indigo_angels

It was hard to work out what exactly happened next, something hit his wrist, hard, spinning the gun from his grasp even as the bullet exploded from the barrel, he felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of his head but when he opened his eyes, an automatic reaction to the shock, he was still in the alley, still laid flat on his back, but this time looking up at a pale, bloodstained Hannibal Smith, fear and pain clear in the blue eyes that stared down at him. Face let himself sink back into the filth and darkness once more and marvelled at the speed in which he had ended up in hell like this, and of course it had to be hell, because where else would he be when he had to spend the rest of his days looking at the man he loved with bullet holes all through his chest?

There was rustling beside him and then muffled, pained gasps and a voice, the most precious voice in the universe whispering frantically into his ear. “Face! Face, dear god, look at me! Open your eyes and look at me!” Face just screwed them closed even more forcefully; there was no way he was going to get involved in mind games in his own personal version of hell. The rustling and the shuffling continued, followed by a ripping, tearing sound and then there were hands on him, poking in his hair, prodding the part of his head that hurt like fuck at the back. “What have you done, oh, baby, what have you done?” The terror in those words lanced through Face like an icy spear, and without thought, he opened his eyes, compelled to look up at their owner.

Hannibal was pale, the smears of blood on his face standing out in sharp, sharp contrast to the whiteness of his skin. His hands were running all over Face’s head, and he could feel them shaking as they touched, coming away daubed in blood. He glanced down, couldn’t really help it, even though Hannibal’s bloody chest was the last thing he wanted to see, the violence that had killed him, the reason he’d ended up in perpetual hell like Face himself. He frowned in confusion at the loose hoop of duct tape hanging around his boss’ neck and realised that at one point it had been a gag, and then his eyes ran down to that pale caramel sweater and he stared in confusion at the grime he saw, the odd smear of blood, but no bullet holes, no evidence of exsanguination. Without thinking he raised his hand, the same hand that had been holding the gun and frowned at the pain moving it had caused, but then he was touching and finding Hannibal warm and whole and feeling very much alive.

With a hiss of pain, Face was pulled up off the ground and enveloped in a fierce, desperate hug that he could do nothing else but return. He was still confused, still had that searing pain in his head from the one bullet, but if this was hell, then maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he had first feared.

“Oh, god, Face, I thought you had done it, I thought you were-” Hannibal stuttered to a halt and buried his face in the warmth of Face’s neck, shaking hard and whispering, “What were you thinking? What were you thinking?.” And Face just held on to him, grabbing at any bit of clothing or skin he could manage and tried to wrap his head around what the fuck was going on.

But then Hannibal was pulling him up, grabbing him off the floor and almost carrying him towards the still open door of Silas’ Cadillac. “Get in, kid,” he whispered, his voice anxious, “we need to get out of here pretty damn fast.”

He tried to push Face into the back seat but he resisted, grabbing hold of Hannibal’s biceps in his hands and staring at him right in the eyes. “I saw him shoot you,” he whispered, the memories those words conjured up almost more than he could stand. “I thought you were dead...”

Hannibal wilted under his agony, “No baby,” he whispered, still lowering Face into the car. “He didn’t shoot me, he was being a prick, trying to scare me, trying to make me freak or piss my pants or something.” He shook his head sadly, “He was never going to kill either of us that easily.”

Still Face frowned, realising that Hannibal had been gagged, restrained by the tape and that’s why he hadn’t moved or shouted out to Face before he got his hands on Pike’s gun. He put a hand up to the back of his head which was throbbing in time with his pulse and looked at the blood on his fingers. “I shot myself...” he whispered, wondering why the hell he was still breathing.

Closing his eyes against the pain of those words Hannibal leant in and kissed Face, hard and fast on his lips before pulling back. “You didn’t,” he reassured him, “I kicked the gun away just in time, you’ve got some shrapnel damage, that’s all, but it’s not too deep.”

Face stared at him, trying to take it all in, only just starting to realise what he almost did, his eyes flicked over to where he knew Silas was slumped at the side of the alley, only just starting to realise what he had done... “Oh, god, John... Pike...”

Again Hannibal kissed him, lifting his legs at the same time and bundling him into the back seats. “I know,” he whispered, “I’m sorting it. You stay here while I get this done.” Face stared at him and Hannibal could see the shock setting in, knew how Face felt about taking a life, the way it always hit him. “You had no choice,” he reassured him, desperate to get this mess tidied up, desperate to get out before the cops showed up. “He was gonna kill us both, Face. And Murdock and BA, probably your mom and Eddie too. You had no choice.”

He got no answer, Face just pulled his legs up and curled into himself on the leather of the back seats while Hannibal hauled Pike’s body into the trunk, picked up their guns, poured gas from a can in the back all over the ground and then threw a match, watching in grim satisfaction as the alley went up in flames. He forced himself to drive slowly and carefully away from the mini inferno, back out onto the main street and away from the hospital as the first sirens sounded off in the distance.

_____________________

Face was fairly unaware of the drive to meet up with Murdock and BA and the van. He knew that’s where they were going, could hear Hannibal on his cell as he drove, making arrangements, reassuring Murdock that they were both okay, but he was buried so deep in his own personal fog he could never have said whether they had taken ten minutes or ten days to get to where they were going.

They met up at the back of a car park in a rest station and Hannibal was ruthlessly efficient the second he pulled over next to the van. He stalked around to the back door of the Cadillac and hauled Face out, his hands firm but gentle and then carried his unresponsive lover over to the open door of the van. Murdock was waiting in the driver’s seat as Hannibal laid Face in the back, stroking his hair and kissing him quickly on the lips.

“Murdock is gonna drive up to the house with you kid,” he whispered quickly. “Me and BA have to sort some stuff and then we’ll follow you.”

He tried to pull away but Face reached up and grabbed him, his fingers gripping like claws in his desperation. “No,” he gasped and Hannibal felt a spike of sympathy rush through him. “Don’t boss, don’t leave me please, don’t leave me.”

“Hey, kimosabe,” Murdock’s voice, strained and on edge but forcibly cheerful reached back from the driver’s seat. “Don’t you worry about nothin’, here, you an’ me are gonna have a nice drive up into the hills an’ Hannibal and the big guy will be there before we know it, right bossman?”

“Right,” Hannibal agreed, peeling Face’s fingers off his arm and sliding out of the door of the van.

“John, please...” Face begged and Hannibal hardened his resolve.

“I have to go,” he told him firmly, “I have to sort this,” and Face withdrew, understanding in his eyes and curled back in on himself again, wrapping his arms around his torso as he watched Hannibal get to his feet outside. Looking at the devastation in his boy’s expression, the colonel sighed. He and BA needed to do this right now, they needed to tidy up all these loose ends, and after that – shit – he knew he’d have some major repairs to do with Face as well.

______________________

Murdock kept up a steady and chipper monologue all the way up to the house in the mountains they were renting for the next few weeks. It was a tough job, as the only words Face spoke in the entire two hour drive were to ask Murdock to pull over when his concussion made him bring up his dinner all over the side of the road.

They set off again almost at once, Murdock keen to get somewhere safe and Face added frequently to the contents of the bucket Murdock had given him on the long drive through the rapidly darkening night.

When they arrived, Murdock left Face curled around the bucket in the back of the van while he checked the place out, switched on the electricity and quickly allocated the rooms. Then he came back, and, cheerful voice firmly in place, helped Face from the back of the van and straight into the master bathroom where he had already started the huge bath running.

“I’m fine, Murdock,” Face said tiredly when he saw what was going on. “I don’t need a bath, I just need to go to bed.”

“Course you need a bath!” Murdock told him brightly, “’Cause I’m the one who washes all the sheets an’ I aint washing sheets that you’ve mucked all over on purpose, Face. Look at the state of you!”

Face didn’t need to look, he could feel the dirt and the grime, the sweat and the blood all over him, and Murdock’s comments about the sheets were a little off as well, they all took turns with the chores, the only thing that Murdock did more than the others was cook. But deep in his head, Face knew that Murdock was right, and that his friend only wanted the best for him, so he stripped down slowly and let Murdock help him into the water, sighing as the heat immediately soothed every ache and pain other than the ones inside him.

He lay back in the water as Murdock gently washed him down, poked about in the back of his head, removing tiny fragments of shrapnel with some tweezers and finally numbed and cleaned the gash on his head before sealing it with wound glue. Then he let himself be towelled dry and led to the bedroom where the duvet was turned down and his sleep shorts were already out and waiting for him.

Clean and dry, but with his body pulsing in pain, his stomach rolling with nausea and nightmares already creeping into his fuddled brain, he dragged the shorts on and crawled under the duvet, wondering if he could hold it all together just until Hannibal got back. But he didn't have to worry, just as the shaking was starting to get the better of him and turn into something a little closer to convulsing, he felt the bed dip and smelt Murdock’s familiar body spray as his best friend in all the world climbed, fully dressed, under the covers with him. He immediately turned towards that warmth and Murdock was there for him, opening his arms and letting Face crush himself up against Murdock’s hard chest. Within seconds the shaking was subsiding, morphing into something more like trembling, and Murdock’s big hands were on his head and his back, keeping away from the shrapnel site, but just holding, soothing, comforting, and with two hands full of t-shirt, Face let himself start to come down.

_______________________

Face was sleeping, but Murdock was wide awake when he heard Hannibal and BA come in just short of three a.m. He lay still, holding Face securely while he slept and lifted his head to acknowledge he was awake when Hannibal cracked the door open. Hannibal nodded back, let his eyes run over Face’s sleeping form and then crept back out into the hallway. Murdock gave him a few minutes, made sure that his arrival hadn’t disturbed Face’s sleep, and then gently extracted himself from his friend’s grip, sliding out of the bed and following the sound of quiet voices down the stairs.

BA and Hannibal were both sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, one on either side with two glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker between them. BA leaned over to snag a third glass for Murdock while Hannibal pulled out a stool for him. “He okay?” he asked quietly as BA poured two fingers into the whisky glass.

Murdock downed them in one and BA filled his glass again.

“He’s okay,” he answered softly, “but really, really freaked out. What the fuck happened?”

Hannibal sighed and rubbed at his forehead before quickly relating everything that had occurred since he had left the house that morning. When he’d finished, the three sat in silence, each mulling over their own particular thoughts.

“Shit boss,” Murdock eventually whispered into the silence. “What if... what if Pike had decided to be a little more straightforward and a little less of a jackass? You’d be dead right now, both of you.”

BA shifted uncomfortably and Hannibal rubbed two fingers across his forehead. “But we’re not,” he ground out flatly. He couldn’t get that image of Face laid out in the alley, lifting the gun up to his head, pulling the trigger, actually pulling the fucking trigger, out of his head at all. It was like it was on a perpetually repeating loop, burning itself into his mind.

“He thought you were dead, Hannibal,” Murdock offered, reading the look in Hannibal’s eyes and automatically defending Face.

“I know, but how could he do that? I just-” he stopped, they all stopped, straining their ears to catch the sound drifting down from upstairs.

“Fuck...” in a moment, Hannibal was on his feet, running for the stairs, hearing Face’s shouts, wondering where the weapons were, wondering what he’d find in that bedroom... He burst through the door and saw Face was sitting upright in the sheets, awake now, his eyes confused and downright scared. He looked over at Hannibal standing in the doorway and then they both moved, Face leaning forwards, reaching out for the comfort, Hannibal climbing right onto the bed, crawling up and gathering him into his arms, both of them far, far too close to knowing what it was like to be alone.

They stayed like that, immobile in each other’s arms for long, silent minutes until Face needed more and edged around, letting his eyes stay closed and his lips feel their way along Hannibal’s jaw until he was close enough to reach the older man’s lips. He stretched up, pressing his own mouth firmly against Hannibal’s and slipping his tongue out to flick against closed lips, asking for the entrance he was always granted.

Not this time though. One minute Face was being held securely, his cock just starting to swell slightly at the promise of what was to come, the next he was being roughly pushed away, so hard he fell back against the headboard and Hannibal swung himself around, presenting his stiff back to Face as he let his head fall down into his hands.

Face was stunned into silence for almost a minute as the piercing pain of rejection slowly filtered through his body to pool coldly in his heart. And then it hit him, why Hannibal was turning him away, what he’d done in that alley, the way he’d killed Silas Pike. Shot after shot after shot he’d let rip into the bastard, and why? Because he’d lost control, let his emotions get the better of him and allowed his heart to rule his head. Stupid. Hannibal was always telling him he had to stop and think, he couldn’t get away with reacting like a five year old, that one day it would get someone killed.

Well, today it had done, but only Pike, who’d wanted to kill them all and hadn’t Hannibal said that was okay? That Face had had no choice? Or had he only said that to get him into the car? To let Hannibal clear up his mess and get their butts out of there before the cops turned up?

When they’d started on this whole ‘Soldiers of Fortune’ thing, Hannibal had told them, over and over again, that it was not their role to be a lynch mob. They would stop the bad guys and present them and enough evidence to the police so that they could be taken care of in an appropriate way. If the need was strong enough then they would use deadly force, but otherwise – no; in no circumstances at all were they going to turn into vigilantes.

So, was that what this was all about? That Face had killed Pike in cold blood when there had been no real need? Hannibal wasn’t dead, had never even been shot; all Face needed to have done was to turn around and look and they could have taken care of Pike in a much less bloodthirsty manner. But he hadn’t, he’d ended up blasting the guy’s internal organs all over the wall in the alley, and now Hannibal was disgusted in him, in the bloodlust he’d seen in Face’s eyes as he repeatedly pulled that trigger, so disgusted that he wouldn't let Face kiss him, didn’t want to hold him anymore... and where the hell did that leave their relationship now? His insides turned to ice, was it over? Was Hannibal so appalled in him that he didn’t want him in the team anymore? In his bed? Face swallowed hard, he couldn’t let that happen, he just couldn’t – he would do anything on earth to stop it.

“I’m sorry...” he choked out and Hannibal twitched slightly, looking at Face from under the hand cradling his head. “I can’t believe I did that,” he whispered, “I should never have shot him like that.”

That eye slid shut again and Hannibal wilted even more, his sigh clearly audible in the silence following Face’s words. The quiet stretched on and Face began to panic. He felt nauseous once more and wasn’t sure if it were due to his concussion or the waves of disapproval he could feel rolling off the boss. His heart was hammering against his ribs and he was sweating, that nasty cold sweat of fear. He couldn’t believe that his apology had fallen on deaf ears the way it had; if anything it had only seemed to stoke Hannibal’s resentment of him even higher. So if the apology had failed then what was left for him? Justification seemed the next best alternative.

“I thought you were dead,” he offered plaintively, “I saw him shoot at you, heard the shots, saw him laughing. How the fuck was I supposed to know he was only playing mind games?” Hannibal got to his feet and walked to the window, staring out sightlessly, tension obvious in every plane of his body from his folded arms to the veins that were standing out on his neck.

Face shifted to the edge of the bed, testing his swollen ankle on the floor and willed Hannibal to turn and face him, tell him it was alright, he understood. When no such reassurances came, he ploughed on. “So, maybe I didn’t do it the way you would have done, maybe I messed up where you wouldn’t have. But, shit, John, I did my fucking best!”

Still Hannibal stayed still and silent, staring out of the window and Face slowly got to his feet, the panic and the adrenalin in his veins masking the pain in his foot. “I know I shouldn’t have killed him,” he stated to Hannibal’s rigid back, “I know you always say that brings us right down to their level and we are better than that, should be better than that,” he shook his head and took a step in, tentatively resting a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, “but I... I just lost it for a second there, I thought I’d lost you!”

Hannibal made a disgusted little growl and shrugged Face’s hand off him, a movement that hurt more than anything that Face had suffered at Pike’s hands in the last week. He recoiled physically from the man he loved, stumbling a little in his shock and suddenly the room was far too small and Hannibal’s presence was far too painful and he just needed to get away. He leaned heavily on the chest of drawers as he forced his ankle to take his weight long enough to get to the door and then he stopped, tears in his eyes, his throat as tight as a bow, shaking from the effort of standing on his own two feet. He gripped the door handle tightly and stared down at the beige carpet, determined to have one last go at bringing Hannibal round.

“I’m sorry John,” he whispered, the bitterness of his words impossible to miss. “I’m so fucking sorry that I’ve let you down here. But I did it because I love you,” he implored. “Because I thought he’d hurt you and I fucking love you.” There was no response. “You have no idea how I felt,” his voice scratched at his throat on the way out. “No idea what it was like to have to watch the man I love scythed down in front of me like that by a psycho with a gun...”

He depressed the handle, but before he had chance to even start to open the door, Hannibal was on him, swinging him around and slamming his back into the wall next to the door so hard he hit his head yet again. He started to slide down but then the boss was there, a big hand around his throat, holding him up, his furious face just inches from his lieutenant’s and Face froze, recognising a Hannibal Smith right at the end of his rope when he saw one. “No, Face I don’t!” Hannibal spat, boiling hot fury evident in every syllable. “But I do know how it feels to watch some dickhead with a piece threaten to blow you apart right in front of me ‘cause I’ve seen it, haven’t I? Too many fucking times to count!”

Face knew that was true, he’d felt that terror himself. But this was different, this time he’d really thought that Hannibal was dead.

“But they were all assholes,” Hannibal continued, “Pike one of the biggest ones going. What about if it’s not an asshole wielding the gun? What then, hey, Face? What then?”

Face just stared at him, thoroughly confused.

“You, Tried. To. Kill. Yourself!” Hannibal iterated, punctuating each word by banging Face against the wall. “I sat and watched as you lifted that gun and put it to your own fucking head! Your own head Face! How do you think that made me feel? What in fuck’s name were you even thinking?”

Things finally slid into place in Face’s head and he struggled against the hand on his throat. “I thought you were dead!” he defended himself desperately.

“You should have looked!” Hannibal yelled at him. “You should have fucking well checked!”

Face was rapidly losing control himself and the pressure of Hannibal’s grip on his neck was beginning to hurt. He wrapped both his hands around Hannibal’s wrists even as he started yelling back. “I didn’t want to see you dead! I didn’t want to remember you like that, all shot up and gone!”

“And that would have mattered? When you were planning on offing yourself anyway?” Face’s mouth opened but no sound came out. “And so I have to watch you blow your own fucking brains out all over the fucking ground instead then do I?!” Hannibal spat back. “DO I?!!”

Face had no answer to that, and with his silence, Hannibal’s fury ran out to be replaced by tragic resignation. “How can I ever trust you again after this?” he asked, the rawness of his voice impossible to miss.

“What?” Face asked quietly, shocked by the realisation of what he’d done.

“How can I let you go out on a job knowing that this is what you would do if the shit really hit the fan?” Hannibal asked him. “How can I let you run the risk of getting captured if I think you are gonna add yourself to the ‘death in custody’ statistics? How can I carry on this relationship with you if I think that every time we fight I’m gonna find you swinging from a rope somewhere?”

“John, I...” Face started, but he was soon cut off.

“I can’t trust you Face, I just can’t. And without trust then what the fuck is the point to all this?”

Face just stared, his eyes filling with moisture, the pain in his chest so acute he was having trouble breathing around it. “What do you mean?” he whispered, but Hannibal just shook his head and removed his hand, frowning at the marks he could already see standing out on Face’s skin.

“Just go to bed, Face,” he answered tiredly and turned at once, slipping out of the door, leaving Face to slide down the wall and slump into a heap on the carpet.

Next

Current Mood: awake
Current Music: DJ Fresh - Louder

Back in the present, on the bench outside in the sunshine, Hannibal found Face still looking at him expectantly, wanting an answer to his query, needing to know if his mother was still alive and he realised that, yet again, he couldn’t say the things that Face really wanted him to.

“She’s alive,” he said instead, watching how Face controlled himself, everything but that tiny softening of his stance that told Hannibal how relieved he was at the news. “But she’s unconscious, and I have no idea of her prognosis; the notes made little sense to me and Eddie wasn’t there to ask.”

Face nodded as he processed that information carefully. It was no surprise to him that Eddie wasn’t around, he hadn’t answered any of the numerous time Hannibal had called him over the last few days either. He rubbed absently at his jaw, wincing as his fingers inadvertently pressed on the bruise from Silas’ gun butt where it stretched down the side of his face and flicked his eyes up to Hannibal’s. “I should have come with you,” he said quietly. “Maybe she would have woken up if she’d heard me there.”

Doing his best to contain his sigh, Hannibal forced out a sad smile. He’d been relieved no end when Face had said he couldn’t bring himself to go to the hospital before they skipped town, Hannibal knew that the kid wasn’t ready, either physically or emotionally, and he himself just couldn’t face sweeping the broken pieces of his boy up off the floor one more time. The last thing he needed now was Face beating himself up over that decision.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it wouldn’t have made any difference, they’ve probably got her sedated anyway, and I didn’t get chance to talk to her, she was too close to the nurse’s station.” Again Face nodded but Hannibal could still see the guilt in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gently, “if you decide you want to see her again in the next few weeks sometime, then we’ll come back, okay? Maybe when you don't stand out quite so much.” Hannibal was trying to lighten the mood a little, but knew that Face with his sling and the stick and all the bruising around his face was pretty hard to miss at the minute. “This was supposed to be a covert operation remember?”

Face let a wry grin slide through his expression, as Hannibal reached out and gripped his knee firmly. “Anyway, there’s nothing else we can do here,” he fixed Face’s troubled eyes with his own. “We know she’s still fighting this, still hanging on so now we do what we had planned – get you and Murdock back in top form and then go hunting for that bastard Pike, right?”

“Right,” Face agreed fairly unenthusiastically and Hannibal rose to his feet.

“Come on then, kid,” he said firmly, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Taking a deep breath, Face started to rise, leaning heavily on his stick and trying to put as little weight onto his ankle as possible. It wasn’t broken, but it was pretty badly banged up and it was obvious that he shouldn’t even have been on it yet. He’d been pretty insistent on coming on this little trip to the hospital though, and Hannibal sighed, wondering if it had been a mistake even letting him get up out of bed this morning.

Maybe it was because Hannibal was so concerned about Face’s ankle and the damage that he’d done by walking on it so soon, or maybe it was just due to the fact that he didn’t ever dream that Silas would be as bold as to turn up outside a city centre hospital at eleven o’ clock in the morning; but whatever the reason, Hannibal had, uncharacteristically, let his guard down as he watched Face prepare to struggle to his feet, so the gun barrel in his back and the hand on his shoulder came as a very, very unpleasant surprise.

“Well, hello there, old man,” Silas sneered right into his ear, making Hannibal’s toes curl in hatred. “I suggest you stand nice and still and don’t even think about going for your piece, or I aerate your spleen for you right here.”

Hannibal stood stock still as Pike fished his gun out of the waistband of his cords and glanced down at Face who was still on the bench, staring at Silas with a look of complete loathing in his expression. “And you, sweet cheeks,” Silas grinned at him, “I’ve not got hollow points here you know, I could take you both out with the same bullet, no sweat.”

Face’s eyes slid over to Hannibal and then back to Pike, but in that look a whole plan had been conveyed and finalised. It was the same plan they always tended to use in situations like this, and Face found it a depressing reflection of their lives that they even had a ‘one member of the team held at gunpoint’ standard response. Hannibal, being the one that had the barrel in his ribs would be the one to cause the distraction and Face, being the one who was relatively free to move, would do it whatever way he saw fit. Great, Face thought cynically, foolproof...

“Okay then boys,” Silas was being annoyingly chipper at this point in proceedings and Face knew that that didn’t bode at all well for the rest of the day as far as he and Hannibal were concerned. “Let’s get going, I have a car parked just around the corner there, and I think it’s such a nice day we should go for a ride, hey?”

Hannibal clamped his jaw tightly together, despite the temptation, it wasn’t wise to mouth off to someone as clearly unstable as Pike in a situation where he had a loaded gun in his ribs; he’d made the mistake of underestimating him once today, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that again. His eyes flicked to Face once more as the kid finally heaved himself to his feet and he hoped that his smart mouth would stay closed as well.

“You alright there, then handsome?” Silas sneered at Face. “You’re looking a little peaky. Had a bad week?”

Hannibal held his breath, but Face just responded with a muttered, “Go to hell, Pike,” which had Silas laughing as they turned and made their way towards the alley way where the Cadillac was parked.

As they walked, slowly, with Face trying not to put any weight on his ankle at all, Hannibal forced aside all his self recrimination and concentrated on getting them both out of there in one piece. Face was still in a pretty bad way, he shouldn't even have been walking around out here like this, and there was absolutely no way in heaven or hell that Hannibal was going to let Pike hurt him again. Absolutely not, that was just not going to happen, but he knew he only had minutes to try and put something together.

He knew Face had read the plan from his expression in their one shared glance; it was a tried and tested method of escape that they had used over and over again during the past. However, today had its own added complications, the fact that Face really couldn’t even stand on his own yet and only had the use of one arm being the major difficulties, but the fact that they were out in a public area, people milling around them, oblivious to their plight, only made it more complex; there was no way that Hannibal could be responsible for starting a shoot out in the street on a busy lunch time.

“Come on, Peck,” Silas suddenly snarled, shocking Hannibal back to the here and now with a brutal jab of the gun barrel into his ribs, “Stop being such a fucking Queen and get a move on. I saw you earlier you know, I know you can walk faster than this, now shift.”

Face didn't look around but he did speed up slightly and Hannibal narrowed his eyes. His first thought at Pike’s words were that Face was deliberately walking slowly to give them a little more time to come up with something, but then he noticed the grey tinge to the kid’s face, the way his lips were pressed tightly together, and with a sinking feeling running right through his chest he realised that Face was in pain, in real, soul sucking pain, probably from his ankle and at that realisation, he watched as their chances of escape took an abrupt down turn.

Pike was incorrigible though, whistling happily now as they turned the corner into the alley way and suddenly everything went darker and quieter and Hannibal felt as if they had entered a shady, dangerous tunnel, with only one way in or out.

“Okay!” Pike sing songed as they reached the car. “I want your piece on the ground Peck, nice and slowly. I think you are pissing me at all, then the colonel here gets it. Capiche?”

Face didn't reply, he looked like he was struggling to stay on his feet, but he did reach back and pull his gun out of the waistband of his trousers slowly and carefully, holding Pike’s stare the whole time as he threw it to the ground to land a few feet to the left.

“Good boy,” Silas smiled patronisingly at him. “And now, if you just reach into the back seat of the car there, you will find a roll of duct tape. You need to get it out and you are going to come over here and use it on Smith for me. Off you go.”

For a second Face didn’t move, but then his eyes slid over to Hannibal and at the almost imperceptible nod he saw there, he leaned off the car and tugged the rear door open, bracing himself on the front seat as he reached in to snag the roll of tape.

It was as he straightened up that Hannibal made his move, suddenly sagging slightly against Pike, his head lolling and doing a perfect impersonation of someone on the edge of a faint. “What the fuck!?” Silas exclaimed, staggering as Hannibal leaned on him before rolling himself upright again even as he reeled forward.

“He’s gonna faint,” Face supplied, the fear in his voice real as he couldn’t quite believe that Hannibal was going for such a high risk manoeuvre. He started forward, only to freeze as Silas swung the gun from his pocket with its long suppressor on the barrel and pointed it at Face instead. Then Hannibal staggered again, stumbling into Pike and pushing him towards Face before finally collapsing to the ground in a fully credible impersonation of a dead faint.

For perhaps half a second, Silas was struck dumb, his gun pointing aimlessly in the space between his two captives and his mind undecided. It was within that tiny window of opportunity that Face moved, closing down the part of his brain that recognised pain he stepped forward and, slipping his arm out of its sling, grabbed Pike with both hands, stepping back and pulling him head first into the side of the car with all his strength.

Silas, however, was solidly built, and like BA before him, Face had underestimated that fact. Instead of hitting the car head first with enough force to crack bone, Pike only suffered a glancing blow, enough to hurt and bring up an egg on his forehead, but not enough even to stun. He staggered to his feet and Face, trapped between the open car door and the body of the vehicle itself, automatically lifted a foot to kick the still-poised weapon from Silas’ hand before he recovered enough presence of mind to use it. Unfortunately that meant transferring all his weight onto his damaged ankle, which, even though Face could have bitten down on the pain hard enough to get him through, was simply not strong enough to hold all his weight on its own and collapsed right underneath him.

He dropped like a stone, grabbing at the back seat and the door handle to save his butt from landing on the ground and, fast as lightening, just as Hannibal was launching himself forward, Silas moved. He reached out and grabbed the door, swinging it shut as hard as he could and smartly trapping Face’s head between the edge of the door and the frame of the car. There was a sickening thud and as the door bounced back open with the force of the slam, Face slithered down out of the gap and lay, bleeding from a fresh wound to his head, unconscious at Pike’s feet. Within a second the gun was trained on him and Hannibal froze, breathing hard as he looked at his adversary, who was silently poking at the purpling lump on his forehead, a look of purest loathing on his face.
_________________________

Face had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He awoke to a strong smell of petrol and a pounding head, and for a moment he wondered if he were back in the lock-up with Silas determined to give death-by-car-fumes one more go. He listened hard, so well versed in the act of waking up in dodgy situations that he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and didn’t even let his eyes flicker to let on that he was awake.

Once the ringing in his ears settled down, he heard voices, no, one voice, and his stomach rolled as he realised it was Silas Pike, and with the smug edge he could hear to it, knew that their escape attempt had failed.

Pike’s voice was behind him, and so far away that Face couldn’t work out anything he was saying. He opened his eyes, but it took a few moments before he could persuade them to focus on anything and then he found that he was still lying where he’d fallen in the filth next to the Cadillac. He couldn’t see Silas or Hannibal, but could still hear Pike’s smug monotone behind him and risked twisting his neck, looking back towards the alley wall. His eyes swam into focus and his stomach clenched in pure fear; Hannibal was laid on the ground in a pile of trash bags and empty cardboard boxes. Face knew it was him as he could see the dark brown cords and camel coloured sweater that he knew he’d been wearing that morning. He could also see the boss’ hands, wrapped up together with duct tape around the wrists and laying loosely over his stomach and he could tell by the way that they were all bruised and marked up that he’d been fighting with Silas.

The man himself was standing over Hannibal, breathing hard and bleeding from more than one place himself and, as Face began to slowly, slowly drag himself to his feet, he raised his gun from his side and pointed it at his prisoner, his words finally loud enough to hear. “You sure you don’t fear me old man?” Even though Face strained to listen, he couldn’t hear Hannibal’s reply at all, but he could hear Silas’ responding laugh. “Well, you should fear me. Peck does, he knows the pain I can inflict on him, the pain I am going to inflict on him once I’m through with you.” Face froze, knowing that he was too far away to get to Hannibal’s side and looking around desperately at the place where he’d thrown his Glock. It wasn’t there, of course it wasn’t there, but then Silas cocked his gun, the sound reverberating around the tight space and Face knew he’d run out of time.

He got to his feet, staggering as his head reeled and feeling the shooting pains in his ankle, his head, his ribs and his arm. He was slightly behind and to the right of Silas, maybe ten feet behind, literally in his blind spot and he knew that he had seconds to get there and knock him off his feet, give Hannibal the chance to get up and come bail him out. No sooner was that thought in his head, however, than Silas cocked his head on one side, considering Hannibal carefully. “You sure?” he prompted and even as Face was making his way over, gritting through the pain and deciding which angle was the best to tackle the bastard from, Silas’ gun spoke. Once, twice, three times, four, five, six... the silenced barrel popped in the alley way, sending shock waves reverberating up and down and Face staggered to a halt, his mind reeling in total disbelief.

Pike was at point blank range, his gun aiming straight to where Hannibal’s chest would be and Face looked over, terrified of what he would see but still only his colonel’s legs were visible, the rest of his body hidden by the boxes and Pike lowered his gun and laughed. That laugh broke through Face’s stunned shock and he literally propelled himself forward, blind, gut wrenching, agonised fury the only thing fuelling him on. He was maybe five steps from Silas now, who was still laughing, the gun held loosely in his hand and as he covered those steps, all he could hear were those pops again, over and over and over again. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Hannibal’s body as it leapt and jumped under the impact of the bullets. All he could imagine was the look of shock and pain on his lover’s face as it registered that he had been shot, that he was dying, that he was never going to get out of here and so neither was Face.

Face knew he was dead, knew that no one, not even the legendary and his most beloved Hannibal Smith could escape being shot like that from so close a range, and because of that – the fact that Hannibal was dead – Face realised that absolutely nothing else on earth mattered anymore; nothing. With that thought in his head, he tackled Pike around the waist even as he finally became aware of Face’s presence and turned, lifting his gun to finish the job. He never had the chance, Face’s grief leant him the strength and fury of a thousand men, and he slammed Silas’ wrists against the wall, spilling the gun from his grasp before following through with a solid right hook to the jaw.

Silas however, was no slouch himself, and even if Face’s rise from the ashes had taken him by surprise, he pulled himself together pretty quickly after that and rolled with Face’s fist, absorbing some of the impact and then bringing his own fist round, smashing into his adversary’s nose, showering them both with tiny droplets of blood as he did. For the second time in an hour, Face dropped like a stone, but this time only stunned, and the sight of Silas’ gun, laid in the garbage right at his finger tips, soon snapped him back into full awareness.

It was in his hand and swinging around even as Silas’ face was starting to cloud with fear. Face didn’t hesitate, his finger squeezed and shot off round after round, his aim automatically altering as Silas jerked back with the impact of the first bullet then started his own slide to the ground, eyes wide and shocked. Face didn’t see that though, through his increasingly blurring vision all he saw was Hannibal as Silas shot him again and again, and it didn’t matter how many times he pulled the trigger himself, that searing pain he felt in every fibre of his existence didn’t diminish in the slightest; so he stopped. He let himself slump down, flat to the ground himself even as Silas mirrored his movements, his eyes wide and unmistakably empty.

For a second there was silence, only the sound of Face’s ragged breathing reached his ears, but then he heard a choking sob, and as he closed his eyes against the welling tears he realised that it came from him but it still didn’t help, nothing would help him now, there was nothing in his life, nothing to love, nothing to cherish – nothing to even breathe for. Of all the things that Adele had stolen from him over the years, his childhood, his father, his home, his innocence – this was by far the worst. Her intervention in his life, leading Silas Pike right to him like this, had cost him Hannibal - his entire reason for living, his only reason to carry on breathing, the centre of his world.

There was no doubt in Face’s mind what he needed to do now. He was sprawled in an alley way with two dead bodies full of bullets, the gun that killed them both still in his hand. Even though the shots had been suppressed Face knew that they would have been heard by someone, and that it wouldn’t be long before the police arrived. So he needed to get up, to move the bodies into the Cadillac, to find some keys on Pike and get the hell out of here.

But he couldn’t, he just... couldn’t. How could he force himself up and look at Hannibal now? Did he want to see what the bullets had done to the man he loved more than anything else in existence? No, of course he didn’t, he didn't want to do that, he didn't want to do anything anymore – nothing mattered. Not Pike or the cops or Adele, or even, God forgive him, Murdock and BA. The only thing there was in his life now was pain, pain he knew just how to get rid of.

