indigo_angels

Hannibal:-
At this point I nearly lose the will again and I have to swallow hard three or four times before I can get enough moisture in my mouth to even speak. The sight of him, stretched out on the bed like that in the half light of the room, it does things to me that I’ve never even thought possible... If only circumstances were different.

I know he’s watching me and even though his face is too shadowed for me to make out his expression, I know he’s asking me why, and I have to tell him, what point is there in getting a lesson if you don’t even know why you are getting it? So I swallow again and take a deep breath before I lean over him.

“Listen to me,” he already is, of course he is, I can feel his chest moving with each breath up against my arm, too fast, too stressed, “Have you worked it out yet? Can you guess what I’m going to do?”

His head shakes and I’m glad, I need to tell him myself, make sure he understands, “You still hard?” My hand traces down to his erection and brushes against the hot flesh in the darkness, feeling him try to twitch away; he’s not anywhere near as aroused as he was, but it’s still there and I’m relieved. This was never about terrorising him.

“You are, good.” My mind turns back to the plan, “You had any idea how many nights I’ve laid in this bed, hard as rock and thinking about you?” He doesn’t move a muscle. “No? Well, let’s try every single damn night since we arrived in this fucking dust bowl!” I can feel that familiar burning in my chest again now, stoking my resolve, making this easier to do. “Every night Face! Laid here, thinking about you, while you were out fucking your way around the whole damn camp!” I realise that my voice is rising and I make a concerted effort to keep it down, can’t have anyone over hearing. “And how do you think that made me feel, hey?”

He squirms under me and I know he wants me to take off the gag and give him the chance to sweet talk his way out, but not yet, not while I still have a point to make. I stand up, towering over him, watching the way he tenses as I adjust the belt on my jeans, trying to make my own damn hard on less obvious.

“Well, let’s try angry, frustrated, jealous as hell... but the list could go on and on!” Now I have finally got my chance to get this off my chest, there’s a snarl in my voice that I barely recognise myself. “So this is what happens now. I’m going out, to meet back up with Samantha, you remember her? Red hair? Gorgeous tits?” I still can’t see his face properly but I can almost feel his glare.

I lean over him again, one hand either side of his shoulders, our face’s inches apart, “And I am going to fuck her, and maybe I’ll like it more than fucking you and decide not to come back. Or maybe I will come back just to teach you who you belong to! But either way, you will just have to lay here, horny as hell, thinking about what I am doing with someone else, and then maybe you might just have the tiniest clue what these last two weeks have been like for me!”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound and I can almost taste the insolence flowing off him. Sick to the stomach I turn and leave. 

Hannibal:-
Murdock’s timing was impeccable as always. The last thing I needed was to have fight with the damn kid in front of all these people, and I saw he had that look in his eye, the one he only gets when all sense of rational thought has well and truly dissolved. So, yeah, I think I owe the captain one there, even though he looked less than impressed with me...

So that’s Plan B, Phase One, complete, now I need to move onto Phase Two.

I disentangle myself from Samantha, and promise I’ll be back after I run a couple of errands. She looks a little disappointed which does great things to my ego, especially after Face doing his damndest to trample on it every day for the last month or so, and I gratefully slip away from all the noise and testosterone.

I head straight for my quarters. Murdock hauled the LT away about fifteen minutes ago, that will have given him sufficient time to calm down just enough to realise that we don’t need a public confrontation over this. He also won’t want to upset Murdock any more than he already is, so he’ll definitely end up at mine. I’d stake my rank on it.

Of course I’m right. He’s already managed to lose Murdock and let himself in and he’s sitting bolt upright on a storage box in the corner of the room, his eyes zeroing in on me across the darkened tent and his arms folded stiffly across his chest.

I take a step towards him and he’s on his feet in a fraction of a second, coiled as tight as a cobra ready to strike, and I just hope I can play him exactly right here...

“Boss...” he wants to talk, of course he does, but that’s not what I have got planned, no, no, no. There’s something much more interesting up my sleeve for the rest of the evening.

I take another step in and feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He puts his hands up in front of him, trying to stop my advance but I know him too well, all I need is to get one hand on him, one touch and he’ll be putty in my hands.

Another step, and he tries again, “Boss, I...” but I’m in. One hand snakes under his to rest on his side, in the hollow above his hip, my thumb sliding under the soft as butter material of his shirt and finding hot skin, circling gently.

I hear his barely suppressed gasp and see some of the tension leak out of him. It’s all about touch for the kid and always had been. Deprived of even the most basic physical comforts as a child, he craves it now, a desperate need and a secret back door for anyone who knows him well enough to know it’s there. Anyone like me.

My other hand slides in now, up, round his hip and under his shirt, finding hard muscle under the soft skin of his back and slipping right up until I’m holding the back of his neck, pulling him in, feeling more than hearing the little moan of defeat as he succumbs to my gentle persuading and opens up to me.

For a few glorious minutes I allow myself to vanish inside him. Enjoy the feeling of this, a feeling I haven’t had for so long. But my internal clock is ticking away, loudly reminding me that there is more to tonight than just this, so I step back, keeping us fused together, leading him closer and closer to the bed. When I feel the thump of the mattress against my knees I change tack again, this time undoing his buttons while all the time keeping his mouth busy, keeping his mind from thinking too rationally.

He’s a more than willing subject and I strip him naked while we continue to kiss, and for a moment I feel a surge of guilt at what I am planning to do. He trusts me, so completely and utterly, and I know damn well it’s not a trust he gives away lightly, will this damage what we have? Will he ever trust me again if I do this?

I pause as I think this through, but then memories of the last few weeks, the womanising, the whoring, wash over me like a cold shower and I know that this has to be sorted out once and for all. He has to know what it this like for me, otherwise he’ll never understand, and he’ll never, ever stop.       

I’ve no choice.

Hannibal:-
I feel just the slightest bit guilty as I watch Face wander back to his quarters all alone just as the sun is dipping below the horizon. He hasn’t seen me, has no idea I came back out here to check on him, wouldn’t do for him to suspect that the extra miles he was given over the range were to do with anything other than his poor performance during the course of the day.

I’ve hurt his feelings, I know that, and it makes me feel really shitty, but running him to the point of exhaustion is the only thing I can think of to keep him in his own damn bed at night. There was nothing wrong with his performance today. The first time we all ran the range he finished first, up ahead of me, but then I was deliberately hanging back so I could watch him. I told him he wasn’t fast enough, that he’d not pushed himself, was too complacent in leading. Told him to get himself back out there and do it again, beat his own time. He’d looked at me for just a second longer than he needed to, but turned and jogged back towards the start, no smart comment or whinging, and that’s when I knew I’d hurt him.

But then, over lunch, he went and sat with some cute little Corporal, one of the new arrivals. I watched as he pretended to read her palm, his fingers lingering over her hand far too long, his eyes on her face and her chest far too much for my liking. So when we went over the range that afternoon I gave them all targets and made sure his was one he would never meet. He tried damn hard, came really close, but missed, so I sent him, and all the other failures, back out again, but now of course he was feeling badly done to, so out came the attitude and the answering back and I couldn’t have that, not in front of all those other soldiers. So I sent him round again. And then one more time just as everyone else was heading back for the night.

So now I’ve showered and changed, but I feel bad for him, so I’ve headed out here to see where he is, how he’s getting on, maybe even get chance for that talk we so obviously need.

There’s a set of battered old bleachers here and I choose a seat in the middle and watch him as he trudges my way, and my heart does that stupid little tightening thing as I see how dejected he looks. His t-shirt is soaked in sweat and his head is hanging down, looking at his feet as he walks along. There’s blood trailing from both his knees as well as an elbow and again I feel a shot of guilt. He’s usually so sure footed; he must have been exhausted to have fallen.

Just as I make my mind up to go over and walk with him, apologise maybe for the way I treated him today, then I hear a voice calling him and he lifts his head up as that damn Corporal, all showered and changed into some gravity defying vest top, skips up to him, standing on her tip toes to kiss him full on the mouth. And of course the damn kid responds, his arms fold round her and he literally lifts her off the floor so that he can kiss her properly and I’ve seen quite enough of that.

Obviously it’s never going to matter how exhausted he is, looks like there is an unlimited supply of sexual energy just ready to keep him going.

Seems as if I am going to need Plan B.

Next Part

Hannibal:-
The kid’s been driving me fucking crazy all day. No matter how much shit I’ve passed his way, he’s spent the whole time grinning like an idiot and making constant references to his many conquests; not that he can even remember all their names of course. If it weren’t for the other units we were training with, I wouldn’t have been able to restrain myself from tearing a strip off his arrogant backside.  

I turn the shower up a notch, trying to scald all the damn sand off my skin and wonder for the millionth time just what the hell he thinks he is doing with himself. Half the idiots on exercises with us today looked at him like he was a sex god or something, while the other half, BA leading the field on this one, just looked at him like he’d crawled out from under a rock.

I know which camp I’m in.

