First Impressions - Hannibal & Face - Part 4

[indigo_angels]

..4..

Hannibal signs off the last sheet and tips back in his chair, glancing at the clock. Eleven fifteen. He’s probably just got chance for a quick scotch and then he’ll have to turn in, everyone is up for an early run in the morning. It’s been a shit day at the end of a shitty week and Hannibal is really looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep. He thinks he might need it, it’s Face’s birthday tomorrow and no doubt it will be a heavy night.

 

Hannibal pours his scotch and kicks back in his chair, his mind wandering to his second lieutenant. He has to admit, the kid’s not been as bad as he first feared. Sure, he’s no angel, but looking at the stuff in his file, theft, vandalism, whoring around, an explosive temper that always seems to end in violence, hell, even drug pushing, the minor misdemeanours he’s been up to with Hannibal are nothing. And they are getting less, he’s growing up, becoming a bit more responsible, the other guys have accepted him, and Hannibal can see shit loads of potential. That fucking amazing shot he took in Somalia? Hannibal is sure that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

 

He wonders what the boys have got in store for him for his birthday; it’s bound to be something pretty wild, they seem to outdo themselves every time. He swirls the scotch round and round the base of his glass, watching the shades of amber as they pitch and turn. According to his file, Face will be twenty four tomorrow, but Hannibal doesn’t buy that, not at all. He suspects he’s younger, much younger and joined up early to escape... what? Again the file says he’s an orphan (when Hannibal realised, he felt like shit for the comments he made about Face’s ‘mom’ back in that first week) a foundling who grew up in various orphanages around LA. Is that what he was trying to get away from? Or was he just eager to strike out on his own? Hannibal is slightly concerned that this bothers him so. He really shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about it.

 

He finishes his scotch and sits up in his chair once more. But he can’t deny he pleased with the kid. Pleased that he listens to Hannibal, pleased he’s toned down the violence, is keeping his temper in check. It gives Hannibal a warm feeling to realise how far he’s coming with this kid and he thinks it all might just work out for the best.

 

However, no sooner is that thought in his head, then his peace is shattered by a sharp rap on the door. Hannibal glances up; good news never knocks like that and shouts, “Yes?”

 

The door opens and Hannibal’s chest tightens as Face is shoved in by two MPs. He’s fully dressed but soaked to the skin, wrists handcuffed together and battered and bruised all over.

 

“What the fuck?” Hannibal spits as Face keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

 

“One of yours sir?” the taller of the MPs asks and Hannibal nods tersely in reply. “Fighting, sir, in the shower block. Him and three from the visiting 3^rd Infantry. One has ended up in the Med unit.”

 

A fierce pain lances through Hannibal’s ribs at those words and he folds his arms tightly across his chest, feeling the disappointment swirl up inside him, “Fucking hell, Face... Really?”

 

Face doesn’t lift his eyes, “Yes, sir...”

 

All Hannibal’s hopes and expectations for this kid suddenly crash down around his ears. “Does nothing I ever say make the smallest bit of difference to you? Don’t you care that you are pissing a promising career down the drain?”

 

Face hangs his head in silence.

 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

 

“Sorry sir?” Face looks genuinely confused which does nothing for Hannibal’s temper.

 

“Tonight, Face! In the shower block! What was so important that you felt the need to attack three of 3^rd Infantry’s finest?”

 

That old anger is back in Face’s eyes, “And how do you know it was me boss? How do you know I started it?”

 

That brings Hannibal up short, “You saying they attacked you, kid?”

 

Beat.

 

“No, sir…”

 

“So it /was/ you.”

 

Silence.

 

Suddenly Hannibal has had enough. He’s invested six months in this kid, worked hard to keep him on the right path, built up his self confidence, made sure he’s had a chance to get on and prove himself without Sanders in his face, and this is what he gets. Hannibal realises that some things will never change, it doesn’t matter what he says to this kid, what he does, Face will always do this, will always tip off the deep end for no real reason, disappoint him, let him down. And Hannibal can’t stand it. He wants, more than anything else in the world, for this kid to make something of himself, fulfil his massive potential. But now he realises its just not going to happen, and Hannibal doesn’t think he has the stomach to sit around and watch the carnage.

 

His voice is low and deadly, “I told you, you would only ever get one chance with me, kid. And now you’ve blown it.”

 

Face looks up, horror evident on his face, made all the more striking because of the dripping bloody nose and the swollen purpling eye.

 

“I’m not interested in you any more, you’re an arrogant little shit who only thinks of himself! Have you /any/ idea how much I’ve put on the line for you these last six months? How I have tied my reputation so tightly with yours? Don’t you see that when you fuck up, you not only drag yourself down, you drag your unit down with you?!” Hannibal’s eyes are blazing with fury. “I have other boys that I am responsible for, boys who do care about their job and their team and their reputations. Reputations that your casual disregard for the rules of this unit is destroying! Well, you’ve fucked up one time too many lieutenant. And I’ve been stupid enough to be taken in by your charm and your pretty face and the hope that you might just turn out to be something more than an unwanted little delinquent who’s just crawled out the gutter!”

