When We Danced (H/F)
Lying there motionless on the cold ground, his own blood staining the snow a bright red, Face realises with a pang of regret that this could really be it for him. He’s come close before, what feels like a thousand times or more, but there is too much blood now and he strongly suspects his time is running short.
At least it doesn’t hurt.
And at least the others got away clean. They may not even know that Face has been hit - he isn’t even quite sure where the bullet struck him, but his chest is tight and his lungs aren’t working quite the way they should, and the blood continues to pour from his wound, wherever that wound may be.
The world around him is growing darker now, the blue sky turning black and the white snow fading to grey. Only the scarlet splashes of Face’s own blood remain bright. This is the moment where his life should start to flash before his eyes, if he can believe the stories, and Face wonders briefly what memories his failing mind might chose to show him.
In the blink of an eye, the dark and snowy alleyway is gone, and Face is back in Hannibal’s arms as they whirl around the dance floor together. He can’t help but smile, even as his blood continues to leave his body and his heart starts to slow. It’s a good memory, this one. One of the very best.
Hannibal’s arms are strong and steady, one big hand resting carefully on the small of Face’s back as the other settles on Face’s shoulder. They are barely inches apart, and Face can feel the warmth of the older man’s muscular body even through their matching dinner jackets as they move together across the room, weaving in and out of the other dancing pairs.
Face’s own hands are wrapped around Hannibal’s back, resting just beneath strong shoulder blades, though he is content to let his lover take the lead as the orchestra plays on. They’re playing a waltz now, a classic three-four time, and Hannibal spins them both effortlessly in first one direction then the other, faster and faster as the music grows and grows.
They spin so fast that the room around them becomes blurry, and Face feels himself starting to grow dizzy and lightheaded, though the last thing he wants is for Hannibal to stop their dance. He can handle a little dizziness, after all. He closes his eyes instead, letting his head fall forwards until it comes to rest on his lover’s strong shoulder, trusting Hannibal to keep him safe and guide them both through the waltz.
They move in perfect synchrony, though they have only ever danced like this once or maybe twice before. They’ve gone clubbing before, many times, and Face always enjoys grinding against Hannibal’s sweaty body in darkened basements filled with thumping beats. They’ve danced around each other at more formal Army functions too, with each other them pairing off with the female officers as supposed ‘decorum’ suggests. But proper ballroom dancing, to a live orchestra? Such opportunities have been few and far between.
Which is why this memory is so very special to Face, and why he’s so glad that this seems to be the only memory he will see as he lies bleeding, alone and starting to struggle for breath - no, don’t think about that, he tells himself as firmly as he can. Think about the ballroom with its gleaming chandelier. The men in their tuxedos and the women in their finest gowns. The orchestra with its swelling strings and soaring wind section.
And Hannibal. Always Hannibal, above everything and everyone else, his arms so strong and his body so muscular, and his handsome face smiling down as his bright blue eyes shine with love.
And they dance on, with Face’s heart so full of joy he feels it could almost burst.
For such a tall man, Hannibal’s movements are graceful and elegant, his steps confident and never once faltering. Face wonders briefly where his lover might have learned to dance like this, but then his world tilts nearly upside down as Hannibal dips him backwards without warning, the hand on his shoulder sliding around to his upper back, supporting his weight and cradling him tenderly. Face blinks up at his lover with a laugh on his lips, surprised to see Hannibal suddenly looking worried, those blue eyes crinkled with concern.
Hannibal’s lips are moving urgently, his grip on Face’s body growing tighter, but whatever words he is saying are swallowed up by the music of the orchestra. Face can’t quite bring himself to care.
“Dance with me?” he whispers, but of course his own words are lost to him, and he’s cold now, in spite of the heat of the ballroom.
Oh. Snow, alleyway. Bleeding out. Right.
Face blinks again, his eyelids suddenly heavy, and when he forces his eyes back open the glittering ballroom is gone and the dark alley is back, though surprisingly Hannibal is still leaning over him with deep concern in his eyes. Strong arms are still cradling Face’s body, lifting him up and out of the blood-stained snow, though there is also heavy pressure over his left shoulder. Murdock, perhaps, but Face only has eyes for Hannibal.
He can still hear the distant whisper of music, strangely enough, but he can also hear his lover’s words at last. “Stay with me, Face,” Hannibal tells him firmly, his voice carefully calm in an attempt to hide his obvious fear. “Hold on. BA’s bringing the van around now. Just hold on a little longer.”
“Dance with me?” Face manages to ask again, his words little more than a weak exhale of breath, and this time Hannibal smiles down at him, huffing a soft laugh.
“Let’s get you patched up first, hmm? Then I’ll dance with you until the end of time itself.”
Face smiles a little, fighting the urge to cough, and gasps, “…Deal.”