It’s burning me up inside, hearing all the details of his nights of debauchery; what universe does he live in where that is ever acceptable? It’s no wonder none of his relationships ever last. Apart from one, my self-destructive streak reminds me, and that just shows how much of a hold Sosa had on him. I can feel myself frowning, and I thought I couldn’t possibly hate that woman any more than I already did.

All I asked him to do was keep up appearances, not start ignoring women in bars, not start ignoring the flirting that seems to follow him around wherever he goes, maybe even score every now and again. I certainly never asked him to embark on his own sexual marathon.

Twenty minutes later I’m in their quarters, thinking that maybe me and the kid might have a little chat, see if we can’t work out what’s been going on, but he’s not there, only BA.

“Where are the others?” I ask grabbing a beer from the cooler and sitting opposite him while he methodically takes his gun to pieces for cleaning.

“Drinkin’,” he replies without looking up.

And I nod. Okay. Drinking with Face will undoubtedly turn to fucking before too long and I sigh as I realise that we’ll all be treated to a repeat performance of today at breakfast tomorrow morning. Fucking great.

I hear BA’s sigh and look up as he sets his gun down on the table. “They’ve not been gone long, man... Why don’t you head out an’ catch them up?”

Slowly I started pulling the label off the bottle thinking it over.

_____________________

Even though it’s a Wednesday night, the place is packed, but it still doesn’t take me long to spot Murdock at the bar. By himself. I’ve no desire to watch another Templeton Peck porn show, but the set of Murdock’s shoulders is ringing alarms in my head so I grit my teeth and wade through the masses to my pilot’s side.

“Hey,” I clap his shoulder and signal for a beer, “Where’s your buddy?”

I see Murdock sit himself up a bit and make the effort to brighten up, but he’s not fooling me and I curse Face for dragging him out just to witness his latest conquest. He nods to the end of the bar and I feel my gut clench as I pick him out. Arm round some six foot brunette I don’t recognise. Tongue down her throat. Hand up her skirt. And something inside me just snaps.

“Murdock, come on,” I growl, yanking on his arm and dragging him out of the door. It’s either that or storm over there and tug that hand out of that brunette’s goddamn pants and haul Face by his hair back to my bed.

And that wouldn’t look good. Not at all.    

 Next Part

Hannibal:-
He catches my eye the second he walks into the mess tent. Okay, so maybe I was looking out for him, since it was so obvious he never made back to his quarters for the night... But even so, he seems to just catch everyone’s eye the second he swaggers in. And, yeah, swaggers is the right word. If he had a t-shirt that said, ‘Hey everyone, I got laid last night and it was fucking amazing!’ he couldn’t make it any clearer than he is now. I feel that all too familiar stinging heat start up in my stomach and push the rest of my breakfast to one side.

Murdock follows my eyes and turns his head to where Face is leaning over and flirting with a whole table of nurses, probably lining up his entertainment for tonight. I can feel the tension creeping up my legs.

“Face!” Murdock stands up and waves, causing a few of the jarheads around us to snigger. I see Face turn a quick furious stare their way and it instantly shuts them up, but he’s at our table in a second, so obviously trying to protect his best friend that it makes me even more furious. How can he be so attentive in some ways and so hopelessly ignorant in others?

“Hey, bud,” I watch with a scowl on my face as he slides down onto the bench next to Murdock and instantly snags one of the sausages off his plate, “Jesus, I am knackered. I tell you, that Sgt. Dawson is tenacious..."

My hand tightens involuntarily around my coffee cup and I catch BA out of the corner of my eye as he turns to narrow his eyes at the kid. Murdock, of course, plays along, “Yeah? Well, that’s only ‘cos there was meteor storm over Mercury last night, always sends the women wild...”

BA’s head flicks round to Murdock then I see him give a little shake before turning back to his bacon but Face doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “Yeah?” he reaches out and grabs another sausage before draining all Murdock’s juice in one go, “Maybe a bit of a heads up there next time? Don’t wanna miss out on another night like that one!” 

I feel my teeth grinding together so hard, the pain is literally running up and into my head. The damn kid hasn’t even looked my way since he crawled in.

“Hey,” that’s BA’s voice and I glance over. The big guy is usually the last one to get involved in the post mortems of Face’s nights of passion.

Face glances up too, his expression open and innocent, and quite honestly it bugs the hell out of me.

“Why you eatin’ his food, man? “the anger is clear in every syllable, “Maybe you should get your ass out of bed earlier, then you’ll be in time to get your own damn breakfast!”

I watch Face closely and for just a second his eyes cloud in hurt before he quickly pushes it away. I curse myself at how much that bothers me but before he gets the chance for a snappy comeback, Murdock is there defending him as always, “It’s okay, Big Guy, I knew Face was gonna be busy this mornin’ so I got extra just for him!”

He beams at his answer and Face claps him on the back before pinching his toast. BA just shakes his head and goes back to his food.

Meanwhile, I realise my patience had finally run out.

“We are training this morning, lieutenant,” I spit out, “In case you have forgotten.”

Face looks at me, damn his wide eyed innocent look, “Of course, boss. I’m here aren’t I? Ready to go.”

“Ready to go?” I can feel the roiling fire in my gut sparking into every word, “Smelling like a whore house and wearing last night’s clothes?”

What makes it even worse is that the bastard just laughs at me, “Okay, okay! I get the hint, I’ll go and shower,” he stands up and stretches his hands up above his head, making a couple of inches of hard belly show above his waistband, “Need to work out a few kinks anyway... man that girl was flexible...”

I force myself to still quiet and on the bench. Yelling everything in my head in front of the entire camp won’t help matters but I feel Murdock’s eyes on me as Face saunters out again, throwing easy smiles at the nurses again as he leaves.

It’s only after the swing doors close behind him that I meet Murdock’s stare. “Uh, boss...” he looks from his empty plate to my half full one, “You finished with that, ‘cos I’m still a bit hungry...”   

Epilogue

Time ticks on and in the three weeks since Hannibal returned to active duty he has been amazed by the change in Face. For a start, it’s the first time since he’s been in the unit that he actually looks happy. It doesn’t matter if they are going over the assault course in the pissing rain or up for a 5am run, he’s always cheerful, always smiling and it warms Hannibal from the heart.

Every day he is proving to Hannibal just what a damn fine soldier he is and what a damn fine leader he is going to make. Hannibal can see that he is thinking before he acts now. Maybe not always, and maybe he doesn’t always make the right choices, but it’s there and its coming and Hannibal is just so damn proud of him.

The friendship is coming as well, and Hannibal is pleased about that – even if he has realised he will always want just that little bit more. But he is nothing if not realistic and patient. Maybe it will come, maybe it won’t, but either way he’s enjoying things just as they are for the minute.

It’s a Saturday night with a rest day tomorrow, very rare and the boys are keen to make the most of it. They have arranged a Casino trip, but Hannibal just isn’t in the mood. He’s sent them off on their own for the night with his eye on a bottle of wine, some relaxing music and a good book. He can’t remember the last chance he got to do that.

The chance doesn’t materialise tonight either. Just as he is flicking through his meagre book stock, trying to decide which one to revisit tonight, there’s a knock at his door, and there is Face, with beer, popcorn and a crummy VHS. Hannibal answers his lieutenant’s grin and they settle down to watch the film.

They’re about half way through possibly the worst action film Hannibal has ever seen when he decides he wants some answers. He glances over at Face, reclined in the chair alongside him, one foot resting next to his other knee, bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap and he feels that weird pull in his chest again.

Face feels his stare and turns, flashing a quick grin and holding out the bowl, “Popcorn boss?” he offers.

Hannibal looks at him, really looks at him, trying to work out what’s in his head and its enough to make the kid’s grin falter and die just a bit, “Boss?”

Hannibal fixes him with his stare, “Why didn’t you tell me about Sanders?”

It’s not what Face is expecting and he lets the bowl drop back to his lap, turning away from his CO and starring at the TV with empty eyes.

“Face?”

“I dunno...” he eventually mumbles.

“I think you do...”

Face turns to look at him again and his look is clearly saying, ‘Are we really doing this boss? Really? You sure?’ so Hannibal nods.

He sighs and turns back to the screen and Hannibal is content to wait, he knows he’ll answer now and eventually he does.

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You’d have thought I was a liar or a whore...” The answer is only what Hannibal expected, but there is so much misery in his voice that he wants to strangle Sanders again for about the tenth time in three weeks.

He takes a breath, “Maybe at the beginning,” he admits, “but afterwards? Once you’d been with the unit a few weeks? Couldn’t you have told me then?”

Face has given up on the TV now, and is stirring the popcorn absently with one long finger. He looks thoroughly miserable and Hannibal feels bad for doing this to him, but it’s important, vitally so. He needs to know what’s going on in that head.