Almost in a daze he lifted his arm, Pike’s gun still wrapped tight in his fingers and moved it until he could feel the cool metal of the barrel on his forehead. He didn’t bother opening his eyes but forced himself to breathe deeply, he could do this, all he needed was a moment, a second of calm and he could do it, pull that trigger and it would all be over, every pain he’d ever experienced wouldn’t even be a memory any more.

His finger twitched and he paused, wondering where he would end up, wondering if the teachings from the orphanage were right and he was about to sin, would go straight to hell for what he was about to do. But then he realised he was already in hell anyway, so what did it even matter? He squeezed the trigger.

Next

Current Mood: crushed
Current Music: Rooster - Good to Be Here

BA glanced down at his watch, only five minutes since he’d arrived, but hell, it felt longer. He shuffled uncomfortably on the hard seat and caught the eye of the nurse who’d spoken to him and she smiled sympathetically before rising and saying, “I’ll see what I can find out for you,” before disappearing into the small office at the back.

Leaning back in his chair, BA crossed his feet at the ankles and tried to force some calm into his limbs. Pike wasn’t here, he probably hadn’t even considered coming after Murdock. He’d just taken a bullet off the boss after all, maybe not in the exact place that Hannibal had planned for it, because then the bastard would be dead like his damn brother, but he was hurt. If he any sense at all he’d just disappear and lick his wounds somewhere.

BA thought about Brock Pike and that huge wave of guilt reared its head once more. Silas Pike had taken Face because he thought Face had killed his brother, but of course it wasn’t Face, was it? It wasn’t Face who should have gone through all of this, suffered like this - it should have been him. But then BA shuddered, because, well, look at everything Pike and Adele had done to get close to Face - what would they have done for BA? Would his momma have been dragged into this? Would they have used her to get to him? He sat up straight again, all that anger coming back. No way. No way was he gonna let that sick bastard anywhere near his family – the ones in Chicago, or the ones right here, right now.

Voices drifted out from the office at the back and BA strained to listen as he heard Murdock’s alias mentioned. “It’s not a doctor I’ve seen before, that’s all,” the nurse was saying, “and I wondered if Mr. Taylor would like his friend there to talk with the doctor, after all he’s not been awake that long.”

Alarms sounded in BA’s head and he was on his feet and making his way down the corridor to Murdock’s room before he even realised. He stopped at the closed wooden door and leant his ear against it, listening hard, and at the sound of a muted struggled inside he didn’t wait a second longer. With speed and agility that often surprised those who didn’t know him, BA was inside, door closed firmly behind him and yanking Pike off Murdock’s struggling body before Pike had had the chance to see what he was up against. The pillow that Pike had been holding down over Murdock’s head fell to the floor and BA felt a surge of relief at the noisy gasps he could hear coming from the person on the bed.

Silas Pike was made of thick, solid muscle, and so was heavier than BA had accounted for. The move that he had hoped would throw Murdock’s assailant across the room only had him staggering back a few paces, incredibly keeping his feet. BA frowned, but seeing the blood on Pike’s shirt where his doctor’s coat hung open he took his opportunity and slammed a fist right in, right on that dark red target left by Face and was gratified to hear the groan of pain as Pike collapsed on the floor.

“BA!” Murdock’s voice was nothing other than a dry rasp and BA turned to look seeing the pilot still struggling with the ligature around his neck and BA swore, realising that the pillow was only a device to keep his victim quiet while he throttled him with something much more effective. He was at the bedside in two strides, his big fingers delicately loosening the cord and unthreading it from Murdock’s bruised neck.

“Okay? You okay, Crazy?” he asked, not even noticing his familiar nickname for the pilot in his desperate concern.

Murdock nodded, holding tight to both of BA’s forearms as he swallowed in huge gulps of air. “Yeah,” he gasped, “Yeah. Listen, big guy, we gotta warn Face. His mother, she-”

“I know, he knows,” BA soothed. “It’s all sorted man, we just gonna get out of here an’ lay low for a while.”

“He knows?” Murdock asked, worry in his eyes as he looked up at BA, “How is he? He- BA!”

BA tensed at the panicked look Murdock was sending over his shoulder and dragged the dinner tray off Murdock’s table as he turned, throwing it up as part shield, part weapon, managing to deflect the table lamp that Silas had swinging his way so that it only hit his shoulder and not his head. Even so, the force of the blow was enough to send BA reeling, bouncing off the wall and then falling, Silas on him in a flash, his knees on BA’s chest, his hands around his throat.

“This is even better,” Silas hissed as he put all of his weight into crushing BA’s windpipe. “Peck won’t know what hit him when I kill both you and the crazy guy over there! Revenge is sweet after all.”

BA twisted his neck, turning so that Silas’ thumbs weren’t pressing right on his airway anymore and braced a foot against the bed. “Aint Face you need revenge on, fool!” he gasped, twisting his body under the weight pinning him down. “He didn’t kill your brother! I did! You been picking on the wrong man, sucka!”

A dark anger flooded Silas’ face and he leant down harder, his eyes boring into BA’s. “Yeah? Well I’ll enjoy this even more then, watching you die by my hand this time!”

Suddenly, BA’s whole body leapt into the air as he pushed with the leg braced against the bed. The move unseated Silas, but instead of coming off as BA had hoped he would, his solid bulk meant that he only slid forward, his hands keeping up their pressure on BA’s abused neck.

“Not good enough, loser,” Silas hissed and moved in for the kill, his face, savagely satisfied, staring right into BA’s.

BA struggled, knowing that if he fell here, then Murdock was next on Silas’ list, and then Hannibal and Face would be unprotected as well. But Silas was heavy and solid, and little black dots were starting to appear in BA’s vision and he knew his time was running out.

“Die!” Silas hissed at him, his eyes narrowed in hatred, “Die you fucking murderer!” and BA began to think he would. “Go, on, die you-” and then suddenly it was all gone, the pressure on his neck, the pressure on his chest, that cold face, the words of hate and BA sucked in a beautiful breath as he blinked away the spots in his eyes to find himself looking up at Murdock standing above him.

The pilot was wearing his hospital gown and swaying on the spot, but with the table lamp still clutched tight in his fingers. “You alright, Bosco?” he asked slowly and BA smiled, scrambling quickly to his feet.

“Oh, yeah, Crazy,” he said, grinning through his gasping breaths as he took the lamp from Murdock’s hand and dropped it on the bed. “I couldn’t be better now, seein’ you like that,” laughter wheezed out from his lips and Murdock returned the grin even as his swaying got worse. “Here, man,” BA rasped, stepping forward, “let me carry you, we’re outta here brother.”

Murdock only nodded and let BA scoop him up in his arms and then, stepping over Pike’s prone form on the way, BA did a quick furtive check up and down the corridor before he stepped out and made his way at a quick jog towards the fire exit.

______________________________

Hannibal sat back in his chair, with the laptop on his knee and chewed his lip thoughtfully as he looked at Face. The kid was still on oxygen, and had just started on his second unit of blood which was pushing his blood pressure back up to something near normal. His arm had been redressed, and the bleeding had finally stopped and Hannibal had cleaned and treated all the lashes on his body, finishing off by wrapping up his ribs and his swollen ankle, which Hannibal was just hoping wasn’t broken.

But still Face hadn’t stirred, not one flicker of an eyelid had met Hannibal’s treatment of him, not even when some of the deeper wounds had been stitched. The constant soothing monologue hadn’t worked either, and in desperation, Hannibal had even tried ordering Face to respond to him, but nothing had succeeded. He looked back at the open laptop on his knee and rubbed at his head, wondering if it was the blood loss, the carbon monoxide, the blow to his head, the pin prick injection site on his neck, or any of his other many injuries that was keeping Face from waking up.

He was worried, worried about BA and Murdock, yes, not sure what was keeping them, but also worried about Face. He was no doctor here, he’d done everything he could think of, everything he’d found on the internet to help him, and still Face was out cold. There was an uncomfortable niggling deep in his brain that told him Face needed a hospital...

The sound of the Sunfire’s rough engine outside alerted him to BA’s arrival and he ran to open the garage doors for them.

As soon as they were in and Hannibal had checked the around their rapidly darkening surroundings to make sure they hadn’t been followed, he turned to help a rather fragile looking Murdock, still barefoot and in his hospital gown, as he pulled himself from the car.

“Murdock,” he greeted him, looking him over from his pale complexion, to the thin purple ligature mark around his neck.

“Colonel!” Murdock replied, snapping off a quick salute, but Hannibal ignored him, choosing to grab hold of him instead, pulling him hard against his chest in an enthusiastic, if slightly awkward, hug.

“Good to have you back, HM,” he nodded, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment and Murdock smiled at him as they separated.

“Good to be back,” he drawled in his best Texan twang. Then, “Where’s Face?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking around the unit and Hannibal nodded over to the corner they used for sleeping and Murdock disappeared, bare feet slapping on the floor as he weaved, unsteadily towards the cots.

Hannibal turned to BA and the big guy saw his commander’s eyes flick to the bruises showing dark on his neck before narrowing as they moved back to his eyes, “Report,” he ordered brusquely.

“Pike was there when I got there,” BA said quietly. “’Cept I didn’t know, they told me he was with a doc an’ I had to wait outside.” Hannibal nodded, understanding the guilt he’d seen in his corporal’s face as soon as he’d looked at him.

“Understandable,” Hannibal reassured quickly, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

BA nodded, still unconvinced, but continued anyway, knowing that there would be time enough for guilt later. “So when I went in he was attackin’ HM, had a pillow on his face, cord round his neck.” If at all possible, Hannibal’s eyes darkened further. “We fought,” the slightest twitch of a smile pulled at BA’s lips, “An’ Murdock took him out with a lamp.”

“Dead?” Hannibal asked, not seeing the funny side of that just yet and BA shrugged.

“Dunno man,” he admitted, “we hadta scarper quick, all that noise, someone hadta be comin’.”

“Okay, BA,” Hannibal rubbed at his forehead, a sure sign he was stressed. “That’s fine for now, and then,” they locked eyes, “after this, we go after him, hunt him down. I’m not letting him blindside us like this again.”

BA nodded, his expression one of full agreement. “I told him, boss, told him he’d been after the wrong guy.”

Of course he had, Hannibal hadn’t expected anything less than that from BA, he’d known since the second they had received Adele’s call in the van that the guilt was eating him inside out. He clapped him firmly on the shoulder, “You’re a good man, BA,” he said quietly, “but it changes nothing. This concerns all of us now, he’d take any of us down if he had the chance. We aren’t going to let him.”

“No,” BA agreed, “we aint.” He glanced over his shoulder into the corner where Murdock was sat on the edge of one of the cots, his voice low as he held a one sided conversation with Face. “How’s Face?” he asked, kind of wary of hearing the answer, kind of disappointed the kid hadn’t been already been awake when he got back with Murdock.

Hannibal followed his gaze and BA looked back at the boss to see the barely contained despair in his eyes. “I don’t know, big guy,” he breathed, “I don't know what the hell I’m treating with him, there’s so much, and he hasn’t stirred, not once, not a damn flicker.” He shook his head. “I’m outta my depth here,” he admitted, “he’s been shot, drugged, poisoned, beaten to all hell... I’m not a doctor here.”

BA ran a hand through his Mohawk, knowing what else he could see in Hannibal’s face, knowing the decision he was making. “I bet Face has done one o’ those emergency pack things for himself, you know,” he said quietly, wary of tipping Hannibal’s hand too early.

“He has,” Hannibal confirmed, “but it’s back at the house.”

“I can be there an’ back in an hour...” BA offered carefully and Hannibal frowned.

“I know, it’s just...” he shook his head, “No, I’d rather we all stayed together right now.”

BA glanced back at their team mates over in the corner and knew that they were both relying so heavily on him and Hannibal. “Bossman,” he said quietly, “what happens if he takes a turn for the worse an’ we don’t have a choice? We gonna drop him off without a back story? Let them finger print him an’ chain him to the bed?” Hannibal scrubbed his face with both of his big palms and BA could feel the indecision coming off him in waves. “We take him to hospital without that cover, an’ we may as well drop him off at Leavenworth ourselves, we won’t be gettin’ him back.”

“I know that,” Hannibal ground out from behind his hands.

“So I need to go get that stuff for him!”

“But Pike,” Hannibal said, lifting his head, eyes beseeching his corporal, “he could be waiting there for you.”

“I’d like to see him try,” BA muttered. “He comes at me or any of us again an’ I won't be leavin’ until I know he aint gonna get back up again.” Hannibal just stared at him. “Plus we need our gear, one of the laptops is there right? An’ all our stuff? I can have it all in the van in twenty minutes.”

Hannibal sighed and BA watched as he dropped his hands and let his eyes drift to Murdock and Face who were still in the corner. “You’ve got ninety minutes to get back here,” he said eventually. “And then I’ll have to come looking for you, leaving these two here alone.”

“I know,” BA answered softly. “Don't worry, Hannibal, I’ll get it done.”

But Hannibal was worried, he hated splitting his team like this, especially with Face and Murdock both so vulnerable right now. “Okay,” he breathed and BA knew it was against his better judgement. “Take care of yourself, Bosco.”

BA nodded and went straight for the van as Hannibal opened the doors on the dark night to let him out.

Next

Current Mood: good
Current Music: Mumford and Sons - 'Little Lion Man'

The longest ten minutes of Adele’s life were spent tied to that girder, wondering if Danny were alive or dead, wondering how long it would be before she herself died, and then, just at the point when the tears were running dry, there was an almighty crash and Eddie’s rental came smashing through the double doors of the garage. Adele screamed, and that brought two sets of eyes immediately her way and over the ringing in her ears and the constant droning of the engine, she heard the most wonderful sound in the world, John’s voice shouting out instructions, sorting everything out and her heart soared, John had come for her.

“John!” she called to him, feeling the sobs threatening in the back of her throat again as he made his way towards her. “Thank god you found us, I’ve been so, so frightened! I-”

She stopped dead as he jogged past her without even a glance in her direction and immediately dropped to his knees next to Face, fingers checking for a pulse, quick blue eyes assessing all the damage to his boy and obviously not liking what he saw.

“John...” Adele started reproachfully and then Hannibal’s eyes were on her, so hard, so cold that her mouth snapped shut all on its own.

“Don’t speak to me,” he hissed, venom in every word. “I swear to god, Adele, you speak to me again, I will...” he shook his head, swallowing the threat he wanted to make. “Just shut up – you got that?”

She stared at him, her eyes swimming in tears, her chin quivering as he turned away from her and devoted all of his attention to Face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said into the silence as BA finally managed to cut the Sunfire’s engine. “Face, can you hear me? Are you in there? Come on, wake up a bit here baby.”

Face didn’t move or stir, so Hannibal took out his knife and started gently cutting the ropes that held him as Adele watched, open mouthed. “Is he...?” she whispered around the lump in her throat.

“He’s alive,” Hannibal snapped at her, “Despite your best efforts to the contrary. How long has he been out?”

“I don’t know,” Adele admitted as she felt herself flush, “I wasn’t watching.”

Hannibal glanced up long enough to give her a ‘you are the lowest life form imaginable’ look before turning back to carefully pull the last bit of ropes off Face’s ankles and then rearrange his limp body into the recovery position. Once that was done, he set about doing a thorough assessment of Face’s injuries, frowning most at the deep trough cut through his bicep by Silas’ bullet. And the entire time he was checking him over, he was talking, a soft, low monotone, perfectly audible to Adele in the quiet of the garage and enough to have her staring in total shock.

“I’m just gonna wrap your arm up here, sweetheart,” Hannibal told a still unresponsive Face. “Losing a bit too much blood there for my liking, we need to keep that all inside, right? Okay then, this might sting a bit for a few seconds,” he ran an anti-septic wipe all around the wound, inside and out, before covering it with a piece of gauze. “Done, hope that wasn’t too bad, you know I hate hurting you, I always hate doing this, can’t stand to see you hurting, I love you far, far too much for that...” and on it went while Adele just listened and stared.

Eventually Hannibal was as satisfied as he could be and Adele watched, transfixed, as he slowly manoeuvred Face into a position where he could lift him, taking care to cradle his head against his own shoulder and rise slowly, to minimise causing any further damage to his patient. As he finally straightened to his full height, Face’s not inconsiderable weight held securely against his chest, his eyes caught Adele’s and he couldn’t miss the way she was staring at him, her eyes wide, the look of disbelief on her face and bare envy in her eyes. For a second, Hannibal just returned that stare, his chin tilted proudly, and then, with their eyes still locked he bent and pressed a fierce kiss onto Face’s temple, right above the bruising from Silas’ gun butt.

“He’s mine,” Hannibal told her, his voice coming out as a possessive growl from deep in his chest. “I love him so much; I should kill you for what you have done to him.” Adele paled, and given her already stark complexion, that was a feat in itself. “Suffice it to say, I won’t let you hurt him again. You’d do well to remember that, Adele.”

Adele opened her mouth to speak and Hannibal just walked away from her, leaving her watching him go with her mouth literally hanging open.

“BA!” Hannibal said as he and Face got closer to the wreckage that used to be the doors. “Send Eddie in for Adele, we’re getting out of here.”

Looking down to check on Face, he heard BA’s gruff instruction but didn’t look up as Eddie scuttled in past him, he was too busy tracing the lines of his love’s face with his eyes, tracking every mark and blemish and vowing silent revenge. He could hear Adele crying behind him and Eddie’s fast tones as they tried to soothe her, but Hannibal got the distinct impression she was just frustrating his attempts to free her.

He smiled grimly and looked up as BA approached him, his own stark expression soon wiping any trace of that smile from Hannibal’s face. “What?” he asked sharply, knowing his corporal so well after all their years.

BA shook his head. “I dunno, man, I aint happy about this at all.”

Frowning, Hannibal shifted Face’s weight in his arms. “What is there to be happy about?” he asked darkly.

Letting his eyes flick down to his injured team mate, BA’s eyes darkened in concern and it was an indication of his worries that he didn’t ask Hannibal for an update into Face’s condition. “That Eddie,” he said instead, “he reckons he put the tracker on Pike’s car.” He nodded at the Sunfire, “And that aint Pike’s car...”

The simple statement put fear into Hannibal’s heart. So, if the tracker was in the car, and the tracker led them here, then that meant that Pike was here as well. “Any idea where?” Hannibal asked urgently, knowing that the corporal would have followed his train of thought effortlessly.

Again, BA shook his head. “Could be anywhere,” he said quietly, “loads of good vantage points.”

Taking a deep breath, Hannibal looked over his shoulder to where Eddie was leading a limping Adele towards them. “Right, change of plans big guy,” he said, they had intended Eddie taking the rental and them all going their separate ways at this point, hopefully never to meet up again; but they couldn’t take the risk of Pike picking Eddie and Adele off like that, no matter how tempted Hannibal might be. “We all go in the van, you provide cover for us, okay?”

Nodding, BA went to the entrance of the garage and looked out into the bright sunshine as Hannibal explained the change of plan to a Eddie, and in a moment they were all ready, Hannibal nodded and burst into the bright sunshine, Eddie and Adele right behind him as they made for the safety of the van, a mere five metres away.

No-one, however, was prepared for the ferocity of the attack that greeted them. Hannibal put on a burst of speed, not even feeling the weight of Face in his arms as automatic gunfire suddenly seemed like it exploded from all around them, tearing up the concrete at their feet. He heard BA’s answering gunfire and hoped that he’d got the bastard back, but then had no choice but to skid around the corner out of sight as the bullets came so close to him that he could feel their wind on his arms. He laid Face as gently as he could in the lee of the building and then pulled out his own gun and turned to offer BA some support.

Pike, Eddie and Adele were nowhere to be seen, but Hannibal could see BA, hunkered down in the doorway still, gun ready and eyes flashing to each of the surrounding warehouses as he made sure their attacker didn’t change position. Hannibal clicked his fingers and BA looked over at him, a quick, gestured conversation later and he knew exactly where Pike was laid up, where Eddie and Adele had gone to ground, how much ammo BA had on him and the most likely weapon that the bastard was using. Hannibal sat back against the wall for thirty seconds of thought, his free hand resting on Face’s chest, feeling that comforting rise and fall that told his boy was still with him, was still getting out of this with Hannibal, and then he had his plan, and in thirty more seconds of gestures, so did BA.

_______________________________

Silas waited, still and deadly in the covered doorway of a warehouse over to the left of Smith’s position and wondered what the hell the old guy was doing. He was pissed that he’d missed his chance to scythe them all down, but they had caught him out with their hasty exit. He should known, that Smith had rumbled him, but there had been no indication at all until they tried to run for it; that big oaf Baracus and fat Eddie had been wandering aimlessly around out in the sunshine as Smith, no doubt tried to calm Adele down and stop Peck bleeding out all over the floor. Silas smiled. Well, he had them trapped, there was no way they could get to that pimped up van without running straight through Silas’ sights, and <i>then</i> he’d cut them all down.

Not Peck though, he smiled to himself as he felt the tender pull of the knife wound to his stomach, thankfully much more superficial than he had first thought. No, it would be fun to go back to plan one with that one, once the others were out of the way, of course. And then he might go over to the hospital and get rid of the crazy pilot as well. He’d love to be known as the guy who single handedly took down the A-Team, he might even video his time with Peck, then he could use at as an advert of sorts in his new career as hit man.

Abruptly, a car engine roared into life and he leaned forward, fully attentive now and totally confused. He’d taken care to shoot out the tyres of the rental that Charing had been using, and was certain that no one had made it to the safety of the van, but then he cursed aloud as the Sunfire came flying out of the garage and made a defiant break for the road in the distance.

He quickly scrambled out of his hiding place and dashed out into the open, squinting through his sights at the car that had already passed him and was screaming its way to safety. His squeezed his trigger, letting out a steady stream of bullets after his quarry, and then quickly jerked to the side, trying to get a better bead on the driver.

That quick little jink sideways, trivial as it may have seemed to Pike, actually ended up saving his life. The bullet fired with utmost care and concentration from Hannibal’s gun would have hit him firmly in the small of the back otherwise and it would have been game over, this way, it only clipped his hip, sending him spinning to the ground in agony, knowing damn well they had out smarted him.

But Silas was nothing if not thorough. He had made sure that he had a backup plan in place for a situation just like this. Rolling on his back he fired off a few quick rounds in Smith’s direction, doubting he would be lucky enough to actually hit him, and then hauled himself to his feet and staggered back into his warehouse. Thirty seconds later he was in his Cadillac, turning the engine over, and less than three minutes after Hannibal’s bullet had brought him down he was driving off the industrial park and out towards the freeway.

__________________________

BA watched Pike make a run for it and for a brief moment considered following him, but then he thought of Face and turned the Sunfire around instead, arriving back at the warehouse in seconds. He got there to find the van already open, Face stretched out immobile and bleeding onto the clean carpet, but no sign of anyone else.

“Hannibal?” he shouted, fear prickling at the back of his neck once more as he looked nervously around.

“Here!” came the reply over to his left and in Hannibal’s unmistakeable tones. Keeping his gun ready, BA jogged around the skip at the side of the garage entrance and his eyes widened at the carnage he found. Eddie was sitting up against the skip, his eyes wide, blood all over his hands and his suit, staring stupidly at Hannibal who was frantically pushing a medical dressing onto the back of Adele’s head.

“Oh, man...” BA moaned as he dropped down next to Hannibal and immediately took over the pressure on the pad.

“Thanks,” Hannibal muttered, and then turned back to Eddie, wiping the blood from his hands onto another clean dressing. “Right, Eddie, listen to me!” he snapped, and Eddie’s shock filled eyes flicked from Adele back to Hannibal. “I’ve called 911, they’ll be here within minutes,” BA looked up, concern in his dark eyes at those words. “But we have to go, do you understand that? We can’t stay and wait for them.”

Eddie frowned and his eyes flicked about, “Danny?” he asked, the shock making his words slow and deliberate, “What about Danny?”

“He’s coming with us,” Hannibal said firmly. “We look after our own.” Eddie nodded dumbly and Hannibal grabbed at his wrist. “Okay, give me your hand then, you need to hold this here and press, hard, you got that?” Another nod. “Okay.”

BA waited until Eddie had shuffled forward and was firmly pressing on the wound at the base of Adele’s head before he took his hand away. He turned to Hannibal and they shared a dark look, both knowing how bleak the situation looked for her. BA sighed, “I’m gonna start the van,” he said, rising to his feet and wanting to get far away before the ambulance turned up.

“No,” Hannibal suddenly blurted, spinning away from Eddie and flashing his concerned eyes up at his corporal. “Take the Sunfire and go get Murdock. Sign him the hell out of there and meet us at RV Bravo.”

Eyes narrowed, BA looked at him, “You think... <i>Pike?</i>” he breathed his voice thrumming with anxiety.

Hannibal nodded. “Could be. Bastard’s crazy enough to do it and it would still get him his revenge on Face.”

Without another word, BA turned and ran, seconds later, Hannibal heard the Sunfire start up and roar away. He turned back to Eddie. “I need to go, now, right?” Again Eddie just nodded but he was doing what he’d been asked and keeping up the pressure. Hannibal reached into Eddie’s suit pocket and fished out the PI’s phone, flipping it open and scrolling through the contacts before he found his own number. “Tell them you were the victims of a random shooting, you didn’t see anything and don’t mention us at all - not even Face. You got that?” Another nod. Hannibal called himself, and as soon as the cell connected he rang off, knowing that he would ditch the phone but keep Eddie’s number. He shoved the phone back into Eddie’s pocket and rose to his feet, Eddie’s eyes following him all the way.

“I’ll call you,” Hannibal told him, “see how she is.”

“Thank you,” Eddie whispered, his eyes full of tears, “I don’t want her to die.”

Hannibal sighed, “She doesn’t deserve you,” he said sadly, “she doesn’t deserve either of you.” And with that he turned and ran for the van.

Next

Current Mood: mellow
Current Music: Furniture - 'She Gets Out the Scrapbook'

Silas didn’t drive for long. Within ten minutes, he had stopped the car and popped the boot, making a point of dragging Face out as roughly as possible, while Face made a point of making no sound of pain at all. Even so, once he was dropped on his stomach on the ground in a dark, dank oil smelling garage, he had to take a minute to close his eyes, breathe long and deep and try to get the pain and the fear back under control.

Then Silas was back, and Face forced himself to watch while a silently terrified Adele was dragged in and tied to a metal girder, so she was now standing upright, just in front of Face. Silas was silent until he had finished his job of securing his prisoners and then he dropped down on his haunches, grabbing Face’s chin and yanking it up so they were eye to eye.

“Well then, Peck,” he said coldly, “this is goodbye.” Face just looked at him. “You know I’d have loved to kill you myself, slowly and very, very painfully. But I just can’t run the risk of Smith catching up with me,” he shook his head sadly. “No, that’s not in my plans for the day at all. So I’m just going to leave you here, with your mother for company, which, believe me, is punishment enough for anyone, and I’m just gonna leave this old car running.” He watched Face’s impassive expression carefully. “You know carbon monoxide poisoning isn’t such a bad way to go,” he said softly. “This has really worked in your favour, I’d have had you screaming and begging before the end if I’d had my chance.” Face bit back the retort he would have loved to make and instead just returned Silas’ stare.

“Ah, well,” Silas said, dropping Face’s chin and getting to his feet. “I suppose I had better get going. As much as I doubt that Smith will find you now I’ve switched venues, I’d really rather not take that chance, and so I feel I have to leave.” He looked down at Face again, and then with a hard swift kick to the bullet wound in his arm turned and left.

_____________________________

The pain was so intense that Face found himself swimming towards unconsciousness once more, but knowing that the engine of the car was spewing poisonous fumes towards him, he fought hard, worried that if he let himself go under now, he may never wake up again. He forced his head up off the floor, ignoring Adele who was calling his name repeatedly, and checked out their surroundings. Basically, they were in deep shit. The garage was sealed and there were no windows. It was also a fairly large building which made Face think that they were still in the business district, far fewer nosey neighbours to wonder why a car engine would be running for so long and then he turned to the car itself and his heart sank further.

Modern cars, with their catalytic convertors and carefully controlled combustion produced such a small amount of carbon monoxide that poisoning to the extreme of death would be a very rare occurrence indeed. Either Silas knew this fact, or the gods of fate were frowning at him, but from where he was laid he could see that this car was a Pontiac Sunfire, almost twenty years old he guessed; a perfect car to gas them both to death with. He glanced down at his blood smeared arm, the bullet having gone straight through, carving a heavily bleeding trough in his flesh as it did so, and knew he’d actually be lucky to be alive long enough to die of carbon monoxide poisoning.

“Danny!” Adele was still calling him and he eventually lifted his head in her direction, his levels of irritation with her just about as high as they could go.

“What?” he snapped, “What the fuck have you got to say to me that you think I would be in the slightest bit interested in hearing?”

She faltered into silence, seeming to be surprised by the venom in his voice, before finally coming out with, “I came back to help you...” as if that would make everything else disappear.

Face sighed. “It never occurred to you that I wouldn’t have been in that mess in the first place if it wasn’t for you?”

“I didn’t know he wanted to hurt you!” Adele shot back instantly.

“No, just rob me, that’s much better.” He let out a low mirthless chuckle, “And if you did know what he wanted, would you have stopped him? I doubt it. Not the first time that’s happened, eh? Mother...”

Adele slid into silence, that most unwelcome feeling of guilt starting up once again.

Face lay still and tried to ignore her and the various pains in his body as he wracked his brains for a way out of his predicament.

“So, what’s the plan?” Adele eventually asked him and he gritted his teeth, he’d hoped he’d shut her up for good before.

“Plan?” he snapped back.

“Yes, plan!” Adele had recovered enough to find some of her own snap again. “How are you getting us out of here?”

Face sighed and let his forehead rest on the cold concrete floor before speaking, very slowly and clearly to ensure she understood. “Adele. I’ve been drugged, whipped, beaten, knocked out, shot and hung from my wrists for hours. I’ve got broken ribs, a busted ankle, an eye that can’t see and I’m bleeding all over the floor. On top of that, I’ve been tied up in a way that means I’ll choke myself if I try to move. I hate to burst your bubble, but I won’t be getting you out of anything today.”

There was a minute of silence and Face hoped that meant that she wasn’t going to speak at all, but then his optimism was cruelly dashed. “But... we’ll die...” she whispered, “the fumes!” and somehow that was worse than her belligerent complaints from before because now she just sounded scared, absolutely and utterly terrified, and the part of Face that needed to help people struggled up to the front of his consciousness.

“The fumes won’t get me,” he told her in a dark attempt to lighten the mood, “I’ll bleed out before then.” He glanced up and saw her stark, terrified face and sighed once more, long and hard and wondered how she could manipulate him so damn easily. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “Hannibal will come for us.”

Another long pause came from Adele before, “He’s not coming...”

Face lifted his head, suddenly scared, suddenly so damn terrified for Hannibal and what the hell she had done to his team this time that the pounding of his blood made his head throb harder and the blood from his arm flow faster. “What do you mean?” he asked, low and lethal and Adele found she was even more scared than before. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” she answered, a pleading note in her voice, “I’ve done nothing! I just told him where you were and the trouble you were in and he said he wasn’t coming!”

For a second the iciness of that statement threatened to absorb Face whole as he thought of that, Hannibal, knowing he needed him and not coming, not coming to save him. Not coming to claim him. But then he forcibly injected some rationality into the situation, this was Hannibal, and Face trusted him with everything he was made of. Never once had the boss abandoned him, or any of them, when they had needed him. Hannibal would come, he would. The only thing in doubt was whether Face would still be alive when he arrived...

“He’ll come,” Face told her firmly.

“But, Danny, I told you... I called him and he said-”

“He’ll come,” Face repeated.

She sighed, “Look, I know you think he loves you but when I-”

“He’ll come!” Face roared, feeling the rope tighten on his neck a touch with the tensing of his muscles. Adele swallod her words and stared at him. “And I don’t think he loves me, I know it for an absolute fact!” He turned away from her, her very face making him feel sick. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand at all, Adele,” he whispered, “’cause no one has ever loved you in your whole empty life.”

“That’s not true!” Adele shot back, her eyes shining in tears. “You loved me! Before-”

She stopped dead and Face let out another mirthless laugh. “Before... Yes, that kind of sums it up nicely doesn’t it? Before you sold me for a few smokes.” He shook his head, “So, your small dependent child loved you, not much of a claim to fame that one is it? It’s not like I had any other options!”

“Your father loved me!” she spat out and the silence that followed was even heavier than anything that had come before.

Face raised his head, ignoring the dizziness that the move provoked and stared at her, the blank fear on her face that told him she knew she was rumbled and didn’t have a clue how to get herself out of her mess. “My father?” he asked quietly, lethally. “You told me you were raped. You told me you didn’t know who he was.”

“I... I... the gang, I did know them a bit. I-”

“Liar!!!” Face yelled and Adele froze as even the car engine seemed to falter in the wake of his anger. “You are a damn liar! Everything you ever tell me is utter crap! You told me you were raped; you put all of that guilt and pain onto me! You let me think I was a product of violence, the offspring of your terror, but they were all lies! More fucking lies!”

He had to stop, his head was swimming, the pain behind his eyes was thumping with his pulse and the cord around his neck fastened even tighter. Tears clouded the vision of his one good eye and he closed his lids, turning his face from her and letting his cheek rest on the cold floor, suddenly so unbelievably tired of this whole game and the things she could do to him with just a few words, so tired.

“Danny?” she whispered as she watched him sag in front of her, her own heart pounding in terror.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he whispered, his eyes closed, blessed numbness starting to seep through him.

“I don’t, hate you Danny, I really don’t.” Were those tears Face could hear in her voice? He wasn’t sure, but couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes and look. “I love you,” she whispered, “I did from the very moment I saw you. You were so little and so perfect and I knew I would never to able to look after you well enough.” Face frowned, shit; she was a good actress, that was a definite sob in her voice then. “And I was young, still a child myself and so selfish, and I knew I was hurting you... and you’d be better off without me.”

“You didn’t do it for me...” Face mumbled heavily.

“No. I didn’t. I did it for me. But in the end it worked out best for you though. Right? You were happy in the orphanage, they were good to you! Better than I would have been.”

Face’s eyes stayed closed. “No one wanted to adopt me,” he whispered, almost to himself. “They always picked me out, but as soon as they discovered I was a foundling, five years old and left out like the garbage, they started to worry about why. Father David tried not to tell them at first, wanted them to get to know me, hoping they’d see past that hurdle but that never worked.” A frown pulled at his brow. “That was worse, because they’d show me things, ‘This will be your bedroom when you come to live with us,’ ‘This can be your bike when you live here’ that type of thing, but then they found out the truth about me and never came back.”

“Danny...” Adele whispered.

“I started acting up,” Face didn’t seem to know she was there anymore; it was almost like he was talking to himself. “Went into juvie at ten, shouldn’t have gone in but I lied about my age, who I was. Thought it would get me off, but instead it got me locked up. And then I figured if people were gonna do what they wanted with me anyway, then why not just let them and make some money out of it as well? But of course all the money went on drink and drugs, shit, anything to help me forget what I was doing...”