 

Face is literally shocked into silence as he stares, eyes wide and horrified at his CO.

 

Hannibal looks to the MPs, “Take him to the stockade, boys, I’m finished with him.” Then he turns away.

 

For a second no one moves, even the MPs are a little taken aback by Hannibal’s vitriol, but within a moment they recollect themselves and reach out to haul Face away.

 

Face is starring at the back of Hannibal’s head, shock written all over him as he is dragged back towards the door. “Boss…” Hannibal is appalled at how pathetic he sounds, but he hardens himself against it, “Please…”

 

Hannibal doesn’t turn. “Get him out,” he barks at the MPs, “He’s dripping blood on the floor!”

 

Face stumbles as he is dragged towards the door, but Hannibal doesn’t even notice.

 

______________________

 

Three Days Later

 

Hannibal is at his desk again, all the paper work for Face’s court martial laid out in front of him. All it needs now is one more signature, one name signed on a line and that will effectively be the end of Face’s military career. He pauses and stares at the empty line.

 

Should he do this? Is that what the kid deserves?

 

Of course it is. He should have known better than to have got involved. Should have thrown him out after six weeks like he said he would.

 

But then he thinks of other times, the way the kid used to look at him like he was Jesus in khakis, the way his whole face used to glow when he smiled, he way he tilted his head to one side when he was really listening hard... the way he sounded as the MPs dragged him away...

 

Hannibal drops his head and rubs his eyes. Maybe it would be kinder to try and bump the kid onto another unit, there must be someone out there who can succeed where he has failed. But with a heavy heart he realises that that is just delaying the inevitable. McGrath was right, Hannibal is good with boys like this one, and if he can’t sort him out. Well...

 

He needs to face facts here. Face is a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow. It’s only a matter of time before he loses his temper big style and kills someone; the last Hannibal has heard Pvt. Kaplinski, that boy from Third Infantry, is still in the Med Unit, three days after the fight in the shower block…

 

He picks up his pen.

 

The knock at the door interrupts him and he pauses, nib over the signature line as he calls, “Come in…”

 

The door swings slowly open and a young soldier walks in, Hannibal quickly takes in his bruised face and the arm in a sling before spotting the insignia of the 3^rd Infantry on his cap and quickly realises who this must be. He puts his pen down and rises to his feet, extending a hand across the desk. “Sit down son, you must be Private Kaplinski,”

 

The young Private nods and takes the seat offered to him, looking very much overawed to be in the office of the almost legendary Major Hannibal Smith.

 

“How can I help you?” Hannibal is polite but guarded. If this boy is here to make a complaint about Face then this is not how it is done. There are official channels for this and Hannibal doesn’t want to get into this conversation /at all/.

 

“It’s about the incident in the shower block the other night sir…” the Pvt. flushes bright red at this and Hannibal has to hold in his sigh of annoyance.

 

“Look son, this is not how we do things here. Any complaints you might want to make about Lt. Peck should be made in writing to-”

 

“No!”

 

Hannibal is cut short by the Pvt.’s  interruption and is stunned into silence.

 

“No, sir,” Pvt. Kaplinski amends flushing a deeper shade of red, “It’s not like that - I just need to tell you what happened. If that’s okay with you sir…”

 

Hannibal sighs again. He’s not really sure he needs to hear this, and he’s absolutely certain he doesn’t /want/ to. But then, well, it is going to court martial so Hannibal supposes it’s an unpleasant necessity. He sits back in his chair and nods at the Pvt. to continue.

 

Pvt. Kaplinski takes a deep breath, Hannibal can see him actually shaking, and then he starts to relate his story.

_______________________

 

Twenty minutes later Hannibal is walking into Face’s holding cell.

 

Face looks up from where he is laid on the cot and starts to drag himself up to attention. Hannibal is uncomfortably reminded of six months ago, in another holding cell, on the other side of the world… This time, however, Face never makes it to his feet, he sways as he stands and Hannibal reaches for him, grabbing his bicep with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

 

“Don’t...”

 

With lightening fast reactions, Face shoves him away, the heel of his hand painfully hard in Hannibal’s sternum. Hannibal lets go and Face falls, hitting the side of the cot with his ribs on his way down.

 

He lies on the floor, one arm resting on the wooden cot and Hannibal can see he is biting back the pain even though every breath is obvious agony.

 

He gives him a moment to catch his breath, he’s not going to make the mistake of trying to help again, and takes the chance to look his lieutenant over.

 

It’s not a pretty sight.

