felt Murdock flinch behind him, but he didn't respond, still didn’t have that right.  

 

“Hannibal, I am telling you!” Face could feel  the tension in Murdock's whole body, “Facey wouldn't do that! He just wouldn't fall asleep on a job like that!”

 

And somehow that was worse, hearing Murdock defend him like that, knowing that he was wrong, that BA was much closer to the truth.

 

“Both of you be quiet!” Hannibal snapped, “I'm talking to the LT!” he jabbed his finger into Face's chest, “and I want some answers!”

 

Face just starred at the floor.

 

“You want me to beat the answers out of him, boss?” there was a cold detachment to BA's voice that did nothing to ease the hopelessness flooding Face's body.

 

“He's done nothing wrong!” Murdock yelled back, right in Face's ear making his pounding head shriek in protest.

 

BA took a step forward and Murdock tightened his grip around Face's chest, “You'll have to get through me first!” he hissed.

 

“I said be quiet!!” Hannibal pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, trying to keep his control “In fact, since neither of you can be quiet, you can both move out!” No one moved and Murdock's arms tightened again.

 

“Did you hear me?” the look in Hannibal’s face was wild, “Get out, the pair of you. Get over to the crime scene, see what you can find out, the very least we can do for Coleman is find the bastard who murdered his daughter since we didn't manage to stop them from doing it!”

 

This was delivered looking Face right in the eye, and it hurt, just as it was supposed to. A fresh wave of fury swept over BA's face, while Murdock's arms slipped right off him.

 

Despite anything else that anyone may be feeling or thinking, the one absolute truth that none of them could escape from was that Tasha Coleman, the child they had been hired to protect, was dead.

 

It took much more snapping and even pushing before Murdock and BA finally left. Face had slumped down on Hannibal's sofa, head in his hands, and he could feel Murdock's eyes on him the whole time.

 

Eventually it was just him and the boss.

 

“So, Face, answers...”

 

And still Face had nothing to say.

 

“I'm waiting...” and the bite was there, the threat of something else beneath.

 

“I don't know. I was there. I fell asleep. I woke up and she'd gone... That's all.”

 

“That's all?”

 

Trust Hannibal to pick up on that bit.

 

“I didn't mean it like that, boss, I just don't know what happened!” Face looked up, saw the disgust on Hannibal's face and really wished he hadn't. He rose unsteadily to his feet. “Look, I don't know what you want me to say! I fucked up, I know that, I get that. So, what do you want from me? What can I do that will stop you looking at me like that?”

 

“Well, I don't know Lieutenant, maybe looking like you give even the tiniest shit that your actions got a young girl killed today would be a start!”

 

Face looked down at the floor again. So that's what Hannibal wanted to hear; how Face knew that he was the one was responsible for the end of a promising young life, how, because of him, a whole lifetime of possibilities had been erased. How there would be no wedding, no babies, no career, no grandchildren, no holidays in the sun, no retirement in Miami. How there's a mother in Florida who will never see her baby girl again, a father, much closer to home, who thought he had done the best thing he could to protect his daughter. And how, worse than that, much much worse, Tasha Coleman died in pain and in absolute terror, let down by the one man she had relied upon to protect her.

 

Face shook his head slowly. What Hannibal didn't realise is that Face knew all that, of course he did, how could he not? How could he avoid that crushing responsibility and guilt with every breath he took, but he can't say any of it. If he were to say it, or even think about it for too long, it would break him into tiny little pieces, and he really didn't think he'd ever be able to put himself back together again. 

 

And of course Hannibal would notice him shaking his head, “Truth hurt lieutenant?”

 

Face sat heavily again, head back in his hands and Hannibal took a step in, “So that's all you got then, you know you fucked up?” he didn't wait for answer, knows Face well enough to know that there wasn’t going to be one. “You think you can flash one of those fake grins and we'll all just say, 'Oh, yeah, don't worry about it, kid'? That somehow that will make it all okay?”

 

“No, I don't Ha-”

 

“Coleman wants your hide, son! He wants all of us, but you especially! And I had to stand there and defend you!” Hannibal had really hit his stride now, “And what could I say? Because there is nothing, nothing that will make up for him losing his daughter, and he wants to just shop us straight to the military, and I am having to bargain and wheel and deal to keep us safe, keep Murdock and BA safe and all because of your 'couldn't give a shit' attitude! On your feet!”