Adele couldn’t speak now for the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Father David came looking for me, found me in some Salvation Army place. I’d been beaten up, drugged and raped and he told me if I didn’t go back with him I’d be dead in three months.” A wry smile tugged at his pale lips. “He was right of course. I agreed and he got me clean, helped me get into the army, he knew I needed that structure to keep me straight.” He sighed, pushing all that away from him again, all that fear and pain and despair, everything that was his life before Hannibal. “And that’s when I met John.”

He slid into silence, calmer now, thoughts of Hannibal filling his mind, how it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, loved by him. God, he really hoped all that wasn’t finished for him, he really hoped John would find him in time.

“I’m so sorry, Danny,” Adele whispered into the silence. “For every way I hurt you and all the damage I’ve done, I truly am sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Face told her simply; annoyed that she would interrupt his day dreaming like that. “I don’t love you, I don’t even like you. And after what you did to Murdock?” he shook his head, stopping as the movement tugged at the cord around his neck. “I’d go as far as saying I hate you, and I don’t hate anyone lightly.”

“But after this?” Adele asked him, the pleading tone to her voice clear, “We can try again? Start to get to know each other properly?”

“No.” Face told her flatly. “All you have ever caused me is pain. If I get out of this alive then I am celebrating by never seeing you again.”

“If?” Adele asked, and all that fear was back. “What do you mean, ‘if’? I thought you said John would come?”

“He will,” Face was struggling to get his mouth to work properly now. “I just don’t know if I’ll still be alive when he gets here...”

“Danny! Danny!” Face could hear her calling him, but couldn’t dredge up enough energy to respond or even look at her. He always knew he’d die a violent or unnatural death one day, he’d just hoped that he wouldn’t be alone when he went. Right now though, he’d give anything to be on his own. Dying with Adele had to be the worst possible scenario ever, and even worse, what if she followed him to the afterlife and bugged the hell out of him for all eternity? He shuddered.

“Danny!” he could hear she was crying and found it very hard to care. “Danny! Please don’t give up, don’t leave me here!”

He smiled an ironic little smile, thinking back to that new found memory of being left on the steps of the orphanage, pleading with her not to leave him. Seems life had come full circle for them now. She hadn’t cared when he’d begged her not to leave him all those years ago, so why the hell should he make the effort to stay with her now?

“Danny, please, stay awake!” Adele pleaded, but there was no answer. “Your father!” she called to him in desperation, “Let me tell you about your father! Stay and listen about him!”

“All lies...” Face whispered, just wanting the pain to go now.

“No! No, listen, no lies, I swear to you, Danny, listen to me!” Face ignored her letting the darkness come closer. “Please listen,” she begged, “let me tell you this, it’s the least I can give you.”

“Not interested,” Face murmured, wondering if it was the blood loss or the carbon monoxide that was making him feel so sick. He forced his fuzzy head up and looked at her. She was blurred and the light hurt his eyes, but she looked... broken somehow, all her usual front just gone. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, laying his cheek down on the ground once more, closing his eyes and wondering how long it would take him to die.

But Adele wasn’t giving up. Face could still hear her voice, but it sounded so far away that he thought he must have drifted into another room. She kept going though, and even through the constant droning of the engine, Face could hear her words even though he didn’t want to, even though he knew they would just grind him further into the dirt. Then somehow, they started to put pictures in his head, not of what she was talking about, but of himself, curled up on the bench of the trailer in his pyjamas while Adele read to him, some book that was far too advanced, way above his level of understanding, but he realised he didn’t care. All he cared about was that there was just the two of them, and she was reading to him, to him. Just for now, she was all his.

The warmth of that memory washed over him and took away all the pain and the emotional hurt. It took away the smell of the fumes and the blinding headache, and just like all those years ago, he let himself sink into her voice, not really listen to the words, just the sounds, the soothing cadence, and on that he started to drift.

“I met your father at a peace protest in San Francisco back in the summer of 1973,” her voice was softer than Face had heard it since that long ago day, and wistful, so, so, wistful. “He was called Arthur, I named you after him, and he was a student there. He’d been to Vietnam, a soldier, like you, but when he came back, he wanted to do some good, to change the world, make it a better place to live without the need for more war.”

Face felt like he was floating in a dark warm tank. Nothing hurt, he wasn’t scared anymore, he felt safe and wrapped up tight against the world.

“We fell in love,” Adele was still telling her story oblivious to her son drifting away right next to her. “He was so loving, so sweet and kind and considerate,” she smiled. “Just what I’d always wanted. But then, after we’d been together for nine months I found out I was pregnant,” she paused and Face was lucky that he couldn’t see the look on her face or even hear her words anymore. “I was devastated,” she whispered, “I went straight out to try and arrange an abortion but it was too late, I was too far along, so I did the only thing I could do and told Arthur.” She sighed. “He was thrilled. He was ten years older than me and a baby was just the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. He proposed, I accepted and we started making wedding plans.”

For a long time she was silent, staring at the floor at her feet as she thought back to the mistakes she’d made and the different way her life might have turned out if she’d made better choices.

“But I got cold feet,” her voice had dropped into almost nothing and Face wouldn’t have been able to hear her even if he had still been awake. “So, I told him I’d miscarried, called off the wedding and moved to LA. I never saw him again.” Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she thought, for the very first time in all those years, how upset he would have been for her just to disappear like that. “He didn’t even know you were born,” she sobbed, regrets pouring out as fast as her tears, “he never got to see you and hold you and know how beautiful you are and how strong and brave and smart and good, just like him. Oh Danny, you are just like him and I never let him know, I never let you know...”

She tailed off into noisy sobs and cried until her eyes were sore and puffy and her cheeks were blotched with red, then she looked over at Face. “Danny?” she called cautiously, noticing for the first time that his legs had fallen to the side and that he was still - very, very still. “Danny!” she called again and yet again there was no answer. “Face!” she shouted at him and when he didn’t answer, when he didn’t even so much as twitch, she started to sob again, leaning back on the girder she was tied to as she prayed for her son’s life.

Next

Current Mood: content
Current Music: Furniture - 'She Gets Out the Scrapbook'

Taking a deep breath, Adele slipped her shoes off, put her phone in her pocket, grabbed the pepper spray from her bag and rammed her expensive leather handbag in the gap under a trash can to keep it safe. Then she skirted around the parking lot of Silas’ warehouse and crept up to the little door with the window in it. Rising delicately onto her bare toes, she peered in, eyes drawn straight to Face who was exactly where he had been when she had left him, arms drawn up tight above, head hanging low as he just waited for Silas to come at him again.

The man himself was eerily absent, and Adele craned her neck, covering every meter of the warehouse before thanking her lucky stars, steeling herself and slowly, slowly opening the door.

It was silent inside nothing was moving or making a sound, not even Face, and with another quick, furtive look, Adele ran silently on her bare feet right across the concrete floor until she found herself at his side.

“Danny!” she hissed, reaching up to lift his chin and then recoiling at the blood she found on her fingers. “Wake up! We have to get out of here!” Face lifted his head and opened his eyes and the expression in them tore her apart, sent her spinning right back to that day thirty three years ago, Danny hunched under the trailer looking at her with utter betrayal in his face. She looked away, up to the blood soaked rope wrapped around his wrists, too high for her to reach and tutted in frustration. “How do I get you out?” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be the expert in all of this! Think of something!”

“Go away,” Face answered simply, the pain in his body and his heart audible in every syllable. “Just fuck off and leave me the hell alone. Haven’t you done enough to me yet?”

Adele had to rein herself back in, stop her limbs from doing just what he’d said as she knew if she did, then she would be haunted by her past for the rest of her life. “Don’t be such a baby...” she muttered instead, eyes following the rope up to the roof and then down to the wall where it was wrapped around a cleat. “Do you want him to kill you?” She dashed to the wall and started unravelling the rope from the cleat.

Face closed his eyes and let his chin fall back to his chest again. Did he want to die? No, of course he didn’t, but right now he hurt so much from his body right through to his soul that he found it hard to find the will to fight any more. “Go away,” he whispered again. “If he finds you here, he’ll kill you.”

“Ahh,” Adele mocked as she tugged on the rope, “I didn't think you cared!”

“I don’t,” Face muttered, “I really, really don't. I just thought I’d let you know.” The empty tone in his voice sent shivers through Adele’s whole body and she wondered how she could have got it all so, so wrong with him. For a second she was transported back to the day he was born, no one to hold her hand through her contractions, no one to encourage her when she pushed, she’d cried all the way through her labour. And then the midwife had placed him in her arms, his eyes open and already that incredible shade of blue and suddenly everything had seemed entirely worth it. She’d stroked his face, the damp little whorls in his hair, his peachy cheeks, and then, when she’d traced his tiny curled fingers with her own, he’d grabbed on, his tight little fist gripping her finger with a force that took her breath away.

At that point the tears had come again, but this time they were tears of wonder and joy and she swore to him and herself that he was the only thing that mattered from that moment onwards, that everything she ever did would be for him, and they would face the world together, beating back all the horror that Adele knew it held.

It didn’t last of course. Within three weeks she began to realise the ways in which her life would have to change, the resentment started to creep in and that was the beginning of the end.

The rope finally coming loose shook her from her unwanted memories and Face’s weight immediately pulled it from her hands, she turned to warn him, but it was already too late, with a pained groan, he tried to take his weight and keep his balance, and failing, fell to his knees for the second time that day.

Adele ran over to where he knelt and tugged at his arm, “Come on! Get up! We need to leave.”

Face ignored her, but lifted his hands instead, “Untie me!” he hissed urgently, pain stealing his breath at the end of each word.

“Get up!” she repeated.

“For fuck’s sake, untie me!” Face hissed at her struggling to his feet as he did so, “If that bastard Pike comes back, you’ll wish you’d untied me first!”

“He’s right. You will.” Called a laconic voice from the side of the warehouse and Face and Adele both spun around to face Silas who was lounging arrogantly against the wall.

Face hauled himself upright and pushed Adele behind him, yanking his jeans back up over his hips as he squared up to Silas across the huge empty space between them, his hands now bound in front of him.

“Oh, how gallant!” Silas laughed, slowly making his way closer to them. “I’m surprised at you Peck, wanting to protect her like that. Don’t you know what she’s done to you?”

“Oh, I know alright,” Face answered coldly and Adele was shocked at the clearness in his voice, every trace of pain gone. “But I’m a Ranger, and as such I have a certain level of honour. This is between you and me. She’ll get what’s coming to her some other way.”

Silas stopped and cocked his head to one side as he looked at Face. “A Ranger?” he asked carefully, considering. “You’re not a Ranger, you’re a convict. A fugitive. There’s no honour in that, just like there was no honour when you killed my brother in cold blood.”

Face didn’t answer and Adele tried to step around him, “Well, that’s where you are wrong, Silas!” she shouted, “He didn’t even-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Face rounded on her, shoving her back with his hands, “Get out of here,” he hissed, “and call Hannibal!” He turned back to Silas. “Let her go,” he snarled, the hatred clear in his voice. “This has nothing to do with her, just untie me and then we can settle this like men.”

Silas appeared to consider this while Face could hear Adele stepping away from him towards the door. “No, I don't think so,” he eventually decided. “I already gave her the chance to walk away from this, and she quite stupidly came back. And I’d find it so much more fun just to kill you slowly and under my own terms, Peck.” He smiled, “I, unlike you, have never pretended to be something I am not. Plus, you killed Brock with your bare hands, something that will have taken quite some doing, so I’m certainly not planning on untying you at all Not until you are dead, anyway.” He started walking in.

Face felt his strength leeching out of him as the pain gnawed at his bones, but he dragged on whatever reserves he could find and made sure he stood his ground, blocking Silas’ view of Adele and hoping that she could make her escape before he noticed where she had gone; she was of no use to him here at all, but if she could just phone Hannibal...

However, Silas was no fool and Face watched his dark eyes as they flicked to a spot somewhere over Face’s left shoulder, and then, after a quick eye roll he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. “Adele,” he called, his voice sounding nothing more than slightly bored, “where are you off to? Don’t be ridiculous and get back over here or I’ll shoot you.”

Face took a step to one side, blocking Silas’ view again. “No, you won’t,” he responded calmly.

Silas turned back to him, keeping his gun pointing straight ahead, right into Face’s chest, and cocked his head to one side. “Now, why would you want to do a thing like that?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused. “After the way she’s treated you... why would you put yourself in front of her bullet?”

“Blood’s thicker than water,” Face replied evenly and wondered why he couldn’t hear Adele moving towards the door, didn’t she know a fucking distraction when she saw one?

Silas considered him carefully. “Nah,” he eventually proclaimed. “You don’t know her, you certainly don’t like her, what do you care if she’s dead?”

Face tried to keep his expression carefully blank, but knew he’d failed when Silas smiled, “I’m right, you don't care about her, you only care about what she can do for you which means... Oh!” He slapped a hand on his forehead, “How stupid am I! She’s going to call the cavalry in right? Smith and his merry band?” He leaned around Face once more. “Adele, dearest, I’m really not going to let you do that, so be a darling and get back over here or I will shoot you.”

He lifted the gun and took a warning shot, too high Face knew to be anywhere dangerous so he took his chance to move. He ran straight at Silas, hoping the unorthodox move would be enough to stall the other man’s trigger finger, but unfortunately he had forgotten about the rope still holding his wrists together. It fed through the pulley as he ran, right up until it reached the end, the end that Silas had knotted widely enough so that it wouldn’t come out. The resulting jolt was so fierce, it yanked Face backwards and he fell, his head hitting the floor with a solid thump.

It was unfortunate that his head wasn’t reeling badly enough to block out Silas’ laughter, and he lay back, letting the spinning go on and on, hating the man more than ever and hoping Adele had made it out. But then he felt the rope bite hard into his wrists again and he forced his eyes open, blinking back nausea as he realised he was being hauled up into the air once more, much higher this time, as Silas didn’t stop until Face’s feet were swinging about twenty feet off the ground.

And then the gun rang out again, three quick shots that had Face wincing, expecting to feel the red hot bullets ripping his chest apart, but Adele’s terrified scream made him realise that Silas had moved his attention onto his other captive once more.

“Adele,” Silas said, his voice sharp. “I won’t tell you again, get back over here or the next ones won't miss!”

Forcing his fuzzy mind to concentrate, Face twisted his head so that he could see Adele, right over by the door now, and cowering in obvious terror. Noticing the look on her face, he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Silas sighed. “Okay then,” he said gently, “let’s try this instead.” He pulled a knife out of a holster under his jacket and lifted it up until it rested lightly on the rope that held Face up in the air. “Get back over here or I cut this rope and we’ll see how big a splat Danny boy makes on the ground right?” Adele still didn't move, she was visibly shaking and looked far, far too terrified to even be able to follow what Pike was saying to her. He sighed, “Five... four... three... two... one...”

Face had jumped out of enough planes over the years to know how to land safely. However, in all his years of parachuting, he’d always had the advantage of, well, a parachute. Plus he’d never jumped with his hands tied above him before either. As it was, he hit the ground hard, feeling his ankle twist underneath him before he even felt the pain and rolling to absorb as much force as he could, jarring his shoulder hard as he did so. But now he was free again, and Silas was still around, still very much a threat, so with a super human effort, he hauled himself to his knees, eyes casting about and just in time to see Silas stalk across to the still immobile Adele and drag her by her hair, back into the middle of the room, throwing her at Face while he yanked the mobile phone out of her hand.

Grunting in pain as she fell against him, Face tried his best to ignore her as she grabbed hold of his jeans, hauling herself close to him and sobbing against his bare back. He was watching Silas, listening to his muttering as he flicked through Adele’s phone. “Chose the wrong hostage there didn't I?” he monologued. “Should have known you wouldn’t give a flying fuck about Peck...” Despite everything - that hurt, and Face hated that she was still able to wound him like this. After all she’d done, and all he’d found her capable of, why did he still let her hurt him? Silas’ yell snatched Face’s attention back and he looked up as the phone was dropped on the ground and stamped on, the anger in the expression of his captor filling Face with a feeling he’d not had in a long while – hope.

“You bitch!” Silas yelled, reaching back around Face to slap Adele hard across the head. “You already called him didn’t you? Stupid, interfering cow! I knew I should never have let you walk out of here! You called Fucking Smith! You betrayed me!” In all the chaos, with Adele trying to duck behind him and Silas trying to lean over him, Face saw his chance. As Silas went for Adele, his suit jacket fell open and there was the knife, just ripe for the taking. Face didn't need asking twice, with a move so fast he surprised even himself, Face reached up with his bound hands and grabbed the hilt, pulling it out and stabbing back in even as Silas realised what was going on and was leaning back.

Face knew he’d connected, he’d felt the tiniest bit of resistance as he’d pushed in, but the knife was sharp and it didn’t last and then the warmth on his fingers told him he’d found a good spot, but then his head exploded in pain all around his eye as something hard, probably the butt of Pike’s M4, hit him and he fell back, sprawling at Adele’s side, his blurred vision taking in the sight of Silas raising his gun once more.

“Bastard!” he muttered and Face just had time to smile at the red stain spreading across Silas’ shirt before the gun spoke, pain flared up through his arm and dark nothingness came to claim him as Adele screamed once more.

He wasn’t out for long, he came round just as Silas dropped him into the trunk of his car, and his reflexive struggling brought a tight pressure to his neck which made the panic inside him rear instinctively. But then he heard Silas laugh again and he forced himself to stop, to relax his body and the pressure eased just a little. “Well done, Peck,” Silas’ voice had grudging respect in it. “Most people keep on struggling ‘til they are dead. This not a first for you then? You been playing some kinky games lately?”

It was a first. Face hadn’t been hog tied like this before, with his wrists and ankles behind him, both attached to a noose around his neck, he didn’t suppose many people had. But he wasn’t a fool, and he’d soon worked out that struggling was not going to help him here. And anyway, Adele had called Hannibal, Hannibal knew where he was, he would come and he would get him out, of that Face had no doubt. But then Silas laughed, and the boot slammed shut and all that certainty disappeared.

Next

Current Mood: drunk
Current Music: The Banana Splits - The Tra La La Song (Don't ask...)

AN: Warning for some violence.

_______________________

The taxi dropped her off right outside Silas’ warehouse and Adele saw his car parked in the lot as she made her way across the loading bay to knock very loudly on the person sized door built into the huge loading doors. Within a moment, Silas’ face appeared at the window and then the door opened a crack and he looked out at her, surprise etched all over his face. “Adele,” he smiled coldly, “what a wonderful surprise.”

“I know it isn’t,” Adele bit out sharply. “I know you have tried to ditch me here.” Silas raised a thick eyebrow in a gesture of innocence. “And I want to have a few words with you about that.”

Silas glanced backwards over his shoulder for a moment, into the warehouse, and then smiled, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded. “You shouldn’t have anything to be cross with me about,” he leered at her, “Because of me you are now reconciled with your long lost son.”

“Can I come in?” Adele ground out. “It is ridiculous, having this conversation out here like this.”

“Err, no,” Silas frowned, “I’m a bit busy just now.” He rubbed his knuckled distractedly and Adele found herself wondering how they had got all marked up like that. “You were telling me about your long lost son?”

“Oh, him!” Adele spat out. “Once a loser, always a loser! And that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about!” Silas’ eyebrow went even higher. “Why I had to go through all of that crap with him, pretending I wanted to get to know him, when there wasn’t any money at the end of it!”

“You didn’t want to get to know him?” Silas asked, looking genuinely interested and Adele shook her head.

“I wish I’d never met him, I wish he was dead!” she spat, her eyes furious, thinking of the way that Danny had spoken to her back at the hotel, the things he’d said, the ascertains he’d made about himself and John...

“You do?” Silas asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Adele hissed, “I really do.”

“Just a couple more questions,” Silas said, his head on one side considering her, “How did you find me here?”

“Eddie followed you,” Adele instantly lied, somehow it always felt safer to hide behind a lie rather than tell the truth.

“And no one else knows?” Silas prompted and Adele shook her head. “You really would like to see Peck dead then?” he asked once again and Adele sighed, folding her own arms.

“I told you,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I would!”

And then Silas smiled at her, a cold, wolf’s smile and stepped to one side, “You’d better come in then,” he said, turning his back on her and wandering slowly across the huge expanse of warehouse floor. “Close the door please,” he threw back over his shoulder, “and would you like a tea or coffee? I was just going to make one.”

Adele closed the door, and followed him in, her heels making noises that seemed to bounce over every wall and surface in the huge, empty space as she walked. “A coffee would be good,” she retorted hotly, “but some answers would be better,” and then she stopped dead in her tracks as she realised for the first time that she and Silas were not alone in the cavernous room.

Silas was off to her right, re-boiling the kettle and clinking around with cups and tea spoons while on her right, not ten metres away, was Danny. She was shocked into silence at the state he was in, his wrists bound tightly above his head, fastened to a pulley system that would obviously go higher or lower simply by pulling the rope at the other end. His face was a mass of blood and bruising and swelling, but both eyes were open, both eyes were staring at her and she stared right back. His chest was bare and bore its own collection of bruises and marks, including a good number of lashes leaking blood all down his torso. The blood ran in narrow rivers, and Adele’s eyes were drawn to the white waistband of his trunks, clearly visible above the level of his jeans which hung low over his hips, and the way the blood was soaking in, spreading through the white cotton due to the capillary effect and dropping out of sight behind the blue denim of his jeans.

“Milk and sugar?” Silas asked conversationally and Adele tore her eyes away from Face, noticing the way his bare feet were just skimming the floor as she turned her back on him and walked over to Silas’ little kitchen set up.

“Just milk,” she replied, her voice calm and steady, watching as Silas poured hot water into three cups, one with coffee granules, one with a tea bag and one empty. He handed her a white coffee and sipped at his own black tea before placing it carefully down on the counter and picking up the third cup. For the first time since they’d walked back into the warehouse, he acknowledged Face as he wandered over with the cup held in his hand.

“Thirsty, Peck?” he asked brightly, and when Face didn’t answer, he turned to Adele and smiled at her. “What do you think, you think he wants this water?”

Adele carefully sipped her coffee as her empty grey eyes flicked back over to Face. “I don't know,” she answered airily, “Depends on whether or not you think he deserves it.”

Silas’ face darkened and he took a step closer to his captive. “Oh, he deserves it alright,” he muttered, and without another pause he flicked his wrist and threw the hot water all over Face’s chest, watching with detached consideration at the way he hissed and twitched at the feel of the water on his skin. “Hmm,” Silas eventually murmured, turning away again, “No blisters. Not hot enough I think, I will have to give him his drink first next time.”

Adele was perched on a stool angled slightly away from Face and she turned to Silas as she sipped at her coffee. “So,” she began, her voice hard and cold. “I’m guessing from the fact that he is here and you are obviously enjoying making life uncomfortable for him that there never was any money and I was just a ruse to help you to draw him out?”

Silas grinned at her. “Got it in one, Adele.”

“Right...” she frowned at him, “and you don’t feel just the slightest bit guilty for having used me like that?”

Still smiling, he shook his head.

Adele sighed. “So, what’s he done then, that’s made him worth all of this trouble for you?”

This time, the smile disappeared and Silas turned his black eyes back to his captive. “He killed my brother,” he hissed, “that’s what he did. And now I’m going to kill him.”

Turning slowly on her stool, Adele faced Silas’ captive once more, her eyes drawn to the red splash marks on his torso from the water. “Is that right?” she asked in a high, imperious, voice. “Did you kill his brother?” Face looked at her, she could see strong emotion in his eyes but couldn’t quite place what it was just then. “Well?” she prompted when he didn’t answer. “You forgotten your manners?”

“Fuck you,” Face whispered and although there was a definite slur to his voice, there was no mistaking the venom behind the words.

Silas sighed, “That’s all I’ve had from him as well,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Appalling lack of civility.” He wandered over to a table by the wall and rooted around a bit before he came back with a length of electrical cable in his hand. “You want a go?” he asked Adele, offering it out to her.

“No, thank you,” she replied, wrinkling her nose daintily, “I wouldn’t want to get blood on these pants, they’re silk.”

Silas nodded as if that were the most natural thing in the world and stepped up closer to Face, then for the next seven or eight minutes, the only sounds to be heard in the room where the swish of the cable, followed by the crack as it connected smartly with skin, coupled with nothing more than the odd pained grunt when Face just couldn’t keep it in anymore. Adele, meanwhile, sipped her coffee.

Eventually, Silas grew bored at the lack of reaction his cable was getting and threw it down, watching in fascination as it trailed thin ribbons of blood across the concrete floor. He returned to his tea and took a swig, slightly out of breath and massaging his shoulder as he perched on a stool across from Adele. “I’ll win in the end,” he told her matter of factly, “I’ll have him begging and crying before he dies.”

“I’m sure you will,” Adele replied quietly before turning to flash a quick grin up at him. “He always was such a stubborn boy.”

Silas nodded as he sipped his tea and then placed it down, regarding Adele coolly. “So,” he said eventually, “I believe we have a bit of a problem here to deal with.” Adele raised her eyes at him. “You think I have treated you unfairly and taken advantage of you for my own ends.”

“That’s right,” Adele told him, “you have.”

Rubbing at his chin, Silas regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, I hate to say it Adele, but you may have a point.”

“You know I do.”

“Well,” he folded his arms and looked her right in the eye. “I am a man of honour and I always try to right any wrongs I may commit, so, tell me, I don't have any money to give you, but is there anything I can do that will go some way to paying my debt?”

Adele considered this for a few minutes, her eyes on the discarded cable on the floor, “Well,” she said slowly, unsure on how her words would be taken. “There is one thing you could do for me.” She looked up to meet his eyes and he raised a thick brow at her. “You could stop Hannibal Smith from coming after me.”

Silas watched her evenly as he sipped his tea, “You know,” he said conversationally, “I was really expecting you to ask for the life of your boy there.” He nodded towards Face and Adele raised her own eyebrow in reply. “And I’d have done it as well, if that’s what you’d wanted.”

She smiled at him, a little girly smile that she knew most men adored. “What would be the point in that?” she asked simply, “I’ve already told you I wish he was dead. I’d much rather you kept Hannibal Smith off my back instead.”

Putting down his cup, Silas held out his hand. “Alright then,” he grinned, “we have a deal. I stop Smith for you, and then you and I are even.”

Adele reached out and shook his hand firmly, returning his smile as she did so, “Deal,” she replied. Then she put her coffee cup down and looked at her watch, “Well, I really must be going,” she told him brightly. “There seems to be no reason at all for me to stay in LA anymore, and if I hurry, I can get the early evening flight back to New York.”

“Of course,” Silas too got to his feet and nodded at her, “good flight then.”

Adele nodded back, and without a single glance at Face as he dripped blood onto the concrete floor, she turned and walked out of the warehouse.

Next

Current Mood: cold
Current Music: Olly Murs - Heart Skips a Beat (What? My kids keep playing it! It's catchy!)

The mission was like nothing else on earth that I had ever experienced. It was the biggest, craziest, most intense adrenalin rush of my entire life, but we did everything we were supposed to do, damn quick, no causalities, in and out so fast that no one even knew we were there. Until things started blowing up of course. But by then we were already on our way out, the boss counting everyone back into the chopper, his eyes narrow and intense, only relaxing once we were all in, once he got his cigar, once his eyes met mine.

“Alright kiddo?” he asked and I could almost see the tension creeping out of him. I nodded, smiling back, relieved it was all over and that I had done my part just as I should. “Just like the plan, huh?” he added, winking at me and I felt that crazy warmth starting up again, filling me from the inside out as I thought of his plan, what he had done for me.

We got back to base at the start of two weeks R&R. People had plans all over the country, but first of all it was Atlanta, everyone in the same hotel for one night of fun; packing up the house on base was crazy, it was a wonder we all got out in one piece.

I’d passed through Atlanta before, plenty of times, but never really been there, never stopped to look around. We got to the hotel a little after five. “Twenty minutes!” Mario barked as he dished key cards out at the elevators, “Anyone who isn’t here, gets ditched, you got that boys? There’s a beer with my name on and it’s getting warm...”

I hung back a bit as people scrabbled for cards, moaned that they wouldn’t be able to get ready in that time, bitched about how come Mario thought he was in charge. I’d never done this before, socialised with a group of people like this, been part of a group and I wasn’t sure how it worked, how I needed to play things, so I just kept out of the way. But then there was that hand on my shoulder again, all that heat through my shirt and a voice at my ear, “You’re in with me, kid,” and that fire in my stomach started to pool all over again.

The night out was like the mission had been, a crazy whirlwind of sights and sounds and adrenalin again. This was the first time I had been out with the team for anything other than a few sedate beers and it certainly was an eye opener. It was starting to get light as we staggered back to the hotel, the boss’ arm tight around my shoulders as he steered me up the marble steps towards the elevators while Spike repeated his latest karaoke number for the benefit of the staff manning the hotel Reception.

By the time Hannibal and I reached our room, I was just about dead on my feet and tried to crash out on the nearest bed, but the boss was having none of it. “Oh, no you don’t,” he laughed, hauling me to my feet again and pushing me into the en-suite, “you’ll feel enough like shit in the morning as it is without passing out in your clothes. In there.”

I stood, or swayed more likely, as he undid the top two buttons of my shirt before yanking the entire thing over my head, then that roiling fire in my gut ignited with a flash as those fingers dropped to the waistband of my jeans and popped the button, sliding the zipper down and yanking the denim over my hips and around my knees. My brain was too full of alcohol to really work out what was going on, but I stood dumbly and watched as he stripped off my shoes and socks before dragging my jeans away, leaving me standing in my trunks in front of him.

It was strange, I wanted him, of course I did, but I suddenly felt a wave of despair wash over me. I hadn’t wanted it like this, with all my options taken away; another man just out to get whatever he could from me. I hung my head and was relieved to see that the alcohol was dulling more than just my mind, my half hard cock not too obvious in my shorts. But then, just at the point when I was expecting the command, the order to go and get myself ready for him on the bed, or over the desk or up against the wall or on my knees or whatever, there was a hand on my cheek, lifting my head up and I found myself looking into smiling blue eyes, the glimmer of lust just peering through from underneath.

“Get washed, take a leak and clean your teeth,” he told me. “I’ll leave you some water on your nightstand. If you think you can keep it down, drink it. It’ll take the edge off your head in the morning.” And then that hand slid around to the back of my neck and squeezed before he slipped out past me, closing the door behind him as he went.

I stood and stared at the closed door, wondering what the hell had just happened. He wanted me, I was sure of that, could read that look in a man’s eye with ease, so...? I stood for a moment longer, then realised I really did need to take a leak and so starting getting ready for bed.

_________________

Sleep came easily that night, but it wasn’t sound. I tossed and turned all night, hyper aware of the body in the bed not two feet away from me. It was only as the hot morning sun crept in through the curtains that I slipped into something deeper and more restful, only to be woken by that hand again, this time brushing the hair back from my brow and I opened my eyes to find him crouched in front of me, still damp from the shower, white towel wrapped around his lean hips. I felt my cock jump to attention under the sheets and was eternally glad I was covered up as he smiled and spoke to me, his voice quiet and low.

“You can go back to sleep if you want, kid,” he whispered, “but breakfast finishes in twenty minutes, didn’t know if you wanted some or not.”

I pushed myself up onto one arm, testing my stomach, testing my head, then cracked a bleary smile at him. “Sure,” my voice was rough, all down to the alcohol I was sure and nothing to do with his close proximity and virtual nakedness, “I’ll just grab a quick shower.”

We were the only ones from our team down at breakfast. Hannibal thought a few had already left on early flights, heading out to see family all over the states and I made sure I kept my expression neutral at that news, wasn’t their fault that they had a family when I didn't.

“So, what are you doing then, boss?” I asked, hardly daring to hear the answer.

He looked up from his muesli, hair still damp from the shower and fixed me with his steady blue eyes, “I don't know yet,” he’d answered carefully and I couldn’t help the ridiculous thrill that ran through me at those words.

I glanced back into my own bowl of Cocoa Krispies and tried to will the heat in my cheeks to die down as I felt his eyes on the top of my head still. “What about you?” his words were measured, hesitant, and I wondered if he was worried about upsetting me, aware of my lack of people to visit, or whether he too had something he was hoping I would say.

In the end I just shrugged and kept my eyes on my cereal.

“So,” it had taken him a good few minutes to build up to this next question, “who gave you the watch then? Is it the priest that’s listed as your next of kin?” and I felt myself chill at the question. Had that been why he was so hesitant in asking? He was only worried about upsetting me?

“No.” I didn't want this conversation, had to bring it to a close as soon as possible. “He’s dead. Heart attack while I was in basic. Couldn’t go to his funeral, wouldn’t give me leave ‘cause he wasn’t a close relative.” I risked a glance up as I pushed my chair back, ostensibly on my way to get some more food, but really just to put an end to this line of questioning, and saw the look on the boss’ face and felt bad, knowing that my deliberately cold words had had their desired effect. By the time I’d returned from a few laps of the buffet, our table was empty and I swallowed down the cold chill that ran through me as I slid into my seat and set about eating the bacon and sausages I now had no appetite for.

___________________

After that point the day had gone in a direction that I never would have anticipated, never in a million years. I suppose that’s what life with Hannibal Smith would be like, although I have to say, the worst part it wasn’t anything to do with him, he was as much as innocent participant in everything as I was.

I’d choked down most of my breakfast on my own, wanting to go up to the room and find him, but dreading seeing that he’d already packed up and disappeared, not wanting to spend anymore of his precious free time with a lonely, morose subordinate. And then he reappeared, slipped back into the seat in front of me and pushed a couple of leaflets my way. “Right, kiddo,” he’d said, voice businesslike and brisk, “I’ve booked us into the hotel for an extra couple of nights, gonna show you round the city, all the good bits the other tourists don’t see and then a week up at Rich Mountain, thought we’d do a bit of hiking, maybe a bit of climbing, then get back to base so I can get the rest of my paperwork sorted before we’re back on. How’s that sound to you?”

He held me with his eyes again and I just stared at him, completely and utterly dumbstruck. The ability that this man had to shock me was unsurpassed by anything I had ever experienced.

“That sound good?” he prompted again as I continued to stare at him, mouth open like a fish.

In the end I had nodded before forcing my mouth to spit out the words, “But, boss, I can’t pay you... I-”

“I never asked for any money, Face,” Hannibal said as he got back to his feet. “Was going to do something like this anyway, and now I have some company, so that’s great. You ready to go out in about twenty minutes?”

