Nowhere Man - Face/Hannibal - Part 2

[indigo_angels]

Hannibal

 

Hannibal swore to himself as, for about the twentieth time, Face's mobile went onto the voice mail. He didn't leave a message, none of the five he had left earlier had been returned so what was the point? He pulled up at the traffic lights, the wet roads turned red in the darkness and realised that this was the point where he had to make a decision. Straight on and try to get a few hours rest at home before tracking Face down in the morning, or left and Face's apartment, see why the hell, the kid wasn't answering his calls. Again.

 

The roads shone green and Hannibal turned left.

 

As soon as he pulled up outside Face's apartment block he knew something was wrong. The parking space where Face usually parked his Corvette was empty. Hannibal hadn't been in favour of the kid getting a car as distinctive as the 'vette, but Face was determined. It was some classic model that Face had dreamed of since he was a kid, he'd even had a poster of one above his bed in the orphanage, always promised himself he would have one of his own one day. And then he'd seen this one in some auction just outside Tulsa. He'd bought it without even seeing if the damn thing ran, which of course it didn't, but BA soon brought it back to life. He'd obviously loved it and it made him happy and so Hannibal had let him keep it, although he always worried one day he would live to regret that decision.

 

But now it wasn't here, and if the damn car wasn't here then that meant that Face wasn't here either. Not good. Hannibal made sure he had his key, and let himself in to the apartment block.

 

The door to number 313 swung open under his touch and Hannibal's insides clenched. The place was as neat and tidy as it usually was. Face was minimalistic in the extreme, to say he travelled light was an understatement. Apart from clothes, the only personal items Hannibal knew he owned were his laptop and his iPod, but Hannibal could tell the difference between tidy and empty. A few opened drawers and cupboards confirmed his findings and he sat down with a bump on the sofa as it became blatantly obvious that Face had packed up and shipped out.

 

Hannibal scrubbed at his tired face with his hands and then fished out his mobile. It was no use calling Face again, he obviously wasn't going to answer him, so he called BA. It answered on the third ring, BA sounding alert and aware, despite the fact that Hannibal knew for a fact that he had woken him up.

 

“Murdock with you?” There was no need for pleasantries

 

“Yeah – on the couch What's up man?”

 

“You need to get him to call Face, I think he's done a runner on us.”

 

BA swore under his breath, “Didn't you tell him what we found out today?”

 

“No BA,” Hannibal took one last look around Face's empty apartment before walking out and locking the door behind him, “He's not been answering. I'm heading over to yours now, get that tracker set up.”

 

There was no reply from BA.

 

“Did you hear me?”

 

“Yeah boss, it's just...”

 

Hannibal wrenched open his car door, “Just what?”

 

“It just doesn't feel right, Hannibal, using the tracker on him like that.”

 

Hannibal sighed. All their cars were fitted with satellite tracking devices, Hannibal had insisted on it so they could be traced in an emergency. Trust BA to object on civil liberties grounds...

 

“Look BA, it's not like he doesn't know it's there, could have taken off in a hire car inside of the 'vette if he'd wanted to. And, he's obviously upset, we need to talk to him...” The 'before he does something stupid' was left hanging in the air.

 

He heard BA sigh, “OK boss, I'm on it.”

 

“Oh, and BA? Try not to freak Murdock out.”

 

_________________

 

Half an hour later they were huddled round the table in BA's tiny kitchen waiting for the satellite tracker to pinpoint the position of Face's car. Murdock had his phone clutched in his hand, but no one was holding out much hope that Face would return any of his calls.

 

“There,” Hannibal tapped the screen as the red dot flashed up superimposed on onto  Google Maps, “still local guys! That's great, let's go.”

 

Hannibal was out of his seat and BA reached to close the lid of the laptop but Murdock put his hand out to stop him, “Hang on...” Hannibal's brow furrowed as he saw the look on Murdock's face, “You know where that is, right?”

 

Hannibal glanced back at the screen and shook his head tersely

 

“That's long stay parking for LAX.”

 

There was a beat of silence as they looked at each other, then, as one, headed for the door

 

“Murdock, keep trying his phone!” Hannibal barked as they ran out.

 

_________________

 

There was still no answer on Face's mobile. Hannibal had completely given up hope that there ever would be, but the repeated calling made sure that Murdock was busy and kept him focussed so he let it go on.

 

They spotted the 'vette easily enough and BA abandoned the van right behind it as he and Hannibal leapt out. BA had the spare key and flicked the locks open as he and Hannibal each wrenched open a door. Of course Face wasn't there, Hannibal hadn't expected for one moment that he would be, but it was still a disappointment. He met BA's stare over the shift lever and knew his face must look as desperate as his sergeant’s.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but the ringing of a mobile interrupted him. His eyes flicked to the glove box and he dropped the catch, bringing the mobile out in his hand and his heart sank. “No wonder he's not been answering,” he muttered as he looked out of the window at the van, where Murdock was sitting in the back seat, dialling repeatedly.

