Perfect Weather (Hannibal + M/F)
Hannibal reflects on the weather while attending a Military funeral.
Written for the Stormy Weather challenge on the A-Slash group.
It was perfect weather for a funeral. If there could ever be anything perfect about a funeral.
The sky was black, the light so dim anyone would think it was dusk rather than midday. Another ferocious crack of thunder, followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightning, illuminating the scene for the briefest of seconds.
A sea of civilians dressed in black, flanked by countless soldiers all in their dress uniforms. The coffin in the centre, draped in stars and stripes. Umbrellas held aloft in vain hope of keeping off the worst of the rain, as it continued to pour in steady sheets from the stormy clouds above.
Perfect weather indeed, Hannibal thought sadly as he wiped a hand across his face in a pointless attempt to dry himself a fraction. His dress uniform was soaked through, the heavy wool saturated completely, his beret barely staying in place as the wind gusted around his chilled body. But he wouldn’t move, nor would he seek shelter. He owed it to the kid to be here, as he was laid to rest at last.
The coffin seemed small, dwarfed by the flag and surrounded by the crowds who had turned out to mourn in spite of the terrible storm. Another crack of thunder, the rain somehow growing heavier still. The chaplain’s words of comfort lost to the wind.
So much promise, Hannibal thought, his heart aching with regret. The boy had had so much more to give, so much potential. Only a year or two out of Ranger school, so thrilled at finally being out in the real world, so keen to make a difference somehow. He’d been in awe of Hannibal, always listening to his plans with a look of wonder and amazement on his handsome young face. He’d even been brave and brilliant enough to question them, and to offer suggestions of his own.
When they first met, it had only taken a second for Hannibal to see what that young soldier could have become, with a few years hard work and some encouragement. Someone to believe in him. He’d wanted somewhere to belong, no immediate family of his own, raised in the care system. As a vivid flash of lightning lit the scene yet again, Hannibal clenched his jaw against the unfairness of it all. That young soldier had done everything right, had everything to live for, but he’d still lost his life.
The honour guard lined up, rifles at the ready, and fired the first shot. Despite himself, Hannibal jumped, feeling the icy cold rain running down his neck. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision - it was only the rain, he told himself firmly, not tears.
He could see his pilot in the line of the guard, shouldering his rifle with the others. Impossible to tell, but he thought the captain was crying, strong emotions painted clearly on his face though his hands were steady. Murdock had been the one to fly the chopper back to base after the extraction, knowing they were one man down, hoping against hope that medical help would make some difference. Far too late for that, of course.
Somewhere in the lines of soldiers, Hannibal knew BA was standing tall, watching and bearing witness. He didn’t expect his corporal would be crying, not in public, though he would be no less affected than the rest of the team. This was all just so unfair. But whoever had said life was fair?
So much potential. The kid had been a crack shot with any weapon he laid his hands on, and Hannibal knew he’d wanted to take the advanced sniper course as soon as he could. The paperwork was still sitting in his overflowing in-tray back at Benning. Why hadn’t he pushed it through?
The second gunshot was lost in another crack of thunder, the third also swallowed by the storm. So unfair, Hannibal thought over and over again, the boy had deserved so much more. But at least they could give him this much - full military honours, just as he deserved. He had been a Ranger, a brave and brilliant man. Too young to have died like this.
As the honour guard moved into position by the coffin, lifting the flag with all due reverence, Hannibal shook his head slightly and swallowed hard. The kid had been a soldier and he had done his duty. Yes, it was unfair, and yes there should be sorrow. But there should also be pride in the way he had lived, and the way he had died.
Men died in war, they all knew that, though they only spoke of it in whispers. Men died, sometimes for a reason, sometimes for nothing. Hannibal watched as the soldiers in front of him began to carefully fold the flag, strong hands keeping it steady despite the battering rain and gusting winds. Winds that swept away the sound of taps as the bugler began his solemn duty, only the occasional mournful note reaching Hannibal’s ears.
He tried hard to feel glad that at least this soldier had died for a reason. That his death had meant their teams survived, and the mission was a success.
It didn’t help, though. Nothing helped. More rain, more thunder, the wind threatening to tear umbrellas from the hands of the civilians present. That helped, at least. Sunshine and blue skies would have been wrong today. Perfect weather.
The flag was folded over and over, the hands of the honour guard remaining steady in spite of the bitingly cold weather. Hannibal watched as the neat triangle of cloth was handed carefully to one tall Ranger, who cradled it to his chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world, before executing a perfect about-face.