I just nodded again as he smiled at me and turned on his heel.

~~~~~

It was almost completely dark as I sat in the little sidewalk bar drinking my second beer of the night and waited for Hannibal to get back from the washroom. It was just starting to cool down and my bare arms were sprinkled in gooseflesh but I found it hard to care. We’d had an unbelievable day; Hannibal obviously knew Atlanta like the back of his hand and we’d been to all the little corners and squares and tiny museums and art galleries. We’d bought sandwiches from an almost hidden sandwich shop and eaten them laid in the sun in a quietly empty park then finishing our day at a little sushi bar, before winding up here for a couple of beers until it was time to head back to the hotel.

The day had been great, Atlanta had really grown on me, but spending the day with Hannibal was the one thing that had really blown me away. We had talked almost non-stop all day, about anything and everything and I felt like I had already known him my entire life. He was so easy to talk to, so easy to listen to and I really felt that he was listening to me, like he gave a damn about what I said, and he had a way of looking at me as I was speaking that made me think I was the most important person in his universe.

I looked down at my frosty bottle of Bud and sighed. If I’d thought I was in love with Hannibal before today, well, that was nothing to how I felt now. So, the question was, how did he feel about me?

Well, that was a tricky one. Sometimes I’d caught him looking at me with what could only be described as a meaningful glance, and sometimes he seemed to brush up against me, linger just that little bit too long as our arms touched, things like that. And then there was the way that he had looked at me last night in the en-suite. He’d wanted me, I was sure of that, absolutely, but he hadn’t done anything about it, not then, not now. So what the hell did that mean?

I wasn’t stupid, I thought as I rolled my bottle across the table and looked out at the evening traffic, he did want me, I was sure of that, but I was also sure that he wasn’t going to do anything about it. DADT, subordinate, crazy fucked up kid, I didn’t know which of those, maybe all of them, were holding him back, but something was, and I was fairly sure that Hannibal Smith was strong enough to resist any temptations that might come his way. It looked like I was just going to have to learn to live with mine.

I was roused from my thoughts by the sound of a horn, low and loud, obviously belonging to a truck and I looked around in time to see a big rig hurtling towards me, the driver slumped down over the wheel, sounding the horn with his head and I leaped to my feet.

There were only three tables outside on the sidewalk, one was empty, and a young woman sat at the third, iPod buds in her ears as she read the book folded back into one hand. I knew I could get out of the way of the rig in time, but knew she didn’t even have a clue it was coming. Everything seemed to run down into slow motion as I went for her. I looked in through the windows of the bar, wondering if anyone was close to the glass on the inside and made direct eye contact with Hannibal just as he came from the washrooms at the back. He froze and I could see the reflection of the rig behind us, knew how close it was getting, could see from the panicked expression on his face that it was going to hit any second. I reached the woman just as she began to sense that something was wrong and was getting to her feet. That was helpful, that was going to make moving her a hell of a lot easier.

The rig’s horn was almost deafening now, and people had already started screaming in anticipation of the carnage that was about to unfold, but over it all, I could still hear Hannibal’s voice, yelling my name and as my hand closed down on the woman’s wrist and I started dragging her to the side, I was relieved to see that the boss was so far back in the bar that he should be safe, that the angle of the rig would take it to the left of the bar and into the empty little shop next door. After it wiped out all the sidewalk tables of course.

I could smell it now, the diesel and the heated rubber and knew I had no time left. With every ounce of strength I could muster, I shoved the woman ahead of me, aiming for the little archway between the shop and the bar, hoping to take advantage of whatever protection the crumbling walls could provide and then the entire world just seemed to explode.

The noise was deafening; a cacophony of bangs and thuds and scraping and screaming and everything started to rain down from the sky above, bricks, masonry, drain pipes, even a flower pot crashed heavily onto my shoulder. I felt my legs go from underneath me and I made sure I fell right on top of the young woman as the world continued to disintegrate around me and then suddenly went black.

________________

When my eyes opened again, there was an eerie silence that at first scared the shit out of me, I was seriously beginning to wonder if I was dead before I realised it was just the fact that I was buried under about a ton of rubble that made it so quiet. Great. Much better then...

I shifted as much as I could, testing both my prison and the extent of my injuries and heard a quiet moan from underneath me, remembering at once the woman and feeling the surge of relief that my ridiculous heroics had, at least, not been in vain. I was also pleased beyond measure that we seemed to be trapped in some kind of accidental bunker, a large piece of what felt like wall had fallen over us in one piece, protecting us from the rest of the lethal debris and also creating a little air pocket. For once in my life, I felt damn, damn lucky.

The moan from beneath me was more pronounced now, and I could feel struggling, so I took a risk and eased myself backwards, pushing myself more into the apex of our shelter and off the woman below me. “You okay?” I asked her, my voice making me jump in the deathly quiet but she didn’t answer. Instead I reached out and felt for her, my fingers finding warm flesh, wet and sticky with blood, but whose I didn’t know. So she was alive, unconscious, probably bleeding quite heavily as I didn’t seem to hurt too badly, but definitely alive. Well, that was a start.

I shuffled around again, this time trying to get my knees up underneath me and felt my back jar the masonry above. There was another also deafening scrape as the wall slid a little further down onto me and I froze terrified that I was going to bring the whole lot down, but it settled again. Then, just as my heart began to steady once more there was the sound, quite close by, of an explosion. Not the type of explosion you get in a war zone, not like last week when our carefully set charges started blowing that war lord’s compound to pieces, no, this was an explosion caused by a build up of pressure, and just as I began to wonder what had caused it, water started pouring in from above.

It’s funny how calm you can be in a situation like that, but as soon as it struck me that the water was actually filling our little refuge up and we were in sudden danger of being drowned by the very structure that had saved our lives, I started to laugh. It was ironic in the highest degree that something like that could happen, that the one thing that had saved us would now kill us. I shook my head in complete and utter disbelief before hauling the unfortunate woman whose life I thought I had saved, up off the ground and into my arms, fishing her out of the already rising pool of frigid water.

It was blatantly clear that we had only minutes, if not seconds left. The water was rising quickly, filling our refuge with terrifying speed, and I knew that if I tried to push too hard, tried to create a space for it all to escape, I would only ending up crushing us both. I had a few seconds to decide on how we should die, and went for drowning over crushing. I was probably wrong but I figured it would hurt less. The noise of the water was deafening, but my increasingly foggy mind started playing tricks on me, replaying the sound I’d heard just before the rig had hit, Hannibal calling my name, over and over, the fear and desperation clear in his tone. I really wished my head would behave, did I really want the last thing I heard on this earth to be the man I loved sounding so scared and frantic? No, definitely not.

I felt a shudder of regret run through me that I would never get to know him better, that he would never get the chance to see all that I could become. That we would never get the chance to be something more together. Then I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the truth as I felt the water licking around my chin and lifted my helpless companion higher; at least this way I never had to face the fact that Hannibal Smith would never want me the way I wanted him, not enough to do anything about it at any rate. The coldness of that thought washed through me along with the water and I just closed my eyes, feeling those icy tongues licking up my face and resigning myself to drowning on the street in Atlanta. Ironic.

I let the water in, no desire to face an end struggling in the stone tomb we were locked in, envying my companion and her continued oblivion and felt it run into my mouth, my nose, down my throat, and then my traitorous body rebelled. I tried to force myself to keep still, had no desire to be crushed after all, but my limbs had other ideas and they thrashed about, forcing my head up against the fallen wall, seeking out the possibility of an air hole somewhere near the top, but nothing was forthcoming. I could feel blackness pushing in from all around me, and my lungs were burning but refusing to take a breath. I knew that one good lungful would see me on my way, all that cold, cold water would ease the burning and I would be free of my prison within seconds, but I suppose my self preservation, the thing that has kept me fighting all these years, just wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. It didn’t matter much – in the end it wouldn’t have any choice.

And then I wondered if it had already happened, it felt like a huge, powerful hand had taken hold of me and my unconscious charge, scooped us up from underneath and threw us out of the masonry tomb. I felt myself flying, absently wondering if we were going up or down, if holding on to this woman who was undoubtedly a better person than I was would increase my chances at getting in above, but then the pain in my legs, my back, my head made me doubt we were heading for the pearly gates and we suddenly stopped, icy cold gripping me from all sides, painful, wracking coughs almost splitting me in half and I began to think I wasn’t actually dead after all.

The noise after the silence of the tomb was deafening; sirens, rushing water, screaming, footsteps, and that voice, the voice I’d heard all the time, calling my name, frantic, desperate, getting louder.

“Sir!” I heard another voice this time and tried to force my eyes open, closing them almost instantly against the glare of a million flashing lights. “Sir! You can’t go over there! It’s still too dangerous! Wait for the fire crew, God damn you!!”

But whoever was being told to wait was having none of it, I could hear their footsteps crunching through the debris as they came closer and heard the voice again, suddenly not so terrified and gloriously close, as I struggled to sit up. “Face! Face! Oh, God, kid, you’re alive, shit, I never thought, never thought...”

And just as I managed to force an eye to stay open he was there, his wonderfully familiar bulk outlined against the blue and red flashing lights behind him, hands, large and warm, skimming over me, showing me I was far from dead.

“Boss-” I started before the coughing over took me again and those warm hands were holding me, lifting me from the rubble cutting into my back and leaning me against his solid heat at the same time that other hands appeared, taking my charge, trying to pull her away and I held on, not willing for her to make that journey to the pearly gates alone.

“It’s okay,” Hannibal’s voice, thick with some indefinable emotion was right at my ear, “let her go kid, the ambulance staff are going to take her now. Let her go, you did good, you saved her, now let them take over.”

And suddenly I was so tired that I couldn’t hold on anymore anyway. Her weight slipped from my arms and I listened as footsteps and voices retreated once more, leaving just me and the boss, his arms tight and warm around me, holding me to this earth. With him. I started to fade out all over, every limb getting heavier, every thought getting harder when I felt his nose on my cold cheek, his words warm in my ear, “God, I thought I’d lost you, precious boy. I thought you were gone.” There was a noise, something suspiciously like a sob and I tried to open my eyes or get my mouth working, tried to tell him not to worry about me, that I wasn’t worth his worry, when that heat from my ear moved and for one glorious, unbelievable second I thought I felt it pressed against my lips, hot and slow and claiming but then the darkness that had been hovering so tight around me suddenly closed in and I slid back into the thick black.

_________________

The rest of the night passed by in a bit of a surreal blur. I remember waking up in a stark white room with lots of unfamiliar faces pressed around me and I just panicked. Trying to shove them away, tugging at the needles they were trying to push into me, total and utter panic until that calm voice was there at my ear, those large hands, smoothing and comforting, his face, the one I hadn’t been able to make out earlier in the dark, leaning over me, so welcome and familiar, streaked with dirt and dust, smiling at me, telling me it was okay, I could trust these people, I was safe, he wasn’t going to leave me, was never going to leave me... And I closed my eyes and slipped away again, wishing that when I woke up once it was all still going to be true.

When I did wake up again, he was still there, sitting in a chair at my bedside, his face a mask of quiet concern. I looked at him, and then around the room with its white walls and empty corners and I knew I didn't want to stay here. I could feel him looking at me so I flicked my eyes back, trying so hard to keep the tears and the hysteria at bay. “That woman...?” I murmured, talking more painful than I could ever imagine.

Hannibal smiled as he leaned over me, “She’s doing okay, kid. Still sleeping, but the docs think she’ll be fine.”

I nodded. Good. That was important. Then I looked back into his eyes, “I don’t want to be here...” I whispered feeling the traitorous prickling at the back of my eyes and trying to will it away.

I saw the way his eyes changed and had to screw my own closed against that look of, what was it? Disappointment? that crossed his face, but felt him lean in anyway.

“Okay,” his voice was rough. “The docs are happy with you, say you can go as soon as you feel up to it-”

“I’m up to it now,” I interrupted, eyes still shut tight against the tears as I felt his hand skim briefly across my shoulder.

“I’ll go and sort it out then,” he whispered and as I heard his chair scrape back, I finally let the tears out.

_______________

He helped me get dressed at the hospital into clothes of mine he’d had sent over from the hotel, then when we got back he steered me into the shower and gently washed all the dirt and dust off me as I stood and leaned against the cold tiles. I had somehow, miraculously, escaped major injury but my entire body was covered in scrapes and bruises, even standing was difficult and so I swallowed my embarrassment and let him tend to me like a child. Within half an hour we were done, I was clean and warm and dried off and he was helping me into the bed in our room just as the grey dawn light started to creep in.

It was such a relief to relax at last, and I let my tired eyes slide closed, looking forward to the rest and to waking up feeling like I was actually alive rather than one of the walking dead. His hand, warm and welcome, slid into my hair and started stroking, slowly, calmly, soothing me towards sleep as he sat beside me on the mattress. I let out a long breath and let myself slip away, welcoming the peace of oblivion.

It didn’t last. After what only seemed like minutes I was back in the cloying depths of that hole, dusty hands and watery fingers running over my face, trying to choke me or suffocate me or slide into my lungs and drown me. I tried to fight them off but there was a heavy weight in my arms and I looked down, into the face of the young woman, her eyes open and staring and lifeless and as I stared back she suddenly shifted, morphed completely into Hannibal, his skin pale and waxy, his blues eyes dead. I woke up screaming.

The boss was there, holding me tight, stroking my face, telling me it was all okay, he was here, I was safe, he was with me, but the way his words would never mean what I wanted them to mean just reduced me to tears, every single time, every one of the countless damn times I woke up that night/day, humiliating myself with my screams and my hysterics.

So it was, when I finally awoke naturally, that terror abating long enough to let me have a few scant hours rest at last, that the poor boss looked almost as bad as I felt. And that was pretty bad.

As soon as he saw my eyes open and blinking at him, he was on his knees at the side of the bed, that hand in my hair once more, smoothing it back, CNN playing silently in the corner, the crumpled rig and the demolished bar looking hellish in the cold light of day. “Hey,” he whispered, the concern evident in his eyes, “you okay?”

I nodded and pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as every bump and bruise and ache woke up and said hello, feeling my cheeks flush as I thought of the night and day of screaming and tears and nightmares.

His hand was in my hair again, I could almost feel his concern and it just ate me up. “Don’t...” I snapped at him, a little harsher than I had intended. He froze instantly, and moved his hand, withdrawing it slowly as if he feared I would bite. An awkward silence fell and I buried my face in my palms, so glad he’d been here all this time, but wishing he hadn’t all at the same time; wishing he hadn’t seen me at my worst. “I’m sorry,” I told him, voice rough, “I don’t know what came over me, it’s like I just lost my control, sorry...”

I heard him huff a little ironically and then that hand was back for a fraction of a second before he remembered and whipped it away. “Kid, you were almost crushed by a truck, buried alive and then drowned. I think you are entitled to a few nightmares...”

I shook my head, face still buried in my palms and then that hand was back, just like he couldn’t keep it away. “God, Face...” his voice was quiet and shaking and so unlike the boss that I had to look up, “I know I’ve had a few myself... Thought I’d lost you...” he tailed off into nothing and sat staring at the duvet cover, his hand still in my hair, his eyes suspiciously bright.

His words sparked a memory in me; arms tight and warm around me, holding me to the earth, limbs getting heavier, thoughts getting harder, words warm in my ear, “God, I thought I’d lost you, precious boy. I thought you were gone.” A noise like a sob and heat against my lips, hot and slow and claiming...

I stared at him in shock, “You kissed me...” the words out of my mouth in a hoarse whisper before I could stop them.

His head shot up, his eyes wide and just damn scared staring right at me. Time seemed to stand perfectly still as we looked at each other, my desperate brain trying to process the look on his face, why he did this, what it meant.

“I’m sorry...” he whispered and as I stared in absolute shock a single tear rolled out of his eye and down his cheek, unchecked by his shaking fingers. “I was just relieved that’s all, I’d thought... well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, but... I’m sorry, so sorry, it was an imposition, I realise that now, I just...” he hung his head again, “It won’t happen again...”

“It won’t?” my brain was past the stage of rational, sensible conversation by that point, and that shocked, devastated little outburst was the only thing I was capable of.

“No,” he looked unsure now, torn, as if he didn’t know which way to jump. “I...” he scrubbed a hand through his hair then looked back at me, “I saw you go for that woman when you could have got yourself clear,” he whispered, “saw that truck take you out,” I stared at him as he shook his head, “Jesus, Face, the wall came down on you and then the explosion and the water... The Fire Chief said you were both goners, even before the whole damn thing collapsed...” The hand was back in my hair and it slid down to rest at the base of my neck once more, like so many other times since I’d known him. “The thought that you were dead, all that life just washed out of you,” another tear slipped out. “I couldn’t keep away, they told me not to, but I was past caring, if you were dead, then what did any of it matter anymore?” I continued to stare at him, his words making little sense in my head, “But then I found you,” his voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it and a little smile fluttered over his lips, “and I held you, and you were still with me, and suddenly nothing else mattered...”

His voice slipped away into nothing and I was hyper aware of the fact that we were so close, his hand on the back of my neck edging me closer millimetre by millimetre. My eyes held his, the fear in them spiking a corresponding fear in my heart, then those shining blue eyes jumped to my lips and it was like someone somewhere finally flicked a switch and we surged forward into each other, lips meeting in a desperate, frantic, union, all heat and fear and pent up desire surging out of us both, his hand on my neck gripping tight now, the other one sliding up my jaw, holding me hard at just the right angle to plunder my mouth, my hands both threading into his short hair, feeling it slide between my fingers as I held him still, never wanting him to go, never wanting him to leave me.

The kiss was like no kiss I had ever experienced. Like anything to do with Hannibal Smith it was right at the very edge of extreme. Eventually though I had to jerk away, my abused lungs struggling to breathe, my body still so highly strung I couldn’t persuade it to do without oxygen any longer. He tried to pull back and I knew I’d worried him so I held on, keeping my hands right where they were and leaning in to whisper in his ear, “I need you, boss, please don’t go,” and he was instantly back, his mouth on mine, short desperate nips this time as I slid my hand down and grabbed to edge of his t-shirt, yanking it up, pulling us apart for the second it took to get it over his head and then letting us crash together again, like magnets, pulled apart and allowed to surge back. I was clawing at him, I couldn’t get him close enough. Ignoring the aches in my muscles I kicked and pushed at the duvet until it fell away and let me pull him down on top on me, feeling the contrast between the hard lines of muscle and soft cotton of his shorts as he spread his weight down me body, his mouth slipping to kiss along my jaw, my neck and I lifted for him, arching my whole body into his, offering everything I had to him.

“Oh, god, sweet boy,” he whispered between desperate kisses and I couldn’t help the way my body reacted to that, surging up to meet him, feeling my heavy, hot erection push right into his through the last layers of clothes and then we were fighting to get free, a frantic scramble of hands and fingers pulling at our shorts, both of us wanting nothing but skin, nothing but heat, and then it was there.

I moaned, long and loud at that first feeling of smooth hot flesh against the skin of my hip and he thrust hard into me in response, nipping at my neck, whispering in my ear, “God help me, Face, I just can’t get enough of you.” My hands flew to his ass at those words, pulling him down harder, jamming him against me as I pushed up into him, all that incredible heat and friction and feeling making my head spin.

“I want you,” he whispered, thrusting faster and faster into my hip, “I want to come inside you, I want to make love to you. Will you let me, darling boy? Will you open up to me?”

I didn't need asking twice, my legs flew open of their own accord and he moaned, a ragged, desperate sound of pure need as he thrust into that warm space, my lungs giving him his own answering sound as I felt the insistent heat of his cock as it pushed up into the flesh of my ass. I was just wondering how we were going to do this, when we were going to do this as I could already feel my climax creeping up on me when he pulled me up, one arm around my waist, lifting me like I weighed no more than a child and swinging me around until I was sat on his lap, back to chest, both our legs hanging over the side of the bed, his red hot erection trapped underneath me, his right hand on my own length, slowly stroking me as his left hand routed around in the bag on the chair next to him, finally coming up with a pot of Vaseline.

“I wanted to watch you,” he whispered as he dropped my erection to open the pot, and I looked up, straight into the full length mirror he’d positioned us right in front of and almost came on the spot. He noticed my jerk and the way my cock leaped at the sight and laughed against my neck, “That’s what I thought too,” he whispered, and then I felt his slick fingers easing me forward, sliding towards their goal and then finally claiming their prize, tipping me forward onto my feet as two fingers slid straight inside me, pushing past the tight rose bud muscle with an ease born of pure desire.

I shuddered and moaned, tipping back, forcing those fingers right up inside me as I pushed back on him and he groaned in reply, “Oh, Face, I can’t wait any longer, god, I need you now, I’m sorry, I need you, lift up...”

I wasn’t sorry at all and lifted onto my toes, waiting until I felt his hands spreading me open, that blunt pressure right at my entrance and then I fell back, impaling myself straight onto him, crying out, low and long as I felt that red hot heat searing right into me.

“Jesus Christ!” he hissed into my ear as his hands pulled me down even tighter, his hips already bucking up, his hand back on my cock, squeezing and tugging in a way that was starting to wring my climax straight out of me. “Open your eyes!” he whispered, his voice barely controlled and wavering with every desperate thrust of his hips and I forced them open, totally unaware that they had ever closed.

The sight that met me will stay with me forever, his eyes, dark with lust were fixed on mine in the mirror, one strong arm was wrapped across my stomach, making sure I stayed joined with him, the other was pumping my cock, his long fingers swathed right around the red flesh, his hips were twitching in time with his hand, my own legs spread obscenely wide over his. But it was the expression on his face that took me apart, the total and utter openness, nothing short of complete adoration as he pumped into me, and I just lost it. I wanted to watch, I really did, but my body was no longer under my control, I arched my back, shoving myself down as hard as I could onto him, my head thudding back onto his shoulder , hands squeezing his hips hard as he drove into me, big hand working my cock as I came, pumping my semen out over his fingers, dimly registering the noise it made is it splattered the mirror, but then everything else was wiped out of my head by the roar in my ear and the pulsing cock in my ass as it emptied red hot heat inside me, flowing out and joining us at last, making us one, giving us both what we needed so badly.

My legs gave way right after that, and I suddenly remembered that I’d been run over by a truck not twenty hours ago as painful cramps seized my limbs. Hannibal seemed to understand at once. He slid himself out of me, both of us registering the sudden cold emptiness we felt at the movement, and then lifted me up, lying me down on the bed and manoeuvring himself to lie next to me before I even had the chance to complain at his absence.

His propped himself up on one elbow and slid his arm underneath my head, his free hand running back to my hair, brushing the sweaty strands away from my face and bending to drop a chaste kiss to my forehead. I just looked up at him, wondering how the hell all that had just happened, and what on earth we were going to do about it.

“What have we done?” I heard myself say, another one of those moments when my mouth seems to be completely disconnected to my brain. His hand stopped its careful stroking and his brow furrowed as I felt the cold thrill of fear run through me.

“You regretting it already?” he asked gently, but I could hear the sadness in his voice.

“God, no boss,” I whispered, that stupid catch in my words and I grabbed at his hand with both of mine, holding it to my face, kissing the heel of his palm, keeping him close. “It’s just now...” I shook my head, “I can never go back to not having you – not after that...”

His eyes swam with liquid again as he leaned over me, “Oh, no, and you will never have to. Don't you see it yet, Face? I love you. With everything that I am, since the very first second I lay eyes on you at Benning, all I’ve ever wanted is this. Is you.”

I closed my eyes at that, pushing back my own tears before opening them again and staring up at him, marvelling at the honesty and the love in his face. I had no words I could say back, nothing as precious as the gift he had just given me, and I knew if I even tried I would just end up in tears again, so instead I slid my own hand up and around the back of his neck, squeezing gently as he had done so many times for me, before gently pulling him in and kissing him, showing him with everything I had just what he meant to me.

And I know he understood.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Muse - 'Resistance'

He met Murdock in the kitchen as soon as he burst in through the door. “What are you doing down here, where's Face?”

“Upstairs still,” Murdock countered evenly, “he's been trying to sleep but those nightmares...” Murdock shook his head and Hannibal could see the effect that seeing Face's nightmares first hand had had on him. “So I'm makin' him some eggy bread, he had hardly any pizza last night.”

Hannibal frowned, “I'll go see him,” he muttered and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to get back to Face. Panic tugging at the edge of his composure he burst in through the door and startled Face who was busy shoving his clothes back into his bag.

For a second, there was a silence as Hannibal stared at the bag and Face looked up at him, chin tilted defiantly, then Hannibal spoke, shaking his head as he did so. “No way, kid,” their eyes met, “No way you running out on me here.”

Face just shouldered his bag. “Boss,” his voice was tired and strained, “it's not for good, just for a little while, just until I straighten my head out a bit.”

Hannibal took a step in. “Still no, absolutely not. You need to be with your friends right now.”

Taking a step back, Face hitched his jeans nervously up off his hips with one hand and tried not to meet Hannibal's eyes. “Please boss...”

“Please what? Let you suffer this on your own? Let you go off somewhere so all your doubts and dark thoughts can consume you?” He took another step in.

“You don't understand...” Face whispered letting his bag slide from his shoulder and taking another step backwards until he collided with the wardrobe doors.

“Of course I don't,” Hannibal countered, “because you won't talk to me about it.”

Face shook his head, the pain and humiliation in his eyes heartbreaking. “I can't.”

“Why?” Hannibal stepped in again, now only two metres away from him and reached his arm out but Face shied away. Hannibal felt guilty about following him in but did anyway, they needed this to come to a head. “Why?” he repeated gently, closing the distance between them inch by inch.

Face just shook his head, his eyes on Hannibal's hand as it crept closer.

“Face please,” he pleaded, “don't do this to us.”

Face looked at the carpet, “There is no 'us' anymore...”

Hannibal shook his head, “Don't say that,” he whispered.

But Face continued staring down, “It's true,” he replied.

There was a sigh followed by a long silence before Hannibal spoke up again, “Only if we let it be true. Is that what you want?”

Face clenched his fists, “Of course not! But I...”

He lapsed back into silence. “You what?” Hannibal prompted, reaching out a little further.

“Don't touch me!” Face spat at him.

Hannibal kept his voice calm, “Why not?”

Face cringed away from his reaching fingers again, “Hannibal, please...”

But Hannibal was not about to give up so easily, “I'm not letting you do this alone.” His hand was now only centimetres away from Face's arm and Face was jammed into the corner of the room between the wall and the wardrobe, nowhere left to go. At last he looked up and their eyes met, and then there was a long, low moan, like an animal in distress and Face slid down the wall onto the floor, curling up on himself as he landed in a heap. Hannibal was appalled, “Face,” he reached out to close the gap and Face twitched back.

“No...” he moaned.

Hannibal dropped to his knees in front of him, near but not touching. “Why not?” he asked again and this time Face just exploded.

His eyes, swimming in tears and wild looked right into Hannibal's. “Because he's ruined it! That's why! He's ruined me! You saw what he did to me boss, what I let him do to me! So where does that leave me now? I'm...” he searched desperately for the right word. “I'm tainted, filthy,” his eyes dropped once more, shame clouding his expression, “I'll never be clean again,” he whispered resolutely refusing to meet Hannibal's eyes, his fists clenched in front of his face.

Hannibal thought he could actually feel his heart breaking in half. “You're not, kid,” he whispered, longing to close that distance and touch. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, both inside and outside. Nothing he has done could ever change that.”

Face shook his head again, tears standing on his lashes. “He's made everything we have ever done putrid and foul.”

Anger bubbling just under the surface, Hannibal clenched his fists. “No he hasn't. That was what he did. What we have done is love each other, shared our love and shown our love. Right, kid? You know I love you, so, so deeply, and you love me, right?” Face nodded dumbly. “So, nothing's changed.”

There was a beat of silence. “I've changed.”

This time it was Hannibal who shook his head. “Not to me. To me you are still the same beautiful boy I love more than life.”

Face screwed his eyes closed and shoved his fist in his mouth, Hannibal moved an inch closer. “You can't love me,” the voice was almost lost in his hand.

“I can and I do and I will do forever. You just have to trust me. Do you trust me, kid?”

Face nodded, his eyes still shut tight.

“Then show me,” Hannibal whispered, “I'm not going to force you into anything, Face, ever. You need to show me you trust me.”

For a long moment, Face didn't move, but then, still crushed into the corner of the room, eyes tightly closed, he unfurled an arm and blindly stretched out, his fingers splayed, reaching out for Hannibal. “Boss,” he whispered, his voice breaking over the word, “I need you.”

His reaching fingers found Hannibal's t-shirt, latching on tightly and that first move now been made, Hannibal reacted with lightening speed grabbing Face round the shoulders and closing the gap between them, meshing their bodies together, holding Face's head against his chest, feeling the sobs that wracked his lieutenant's body as his fingers clung tightly to Hannibal's t-shirt.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his own throat almost too tight to speak, tears welling up from his eyes, “you've got me, for always and forever, I'm yours. Don't ever doubt that, don't ever worry, I'm yours and you're mine. I love you, kid.”

Face just clung on harder, his face buried in Hannibal's chest, sobs tearing through him as Hannibal folded himself over him and gave in to his own tears, fingers carding through Face's hair. “It'll be alright, sweetheart, I know it hurts, I know how much he hurt you, but it will be alright, together we will beat this, don't you ever doubt us.”

He leaned over and starting pressing kisses to the top of Face's head, smelling his shampoo. “You are everything to me. My sunshine, my life, the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. I have wanted you for so, so long, since the first day I ever saw you, I think. You did things to my heart that day that can never be undone.” He paused for a moment, just loving the feel of Face pressed against him, clinging to him as he soaked Hannibal's t-shirt with his tears, he wished it was in better circumstances, but this is where they belonged, together like this, and he was damned if he was going to let Jefferson ruin this for them.

“I never thought I'd find someone I could love,” he continued, “someone who could match my drive, who could keep pace with my life, who could push me forward and pull me back when I needed it. You're that and more, Face. You inspire me, you make me a better person. Stronger, wiser, able to see the world from a whole new angle. My life is deeper and richer and infinitely more satisfying just by having you in it. And having you as my lover...” Hannibal shook his head and squeezed Face tighter, “God, Face, what I ever did to deserve that treasure, my beautiful, beautiful boy, I will never know.”

Then he had to stop and squeeze his eyes closed as he thought of all the pain that bastard had put Face through, the sweetest, kindest, purest person he'd ever met, reduced to thinking of his love for another man as putrid, it was heartbreaking in the most tragic way possible.

Slowly, as they wrapped themselves up together, the tears dried and the sobs subsided and they sat, still and silent in the quiet of the room. Time ticked on and Hannibal wondered if Face was sleeping, still crushed up against his chest, when he heard his voice, hoarse and muffled, the pain clear in every syllable. “Boss, it's true I'm not the person I was last week, and I don't know if I ever will be again.”

Hannibal kissed his soft hair again and cupped a hand around the back of his head, protecting him from the world. “If you are talking about us making love,” he whispered back, “then that has always just been the icing on the cake. I have every confidence that you will get back to being that person, and I am happy to wait however long we need to get there. Six weeks, six months, six years, baby. As long as we are together, I can wait forever.”

At those words Face shifted, lifting his red rimmed eyes up to look at Hannibal. “You are saying that now, boss, but will you feel so patient in six months I wonder?”

Hannibal just smiled at him. “Before I slept with you kid, I hadn't been with anyone at all for five years. Five whole years. You must have known that, it was all you three went on about, calling me a monk and other such endearments.”

Face returned his smile with a shallow one of his own, “Yeah, sorry about that, boss. If we'd thought it was true then we would never have said it.”

“I know, kid, don't worry about it.”

They lapsed back into silence and after a few minutes Hannibal felt Face tense slightly in his arms and waited for the next question. “But then,” Face eventually asked, his voice quiet even in the still of the room, “if we did decide that's what we wanted to do again, then...” there was another heart wrenching sob, “how could you bear to touch me now?”

“Shush, shush, shush,” Hannibal squeezed him in again, “I won't have you talk like that, sweetheart, like you are in some way tainted by what Jefferson did.”

“But I am!”

“You aren't. You are still you, beautiful and pure and just because he stole from you, it doesn't reflect on you at all. And if we decide that's what we want to do, then I will just feel honoured, all over again that you would invite me to share something so intimate with you. You're all I want, Face. For me it's you or nothing, always has been.”

At last Face lifted his head again and this time the fear and shame were gone, replaced instead by the beautiful shine of hope. “Really?” he asked, almost as if he hardly dared hear the answer.

“Really,” Hannibal reassured him, smiling through his own red rimmed eyes at the face below him.

Face adjusted his hold on Hannibal, slipping his fingers out of the death grip they had on his t-shirt and sliding his arms around the boss's waist so that he could squeeze back, meshing them even closer together. “I love you, boss,” he whispered and yet again Hannibal's throat tightened up, knowing damn well that that was the first time that Face had ever uttered those words to anyone.

“I know you do, kid, and God, I love you back.”

They slid back into silence again and within a few minutes Face's breathing was deep and even as he slept soundly in the arms of his love. Hannibal held him, watching out for the nightmares that never came and knew then that they would survive this. It would never be easy, he was no fool, but he knew they would do it; there was no way that he would let Face go the same way as Sean and Corporal Harvey. This was his boy and his love and Hannibal wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. Not ever.

Current Mood: sleepy

Despite the lack of food Face had consumed over the past few days, he found that his appetite deserted him once he was sat at the table with the others. He nibbled at a slice of pizza and sipped his beer and let the others talk around him, conversation exactly as it would have been if Face hadn't just spent the last few days being beaten and raped by some psychopath with a grudge against the boss. For some reason, he found that quite hard to reconcile in his head. But he didn't let it show. He lay back in his seat and ignored the pain that wracked his body, he smiled in all the right places and laughed at all the jokes and felt he had done a pretty good job at fooling them all.

But of course he hadn't, they knew him far too well for that, but, just like Hannibal, Murdock and BA decided that if that was the way he wanted to handle it, then they would play along, see where it led them.

As the night wore on, Hannibal grew more and more concerned by Face. The kid was obviously in severe denial mode, and while that might always be his favoured coping strategy, they both knew only too well that it was effective in the short term only. So where did that leave them two months down the line when denial was no longer an option? Hannibal balked at the fallout they would have to face at that point.