 

BA followed his gaze and sighed, “I'll go tell him...” he murmured leaving Hannibal to slump over the passenger seat and wonder what the hell he should do next. 

 

_______________________

 

They spent almost forty eight hours in the airport. Trailing from terminal to terminal, buying tickets and using the fake passports stashed in the van to get through security and into the departure gates. Searching cafes, duty free shops, bars and lounges. And it was all pointless, and Hannibal had never expected it to be anything else.

 

After that, Hannibal spent another three days trawling through the lists of flights that had departed over those two days and searching every destination; looking for a connection, somewhere Face might have headed for, a link he could have followed, but again, there was nothing, and again Hannibal wasn't surprised.

 

They got together for a meeting, try to work out some options, but Murdock had retreated into his head and BA behind his temper, so Hannibal had ended up just about managing to sit on his. Eventually Murdock sought solace with Pringles and Cartoon Network while BA stormed out into the night.

 

He returned within the hour, and Hannibal was glad, he didn't think he could handle another AWOL situation, and BA was obviously feeling better for the time out.

 

“He'll come back, man,” he muttered as he slipped onto the stool next to Hannibal's at the counter sliding over a beer.

 

Hannibal looked up from the papers he was studying, “I'm not so sure, BA.” He deliberately kept his voice down, very conscious of Murdock less than three meters away from them. “All this,” he gestured to the files spread out on the table before him, “was in the boot of the ‘vette. It’s the details of every account, safety deposit box, money stash, business venture, fake i.d, everything we’ve got.” He shook his head slowly, “I had no idea the kid kept such thorough records...”

 

BA frowned, “And?”

 

“So if he’s left it for us,” Hannibal looked up and held his stare, “he’s obviously not planning on being around to sort it out anymore.”

 

They slid back into silence, Road Runner’s beep the only accompaniment to their thoughts.

 

“Shoulda controlled myself more...” BA eventually muttered into his can.

 

Hannibal sighed, “Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m the one who actually told him to go.”

 

BA frowned, “Don’t believe that, boss, not for a second!”

 

“Your confidence is touching, but misplaced BA. I told him to make himself scarce for a while,” Hannibal shrugged, “Seems he took me to my word.”

 

Silence fell once more while BA studied Hannibal’s features, then he too shrugged, “Nah, he knows you boss, knows how you feel about him. He knows you wouldn’t chuck him out. He’s just having one of his prissy fits. He’ll be back.” And content with that thought, BA headed down to sit with Murdock.

 

Hannibal turned back to the folders shaking his head ironically. Face knew how he felt about him? Nothing could be further from the truth.    

 

______________________________

 

December

 

Hannibal dug his hands deep into his pockets and tried to sink into the warmth of his coat against the cold wind that blew down Fifth Avenue. It was late, almost midnight, but the streets were still crowded with Christmas revellers and holiday makers and the sight of them did nothing but dampen his mood even further. This had been an impossibly futile trip. Of course Face wouldn’t come to New York in December, he was like a god dammed cat, hated the cold, gravitated towards the heat at every possible opportunity. But Sosa had called him, said she picked up on the wire that there had been a sighting of the A-Team in New York. Hannibal knew damn well that he and Murdock and BA had been nowhere near the east coast so possibly, just possibly, Face had. But then, Hannibal stopped to wait for the lights to let him cross the road, even if Face was here, how would Hannibal ever find him? He knew any one of his boys could disappear with ease, but Face? Well, he could make himself damn near invisible at the drop of a hat. He could be in the next street and Hannibal would never even have the slightest clue.

 

No. This was pointless; he needed to get back west. BA was still trying to choke himself in guilt and Murdock... well, suffice it to say that the manic periods were getting ever more manic while the depressive spells were spiralling down with ever increasing speed.

 

This whole thing was tearing them apart.

 

But what was actually, infinitely, worse, Hannibal acknowledged as he hailed a cab, was the thought of Face, at this very moment in time - alone. And it was that single image that was pressing so heavily on him; crushing his soul, and just honestly making him want to weep.

 

________________________

 

March

 

BA had insisted on coming with him, and had also been a willing participant in keeping this little trip from Murdock. There was no point in upsetting him unless they really needed to.

 

In all honesty, Hannibal had never thought it would come to this, but he had set the wheels in motion just in case, just to make sure he had covered every eventuality. It hadn’t been too hard to persuade the authorities that he was a worried father concerned for his absent son. A description of Face had been left, false name of course, and a contact number.

 

He’d been surprised when the call came through. Knew that all John Doe bodies had their fingerprints checked and if that ever happened with Face, it would ring alarms on every Military computer in the country. They would never need to look through their missing person files and contact Hannibal about his ‘son’. But sometimes fingerprints couldn’t be taken, and then maybe, that’s when a contact would be sought.

 

When the call came in, BA was convinced it was a trap, but Hannibal wasn’t so sure. The guy on the phone never showed any real interest in pinning him down to a specific time or anything, so Hannibal felt safe enough just turning up. He wasn’t sure if BA’s offer to accompany him was based in a wish to protect him from the MPs, or from what he might find on that slab.

