FIC: Scars
Title: Scars
Author: Author4me
Summary: Ferris is watching his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Hani/Ferris, implied mpreg.
Note: Response to challenge # 2 - “Scars”.
Disclaimer: I do not own “Body of Lies” - David Ignatius wrote it, Warner Bros. filmed it.
________________________________________
Roger watched all the tubes and wires leading to the young body lying on the hospital bed. The beeping of the monitors was a familiar sound, he’d been hooked up to those things several times himself, but they had never really bothered him before. Maybe it spoke of a lack of self-preservation Roger should worry about or, most likely, it had to do with the fact that it was his child the machines were connected to.
Hani was off somewhere. They had arrived together - having received the message during a rare moment where their downtime coincided - but Hani had disappeared shortly after they spoke to the doctor.
He had seen his son, alongside Roger, spoken to the doctor of his condition and then grasped Roger’s shoulder tightly before walking off with a tail of associates.
Even after having worked with Hani for the better part of 2 decades, Roger still wasn’t sure exactly what all the people working for the pasha did, so he went with the neutral term ‘associate’ to avoid offending anyone.
The young man …‘Boy.’ Roger still had trouble thinking of him as a man… in the hospital room was covered in bandages. His face was mostly untouched, except for minor bruising and one large one across his cheekbone and nose - he’d have trouble breathing for a while. The bandages were around his arms and large parts of his chest. The neck brace was “just in case” since there were miraculously no signs of trauma to the neck. He also had a slight concussion, but the majority of the injuries were centered on his torso.
Roger hadn’t seen the wounds, but he knew what kind of damage there would be. He knew it would scar. Their son had never been particularly vain, but those marks could be downright hideous. Hani would know that too.
Taariq had always loved to swim, would he ever be comfortable wearing only swimming trunks again?
Three of his fingers were broken, only time would tell if they’d work as good as they once did. Roger flexed the pinky and ringfinger on his right hand - memories of a hammer impacting - he'd been lucky they managed to save his.
Taariq was an artist. He enjoyed making things with his hands, watching them take form.
Those same hands could expertly take apart and put together a sniper rifle or wield a knife to sever all major arteries.
Hani had indulged him joyfully; hiring tutors in painting, metal work, wood work & carving, sculpting, design, the list went on.
Their home had years worth of Taariq’s creations. You could track his progress from crude and untrained to intricate and professional as he found his style.
A knife he made had a place of honor behind Hani’s desk in his office. Roger had a ring he was rarely without. Sumiya treasured a locket he gave her one birthday.
Taariq’s legs were mostly okay, though his knees were a little banged up from impacting with something.
Roger felt an ache in his left leg; an echo from the severe injury that nearly cost him said leg, and had cost him a friend.
Hani would know all of these things too. Roger had seen his jaw clench when there was no doubt their child would be permanently marked.
They had known this could and, most likely, would happen when Taariq had joined the GID. It hadn’t been the boy’s first choice, he’d had dozens of dreams - none of them spy work. However, having lived the majority of his life close to terrorism and seen first hand its’ effects on the world around him, he hadn’t been able to chose anything else. Even the years spent away from it, in boarding school (Taariq's choice), hadn’t changed the course of his life.
Sumiya was away in school, finishing her last year in college. She would find out sooner or later, better she hear it from them. They would bring her home; she would refuse to stay anyway once she found out the extent of her brother’s injuries.
Roger wasn’t sure how they’d explain it to their younger children. For one insane second the platitudes they offered to the families of agents in the CIA flitted through his thoughts, making him physically cringe. God, he felt cowardly, but he hoped Hani would handle it. However, Roger already knew that he would do it himself.
Hani was out there right now, somewhere in Jordan, inflicting wounds that would leave scars surpassing those placed on his son. Jordan and its neighboring countries were in for some turbulent days as Hani Salam released his rage on those responsible for his first born’s condition.
Knowing him, he’d probably do it with the same sleek, cool attitude and smooth voice. He snorted humorlessly as he realized that the few times he’d could recall Hani actually raising his voice it had been at him.
He slowly drew a chair away from the wall, placing it next to the bed, and sank down into it with a sigh.
The family would be able to heal from this, but they would all be scarred. One thing you learned fast in their business - the physical scars, though bad, would never be as deep and ugly as the emotional ones.
THE END
Author: Author4me
Summary: Ferris is watching his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Hani/Ferris, mentioned mpreg.