And he'd been so close to opening up before, after the shower, when his eyes were red rimmed and shining, and his expression so lost, Hannibal was sure another few minutes would have seen that shell crack and maybe they could have achieved a little acceptance and a little healing. But then BA had shouted from downstairs, he'd been listening to the police radio and wanted Hannibal to know that Jefferson had been picked up and was now being held on suspicion of kidnap, assault and sexual assault. The whereabouts and indeed identity of the victim was currently unknown. Hannibal knew that it wouldn't take them too long to figure out who the victim was, his only concern was that they kept it to themselves. He knew that the rights of rape victims instructed that they should, he was just worried as to whether or not that courtesy extended to rape victims who were also federal fugitives. He supposed time would tell.

By the time he'd got back upstairs, Face's shell had reformed, even thicker than before, and it seemed that his chance to get through had gone.

It was a little after midnight before Face made a move to turn in for the night. Hannibal knew that they had all just been waiting to see what he wanted to do, that they would have all sat up the whole night through with him if that's what he'd wanted. But his eyes looked heavy, and he seemed to be getting paler by the minute. The skin around the gash on his forehead looked pink and angry and Hannibal longed to take a look at it, but something told him that Face had been messed with just about all he could cope with so far today.

But Face was as wily as ever, he waited until everyone else had just started on a new bottle of beer before he abruptly got to his feet and announced he was going to bed. By the time that Hannibal had made the effort to neck down at least some of his bottle and followed him up, he was too late; Face was already asleep, lashes fanned out over darkly smudged eyes, the bruises on his face, neck and wrists standing out harshly against the unnatural paleness of his skin, the sheet pulled up to his neck and gripped tightly, almost protectively in his fingers.

Hannibal sighed and thought of the way Face usually slept, sprawled on his back, arms and legs spread wide, butt naked, and shook his head, he could see from here that he'd kept his pjs on, and to see him curled in on himself like that, almost in the foetal position was just wrong.

He went to the bathroom and got himself ready for bed, and keeping his own pjs on in respect of Face’s obvious preference, he gently slid in behind him, wrapping an arm carefully around his midriff.

________

It was a little after two a.m when the first nightmare came. Hannibal woke from his light doze the instant that he heard Face moan in his sleep. Anyone who ever shared a room with Face soon became intimately acquainted with the nightmares, but since they had started sharing a bed, Hannibal had become adept at heading them off, keeping Face asleep and making sure a bad dream didn't turn into a full blown waking terror. He had no idea what they were about, however, and had long stopped asking as it was blatantly obvious that that was one secret that Face was far from ready to share with him just yet.

Tonight was a different matter entirely though; the little whispered, 'No!'s and the way that Face clutched convulsively at the sheet told their own story. Even so, Hannibal did his job well, hands and voice and lips soothing his troubled lieutenant back into sleep before the nightmare could really take hold.

The other difference, however, was the way the nightmare came back. Over and over again, Hannibal soothed him into sleep, stroking back his hair and whispering words full of love and encouragement, but over and over again they came back, often within the hour, Face twisting and crying out in his arms, his expression so full of anguish and naked fear that Hannibal had to hold back his own tears.

Eventually though, long after the birds had woken and the sun had crawled above the horizon, Face finally beat the dreams into submission and slept soundly for more than an hour, Hannibal, exhausted, but far, far too tightly wound to go back to sleep himself, just lay and held him and watched him and wondered if letting the police deal with Jefferson had been the right thing to do.

______

The sound of the toilet flushing woke him up and his hand automatically reached out into the empty space where Face had been. He was on his feet in a second, padding silently over to the door of the en-suite and peering in through the gap in the door.

Face was naked, his pjs on the floor at his feet and his back to Hannibal. He was bent over looking in Hannibal's toilet bag, rooting around and oblivious to his audience. It gave Hannibal a moment to take in the bruising on his ribs, around his kidneys and, most upsetting, all down the inside of his thighs; it ignited the anger inside of him yet again.

Meanwhile, Face had found what he was looking for, lifting up the bottle of painkillers that Hannibal had been given after he broke a couple of ribs six months ago and flipping the lid off, tipping the last two into his palm and dry swallowing them in an instant. Hannibal winced; Face hated taking pain relief usually, it made him feel sick, sometimes even made him vomit, and so he always preferred to suffer the pain, unless of course it was so bad he couldn't stand it...

“Morning,” he greeted him brightly and Face reacted as if he had been stung. He whirled on the spot, losing his balance as he did and crashing into the shower cubicle. In the same movement, his arm shot out to the side and he grabbed a towel, yanking it to cover his nakedness and staring at Hannibal with wide, startled eyes.

“Jesus Christ, boss,” he muttered as he righted himself to lean against the wall. “What the fuck you creeping up on me like that for?”

Hannibal frowned. “I wasn't kid,” he responded evenly, “I was just checking you were alright.”

“Of course I am alright,” Face muttered furiously, snatching his shorts up from the floor and dragging them on without dropping the towel, “I was just taking a piss, why the fuck would I not be alright?”

Hannibal watched with a sinking heart as Face, usually so confident in his nakedness, scrambled back into his shorts under the cover of the towel and decided not to mention the painkillers. Instead he moved on. “Look,” he said walking to the washbasin so that he could turn his back on Face and give him a little privacy, “we've nothing on today, why don't you go back to bed and I'll bring you some breakfast up, the view out of the windows is absolutely incredible. We can spend the whole day in bed if you like.”

Given an offer like that, he knew that Face would snap his hand off, liked doing nothing better than spending long, lazy hours in bed, eating, chatting, holding each other, loving each other. But he was sadly not surprised to see the look of horror that washed quickly across the kid's reflection in the mirror before he managed to compose himself as he walked back into the main room. “Nah,” his reply was studiously casual, “thought I'd go over some figures and stuff today. If we are spending so much money on this place, I gotta make sure we can still eat and buy ammo, nice views won't keep us alive.”

Hannibal tried really hard to keep those words from spiking right through his heart, but as he watched Face grab some clothes and go around the corner to get dressed out of his eye line, it was very, very difficult.

________

By the time Hannibal was washed and dressed, Face had disappeared downstairs. Following him down, Hannibal spotted him sitting at the dining table near the huge glass doors leading out to the back yard, he was hunched over one of the laptops, untouched cup of coffee at his side and Hannibal felt his heart ache as he noticed the reading glasses perched on his nose. Face had had the glasses about a year, but hardly ever wore them, he'd said when he'd been told he needed them, that he was the youngest on the team and he was damned if he was going to be the first to wear glasses. Hannibal had just laughed at him, and itched to tell him how sexy he looked in them. The fact that he was wearing them this morning told Hannibal that his head must be pounding, despite the painkillers he'd taken.

Hannibal walked into the kitchen area to get himself a coffee and by the time he came back around to where Face was sitting, the glasses were out of sight.

“How's it looking, kid?” he asked, leaning on the opposite side of the table to Face.

“Hmm?” Face pretended that he hadn't noticed Hannibal up to that point and looked up from the screen, “Oh, hi, boss, urm, yeah – not so good. We could do with another job as soon as possible really.”

“Yeah?” That was no surprise to Hannibal, knew it was part of Face's denial technique to get back out on jobs as soon as possible.

“I'll transfer some money into the checking account to tide us over for a few days though, okay?”

“Sure,” Hannibal had absolutely no intention of going out on a job any time soon at all, but he saw no harm in playing along with Face. “Am I okay to get some supplies in this morning then?”

Face went back to his screen, a hand running through his hair and Hannibal noticed it trembling ever so slightly and wondered when he last ate. He sighed, things were going downhill pretty quickly.

“Yeah, boss, just don't go crazy okay?”

Hannibal forced out a smile, “You gonna come with me?”

Face glanced up, a look of horror washing through his expression quick as a flash before he composed himself with a bland expression. “Nah, I'm good thanks. Need to work through all these figures.”

Hannibal nodded, he'd expected as much. “Where are the others?”

“BA's in bed still, Murdock's doing laundry.”

“Okay then, I'll get going, be a couple of hours. You want anything?”

Shaking his head, Face offered up a false smile and turned back to the screen while Hannibal, hands clenched into impotent fists grabbed the keys to the van from the side and forced himself to walk calmly out into the crisp morning.

________

By the time he'd parked up and located a drugstore, Hannibal felt a lot calmer, but no more sure how to handle this situation with Face. He knew that what had happened with Jefferson had really devastated the kid, but exactly how, exactly why, he just couldn't guess. All the way on the forty minute drive he was trying to imagine how he would feel if it had been him that had been violated like that, but of course he couldn't. He had no real idea about how Face was feeling, no idea about what to expect from him, no idea how to help him. All he knew was that they were drifting further apart by the hour and if he didn't do something to stop it, then before the end of the week the best thing that have ever happened to him would be over; there was no way that Hannibal could let that happen.

He was in the drug store line, waiting to be served, when he saw it; the little A5 flyer pinned to the notice board. It seemed to have put there just for him and the headline screamed out at him, 'Are you or someone you know a victim of sexual assault?' he leaned forward to read the smaller writing underneath. 'Does it feel like you have no one to talk to? Nowhere to turn? Don't despair, we can offer advice, information or just a sympathetic ear, 24/7. You need us? Call S.O.S, Survivors of Sexual Assault' and listed at the bottom was a toll free number. Hannibal stared at it for a long while, and then just as he reached his turn in the queue, he reached up and snapped a photo of the flier on his phone.

Ten minutes later, out in the sunshine of the nearby park, Hannibal took a deep breath and started dialling.

________

Face was exhausted. Deep, refreshing sleep had not really come his way at all while he was in Jefferson's care and last night, despite Hannibal's best efforts, the nightmares and vivid dreams that had come almost as soon as he closed his eyes had ruined any chance he'd had of waking this morning feeling refreshed. His head had been sagging while he was trying to look over their finances, and that combined with the pounding in his head and all the other aches and pains meant that before Hannibal was even at the end of the road, Face was back upstairs, stripped down to his shorts and sliding back under the sheet.

All he got was more of the same though. Jefferson's leering face staring down at him, burning heat in his ass, splitting him in half, hands everywhere forcing him down, forcing him to submit, cruel words mocking him, taunting him. Before he knew it he was awake again, gritty eyes full of tears, hand jammed into his mouth to stop the screams he knew were coming and a determination that he couldn’t put Hannibal through another night like last night.

___________________

Hannibal drove faster than he knew he should on the way back, trying to shave as much time off the drive as he could. His phone call to SOS had filled him with almost equal parts hope and horror.

When his call had first connected he been introduced to Dawn and stumbled through a hastily concocted story about his wife and how she had been raped recently. It was only when he had inadvertently said 'he' for about the third time that Dawn gently asked if he would prefer to speak to one of their male volunteers. Flushing bright red, Hannibal had agreed that that might be best.

He was a little more honest with Sean when he called Hannibal's mobile a few minutes later and they spent almost an hour in conversation. Sean, himself a victim of rape almost fifteen years ago explained how confused Face would be feeling right now, the guilt, the thoughts that somehow he had deserved what had happened to him, how he might feel dirty and unlovable but deep down in need that love more than ever before.

Hannibal had never considered that Face would blame himself for what had happened, not when Hannibal himself was so busy wishing he had been the one to go into that alley, or that they had trailed Jefferson together or that he had at least been close enough to the kid to actually save him, it was crazy that they would both blame themselves for what was, effectively, only Jefferson's fault.

Hannibal wanted to know how things had worked out for Sean, and at first he had been very reluctant to tell. Eventually though, Hannibal persuaded him and his story had struck fear right through his heart. Sean was gay and had been in a relationship when he had been raped, and despite his partner being patient and understanding with him, the relationship broke down. Sean realised now that it was because of his own feelings of self loathing that this happened, but at the time he had convinced himself that it was his partner who didn't want him anymore after the rape. Once he was on his own he drifted into a spiral of despair, culminating in a suicide attempt that was only thwarted by his landlord coming round to check his oven after complaints of faults from another tenant.

The suicide attempt took place exactly a year after the original attack and was the turning point in his recovery. The hospital he was taken to to have his wrists stitched put him in touch with a counsellor, and a full three years after his ordeal started, Sean felt ready to get back into a relationship with someone.

The story horrified Hannibal, knew that if Face ever tried to kill himself it would be with something a lot faster and more permanent than a knife to the wrists... The thought almost sent him into a panic even though Sean tried to reassure him that his own experience was much more extreme than that suffered by most survivors of rape, but that was no comfort to Hannibal, not when he remembered what had happened to Corporal Harvey.

The second he got off the phone from Sean, with the number of a good counsellor if he could ever persuade Face to visit her, he quickly redialled with Murdock's number and it was answered almost immediately.

“Wassup, bossman?”

“Murdock,” Hannibal was almost running back to the van as he talked into the mouthpiece, “where's Face?”

“Um,” Hannibal could hear Murdock getting to his feet and walking as he replied, “he went back to bed. Problem?”

Hannibal fumbled with the keys as he tucked the phone under his chin. “No. Yes.” He didn't know what to say, “Look Murdock, I'll be back within the hour, just go check on him, make sure he's alright, don't leave him alone. Okay?”

The worry was clear in Murdock's voice, “Okay, boss, no problems.”

Hannibal just hoped Murdock was right.

Next

Current Mood: nervous

Warning: Explicit non-con again.

_________________________

He didn't have that long to wait. It felt like he'd only been drifting for a few minutes, right on the edge of blessed oblivion when the door creaked open and he screwed his eyes shut tight, not feeling up to another round with Jefferson right now.

“Morning, Peck!” Jefferson's loud voice assaulted his ears and he pretended to be unconscious still. “Don't try that little act now,” Jefferson laughed, cracking a hand down hard onto Face's naked butt, I saw you moving on the webcam earlier on, thought I'd stop by on my way to work, have another quick go, what do you think? May as well get my money's worth while you are still alive.”

Face did his best to ignore him and drift back into his almost unconscious state of a few minutes ago. If Jefferson was going to rape him again, it was the best place he could be.

“Morning, Smith!” Jefferson called cheerily at the camera and Face had to suppress a moan of agony. That had to be the absolute worst thing, Hannibal seeing him like this. And then Jefferson was in place again, standing between his spread legs, finger probing into his body, reigniting fires of agony as the dry digit burned into him, and of course there wasn't a damn thing that Face could do to stop him, not a thing.

“Ooh, looks like this is gonna hurt a bit this morning,” Jefferson sounded as far from concerned as one person could get and Face just hung his head, accepting the violation, accepting the pain, just wanting it to be over and determined that Hannibal wouldn't see him broken and screaming no matter how much it hurt. “Even with lube this is gonna smart a bit,” Jefferson’s tone of voice was conversational, “so I don't see the point in using any. Do you?”

Of course it was hard to reply with the gag in his mouth, but even if it hadn’t been there, then Face was in no mood to speak, the last thing he intended doing right now was playing Jefferson's games with him. Instead he just braced himself and bit down hard on the gag as he felt the white hot agony of Jefferson forcing himself, dry, inside his most intimate of places, each millimetre he encroached its own separate hell.

“Oh, shit, that's fucking tight...” Jefferson gasped , his breath hot on Face's shoulders. “Feels incredible, oh! Yes, that's it, Jesus you're hot inside, oh God...”

Face couldn’t stop the shudder as Jefferson stopped half in and half out, blowing his stinking hot breath into his back and shoulder. “Holy fuck, Peck, I maybe shoulda used some lube, gonna shoot my stuff right now if this stays so tight.”

But by now, Face was past caring, just wanted it to be over, this whole nightmare. Didn't care anymore if Jefferson just killed him, in fact, he stifled a gasp as his captor shoved himself hard another centimetre inside, maybe that would be better. The malevolent little part of him that he usually tried to keep buried suddenly surfaced and he clenched his muscles as tightly as he could, wanting Jefferson to come, wanting to spoil his fun, even if it just meant more pain and more humiliation in the long run.

Jefferson choked out a cry and punched Face hard in the kidneys, “Pack that in, you fucker!” he spat, “You won't make me come that easily!”

Face doubted it and took a deep breath, preparing to do it again when there was a crash behind him, so loud he couldn't help jumping, even as Jefferson jumped behind him, shoving himself another centimetre deeper, yanking a whimper of pain from Face's lips. Wondering what the fuck had just happened, Face hung his head and waited for another blow to his kidneys, but it didn't come. Instead, there was a growl from behind him, a low, ferocious and damn right furious growl, and suddenly the burning presence in his ass was gone, yanked away in a sudden flash of pain that had him swimming on the edge of unconsciousness once more.

He was dimly aware of thumps and grunts behind him, and maybe a voice, but he was too absorbed in the agony of his body to be sure. But suddenly there were hands on him and he flinched, doubting he could take any more without breaking his vow not to cry like a girl.

“Face, sweetheart, can you hear me?” And just like that he was in the best dream and the worst nightmare all at once; the realisation that he wasn't going to die here in this dark, dank hole, combined with the awful truth that Hannibal could see him, like this, chained up and violated and at his very, very worst. The relief and the horror were so intense that he felt like crying and cheering all at the same time. Then gentle, trembling fingers were tugging at his gag, sliding it down out of his mouth, and the corner of a soft towel was there in its wake, stroking and soothing and all the while, words, kind, gentle words slid over him, but his mind was too busy reeling to be able to take any of them in.

There was a hand in his hair and a kiss, right at the top of his nose, between his brows and then the fingers were on his wrist, working at the manacles until he felt the pressure gone, then they moved onto his left wrist.

He let himself drift again, carried away on the tide of soft words he couldn't make out until he felt arms around his bruised and battered ribs and he reacted instinctively, exploding upwards, lashing out at anything he could reach, but too weak to stand, falling backwards until he hit the cold metal walls with a dull clunk. He lay there for a moment, sprawled on his back, looking up at Hannibal who was staring down at him, unsure what he needed to do and then he spied the bottle of water in the boss's hand and he reached out, his parched body taking over for now.

Hannibal looked relieved, knowing that this he knew how to handle and in a second he was on his knees at Face's side, opening the bottle, handing it over and helping his lieutenant to sit up, gently easing the aching muscles upright.

The water was cool, and when it first hit his parched mouth Face thought he'd never felt anything to sublime in his entire life. His eyes slid shut in ecstasy and he drained the entire bottle in one, pouring at least a quarter of it down his chest in his haste to drink. And then it was empty, and he set it down, noticing another one waiting for him, which he lifted up and drank as well.

By the time he'd finished that one as well he was feeling a lot more back in the land of the living and he glanced over at Hannibal, ashamed of his earlier outburst and watched as he finished tying an unconscious Jefferson's wrists and ankles together behind his back, gag and blindfold already in place. He glanced up as he finished his task and smiled as he found Face watching him, eyes looking a lot more lucid.

He gave the ropes a final tug and then picked up the sports bag from the floor at his feet and approached Face cautiously, watching carefully all the time.

Face shook his head and forced out a rueful smile. “S'okay, boss,” his voice was an embarrassing croak. “I'm done freaking out.”

Hannibal returned his smile and eased himself down on the ground next to him. “Jesus, kid,” his own voice was hoarse as well, “no one begrudges you a freak out after all this shit. You okay?”

It was a moot question, of course he wasn't alright, but it needed asking and Face nodded in return. “Sure,” he lied easily, “we leaving?”

“Of course,” Hannibal reached into the bag and pulled out a soft white t-shirt, gently easing it over Face's head and helping him to thread his arms through. “Murdock has a bird waiting outside for us.”

“BA?”

“He's packing the house up and he's going to meet us with the van.”

“We getting out of town?” Face knew he was asking questions that didn't need asking, but it kept the conversation away from things he really didn't want to talk about. Ever.

“Yeah,” and Hannibal seemed happy just to play along with him. “Thought we could take some vacation time, head up into the mountains for a week or so.”

Face just nodded, knew it was only for his benefit they were doing this, knew that really, they should keep working, they had cases lined up and they couldn't afford to lose the money. That realisation heaped more shame onto his shoulders and he resolved that he wouldn't let them take more than a couple of days out; he'd been injured worse than these bumps and bruises more times than he could remember, yeah, a couple of days and they would be back out there, doing their thing.

Hannibal was watching him carefully as he pulled a pair of Face's white trunks, the same as the filthy, torn ones on the floor over to the side, and some sweat pants out of the bag; Face couldn't meet his eyes, it was like the boss could see right through him, he shivered.

“Can you stand?”he asked instead and Face nodded, of course he could, did the boss think he was some kind of girl? Couldn't handle a bit of rough treatment?

The reality, however, was a little more problematic and Face stumbled the second he tried to put any weight on his legs. Hannibal was there, like he always was, holding him up, helping him to lean against the wall of the container. “Easy there,” he soothed, “you okay now?”

Face nodded, embarrassed at his own weakness and let Hannibal lift his feet, sliding his underwear and then the sweat pants on over his trembling legs, closing his eyes in humiliation, knowing that the boss could see all the blood down his legs, and even worse, knowing that he had seen how it got there, that he'd walked in while Jefferson had been helping himself again and seen that Face had done nothing at all to stop him.

He opened his eyes again as he felt Hannibal sliding his trainers on, fastening his laces like you would for a damn child and then taking his hands and pulling him away from the wall so they were almost eye to eye. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and tender, “this will be okay, kid, you know that right? You and me and all this shit, this will be alright, you understand?”

Face felt the tears well up in his eyes and he looked down at the floor, totally unable to hold Hannibal's gaze, because, really? How could any of this be okay ever again? The boss might think that now, but when they got back into real life and he had time to think about what the hell Face let that bastard do to him, well... how could that ever be okay?

“Face,” but it seemed that he wasn't about to let it go now and his hand was on Face's chin, fingers firm but gentle lifting his eyes. “This will be okay, we'll make it okay,” he swallowed hard and Face stared at the way his Adam's apple bobbed nervously. “I love you,” he whispered, and Face felt his whole chest constrict, the years he'd waited to hear those words and then to have them, only to know that in a few hours Hannibal would be regretting their utterance, regretting everything they'd ever had together... it was enough to break his heart, and despite the gentle fingers on his chin, his head sagged once more, and Hannibal's arms came around him to hold him up. “Come on, baby,” and Face could hear the devastation in Hannibal's voice as the realisation of what Face was started to dawn on him, “let's get you out of here.”

They walked, or rather Face stumbled while Hannibal held him upright, towards the door, past the prone figure of Jefferson, tied tightly on his side. Face paused, looking down. “What about him?”

Hatred swept across Hannibal's expression and in that second Face understood how difficult it was for the boss to walk out without killing him. “BA's taking care of that,” he told him, steering him towards the open doors, “LAPD will be swinging by in a couple of hours to pick him up.” Face nodded and let himself be drawn away, but not before he had noticed that Hannibal had left Jefferson's cock, limp and streaked in blood, hanging obscenely out of the fly of his pants.

________

The hug he'd received from Murdock as Hannibal half carried him to the chopper almost made him yell out in pain as his battered ribs were squeezed, but it was undeniably good to see his friend again. Murdock was the one with whom life was always easy, always straight forward, like they understood each other inside out or something.

He had no idea how long they had flown for, he suspected he'd fallen asleep mid flight as the next thing he knew he was being carried, tight against Hannibal's chest, his aftershave strong in his nose, and settled into the back of the van. He could have roused himself at that point, but his head was thumping, his ribs and wrists and ankles were screaming in pain, not to mention the burning in his ass, and so it was just easier to let the boss ease him into the gap between his legs, Face's head in his lap, arms around him, blanket tucked carefully over his body, and slide out into nothing.

It was dark when they stopped the van, and Face made the effort to raise his head from Hannibal's lap and look around, blinking owlishly.

“Hey, brother,” BA's smiling face appeared in the back doors of the van as they opened up on the darkness, “good to have you back, man.”

Face smiled and held out a fist which BA bumped and then retreated with Murdock to open up the house.

“What's this place?” Face asked as Hannibal helped him to sit up.

“Vacation let,” Hannibal told him, reaching up to smooth back his hair. “Thought we deserved a bit of a treat, we've worked hard these last few months.”

“We paying for this?” At Hannibal's nod, Face frowned, “We can't afford that, boss, I know we can't.”

But Hannibal just smiled at him, “Kid, we can afford it, we've broken into one of the spare accounts, paid for the chopper, with enough spare for a couple of weeks here. Don't sweat it.”

Face's frown deepened, “But those accounts are for emergencies only! You shouldn't have opened one up for this!”

Now it was Hannibal's turn to frown and he reached out to cup the side of Face's chin. “Face,” his voice was quiet, confused, “we needed to get you out of there.That was an emergency, that's exactly what the money was for.”

But Face just struggled to his feet, eyes furious, “It was a waste of resources, waste of everything we've worked for! You shouldn’t have used that money!” And then he was out of the van, leaning on the door and the porch rail and the front of the house to help himself in and leaving a very confused Hannibal in his wake.

Murdock and BA both turned their heads the second he stumbled in to the house and Face had the most uncomfortable feeling that they had been discussing him when he'd interrupted. An awkward silence fell, which Face eventually broke with a curt, “Hey, I got a room yet?”

BA frowned but Murdock just smiled back at Face's scowl, “Sure thing, bud. I put you an' the boss man up on the top floor, already taken your bags up. You want a hand up the stairs?”

Face bit back his emotions, both the surprise that Murdock had put him in with the boss, and the anger over the insinuation that he couldn't even manage the stairs on his own. “Thanks. I'm fine,” he replied instead and started his slow and painful way up two flights of stairs.

The vacation let was a modern building, clad in white wood to give it an older charm, but undeniably brand new. Three stories, the bottom, from what he'd seen, seemed to be one huge open plan area. The middle floor, where he was currently struggling along the landing, housed two bedrooms and a bathroom, while the top floor, he discovered once he had hauled himself up the final flight of stairs, was another open plan area, huge bed, seating area, flat screen and glass double doors that led out onto a balcony that ran the width of the room, and if he hadn't been so exhausted by the effort it took to get up there, he might have appreciated it more.

As it was , he leaned against the door frame, breathing hard, one arm pressed into his chest to try and ease the ache of his ribs, and did his level best not to pass out. His eyes eventually fell on the two bags side by side in the bed and he remembered with a sickening swoop in his stomach, that he didn't have the room to himself

He supposed to shouldn't have been at all surprised, he and Hannibal had shared a bed every single night since they'd first stumbled drunk into each other's arms a little over four months ago. Obviously Murdock would just have assumed that they would be sharing still, despite what had happened with Jefferson. Or maybe, Face mused as he attempted to straighten himself up, Murdock didn't know what had happened with Jefferson. That certainly made sense, would explain why the pilot wasn't fussing around him all the time like he usually did when there was something amiss. Not, Face admitted to himself, that there had ever been something this amiss before.

His attempts to stand up straight brought fresh stabbing pains across his chest and he doubled up once more, both arms wrapped around his damn ribs as he bit back the urge to groan out loud in agony.

“Hang on, hang on...” He closed his eyes in frustration as he heard Hannibal's voice and feet on the stairs behind him, and then there were strong arms holding him up, gently cradling his chest, and helping him over to the bed.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmured, using the endearment that always choked Face up, “were you wanting to lie down?”

“No,” Face bit back, pain and frustration making him short, “I was wanting to take a fucking shower.”

Hannibal didn't even flinch at the sharp tone, just sat Face on the edge of the mattress and started to pull his t-shirt up over his head. “Okay then,” he said, voice calm and quiet, “let's get you out of these first and then we'll take a shower.”

The t-shirt was already gone, and Hannibal was working on tugging down the waist band of his sweats when Face let out a long, irritated sigh. “I'm not fucking useless you know!” he spat.

“I know,” Hannibal's voice didn't change a bit, he just eased Face onto his feet and helped him to step out of the sweats before carefully leading him to the shower.

Face had to concentrate so hard on walking without wincing that he couldn't get his snappy reply out until they were in the bathroom and Hannibal was adjusting the strength and temperature on the rainfall shower in the huge walk-in cubicle. “I can look after myself!” he growled, hissing in pain as he bent to remove his underwear.

“I know,” Hannibal repeated, ignoring Face's grimace of pain, but holding his arm gently to help him into the shower and under the warm water. In a second all his own clothes were on the floor along with Face's trunks, and he too stepped inside, closing the door behind him and letting both of his hands rest on Face's hips. “I know you can,” he whispered, making sure their eyes met, “because you have done, ever since you were a little boy.” Face just blinked at him. “And what I am trying to get through to you is that you don't have to anymore.” He smiled at the confused expression in front of him. “I want to do it now, just sometimes, when you let me; I want to be there for you, be the one who looks after you when you need it,” he reached out and gently stroked down the side of Face's cheek, wiping through the spray that had settled there. “I want to care for you, be everything for you, I want...” he took a deep breath and Face's eyes drifted to the way his chest swelled at the motion, “I want to love you,” he whispered, “if you will let me.”

And that was just too much for Face to deal with. Did he want Hannibal to love him? God, yes, of course he did, he'd been in love with the man ever since he'd first set eyes on him, having Hannibal love him was all he had ever wanted. But like this? Destined to only last for a few days, a few hours even, just until Hannibal worked out that Face was soiled goods? No, he couldn't stand that. 'Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' No – not for him.

But of course he couldn't say any of that, the lump in his throat was making it impossible to speak, so he just looked at Hannibal through the spray and watched as the boss took his silence for a yes, smiling and leaning in to gently kiss him on the tip of his nose before picking up the soap and lathering up his hands.

Face stepped back under the spray so that Hannibal wouldn't see his tears and cried silently all the time that the boss was slowly, gently, lovingly washing all the dirt and grime, dried blood and semen from his body.

By the time Hannibal was done, Face had just about got himself back together so that when the boss shut off the water and led him back into the main area of the room to dry him off, the tears were gone. He wondered if his eyes were red though, caught the boss looking at him with concern in his expression, but refused to make eye contact, knew his emotions were so fragile at the minute that all it would take would be for Hannibal to look at him the right way, say the right thing and he would collapse; he couldn't let that happen.

Once he was dry, Hannibal slipped a pair of pyjama shorts onto him and led him to the bed, laying him down before stretching out alongside and gathering him in close, Face swallowed hard, knew that this was the point where sex usually happened, in fact he couldn't ever remember that they had showered together in the last four months without something actually happening in the bathroom. He twitched his ass experimentally and knew that there was no way on earth he was up to that now. Realised that any type of sexual contact was beyond him at the minute, the taste and smell and feel of Jefferson too strong still, but knew that’s what Hannibal would be expecting – it was what they always did.

He tensed as Hannibal edged his body a little closer to Face and expected to feel that tell tale lump against his hip, the one that he'd always loved to feel before today is it was solid proof that the boss desired him. But today – nothing. The relief that Face felt at that revelation was fleeting as he suddenly realised what it meant, the boss no longer wanted him like that, no longer felt that attraction. Face flushed, well of course he wouldn't, he'd watched as Face had let another man defile him, take what was really Hannibal's without even putting up a fight; he was no better than a common whore, why on earth would the boss want that?

His shattered emotions rose even higher to the surface and Hannibal seemed to sense it, tugging him closer still. “Oh, baby,” he whispered and Face had to close his eyes and hang on tightly to himself, “I am so, so sorry you had to go through all that.” Face swallowed hard; of course Hannibal was sorry, he realised that it ruined everything they had together. “If I could have done anything sooner, then I would have done. I would have moved mountains to save you from that.”

And just like that, Face felt the unravelling start. Like a piece of thread pulled at one end he felt it in his body, and once it got going he knew it would never stop until he was completely open, exposed in front of the boss like he had never let himself be exposed before.

“You are so precious to me,” and there was that voice again, low and sincere in his ear, the one that was threatening his composure like this, the one he was powerless to stop. “Everything.”

And then came the saving grace, the yell from downstairs that he realised might just rescue him. “Boss!”

Hannibal paused, his hands, still on Face's back, still holding him close, and then he sighed. “Hang on, kid,” he whispered into Face's ear, “I'll be right back, just stay here.”

He pulled himself from the bed, shouting “What?!” as soon as he got to the top of the stairs and Face took his chance. Ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles who had thought they were in for some rest, he hauled himself up, pulling a t-shirt out of his bag and over his head, raking his hair into some kind of order with his fingers and then struggling over to the door. He stopped there and took a deep breath, before slowly and painfully starting down the steps.

Hannibal met him on the middle landing, the look of confusion and hurt on his face enough to almost make Face doubt himself. “Face?” he asked, frowning, “you okay?”

“Sure!” Face let rip with a grin, “Starving though, and I really fancy a beer, we got anything in?”

For just a second Hannibal looked at him and Face quailed, wondering if his act wasn’t quite good enough to fool the boss, but then the moment passed and Hannibal smiled at him. “Of course. Murdock's out now, getting some supplies, should be back any minute. You need a hand getting down?”

Face looked at him as if he were crazy and cranked the volume of his smile up a notch. “Nah,” he lied, passing Hannibal without touching him, “I'm fine.”

Hannibal turned and watched him go knowing damn well when Face was lying to him, trying to scam him, but also deciding that if this was what Face thought he needed to do in order to get through this, then this was what Hannibal would let him do. For now.

Next

Current Mood: worried

“Boss...” BA's quiet voice startled him and he spun on his heel, only remembering to wipe the tears from his face once he'd seen BA’s own eyes widen in shock.

“You got something?”

BA just shook his head, “Murdock's still workin' on it,” his eyes drifted to the screen, “I had to come an' see if he was okay.”

Hannibal sank onto the coffee table and ran his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the memories of what he had just seen and heard. “No, BA, he's not. Those fuckers... I swear I will kill them with my bare hands when I get hold of them.”

“They gone again?”

“Yeah, just now. Knocked the poor kid out cold, probably cracked his fucking skull.” Hannibal felt sick.

“Did you see the door?” BA, ever practical, asked and Hannibal lifted his head up, ashamed that in all the emotion of the situation, he'd lost track of the things that might actually help get Face out.

“No,” his admitted quietly, “but I think it was over in that corner somewhere.”

BA nodded and walked over to the screen, trying to look into the gloomy corners. “Boss,” the apology was clear in his voice, “do you mind if I run it back? Just to when they came and went, see if I can see anything useful?”

“Run it back?” Hannibal frowned. “You taping this?”

BA nodded. “Streaming it straight to the hard drive. Thought we might need it as evidence if we decide to follow that route.”

“Right.” Hannibal was torn between been horrified that the violation Face had suffered was preserved for further viewing, and impressed that BA had planned that far in advance. Hannibal's plan only involved death, and certainly not Face's.

Turning back, BA approached the laptop, “An' don' worry boss,” he murmured, “you don' have to be see it again, an' I'll mute the sound.”

Mention of sound brought Hannibal's mind back to more useful matters. “He said something,” he told BA as the big guy started tapping on the keys, “when the gag was out. I think it's a clue for us.”

BA looked up, “Well?”

Hannibal shrugged, “He said, 'Venus'.”

“Venus?” Hannibal was dismayed that BA seemed as confused as he was. “What like in Venus Avenue? That's where he is?”

