Sanguis (Part 3 of 3) (H/F)
Ten days after Hannibal returned to his lover’s bedside, and Face is still not properly awake. Coming out of a coma is never as straightforward as it seems in the movies, and he’d been under no false impressions that Face would suddenly snap back into himself and be absolutely fine. But knowing the theory and seeing the reality are entirely different things.
The doctors talk about sleep-wake cycles. Face’s eyes can be open for a few minutes or a few hours, though he doesn’t respond to any stimuli. Then he’ll simply close his eyes once more, seemingly back in his coma, though the doctors assure Hannibal it’s a good sign, that his brain and his body both need the rest, and have to gear up slowly after being asleep for so long.
Limbs twitch, and Face rolls his head side to side on the pillow. He’s been off the ventilator for months now, off all but the most essential life-support, a feeding tube in place. Hannibal resists the urge to hold his lover’s hand still when those long fingers start clenching and unclenching involuntarily - the doctors tell him again that it’s a good sign, wasted muscles trying to come back to life, unused nerves waking up once more. Only Face’s right hand twitches, though, his left remaining lifeless throughout. The physiotherapists show Hannibal how to curl Face’s fingers for him and how to turn his wrist gently, trying to encourage movement. At last, something useful he can do.
Another twelve days pass before Face seems to be truly awake, though by then Hannibal has known for some time that his lover won’t be himself anymore. Has had some time to grieve in private, sobbing noisily in the shower at the unfairness of everything. The doctors are now certain beyond all doubt that Face has suffered severe brain damage - the only question now is how permanent that damage might be, and exactly how much Face has lost.
At first, Face seems to have lost everything. Everything he was, everything he knew, it all seems lost, and Hannibal tries hard not to show how devastated he is. Not in public, at least. At first, Face appears to be nothing but an empty shell, physically alive and present but completely unaware. He doesn’t speak, barely moves on his own, though his eyes track movements easily enough.
The speech therapists spend hours with Face, trying to find some way to communicate with him. Face shows no recognition or understanding when they speak to him, and with Hannibal’s help they try several different languages in the hope that something will get through. His lover used to be fluent in six different languages, including French, Spanish and Arabic, and he had been more than capable in a further seven. But now, nothing gets any kind of response beyond the calm blinking as Face watches them silently, propped up on pillows in his hospital bed.
They try the written word instead, and then ASL. Face just watches, blue eyes following their movements but never showing any hint of understanding, never making any attempt to copy their actions or reciprocate in any way. Hannibal’s heart feels completely broken, but he keeps trying, talking to Face for hours and hours in the hope that something will break through. He has to keep trying, has to keep hoping, though it seems futile.
The physical therapist has more success, thankfully, coaxing muscles wasted through months of inaction back into life, and discovering that Face still has some muscle memory, instinctive and simple movements coming back naturally. Within the first week she has him sitting up, then gradually gets him up and walking, slowly but surely. Face never makes a sound as she works with him, though Hannibal knows from bitter experience how painful some of the exercises must be. Again, those blue eyes just watch the therapist’s every movement, and he lets himself be manipulated into position without ever complaining.
One time, Hannibal is present when his lover collapses in the exercise room, and he rushes straight over, terrified that something is seriously wrong. Something beyond the obvious, at least. Turns out the therapist had missed the signs of fatigue in still-weak legs, and Face had simply not been capable of letting her know. In fact, he’d probably had no idea. Hannibal screams at her for a long time, out of earshot of his boy, nearly reducing her to tears. He apologises the very next day, of course, and she apologises in turn, to Face as well, though it really wasn’t her fault. She works even more carefully than before, after that, and at the same time she works harder, though sadly nothing improves the control Face has over his left hand.
As the doctors had feared, the previously skilled limb is damaged beyond recovery. Face has some limited movement, and clearly some feeling, though he has no strength in his fingers at all and nothing makes it any better. He can’t make a fist, can’t grip anything, though he learns quickly to use the side of his hand to steady things, or to push them. He adapts quickly to nearly everything he is shown, physically, and soon he can feed himself with prompting and toilet himself, his strength returning rapidly.
But mentally, there is still nothing, and Hannibal fights to stay positive as the weeks then months pass by. Face still shows no signs of understanding, and no signs that he remembers anything at all before waking up in the rehab centre. Strangely, he seems happy enough, and he starts to smile whenever Hannibal is in the room, blue eyes lighting up and tracking the older man’s every move.