“I dunno...” Face repeats eventually, “I mean, I’m not getting at you here Hannibal, but, well, why would you believe me?” He looks up to meet Hannibal’s eyes, but his features are hidden in the half light of the room. “I mean Sanders isn’t stupid, when he told me to wait outside McGrath’s office that day you were all talking about me,” Hannibal feels the shame heat his cheeks, “he wasn’t just wanting to kick my ego, he wanted me to know how badly you thought of me, wanted me to know that you already thought I was a cheat and a liar...” Face looks back at the popcorn, “He didn’t want me to go to you, he was worried that I would tell, so he made sure I knew how futile that would be, that I was alone again before I’d even gone...”

Hannibal feels equal parts desperate and furious. Sanders is not going to get away with this. Face may well be safe now, but there are other kids out there that need protecting from this scumbag. He looks over and Face is staring into the popcorn, obviously a million miles away, and somewhere not too nice either judging by the look on his face...

Hannibal knows he needs to ask his next question, this is the one that has really been needling him, the answer he needs while he is plotting Sanders’ downfall. He takes a deep breath.

“Face...”

Face seems to cringe, it’s almost like he knows what is coming.

“While I was away... Did he... Sanders...” he forces himself to get a grip, “Did he touch you kid, while I was away?”

Face seems to slump into himself and Hannibal looks away, not trusting himself to keep a hold on his temper if he has to look at the kid at this point.

“I’m sorry, Hannibal...” And Hannibal’s stomach twists, it’s going to be every bit as bad as he dreaded; his elbow is propped on the arm rest of the chair and he lets his head falls into it.

“I’m sorry...” Face repeats and the edge of desperation to his voice is almost more than Hannibal can bare. “I just didn’t see another way, he had me cornered. The last time I said no, he set me up, planted some dope in my stuff, called it in, we were searched and that was it. Got a few of the boys to say I was dealing. Dealing boss, Jesus I would never do that...” Hannibal’s free hand is balled into a fist as he wills himself to stay calm. “And then when I was in deep shit, he said he would help me out if I... well... you know...”

Hannibal can feel the kid blushing, feel his utter mortification. Face takes an audible deep breath, “So I did. I didn’t want to get chucked out, not then, and I certainly didn’t want to go to prison for dealing... But... Oh, god, Hannibal, I hated every fucking second of it...” Hannibal’s silent fury kicks up another notch.

There’s a long pause as they both try to get themselves back together before Face continues, his voice flat and emotionless now, “So I thought if I fucked up enough, I’d get bumped off his unit, sent somewhere else where he couldn’t get to me, but it didn’t work, ‘cause the bastard was there wherever I went. It was just getting to the point when I couldn’t stand it when I got sent to you...”
 
Hannibal fills in the blanks himself, how Face would have turned up, full of hope, knowing from Hannibal’s reputation that he would be finally free of Sanders, but then... he’d heard what Hannibal had said about him in McGrath’s office, and all that hope would have been crushed. Hannibal’s stomach twists with guilt. No wonder he’d pulled that disappearing act on his first week in Hannibal’s unit – he’d probably just about reached the end of his rope.

“Anyway... as soon as we got back from Cambodia, as soon as you had gone, he was back. Told me he’d pull the dope stunt again. All that stuff is still on my file boss, you must have seen it,” the desperation is back and Hannibal’s fury is rising again, “he’d get me thrown out, just when things are starting to go right, and all I could think was that you’d know I’d fucked up again and I didn’t know when you were back, and I asked around and no one did, and I knew that if Sanders set me up again no one would believe me, and... I just didn’t know what to do... and...”

Hannibal’s fingers are cramping with the force of his clenched fists.

“I know I’ve let you down. I’m so sorry boss...”

And that does it. Hearing his boy, his smart, brave, happy  boy, sounding so broken and empty just snaps something inside him. Sanders is going to pay for this. Right fucking now. He’s up on his feet before he knows it and out of the door. His furious steps take him right round to the mess hall before the red mist clears enough to let him think and he stops. This isn’t the right way to deal with this and he knows it, but there is no way on earth he is going to let the bastard get off scot free. He leans against the wall of the mess and takes deep breaths, trying to straighten his head and think clearly.

He won’t ask around, but he’ll have a look at the boys in Sanders’ unit, he must have someone else lined up to fill the gap left by Face, and Hannibal is fairly sure he’ll be able to guess which one. And then he will watch and wait and bide his time and catch the fucker with his pants down and then he’ll get a one way ticket back to civilian life. Hannibal closes his eyes as he feels the rage drain away. Yes, that’s a plan, a good plan, and much more effective than just beating seven tonnes of shit out of him tonight. Tempting as that may be.

He’ll have to be careful though, not to let Face get wind of what he is planning. There is no way he wants Face to come within one hundred meters of Sanders ever again in his life, so it’s imperative the kid is kept in the dark. Speaking of which... Hannibal stands up from the wall, it’s time he was back, he’s got the second half of that crappy action movie to watch.

He walks slowly back, he wants to make sure all the anger is left behind him and when he pushes open the door to his quarters he hears the TV still playing loudly in the corner. He glances over to the chair where Face was sitting and frowns, it’s empty. With a shrug he picks up his beer can and takes a swig, kid’s probably gone for a piss or something, but then his eyes fall on the spilt beer and upended popcorn all over the floor and a chill settles into his bones. Hannibal thinks back to their conversation, Face’s admission, the guilt in his voice... and the way Hannibal flew out of the room. He’s back out of the door in a second.

Bursting into the boys’ quarters he sees Face at once, standing over his cot, stuffing clothes hurriedly into his kit bag. “Oh, no you don’t kid,” he murmurs to himself and in three strides he’s right behind him. “Face, stop, listen to me here,” He grabs Face’s shoulders and turns him round, stopping mid sentence when he sees the tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Oh, hell, kid, I’m sorry!” and he pulls him in, folding him into his chest, one hand on his shoulders, the other sliding up to the back of his head, cradling him in, feeling the tears against his neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, “It wasn’t you, it’s never you, I was just so pissed with Sanders I couldn’t think straight...”

But he doesn’t even think Face is listening. His own arms have come up around Hannibal’s back and he’s holding on so tightly that it hurts, sobbing into his CO’s neck, his words coming out in a garbled rush.

 
“I shouldn’t have told you; I know you won’t want me anymore, he told me you wouldn’t want me and I tried not to believe him, but he’s right. I gave in so easily ‘cause that’s what I am, just easy, and I know you expect better and now you’ll want me to leave and I will and-”     

“Face!” Hannibal grabs him, one hand under his chin, one hand on the side of his head, “Stop! Now!” And Face stops, tears running freely down his cheeks, quiet desperation on his features and Hannibal does what he’s wanted to do since the very first time he saw him standing outside McGrath’s office a year ago and leans in to kiss him.

For a second he thinks he’s made a horrendous mistake as Face is still and silent against him, but then with a delightful breath that’s almost a gasp, Face surges forward, his arms going up and around Hannibal’s shoulders and neck again, drawing him in, pulling them closer.

Hannibal lets his own hands move, sweeping around Face’s broad shoulders, tangling in his hair, stroking his neck and Face’s tongue moves to stroke the roof of his mouth in reply. A ridiculous moan is pulled from his lips as he feels Face lean into him, flattening his body into Hannibal’s hard frame, pushing, pushing closer and closer; finding that some parts of his boss’s anatomy are harder than others...

Instantly Face pulls back and Hannibal is left startled and bereft, wondering if he has made the wrong move after all, but then he is shocked back to awareness by Face’s hands on his fly, tugging it down, clever fingers working their way inside Hannibal’s khakis, trunks, until he finds... Jesus... And then he’s on his knees at Hannibal’s feet, and Hannibal is looking down on him in some kind of lust filled daze and then...

“No!” Hannibal pushes him away, so suddenly and so violently that Face ends up on his backside on the floor, his mouth, framed by kiss-red lips, open in shock, his eyes wide.

“Oh, god...” his voice is hoarse, “I’m sorry, boss, I’m sorry, I thought...”

But Hannibal doesn’t let him finish. This time he is the one on his knees between Face’s legs, hands firm on his lieutenant’s biceps.

“I’m not Sanders...” Hannibal rasps, blue eyes locking onto blue. “I want you kid, more than I can ever remember wanting anyone ever before, but not like that,” he gestures down at his still open fly, “You are worth so much more than a quick blow job on your knees, don’t you see that yet?”

Face can only blink at him.

“If we’re doing this, and I hope to God we are, we’ll do it properly okay?”

Still Face can only stare.

Hannibal reaches out with one, gentle finger and traces the salty track left by a tear, “I’m not taking anything from you that you wouldn’t freely give. I’m not expecting anything from you that I won’t give in return. Your days of sucking cock and taking it up the arse to order are over, kid. Nothing happens unless it’s what you want. Okay?”

He waits. He knows Face will answer; he just needs a bit of time.

“Boss...?” but there’s nothing but confusion all over his face, “I don’t know what...” he shakes his head.

 “I’m asking you if you want to come to bed with me. Not just tonight, but for the foreseeable future. And not just the sex but...” and now Hannibal runs out of words, even he isn’t sure what he wants here.

