Forever Changed (H/F) (Part 1 of ?)
After being forced to make an impossible choice during a difficult mission, Hannibal struggles to deal with his feelings of guilt, while the lives of Face and the rest of their team are changed forever.
Hannibal could hear them coming a mile off. Two men who could, at times, be among the most silent and deadly soldiers he’d ever worked with. At other times, they bickered just like three year olds fighting over a favourite toy, and this sounded like it was one of those times.
He smiled in spite of everything, recognising the familiar deep grumble of BA and the lighter, southern-accented tones of Murdock. Still too far away to make out any words, even for Hannibal’s sensitive hearing, but there was no denying they were most definitely back.
From across the tent there came a stifled laugh, and Hannibal looked up startled as his Lieutenant leaned back on his bunk and stretched. He’d forgotten, for a moment at least, that he wasn’t alone. Forgotten exactly who was here with him.
“They aren’t exactly quiet, huh, Colonel?” Lieutenant Read’s voice was soft and clear, his accent a strange mixture of the British of his childhood and the American of his teenage and adult life. Still, after more than two months together as a team, it wasn’t the voice Hannibal expected to hear.
“You should know by now, there’s nothing subtle about those two,” Hannibal replied with a smile, as the bickering grew closer and louder.
“The way they fight, I still don’t really get why they took leave together,” Read murmured as he dropped his head back to the reports he was thumbing through, and Hannibal frowned a little. Almost immediately, the younger man’s dark head snapped up, a look of horror on his face as he realised what he’d said. “Oh, god, I mean - Well, apart from the obvious. Sir, I didn’t - ”
“At ease before you strain something, kid.” It still felt wrong to be calling someone else by that nickname, Hannibal thought to himself, feeling that familiar pain in his chest at the memories. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
The return of the other half of their team would mean a return to normal missions once more, something Hannibal could bury himself in and take his mind off everything. But first, it would mean some difficult conversations, and dredging up memories and feelings he’d worked hard to bury. Feelings of guilt and emptiness. Feelings of longing for the man he could never have, not now.
Read held his gaze across the tent for a moment, then mumbled, “Sorry, Colonel.”
Hannibal just shrugged, turning his attention to the entrance of the tent. Waiting.
Those bickering voices grew closer and closer, until he could hear the underlying friendship in his men’s voices, as well as deep exhaustion. They’d had a long trip, from the Army rehab centre in Texas to Benning in Georgia, then back to the FOB via Germany. But of course Murdock and BA still had the energy to argue and tease each other.
With a sudden burst of motion, the tent flap was flung back and Murdock cartwheeled inside, crashing into the planning table and landing on the floor in a giggling heap. Instantly he bobbed back to his feet, wild hair sticking out in all directions, Hawaiian shirt so bright it threatened to burn Hannibal’s eyes after the dimness of the tent, and he somehow snapped to perfect attention.
“We’re baa-aack!” the pilot sing-songed, holding a salute for a long moment before breaking into a wide grin and bounding across the tent to jump headfirst onto Read’s bunk, sending the Lieutenant’s papers flying everywhere. “Didya miss us? Didya didya didya didaya - ?”
“Shut up for the thousandth time, you crazy idiot!” BA sounded absolutely furious, deep voice filling the tent as his muscled bulk suddenly filled the entrance. “Man, enough already! Thought you’d’ve worn yourself out by now.”
From many years long experience with these men, Hannibal could tell BA wasn’t truly mad at Murdock, though he was willing to bet they’d both had about enough of each other after ten days of leave without Hannibal there to play peacemaker.
Standing, he accepted BA’s proffered handshake, turning it easily into a fist-bump as the corporal dropped two kitbags to the floor of the tent - of course Murdock would manage to convince his friend to carry his luggage too. “Good to see you both,” he announced, forcing a wide grin to his face. And it was good to see them, really it was, in spite of everything. “Good flight back?”
“Long flight back,” BA told him, rubbing both hands over his face as he dropped heavily into one of the canvas chairs, which gave an ominous creak under his weight. “’Specially with this fool sittin’ next to me.”
“Hate letting someone else fly the plane,” Murdock grumbled from the other side of the tent. To Hannibal’s amusement, his pilot had laid himself lengthways on his back across Read’s bed, head touching the floor on one side and lanky legs dangling off the other.
Their new lieutenant just looked bemused, hands held in the air almost as if someone was pointing a gun at him. Murdock might well have decided he liked the man but it was clear that Read still didn’t know what to make of Hannibal’s crazy team at times.