For the first time since the formal service began, Hannibal was able to see his boy’s eyes. Face was so pale, those bright blue eyes shining clearly with barely-contained emotion as he walked two steps forward towards a young woman, seated in the front row of mourners. His head was high, his step steady and his spine straight as he knelt in front of her, though Hannibal knew his heart would be breaking inside.
Hannibal’s chest grew tight as the thunder rumbled again overhead. It could so easily have been Face lying in that coffin. And Second Lieutenant Jeffries could have been Face, or nearly as good as Face, given a few years training. From the very first time Hannibal had laid eyes on young Sparky, as he’d been nicknamed thanks to his previous training as an electrician, the similarities had been striking. Face had seen it too, taking the younger Ranger under his wing as much as he could, though they were on different teams. Training with him when they were on base together, out on the range with him until all hours of the night.
Face had been the one to find Sparky’s body, the two of them working at some distance from the rest of the three combined teams on a challenging mission, providing long range cover as they all made their escapes. Face had been the one who had tried CPR, despite the obviously fatal gunshot wound to the chest. Face had been the one to carry the body of the young Ranger to the extraction site, refusing help even when he met up with the rest of the teams.
And now, Hannibal could only watch as Face was the one who handed the folded flag to the young woman before him. Sparky’s fiancée, he knew, with tears clearly streaming down her face, mingling with the rain as the lightning flashed above them and Face stood before snapping a perfect salute.
Hannibal knew Face had taken Jeffries’ death hard, but the whole unit had taken it hard as well. A promising young life snatched away, a well-liked kid who had barely started his career. As the thunder boomed loud, Hannibal’s eyes drifted back to Murdock, who stood at attention with the rest of the guard, though he was clearly watching Face out of the corner of his eye.
He wished he could be right there with them, as Face returned to the line of the honour guard and the funeral began to draw to a close. The rain seemed heavier now, though the wind was easing and the thunder seemed to be moving away from them. As the guard saluted the coffin in perfect unison, Hannibal was glad his two men were together, at least.
As much as they all knew men died in war, Hannibal also knew Face had cried in Murdock’s arms once they were safely back in their tent the night they returned from that terrible mission. Hannibal had taken BA and quietly left them alone, knowing they needed each other right then, and Murdock had barely left Face’s side since.
The funeral party began to break up as the rain continued and the day grew darker still. Hannibal watched the fiancée being escorted by Jeffries’ immediate CO, both sheltering under a large black umbrella which threatened to turn inside out at any moment. He spotted BA, finally, marching with the other soldiers, dark head hanging low.
He saw his boy, Face, standing tall beside the coffin as everyone drifted away, with Murdock by his side. He saw his pilot stand at attention and salute the coffin one last time, before he turned and draped an arm around his teammate’s shoulders, pulling Face into a tight embrace as the thunder cracked and the lightning flashed.
Really, it was the perfect weather for a funeral, Hannibal thought again as he left them there, his two boys mourning the loss of a young man they had barely known, who had been a brother soldier, and who could have been something special. No, a young man who had already been special. He would be remembered.
Bowing his own head against the bitter rain, Hannibal left them there, knowing no one would question their embrace, not on a day like this one. Perhaps he should offer them a gentle reminder after it was all over, just a caution to be careful, but no one would even think to question them now.
Let them take what comfort they could find in each other, Hannibal thought sadly, as the thunder rolled once more, so loud and so deep he could feel it in his chest. He needed the comfort of a bottle of whiskey, himself. At least they had each other, and Face wasn’t alone. Hannibal would be there for him if needed, of course, but right then he knew his boy needed a lover not a father figure.
Face was his boy, just as Murdock and BA were his boys. Hannibal knew he was father figure to them all, as well as older brother and friend and commanding officer. He wouldn’t change that for anything. A day like today just brought home to him how much those young men meant to him, and the dangers of the lives they had chosen to live - today, his heart was breaking for the loss of a promising young soldier whose life had been snatched away. How much more would it hurt when it was one of his boys, as it could well be any time they went out on a mission?
Second Lieutenant Jeffries had never had the chance to prove himself the way Hannibal knew he could have done, but he had died for a reason doing a job he loved. As he walked away from that miserable graveside, Hannibal tried to focus on those facts, though it was nearly impossible as the lightning flashing again one more time, the storm continuing to rage.