“Sanders said-”

“I don’t fucking care what Sanders said!” Hannibal explodes, “Listen to what I am saying!” He takes a breath, “None of that shit with Sanders bothers me. I want you. Now it’s your call, kid... do you want me?”

Hannibal’s heart is thumping against his chest. He’s never exposed himself like this before. Ever. And it’s fucking freaking him out. But suddenly Face smiles; through his tears and his red eyes the smile blooms like a sunrise and Hannibal feels it in his heart and his groin.

“Oh yes boss, you’d better fucking believe it.”

And Hannibal smiles back, “Well, let’s go then...”

Within ten minutes they are back in Hannibal’s quarters, leaving the TV to play to itself and heading straight for the bedroom. It takes no time at all until they are both naked, and Hannibal can’t believe how this evening has turned out. Never in his wildest imaginings would this conclusion have come so soon, so easily. But then he sees the left over salty tracks of tears on his boy’s face and he realises maybe there was a price after all. He leans in and tastes those tracks with his tongue, gently trailing down and kissing Face’s jaw, feeling him shudder under the touch. Then Face kind of ducks, and Hannibal is confused for a second before he realises that he was going to drop to his knees again. He’s managed to stop himself this time, but now he is standing looking slightly awkward, ashamed of his nakedness and unsure what comes next. Hannibal’s heart clenches as he realises that Face just doesn’t know what to do. All of his sexual encounters have obviously involved him on his knees giving head, and since he knows that’s not what Hannibal wants, he’s lost.

Hannibal reaches out and places his hand against his slightly stubbled cheek, watching with a smile as Face closes his eyes and leans into his touch.

“You done this with any man other than colonel dick head, son?” He doesn’t even like bringing it up, but he needs to know.

To his relief, the slightest smile drifts across Face’s expression, “A few...” and Hannibal’s cock jumps at the obvious lust in his voice, “But no one who’s ever...” he doesn’t finish, and Hannibal doesn’t need him to. That’s enough information right there to let him know that Face has been a quick fuck for every man he’s been with. A pretty toy to take however they like. Tonight is going to be very different.

He leans in again, tiny kisses to his boy’s face, the corner of his lips, the corner of his eyes, the tip of his nose, his forehead and while he kisses he whispers the rules for the night so that they are both clear. “Tonight... is... about ... you... then...” Face’s eyes are still closed but Hannibal can almost see his heart pounding under his ribs, “I... want... you... to ...fuck me...”

At that point Face’s eyes flick open, their pupils blown wide, hardly any blue visible and Hannibal can’t suppress another smile at his expression.

“You like the sound of that kid? You want to fuck me?”

And this time he sees his cock jump at the words and he can’t resist letting his hand drift down and wrap around that hot, smooth flesh.

“Ah... Hannibal...” Face’s head has dropped down and Hannibal feels that thrill of lust rush through him knowing that his lieutenant is watching Hannibal fist him, “I’ve never...” he trails off into a gasp as Hannibal palms the shining head of his cock.

“I know you haven’t kid,” Hannibal has to suppress his own gasp as Face’s hand reaches down to mirror his own, “and to tell you the truth...” and it’s hard to talk at all now, watching those long fingers around his length, right next to his own hand doing the same to Face, “I’ve never let anyone before.” Face’s eyes snap up once again and they lock together, “Thought we could have that first time together...?” And he feels ridiculous and open and vulnerable again and wonders just what the hell he is doing giving this kid this much information, this much power over him.

But then it’s all okay because Face just seems to surge forward and he’s suddenly in Hannibal’s arms, kissing him with an enthusiasm which literally knocks them both onto the bed, and Hannibal really doesn’t mind as Face’s weight on him as it just grinds their cocks together so hard and it’s all just perfect.

There’s a tangle of limbs and mouths and heated flesh and Hannibal thinks he’s died and gone to heaven, but then Face is above him, pushing his thighs open and flicking his tongue over the inside of his legs and then the curve of his arse, and then his balls and Hannibal almost shouts out at that, and then he’s lifting one of Hannibal’s legs and lining himself up and Hannibal has to reach out and stop him with one hand while the other roots around in his bedside table.

He’s watching Face carefully as he reaches for the lube; the last thing he wants is to knock his confidence, and so he plainly registers the look of confusion and then dawning realisation that sweeps through Face’s expression as he sees what’s in Hannibal’s hand. Those expressions tumbling across the kid’s face tell him an entire story on their own and yet again Hannibal feels a surge of murderous rage towards anyone who has ever used his boy in such a cavalier way.

And then Face takes the tube and a frown clouds his face; he looks up, “Half empty boss...?” and the hurt is clear in his voice, “you do this often then?”

Hannibal sits up, hands immediately framing his lieutenant’s face, “Not in six years kid,” he shrugs, “makes it easier on your own, that’s all...”

Face seems to weigh his words up for a moment, before his smile is back and he is pushing Hannibal down onto the mattress, “Well, we’d better do something about that then, huh?”

And then they are back to where they were, hands and tongues and fingers and heat... and then there’s the cold thrill of the lube and he can feel Face’s finger tip, probing, gently, almost hesitantly and Hannibal needs more than that, “Just do it...” he whispers, his voice raw with lust.

It seems to be all Face needs to give him the confidence to do just that, and Hannibal has to bite down on his wrist as he is breached in one smooth motion by one finger, and then very quickly by another.

“Like this, boss?” and now he is stretching and scissoring and Hannibal vaguely registers what a quick learner he is before there’s another finger and he finds himself grinding down as Face brushes against his prostrate.

“Yeah...” it’s all he can manage.

“Are you ready for me?” Face’s voice is strained and heavy and it’s clear he’s more than ready for Hannibal.

“Yeah.”

And then the fingers are gone and Hannibal is left feeling cold and empty before he looks down and sees Face lining himself up once more. The look of concentration on the kid’s face is just adorable but before Hannibal even has the chance to berate himself for sounding like such a girl, the air is forced out of his lungs as Face bears down and pushes the head of his cock through the tight ring of muscle.

Hannibal throws his head back into the pillow, “Oh, god...” and he feels Face starting to pull back. “No!” His hand reaches out but Face is too far away to touch, so he lifts his leg instead, pulling a knee up to his chest, making access easier, “Don’t stop...” he whispers, “keep going...”

Face pushes back in, “Fuck, boss, that’s so tight...” he’s moving forward all the time, creeping in millimetre by millimetre and Hannibal looks up, holding his eyes as he edges in, and it is, hands down, the hottest thing he has ever seen in his life.  

“Christ, Face, you are so beautiful...” and he is. The sweat standing out on his forehead and his arms trembling as he tries to hold himself back. His eyes, bright blue around the blown irises, fixed on his boss as he fills him completely, and then he’s in.

He almost collapses against Hannibal’s chest as he stops and Hannibal can tell from his breathing that he is holding back, trying to calm himself down, determined he’s not going to come just yet and so Hannibal lets him wait, stroking the back of his head, but he’s desperate for some movement.

Eventually it comes. Face lifts himself up a bit and offers a shaky grin at Hannibal and then draws back, before sliding straight back in again.

“Jesus...”

“Fuck...”

They laugh together and then Face does it again and its suddenly not so easy to laugh as the heat starts to build. Face is still taking it slowly, one long pull out and one long push in and its fucking incredible, but not what Hannibal wants. “Faster...” he growls as Face reaches the end of a pull back and Face’s hips seem to respond automatically, snapping back in faster and harder than before, “Oh, yes...”

And that undoes him completely, Hannibal can tell the exact second he loses control and its the most incredible thing ever. Hannibal’s hands fist in the sheets, the blankets, the pillows as Face drives into him over and over again, eyes locked on his boss’ face the entire time.

But soon even that isn’t enough and Hannibal is pushing back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, pulling obscene moans from both their mouths. And then, as Hannibal’s hips rise, Face meets his prostrate head on and his arm is in his mouth again, stifling a shout.

“You like that?” Face is breathing hard. “If I do it like this? Is that right?”

Hannibal can only arch his back into the thrusts and throw his head back against the pillows, chewing his arm to keep the noise down.

“Jesus, boss, this is fucking incredible...”

It’s obvious that Face hasn’t got long left in him, and Hannibal himself is bathed in sweat, his legs cramping up and he’s struggling to keep his knee up. Face seems to read his mind and grabs hold of his slipping knee, pulling it back up and resting his calf on his shoulder, before slipping his hand down and grabbing Hannibal’s cock.

“Come on, boss...” his thrusts are getting erratic, “I need to see you come for me...”

And that just finishes him off, as Face nails his prostrate again and again and works his cock frantically, he comes hard and fast, spilling all over his stomach and his boy’s hand.

“Oh, fuck...!” and that’s the only warning he gets before Face comes as well, and he feels the strangest sensation of fluid warmth filling him inside and he knows it’s a feeling he wants again and again.

Then Face collapses on top of him and Hannibal brings his arms up to go around him and they lay still, hearts pounding, sweat cooling and the smell of semen all around them.

Face tries to slide off him, but Hannibal holds him still.