Hannibal thought this over. “No, that can't be it. Jefferson didn't look that pissed when Face said it so, it can't be something the bastard thinks is important. Must be something that the kid thinks only we will pick up on.” For a second they looked at each other until Hannibal just shook his head. “But, he's got me.”

“Me too,” BA admitted, returning to his task. “Why not ask the Murdock? Sometimes those two fools so alike it's scary.”

Hannibal glanced up at the screen just as Jefferson was reaching up to unfasten Face from his chains in the ceiling and decided, yes, a quick chat with Murdock in the kitchen was just what he needed.

____________

“Boss?” Murdock's eyes were full of that weird hope and fear combination from before and Hannibal sighed as he took a seat opposite his at the tiny kitchen table.

“Nothing to report,” he lied, deciding to spare Murdock the full horror at this point. “Jefferson has gone, BA is looking for something on the screen we can use.”

Murdock nodded, but he could see the determination in Hannibal’s face. “You need me for somethin' boss?”

“Yeah,” Hannibal cleared his throat, “Face said something when his gag was taken out briefly, just one word. I think it may be a clue as to where he is.” Murdock nodded encouragingly. “Venus.”

The captain frowned. “That it?”

Hannibal felt the disappointment surge through him, he had really been hoping that Murdock would get this. “Yeah...”

Murdock sat back in his chair and his eyes drifted to the window. “Venus, Venus, Venus...” he repeated. “Okay then, what do we have?” He pondered for a minute. “Well, Venus is the second planet from the sun, so maybe he’s on 2nd Avenue?” Hannibal opened his mouth to reply but Murdock just pushed straight on and the boss realised that he hadn’t even been talking to him, that the question was posed to himself. “Nah, too obvious, that’s not it. Venus, Texas, Venus, Florida? Nope, the IP trace says LA. Venus is the Roman goddess of love, so maybe it’s a message, maybe he wants the boss to know he loves him? Well, that’s crazy ‘cause the boss knows that already.” Hannibal flushed and wondered if it were true.

“So, Venus fly-trap? No, I think he would guess we know he’s in a trap. Venus Williams?” Murdock paused considering this, “Nah, not her style. Venusaur? Nope, too fictional. The Venus mural, nah, New York, too far, unless he meant the Great Wall of Los Angeles...” Murdock frowned as he mulled that over, then shook his head. Closing his eyes he leant his head back, concentration etched across his face “Hmmm, The Birth of Venus, Venus of Mierlo, Venus of Willendorf, Venus on a rock bun, Venus de Milo...” Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, staring straight at Hannibal, “Venus de Milo, Milo Kraus, that client we had ‘bout six months ago!” Hannibal just stared blankly back. “He was a right nutter,” Murdock elaborated, “didn’t live in a house, you remember that boss? Remember? Remember? He lived in a shipping container, that’s where our boy is, Hannibal! He’s in a shipping container! That’s what he was trying to tell us!”

Hannibal just stared, utterly stunned. “You sure?”

“Positive boss, it's the only thing that makes sense, right? An' if you think about it, that box he's in, sure looks like a shipping container yeah? I mean you an' I know what they look like inside, right?”

Hannibal nodded, even though Murdock hadn't seen much of it through his Kevlar helmet. “But, if that's right and he's in a shipping container, then why didn't he tell us where? How many shipping containers are there in LA and the surrounding areas?” Hannibal was desperate for Murdock to be wrong, but in his heart he knew he was right, and this clue of Face's was hardly a clue at all. “Hell, there must be hundreds of thousands of them at the docks alone! He knows that!”

“Boss...” Murdock's eyes were full of sympathy. “It's probably all he does know. He had a hood on right? An' he musta been unconscious when they took him in there.”

Hannibal nodded and stood up, suddenly not wanting to be in the kitchen anymore with Murdock's unpleasant truths.

“But it's a start right, boss?” Murdock called after his retreating figure, “We're one step closer than we were before!”

__________

Hannibal needed a walk around the garden and a cigar before he went back in with BA. He knew that Face would be mortified to know that BA had watched his violation at Jefferson's hands, but realised that the big guy was right, they needed to comb the scene for even the tiniest hint, and there was no way that Hannibal would ever be able to do that objectively.

As he walked in, he glanced up at the screen, dreading what he might see, and there was BA, right up against it, squinting at a corner and moving backwards and forwards, looking carefully. Hannibal's heart kicked up a notch. “You got something?”

“Hmm, maybe, I dunno...” Hannibal walked up to his shoulder. “See here, when Jefferson walks out, he leaves the door open for that other bastard, see?”

Hannibal nodded and looked out through the sliver of open door. “But all you can see is scrub land,” he said, “that doesn't help much either.”

“Either?” BA looked sharply at him.

“Venus,” Hannibal explained, “Venus de Milo, Milo Kraus, remember him?”

BA looked back at the screen as he and Hannibal said together, “Shipping container.”

“Of course it is!” BA looked annoyed that he hadn't seen it himself.

“So now we know he's in a shipping container near some scrubby hills. Great. That will lead us right to him.” The stress was making Hannibal snappy.

“No, look here,” BA returned to the corner of the container he'd been studying when Hannibal walked in. “This is the mirror, and look there, what's that?”

Hannibal leant forward and stared at the reflection of the hillside seen through the open door but from a slightly different angle. BA’s finger was resting next to a white curve on the hillside, almost like a huge C. “I don't know,” he admitted.

BA turned to his own laptop and maximised a window, “Like that maybe? But reversed in the mirror?”

Hannibal found himself looking at the Hollywood sign spread out across the hillside and BA was tapping the D. He glanced back up at the frozen screen. “Oh, my god!” he whispered.

BA smiled for the first time in four days. “Yeah.”

Hannibal's mind was whirring ahead, “So, that means that...”

“If we look at a map, and plot where the D is,” BA pulled a map across the table and tapped the exact coordinate of the D, “then we can draw an arc that fans out like this,” this time he tapped the arc he'd drawn, “and somewhere in that area, in a shipping container is our man.”

They both stared at the shaded arc for another second then Hannibal breathed, “We need a chopper.”

_______

It took them three hours to get a helicopter organised. Hannibal didn't want any of the added stress of conning or stealing one, so they broke into one of their emergency accounts that Face had set up all over the place and, using a set of false I.D that the kid had also produced in advance, Murdock actually hired a chopper legitimately.

Just as dawn was creeping over the hills, they were ready to go.

“Right, BA,” Hannibal spoke into the comm line, “Murdock is finishing his pre-flights, we are going to get this baby airborne in about three minutes. You ready to move out?”

“Yeah,” BA's voice came back to him through his head phones, “it'll take about five minutes to clear this room, every other room is packed and wiped and ready to go.”

As soon as they had Face back, they were leaving town for a while. Hannibal had just the place in mind where they could hide out for a while, let Face have some time and keep out of Jefferson's way while Hannibal decided what to do about him.

“Okay. He woke up yet?”

Back at the house, BA looked at the screen and sighed. “I dunno, man. He's moved once or twice, but it's hard to tell. Maybe.”

“He still alone?” Hannibal had to shout over the noise of the rotors.

“Yeah. Make sure you start that search where I showed you, where the distance works best.”

Hannibal looked down at the shaded area of the arc. “Will do, and keep us in touch. Out.”

With that, Murdock tugged the chopper gracefully into the air.

_______

Face came back to his senses slowly and painfully. Every single part of his body was in agony, and he didn't even have the strength to lift his head from where it was hanging, blood thumping painfully against the cut on his forehead.

He mustered as much strength as he could and tugged hopefully against the manacles around his wrists and ankles but they didn't budge, he didn't think they would, but hey, ever the optimist. He sagged limply back over the damn barrel he was still draped across and tried, really hard to hold on to some of that optimism, but it was difficult.

Jefferson knew what he was doing, he'd planned it well, from the tranquiliser dart that hit Face the second he walked into that alley, to this shipping container hidden who only knew where, making it impossible for the team to find him, even if they did find Jefferson.

The bastard had told Face his plans, how he'd was going to let him die slowly, dehydrate until his body just gave out, but make sure he had his fun at the same time. Great. And of course that had started last night, he could still taste him in his mouth, even though the foul gag was back in. He could still feel him inside, burning, ramming himself in repeatedly and Face could feel himself flush with humiliation. And was that webcam real? Or was it Jefferson messing with his mind? And if it was real, were the guys watching while Jefferson raped him? He was torn, he didn't want to go through this alone, but on the other hand, he certainly didn't want anyone watching. How the hell would that effect his relationship with Hannibal? The one he'd wanted for as long as he could remember and had finally got his chance. How could the boss want him any more after this? How could he bare to touch him? How could he even consider putting himself where Jefferson had been? Face found himself blinking back the tears, knowing he could ill afford the wasted moisture, his throat and mouth were bone dry as it was, but he couldn't stop the realisation that even if he did make it out of this situation alive then his relationship with Hannibal would be over, and that was the most painful part of this whole nightmare.

He closed his eyes; knew it was all irrelevant anyway, he wasn't getting out of this mess. He had maybe two days left, all he could survive without water, and had no idea where he was other than he was in a shipping container. And even if there was a webcam, and the guys were watching, would they have been able to pick up on his abstract clue? And if they had, what if he was at the docks somewhere? Hidden in and amongst all the other thousands of containers? He sighed. He didn't stand a chance.

Trying so hard not to give up hope, he went back to waiting.

Next

Current Mood: frustrated

Warning: Explicit non-con. Not pleasant.

________________________________

Three hours saw the live feed from Face's prison transferred from the small laptop to the wide screen TV in the family room. At first BA had paled at Hannibal's request, but once his CO had explained that they needed the better resolution, they needed to be able to see as much of the surrounding room as possible in order to have any chance of finding out where Face was being held, he realised the painful sense of the order. The second thing that Hannibal had insisted on was that someone was there to watch the footage twenty four hours a day. “I don't want him alone,” he had explained to his men, “if he knows that the web cam is there, then he will assume we are with him. I don't want him disappointed.” BA nodded instantly, Murdock looked torn, his eyes drifting to the screen and the still figure of his friend, but he eventually nodded as well, knowing Hannibal was right, even though the last thing he wanted was to see Face like that.

_________

It was late afternoon, and despite BA and Hannibal going over the screen with a fine tooth comb, they had seen nothing at all that would tell them where Face was being held. At the back of his mind, Hannibal wondered why the kid hadn't tried to communicate with them, wondered if he did know that the web cam was there at all, or perhaps he'd been told there was no mic set up. Either way, Face hadn't moved, had hardly stirred at all in all the hours they had been watching him.

It was Hannibal's shift now; BA was resting with the intention of covering the night hours with Face while Murdock was attempting to pinpoint a location through the IP address, they’d managed to work out that Face was still in LA, but it was still a huge area to search. Hannibal was just sitting, watching the still figure on the screen in front of him and going over and over in his head who on earth could hate him this much that they would do this to Face.

The quiet ping of the email alarm caught his attention, and he saw another message from their mystery adversary drop into the inbox. He sighed slightly, then glanced at Face to make sure he was still as he'd been all afternoon, before he cautiously opened it.

'Smith.

Thought you might be wondering what my plans are with your boy there, how I am going to kill him. Quite simply; I'm not.'

Hope instantly flared in Hannibal's chest, only to be cruelly crushed in the next second.

'I am going to just let him die. No food, no water, he won't last long. But that's not to say I won't have some fun with him first.

You made some pretty unpleasant accusations about me, Smith, back in the day. Got me thrown out on my ear, only just avoided prison.

I've always sworn I would get my revenge on you for sticking your righteous nose in where it wasn't wanted, but it may be some consolation to you that you were right about me.

Enjoy the show.'

Hannibal's mind was in a whirl, pieces clicking into place like an automated jigsaw. Years back, many years back, Hannibal had blown the whistle on a Marine colonel that one of his boys confided had raped him. Colonel John Jefferson. The whole incident had been hushed up, Jefferson was a Marine icon, the stuff that young boys' dreams were made of, also some nightmares though unfortunately. He'd agreed to go quietly if no charges were brought, no investigation followed through. Hannibal thought the whole thing stunk to high heaven, that justice had not been meted out for Corporal Harvey. In fact, Hannibal heard that Harvey had blown his own head off later that year when he was at home on leave. It was a travesty.

But Jefferson had gone, disappeared into civilian life and Hannibal had never thought he would hear about him again. How wrong he had been. It was now obvious that this whole job was just a scam to get them where he wanted them to be. A damn good scam as well, had fooled him and Face, and the pair of them had vetted this client so, so carefully. He shook his head.

But, now they had a lead, now they had somewhere to start. “BA! Murdock!” he yelled as, with a last quick glance at Face's still figure, he bolted from the room.

___________

Fifteen minutes he had been gone, that was all. Just long enough to quickly rely the information to his men, just long enough to get them both started on a trawl of information and contacts, anything to find out a last known address for John Jefferson. With that done, and feeling a lot more confident than he had in a long while, Hannibal headed back to the family room to check on Face.

The second he got to the doorway, his eyes flicked up to the screen and he froze in shock; Face was no longer alone, was no longer chained to the ceiling. Walking forward in a horror, Hannibal took it all in. His boy was now laid across a barrel which appeared to be secured to the floor in a different part of the room. He was facing down, but the hood had been removed, and Hannibal could see a blood soaked gag tied tightly in his mouth. Both wrists and ankles were manacled to the floor, and whether or not the mic had been working before, it was now, as Hannibal could hear his laboured breathing as he fought back the panic with every breath. He was also naked, the filthy shorts laid on the ground next to him, and standing behind him, in the V of his open legs, was a figure.

Hannibal bit back the impulse he had to yell for the others, to run and leap into his car, scream off to the rescue, to put his fist through the screen as none of those actions would help his poor, brave boy, whose eyes were flicking constantly between the camera he knew damn well was there, and the monster standing between his legs. Hannibal knew that there was nothing he could do here, absolutely nothing except stand and watch and hope to every god ever worshipped that Jefferson would stick to his plan and not kill his boy.

“I'm feeling benevolent today, Peck,” a deep, sarcastic voice sounded through the speakers and Hannibal shuddered, definitely Jefferson, “so I'm gonna let you have a little lube.” He reached out and Hannibal could see him fiddling with something far too high to be any part of his own body. He held his breath as Jefferson turned and smiled straight at the camera. “Sorry, Smith old buddy, I keep forgetting you are there. I'm sure you've worked out who I am now, so there is no point hiding any more. Anyway, will be much more fun for you to see how much I am going to enjoy fucking your boy here, maybe even more than I would have done if I could have gotten close to him back in Kuwait, but you always had him far too close for me to get near in those days...”

Hannibal shuddered again. He remembered the looks Jefferson used to give Face back then, tried to convince himself it had just been part of his general paranoia, but now, no, much more than that. But at least Hannibal had been able to protect Face then, back when he was just a fragile boy, now, as much as he would always be Hannibal's kid, he was undeniably a man, would be able to handle this horror much better now than back then. But of course it was still going to be a horror, one that Hannibal could do nothing more but watch.

“But now,” Jefferson's voice was dripping in lust, “he's mine. Every fucking inch of him, to do with whatever I want.” Hannibal's stomach churned as Jefferson trailed a finger down Face's vertebrae and then let it slip into the groove of his ass. “And what I want to do now,” he whispered, turning to smile at Hannibal through the webcam, “is open him up, nice and slow, with this.”

He held a dildo up to the camera, smirking behind it. Hannibal hardly gave the slick, black dildo a second glance before moving his eyes past to glare at Jefferson's smug face, remembering ever angle of it, vowing revenge on every plane – as soon as he got his boy the hell out of there. And then Jefferson was moving again, lining himself up behind Face once more, holding the dildo up so that he knew he could see it, “You ready for this then, Peck?” he gloated.

Something suspiciously like, “Fuck you,” sounded from behind the gag and Hannibal almost smiled to himself. That was his boy, but sometimes he just wished that Face would learn to keep his mouth shut...

Jefferson chuckled and then traced his fingers down between the rounded flesh until he found what he was looking for and lined the dildo up. Suddenly he was torn away from his task and instead glanced up at the camera, “Hey, Garcia, bring the fucking camera round here, I want Smith to have a good view.”

Hannibal's blood ran cold when he realised that Jefferson had obviously brought his own camera man along for the whole production. Sick.

The silent, invisible Garcia did as he was told and Hannibal watched as Face's eyes tracked the camera and he could see the desperation in them, the quiet plea for help. Hannibal just held onto them, not looking away, trying to reach out, give whatever support he could, ignoring Jefferson and his sick games.

“There now, that's not too bad is it?” Hannibal refused to look back, kept his eyes fixed on Face's wide blue ones, it almost felt like the kid was looking right into his soul.

Suddenly there was a grunt from Jefferson and a muffled scream from Face, his eyes screwing themselves shut, even Garcia jerked, almost dropping the camera and fresh fear clawed at Hannibal's chest. Jefferson laughed, “Yeah, sorry about that, patience never was my strong point, but that's better now, hey? Get it in nice a quick.”

Hannibal could see Face's shoulders jerking rhythmically as Jefferson pistoned the dildo viciously inside his boy and suddenly the full horror of the situation hit him with the force of a tsunami. In two strides he was at the wall mounted screen, his fingers reaching for Face trying, wishing, desperate to reach him, and then he was backing off again as the rage reasserted itself once more, back as far as the doorway, eyes still glued on his boy's face as he yelled to the others, “Hey! Hurry it up, for fuck's sake, we need to find him and get him the hell out of there!”

There was a pause of silence, before BA yelled back, “What's goin' on man?” and Murdock's concerned face appeared in the doorway.

“Boss?” he asked, eyes trying to flick around Hannibal's figure and into the family room. “He okay?”

“No,” Hannibal snapped back, trying just as hard to block Murdock's view, “so I need some answers Captain, seriously fast!”

“We workin' on it, man!” BA yelled back and Murdock just met Hannibal's panicked eyes and in that second understood everything. He shook his head, the horror and sadness clear in his eyes and turned back, not wanting to see or hear anything more.

Hannibal turned and stalked back to the screen, hands curled into impotent fists just as Jefferson positioned himself right in front of Face, the quiet droning of the dildo, probably left jammed in place, just audible over Face’s breathing. He looked up and grinned right into the camera and then his hands went to the belt of his trousers. Hannibal knew just what was coming next, and so, it appeared by the wild look in his eyes, did Face.

“Okay, Peck, I'm sure you've done this plenty of times before if the rumours I heard in Kuwait are anything to go by, so I'm expecting good things.” He pulled his hard cock through the fly of his trousers and held it out towards Face, tracing his lips and the edge of the gag with the almost purpling head and leaving shining wet trails in his wake. “A don't even think of biting, son. I've got another one of those beauties back there, with little studs in and I swear I'll use it on you if I feel even a hint of teeth. Understand?” Face nodded, his eyes glaring a death wish at his captor. “And it's also in your best interests to use as much spit as possible; I'm not wasting any more lube on you today – you got that?”

Again Face nodded furiously and Jefferson reached out to pull down his gag, “Open up pretty,” he taunted as he leaned in.

Face lifted his head, obligingly moving his mouth into position, but shouting “Venus!” loud and hoarse in the split second before Jefferson shoved himself in.

Any anger that might have been felt at his captive's unexpected outburst dissolved as Face instantly set his mouth and tongue to work at full capacity. Jefferson's head rolled back on his shoulders and he let out a long sigh of pleasure. Hannibal's stomach rolled at the sight, but he knew what the kid was doing, knew just how good that mouth could feel and knew that Face was trying to get Jefferson to shoot his load nice and quick. It was a brave, but unsuccessful effort, as it seemed that Jefferson soon cottoned onto Face's plan as well and withdrew with a vicious backhand that followed straight through.

“Naughty boy,” he hissed, shoving the gag back in place as Face was still reeling from his blow. He moved out of Face's eye line, back behind him, but Hannibal could see Face straining to follow him with his eyes. “Don't think you'll get out of it that easily, this has been a long time coming, and now I need to punish you.”

Hannibal’s stomach churned. Jefferson stood for a moment, back in the V of Face’s legs and tilted his head as if considering something. Then he smiled, a cold, lust fuelled smile that had Hannibal’s heart pounding against his ribs. “Don’t think we need this anymore hey, pretty?” he reached down and brutally yanked the vibrator out of Face, drawing a pained grunt from his captive at the same time. Then he looked back up at the camera, “Right, Garcia, round here now, and angle those lights down, Smith needs a really good view of this...”

There was perhaps a minute or two of shuffling and shots of the floor and people’s feet, Face’s bare legs and the surrounding darkness before Garcia arranged everything to Jefferson’s liking. Then all there was was a close up of Face’s thighs and his ass and the private space in between, now streaked with shining lube and blood. Hannibal bit down on his sudden nausea. “Watch this, Smith,” Jefferson’s disembodied voice gloated, “I think you’ll like it. Peck might not,” he laughed, “but I’m sure you will enjoy the show.”

A hand crept into the shot and rested on the small of Face’s back, followed by another which was shining in lube, right up to the wrist. Hannibal’s breath caught tight in his throat as he suddenly worked out what was about to happen.

“No,” he whispered, leaning closer to the TV, one hand on the wall next to it, trying to reach Face through the screen.

Of course there was nothing he could do but watch as Jefferson brought all his fingers together in a point and, spreading Face’s cheeks with the other hand, started to push in. Hannibal could see Face struggling against his chains, hear his little grunts of pain, even over the harsh breathing coming from both Jefferson and Garcia who were both obviously finding the entire experience intensely erotic, but Jefferson didn’t stop. The progress was slow, tortuously relentless and Hannibal could just imagine the look on Jefferson’s putrid face as he watched his whole hand slowly disappear into his boy’s beautiful silken heat. Hannibal’s eyes stung with unshed tears.

And then he was as far in as he could go and Face had stopped struggling, even though Hannibal could see his back heaving up and down with every breath. “And there we are,” Jefferson’s voice was strained, “right inside. Fuck, Smith, he is glorious, so damn hot.” There was a sick little snigger and then the wrist that Hannibal could see disappearing into Face’s body slowly started to twist backwards and forwards, jerking in and out a little at the same time and Face’s desperate struggles and grunts of pain started up again.

“Leave him alone you fucking bastard,” Hannibal snarled, but of course no one could hear him.

“Ever heard of colorectal perforation, John?” Jefferson asked almost conversationally though the lust was obvious in his voice as he continued to twist his wrist back and forth. “It’s a tear in the wall of the rectum; causes acute pain, infection of the abdomen, eventual death if not treated.” Hannibal could almost see Jefferson shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Hell of a way to go...” He suddenly shoved his arm in hard, Face’s cry of pain perfectly audible through the gag and laughed as he started pulling out, fast and brutal. “But don’t worry,” he sarcastically reassured his audience as he came out with a last hard jerk, “My pretty here will be dead of dehydration before that could happen anyway.” Hannibal found himself blinking back tears.

Jefferson drifted off out of the shot. He could hear distant voices, probably Jefferson and the invisible Garcia, but he had no interest in listening to what they were saying, his eyes were fixed on Face’s back, watching as it heaved in and out with each breath, each breath that Hannibal knew contained a sob that Face was desperately holding inside.

But in far too short a moment they were back, Jefferson drying his hands on a towel, Garcia stepping back so that all of Face’s long body came back into shot and then came that smug smile, right at the camera. “Okay then Smith, think we’ve warmed him up nicely, yes? Think he’s ready for a good hard, fuck now.”

Face didn’t respond, his head was down, his back still heaving as Jefferson shuffled into place between his legs, opening his trousers and pushing them down around his thighs, hand taking his cock out and stroking it slowly. “Oh, fuck,” he looked up past the camera at his assistant. “We forgot those pills didn’t we? You know, the ones that will make sure that Peck here has a good time too.” Garcia didn’t respond, but Jefferson, still stroking his cock, lifted his other wrist and looked at his watch face, thinking hard. “Hmm. A bit late to go back now don’t you think?” the camera bobbed as Garcia nodded. “We’ll have to do that tomorrow; I do so want to watch him come on my cock.” He shook himself as if moving on from that delightful image and turned back to the camera. “Well, are you watching old man?” he asked, his voice was strained with the perverted desire running through his veins. “Ready to watch me take your boy?”

But Hannibal couldn't watch, not at all, couldn't even think about what was happening right before his eyes, what he was completely impotent to stop. He shuffled forward, tears blurring his vision until all he could see were Face's own eyes, turned to the camera now and pleading, and it was all Hannibal could do not to turn and run from that expression. But he wouldn't, he couldn't. Instead he just held on to those shining blue eyes and tried to be there, tried to let his boy, his love know that this wouldn't be the end, that this transgression would not go unpunished.

He saw the exact second that Jefferson took what was not his, saw the pain and the humiliation wash through Face's expression as his eyes slid shut.

“Open them up, baby,” Hannibal whispered at the screen, “open up and see me, I'm here, I'm always here and I swear I will get you.”

As if he could actually hear, Face opened his eyes and looked straight at Hannibal once more and together they rode it out, Hannibal almost able to feel that burning invasion in his own body, the pressure, the stretch. He wouldn't look at Jefferson, and neither would Face, eyes just locking with the camera, trying to escape down its lens and Hannibal knew that he was tuning out Jefferson's lust fuelled comments just as much as Hannibal was, until those comments suddenly stared accompanying blows to the back of Face's head.

“Fuck you, Peck!” Jefferson shouted, the impending orgasm making his voice thick, “Look at me while I fuck you! Let me see in your eyes that you know you belong to me now!”

But of course Face wouldn't look, wouldn't even turn his head, just kept his eyes fixed on the camera, fixed on Hannibal, even as the blows became more vicious.

“You little fucker!” Jefferson sneered and leaned forward, still driving himself home at a frantic pace and grabbed the back of Face's head, a huge handful of hair dragging his stare from the camera and onto the wall in front instead. “Garcia! Move that mirror, I want this little bastard to watch me own him!”

“But...” Garcia's frightened voice was heard for the first time, “the camera...”

“Put it on the fucking stand...” Jefferson hissed through gritted teeth, “and move that fucking mirror! I'm just about ready to burst here.”

Hannibal watched in wide eyed horror as Garcia scuttled to comply and soon a shadowy figure could be seen holding a huge mirror up in front of Face, who promptly closed his eyes. Jefferson, however, was too far gone to notice, and happy in the thought that now both Hannibal and Face were forced to watch him, he let himself go and came, ramming his hips brutally forward with every pulse of unwanted semen that shot straight into Face's waiting body.

And then it was over. Face let his head drop and Jefferson leaned over his naked back, breathing heavily as he came down from his high, Hannibal stood in front of the flat screen, white fingers gripping the mantelpiece as tears ran unnoticed down his cheeks. Garcia, meanwhile shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the huge mirror.

“Sir...” he whined which made Jefferson's head snap up, his blissful expression fading in an instant.

“Did he watch?” Jefferson barked, his hand reaching out to drag Face's head up once more.

Garcia meant to lie, he really did, in fact he actually wanted to lie, but sometimes he just wasn't quick enough and his silence was all Jefferson needed to know the truth. “Aargh!” he yelled out in fury and leaned forward, still sheathed in Face's body and shoved his head down, cracking it hard on the metal floor of the prison. Face went limp instantly and Hannibal’s hand reached out again, touching the screen gently, right over the blood leaking from the gash across his forehead.

Jefferson withdrew, turning his nose in disgust at the blood on his now flaccid cock and after wiping himself clean and fastening his trousers he walked back around to Face’s head and examined him carefully, swearing under his breath when he realised that he’d knocked his plaything out cold. He looked back at his watch and then turned into the shadows. “Come on Garcia,” he muttered tightly, “let's leave him to his sleep. He’ll be out for some time yet.” Garcia didn't move and Jefferson turned and sighed impatiently. “What?”

Hannibal watched in silence, willing them both just to go.

“You said I...” Garcia swallowed heavily, “You promised...”

Jefferson sighed again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake...” He hissed, but Garcia just stared at him. “Right!” Jefferson shook his head, “Just get on with it,” he spat, “and make it quick!”

Hannibal's heart sank as Garcia dropped the mirror and quickly hurried into position, unfastening his trousers as he scuttled around the unconscious body in front of him. Both Jefferson and Hannibal watched impartially as Garcia thrust himself hard into Face's limp body and, only thirty frantic seconds later, threw his head back and moaned as he came.

“Come on!” Jefferson barked the second he'd finished and suddenly the whole room was bathed in sunlight as the door opened. Jefferson stalked out of the door and, still trying to fasten his trousers as he ran, Garcia followed him. In a second, with a loud metallic clang, the doors shut and Face was left alone.

Hannibal stood still, immobile in shock, watching Face's prone figure, staring at every rise and fall of his back, mapping every breath and feeling more helpless than he could remember feeling ever in his entire life.

Next

Current Mood: worried

A plan for revenge on Hannibal has dire implications for Face. Warning for explicit non-con.

___________________________________________

Hannibal knew the exact second that Face's voice disappeared from the comms link that the kid was in trouble. They were tailing their mark through the streets of Los Angeles, taking turns to dip in and out of the hunt, making sure it was discrete but efficient, keeping in contact with each other and Murdock and BA back in the van the whole time.

It had been going well.

“Okay, boss, I got him now, I'll pick him up outside that 7-Eleven.”

“Roger that, kid, I'm on the other side of the road, I'll hang back for ten.”

There was silence in the van, Murdock marking their route on a street map, while BA constantly adjusted dials and knobs to keep the comms links working at 100%.

“Right,” there was a snap of urgency to Face's voice this time, “he's turned into an alley, down the side of the Wandering Salesman Saloon, you see it boss?”

Hannibal raised himself up on his toes to see above the throngs of people. “Yeah, I'm about one hundred yards back, other side of the road, be right behind you in a couple of minutes.”

“Okay, I'm going in after him.”

“Be safe.” Hannibal always said this to his boys, always, had done since long before he'd even met these three, said it from the first day he was a Captain and was leading his men into battle. But somehow, now, ever since he and Face had finally succumbed to the 'something else' that had flitted around the edges of their relationship, somehow now, he meant it more than ever. He realised that he loved Face, probably already had, still wasn't sure what the kid felt for him, but suspected he may well love him back; the thought of something happening now, when they were right on the edge of finding something good in this pile of shit that was their current situation, was terrifying.

As it turned out, those were the last words that Hannibal said to him, well the last words that Face definitely heard anyway, as his next sentence went without a response.

“Okay, Face,” Hannibal had found himself whispering, even though he knew he didn't need to, “I'm at the top of the alley, where are you?”

Silence.

“Face, report. Where are you, kid?”

Even though it had been seconds, just a few seconds since that missed response, Hannibal's heart was already beating out a terrified rhythm in his chest, even though his voice remained steady “BA?”

“Nothin' here, man,” the worry was clear in the big guy's voice as well. “Tracker says he's still in the alley, 'bout ten metres in front of you, to the left.”

Hannibal craned forward, but the alley was empty. Ten metres to his left was a dumpster, and, drawing his gun, Hannibal crept on. He wondered if there had been enough time to inflict some damage on his lieutenant and drop him in that bin, wondered if their mark would be smart enough to have a suppressor on his gun, or maybe he just went for the baseball bat around the head routine, but Hannibal knew that none of that made sense, if anything like that had happened to Face, he'd have heard something over the comm. There had been nothing, not a single out of place sound. Now he was there, right at the dumpster and he paused, holding his breath and readying his gun as he slowly, slowly, raised the lid and peered in – nothing. Just refuse sacks, cardboard boxes, nothing else. He let out a long sigh and put the lid back in place, turning to look behind, see what was jammed up next to the wall, but there was nothing. He ground his teeth in frustration.

“Nothing,” he reported to the others in the van, “you sure that tracker's right BA?”

“Absolutely, boss. You're standing righ' on top of it.”

BA's words made Hannibal look down and his heart clenched in fear as he saw the comms device, with its built in tracker, on the ground nestled up against the wheel of the dumpster. With shaking fingers he bent down and picked it up, the fingers of his empty hand forming a tight fist. “I've got it,” he reported back, voice tense, “but there's no sign of Face. We have to assume they got the drop on him and have taken him with them. Get the van back round here, guys; we need to start a search and retrieval operation.”

______________

For two hours Murdock and BA combed the alley and surrounding area for clues, but nothing came up. Hannibal meanwhile, backtracked their steps of that morning, right back to the hair salon where they originally picked up their mark first thing, but again nothing. They already knew that the guy used the hair salon under a false name, knew there would be no trail to follow from there, so, dejectedly called BA and asked to be picked up.

An hour after that they were back at the warehouse they used as their base of operations, sitting around the huge oak table that Face had got from somewhere, looking at each other and waiting for Hannibal to come up with a plan

When he did, however, they didn't like it. Not one little bit.

There was a silence, a definitely stunned silence, before Murdock piped up, “That's it??? We just carry on and do nothing to get Face back?”

Hannibal had expected this, so his answer, when it came was calm and carefully thought out. “Captain, what else can we do? The brief from our client was to find out who these guys were, and why all of his customers were suddenly so scared of them. The only fact he knew about them was that the guy with the beard had it trimmed at that O'Reilly's place every few days. So that's why we hung around outside for all this time, that's why we had a chance to make our move today when he finally showed up. But now he's disappeared again, and with Face too it seems, so what else have we got other than to continue the way we were and see what else we can find out? We find them, we find Face.”

“But...” Murdock looked to BA for backup, but the big guy just shook his head.

“Boss is right, fool, we aint got nothin' else to work on.”

Murdock looked about as dejected as the others felt.

“Don't despair, Captain,” Hannibal said, patting his arm in a futile gesture of comfort. “You know if anyone can get himself out of a tight spot it's Face, now don't you?”

______________

By the time two whole days had gone by without a word or a single sight of Face, however, Hannibal was starting to go crazy with despair. He had always hoped his words to Murdock would be true, that Face would turn up in a taxi one day, looking tired and a little sheepish and Hannibal would take him back to the house they were currently staying in and fuck his brains out until the panic receded. But he didn't show. And the guy with the beard didn't turn up at O'Reilly's again, and they didn't get one single further lead.

BA was in a constant temper, Murdock couldn't sit still, pacing, shredding tissues, tapping his foot, bouncing a ball, constant edginess, and Hannibal? Well, he was living in a state of constant terror. He was no fool, knew if those guys had taken Face instead of just killing him, then they wanted something from him. Information was the most likely, and Hannibal knew damn well that Face wouldn't give them any, not at first, was about as stubborn as he was well trained. But, and this was the thing, everyone had their breaking point, even Face, and the longer these guys had him, the closer he would be getting to it – and the more pain he would be in. Hannibal couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't think of anything other than Face being hurt, and all the while, believing with the unshakable faith he always had in Hannibal, that they would be breaking the door down any second to bust him out. Hannibal knew damn well that the kid would handle the pain a lot better than he would handle the crushing disappointment when no one came for him.

____________

It was getting dark on the second day and Hannibal was going over and over the notes they had from their client yet again. How these guys had just popped up, taken all his customers, and the only thing that he'd been able to get from them was that one of them liked his beard trimming at O'Reilly's. Hannibal had tried to get back in touch with the client, see if there was anything else at all he could tell them, but he wasn't answering his phone, wasn't in when they called; Hannibal was getting a very, very bad feeling about this whole thing.

BA was at the other end of the room, laptop on his knee, and Hannibal heard the exact second that he sucked in a breath and his eyes were on him immediately. “What?”

Murdock appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, eyes full of hope and fear all at the same time and they both stared at BA as he frowned at the screen.