 

It was dark when they arrived. They’d waited until Murdock had settled into his usual evening routine of crisps and TV before telling him they were going on a supply run and heading out.

 

As BA pulled up outside the imposing building that was LA County Morgue, Hannibal felt his heart begin to pound against his ribs. What if he was wrong? What if the most unlikely thing in the world suddenly turned into reality? Could he do this? He’d seen dead bodies before, far, far too many to even remember them all. He’d even seen Face before, so badly hurt he’d been convinced he too was dead, had had to search out the tiniest glimmers of life. But this would be different. If it was Face in there, it didn’t matter how hard he searched, there would be no glimmers of life and that’s what frightened him.

 

“I’ll go in boss,” BA’s voice snapped him back to awareness and he smiled at the concern on his friend’s face.

 

“No, big guy, it’s okay, I’ve got this,” and he smiled again, almost like he meant it and let himself out of the car.

 

The staff at the desk were polite, but fairly disinterested in him. They did this day in and day out, and no doubt most people were here on false alarms. He couldn’t blame them for becoming hardened to it all; he knew only too well what that could feel like. A young woman of Asian descent took him down and by this time he was sweating inside his jacket and had his fists clenched to try and stop his hands from shaking.

 

It really did happen just like he’d seen in the movies. The table sliding out, the white sheet and the toe tag. Hannibal had taken an unconscious deep breath as his guide asked if he was ready and then pulled back the sheet. And then he looked.

 

Despite all his preparation, all his dark thoughts of the past seven months, it still came as a shock. He’d needed to grip the table tightly to stop himself from keeling over and he’d felt a wave of nausea so strong he barely swallowed it down, rise up inside him.

 

He took in the dirty blond hair, the stubbled cheeks and the finely sculpted cheek bones and realised with almost crushing relief that this wasn’t Face. But it so easily could have been. And the next time it just might be.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was that thought, or the guilt he felt at being so ridiculously relieved in the face of some other family’s tragedy, that had him just about bolting from the room before he humiliated himself by crying.

 

______________________________

 

May

 

As soon as Murdock and BA left, Hannibal took himself out onto his balcony and sat back in the chair, feet resting in the top of the railing. He looked out across the Pacific Ocean, far below him and again felt that restless unease that told him he’d been in this place far too long; over a year now.

 

They made a point of never staying in the same place for too long, not usually more than six months, and that was only if things were really quiet and settled. He’d been here over a year now. Far, far too long.

 

He lit a cigar and watched as the smoke curled up around his head and then out into the night air and wondered how long he could ride his luck here. The team were laying low, doing the minimal in jobs just to keep them fed and watered, keeping their heads down, still looking for Face, hoping against hope that he would come back on his own. And that’s why Hannibal was still in the apartment. BA and Murdock had each moved on twice since Face had left. Now they had a place together, Murdock was spending so much time sleeping on BA’s sofa, it just made sense in the end. It made Hannibal uncomfortable to have them together like that, they were so much easier to pick up by the MPs when they were all in one place, but he understood why and so let it go. Murdock had been the most unsettled by Face’s departure, he had taken to trailing round after BA like a puppy, it was almost as if he feared he would disappear in an instant as well.  

 

But if Face ever did return and Hannibal too had moved on, then how would he ever find them again? After spending nine months himself searching for Face without ever once picking up a solid lead, he understood only too well the meaning of the phrase ‘needle in a haystack’. And so Hannibal stayed on, a decision that just got riskier with every day.

 

Maybe things were about to change though. He reached forward and picked up the jiffy bag on the glass table to examine it for what felt like the hundredth time, maybe Face was thinking about coming back.

 

For nine months none of them had received any word from Face in any form at all. He’d not been in touch with Sosa, or any of the orphanages where he grew up. But then, yesterday, a parcel had arrived at Hannibal’s apartment addressed to Mr. Henry Murray, an alias that Murdock had used from time to time. It was also Murdock’s birthday, and the parcel contained a remote control helicopter. No message, no note, but Murdock was convinced it was a present from Face. Hannibal had spent the entire day thinking about it, and he had to concur that he thought Murdock was probably right.

 

Face always bought Murdock something for his birthday, usually some kind of toy or gadget he knew the pilot would love. And Murdock was the only one of them who had stood up for Face on the day that Tasha Coleman died, so it really made sense that if Face was going to contact any of them, it would be Murdock.

 

But, was it contact, or was it just a gift? The package had been mailed from the centre of LA, but that meant nothing, Face could have arranged for it to be posted from anywhere in the world without much effort at all. Hannibal had spent the entire day looking the package over and over again without being able to find anything that might be a message or a clue or a hook or anything. It still didn’t look like Face really wanted to be found, despite Murdock’s new found optimism.

 

Still, Hannibal thought as he rose and prepared to turn in, it meant that Face was still alive, and with that knowledge he knew he would sleep easier tonight than he had done at any time over the last nine months.

Part Three