“I must be crushing you boss...” Face’s voice is sleep-slurred and it brings a smile to Hannibal’s face. He shifts to one side and lets Face slip onto the mattress next to him.

“Okay kid?”

“Fucking fantastic, boss...” he cracks open an eye, “you?”

“Never been better...”

“You want another go?” and Hannibal smiles again because, right now, there’s nothing Face looks less likely of achieving.

“Go to sleep...”

“Am I okay to stay here?”

Hannibal clenches his jaw as he imagines who in their right mind would ever throw Face out of their bed, but he just leans over and kisses him on the top of his head, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And that seems to be all Face needs to know as within thirty seconds he’s breathing slowly and steadily, his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, arm and leg thrown across his torso, looking like he’s about nineteen, and for all Hannibal knows, he probably is.

Hannibal looks over to his jacket, laid across the chair at the end of the bed and thinks of the cigars in the pocket. He really could murder a cigar right about now, but he’s sure as hell not going to move. He slips his arm around Face’s shoulder and the kid snuggles in a bit more and Hannibal knows that this is all going to work out just fine.   

..5..

Hannibal’s head is pounding and threatening to spilt wide open; he closes his eyes and opens them again, trying to persuade his fuzzy vision to clear so that he can assess just how much shit he is in. He’s kneeling in the damp jungle undergrowth, wrists fastened together and tied securely to a tree behind him. A quick physical inventory reveals that, apart from the pounding head, he’s in pretty good physical shape.

The same cannot be said about Bunter. Hannibal’s gut clenches unpleasantly as he takes in the still form of his XO slumped five meters or so to his left. He too is tied roughly to a tree, but his fatigues are soaked in blood, and insects swarm and buzz around him. His skin is pale, sweat standing out on his face, but Hannibal is relieved to see the slight rise and fall of his chest as he struggles for every laborious breath.

Hannibal lets his head fall back against the damp bark of the tree as he marshals his thoughts and tries to remember how he ended up here. He remembered the mission, kidnapped aid workers, one the nephew of some anonymous European royal, being held somewhere in the Cambodian rain forest. His team had been here two weeks, had located the hostages, Hannibal screws up his eyes as he tries to pin down the facts, yes, he’s sure they were all free, he’s sure they were retreating… So what went wrong?

His eyes open again as the details come back. Yes, they were retreating. Hannibal and Bunter were bringing up the rear when Bunter went down, shots in his thigh, and Hannibal went back to help him. And that’s all he’s got. He can’t remember any more, doesn’t know how he ended up tied to this tree with a monster headache, or what happened to the rest of the team or the hostages. He looks around the rainforest, but the foliage is too dense, he can’t see anyone else or any sign of human life anywhere around him, but it’s actually difficult to see more than three meters into the jungle in any direction.

He hopes that means that the others got away. Hopes they have enough sense to keep going and get the hostages to safety. Hopes Piper will keep the rest of his men focussed and moving in the face of this FUBAR. Sharkie, Jonno and Face are all very young, all very inexperienced, and Hannibal knows that Piper will struggle to keep them going, but the mission has to come first.

And he and Bunter? Well, they will bide their time, and take their chances when they come. But Hannibal is worried that his XO is just bleeding out all over the jungle and he knows that there is no way in hell, even if a chance to escape /does/ come his way, that he will be able to carry his injured companion for the three days it would take them to hike out of this shit hole. It’s not looking good.

At some point, Hannibal realises he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows is snapping back into awareness as the sounds of crashing vegetation fill his consciousness. He bites back the panic and forces himself to relax, taking it all in, storing it all away. There are five of them, obviously the Khmer Rouge kidnappers and Hannibal can tell from their faces and body language, that at least some of his team and their charges have escaped.

Despite his own dire situation, he cannot contain the flare of joy that jumps in his chest. He thinks of Piper, Jonno and Sharkie, all excellent soldiers and excellent men. He hopes they make it back safe, they deserve it. And Face... Hannibal registers that strange little swooping feeling he gets in his chest every time he thinks about his lieutenant and tries to justify it as regret, of maybe a bit of guilt.

Ever since the incident in the shower block, Face has been a stranger to him. The friendship that was just starting to build between the two of them is gone, shattered by Face’s reluctance to trust his CO and Hannibal’s horrific over reaction. Hannibal shakes his head as the memory of his hastily conceived words burns in his mind. He’s been at a loss as to how he can fix this situation between him and Face, and now it appears that his time has run out. He wonders if Face will mourn the loss of a chance to repair their mistakes as much as he does...  

His dry throat tightens and he can’t suppress a cough. The kidnappers turn to him as one, two of their number rising from their crouched positions and making their way towards him across the little clearing. Hannibal can clearly identify the leader; he looks the most pissed off of the five, blood smeared all across his face and neck and a black bandana tied around his head. He spits at Hannibal and barks a couple of sentences out, but Hannibal doesn’t speak a word of Khmer, so contents himself with a smirk in reply.

The smirk earns him a sharp backhand across the face, making his head pound even harder and his ears ring. By the time his vision clears again, the guerrillas are huddled together at the far side of the clearing, muttering intently together. Hannibal watches them carefully, tries to learn from their body language what he can’t from their speech, and waits, with ultimate patience, for the one chance he will need to get free.

He is working his hands constantly, twisting, turning, trying to get just that little bit of freedom that he can work with, but so far nothing is helping. He’s still tightly bound, and so he forces himself to keep calm and keep trying.

The thick black jungle night comes and goes twice. Hannibal aches all over from sitting immobile for so long. At some point in the first dark night, he heard Bunter regain consciousness, somewhere off to his left, but Hannibal’s efforts to talk to his XO only resulted in them both being gagged. The gags are removed a few times a day and water poured into their mouths, but that is the only sustenance they have had. Hannibal supposes the water is a good sign. It means that the Khmer Rouge obviously want to keep them alive. But for how long? Hannibal hopes they may try and ransom their two US Army hostages. He knows that the Government will never agree to a ransom, but at least it means that they will be kept alive long enough for a rescue attempt to come.

And Hannibal knows it will. He knows that Piper will do the right thing, will get the hostages to safety and then will give the brass every scrap of information he has on Hannibal’s last known position. But it won’t be Piper or any of his team that comes for them, no, he’s almost certain of that. Someone else, Marines perhaps, will get the job. Piper and the others are far too inexperienced to do this on their own, and Hannibal is glad. He’s sick to the stomach with worry over Bunter at the minute without having to worry about any of his other boys.

But at the back of his mind Hannibal knows that none of that will happen if his team don’t make it back to base alive.

The guerrillas leave them alone for long stretches in the day. They are obviously content that their captives aren’t going anywhere soon and so disappear for hours at a time. Patrolling, Hannibal supposes, hoping against hope that their original hostages are somewhere close by, or maybe just paranoid that there are more Rangers out there, just waiting to come back for their buddies.

It’s late afternoon and they are alone in the clearing again. Hannibal is listening to Bunter’s ragged breathing and the assorted sounds of the rainforest when he hears a sound over to his right. His eyes flick into the foliage and within a minute he can just make out the outline of a man, creeping forward. His heart speeds up. This is definitely not one of his captors, they seem to have no fear of being seen or heard anywhere around this clearing, Hannibal can hear them coming for miles. This person, whoever it is, does not want to be noticed.

Hannibal drops his head, pretends to be asleep but keeps his eyes on the approaching figure. He’s moving stealthily, hardly making a sound now, and Hannibal is glad that Bunter is sleeping; hopefully it will keep his XO safe. The figure is right at the edge of the clearing and crouches, waiting, listening, watching. Long minutes pass, but suddenly the figure seems to decide it is safe. With one last glance around, he breaks free from the foliage and sprints across the clearing, dropping to Hannibal’s side and reaching up for the gag.

“Jesus, Christ, Face!” Hannibal’s voice is dry and scratchy, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Face is grimy, his skin barely visible through the dirt and he stinks of sweat and rotting vegetation but an easy and natural smile breaks across his face. “Hey, boss, good to see you too. You miss me?”

His tone is flippant, but his eyes are deadly serious as his fingers skim over Hannibal in the gloom of the jungle, checking him out, lingering at the bloody mess of matted hair on the side of his head.

Hannibal is almost speechless. The thought had comforted him through his long vigil in the jungle, that his other boys, that /Face/, had got away, that he was safe. But now… He is almost thrown into a panic. “Where are the others?” he hisses, “What does Piper think he’s doing coming back here with the hostages?

Face reaches into his pockets and brings out a glucose bar, breaking it up and dropping the pieces into Hannibal’s mouth as he replies. “Piper’s not here. He took a whack with a machete on his head, should be okay but he’s badly concussed. Jonno and Sharkie are taking him back with the hostages. I moved out with them for a day then turned and headed back here.”

Hannibal swallows the chunks of glucose down, almost choking himself in his haste, “You came back alone?”  His incredulity is obvious, “I can’t believe Piper let you!”