“Boss,” he sounded shocked, “you better come and have a look at this...”

In a second, Hannibal was on his feet and making his way to BA's shoulder, concern creasing his brow and Murdock hot on his heels.

“There,” BA gestured to the email sitting innocently in the middle of their unopened mail in the inbox, “should I open it?”

Hannibal's frown deepened; the subject line of the email read, 'Open this or Peck dies.'

There was a pause, just a moment, as Hannibal weighed everything up in his head before nodding at BA, “Open it.”

All three men leaned in, reading silently, none of them liking what they found.

'Greetings Smith,
I trust I have your full attention? Thought so.

I must admit to have been a little disappointed when it was Peck that stumbled into my little trap the other day. I was sure that you, being the heroic leader that you are, would have been to one to follow me into the alleyway, but, of course you would let Peck have his head on this matter, you always were far too indulgent with him, still are it seems.

Anyway, I have come to realise that this enforced change of plan is a far better way to progress, many, many more opportunities to make you squirm and cause you pain, which, after all, was always my aim. Perhaps, once I have finally finished Peck off, I will take the others, one by one, before I come for you. Do the job that the army has never managed and get rid of the A-Team once and for all.

The perfect revenge. And after all Smith, revenge is what this is all about, you finished my life, I will finish yours – permanently.

And don't worry about Peck; you will be seeing him very, very, soon.

Regards, an old friend.'

Hannibal finished reading and stood in silence, mind whirring, desperately trying to pin some facts together. Murdock's brow was furrowed as he looked back over the words and it was BA who eventually spoke, “Revenge? Hannibal, man, who is this guy?”

Shaking his head Hannibal looked distraught, “I don't know, BA, I really don't.”

“He said we'll see Facey, real soon,” Hannibal's heart sank at the hope he saw in his pilot’s eyes, “but it don't sound like he'll be lettin' him go, so...?” he trailed off and Hannibal felt sick to the stomach, wondering if they would wake up to find Face's body in the front yard, not that Hannibal would get a wink of sleep now, anyway.

“I don't know,” he repeated, feeling helpless and totally at a loss as to what to do.

___________

He was right when he thought that he wouldn't sleep much that night, in fact, none of them did. Hannibal stared out of the window at the darkened street, half expecting a car to drive down at any second and going over and over in his mind who on earth had sent that email. It wasn't that there weren't any likely culprits, but that was just it, there were far too many for him to narrow it down. They only thing that helped at all was that it was obviously someone who knew him and Face from way back, probably from their army days, but even that didn't help much.

Nothing happened throughout the whole night. BA had eventually fallen asleep just after six, then they had all eaten together, a sombre and melancholy meal at around nine, before Murdock and Hannibal eventually succumbed to their bodies and drifted off to sleep in the chairs they sat in.

It was just past eleven a.m when BA woke them. “Guys,” he hissed in their direction, “another email just dropped in.”

They were both up and at BA's side even before either of them were awake, and BA clicked on the 'open' tab as soon as they were all ready.

They read, once again, in silence.

'Morning Smith.

I trust you had an unpleasant night mulling over the fate of your favourite Lieutenant?

Well, let me put you out of your misery. Click on the link and you will be able to see him for yourself. Isn't modern technology just great?'

And underneath that short paragraph was a flashing button that said, 'Click me!'

BA hovered the mouse pointer over the button and waited, wanting Hannibal to make that decision for him, knowing that once they had clicked that link, once they had seen what was at the end of it, there was no turning back, no more kidding themselves that things might turn out differently.

“Do it.”

In Hannibal's voice he heard the same fear as he knew was in his own heart, so feeling Murdock's fingers digging tightly into his shoulder, he clicked the link and held his breath.

A new window opened, and almost the entire window was taken up by the feed from a webcam. BA clicked the maximise button and all three men leant in to see what they could in the small screen of the laptop.

Murdock sucked in a breath. The room was dark, the walls and doors invisible in the pools of inky blackness that surrounded them, but the centre of the room was lit up bright as day, illuminated by halogen lights, each one of them angled to the centre, none of their light allowed to spill out onto the walls beyond. Right in the centre of the room was a figure, naked except for a white pair of fitted trunks, now soiled and grubby, hands chained up above their head, not too high that the bare feet couldn't rest flat on the ground, body marked with blood and bruises.

Hannibal felt equal parts anger and despair wash over him as he took in the sight that suddenly filled the computer screen, and he couldn't help reaching out, fingers brushing that still figure, trying desperately hard to see if the chest was rising and falling at all, his own breathing strangely constricted. As he stared, the figure twitched, nothing too visible, almost as if it were dreaming about falling, but that one movement filled him with more hope than he had known in the past few days. Even though that beaten and chained figure in front of him had a hood tied roughly over its head, Hannibal knew without a shadow of doubt that it was Face, and seeing that one twitch of life, told him everything he needed to know – the kid was still there, still fighting, still waiting for his team to come and get him, and there was no way on this earth that Hannibal would ever let him down.

“Son of a...” BA shoved his chair roughly away from the table and stormed outside where Hannibal could just about hear things being thrown about. Murdock just stood and stared, eyes wide, taking everything in, while Hannibal's brain kicked into over drive, desperately, desperately searching for a way to reach Face.

Next

Current Mood: stressed

A slice of Hannibal and Face domesticity, but maybe not quite as it should be...

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Face fiddled with the cutlery on the table, moving a knife, straightening a fork, his eyes on the clock the whole time, far too on edge to sit down as he waited. Dinner had been ready two hours ago; it would be dried up in the oven by now, despite the foil that Murdock had told him to cover it with. He chewed his lip and resisted the temptation to go and check again.

Satisfied that the table was all as it should be, Face wandered over to the glass wall that ran left to right down the entire side of the room. It was dark, thick black dark and when he stared out at the night he didn’t see the trees that he knew were just beyond the driveway, he didn’t see the stars that were undoubtedly shining down on him from above, all he saw was his own reflection, like a cardboard cut out in the facsimile of domestic bliss behind him as he nervously adjusted his jeans, tugged his shirt into place and pushed back his hair.

Hannibal was late.

The smell of dried up chilli was overpowering, and Face wondered if he had put too much garlic in it. He couldn’t cook to save his life, but it was important that he did this right, that he pleased Hannibal, so he had been getting Murdock to teach him. This chilli was the first thing he had cooked on his own without the pilot’s help. He’d worked all day on it, ground the beef himself, crushed the garlic and finely diced the chilli, all by himself in the huge kitchen with the floor to ceiling windows where he had watched as the sky had darkened, the red and golden trees slowly disappeared from view and Hannibal had got later and later.

He looked at his watch. The boss must have gone to the bar straight from leaving the office; that meant he would have been there for over three hours now. Face frowned and wondered how much he’d had to drink in that time, how tense he would be when he finally arrived home...

As if responding directly to Face’s thoughts, an engine could suddenly by heard through the trees, and as the lieutenant watched, heart thumping in his chest, two bright points of light appeared, sweeping across the front of the house before illuminating the wood shed and then switching off, plunging the yard into darkness once more. Face watched impassively as Hannibal swung his long legs from the car, and, holding his briefcase tightly in one hand, staggered slightly on his way into the house. Taking a deep breath, Face went to meet him.

The door swung open, letting the cold smell of Fall leaves into the warmth of the kitchen and then John Smith was standing there, cheeks flushed, swaying slightly, his sharp blue eyes flashing around the kitchen. Eventually they landed on Face who was leaning against the oven trying hard to look nonchalant but failing miserably. Hannibal’s eyes darkened. “No dinner?” he growled slamming the door behind him. “What’s going on? I’m fucking starving!”

Face literally jumped into action, throwing open the ice box and pulling out a beer, yanking the top off with shaking hands and handing it over to his boss, “There you go, John,” he almost stammered, “your dinner is in the oven. Have a beer and sit down and I’ll bring it right over.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything but he did snatch the offered beer and slump into the wooden seat at the central table, slamming the bottle down onto the top with such force that Face jumped as he bent to lift a foil covered plate out of the oven.

Kicking the door closed with one foot, Face carried his prize across the room, eyes lighting up just a little with obvious pride in his achievements. It was awkward to carry the plate in one hand, but he only had the one oven glove and it was very hot, being kept warm for as long as it had – too hot to touch with his bare skin.

“Here you go,” he whispered as he set the plate reverently down on the table, carefully peeling away the foil to reveal the slightly dried chilli surrounded by baked hard rice and his face fell.

Hannibal stared for a moment and then looked incredulously up at Face. “What the fuck is that?” he asked quietly, the tempered fury clear in his voice.

“It’s chilli,” Face almost mumbled in response.

“Chilli?” Hannibal spat, his voice rising with every second, “Chilli?!” Face cringed, “It looks like a fucking cow pat, you idiot!” Now he was yelling and Face dropped his head, wringing the oven glove desperately in his hands. “What the fuck are you thinking, serving me this shit?” Hannibal’s eyes were fixed on the plate, “I mean look at it! You’ve had all fucking day here on your own, nothing to do, nowhere to go, and this is the best you can come up with?”

Face edged back from the table ever so slightly, “I’m sorry! It’s been ready for too long! I-”

“And that’s my fault?!” Hannibal yelled. “You should have realised I would need a drink before coming back here to face your snivelling little whinges again! You should have been prepared during your whole day doing fucking nothing while I had to go out and earn the money! But you weren’t, because you are fucking useless and all you can offer me is this pile of dog food!”

Hannibal reached out to grab the plate and Face sprang for him, genuine concern in his expression, “No!” he shouted. “It’s hot!” but he was too late, those big fingers touched the baking hot plate as he shoved it hard off the table to fly through the air and smash against the side of the ice box, splattering chilli and rice and chips of broken plate all over the cupboards and the floor, and Hannibal roared in pain, grasping his hand tightly to his chest as he swore under his breath.

“Oh, Jesus,” Face muttered, grabbing a cloth from the sink and soaking it with cold water before rushing to Hannibal’s aid. “It was in the oven!” he frantically explained, reaching out to try and prise Hannibal’s hand from where it was jammed under his arm, “It was red hot! I tried to tell you, but-”

He was cut off in mid sentence by the backhand that swung out and caught him solidly in the mouth, sending him reeling back into the cupboards, cracking his head hard on a metal handle. “You stupid fucking idiot!!!!”

For just a fraction of a second, Face was too stunned to respond, but he quickly pulled himself back together. “I’m sorry!” there was no missing the fear in his voice, “Really, John I am, I’m sorry! I needed to keep it warm and I thought-”

“You thought?” Hannibal thundered as he advanced on the obviously terrified man in the corner of the kitchen, “You aren’t here to think!” he yelled. “You’re here to cook and clean and wash my shirts and suck my dick and spread your no-good whore’s legs for me! You got that?”

“Yes, yes...” Face stammered trying desperately to back off further into the corner.

“If it wasn’t for me you’d be on the fucking streets, wouldn’t you?” Face nodded desperately, his eyes beseeching Hannibal to keep back. “But I let you stay here, I buy you clothes and food and keep you warm when no one else wants you, fucking reject that you are! And this is what I get from you? You fucking try to burn me?!”

“I didn’t! I just-” But yet again Face was cut off, a solid thump to his midriff that had him landing on his back right in front of the glass walls, instantly curling in on himself as he tried to force air into his lungs despite his spasming diaphragm.

Hannibal was on him before he had chance to recover, dragging him up by his hair and holding his chin hard to look into his face, “You are a worthless piece of shit...” he muttered staring straight into Face’s wide blue eyes. “What are you?”

“A worthless,” Face was still gasping for air, “worthless piece of shit.”

“That’s right! I mean look at you! Snivelling like a fucking woman! Like the little bitch that you are!”

Face was sobbing now, holding onto Hannibal’s wrists and trying to get his words out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder tomorrow, I’ll-”

The piercing ring of a phone stopped him short and Hannibal dropped him like he was radioactive, whirling on his heel and grabbing his phone from the side of his briefcase. “Yeah?” he barked, his tone sharp and he listened intently as Face sniffled on the floor behind him. “You sure?” he asked, some of the bite gone now as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Okay,” he answered, “you do that, and keep in touch, yeah? Okay. Right,” and then he hung up.

Without a word or a glance at Face, Hannibal reached for a button on a remote control on the counter, and when he pressed it, blinds started sliding down over the windows, removing the strange double-house effect of the reflection. As soon as the blinds were down he returned to Face who by this time had dragged himself up into a sitting position on the floor, one hand still pressed against his stomach, the other tentatively dabbing at the blood seeping out from where he cracked his head on the cupboard.

“Oh, Jesus, Face,” he muttered as he dropped to his LT’s side, “I’m sorry kid; I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, let me see.”

“I’m fine,” Face reassured him, wincing as Hannibal’s fingers probed his head. “You sure they’ve gone?”

“Positive. BA and Murdock are following them just to make sure.”

“You think we fooled them, boss?”

“Fuck, kid,” Hannibal’s fingers were shaking as he traced the edges of the gash through Face’s hair, “we just about fooled me, and I knew what we were doing!”

Satisfied for now that Face wasn’t about to lose his brain through the crack in his head, Hannibal offered him a hand and tugged him to his feet, pulling him straight into a fierce embrace that almost squeezed all the air back out of his recently re-inflated lungs. “I never want to do that with you again! You hear me, Face? Never. That was the worst plan ever!”

Face returned the hug and then pulled back slightly, taking Hannibal’s hand in his own and lifting it up to examine the red finger tips. “You kidding?” he replied lightly, “It was a fucking top plan. Bad guys got their tapes, top gay rights lawyer, John Adams, will get his blackmail letter, and now the police can be involved without any of our clients being dragged through the papers. Neat. Elegant,” he looked up and beamed at Hannibal, “Fucking top!”

Hannibal however, didn’t return his smile. “I don’t like hurting you.”

Face just laughed him off, “Boss, we’ve been sparring for years, you never bother about whupping my ass then!”

But it seemed that Hannibal wasn’t even listening. “Those things I said to you...” he whispered instead, his eyes wide with regret.

Face held his stare, “We had decided on our lines before hand remember? I thought of most of those things you said!”

Hannibal’s hand slid onto Face’s cheek, “You cried...” he whispered and the pain was clear in his voice.

“John,” Face’s hand went to mirror Hannibal’s, resting softly on the slightly stubbled cheek he loved so well, “I was acting, it was all an act. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t. Please believe me,” and with that he stood up on his toes and kissed his lover, slow and steady, a reassuring presence after the turmoil of the last hour.

He pulled back and they dropped their foreheads together, both just taking a moment.

“So,” Hannibal stood up straight, “Your head doesn’t hurt where you hit it on the cupboard then?”

Face frowned, fingers reaching back up to his bloody, matted hair. “Actually, Hannibal,” he frowned, “it fucking does! What the hell did you hit me that hard for?”

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled, “Maybe because you tried to burn the ends of my fingers off?”

“Huh!” Face pulled away to look at the mess on the floor, “What did you expect? It had been in the oven for hours. And what did you have to throw it for? Took me fucking ages to make that!”

This time Hannibal laughed. “Of course! I was forgetting you were showing off your culinary skills to the watching bad guys!”

Face shrugged, “Had to make it look convincing.”

“What’s this?” Hannibal was poking at another dish on the corner of the worktop and Face flushed.

“Ah, that’s,” he rubbed his nose self consciously, “that’s an apple pie.”

Hannibal blinked. “Face...” he shook his head, “You made an apple pie?”

Crossing his arms defensively, Face drew himself up to his full height. “Well I was supposed to be playing the domestic goddess wasn’t I? And I was fucking bored, and there was a recipe in the paper and there’s an apple tree in the yard and-”

“You picked your own apples?!” Hannibal’s eyes were now on stalks.

“Yeah?” Face replied, “And?”

“And?” that amused twinkle was back. “And it seems I have been overlooking your many talents LT, superb conman, master tactician, incredible lover and baker of apple pies?” He shook his head, “I think I have died and gone to heaven.”

Face laughed, relieved that Hannibal had snapped out of his funk. “Yeah? Well, tell you what, bring that pie and the cream outta the fridge and meet me in the bedroom and I’ll show you heaven.”

Hannibal swallowed hard, burnt fingers totally forgotten, and did just as he was told.

Current Mood: pensive

The team are trapped and tempers are running high. It's at times like these that mistakes are made which may have a devastating long term impact...

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Powder keg: a metaphorical term drawn from a perception that certain territories may seem peaceful and dormant until another event triggers a large outburst of violence.

Afterwards Hannibal would blame the heat. He would blame the fact that they had been stuck in a motel in Monroe, Louisiana without air con or reprieve for six long days, every one of them tipping the temperature at over 104°F. He would blame Murdock and BA and the constant bitching at each other. He would even blame Face, saying that the kid was deliberately pushing his buttons. But in his head and his heart, he knew it was him, all him, his fault, his failing, his mess to sort.

They were hiding out. Nothing manly or brave or Rangerish about this plan. The military had been too close, their clients had sold them down the river so they had fled. Run as far as they could until they encountered road blocks and then turned and headed straight back into the heart of the city, exactly, Hannibal hoped, where the MPs would never think they would go, and gone to ground.

Face hadn’t liked the plan, not at all, and had had no qualms whatsoever about telling Hannibal that.

“We need to keep running!” he’d almost shouted back on that first day as BA manoeuvred their stolen station wagon through the streets. “Going back is suicide, boss! I don’t want to go back to prison!”

And that little plea, the fear that Hannibal could hear in the words was like a fork down a chalkboard to his nerves. He knew damn well that Face didn’t want to go back to prison, couldn’t cope with another six minutes of fighting men off his ass, never mind another six months, never mind another six years which was more likely what they were going to get. Hannibal knew this because he’d heard it, coaxed it from Face’s reluctant lips cocooned in their cosy nest of a bed, long ago now, somewhere cool and safe and not this damn oppressive stifling heat that even Face couldn’t stand. He didn’t need to hear it again now.

“Shut up, Face!” Hannibal snapped. “No one is going back to prison!”

And that kind of set the tone for the next week. Face threw himself down onto the backseat of the station wagon, arms folded and glared at the back of Hannibal’s head, missing Murdock’s frown and the way he nervously chewed on his fingers.

Eventually they had found this dingy, rundown motel and Hannibal had sent Face in to get one room, wanted to keep all the others hidden, wanted the fat, lazy, half drunk owner to think that there was just one man in his room. No tall grey haired guy. No huge Afro-Caribbean. No slightly wild looking, baseball cap wearing Texan. Just one, ordinary, fairly handsome, loner.

But six days in one room, temperature going through the roof, Face’s constant edginess and the other two arguing and sniping all the time... No. That was never going to work.

And then came the day that it all came to a head. Hannibal had hardly slept, it had been his turn for the floor, and it was as hot as the depths of hell all night. BA had been snoring, and just when Hannibal finally dropped off as the dawn light started to creep under the blinds, Face had a nightmare that woke him up again.

His usual vast reserves of sympathy for Face’s constant night terrors had run out days ago and he just reached out and kicked up at his fitfully sleeping lieutenant where he lay on the old, stained sofa next to the boss; one well aimed kick straight into his shoulder. Face jerked awake instantly, “What the fuck...?” he muttered bleary eyes focussing on Hannibal’s cold stare.

“Shut up with the shouting out, kid,” Hannibal muttered, turning on his side away from Face. “I’m trying to fucking sleep.”

There was only a stunned silence from Face, followed by the sofa creaking as he guessed the lieutenant turned away from him, burying his face in the back cushions. Fine, Hannibal thought maliciously, let him sulk, see if I care. And right at that minute with his limbs sticky in sweat and his eyes full of tired grit – he didn’t.

When they all eventually rose to the full heat of the day, Face was still silently resentful, glaring at Hannibal the whole time, sitting at the chair in the window, peering out at the parking lot occasionally as he had done every day since they’d holed up. Hannibal ignored him, he had enough on his plate refereeing between BA and Murdock who were aiming for the world record in constant verbal sniping.

“Yeah, well, you think I’m sharin’ a bed with you ever again, then you crazier than ever, fool!” BA paced away from Murdock who tried to snuggle up next to him on the sofa.

“You don’t mean that,” Murdock replied following him across the room. “You just worried that you’ll find my hot body too much for you an’ you’ll wake up with your big mudsucker paw in my shorts.”

BA shoved past him. He had no problem with Hannibal and Face doing whatever it was they did in the privacy of their own bedrooms, was perfectly aware that Murdock had brought back plenty of men and women to their respective safe houses and hotel rooms over the years, and that didn’t bother him either. But he still hated it, hated it when Murdock insinuated things like that about him.

“You pushin’ your luck, Crazy...” he muttered, shoving Murdock off him again.

“Murdock...” Hannibal warned through gritted teeth, but the captain wasn’t listening.

“Come on big guy!” he taunted, “Admit it! Admit that you find me hot, that you want me...” He batted his eyelashes in what he obviously thought was an appealing manner. “You know haven’t had a woman for weeks now...”

“Hannibal!” BA appealed just as Hannibal snapped out, “Murdock!”

Face, silent in the window, rubbed his temples slowly.

“What?” Murdock responded, eyes innocently wide.

Hannibal rose to his feet. “Right, you!” he barked, pointing at BA, “Take the car, fill it with gas and check out if those damn road blocks are gone yet.” This was a daily run out for one of them as they waited with baited breath for the MPs to decide that the team had slipped out past them. “And you!” his finger whirled around to Murdock, “Walk down to the store and pick up some provisions, we are short on everything. And keep your head down!”

BA snatched up the keys in a second, desperate to get away from Murdock, while Murdock himself seemed totally irrepressible, pouting at BA as he followed him through the door, “Shall I pick up some lube for tonight, BA, while I’m there?”

The door closed on BA’s angry response, and in few seconds the station wagon could be heard pulling away from the room in an attention grabbing squeal of tyres.

Hannibal let out a long sigh and sank down onto the sofa, realising too late that now he was alone to suffer the full brunt of Face’s mood. He felt the kid’s eyes on him and resolutely ignored him, not in the mood for one of his emotional outpourings just now.

Face, it seemed, had other ideas. “Tomorrow,” he said, voice flat and emotionless. “I’m getting out of here. Road block or no road block, I’m leaving.”

Hannibal’s eyes were on him in second. “No,” he answered brusquely, “you’re not.”

Face’s eyes were cool as he looked back across the room. “Yes,” his voice was still level, “I am. We should never have stayed in town, it was a stupid plan and I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”

Silence fell in the stuffy room and Hannibal counted to ten slowly in his head before he replied. “Grow up, Face,” he snapped. “You are a soldier, not a child and you will follow orders.”

The glare from across the room was like a laser beam as Face adjusted his position, sitting up a little straighter than before to answer. “I’m not a soldier anymore,” he ground out, “and I have followed your orders all these years since because I believed in them. But this? This is stupid. You think just because I let you fuck me every once in a while, you get to own me?”

Hannibal was on his feet before Face had even finished his sentence. “You let me fuck you? Jesus, Face, you’ve always been arrogant, but this?”

And then Face rose as well, his hands in fists at his sides. “Arrogant? Hell, you’d know about that then wouldn’t you boss? Making us all sit around here in this shit hole like fucking sitting ducks just waiting to get picked up, just ‘cause you’re too damn arrogant to admit when you’ve made a mistake!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, lieutenant!” Hannibal’s eyes were now blazing in anger as he stalked across the room to stand in front of Face. “You need to get some respect!”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Face glared back. “Yeah? Well maybe you should try earning it, boss!”

Neither of them really had any warning about what happened next. Afterwards Hannibal would replay it over and over in his head, see if he could find that conscious decision he must have made, see if it would end differently if he thought hard enough, but he never found that order to himself and the ending was always depressingly the same.

Face never stood a chance, Hannibal’s fist moved like lightening, smashing into the side of the lieutenant’s head, knocking him into the window frame with a heavy thump. He was instantly stunned, staggering sideways with the force of the blow and not even getting the chance to bring his hands up to defend himself against the right hook to his jaw that Hannibal followed through with. It dropped him like a stone, crashing him backwards and knocking the lamp over, landing him on the floor on his ass. Hannibal could never understand why he didn’t leave it at that; he wasn’t usually a man who let his emotions rule, but the red mist had well and truly descended, six days of stress and tension bursting out of him with previously unheard of violence.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed Face by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him up out of the corner just so he could rabbit punch him in the mouth. Face’s hands belatedly found their coordination and wrapped tightly around the hand on his chest, just as he pulled a leg back and kicked Hannibal hard in the ribs.

“You little fucker!” Hannibal snarled, his breath taken by the kick, and he punched Face again, and again, and again, not registering when that leg stopped trying to kick him, not even noticing when Face’s scrabbling fingers slid limply from around his wrist. Afterwards he found himself wondering with a shudder what would have happened if they had been alone in that room for any longer, if Murdock hadn’t gone to the store without money, but the next thing he was aware of, the only thing that managed to permeate through the thick fog of fury, was another voice, desperate in the heat of the room.

“Hannibal! Hannibal! Get off him! Jesus Christ, boss! Get off him!”

And suddenly it was all gone. All that red, all that anger and Hannibal was looking around him, feeling Murdock trying to push him away, feeling, for the first time in days, the hint of a breeze coming in through the still open door. His ribs throbbed and his fists stung and then he looked down and suddenly he’d never known a pain like it.

Face was barely conscious, his head rolling on the wall as he tried to work out which way was up. One eye was swelling closed, there was blood coming from his mouth, his nose, the gaping cut across his cheek bone, a livid bruise already on the other cheek, his jaw, his temple. Hannibal dropped him as if he were red hot and leapt to his feet, staggering back across the room until he almost fell onto the sofa, eyes wide in shock, one hand clamped over his mouth.

Murdock dropped into his empty place in an instant, reaching for Face, pulling him back up, voice a soothing aural blur as he cradled the lieutenant to his chest.

For a second the room was held in an awful, horrific silence, and then Murdock spoke again, louder this time, Face still in his arms as he turned and glared at the boss, “You!” he spat in an awful parody of Hannibal from not ten minutes earlier, “Get me some water and towels and the first aid supplies, and then fuck off and find some ice from somewhere!”

Murdock had never spoken to Hannibal like that before, never spoken like that to anyone in Hannibal’s memory. But he did what he was told anyway, far, far too shocked and numb to do anything else.

And that was how BA found them fifteen minutes later. Face still on the floor, still hovering awkwardly between a conscious and unconscious state, Murdock surrounded by bloodied towels and melting ice, Hannibal, his knuckles swollen and his eyes wide, just hovering behind them in horrified silence.

The big guy stepped in and looked around, his eyes flicking from Face, to the furious set of Murdock’s mouth, to Hannibal, cradling a swollen fist in his other hand and he rubbed his forehead with his palm as if this was exactly what he had expected to find on his return.

He sighed and closed the door behind him, blocking out the hint of a breeze that had started up. He was fed up of this room, he was fed up of this city and fed up of the damn oppressive heat. But most of all, he was really fed up of them all being cooped up together like that. “Road’s clear,” he muttered, starting to collect discarded clothing off the floor and throw it into a bag, “Get packed up, we’re leaving.”

No one argued.

_____________________

Sequel - Kit Bag

Current Mood: tired

He stayed in the bathrobe. Hannibal had seen his injuries, they all had, and in places on his front the skin was almost flayed right off. Not a part of him was untouched, from his chest to his feet they had worked methodically on him to ensure that their sticks and whips and lashes had reached every square centimetre of skin. In some places it was a livid red, hot to the touch still, whilst in others the skin was blistered and broken, but there were places where a thin, rough cord had obviously been used on him with great force, and there the skin had been sliced open, right into his flesh. It was not surprising he couldn’t bear to have clothes on, Hannibal had been so glad he was unconscious when they had reached Fort Irvin, being awake while they peeled Taz’s stolen clothes off his weeping, inflamed skin would have been a whole new brand of torture in itself.

So he forced a pair of loose boxers on, his genitals had most certainly not escaped the sticks and lashes, and wandered around in the white bathrobe looking pale and ill and avoiding all contact and conversation with his team.

On the night of the sixth day, as Murdock, Hannibal and BA sat around in the living area watching TV and listening to Face’s nightmares drifting through the open windows, BA finally reached the end of his tether. He knocked the magazine he’d been reading off his knee and across the wooden floor and turned to Hannibal, desperation in his eyes, “Bossman, you got to talk to him, we can’t go on like this, none of us can!”

Hannibal just took in a long breath and stared at the television, BA was right, but what the hell he was supposed to say was anyone’s guess.

________________

And so the seventh day dawned, and Murdock and BA left really early to hike up into the mountains, Hannibal watched them go with an ironic glance, he certainly wasn’t born yesterday, and then took his coffee out onto the deck to admire the view and think; an hour later, all he had left was cold coffee and a serious lack of ideas.

__________________

A noise behind him makes him start and he turns in time to see Face just about to withdraw back to the solitude of the lodge. “Hey,” he says loudly, just to let Face know he’s been rumbled and watches as Face, obviously wanting to leave, turns and takes a step closer in, knowing the older man has seen him.

“Where’s Murdock and BA?” Face asks hesitantly walking out to stand with Hannibal at the railing.

Hannibal turns and leans his back on the smooth stainless steel rail as he looks his lieutenant over. Another clean white robe, the staff here really are efficient, dark shadows mixing with the bruising on his face, pale skin, further washed out by the glare of the sun and the colour of the robe, cheek bones standing out over tight skin, two days of stubble on his face. Hannibal just about manages to hold back a sigh; the kid still looks like shit. “Hiking. How you doing?” he asks and is surprised by the tenderness he hears in his own voice.

So it seems is Face, surprised and annoyed. He steps away and Hannibal wonders if this is not it, the crux of the problem that he’s just stumbled onto here. Does Face suspect the depth of Hannibal’s feelings? Does it disturb him? Were Murdock and Samantha wrong? He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

They stare at each other, the wall obvious between them and Face caves in first, turning on his heel, stalking away and leaving Hannibal wondering what the hell just happened. He turns back to the view, and prepares to tell BA that he had tried, but then Samantha’s words come back to him once again, ‘He’s worth much more than pining away for a dry old fool who doesn’t want him! Can’t you see that?’ and once again he knows she is right. Taking a deep breath, he follows Face down the corridor to his bedroom.

The door is open and he looks in, breath catching in his throat. Face is standing, staring into the holdall of clothes provided by the CIA, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, evidence of his days in hell laid bare for Hannibal to see. Face looks up at the sound from the doorway and Hannibal’s throat tightens as he sees him lift his chin slightly, he recognises the familiar defiant gesture from many, many confrontations of the past.

“Face,” that tenderness is still there, “we need to talk.”

Face looks away, back into the holdall and pulls out a t-shirt, holding it up, wondering how painful it will be to wear. “Don’t worry about it boss,” he replies, his voice light and full of false cheer, “I’ll be heading off tomorrow. Get out of your hair.”

For a minute Hannibal is speechless. He watches as Face throws the t-shirt back into the bag and takes another one out, feeling the material between his fingers. “What?” he eventually stutters, it’s hardly the most eloquent sentence he’s ever produced.

“Yeah, well,” Face’s eyes are hard as he turns to look at him, “things are a bit tense around here at the minute, I can’t stay with you, not after leaving you all like I did,” for a second, a shadow of shame flits across his expression, “and I know you would all prefer it if I left so...” he shrugs and turns his attention to trying to find some trousers that won’t reopen all the healing cuts on his legs.

“You do know your pardon was revoked don’t you?” Hannibal snaps, shock making his mouth run away with him a little and he feels a jolt of pain in his chest as he sees Face’s shoulders sag at his words.

“Yes,” the word is barely audible.

Hannibal takes a step in, “So, where the hell are you going to go?”

Throwing the last pair of trousers back into the bag in disappointment Face turns to him, anger in his eyes, “I don’t know John. I’ll think of something!”

Silence falls again as Face goes back to the bag a yanks out a pair of combat pants that he had once disregarded and starts to pull them on, hissing in pain as he does so. “Face...” Hannibal starts towards him, hating to see him hurt.

“What?!” Face whirls on his heels to face Hannibal, his eyes bright and furious. “You got something to say to me Hannibal? You got a reason that I don't have to go?”

Hannibal just stands, wishing he had the words, the nerve, to say what he needs to and for a second Face stands and waits, but then, with a tired and ironic laugh he turns away, staring out of the window at the mountains as Hannibal stands mute behind him.

Minutes tick by, and then Face speaks again, his voice calm and quiet once more. “You know this has been coming, Hannibal don’t you?” Hannibal doesn’t answer. “I suppose it’s been building for a while, years even. Where do you think we went wrong?” there’s still no reply so Face carries on, still staring out of the window. “I suppose it was when you stopped trusting me...”

“Of course I trust you!” Hannibal at last finds his voice.

“Yeah? That’s why you went to Father David’s funeral then?” Hannibal can’t answer that, how can he tell Face that the reason he went was because he was so damn terrified that Face would get himself caught, that Hannibal had to be there just for that one, slim chance?

“You really think I would buck one of your orders? Come on Hannibal, how many times have I ever done that?”

“You said you only followed my orders out of pity,” Hannibal counters, the pain clear in his voice, that comment still a barb in his memory after all these weeks.

“I know,” Face shakes his head into the silence, “And that’s what I mean about us. I didn't mean that, you must know, deep down, that I’d never mean something like that about you. It’s just... it’s like we’re not happy unless we’re hurting each other. I can’t spend my life just sniping at you like this; I just can’t have that kind of relationship with you.”

Hannibal’s heart is pounding hard in his chest, as he realises that this is no spur of the moment decision for Face, this is obviously something the kid was thinking about long before the fake pardon came through and unless he does something fairly drastic, then Face is going to walk out of here again.

He steps up, two tentative strides are all it takes to bring him right up behind Face, his eyes drawn to the few marks littering his back, the imprint of a belt buckle just under his left shoulder and the desire to touch and smooth away all that hurt is compelling. “So,” he says, his voice husky and unsure, “what kind of relationship do you want with me?”

He sees Face stiffen and then turn, and his eyes are guarded, reserved, as he looks at Hannibal. “What do you mean?”

Taking another tiny step brings Hannibal right into Face’s personal space and he forces himself to stay there, not to run but to hold those bright blue eyes with his own, reminding himself what his life was like when he thought Face had left him, when he thought Yousafzai had taken him forever. “You don’t like this relationship we have? Well, let’s make another one; any one you want.”

He realises he’s said the wrong thing when Face breaks eye contact, and his expression falls, he looks away, moisture shining in his eyes and a resigned smile on his face and Hannibal knows he’s so close to blowing this completely. “Hey,” he whispers, a hand shooting out to grab Face’s wrist, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say, I’m no good with words Face, but... I do know I can’t lose you, kid,” he shakes his head, “I just can’t.”

Hannibal’s eyes are swimming but he keeps them steady as Face turns back to look at him, something tentative in his expression, maybe something unfurling, “You know why I left.” It’s not a question because Hannibal does, they both know it, they know what Face was searching for, what he was lacking. “Is there a reason I should stay?”

And this is it, break point. The words that leave Hannibal’s mouth next are the ones that will shape the rest of his life. Never has so much rested on one sentence and he suddenly realises that there is only one thing he can say, one phrase that he has never said before. To anyone. He holds his breath and tightens his grip on Face’s wrist just a little. “Face,” his voice is shaking, “I’m in love with you. I want you to stay. With me.”