Face never seems scared or in pain, and there are no nightmares when he sleeps, which gives Hannibal some comfort in his grief. In his own darkest nightmares he has thought often of the hell his lover must have gone through in that long hour all those months ago, strapped down and bleeding with no way to save himself, no friendly touch to be found. Perhaps it is a blessing that Face has lost that, lost a lifetime of painful memories in fact.
The good memories are gone too, of course, and nothing Hannibal does ever seems to prompt a spark of recognition or remembrance in his lover’s eyes. He tries to remember for the both of them, telling Face stories long into the night, stories of missions they’d been on, stories of the men they’d worked with, and stories of the love they shared.
Stories of long desert nights cuddled together in tents, sleeping bags joined together and bodies entwined. Tales of stolen weekends in beachside hotels, just talking for hours and hours about anything and everything. Illicit sex in supply closets on military bases around the world, gagging each other with rough yet loving hands. The first time Hannibal said ‘I love you’. The first time Face said it back.
He talks and talks and talks until his voice is hoarse. He remembers every moment of every hour he has spent loving this precious man, the man he always thought he would spend the rest of his life with. He stays as late as he can every night before the medical staff chase him out. And Face just watches him the whole time, his expression calm, perhaps even fond, but nothing more.
Murdock and BA visit often, of course, though both of them struggle to cope with the empty shell of their friend. Murdock puts on a brave face, chattering away the whole time he is in the room with Face, always cheerful and positive until he leaves. Then, there are tears and frustration, the tears and frustration Hannibal keeps expecting to see in Face. He holds Murdock as the younger man sobs, letting his own tears slide silently down his cheeks.
BA simply doesn’t know what to do, how to be around a Face who doesn’t respond to anything he says or does. He tries, Hannibal can see how hard he tries, but he just doesn’t know. BA isn’t built for being a carer, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, Hannibal knows how much it is breaking the big man’s heart to see his brother like this, but BA doesn’t let that show, always determined to be the strong one of their team, now more than ever.
“I’m not going back,” Hannibal tells them one evening, and neither of them are surprised. He handed in his papers that afternoon, officially resigning his commission effective immediately. He’ll always be grateful to Russell Morrison for allowing him to stay with Face as long as he has with few questions asked, but he knows the time is coming when yet more difficult decisions will have to be made. And in his heart, he’d already decided long ago.
The doctors have been blunt with him, and the various therapists have reluctantly agreed with their conclusions. Face is as recovered as he will ever be, and there is simply nothing more they can do. Physically he is capable of caring for himself, though he still needs prompting and guiding for all but the most basic of tasks. Communication is still non-existent, and likely to remain that way - Face can’t say when he’s hungry, or hurting, or exhausted, because he simply doesn’t seem to know. He will need care for the rest of his life, and his memories will never return. His ability to form new memories seems damaged too, as evidenced by the fact he shows no ability to learn anything more than tasks involving simple muscle memory.
The thought of leaving Face in an Army-approved care home is abhorrent, and Hannibal takes his lover home at last. It isn’t easy, of course, though Face still appears happy and content at all times. Those blue eyes still light up when Hannibal is close, and he smiles easily, freely, never making a sound. Hannibal finds ways to fill their days together, though it’s always a struggle, keeping Face safe - his boy has no sense of danger, no fear of strangers or new activities, and Hannibal can sense some of Face’s previously strong sense of independence and bravery in the shell of a man he now lives with. Almost childlike, this new Face is innocent and naïve, simpleminded and seemingly content with his lot in life.
Hannibal tries to be content with that much, too. His lover is still here, yet his lover is also gone forever.
He doesn’t stay with Face out of guilt, though he will always feel some guilt for what happened, even though he really does know none of it was his fault. He’s replayed everything in his mind, over and over again, and they simply couldn’t have done anything differently. Doing the jobs they do - the jobs they did, the job he and Face will never do again - something was bound to happen at some point, to one of them. Hannibal could never have imagined this scenario, though, not in his darkest nightmares. He used to have nightmares where Face was killed, nightmares where he was paralysed, or lost limbs in terrible explosions. Now, his nightmares are of Face, bleeding and alone. Face, trapped in his own mind, screaming for help.
Hannibal could never have foreseen this. Something as simple as blood, or a desperate lack of it for far too long. Blood, the one thing they all took so much for granted. The one thing none of them can live without.