“Told you Murdock, you can’t fly every damn plane all the damn time. And you can’t ever fly any plane with me on board!” BA, again, protesting just as anticipated. Hannibal just shook his head with a soft laugh; one day they’d get this man over his fear of flying.
“Oh, Bosco, you wound me!” Still with his head hanging upside down, Murdock clutched a hand dramatically to his chest as if he’d been shot. “Anyone’d think you don’t like my flying!”
Before BA could make another retort, Hannibal figured he should step in and be the mature one, though the familiar banter was soothing. He really had missed them both, though he missed the third voice that should be bantering with them even more. “Enough, boys,” he started, putting just enough steel into his voice to settle them all instantly. “You had a good break, I take it? Your Mother doing okay, big guy?”
BA frowned, leaning forwards in his chair and resting meaty forearms on even meatier thighs. “She’s doin’ okay, thanks, man; sends her love as always.” His words were slow, his expression thoughtful, and Hannibal struggled to hold his friend’s gaze. It wasn’t the first question he should have asked, and they all knew it. “She’s stayin’ down in Texas for another week or two, to keep him company a bit longer.”
“Good,” Hannibal heard himself say, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. He needed to ask, needed to know, but at the same time he was terrified of hearing the truth.
“He’s doing so much better.” Murdock’s voice, unexpectedly, and Hannibal looked over to see the younger man sitting up now, cross-legged on Read’s bunk while the Lieutenant just looked uncomfortable. “The surgeons said he’s healing up real well, and the infection’s nearly all gone now.”
“They even had him up on crutches, Boss, just for a few minutes.” BA still looked confused, though his words were calm and measured, dark eyes staring. Hannibal couldn’t look at him, guilt rising up in his throat and threatening to choke him. “He was so pleased about that. Real landmark moment. Mama took some pictures.”
“That’s… good.” His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. It wasn’t good, not at all, though he knew it was a big step forwards, figuratively speaking. Being able to balance on a pair of crutches wasn’t something that any one of them should be celebrating, not normally.
“The docs reckon another couple of months just healing before they can talk ‘bout fitting him for a prosthetic.” Murdock again, voice stronger and more insistent, cutting though Hannibal’s guilt. “And he asked after you, Boss. Asked how everything was going. How you were… how you were coping, with it all.”
Hannibal had to swallow hard again before he could speak. “You gave him my letter?” he managed to choke out. “Told him why I couldn’t be there? Sent my apologies?”
“’Course we did. Said he understood.” But BA was shaking his head even as he spoke. He knew, just as Murdock did, just as Read also did, that Hannibal could have made the time to visit if he’d pushed for it.
The meetings that had kept the colonel in Iraq could have been postponed, but they’d been a convenient excuse. Hannibal didn’t see any way he could ever visit, not after what he’d done. Couldn’t see any way he would ever be welcomed or wanted. He hadn’t even been able to summon the strength to call, not wanting to stress the kid over the phone, though he’d spoken to his doctors once or twice back after he’d first been medevac’ed back to the States.
“Hannibal?” Murdock hadn’t sounded so serious in a very long time. Never a good sign, that. “Hannibal, you know Face doesn’t blame you, right? Not for any of it. Not even for a second.”
For a moment there was complete silence, even the sounds of camp life from outside the tent seeming to pause. Hannibal felt almost physically sick, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of smoke and flames, fallen beams and molten metal, and screams. The screams, over and above all things.
Screams that still haunted his nightmares after all these months. The worst sounds Hannibal had ever heard, in a long career of nightmare-inducing missions. Face’s screams of agony.
Shaking his head hard, Hannibal took two long strides across the tent, lifting the flap and dragging in a few deep lungfuls of the baking hot desert air, letting the blinding sun wash away the visions of hell that haunted him. A passing jeep honked its horn loudly, a group of soldiers nearby laughed long and hard, and a chopper passed noisily overhead, all helping to drown out the memory of those screams.
But even subdued and buried, the nightmare still stayed with him, hovering in the background, and Hannibal knew deep down it always would. If only it was just a nightmare - it had happened, and Face was having to live with the consequences.
“He should blame me,” Hannibal told his team over his shoulder, raising a hand quickly to cut off the inevitable protests. “It was my fault.”