Face glances up at his CO as he searches about in his pack bringing out a water bottle, “Told you boss, Piper’s really out of it. He’s not in charge. I am,” Hannibal opens his mouth to hiss his outrage but then the bottle of water is tipped in and he has to concentrate on drinking and not choking. He’s sure Face timed that to perfection.

Bunter moans slightly and Face glances over then back to Hannibal, “Listen, boss,” and this time Hannibal can see the fear in his eyes, the concentration, the determination, “I only have a minute here, those assholes are on their way back,” he lowers the bottle and scoots over to Bunter. “I just needed to check you both out, see how you were,” he’s running his fingers over his XO; frowning at the bloody mess his legs are in. He glances back at Hannibal, “You think you can walk?”

Hannibal nods and the relief is clear in the kid’s eyes. “Great, ‘cos Bunt here isn’t gonna…” Face has pulled a syringe from his pack and is busy shooting something into Bunter’s arm.

“Face…” Hannibal can hardly speak around the terror in his throat, “you need to get out of here, kid, you can’t do this, you shouldn’t have split from the others! There are five of them you know-”      

“Six,” Face interrupts, “They always leave one guy about two hundred metres south east of here, near the bridge over the river,” he’s shooting another syringe into Bunter’s arm.

Hannibal swallows his panic, “I am ordering you Lieutenant! You need to leave the area /immediately/ and regroup with-”

Suddenly Face is back, right up in Hannibal’s face, his lips so close that Hannibal can almost taste his words, “Hannibal, listen to me. They have been deciding what they are gonna do with you, I was happy to wait for reinforcements, you know, just watch and keep out the way, but,” he pauses and licks his lips nervously, “they’ve decided that it’s too risky to keep you, they’re gonna kill you both, tomorrow, as soon as their boss has had chance for a little ‘chat’, you know?” Hannibal knows. “That’s why I have to move in, can’t let them do that…”

He doesn’t move. He’s so close and Hannibal’s heart is pounding painfully against his ribs, “You could get killed…” he whispers.

Face doesn’t miss a beat, “Worth it to save you,”

They stare at each other.

“How do you know their plans?” Hannibal asks, breaking the intensity of the moment.

“I heard them discussing it,” Face is back to business, back over with Bunter, trying to drip water into his mouth.

“You speak Khmer?” Again the incredulous tone.

“Yeah,” Face throws over another easy grin, “I thought it might come in handy.”

Hannibal opens his mouth to speak, but both men freeze at the distant sounds of disturbed vegetation. “They’re back…” Face hisses, shoving the bottle in his pack and scrambling back towards his CO. He lifts the gag once more, pushing it into Hannibal’s mouth and Hannibal can feel his fingers, gentle but firm, smoothing the sides of the rag, making it lie flat, trying to make it as comfortable as he possibly can. “I’ll be back,” he whispers right into Hannibal’s ear, and then he is gone, melting silently into the jungle.

A couple of hours pass and the daylight is starting to fade. Hannibal has spent the last two hours almost thrumming with anxiety. It was bad enough that he had Bunter to worry about, but now there is Face as well, and that’s twice as bad. Face is so young, too young, and he’s rash, reckless and irresponsible. He never thinks ahead, never plans, never considers… He’s going to get them all killed…

But if he’s right, and the Khmer Rouge are going to kill them in the morning anyway, then what difference does it make?

Still the anxiety doesn’t fade, and at the back of his mind, Hannibal knows why. He knows that somehow and for some unfathomable reason, Face is working his way into the very fabric of Hannibal’s being. And if it were Face he has to watch die in a few short hours, he knows he’ll never be able to go on.

As it is, Hannibal doesn’t have to wait anywhere near as long as he had thought for Face to make his move. He had presumed his lieutenant would wait for the blackness of the jungle night, but it is still barely dark when he hears distant crashing in the undergrowth up ahead of the camp.

The guerrillas, who are crouched together eating, hear it too and leap to their feet, brandishing their guns and whispering frantically to each other. Hannibal’s’ blood turns to ice. What the hell is Face thinking of making such a racket? Hasn’t Hannibal taught him better than that? Surely he can remember even the basic rules of covert operations? He goes back to struggling against his bonds.

After much heated whispering and pointing, the guerrillas move out. Hannibal senses a movement beside him and looks round as Bunter blinks his tired and confused eyes in Hannibal’s direction. He struggles against the gag that Face had placed in his mouth and manages to spit it out, hissing at his XO through the darkness, “It’s Face, Bunt. He’s gonna try and get us out. Can you move?”

He sees the same shock on Bunter’s face that he is sure had been on his own when Face had turned up that afternoon, but his XO only nods and starts to struggle up into a sitting position. Hannibal turns his head towards the now silent jungle and continues the desperate wrestle with his bonds. If he can only get free then maybe he can help; maybe then Face won’t have to die out here in the jungle tonight.

Suddenly shots ring out in the night and Hannibal and Bunter exchange worried looks. Hannibal can hear screaming and shouting, and then an orange flare rises up in the gloom of the jungle in front of him. It’s so bright that Hannibal has to clamp his eyes shut, but even then he can still see it through his closed lids. The heat reaches his cheeks and he thinks that the whole damn rainforest is on fire but then it dies back to a dull glow and he realises that the gun fire and the shouting and the screaming have all stopped and his stomach heaves as he wonders if that means that Face is dead...

There’s no sign of the guerrillas as Hannibal writhes against his bonds for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows the skin around his wrists is torn, but he doesn’t care, he just needs to get free, he just needs to find Face. He looks over at Bunter and sees his eyes, wide and horrified, starring out into the jungle and Hannibal whips round to see where he’s looking.

A figure has crashed out of the foliage, the orange glow behind him making him a silhouette, the black outline of a machete standing out above his head. Hannibal’s’ struggles go into over drive, it seems the Khmer Rouge have decided not to wait till the morning to finish off their guests. As the figure gets closer, Hannibal realises that the cords on his wrists are never going to budge and so he leans backwards onto the small of his back, transferring all his weight off his legs, preparing to strike, drawing his feet off the ground. He can kick out pretty well from this angle; maybe even break the bastard’s neck. He tenses, waiting, if he’s going out, he’s sure as hell going to take some of them out with him...

“Move, boss, I need to cut those ropes...”

Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat as he recognises the voice and throws himself forward to give Face access to his wrists, “What happened?” he hisses, pain flaring and burning as Face yanks at his arms.

“All dead...” Face mutters and Hannibal can hear the cold and barely contained horror in his voice, “Blew the fuckers up...”

Hannibal groans in pain as he is at last released, and rolls onto his stomach in the mud. And that’s when he realises. Face hadn’t been crashing about in the jungle like an amateur. Oh, no, it was far more elegant than that. He’d set a trap, thought it through, drawn the guerrillas right where he wanted them. Clever little bastard. He drags himself up onto his knees just as Face crashes out of the jungle once more, this time pulling a homemade litter behind him; he drops it down next to Bunter and starts dragging him onto it, ready to move out.

Never thinks ahead? Never plans? Never considers?

Looks like Hannibal might have been wrong again... 

..3..

Hannibal bangs his clenched fist against his forehead in frustration. He’s screwed up here, made a massive miscalculation and they are well and truly stuck because of it. He edges up to peer across the boulder they are sheltering behind and checks his options once again.

The canyon behind them is blocked by the landslip, there is no way on earth they can get out over that, not without it all coming down on top of them again. The walls are sheer rock face. With the right gear they could make it, but then they’d be sitting ducks for that sniper at the other end of the gully. Maybe in the dark, but he doubts they are going to last that long.

The rebels know they are here, but they aren’t sure where exactly. They’ve left three men at the head of the gully while they presumably go back for reinforcements. Once they arrive, Hannibal knows they will just advance down the canyon, flushing his team out as they go, and picking them off one by one until they are all dead.

Frustration boils within him. He shouldn’t have brought the guys down here, should have guessed that the heavy rains would have collapsed the sides of the gully. He’s lead them to their deaths.

A movement at his side brings Bunter up to his shoulder, the side of his face scratched and torn from his own attempts at getting over the landslip. “We’re running out of time, boss...” he mutters.

Hannibal sighs. Bunter wants to make a break for it now, before the reinforcements arrive, but Hannibal knows that they wouldn’t get to the end of the gully with those three guards left there. They obviously know what they are doing – from their chosen vantage points they can easily cover the entire canyon. Jonno wants to try and pick them off, but even Bunter knows that’s not going to happen. No one can make a clean shot from this distance, and it would have to be a clean shot otherwise all it would do is alert the guards as to their exact position, make it so much easier to pin them down once the reinforcements arrive.

Frustration churns within him, what the fuck has he done?