But still, it isn’t out of guilt that he acts now. It’s out of love, pure and simple.
He still loves Face, of course he does. He loves him more than anything in the world. Would do anything and everything for him. But the Face he fell in love with is truly gone forever, and he has to accept that, as painful as it is. In a way, it would have been easier if Face had died that day, though he feels terribly guilty for even thinking that for a second in his darkest moments, alone in his bed in the middle of the night. He cries sometimes, and Face comes to him, curls up by his side, holds his hand gently, smiling softly the whole time. Not understanding anything.
Sometimes Hannibal wonders, though. When Face comes unbidden, when he holds his hand, or when he tries to climb into Hannibal’s bed - he wonders if something does remain, some sense memory perhaps, some awareness of the deep love the two of them shared for so many years. The love Hannibal must now carry alone. There can be nothing between them now but companionship and platonic love, Face incapable of any form of consent even though he may hint at willingness.
He’ll never give up on Face, not for a second, and he’ll never stop trying to find some way to help him, to reach him. He keeps up with new research, talks to new doctors and therapists, but as time passes Hannibal can’t help but accept the truth. Face doesn’t seem to know what he’s lost, and he is happy and at peace. Hannibal knows he’ll never be entirely happy himself, though he is more content than he thought he could ever be, living the way they do. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Face, after all, and he can do that now, though not in the way he always dreamed of.
After their first year together, Hannibal takes the decision to move them out of the city and away from Benning, taking Face back to the Midwest with him, to the old ranch he inherited when his parents passed away. Face finds silent pleasure in the companionship of the few horses and cattle they keep, as well as the farm cat and their two dogs, and Hannibal takes comfort in seeing how happy and safe his boy is.
Old friends drift further away as the years pass by, even visits from Murdock and BA becoming few and far between. They still love Face dearly, will always be brothers, but as their careers and lives take them in new directions, they find it increasingly difficult to visit and more painful each time to leave. And Hannibal finds he is okay with that. Knows that Face would understand entirely.
Just him and Face now, together, the way it should be.
Face is still with him in some way, and always will be. Hannibal would rather have that than be alone. He will always be in love with Face, and will always mourn the fact that this terrible thing happened, but he finds he can’t regret the fact that his lover survived. Now, they are free to live the rest of their lives together in whatever peace they can find. What could he possibly find to regret in that?
The doctors talk about sleep-wake cycles. Face’s eyes can be open for a few minutes or a few hours, though he doesn’t respond to any stimuli. Then he’ll simply close his eyes once more, seemingly back in his coma, though the doctors assure Hannibal it’s a good sign, that his brain and his body both need the rest, and have to gear up slowly after being asleep for so long.
Limbs twitch, and Face rolls his head side to side on the pillow. He’s been off the ventilator for months now, off all but the most essential life-support, a feeding tube in place. Hannibal resists the urge to hold his lover’s hand still when those long fingers start clenching and unclenching involuntarily - the doctors tell him again that it’s a good sign, wasted muscles trying to come back to life, unused nerves waking up once more. Only Face’s right hand twitches, though, his left remaining lifeless throughout. The physiotherapists show Hannibal how to curl Face’s fingers for him and how to turn his wrist gently, trying to encourage movement. At last, something useful he can do.
Another twelve days pass before Face seems to be truly awake, though by then Hannibal has known for some time that his lover won’t be himself anymore. Has had some time to grieve in private, sobbing noisily in the shower at the unfairness of everything. The doctors are now certain beyond all doubt that Face has suffered severe brain damage - the only question now is how permanent that damage might be, and exactly how much Face has lost.
At first, Face seems to have lost everything. Everything he was, everything he knew, it all seems lost, and Hannibal tries hard not to show how devastated he is. Not in public, at least. At first, Face appears to be nothing but an empty shell, physically alive and present but completely unaware. He doesn’t speak, barely moves on his own, though his eyes track movements easily enough.
The speech therapists spend hours with Face, trying to find some way to communicate with him. Face shows no recognition or understanding when they speak to him, and with Hannibal’s help they try several different languages in the hope that something will get through. His lover used to be fluent in six different languages, including French, Spanish and Arabic, and he had been more than capable in a further seven. But now, nothing gets any kind of response beyond the calm blinking as Face watches them silently, propped up on pillows in his hospital bed.