Perfect weather, indeed.
Written for the Stormy Weather challenge on the A-Slash group.
It was perfect weather for a funeral. If there could ever be anything perfect about a funeral.
The sky was black, the light so dim anyone would think it was dusk rather than midday. Another ferocious crack of thunder, followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightning, illuminating the scene for the briefest of seconds.
A sea of civilians dressed in black, flanked by countless soldiers all in their dress uniforms. The coffin in the centre, draped in stars and stripes. Umbrellas held aloft in vain hope of keeping off the worst of the rain, as it continued to pour in steady sheets from the stormy clouds above.
Perfect weather indeed, Hannibal thought sadly as he wiped a hand across his face in a pointless attempt to dry himself a fraction. His dress uniform was soaked through, the heavy wool saturated completely, his beret barely staying in place as the wind gusted around his chilled body. But he wouldn’t move, nor would he seek shelter. He owed it to the kid to be here, as he was laid to rest at last.
The coffin seemed small, dwarfed by the flag and surrounded by the crowds who had turned out to mourn in spite of the terrible storm. Another crack of thunder, the rain somehow growing heavier still. The chaplain’s words of comfort lost to the wind.
So much promise, Hannibal thought, his heart aching with regret. The boy had had so much more to give, so much potential. Only a year or two out of Ranger school, so thrilled at finally being out in the real world, so keen to make a difference somehow. He’d been in awe of Hannibal, always listening to his plans with a look of wonder and amazement on his handsome young face. He’d even been brave and brilliant enough to question them, and to offer suggestions of his own.
When they first met, it had only taken a second for Hannibal to see what that young soldier could have become, with a few years hard work and some encouragement. Someone to believe in him. He’d wanted somewhere to belong, no immediate family of his own, raised in the care system. As a vivid flash of lightning lit the scene yet again, Hannibal clenched his jaw against the unfairness of it all. That young soldier had done everything right, had everything to live for, but he’d still lost his life.
The honour guard lined up, rifles at the ready, and fired the first shot. Despite himself, Hannibal jumped, feeling the icy cold rain running down his neck. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision - it was only the rain, he told himself firmly, not tears.
He could see his pilot in the line of the guard, shouldering his rifle with the others. Impossible to tell, but he thought the captain was crying, strong emotions painted clearly on his face though his hands were steady. Murdock had been the one to fly the chopper back to base after the extraction, knowing they were one man down, hoping against hope that medical help would make some difference. Far too late for that, of course.
Somewhere in the lines of soldiers, Hannibal knew BA was standing tall, watching and bearing witness. He didn’t expect his corporal would be crying, not in public, though he would be no less affected than the rest of the team. This was all just so unfair. But whoever had said life was fair?
So much potential. The kid had been a crack shot with any weapon he laid his hands on, and Hannibal knew he’d wanted to take the advanced sniper course as soon as he could. The paperwork was still sitting in his overflowing in-tray back at Benning. Why hadn’t he pushed it through?
The second gunshot was lost in another crack of thunder, the third also swallowed by the storm. So unfair, Hannibal thought over and over again, the boy had deserved so much more. But at least they could give him this much - full military honours, just as he deserved. He had been a Ranger, a brave and brilliant man. Too young to have died like this.
As the honour guard moved into position by the coffin, lifting the flag with all due reverence, Hannibal shook his head slightly and swallowed hard. The kid had been a soldier and he had done his duty. Yes, it was unfair, and yes there should be sorrow. But there should also be pride in the way he had lived, and the way he had died.
Men died in war, they all knew that, though they only spoke of it in whispers. Men died, sometimes for a reason, sometimes for nothing. Hannibal watched as the soldiers in front of him began to carefully fold the flag, strong hands keeping it steady despite the battering rain and gusting winds. Winds that swept away the sound of taps as the bugler began his solemn duty, only the occasional mournful note reaching Hannibal’s ears.
He tried hard to feel glad that at least this soldier had died for a reason. That his death had meant their teams survived, and the mission was a success.
It didn’t help, though. Nothing helped. More rain, more thunder, the wind threatening to tear umbrellas from the hands of the civilians present. That helped, at least. Sunshine and blue skies would have been wrong today. Perfect weather.
The flag was folded over and over, the hands of the honour guard remaining steady in spite of the bitingly cold weather. Hannibal watched as the neat triangle of cloth was handed carefully to one tall Ranger, who cradled it to his chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world, before executing a perfect about-face.