 

Face is wearing the same clothes he had on when he was hauled into Hannibal’s office three days ago. The dried blood all over the front of his t-shirt a reminder of his bloody nose; his eye, no longer swollen and purple but puffy and black, bruising spreading right down to meet a cut on his cheekbone.

 

He’s unwashed and dishevelled, three days of stubble over his face and Hannibal feels the uncomfortable wash of guilt sweep over him. He’s going to have strong words with the MPs. Surely prisoners have some basic rights to hygiene and medical attention? It’s obvious that no one has even looked at the injuries that Face sustained in the fight. It’s almost like they threw him in here and forgot about him.

 

A minute ticks by and Face manages to haul himself back onto the cot, pushing aside the rough woollen blanket that has been his only comfort for the last three days as he does so.

 

“At ease,” Hannibal tells him, not willing to force him into trying to stand again just yet, and he can see the relief on the kid’s face as he lets himself sag against the wall.

 

Hannibal moves to stand directly in front of him. “I’ve just had Pvt. Kaplinski in my office;” Face’s eyes shift up to meet his for the briefest of moments before they are back, glued to the floor. Hannibal lets out a long sigh, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me what really happened in that shower block, kid?”

 

“I didn’t get much of a chance…” Face replies, the murderous tone to his voice clearly evident.

 

Hannibal is instantly transported back six months into the company of an angry and disaffected young man on the brink of being discharged from the army and it makes him realise what a colossal set back to them both this is. He’s been so concerned over the last few days dwelling on how Face has let him down, betrayed his trust, disappointed him, that it never even crossed his mind that maybe Face was feeling the exact same way. That maybe the CO who should have believed in him, given him a chance to explain himself, vouched for him, had instead turned on him violently, in an instant, and then threw him out.

 

He fears that all the progress Face has made, all the progress they have made together, is going to be wiped out by his one uncharacteristically rash reaction.

 

What is it about this kid that just pushes all his buttons?

 

He sits down on the cot, as far away from Face as possible and rubs a tired hand round the back of his neck, “In fairness, Face, I did ask you what happened and if I remember correctly you didn’t answer.”

 

“Wasn’t my story to tell,” Face mutters, sitting himself up a little straighter.

 

“Jesus, Face! That’s not a decision that you could make or Kaplinski could make! He was /raped/ by those motherfuckers for Christ’s sake, you knew that, you /saw/ it! It was your responsibility to do something about it!”

 

Face lifts his head to shoot a cold look at his CO, “I did do something about it…”

 

Hannibal exhales, “I’m not talking vigilante stuff here! You’re a goddammed officer; you should have done something official!”

 

“Those shits needed teaching a lesson. If I’d gone for the MPs by the time I got back it would have been all over and it would only have been their word against the Pvt.’s. Plus Kaplinski didn’t want it reporting, didn’t want everyone to know what they had done.”

 

“Right…” Hannibal is trying, really hard, to sit on his temper, “So a broken jaw and a few cracked ribs will teach them better then? They won’t just try it on Kaplinski again or some other poor sod just as soon as you are out the way?”

 

Face returns to looking at the floor as Hannibal takes a deep breath and lets it out, long and slow.

 

“Face… Kid,” he shakes his head, “You would have been out on a dishonourable discharge if Kaplinski hadn’t decided to man-up and do the right thing here.”

 

Face shrugs.

 

“That doesn’t bother you? You would lose your career? Your unit? Your friends? You would let me think that you had betrayed my trust all for the sake of some shit scared Private who would actually be better off if he told the truth?”

 

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Face repeats.

 

Hannibal realises he’s getting nowhere and rises slowly to his feet. He stares at Face’s bent head for what feels like an eternity before he speaks.  “Come on…” he instructs, his voice tired.

 

Face looks up at him, “Where?”

 

“Back to your quarters of course, I need Piper to look you over, it seems like the motherfuckers got a couple of good cracks in themselves.”

 

Face doesn’t move. “But… what about the charges?”

 

Hannibal looks him in the eye, “There will be no charges kid. This is over as far as I am concerned.”

 

There’s a beat of silence.

 

“Unless you want to stay here?”

 

For a heart stopping moment, Hannibal thinks Face is going to take him up on that, but then he drops his gaze and struggles to his feet, one arm clamped around his ribs, and starts to shuffle towards the door.

 

Hannibal touches his shoulder as he passes, and Face stops, the anger and resentment in his expression plain to see as he meets Hannibal’s gaze. Regret tugs at his resolve, but Hannibal knows that regret is a useless emotion and they will just have to try and work through all this. Starting right now.  

 

“Never again Face…” he warns. “You need to be straight with me, you need to be honest with me. I can’t second guess your every move, you know.”

 

Face nods tersely and heads for the door.

 

As they walk in silence, heading out to find Piper, Hannibal thinks over those first impressions of Face yet again.

 

Reckless? Definitely.

 

But Selfish? No, certainly not. And that has almost been the kid’s undoing.

Part Five