Letting the tent flap drop behind him, he stalked off into the depths of the base, trying to lose himself in the maze of tents. Hoping he could leave the guilt behind him if only he moved fast enough.
Part Two
Hannibal could hear them coming a mile off. Two men who could, at times, be among the most silent and deadly soldiers he’d ever worked with. At other times, they bickered just like three year olds fighting over a favourite toy, and this sounded like it was one of those times.
He smiled in spite of everything, recognising the familiar deep grumble of BA and the lighter, southern-accented tones of Murdock. Still too far away to make out any words, even for Hannibal’s sensitive hearing, but there was no denying they were most definitely back.
From across the tent there came a stifled laugh, and Hannibal looked up startled as his Lieutenant leaned back on his bunk and stretched. He’d forgotten, for a moment at least, that he wasn’t alone. Forgotten exactly who was here with him.
“They aren’t exactly quiet, huh, Colonel?” Lieutenant Read’s voice was soft and clear, his accent a strange mixture of the British of his childhood and the American of his teenage and adult life. Still, after more than two months together as a team, it wasn’t the voice Hannibal expected to hear.
“You should know by now, there’s nothing subtle about those two,” Hannibal replied with a smile, as the bickering grew closer and louder.
“The way they fight, I still don’t really get why they took leave together,” Read murmured as he dropped his head back to the reports he was thumbing through, and Hannibal frowned a little. Almost immediately, the younger man’s dark head snapped up, a look of horror on his face as he realised what he’d said. “Oh, god, I mean - Well, apart from the obvious. Sir, I didn’t - ”
“At ease before you strain something, kid.” It still felt wrong to be calling someone else by that nickname, Hannibal thought to himself, feeling that familiar pain in his chest at the memories. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
The return of the other half of their team would mean a return to normal missions once more, something Hannibal could bury himself in and take his mind off everything. But first, it would mean some difficult conversations, and dredging up memories and feelings he’d worked hard to bury. Feelings of guilt and emptiness. Feelings of longing for the man he could never have, not now.
Read held his gaze across the tent for a moment, then mumbled, “Sorry, Colonel.”
Hannibal just shrugged, turning his attention to the entrance of the tent. Waiting.
Those bickering voices grew closer and closer, until he could hear the underlying friendship in his men’s voices, as well as deep exhaustion. They’d had a long trip, from the Army rehab centre in Texas to Benning in Georgia, then back to the FOB via Germany. But of course Murdock and BA still had the energy to argue and tease each other.
With a sudden burst of motion, the tent flap was flung back and Murdock cartwheeled inside, crashing into the planning table and landing on the floor in a giggling heap. Instantly he bobbed back to his feet, wild hair sticking out in all directions, Hawaiian shirt so bright it threatened to burn Hannibal’s eyes after the dimness of the tent, and he somehow snapped to perfect attention.
“We’re baa-aack!” the pilot sing-songed, holding a salute for a long moment before breaking into a wide grin and bounding across the tent to jump headfirst onto Read’s bunk, sending the Lieutenant’s papers flying everywhere. “Didya miss us? Didya didya didya didaya - ?”
“Shut up for the thousandth time, you crazy idiot!” BA sounded absolutely furious, deep voice filling the tent as his muscled bulk suddenly filled the entrance. “Man, enough already! Thought you’d’ve worn yourself out by now.”
From many years long experience with these men, Hannibal could tell BA wasn’t truly mad at Murdock, though he was willing to bet they’d both had about enough of each other after ten days of leave without Hannibal there to play peacemaker.
Standing, he accepted BA’s proffered handshake, turning it easily into a fist-bump as the corporal dropped two kitbags to the floor of the tent - of course Murdock would manage to convince his friend to carry his luggage too. “Good to see you both,” he announced, forcing a wide grin to his face. And it was good to see them, really it was, in spite of everything. “Good flight back?”
“Long flight back,” BA told him, rubbing both hands over his face as he dropped heavily into one of the canvas chairs, which gave an ominous creak under his weight. “’Specially with this fool sittin’ next to me.”
“Hate letting someone else fly the plane,” Murdock grumbled from the other side of the tent. To Hannibal’s amusement, his pilot had laid himself lengthways on his back across Read’s bed, head touching the floor on one side and lanky legs dangling off the other.
Their new lieutenant just looked bemused, hands held in the air almost as if someone was pointing a gun at him. Murdock might well have decided he liked the man but it was clear that Read still didn’t know what to make of Hannibal’s crazy team at times.