They try the written word instead, and then ASL. Face just watches, blue eyes following their movements but never showing any hint of understanding, never making any attempt to copy their actions or reciprocate in any way. Hannibal’s heart feels completely broken, but he keeps trying, talking to Face for hours and hours in the hope that something will break through. He has to keep trying, has to keep hoping, though it seems futile.
The physical therapist has more success, thankfully, coaxing muscles wasted through months of inaction back into life, and discovering that Face still has some muscle memory, instinctive and simple movements coming back naturally. Within the first week she has him sitting up, then gradually gets him up and walking, slowly but surely. Face never makes a sound as she works with him, though Hannibal knows from bitter experience how painful some of the exercises must be. Again, those blue eyes just watch the therapist’s every movement, and he lets himself be manipulated into position without ever complaining.
One time, Hannibal is present when his lover collapses in the exercise room, and he rushes straight over, terrified that something is seriously wrong. Something beyond the obvious, at least. Turns out the therapist had missed the signs of fatigue in still-weak legs, and Face had simply not been capable of letting her know. In fact, he’d probably had no idea. Hannibal screams at her for a long time, out of earshot of his boy, nearly reducing her to tears. He apologises the very next day, of course, and she apologises in turn, to Face as well, though it really wasn’t her fault. She works even more carefully than before, after that, and at the same time she works harder, though sadly nothing improves the control Face has over his left hand.
As the doctors had feared, the previously skilled limb is damaged beyond recovery. Face has some limited movement, and clearly some feeling, though he has no strength in his fingers at all and nothing makes it any better. He can’t make a fist, can’t grip anything, though he learns quickly to use the side of his hand to steady things, or to push them. He adapts quickly to nearly everything he is shown, physically, and soon he can feed himself with prompting and toilet himself, his strength returning rapidly.
But mentally, there is still nothing, and Hannibal fights to stay positive as the weeks then months pass by. Face still shows no signs of understanding, and no signs that he remembers anything at all before waking up in the rehab centre. Strangely, he seems happy enough, and he starts to smile whenever Hannibal is in the room, blue eyes lighting up and tracking the older man’s every move.
Face never seems scared or in pain, and there are no nightmares when he sleeps, which gives Hannibal some comfort in his grief. In his own darkest nightmares he has thought often of the hell his lover must have gone through in that long hour all those months ago, strapped down and bleeding with no way to save himself, no friendly touch to be found. Perhaps it is a blessing that Face has lost that, lost a lifetime of painful memories in fact.
The good memories are gone too, of course, and nothing Hannibal does ever seems to prompt a spark of recognition or remembrance in his lover’s eyes. He tries to remember for the both of them, telling Face stories long into the night, stories of missions they’d been on, stories of the men they’d worked with, and stories of the love they shared.
Stories of long desert nights cuddled together in tents, sleeping bags joined together and bodies entwined. Tales of stolen weekends in beachside hotels, just talking for hours and hours about anything and everything. Illicit sex in supply closets on military bases around the world, gagging each other with rough yet loving hands. The first time Hannibal said ‘I love you’. The first time Face said it back.
He talks and talks and talks until his voice is hoarse. He remembers every moment of every hour he has spent loving this precious man, the man he always thought he would spend the rest of his life with. He stays as late as he can every night before the medical staff chase him out. And Face just watches him the whole time, his expression calm, perhaps even fond, but nothing more.
Murdock and BA visit often, of course, though both of them struggle to cope with the empty shell of their friend. Murdock puts on a brave face, chattering away the whole time he is in the room with Face, always cheerful and positive until he leaves. Then, there are tears and frustration, the tears and frustration Hannibal keeps expecting to see in Face. He holds Murdock as the younger man sobs, letting his own tears slide silently down his cheeks.
BA simply doesn’t know what to do, how to be around a Face who doesn’t respond to anything he says or does. He tries, Hannibal can see how hard he tries, but he just doesn’t know. BA isn’t built for being a carer, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, Hannibal knows how much it is breaking the big man’s heart to see his brother like this, but BA doesn’t let that show, always determined to be the strong one of their team, now more than ever.
“I’m not going back,” Hannibal tells them one evening, and neither of them are surprised. He handed in his papers that afternoon, officially resigning his commission effective immediately. He’ll always be grateful to Russell Morrison for allowing him to stay with Face as long as he has with few questions asked, but he knows the time is coming when yet more difficult decisions will have to be made. And in his heart, he’d already decided long ago.