It’s like the world holds its breath for a minute but then Face is moving, closing what is left of the gap between them, lifting his chin and pressing his lips up against Hannibal’s, nothing erotic, just a message, a confirmation, an offering. And then he pulls away but only to rest their forehead’s together and Hannibal can feel the lingering heat of infection in Face’s skin but nothing else matters as he hears the words he thought he never would, “God, boss, me too, I mean, I am too, I mean,” he lifts up and slides his hands onto Hannibal’s cheeks, pulling back enough to look him right in the eye but still the words won’t come, for the first time ever, Face is truly speechless.

But then it doesn’t matter as they are moving, lips sliding together, hands smoothing through hair, over skin and Hannibal can feel himself harden immediately, too many years spent dreaming of this moment for that not to happen. He slides a hand gently over Face’s back, pulling him in so they are chest to chest, hip to hip and instantly Face stiffens, a little cry of pain leaving his lips and Hannibal pulls back, still holding him but making a gap between them, looking down at Face’s abused chest, the bloom of fresh blood spreading over the hip pocket of his combats and he curses his own impatience.

“Jesus, kid, I’m sorry,” he whispers, instantly fumbling with the button of Face’s trousers.

Face tries to object but he is pale with the reawakening of his pain and instead lets Hannibal unzip him, and slide the heavy cotton down, his hands holding onto Hannibal’s shoulders in a death grip as the older man slowly works the trousers off, scraping over healing gashes, dressings, stitches as he goes.

By the time he is done, even Face’s now blood soaked boxers removed, the kid is laid on his back on the bed, towel underneath him, pale and clammy and breathing hard as Hannibal examines the damage. “I think the waist band of your trousers pulled a couple of stitches here,” he explains, cool fingers gently stroking around the livid red skin. “Just hang in here a second and I’ll go and get the medic, get you some pain relief and he can stitch you back up again.” Face nods wanly, sweat standing out on his forehead, and Hannibal folds the towel over him, drops a light kiss onto his lips and dashes out.

__________________________

The sun is at the highest point of the day and the mountains in front of them shining in bright light as Hannibal adjusts his hold on the man currently dozing against his chest. Six stitches and a painkilling injection have taken their toll on Face and he has been silent for well over an hour, only a light sheet ghosting over his body, too light to torment his wounds.

“You stayed,” his voice is quiet, full of pain and exhaustion, the nights full of terrors finally taking their toll.

Hannibal leans forward and drops a kiss to the top of his head, “So did you.”

Face lets out a quiet laugh, a delightful sound, but one edged with sleep. “I didn’t really want to leave,” he admits, drifting further with every second.

“Then don’t,” Hannibal replies. “Don’t leave me, and I swear I’ll never leave you. Stay with me, let me love you and care for you and love me back.”

“Yes...” Face agrees as he finally slips into sleep and Hannibal lets his own eyes close, a tiny smile on his lips. And when Murdock and BA get back an hour later and find the two men fast asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, they share their own smile of relief as they realise that maybe things might finally start to run a little smoother around here.

Epilogue

Current Mood: awake

Ten minutes later, Murdock radioed in with news of yet another body, not Face and not Yousafzai. That meant just the boss man left and Hannibal paused to consider his options.

He knew that, bleeding the way he was, Face would be weakening. Yousafzai was obviously skilled in moving through terrain like this, and definitely had the motivation to keep stalking Face, so he quickly came to a decision. The time for stealth was off, it was time Face knew he had some backup, and then maybe they could get this thing over a done with sooner rather than later.

He lifted his radio to his mouth and was just about to call the others when a shout caught his attention, he froze, listening hard, and jerked into action when he realised it wasn’t any of his men. Instantly he was on the move, covering the thick terrain as fast as he could, as quietly as he could, accidently dropping the radio as he ran, zeroing in on that shout all the time, and then he saw them.

Face was slumped against the trunk of a tree and Hannibal winced at the state he was in, beaten, bloody, pale and exhausted, it was obvious that the kid was right at the end of his rope. Yousafzai was partly hidden by a tree, but Hannibal could see they both had their guns up, were in a standoff, one that he could finish off pretty damn quickly once he got into a good place for a shot.

Dropping to his haunches he moved silently, around to the right, counting his steps, knowing that he wouldn’t have chance for a good look before he needed to put his shot in. He stopped as soon as he felt he’d gone far enough and immediately rose up through the bushes. Yousafzai was there, right in front of him, gun still pointing at Face and Hannibal lifted his gun and just shot.

It wasn’t the best shot he’d ever taken, certainly wasn’t the most careful aim, but it did the trick. Suddenly, the silence of the forest was ripped apart by gunfire. Yousafzai went down, Hannibal saw his own shot catch the man in the arm, blood blooming like a red flower in the gloom, but he also noted a head shot impact and knew that Yousafzai was dead even as he fell. Taylor would not be happy, Hannibal thought as he spun on his feet to turn to Face and froze.

Face was staring at him, wide blue eyes looking right at Hannibal as they had done almost every day for the last seventeen years. But not like this, never like this, this time there was a gun pointing there as well. Hannibal dropped his own gun and lifted his hands up, palms facing, in obvious surrender, and took a step in, his feet almost on autopilot. “Kid...” he whispered, the catch in his voice stopping him and he just stared, his eyes taking everything in, everything.

Those quick blue eyes looked at the too large clothes with trouser legs rolled up and blood stains all over them, they took in the clumsy, swollen fingers, obviously been tied too tight and still trying to recover, they took in the bruised and swollen face, cut above his right eye, left eye almost swollen shut, they took in the bullet hole, neat and round in the tree trunk not three inches above Face’s head, and the gun, still pointing at him but starting to waver now, as if it were too heavy to hold up. “Hannibal?” Face’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as he dropped his gun and that’s when everything just stopped working, instinct took over and Hannibal fell to his knees at Face’s side, arms instantly gathering him up close.

“Oh, my boy,” he whispered, holding him close against his chest, feeling Face shake against him, those desperate fingers clawing at his shirt, holding him tight, keeping them together.

“Yousafzai?” Face whispered, his body shaking more with each passing second.

“He’s dead,” Hannibal replied, one big hand stroking Face’s hair, holding his head against his chest, knowing his heart was pounding in the kid’s ear, “You’re safe, they’re all dead.”

“I’m cold,” Face was shaking even harder and Hannibal wondered if he was going into shock, the adrenalin seeping away, leaving him empty, “I hurt,” he whispered, the pain clear in every word, “and, god, boss, I was so scared...”

“I know, kid, I know,” Hannibal started to get to his feet, holding on to Face the whole time, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, we looked, I swear we did, we’ve looked ever since they took you.”

“It’s okay boss, I shouldn’t have left you, how could I ever leave you? What was I thinking...” Face’s teeth were chattering now and the shaking was getting almost convulsive.

“Hey,” Hannibal soothed him, “It’s okay, Face, we’ve got you back now,” he adjusted his grip, prepared to lift him up in his arms, “let’s get you out of here.”

“I can walk myself,” Face shivered.

“I know you can,” Hannibal answered and then Samantha’s words sprang into his head, ‘You think I can’t see he’s in love with Smith? You think I can’t see how the old man keeps him at arm’s length all the time? That’s what he needs is it?’ , he realised that they were probably the only true words she’d ever spoken and knew it was time for things to change. He slid his hands up to cup Face’s cheeks and turn his eyes up to meet his own. “But I want to hold you,” he whispered, keeping eye contact the whole time. “I want to feel you in my arms and know that you are safe, that you are here with me,” he paused and swallowed hard, “that you are mine...”

Face just stared at him, his glassy eyes wide and Hannibal wondered how much of anything the poor kid was taking in, so instead he leaned down and dropped a kiss onto his forehead, keeping away from the still bleeding gash and then wrapped him in his arms again, standing up slowly, and making for the edge of the trees.

______________________

Murdock and BA paced frustratedly up and down the field, their silent radios in their hands, eyes on the tree line all the time.

“Where the hell is Smith?” Taylor seethed. “I need to get Yousafzai into interrogation as soon as possible. Who knows which other rats are running for the woodwork while we wait here?”

He didn’t get an answer. Neither Murdock or BA had been able to raise Hannibal on the radio since they had heard the shots echoing around the far side of the wood. They’d already decided to give it five more minutes before going in and looking for him.

“At last!” Taylor seethed and the two men swung on their heels to see Hannibal appear from the woods much further down and in his arms he was carrying...

“Face!” Murdock yelled and started off running.

“He’s okay!” Hannibal shouted seeing the panic in Murdock’s face, “But he needs a medic – now!”

BA didn’t hesitate, just turned on his heel and sprinted for the medics he knew were waiting up at the house just as Hannibal reached Murdock, settling Face down onto the grass with the pilot’s help.

Like Hannibal before him, Murdock’s eyes took everything in, one piece of information at a time, Hannibal’s expression, intense and concerned, Face’s dead weight heavy in his arms, head lolling loosely over the boss’ arm, blood, so much blood on his leg, his chest, his head. And like Hannibal before him, his hands fluttered anxiously over his friend, seeming to need to touch just to reassure himself that Face really was here with them.

“What’s the matter with him, Colonel?” Murdock asked, “Why is he unconscious?”

Hannibal was still cradling Face’s head in his lap, stroking the filthy hair off his forehead as he replied. “I don't know,” he admitted, “he just passed out, possibly he’s gone to sleep, he’s exhausted. I don’t know, but I’ll feel a lot better once those medics get here.”

They both looked up as BA and the medics came running across the field, but unfortunately, Taylor got there before them.

“Smith!” he snapped, barely sparing a glance for Face. “Where the hell is Yousafzai? You were supposed to bring him out with you!”

“Yeah?” Hannibal didn’t even look up from where he was stroking Face’s cheek, “Well I brought Face out instead. Tough shit.”

There was a second’s silence before Taylor could control his anger enough to speak, “That wasn’t our deal,” he spat dangerously, “so you had better get your butt back in there and find him!”

As the medics finally arrived and dropped to Face’s side, Hannibal and BA both snapped their head’s around to glare at Taylor.

“Right, you!” BA snarled, “I think I have just about had enough-”

And he stopped dead as Murdock rose like a phoenix from the ashes right in front of Taylor and decked him with one, well aimed punch to the jaw. “Yeah,” he scowled, “I think we’ve all had enough of you, matey!”

Hannibal and BA both stared at him in shock, but Taylor didn’t reply, it’s hard to when you’re out cold.

________________________

Seven days later Hannibal stands on the edge of the deck, staring out over the hills and mountains, valleys and lakes that roll out far below. In his hands is a coffee, cold and untouched as he thinks back over the events of the last week.

He still feels as if this is all quite surreal, the walk from the woods with Face in his arms and then the sudden panic as the medics started feeding lines into him and using words like ‘collapse’ and ‘shock’ and ‘internal bleeding’. The rush to the Army Community Hospital at Fort Irvin had been tense, with Hannibal riding in the ambulance, clinging tightly to Face’s hand while Murdock and BA followed behind in the van, expecting at any moment to be detained. But Samantha had assured them that they wouldn’t, and she was true to her word. Face was kept in a private room, at the end of a corridor guarded by men in suits and no one bothered the team at all, not for the forty eight hours they were there. But then they were taken away again, whisked out in the middle of the night, before Face had even managed to haul himself free of the sedatives he’d been given and deposited in this private retreat, high in the Sierra mountains, whole lodge to themselves, paramedic on duty twenty four hours a day and a whole fleet of staff to wait on their every need.

For the first two days all Face had done was slept. The paramedic said that ‘in the circumstances’ it would be kinder to keep him sedated until he was stronger. Hannibal had wondered which particular ‘circumstances’ the guy had meant, the pain, the memories of his torture, the fact that he was now, once again a wanted man; his pardon revealed as fake, General Dobson brought up for Court Martial, Agent Taylor and Samantha vanished off the face of the earth. But whatever the circumstance, Hannibal found himself agreeing with them and just sitting at the kid’s side for most of the time, leaving to eat and stretch his legs, sleeping on the couch in the corner and trying to work through his guilt at letting him down by being here for him now.

But that oasis of calm didn’t last for long. As soon as the sedatives were lightened, the trauma kicked in. Two days of almost constant nightmares and terrors, it didn’t seem to matter whether Face was asleep or awake, it seemed that the memories could reach him anywhere. Hannibal tried to talk to him about the pardon, wanted him to know the position he was in in case he took it into his head to take off at any time, but he wasn’t even sure that Face could really hear him. The kid was alternatively seized by incapacitating tremors and the violent desire to run at any cost. Hannibal barely slept in those forty eight hours, he wouldn’t leave Face, his calm monotone sometimes the only thing that was holding the kid to the earth. And when it got too bad, when the pain, both in body and mind became too much, he would just hold him, let him sob and rant and cling to Hannibal like a terrified child.

And then, in the early hours of the fifth day in the mountains, Face eventually relaxed into a deep, calm, sleep. Hannibal stayed with him, the kid was nestled up against his chest, one hand fisted tight in his t-shirt and he didn’t dare move, couldn’t risk waking him up again. So eventually Hannibal slipped into a desperately needed sleep as well, waking to find Face looking up at him, blue eyes wide and wary, as much distance between them in the double bed as possible.

Hannibal was up in half a second flat, horrified at being caught in Face’s bed like that, running a hand awkwardly through his dishevelled hair and making his excuses to leave pretty damn quick. He went for a shower, anything to give him some time and space to think, and when he came out, Face was up, wandering around in a white bath robe looking pale and thin and exhausted, and refusing any offers of help, of support or comfort.

And that’s how it had stayed. Face was what could only be described as aloof with them all. Spending as much time in his room on his own as possible, locking the door on a night so that Hannibal could hear his nightmares and sobs through the walls but not be able to do a damn thing about them.

Alternative Ending Part Two

Current Mood: accomplished

AN: This ending has situations that some readers WILL find upsetting - read on at your peril.

This wasn’t the ending I had planned, but I actually dreamed it and the only way I could get the pictures out of my head was to write them down; so now you all have to suffer along with me!

If you’d rather not take the risk, there is a safer version posted and linked at the bottom of this one.

You have been warned!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Murdock and BA stood on the edge of the trees and stared into their dark depths. “They obviously came in here,” Murdock said, his voice quiet as he stared at the trampled vegetation. BA didn’t answer; he hadn’t spoken since they had seen the wooden T frame in the middle of the field which he had smashed into firewood with his bare hands. They were waiting for Hannibal, each looking like they were off to war, laden with weapons and ammo as they were.

“If no one has come out then that’s good, right?” he asked BA hesitantly, “I mean that could mean that Face has got away, right?”

Hannibal’s running feet caught their attention and they turned as the boss caught them up. “Right,” he said eyes determined as he took the supplies from his men, “You know the drill. Ten dangerous men, well versed in guerrilla warfare in there, plus Face, and you both know what he can do. We take them down and count them off, one by one. Stay in contact and watch your backs. Questions?” They both shook their heads. “Okay then, let’s go get our lieutenant back boys.”

________________________

It took them mere minutes to find the first body. Taz, stripped of clothes and weapons in a bush and the sight gladdened them all. “Okay, so now we know he’s armed and warm, but twice as dangerous. He’s doesn’t know we are here, guys so remember that. If he doesn’t see who we are, he’ll take us out in a second. Be on your guard.”

Tense nods answered his words and with three bumped fists the men set off in opposite directions, melting silently into the woods in seconds.

_________________________

Hannibal glanced at his watch; fifty seven minutes had gone by since they had first found Taz. He clipped his radio back on his belt and stepped over the body he had just found. That brought their total up to eight now, Face sure had been busy.

Crouching in the bushes, Hannibal put his hand out to touch the blood smeared across a leaf frond and frowned. Wet, fresh. He shook his head; blood at every kill scene, Face was obviously injured, bleeding badly but somewhere nearby. Two combatants left, one of them Yousafzai who Taylor wanted alive. The CIA man had been quite happy for Hannibal and his men to go into the trees, he knew that none of his men had the skills to survive in that environment, but only agreed as long as Hannibal promised to bring Yousafzai out alive.

Of course Hannibal had promised, he would have promised anything if it meant saving Face, but whether Yousafzai made it out with a heart beat or not was down to the man himself. And Face of course. Sliding into the bushes, Hannibal continued his search.

________________________

Ten minutes later, Murdock radioed in with news of yet another body, not Face and not Yousafzai. That meant just the boss man left and Hannibal paused to consider his options.

He knew bleeding the way he was, Face would be weakening. Yousafzai was obviously skilled in moving through terrain like this, and definitely had the motivation to keep stalking Face, so he quickly came to a decision. The time for stealth was off, it was time Face knew he had some backup, and then maybe they could get this thing over and done with sooner rather than later.

He lifted his radio to his mouth and was just about to call the others when a shout caught his attention, he froze, listening hard, and jerked into action when he realised it wasn’t any of his men. Instantly he was on the move, dropping his radio by accident as he covered the thick terrain as fast as he could, as quietly as he could, zeroing in on that shout all the time, and then he saw them.

Face was slumped against the trunk of a tree and Hannibal winced at the state he was in, beaten, bloody, pale and exhausted, it was obvious that the kid was right at the end of his rope. Yousafzai was partly hidden by a tree, but Hannibal could see they both had their guns up, were in a standoff, one that he could finish off pretty damn quickly once he got into a good place for a shot.

Dropping to his haunches he moved silently, around to the right, counting his steps, knowing that he wouldn’t have chance for a good look before he needed to put his shot in. He stopped as soon as he felt he’d gone far enough and immediately rose up through the bushes. Yousafzai was there, right in front of him, gun still pointing at Face and Hannibal took careful aim and squeezed.

The second his finger touched his trigger, before the shot had even been taken, the silence of the forest was ripped apart by gunfire. Yousafzai went down, Hannibal saw his shoulder shot blooming like a red flower in the gloom, but he also noted the head shot and Yousafzai was obviously dead even as he fell, Taylor would not be happy, Hannibal thought as he spun on his feet to turn to Face and froze.

Face was staring at him, wide blue eyes looking right at Hannibal as they had done almost every day for the last seventeen years. But not like this, never like this. Hannibal took a step in, his feet almost on autopilot but then he stopped again and stared, his eyes taking everything in, everything, but his brain just refusing to process any of it.

Those quick blue eyes looked at the too large clothes with trouser legs rolled up and blood stains all over his them, they took in the clumsy, swollen fingers, obviously been tied too tight and still trying to recover, they took in the bruised and swollen face, cut above his right eye, left eye almost swollen shut, they took in the neat round bullet hole just to the left of his forehead, and that’s when everything just stopped working.

With a thud, Hannibal fell to his knees.

___________________________

Murdock and BA paced frustratedly up and down the field, their silent radios in their hands, eyes on the tree line all the time.

“Where the hell is Smith?” Taylor seethed. “I need to get Yousafzai into interrogation as soon as possible. Who knows which other rats are running for the woodwork while we wait here?”

He didn’t get an answer. Neither Murdock or BA had been able to raise Hannibal on the radio since they had heard the shots echoing around the far side of the wood. They’d already decided to give it five more minutes before going in and looking for him.

“At last!” Taylor seethed and the two men swung on their heels to see Hannibal appear from the woods much further down and in his arms he was carrying...

“Face!” Murdock yelled and started off running. BA took a step to follow him and then stopped dead, in front of him Murdock also froze as Hannibal strode towards them.

Like Hannibal before him, Murdock’s eyes took everything in, one piece of information at a time, Hannibal’s expression, blank and frighteningly empty, tear tracks through the dirt on his cheeks, Face’s dead weight heavy in his arms, head lolling loosely over Hannibal’s arm, blood, so much blood on his leg, his chest... his head. And like Hannibal before him, his knees hit the ground with a thud.

A thin, high pitched wailing, deafening in its intensity, suddenly started up and Murdock clamped his hands over his ears to try and block it out. It was only when his throat started to tear that he realised it was the sound of his own scream.

_________________________

Seven days later Hannibal stood at the head of the cliff, staring out at the wide blue ocean and the white breakers far below. In his hands was a plain white box, a smooth white cube, lid sealed in place with an ordinary looking silver catch; all that remained of a far from ordinary person.

He still felt as if this was all quite surreal, the walk from the woods with Face’s body after he’d closed those beautiful blue eyes for the last time and held him until his tears ran dry; Murdock’s trauma and BA’s impotent rage. The medics that were already stationed at the ranch looking him over, telling Hannibal there was nothing they could do, as if he’d thought for one second that there might be. The woman from the CIA, family liaison or something, who took Hannibal’s hand and told him how it was okay, how death had been instantaneous, how Face wouldn’t have had time to be scared or to suffer, and Hannibal had just looked at her because he’d had two days hadn’t he? To be very scared and to suffer greatly. When BA took Murdock to be checked into a clinic, private, courtesy of the CIA, just until he was ready to cope.

And then there was the funeral, again arranged by the CIA, very private, just him and BA, he threw Samantha out, if that was even her real name, when she tried to come in with her black clothes and false condolences. Going back to the warehouse, finding Face’s Mustang delivered there ready and waiting for him, leather seats still smelling of his aftershave.

Hannibal had got through all of that, remembered it all perfectly, but he didn’t feel any of it, it was like he wasn’t even there, just like he was watching it from a sterile bubble. But now he was here, about to scatter Face’s ashes to the wind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold that wall of pain back any longer, that as soon as he opened the little shiny silver catch it would all run out of him like a flood and he wondered if he was strong enough to survive it, if he even wanted to any more.

He looked down at the white box, stroked it and thought about what might have been, how this might have ended if only he’d been a bit quicker, if only he’d ever let Face talk to him, if only he’d bothered listening to what the kid was already saying. If only. The two most painful words in the English language.

Face was in love with him, that’s what Murdock had hinted at, that’s what Samantha had said, and that’s what Hannibal finally accepted, now it was far too late to do anything about it. He closed his eyes and wondered if that was the worst thing about all of this, that Face had died without knowing what he felt back for him. But no, the worst thing was that Face had obviously suffered so much on his own in the two days before he escaped, and now of course Hannibal would never know just how bad that time had been. Or maybe that was the best thing, that Hannibal would never know? Maybe if he knew, if he could hear and see the pain and suffering, then maybe he wouldn’t be able to go on. But then again, maybe that was a good thing, not going on...

He sighed and turned the catch, keeping the lid on tight for now. I love you he said in his head, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, didn’t show you, but I do. And then he opened the box and watched as the fine dust picked up the wind and blew away, out to sea, free in a way that Face never was.

Eventually it had all gone, the box was empty, as empty as Hannibal felt, and that wall of grief and anger and guilt and frustration hit him just as hard as he had expected it would. He sank to his knees, just like he had done in the forest that day with Face’s empty eyes looking right at him, but this time was different, this time he had nothing to get back up for.

Too angsty? Click here for alternative ending!

Current Mood: creative

Maybe an hour later, they were back. This time with tables, chairs, women, beer and barbeques, Face watched anxiously as they set their little party up right behind him, he could feel the warmth of their campfire on his naked ass and all that tension came back as the party got going.

At first they mostly ignored him. Sure, he knew there were a lot of comments flying around his way, but he could disregard that, hell he could hardly understand them, so it wasn’t hard. But then the attention started to mount, comments shouted in his ear, a cuff across the back of the head, a stone thrown, a crack across his previously unmarked back with a belt or a shoe – a hand groping his ass...

And that’s when his blood ran cold. Once the first guy had done it, the others all seemed to follow. Yousafzai did what he had done throughout his whole ordeal, kick back in silence and watch, smoking or eating or drinking and letting his men get on with whatever they wanted, and the stakes just rose higher and higher with the alcohol.

“Hello, pretty boy,” one of the men, a tall guy with a goatee beard who the others called Taz, leered as he rubbed his crotch up and down the crack of Face’s ass, “I think we are going to be good friends tonight? Yes?”

“In your dreams loser,” Face snarled, old habits dying hard.

But his antagonist just laughed, “If Abdul says I can have you, you are mine,” then he squeezed the round globes of flesh, hard, and walked away, laughing.

Face looked round and found Yousafzai watching him, a woman sat at his side, methodically rubbing the swelling bulge in his trousers and he raised his drink at Face who turned away, desperately trying to keep the fear out of his expression.

So, this was it then, they were going to rape him, more than one of them, he supposed, probably all of them, and once the night really got going and the alcohol really got flowing, he knew there was no way on this earth that he would survive that. They would kill him, that much was obvious, the alcohol and the hysteria and the mob mentality would combine to ensure he didn’t see the sun rise on another day, it was a phenomena he had been unlucky enough to witness the after-effects of in warzones all over the world. Sometimes even practised by the ‘good’ guys...

He dropped his head onto the wooden stake in despair.

_____________________

“Ho w much longer, BA?” Hannibal asked tightly, looking at his watch.

BA let out a long sigh. “About another hour, man. I’m goin’ as fast as I can.”

“I know, BA, I know,” Hannibal soothed him.

“I woulda flown you know, boss. For Face.”

“I know BA, but it would have taken a couple of hours to get a chopper, at least we are off under our own steam now. And if Taylor and that damn woman get there before us, well, you got to trust they will do right by Face as well.”

BA slid back into silence as he concentrated on driving as fast as he could, but Hannibal had heard Murdock’s ironic little noise from the back. An hour, that’s all they were, an hour away. Hannibal just hoped that Face could hold on.
_____________________

Ironically, Face realised that Yousafzai was his only possible way out. He turned and watched the man again, noted how he seemed irritated by some of the behaviour of his troops and knew he was the only one who could offer Face any kind of protection. But of course he wasn’t stupid here, knew that, out of all of the people around him, Yousafzai was the one who hated him most, the one who had the greatest desire to see him die most horribly, he wasn’t going to step in on some kind of humanitarian mission here. No, what Face needed to do was to try and convince him to kill him some other way, a way that Yousafzai would get more satisfaction from than just watching his men bugger him until he bled to death. A way that would give Face even the slimmest of chances of getting out alive.

That needed some thought; he just hoped he had time to do it.

_____________________

“Jesus Christ! I don’t believe this!” Hannibal ranted as BA put his back behind the wheel wrench.

Murdock was stood with the fresh tyre, his teeth nervously worrying his lip as his eyes kept flicking up in the direction of Buf’s ranch.

“I’m doin’ my best!” BA hissed as his muscles corded with the effort.

_____________________

Just after midnight, Face’s time ran out.

Taz was back, a bit of a slur to his words, a slight weave in his step, but Face could see from the very ready bulge in his crotch that brewer’s droop was not going to be a problem for this one. His plan wasn’t ready, it was too sketchy, too new in his mind, but now it was his very last chance.

“Told you, pretty boy,” Taz purred into his ear, “Abdul says I can have you first, I can have the honour of splitting you open for the others,” Face tried not to shudder. “But first you are going to suck my cock, and you are going to make it good for me, or I will open you up with a knife before my dick goes there. Understand?”

Face turned away from him, “Hey, Abdul!” he shouted, feeling the rawness in his throat from the screaming and the water, “I thought you were supposed to be a soldier?”

A hush fell around the camp and Yousafzai’s eyes fell on Face, narrowing as they did. “Shut up, Peck,” he snarled.

Face swallowed hard, that hadn’t gone too well, and tried again. “You wanted rid of me? I thought you’d be man enough to do it yourself, instead of letting your fairies here do it for you.” The fact that Taz didn’t punch Face out there and then was only because he wasn’t exactly sure what the English word ‘fairies’ meant.

Yousafzai rose to his feet and the rest of the party fell quiet, “I said shut up,” he whispered.

One more go... “I mean I can see why you would need to get your men to rough me up a bit first, I’m still an active combatant after all and you are, well,” Face dredged up a smile from somewhere, “semi-retired maybe? You and I wouldn’t be a fair fight unless I was compromised.”

Only the crackling of the fire interrupted the silence now as Yousafzai stalked up to Face, “You arrogant American,” he hissed, every man listening to him, “you think you can fight me?”

Face nodded, and here was the thing, “Not just fight you, evade you. I’m spec ops trained, there is a reason you’ve taken fifteen years to catch up with me you know, I’m fucking good at not being found,” the challenge was there in his eyes.

Yousafzai reacted in a second, reaching up to crack Face across the back of his head, knocking his face into the wooden pole in front of him, “Your arrogance astounds me, Peck. You really think you can evade me and my men for longer than five minutes?”

Trying not to let his disappointment show at the ‘and my men’ line, Face laughed. “Piece of cake,” he whispered.

For a second no one moved, no one breathed as Face and Yousafzai locked eyes, and then the Afghan turned away, laughing to himself. “No,” he breathed, “I’m too tired. Taz? He’s yours, fuck him.”

Swallowing his panic, Face refused to give up, “Chicken shit,” he muttered and Yousafzai stopped.

“What did you call me?” the fury in his eyes was terrifying.

“You heard,” Face held his nerve.

Suddenly, Yousafzai was flying at him, knife raised and Face realised he’d just swapped being buggered to death for having his flesh sliced off in delicate strips instead, but then Yousafzai just cut the ropes, four brutal slashes with the knife and Face was free, clinging onto the wooden poles to stop from pitching to the ground. “You have five minutes. Run.”

Face looked up in horror, five minutes? That’s not how this was supposed to go. “What about some water?” he asked, he’d not had a drink since the stuff he swallowed by accident in the waterboarding “Clothes, shoes... a weapon?” he added hopefully.

Yousafzai was impassive, “Four minutes, fifty five seconds.”

Face swore under his breath and took off running, or more accurately staggering, towards the line of trees at the side of the field. As he ran, he heard Yousafzai shout, “Get ready. Whoever finds him can have first go!”

Taz’s roar of frustration made his blood run cold.

_____________________

By the time the stubborn wheel was changed, the first fingers of light were stretching through the black sky. Hannibal jumped back in as BA took off with a screech of rubber. He just hoped that this enforced halt wouldn’t prove costly.

____________________

Face hit the tree line running and immediately knew he was in trouble. The trees were close together and there would be no way that he could move at the speed he needed to in order to get away and hide his trail at the same time. He was as vulnerable as all hell out here as well; no weapons and his naked skin would almost glow in the light from the moon. There was only one thing he could do, only one possible way out.

He stopped, breathing hard, every single part of his body crying out in agony and looked up. He needed a tree, one he could climb, but would offer him enough cover to keep him hidden. If it could then facilitate an ambush, more than better, but hearing the yells and whoops coming from the field, Face knew his time was limited. Choosing his tree quickly, he marshalled his protesting muscles together, took hold of the rough bark in both hands and started to climb.

_____________________

Yousafzai was already regretting his decision to let Face go. He knew damn well the reputation of this man and his unit back in Afghanistan, he’d tried to get to Face on any number of occasions while the wound from his mutilated hand was still raw, but they had always evaded him.

He also knew that he had upset Taz with the withdrawal of the honour of first go with the American, and as much as Taz was his inferior, he was a dangerous man, not one to disappoint lightly. Yousafzai scowled, annoyed that he had let Peck goad him this way and looked at his watch. Three minutes, well that would do.

“Get him,” he hissed under his breath at his men and they all moved out.

_______________________

Face had just pulled his trailing leg up into the canopy when the first of Yousafzai‘s men crashed into the trees around him. He huddled on his branch, praying that no one would think to look up and that they were all too full of the blood lust to try and pick up his trail too hard.

He was lucky, whooping and yelling everyone moved out and within ten seconds their noises were fading into the trees behind him. He leaned back against the trunk, breathing hard, his heart pounding uncomfortably, every muscle in his body trembling with pain and exhaustion and tried to plan his next move.

He never got the chance. Just as he was thinking that he might make it, that they might all lose themselves in their drunken stampede, there was a noise beneath him and a voice, cold in the darkness. “You’d better get down from there, pretty boy. I told you what I wanted, and now it’s time you delivered.” Face’s gut clenched in terror and he looked down to see Taz staring up at him, predatory leer stretched across his mouth.

Face knew he had one chance at this, one chance only and then it was all over. Without pause he dropped from the tree, knowing that he was right above his adversary. Taz tried to get out of his way, and swung with his knife, catching Face in the thigh, but the weight of a six foot man dropping on his neck was too much and the both fell to the ground, Face on top, disappointed that his momentum hadn’t broken Taz’s neck.

The struggle was brief but violent, Face felt wrong, exposed, to have to do this naked, but it needed doing and it needed doing fast. Ignoring Taz’s swinging fists and he brought his leg up and around the guy’s neck, bracing himself behind and grabbing his head with both hands. Face took a deep breath, one chance and one chance only, and twisted, almost sagging in relief as he heard the tell tale crack and Taz went limp between his legs.

He allowed himself no time at all to recover, quickly scrambling to his feet and dragging the body into the bushes nearby. As soon as he had the benefit of the sparse cover he set to work, stripping his victim of weapons first and then clothes. Within three minutes, Face was ready. He had a gun, plenty of ammo, a knife, a set of clothes, some decent boots and nine more adversaries to finish off.

Game on.
___________________

When the van arrived at Buf’s ranch with the first of the sun’s rays, it was blatantly obvious that there was no need for stealth on the team’s part; there were plain black sedans and men in suits crawling all over the place. Hannibal drew a number of stares as he jumped out the second the wheels stopped turning, stalking across the driveway, his keen blue eyes already scanning the scene. “Where’s Taylor?” he barked to a passing suit in a voice that was used to being obeyed and the man raised his arm pointing to a knot of CIA huddled in a corner, deep in conversation.

“Taylor!” Hannibal shouted, now flanked by Murdock and BA, and the man looked over, immediately brushing his colleagues off and making his way over to meet Hannibal.

“He’s not here,” he snapped, the disappointment clear in his eyes.

“Face or Yousafzai?” Hannibal’s voice was tight.

“Neither.”

“So where are they then, man?” BA interjected, his eyes cold as he stared at Taylor.

“Colonel...” Murdock’s quiet voice, however, stopped Taylor’s reply in its tracks and all three men turned to where Murdock had pointed, where he was now wandering over to, his steps slow and hesitant.

As his eyes followed, Hannibal just sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes as the truth of what had happened here began to make itself known, bit by bit, but BA swore, loudly. “Oh, man!” he seethed as his dark eyes took in the waterboarding kit, “Not again!”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Hannibal went over to Murdock, who was now trailing his fingers over the wooden board, lingering at the dark blood stains in the wood’s grain. “Come on Captain,” his voice was firm but the pain was there for Murdock to hear.

Murdock didn’t move. “Can he get over this again, Colonel?” and for a minute Hannibal was lost for words.

He took Murdock’s arm, “Come on,” he repeated and led him back to where BA and Taylor waited.

“Hannibal!” BA shouted as soon as they were in hearing distance, “We got a lead!”

Taylor looked excited now, radio in one hand barking instructions into it as his eyes roved over the woods at the side of the property. “Report, Corporal!” Hannibal snapped.

BA turned to them, his face grave. “One of the women livin’ here says that last night they turned Face loose in the woods with a five minute start and then set out to hunt him.” Hannibal’s hands tightened into fists. “Yousafzai and all his men went into the trees, told the women to wait and that they wouldn’t be long.”

“And?” Hannibal prompted.

“Well,” BA looked over his shoulder at the massive expanse of trees, “That was in the early hours. No one has come out since.”

All three men now turned to stare out at the never ending expanse of trees as Taylor still barked instructions into his radio.

“Did Face have any weapons?”

BA shook his head, “Nothin’ man,” the anger was clear in BA’s face, “Not a stitch o’clothes, no shoes, no weapons, rations, nothin’.”

Now it was Murdock’s turn to swear.

“Right,” Hannibal had made his decision and his plan. “We are going in after him, five minutes boys, go and get the things we need from the van while I talk to suit-man here.”

Relieved to have a purpose, all three men turned to their jobs.

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