Hannibal turns and shuffles back down the boulder to where his team is huddled and he looks them over one by one. Bunter, his XO, loyal and brave and just wanting to get out of here. Jonno, trying to look like he’s not bothered but Hannibal can see the fear in his eyes. Piper, calm and unruffled as always holding onto the picture of the baby girl he’s never met. Sharkie, black eyes unreadable as he crouches in the dirt like a coiled spring. And, Hannibal’s stomach heaves with fresh guilt, Face, leaning up against a rock, his eyes fixed on his CO, just waiting for Hannibal to sort all this out. Ever since Hannibal gave him that second chance in his first week, Face has looked at him like he’s some kind of fucking god. It’s unnerved Hannibal before today, but now, when Hannibal knows full well he’s got his boys into this mess, it’s inappropriate in the highest degree. It’s the kid’s first trip out with them. Hannibal has kept him sidelined for three months, wanted to be sure he could trust him, wanted to be sure the kid was ready. Turns out it’s a bit of a mistake; the kid isn’t ready, not for death. But then, thinks Hannibal, who is?

He makes the only decision he can. “Rights boys, we are moving out...” Bunter breathes a sigh of relief while everyone else seems to tense even more. “Each man will move independently, stay to the sides, use any cover you can, and just keep moving. Once we leave here we’ll be vulnerable.”

“We’ll be sitting ducks, sir...”

Hannibal can tell Jonno is trying not to be disrespectful so he takes a deep breath before turning to answer. “There’s no other choice, Jon. We stay here we’re dead.”

“We should take them out...”

This, Hannibal had expected. “You can do that? Cleanly? All three before they get behind cover and just radio our position back to their boss?”

Jonno shakes his head and Hannibal sighs. “I thought not. We’re moving out. Get ready.”

There is movement and muttering all around him as his men turn to check their packs, but then a single voice stands out. “I can, sir.”

Silence falls, thick and heavy as every man freezes and turns to look at Face. Hannibal doesn’t speak.

“No way...” this is Bunter. “I know you are good, but no one can make that shot. You need three direct hits one after the other, bam, bam, bam otherwise we’ll just be running up a big target above our heads!”

Face is unperturbed, “I can do it.”

“No!!” Bunter’s eyes are wide as he turns to his CO, “He can’t boss, it must be half a mile to the mark, there’s a wind coming up the gully and if he misses then they will drop out of sight and radio us in! It’s suicide!”

“Better than being sitting ducks...” Jonno mutters.

“Bunter’s right,” Piper puts in, “The kid can’t do this, it would lose us our only advantage.”

“Yeah Hannibal,” Sharkie agrees, “we move out.”

Face ignores them all and keeps his eyes on his CO. “I can do this boss,” he repeats.

“Hannibal!” Bunter entreats.

“Quiet!” Hannibal barks and everyone falls silent. He looks at Face for a long time, weighing him up, considering the options. “Bunter’s right,” he eventually says, “you miss, then you screw the only chance we have of getting out.

Face nods. “I know. But I won’t miss.”

“You sure of that?”

Nod.

“All three?”

Nod.

Two minutes of silence.

“Okay kid, you’re on.”

“Hannibal! Sir! You have got to be kidding-” Bunter is silenced with a look while Face starts getting his gear ready. 

The tension in the air is choking. Hannibal and Face edge back up to the top of the boulder while the others, packs ready to move out in a hurry, wait down below.

“I’m relying on you here kid,” Hannibal mutters as Face squints through his sights, “If you aren’t 100% sure, then don’t take the shot.”

“I got it, boss,” Face mutters, adjusting his grip and shuffling flatter onto his stomach.

Hannibal looks long and hard at him, then turns and raises his binoculars to the mark, “In your own time then, Face.”

He can see the three guards. They are standing together at the head of the gully, only their chests and upwards visible behind the covering rocks. They are attentive, but relaxed, not expecting any attack, but keeping a watchful eye out to see if they can spot the hiding Americans. Two of them are smoking while the third casually toys with his radio.

Face is suddenly deathly still beside him and Hannibal knows he is going to make the shot, he almost loses his nerve there and then, almost grabs the kid and aborts the mission. Almost but not quite. Instead he flicks the record button on the binoculars and starts streaming to the hard drive.

It’s all over in a fraction of a second. The sounds of the shots echo up and down the gully while the three guards drop almost instantaneously behind the rocks. But it’s too quick, Hannibal couldn’t see if the shots found their mark or not, he and Face quickly slide back down the boulder and drop to the ground while Hannibal frantically hits the reply button on the binoculars, reviewing the hits.

“There were only two!” Bunter’s frantic voice buffets Hannibal’s concentration, “There were only two fucking shots Face! You missed one!”

Hannibal glances up to find Face on his knees, skin grey and waxy while he dry heaves over the dirt.

“There were loads!” This is Jonno, “We all heard them, man!”

“They were fucking echoes!” Bunter sounds apoplectic, “He’s fucking missed!”

Hannibal reviews the film and his heart starts pounding against his ribs, unwilling to take in what he can see. He tunes the bickering out and reviews the film once more.

“Why do you think he’s puking Jonno!” Sharkie sounds almost as mad as Bunter, “It’s because he knows he’s screwed up!”

Face is scrabbling for a drink now, hands shaking as he tries to unstop the seal on his bottle.

“Fucking hell, boss, he’s just a boy! Why’d you let him do this to us?”

“Stop!” Hannibal knows his own hands are shaking as he lets the binoculars drop to his side, “He got them. All three.”

There is a moment’s stunned silence.

“But...” Bunter looks to where Face is still kneeling in the dirt, “there were only two shots...”

Hannibal holds the binoculars out to his XO, “He got two with one bullet...” he whispers, still not quite believing his own eyes.

Bunter grabs the binoculars off his boss and holds them up to his eyes as Hannibal reaches over to rub Face’s still heaving back, the adrenalin ripping out of him, “Take it easy there, kid, you did a fucking top job...”

“Jesus Christ...” Bunter breathes as he reviews the evidence for himself.

“Saddle up boys,” Hannibal takes hold of Face’s arm and heaves him to his feet, “We’re not out of this shit yet. Let’s go before the posse arrive.”

“Holy fuck...” it’s Piper’s turn with the binoculars and his words ring in Hannibal’s ears as he steers his lieutenant round the base of the rock, the first steps back to safety. Holy fuck indeed... just what did he have on his hands here?

First Impressions AKA: Five Times Hannibal Smith Began to Suspect He May Have Been Wrong About Lt. Peck and One Time He Definitely Knew He Was

Introduction

“No way on this earth!” Major John ‘Hannibal’ Smith thrust the transfer order back towards Colonel Mick McGrath and shook his head to further emphasise his point. “I told you, Mick, I’m sick of you sending me lame ducks all the time! What am I suppose to be running here? A Ranger unit or a fucking crèche?”

McGrath sighed, he knew this was never going to be easy, “Look John,” his tone was placating, “Maybe he’s not as bad as you’ve heard, Sanders is on his way over now to give us an update.”

That news added nothing to Hannibal’s mood, the KFC Colonel, as all the boys called him was one of Hannibal’s least favourite men, “Him?” he muttered almost in an undertone, “He’s a fucking half wit…”

McGrath raised a disapproving eyebrow but Hannibal was saved from his retort by a sharp knock at the door and a tall, burly man with close cropped but unmistakably red hair marched into the room. Hannibal and McGrath both stood around 6’4” and were used to looking down on most people in the force, Sanders, however, most unlike his chicken frying namesake, was at least 6’6” and just seemed to own any room he walked into. That was only one of the reasons Hannibal didn’t like him.

“Mick, Smith,” he nodded to the two men with a thin and snarky smile of his face, (another reason), before he turned to lounge against the edge of the desk. “I see you’ve agreed to take Peck off my hands then? Or I would imagine you haven’t had much say in the matter…” That smarmy smile was there again and Hannibal felt his blood heat.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, sir,” Hannibal hated having to give this prick his title; “The colonel here and I were just discussing it.”

“Hmmm,” Sanders folded his arms, “Well I can see why you wouldn’t be too keen on having him along for the ride, the boy is a right royal pain in the ass. He doesn’t follow orders, his attitude stinks, he answers back, he stirs trouble in the unit, the other boys can’t stand him…” he shakes his head, “Pain in the ass.”

McGrath rolls his eyes as he takes in Hannibal’s set expression, “Well, thanks for that Sanders, most helpful,” he turns back to his Major, “C’mon, Hannibal, you know you are good with boys like this one. Remember Taylor?”

Sanders laughs, “Peck is nothing like Taylor, Mick, I guarantee it! Once Taylor had a night in the stockade he was putty in your hands. Peck? He’s got a fucking season ticket in there; he comes out twice as fucking obnoxious as he went in!”

Hannibal shakes his head again as McGrath pinches the bridge of his nose, but Sanders is on a roll, “Doesn’t even bother him to take a gut-punching, I swear, that boy is as arrogant as they come…”

Hannibal and McGrath exchange a quick look, they both know that corporal punishment happens, but it’s certainly not meant to be condoned by the officers, “Dick…” Hannibal mutters under his breath.

Although he doesn’t hear the word spoken, Hannibal’s voice brings Sanders’ attention back onto him, and his thin lips break out into a condescending smile, “So, Smith, my report helped you make up your mind then? Think you can perform another miracle on him like you did with Taylor?” It’s obvious from the snarky voice that Sanders resents every success Hannibal has ever had.