 

Face rose slowly to his feet and forced himself to meet Hannibal's stare.

 

“It's always some kind of shit with you isn't it? Always something you need me to bail you out of! Well, I'm sick of it! You use your crappy childhood as an excuse for your totally egocentric behaviour, like no one else has ever had any shit, like you're the only one who has ever had problems!”

 

Face opened his mouth to protest, that was unfair and Hannibal knew it. Face's childhood was something he didn't even like to think about, let along talk about, but Hannibal wasn't in the mood for listening.

 

“And BA's right, you just look after yourself all the time, you're the only one who matters, have you even stopped for one minute to consider what Tasha's last hour on this earth was like? How frightened she must have been? How she was probably waiting, right up 'til her last breath, for us to ride in like the damn cavalry and save her? How she died, knowing we'd let her down?!”

 

And that was where Face really didn't want to go, his primary defence mechanism kicking straight in to save him from that pain. When he was cornered, he talked; usually the first shit that popped straight into his head, and today was no different, “Jesus boss, give it a rest... it's not like I even did anything illegal!”

 

Stupid, insensitive words, about as far from the truth as Face could get, so he didn't even bother trying to block the right cross he saw aiming for his jaw. It caught perfectly and he fell, banging his head against the coffee table on his way down.

 

He stayed where he landed, no desire to move, and was dimly aware of Hannibal stooping over him, grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him upwards, “Look at me,” Face forced his eyes open and stared into Hannibal's incensed features, “You'd better make yourself scare for a while lieutenant,” it was painful, looking into that face with so much hatred and animosity directed at him, but Face forced himself not to flinch, “because I don't even think I can stand to look at you at the minute.”

 

Hannibal's words stung like barbs.

 

“And don't even think about not answering my calls again. Murdock is not my secretary.” And then he was dropped back onto the cold tile floor, and he could close his eyes against that look and those words and just listen as Hannibal's footsteps faded away and the front door slammed shut.

 

It was always going to happen. Hannibal had promised him, time and time again, that he would never tire of Face as everyone else eventually had. But that was too much of a promise to make. Face knew he was hard work, high maintenance, came with a lot of baggage, however you wanted to phrase it and Hannibal was only human after all. He'd also certainly lasted a hell of a lot longer than anyone else, in the face of extreme provocation at that, so he certainly didn't blame Hannibal, not at all. But... well, it was always going to happen.

 

He carefully hauled himself up so that he was sitting with his back against the sofa and blinked back the moisture that was clouding his vision. He needed to get a handle on himself here, decide what he was going to do. It was obvious that Hannibal had finally had enough of him so his options boiled down to either stay where he wasn't wanted, or go.

 

The thought of leaving hurt. Hannibal and his team had been his home and his family since he was eighteen years old. But staying to see Hannibal and BA look at him the way they had this afternoon? No, that hurt a hell of a lot more. And Murdock... well, that stupid blind faith the pilot had in him was even worse. No, he couldn't stay like this.

 

So that only left leaving...  Did he actually have the strength to get up and walk out on his family?  His eyes drifted to the smeared blood on the wall where BA had pounded his head earlier on and he knew he had no choice, he knew what he had to do.

 

He'd always been good at sealing little bits of his life or himself away into safety deposit boxes in his head. Any unwanted memory or experience, any unpleasant personality trait, he could easily wrap them up and seal them away. Sometimes they crept out again in his dreams, nightmares, but he could live with that. So that's all he had to do again. He could package up this life he had here, these friends, any thought or memory concerning Tasha Coleman, seal them off and move on. New opportunities, new horizons.

 

He rose shakily to his feet and looked around the room, taking in the little touches of the man who lived there, the box of cigars on the coffee table, the complete works of Hemingway on the shelves, and then he picked up a discarded t-shirt from the back of the sofa. He looked at it for a long while, then slowly lifted it to his face and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting himself feel and remember; he didn't intend doing much of either any time in the near future.

 

Then he was done. He dropped the t-shirt back on the sofa, and stood up straight. As he walked towards the door he could almost hear those safety deposit boxes locking shut inside his head. The boss wanted him to make himself scare? Oh, he could certainly do that.

Part Two