For the first time since the formal service began, Hannibal was able to see his boy’s eyes. Face was so pale, those bright blue eyes shining clearly with barely-contained emotion as he walked two steps forward towards a young woman, seated in the front row of mourners. His head was high, his step steady and his spine straight as he knelt in front of her, though Hannibal knew his heart would be breaking inside.
Hannibal’s chest grew tight as the thunder rumbled again overhead. It could so easily have been Face lying in that coffin. And Second Lieutenant Jeffries could have been Face, or nearly as good as Face, given a few years training. From the very first time Hannibal had laid eyes on young Sparky, as he’d been nicknamed thanks to his previous training as an electrician, the similarities had been striking. Face had seen it too, taking the younger Ranger under his wing as much as he could, though they were on different teams. Training with him when they were on base together, out on the range with him until all hours of the night.
Face had been the one to find Sparky’s body, the two of them working at some distance from the rest of the three combined teams on a challenging mission, providing long range cover as they all made their escapes. Face had been the one who had tried CPR, despite the obviously fatal gunshot wound to the chest. Face had been the one to carry the body of the young Ranger to the extraction site, refusing help even when he met up with the rest of the teams.
And now, Hannibal could only watch as Face was the one who handed the folded flag to the young woman before him. Sparky’s fiancée, he knew, with tears clearly streaming down her face, mingling with the rain as the lightning flashed above them and Face stood before snapping a perfect salute.
Hannibal knew Face had taken Jeffries’ death hard, but the whole unit had taken it hard as well. A promising young life snatched away, a well-liked kid who had barely started his career. As the thunder boomed loud, Hannibal’s eyes drifted back to Murdock, who stood at attention with the rest of the guard, though he was clearly watching Face out of the corner of his eye.
He wished he could be right there with them, as Face returned to the line of the honour guard and the funeral began to draw to a close. The rain seemed heavier now, though the wind was easing and the thunder seemed to be moving away from them. As the guard saluted the coffin in perfect unison, Hannibal was glad his two men were together, at least.
As much as they all knew men died in war, Hannibal also knew Face had cried in Murdock’s arms once they were safely back in their tent the night they returned from that terrible mission. Hannibal had taken BA and quietly left them alone, knowing they needed each other right then, and Murdock had barely left Face’s side since.
The funeral party began to break up as the rain continued and the day grew darker still. Hannibal watched the fiancée being escorted by Jeffries’ immediate CO, both sheltering under a large black umbrella which threatened to turn inside out at any moment. He spotted BA, finally, marching with the other soldiers, dark head hanging low.
He saw his boy, Face, standing tall beside the coffin as everyone drifted away, with Murdock by his side. He saw his pilot stand at attention and salute the coffin one last time, before he turned and draped an arm around his teammate’s shoulders, pulling Face into a tight embrace as the thunder cracked and the lightning flashed.
Really, it was the perfect weather for a funeral, Hannibal thought again as he left them there, his two boys mourning the loss of a young man they had barely known, who had been a brother soldier, and who could have been something special. No, a young man who had already been special. He would be remembered.
Bowing his own head against the bitter rain, Hannibal left them there, knowing no one would question their embrace, not on a day like this one. Perhaps he should offer them a gentle reminder after it was all over, just a caution to be careful, but no one would even think to question them now.
Let them take what comfort they could find in each other, Hannibal thought sadly, as the thunder rolled once more, so loud and so deep he could feel it in his chest. He needed the comfort of a bottle of whiskey, himself. At least they had each other, and Face wasn’t alone. Hannibal would be there for him if needed, of course, but right then he knew his boy needed a lover not a father figure.
Face was his boy, just as Murdock and BA were his boys. Hannibal knew he was father figure to them all, as well as older brother and friend and commanding officer. He wouldn’t change that for anything. A day like today just brought home to him how much those young men meant to him, and the dangers of the lives they had chosen to live - today, his heart was breaking for the loss of a promising young soldier whose life had been snatched away. How much more would it hurt when it was one of his boys, as it could well be any time they went out on a mission?
Second Lieutenant Jeffries had never had the chance to prove himself the way Hannibal knew he could have done, but he had died for a reason doing a job he loved. As he walked away from that miserable graveside, Hannibal tried to focus on those facts, though it was nearly impossible as the lightning flashing again one more time, the storm continuing to rage.
Perfect weather, indeed.