Hannibal ignores him and turns back to his CO, “Don’t force this one on me Mick,” he pleads, “He’s a lost cause, I don’t have time for this. I’ve read his file; all he does is fuck-up and screw around. I’ve got a lot of impressionable boys in my unit; I don’t need his type setting the wrong kind of example.”

“John,” McGrath’s tone is almost apologetic, “Look, I’ve not got much room to move here, the brass have

paid out a lot of money to train that boy as a Ranger, and they want to see some return on their investment. It’s not a good use of resources just to boot him out on his ear.”

“That’s where he’s going,” Sanders interrupts, “and if I’ve told him that once I’ve told him a million times.”

Irritation flares in Hannibal, he’s actually starting to feel a bit sorry for Peck, having this ass-hole as his CO, no wonder he’s never been able to hold it together. “You did eh Sanders? I can see you’ve put a lot of effort into the boy there,”

Sanders’ eyes flash in anger, “Don’t try to pull that one Smith, it’s not just me that has had enough of Peck, three other units threw him out before I was saddled with him!”

Hannibal raises an eye at McGrath who reluctantly nods back, “It’s true. You really are his last chance, John. He’s looking at a dishonourable discharge if you can’t sort him out.”

“I can’t sort him out!” Hannibal explodes, “And I don’t even want to try. He’s reckless, useless, irresponsible, arrogant, selfish… hell; even the other boys can’t stand him!” He shakes his head, “I’ve no time for him Mick, don’t force this fuck-up onto me.”

McGrath rubs a hand slowly across his forehead. “Hannibal – I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to insist on this one…”

Hannibal swears under his breath.

“The brass want results, you’re the only option we have left.”

Hannibal turns to the door, “Six weeks!” he snaps at McGrath, “I will give him six weeks and that’s all! If he’s not got himself court martialled by then, then I want him removing from my unit!”

Sanders smiles his stupid smile once more while McGrath just lets Hannibal vent.

He gets to the door and stops with his fingers on the handle, “I will not allow a cancer like him to spread through my boys! We’ve worked too hard for him to fuck it all up!”

“We’ll talk about it.” McGrath’s voice is low and steady and Hannibal knows he’s pushed as far as he can today so he slams the handle down and yanks the door open, preparing to storm out, but freezes. There’s a soldier out in the corridor, standing right outside the door. Fair hair and blue eyes, a movie star’s face but with a soldier’s expression, a very pissed off soldier’s expression. Hannibal looks him up and down, his gut turning as realisation slowly dawns; he looks younger than Hannibal had imagined he would, but there is no doubt in his mind that this is the infamous Lt. Peck.

“Jesus, kid…” Hannibal feels like shit, “You been standing out here the whole time?”

“Yes, sir!” Peck’s reply is perfectly in line with protocol, but Hannibal can hear the insolence in it, just lurking below the surface.

“Why?”

“Orders sir,” Peck snaps back, “From Colonel Sanders there,”

There is something in the way Peck says ‘Colonel Sanders’ that makes Hannibal’s cheeks twitch in amusement, but he quickly bites it down as he turns back into the room, “That right Sanders?” he barks.

Sanders’ smile is so wide it looks like its going to split his face in two, “Absolutely, Smith, thought it would do the boy no end of good to hear what we all think of him, don’t you?”

Hannibal looks at Peck still standing to attention in the corridor and he notices the tightness of his eyes, the flushed red on his cheeks and the rigid set off his mouth and suddenly feels a wave of sympathy for the kid.

He looks behind him one more time; “Sanders, you are a dick-head…” he mutters then stalks past his new team member and back to his quarters. 

..1..

The sympathy doesn’t even last two days. It evaporates the exact moment that Hannibal is woken by the piercing phone at his bedside telling him he needs to get down to the brig and sign out his new Second  Lieutenant. It’s 5am.

He doesn’t rush, reckons the kid deserves a chance to cool his heels off but it’s still barely light by the time Hannibal is shown into a holding cell. Peck looks like shit. His face is grey and streaked with blood, his lip is split and swollen and his t-shirt is filthy, torn and covered in blood. Not his own Hannibal regretfully notes. At least the kid has enough about him to haul himself up to attention as his CO enters the cell, but that’s little compensation to Hannibal.

Hannibal looks him up and down for a moment then deliberately opens the file in his hands and starts reading, even though he knows it off by heart by now. “Picked up in town at 2am outside the Red Dragon Restaurant... Fighting with... /six/...locals...After one of them found you engaged in ‘sexual activity’ with his /wife/ in the car park...” Hannibal can’t help but shake his head at that. “Resisting arrest, foul and abusive language, threatening a civilian police officer and an MP etc. etc. etc.” He looks over at Peck, still standing to attention with his eyes fixed on the far wall. “You sure had a busy night. Got anything to say for yourself then?”

Peck shrugs, “Not much of a restaurant I’d say, more of a shitty little takeaway with a few tables...”

“Enough!” Hannibal slams the folder down onto the table and takes a forced deep breath. “You don’t seem to realise the trouble you are in here! My unit is the last chance saloon for you kid...”

“So I’ve been told...”

“And yet you still pull stunts like this! What in hell’s name were you thinking even leaving the base last night? I certainly hadn’t signed any pass out for you. Did you think you were different, special somehow? That you can just piss off any time you fancy a few drinks or a quick fuck?”

Anger flashes in Peck’s eyes at that last comment, but his lips stay pressed tight together.

Hannibal lets out a long sigh, “I’m disappointed in you. I expected more.”

The anger flashes again, but this time Peck’s head snaps round to face his CO, “No you’re not,” he spits, “I heard everything you and Sanders said remember? This is exactly what you expected and exactly what you got!”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hannibal asks with narrowed eyes.

Peck flushes and goes back to starring at the wall with a muttered, “Nothing, sir...”

A heavy silence falls as Hannibal runs his eyes over Peck’s service record more. Eventually he lowers himself down onto one of the two wooden chairs in the room and taps his fingers thoughtfully on the table top. “Well, this is it, kid,” he leans back in the chair, eyeing Peck carefully, “this is enough to finally get you thrown out.”

He is sure he doesn’t imagine the brief tightening of the kid’s eyes, but then the look of bland insolence is back, “You will be pleased then sir,” there’s no mistaking the tightness of his voice however, “Saves you the bother of waiting six weeks.”

There’s a pause as Hannibal studies the young man in front of him, “You been trying to get yourself kicked out then, kid?”   

Again that flash of anger, “No, sir!”

“You sure about that? Got some skirt at home you want to get back to?”

“No, sir!”

“Missing your mom?”

Another flash, but this time Hannibal can actually see the tension in the kid’s body, the tightly curled fists and the barely reined in temper. Peck turns and meets his CO’s eye again, “No one is waiting for me anywhere,” he bites out.

Hannibal looks at him for just a beat then goes back to the file and flicks through the pages of misdemeanours as he ponders this very angry young man in front of him. /Has/ he been deliberately trying to get kicked out? Is he so unhappy with the army that this is the only option? But if that’s the case, why bother with the Ranger training? No one will have forced him into it, in fact, given his disciplinary record it’s a miracle he’d even been accepted. Unless... Hannibal flicks back to his scores, pre and post training. Impressive, there’s no other word for them. Obviously someone has seen some potential in the kid somewhere. Hannibal checks back again to see who signed his acceptance in Ranger school and his lips twitch in a smile of recognition, of course, General Siblinksy, the very same General who had put John Smith through Ranger school all those years ago.

Hannibal sighs as he makes his decision and tosses the file down onto the table in front of him, rising to his feet at the same time. “Right, kid, listen to me very carefully, ‘cause this is the deal,” He can see Peck’s eyes slide cautiously over to him, “This is your one and only chance with me, enjoy it ‘cause there sure as hell won’t be another.”

The surprise is evident on Peck’s face.

“As soon as they kick you out of this place, clean yourself up and report to my quarters. I want you right where I can see you until I can trust you. That clear?”

Peck nods tersely.

Hannibal steps right into his Lieutenant’s personal space, “And I don’t know what all this was about,” he whispers lethally, “But I will not take any bullshit from the men in my unit. You got a problem with something; you come and talk to me about it or you put up with it. You got that soldier?”

Another nod.

“I asked you question!” Hannibal roared.

“Yes, sir,” Peck’s voice is rough and Hannibal feels that ridiculous surge of sympathy once more.

“Well, don’t forget it then...” he snaps and turns on his heels letting the door of the cell slam shut behind him.

As he walks back to his quarters with the sun now reaching the top of the mess hall, he thinks back to his first impressions of the kid. Reckless, irresponsible, arrogant, selfish, unpopular... yeah, he would still tick all those boxes, but useless? No way, not on those scores, and not for being able to get off base undetected either, that certainly took some doing. And there’s something else he needs to add to the list as well… Furtive? Enigmatic? Hannibal isn’t sure of the right word for it just yet, but he gets the feeling that there’s definitely more to Lt. Peck than first meets the eye.

Part Two