The doctors have been blunt with him, and the various therapists have reluctantly agreed with their conclusions. Face is as recovered as he will ever be, and there is simply nothing more they can do. Physically he is capable of caring for himself, though he still needs prompting and guiding for all but the most basic of tasks. Communication is still non-existent, and likely to remain that way - Face can’t say when he’s hungry, or hurting, or exhausted, because he simply doesn’t seem to know. He will need care for the rest of his life, and his memories will never return. His ability to form new memories seems damaged too, as evidenced by the fact he shows no ability to learn anything more than tasks involving simple muscle memory.
The thought of leaving Face in an Army-approved care home is abhorrent, and Hannibal takes his lover home at last. It isn’t easy, of course, though Face still appears happy and content at all times. Those blue eyes still light up when Hannibal is close, and he smiles easily, freely, never making a sound. Hannibal finds ways to fill their days together, though it’s always a struggle, keeping Face safe - his boy has no sense of danger, no fear of strangers or new activities, and Hannibal can sense some of Face’s previously strong sense of independence and bravery in the shell of a man he now lives with. Almost childlike, this new Face is innocent and naïve, simpleminded and seemingly content with his lot in life.
Hannibal tries to be content with that much, too. His lover is still here, yet his lover is also gone forever.
He doesn’t stay with Face out of guilt, though he will always feel some guilt for what happened, even though he really does know none of it was his fault. He’s replayed everything in his mind, over and over again, and they simply couldn’t have done anything differently. Doing the jobs they do - the jobs they did, the job he and Face will never do again - something was bound to happen at some point, to one of them. Hannibal could never have imagined this scenario, though, not in his darkest nightmares. He used to have nightmares where Face was killed, nightmares where he was paralysed, or lost limbs in terrible explosions. Now, his nightmares are of Face, bleeding and alone. Face, trapped in his own mind, screaming for help.
Hannibal could never have foreseen this. Something as simple as blood, or a desperate lack of it for far too long. Blood, the one thing they all took so much for granted. The one thing none of them can live without.
But still, it isn’t out of guilt that he acts now. It’s out of love, pure and simple.
He still loves Face, of course he does. He loves him more than anything in the world. Would do anything and everything for him. But the Face he fell in love with is truly gone forever, and he has to accept that, as painful as it is. In a way, it would have been easier if Face had died that day, though he feels terribly guilty for even thinking that for a second in his darkest moments, alone in his bed in the middle of the night. He cries sometimes, and Face comes to him, curls up by his side, holds his hand gently, smiling softly the whole time. Not understanding anything.
Sometimes Hannibal wonders, though. When Face comes unbidden, when he holds his hand, or when he tries to climb into Hannibal’s bed - he wonders if something does remain, some sense memory perhaps, some awareness of the deep love the two of them shared for so many years. The love Hannibal must now carry alone. There can be nothing between them now but companionship and platonic love, Face incapable of any form of consent even though he may hint at willingness.
He’ll never give up on Face, not for a second, and he’ll never stop trying to find some way to help him, to reach him. He keeps up with new research, talks to new doctors and therapists, but as time passes Hannibal can’t help but accept the truth. Face doesn’t seem to know what he’s lost, and he is happy and at peace. Hannibal knows he’ll never be entirely happy himself, though he is more content than he thought he could ever be, living the way they do. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Face, after all, and he can do that now, though not in the way he always dreamed of.
After their first year together, Hannibal takes the decision to move them out of the city and away from Benning, taking Face back to the Midwest with him, to the old ranch he inherited when his parents passed away. Face finds silent pleasure in the companionship of the few horses and cattle they keep, as well as the farm cat and their two dogs, and Hannibal takes comfort in seeing how happy and safe his boy is.
Old friends drift further away as the years pass by, even visits from Murdock and BA becoming few and far between. They still love Face dearly, will always be brothers, but as their careers and lives take them in new directions, they find it increasingly difficult to visit and more painful each time to leave. And Hannibal finds he is okay with that. Knows that Face would understand entirely.
Just him and Face now, together, the way it should be.
Face is still with him in some way, and always will be. Hannibal would rather have that than be alone. He will always be in love with Face, and will always mourn the fact that this terrible thing happened, but he finds he can’t regret the fact that his lover survived. Now, they are free to live the rest of their lives together in whatever peace they can find. What could he possibly find to regret in that?