“Told you Murdock, you can’t fly every damn plane all the damn time. And you can’t ever fly any plane with me on board!” BA, again, protesting just as anticipated. Hannibal just shook his head with a soft laugh; one day they’d get this man over his fear of flying.
“Oh, Bosco, you wound me!” Still with his head hanging upside down, Murdock clutched a hand dramatically to his chest as if he’d been shot. “Anyone’d think you don’t like my flying!”
Before BA could make another retort, Hannibal figured he should step in and be the mature one, though the familiar banter was soothing. He really had missed them both, though he missed the third voice that should be bantering with them even more. “Enough, boys,” he started, putting just enough steel into his voice to settle them all instantly. “You had a good break, I take it? Your Mother doing okay, big guy?”
BA frowned, leaning forwards in his chair and resting meaty forearms on even meatier thighs. “She’s doin’ okay, thanks, man; sends her love as always.” His words were slow, his expression thoughtful, and Hannibal struggled to hold his friend’s gaze. It wasn’t the first question he should have asked, and they all knew it. “She’s stayin’ down in Texas for another week or two, to keep him company a bit longer.”
“Good,” Hannibal heard himself say, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. He needed to ask, needed to know, but at the same time he was terrified of hearing the truth.
“He’s doing so much better.” Murdock’s voice, unexpectedly, and Hannibal looked over to see the younger man sitting up now, cross-legged on Read’s bunk while the Lieutenant just looked uncomfortable. “The surgeons said he’s healing up real well, and the infection’s nearly all gone now.”
“They even had him up on crutches, Boss, just for a few minutes.” BA still looked confused, though his words were calm and measured, dark eyes staring. Hannibal couldn’t look at him, guilt rising up in his throat and threatening to choke him. “He was so pleased about that. Real landmark moment. Mama took some pictures.”
“That’s… good.” His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. It wasn’t good, not at all, though he knew it was a big step forwards, figuratively speaking. Being able to balance on a pair of crutches wasn’t something that any one of them should be celebrating, not normally.
“The docs reckon another couple of months just healing before they can talk ‘bout fitting him for a prosthetic.” Murdock again, voice stronger and more insistent, cutting though Hannibal’s guilt. “And he asked after you, Boss. Asked how everything was going. How you were… how you were coping, with it all.”
Hannibal had to swallow hard again before he could speak. “You gave him my letter?” he managed to choke out. “Told him why I couldn’t be there? Sent my apologies?”
“’Course we did. Said he understood.” But BA was shaking his head even as he spoke. He knew, just as Murdock did, just as Read also did, that Hannibal could have made the time to visit if he’d pushed for it.
The meetings that had kept the colonel in Iraq could have been postponed, but they’d been a convenient excuse. Hannibal didn’t see any way he could ever visit, not after what he’d done. Couldn’t see any way he would ever be welcomed or wanted. He hadn’t even been able to summon the strength to call, not wanting to stress the kid over the phone, though he’d spoken to his doctors once or twice back after he’d first been medevac’ed back to the States.
“Hannibal?” Murdock hadn’t sounded so serious in a very long time. Never a good sign, that. “Hannibal, you know Face doesn’t blame you, right? Not for any of it. Not even for a second.”
For a moment there was complete silence, even the sounds of camp life from outside the tent seeming to pause. Hannibal felt almost physically sick, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of smoke and flames, fallen beams and molten metal, and screams. The screams, over and above all things.
Screams that still haunted his nightmares after all these months. The worst sounds Hannibal had ever heard, in a long career of nightmare-inducing missions. Face’s screams of agony.
Shaking his head hard, Hannibal took two long strides across the tent, lifting the flap and dragging in a few deep lungfuls of the baking hot desert air, letting the blinding sun wash away the visions of hell that haunted him. A passing jeep honked its horn loudly, a group of soldiers nearby laughed long and hard, and a chopper passed noisily overhead, all helping to drown out the memory of those screams.
But even subdued and buried, the nightmare still stayed with him, hovering in the background, and Hannibal knew deep down it always would. If only it was just a nightmare - it had happened, and Face was having to live with the consequences.
“He should blame me,” Hannibal told his team over his shoulder, raising a hand quickly to cut off the inevitable protests. “It was my fault.”
Letting the tent flap drop behind him, he stalked off into the depths of the base, trying to lose himself in the maze of tents. Hoping he could leave the guilt behind him if only he moved fast enough.
Part Two