Author: Author4me
Summary: Ferris is watching his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Hani/Ferris, implied mpreg.
Note: Response to challenge # 2 - “Scars”.
Disclaimer: I do not own “Body of Lies” - David Ignatius wrote it, Warner Bros. filmed it.
________________________________________
Roger watched all the tubes and wires leading to the young body lying on the hospital bed. The beeping of the monitors was a familiar sound, he’d been hooked up to those things several times himself, but they had never really bothered him before. Maybe it spoke of a lack of self-preservation Roger should worry about or, most likely, it had to do with the fact that it was his child the machines were connected to.
Hani was off somewhere. They had arrived together - having received the message during a rare moment where their downtime coincided - but Hani had disappeared shortly after they spoke to the doctor.
He had seen his son, alongside Roger, spoken to the doctor of his condition and then grasped Roger’s shoulder tightly before walking off with a tail of associates.
Even after having worked with Hani for the better part of 2 decades, Roger still wasn’t sure exactly what all the people working for the pasha did, so he went with the neutral term ‘associate’ to avoid offending anyone.
The young man …‘Boy.’ Roger still had trouble thinking of him as a man… in the hospital room was covered in bandages. His face was mostly untouched, except for minor bruising and one large one across his cheekbone and nose - he’d have trouble breathing for a while. The bandages were around his arms and large parts of his chest. The neck brace was “just in case” since there were miraculously no signs of trauma to the neck. He also had a slight concussion, but the majority of the injuries were centered on his torso.
Roger hadn’t seen the wounds, but he knew what kind of damage there would be. He knew it would scar. Their son had never been particularly vain, but those marks could be downright hideous. Hani would know that too.
Taariq had always loved to swim, would he ever be comfortable wearing only swimming trunks again?
Three of his fingers were broken, only time would tell if they’d work as good as they once did. Roger flexed the pinky and ringfinger on his right hand - memories of a hammer impacting - he'd been lucky they managed to save his.
Taariq was an artist. He enjoyed making things with his hands, watching them take form.
Those same hands could expertly take apart and put together a sniper rifle or wield a knife to sever all major arteries.
Hani had indulged him joyfully; hiring tutors in painting, metal work, wood work & carving, sculpting, design, the list went on.
Their home had years worth of Taariq’s creations. You could track his progress from crude and untrained to intricate and professional as he found his style.
A knife he made had a place of honor behind Hani’s desk in his office. Roger had a ring he was rarely without. Sumiya treasured a locket he gave her one birthday.
Taariq’s legs were mostly okay, though his knees were a little banged up from impacting with something.
Roger felt an ache in his left leg; an echo from the severe injury that nearly cost him said leg, and had cost him a friend.
Hani would know all of these things too. Roger had seen his jaw clench when there was no doubt their child would be permanently marked.
They had known this could and, most likely, would happen when Taariq had joined the GID. It hadn’t been the boy’s first choice, he’d had dozens of dreams - none of them spy work. However, having lived the majority of his life close to terrorism and seen first hand its’ effects on the world around him, he hadn’t been able to chose anything else. Even the years spent away from it, in boarding school (Taariq's choice), hadn’t changed the course of his life.
Sumiya was away in school, finishing her last year in college. She would find out sooner or later, better she hear it from them. They would bring her home; she would refuse to stay anyway once she found out the extent of her brother’s injuries.
Roger wasn’t sure how they’d explain it to their younger children. For one insane second the platitudes they offered to the families of agents in the CIA flitted through his thoughts, making him physically cringe. God, he felt cowardly, but he hoped Hani would handle it. However, Roger already knew that he would do it himself.
Hani was out there right now, somewhere in Jordan, inflicting wounds that would leave scars surpassing those placed on his son. Jordan and its neighboring countries were in for some turbulent days as Hani Salam released his rage on those responsible for his first born’s condition.
Knowing him, he’d probably do it with the same sleek, cool attitude and smooth voice. He snorted humorlessly as he realized that the few times he’d could recall Hani actually raising his voice it had been at him.
He slowly drew a chair away from the wall, placing it next to the bed, and sank down into it with a sigh.
The family would be able to heal from this, but they would all be scarred. One thing you learned fast in their business - the physical scars, though bad, would never be as deep and ugly as the emotional ones.
THE END
Author: Author4me
Summary: Ferris is watching his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Hani/Ferris, mentioned mpreg.