And the music finally fades away entirely as the van roars into the alleyway, until the next time when Face can dance in Hannibal’s arms.
At least it doesn’t hurt.
And at least the others got away clean. They may not even know that Face has been hit - he isn’t even quite sure where the bullet struck him, but his chest is tight and his lungs aren’t working quite the way they should, and the blood continues to pour from his wound, wherever that wound may be.
The world around him is growing darker now, the blue sky turning black and the white snow fading to grey. Only the scarlet splashes of Face’s own blood remain bright. This is the moment where his life should start to flash before his eyes, if he can believe the stories, and Face wonders briefly what memories his failing mind might chose to show him.
In the blink of an eye, the dark and snowy alleyway is gone, and Face is back in Hannibal’s arms as they whirl around the dance floor together. He can’t help but smile, even as his blood continues to leave his body and his heart starts to slow. It’s a good memory, this one. One of the very best.
Hannibal’s arms are strong and steady, one big hand resting carefully on the small of Face’s back as the other settles on Face’s shoulder. They are barely inches apart, and Face can feel the warmth of the older man’s muscular body even through their matching dinner jackets as they move together across the room, weaving in and out of the other dancing pairs.
Face’s own hands are wrapped around Hannibal’s back, resting just beneath strong shoulder blades, though he is content to let his lover take the lead as the orchestra plays on. They’re playing a waltz now, a classic three-four time, and Hannibal spins them both effortlessly in first one direction then the other, faster and faster as the music grows and grows.
They spin so fast that the room around them becomes blurry, and Face feels himself starting to grow dizzy and lightheaded, though the last thing he wants is for Hannibal to stop their dance. He can handle a little dizziness, after all. He closes his eyes instead, letting his head fall forwards until it comes to rest on his lover’s strong shoulder, trusting Hannibal to keep him safe and guide them both through the waltz.
They move in perfect synchrony, though they have only ever danced like this once or maybe twice before. They’ve gone clubbing before, many times, and Face always enjoys grinding against Hannibal’s sweaty body in darkened basements filled with thumping beats. They’ve danced around each other at more formal Army functions too, with each other them pairing off with the female officers as supposed ‘decorum’ suggests. But proper ballroom dancing, to a live orchestra? Such opportunities have been few and far between.
Which is why this memory is so very special to Face, and why he’s so glad that this seems to be the only memory he will see as he lies bleeding, alone and starting to struggle for breath - no, don’t think about that, he tells himself as firmly as he can. Think about the ballroom with its gleaming chandelier. The men in their tuxedos and the women in their finest gowns. The orchestra with its swelling strings and soaring wind section.
And Hannibal. Always Hannibal, above everything and everyone else, his arms so strong and his body so muscular, and his handsome face smiling down as his bright blue eyes shine with love.
And they dance on, with Face’s heart so full of joy he feels it could almost burst.
For such a tall man, Hannibal’s movements are graceful and elegant, his steps confident and never once faltering. Face wonders briefly where his lover might have learned to dance like this, but then his world tilts nearly upside down as Hannibal dips him backwards without warning, the hand on his shoulder sliding around to his upper back, supporting his weight and cradling him tenderly. Face blinks up at his lover with a laugh on his lips, surprised to see Hannibal suddenly looking worried, those blue eyes crinkled with concern.
Hannibal’s lips are moving urgently, his grip on Face’s body growing tighter, but whatever words he is saying are swallowed up by the music of the orchestra. Face can’t quite bring himself to care.
“Dance with me?” he whispers, but of course his own words are lost to him, and he’s cold now, in spite of the heat of the ballroom.
Oh. Snow, alleyway. Bleeding out. Right.
Face blinks again, his eyelids suddenly heavy, and when he forces his eyes back open the glittering ballroom is gone and the dark alley is back, though surprisingly Hannibal is still leaning over him with deep concern in his eyes. Strong arms are still cradling Face’s body, lifting him up and out of the blood-stained snow, though there is also heavy pressure over his left shoulder. Murdock, perhaps, but Face only has eyes for Hannibal.
He can still hear the distant whisper of music, strangely enough, but he can also hear his lover’s words at last. “Stay with me, Face,” Hannibal tells him firmly, his voice carefully calm in an attempt to hide his obvious fear. “Hold on. BA’s bringing the van around now. Just hold on a little longer.”
“Dance with me?” Face manages to ask again, his words little more than a weak exhale of breath, and this time Hannibal smiles down at him, huffing a soft laugh.
“Let’s get you patched up first, hmm? Then I’ll dance with you until the end of time itself.”
Face smiles a little, fighting the urge to cough, and gasps, “…Deal.”
And the music finally fades away entirely as the van roars into the alleyway, until the next time when Face can dance in Hannibal’s arms.