Expecting (Parts 1 - 15 of 30) (H/F)
A continuation of the series starting with Impregnable, Confinement, Deliverance and Justification.
Try as I might, I can't seem to move away from this particular 'verse, and this will make absolutely no sense if you haven't already read the earlier stories in this series. There is a true sequel to 'Justification' in progress, but I also found myself writing little snippets of what might have happened if Hannibal had just asked Face about the experiment, so please consider this an alternative rather than a sequel. All previous warnings still apply.
LB x
1. Dreaming
Face drifts in and out of a restless sleep, his head throbbing and his entire body in agony as his heart thunders painfully beneath his breast. Eight long months of confinement so far, and the weight of his hugely swollen stomach and the constant kicking from deep within are making it impossible for him to get any true rest, no matter how hard he tries to find a comfortable position for his abused body.
If he lays on his back, he can’t breathe. If he lays on his side, it hurts his spine and sends stabbing pains through his hips. Lying on his front, his preferred sleeping position before this hell began, ceased to be an option months ago. And however he settles, the thing stretching his stomach beyond all recognition kicks merrily away at his bladder and his prostate and his kidneys, trying her hardest to rearrange his internal organs a little bit more than she already has.
Eight long months, and it can’t be over soon enough. Frankly, if he could cut her from his body right this very second, then he would. But the doctors say everything is fine. The doctors say he only has a few weeks left to go.
Face wonders, somewhat hysterically, if he can possibly hold on that long.
He also can’t help but wonder if Hannibal had ever even thought of asking his permission.
Things could have been so very different. If Hannibal had asked, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. He’d done the seemingly impossible for him before. Admittedly, it would have been quite a leap from procuring a pink jeep in the middle of the desert with an hour’s notice to carrying a squirming baby within his body for nine agonising months, but if Hannibal had asked…
If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.
2. Offering
It isn’t often the two Rangers find themselves attending a baby shower, but that’s exactly what happens one Sunday afternoon in May. They are the only two men in attendance, and they’re both doing their very best to fit in, though of course Face seems to be doing a far better job than Hannibal is.
“You boys having a good time?” Sergeant Tracy Pullman, eight months pregnant and somehow still glowing, gently elbows Hannibal in the ribs. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“We’re honoured to be invited,” Hannibal replies, leaning down to peck a soft kiss to her cheek.
Tracy smiles as she caresses the swell of her stomach with both hands. “It was the least I could do after the two of you saved our lives like that.” A nasty car crash in torrential rain, Hannibal and Face able to get Tracy and her bump to safety just in time before a lorry spun out of control and smashed into her vehicle. “You’re our two heroes.”
“Just don’t name the baby after either of us, okay?”
Face suddenly appears at Hannibal’s elbow just in time to catch his last comment. “Are you kidding, boss?” he gasps dramatically. “’Templeton’ is a wonderful name for a boy. Don’t you agree, Tracy?”
Just at that moment, one of Tracy’s friends calls to her from across the room, saving her the difficulty of finding a diplomatic response as she turns away with a smile, leaving Hannibal with Face. Face has clearly entered thoroughly into the spirit of the party and is wearing a silver plastic tiara along with a pink feather boa. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining, and Hannibal has never been so much in love in his life.
He can’t kiss Face, though. Not here. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks instead, and Face just grins at him, threading one arm through Hannibal’s to pull them close together.
“You bet I am. A whole room full of hot women, what’s not to love?” Face throws a wink at Hannibal, letting him know that he’s just playing up to his reputation, though of course Hannibal already knows that. They’ve only been together romantically for a year, but he knows Face inside out, and trusts his boy implicitly.
Face is warm and strong by his side, bright blue eyes shining with happiness and love, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with this incredible man, raising a family of their own. Perhaps it’s far too soon to ask the question - a single year of love is not long, after all, even if they have known each other for more than a decade - but the words slip out nonetheless.
“Do you ever think about this?” he asks, and Face tilts his head a little in response, curious. “A family,” Hannibal clarifies quietly. “Children. Our children, specifically.”
Face blinks at him, and for a moment Hannibal holds his breath. Then, so softly Hannibal has to strain to hear - “Yes. I think about that. I want us to have children, I want everything, so long as it’s all with you.”
Hannibal suddenly wants to kiss Face so much it almost hurts, but he settles for squeezing his boy’s hand where it rests on his arm, feeling a wide smile split his face. “Okay, then.”
“Okay.” Face’s eyes are suspiciously damp as he smiles back, then glances across the room to where Tracy is now sitting in a circle of her giggling girlfriends, her heavily pregnant belly even more prominent now. “Just so y’know, John, if I could do that for you, for us, then I would. In a heartbeat.”
The offer nearly takes Hannibal’s breath away entirely. The thought of Face carrying his baby, stomach beautifully swollen with their child, is a beautiful image and something Hannibal never knew he could want. It isn’t possible, of course, but there is adoption or fostering, or even surrogacy.
Marriage first, though. Hannibal is an old-fashioned romantic at heart, and he suspects Face is too.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, haven’t we, sweetheart?” he whispers, and Face squeezes his arm one more time before pulling away.
“Come on. They’re about to start playing ‘guess the flavour of the baby food’.”
Hannibal can’t think of anything worse, but he follows Face in his tiara regardless, just as he always will.
3. Asking
“Why would you even ask me this?” Face is pacing in increasingly wide circles, one hand running repeatedly through his already messy hair while the other waves about in the air, and Hannibal is growing dizzy just watching him. “Why would you even - ?”
“Face, baby, please sit down.”
But rather than sitting, Face slams to a sudden stop in front of Hannibal’s chair and gasps in horror. “You wish I was a woman, is that it?”
“Sweetheart, no - ”
“All that agonising about whether you were really gay or just confused, all those nights we spent endlessly talking about things before you would even kiss me.” Face buries both hands in his hair, shaking his head. “After all that, you still want to be with a woman? No, worse: you want me to have a sex change?”
Hannibal pushes to his feet and reaches out to lay his hands on Face’s shoulders, already regretting bringing up the subject at all. He should have known how Face might react. Should have explained himself better. “Templeton, stop. Breathe. That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it?” There are tears in Face’s eyes now, and his bottom lip is trembling ever so slightly, though Hannibal takes some solace in the fact that his lover isn’t trying to pull away from him. “I don’t understand, John. I don’t know what you want from me right now.”
“I can explain some of it, though I don’t even pretend to understand all the science. It’s an experiment, and they’re using my sperm and I just thought…” Hannibal dares to press a quick, reassuring kiss to Face’s forehead. “We’ve spoken about having a family one day. About raising children together. This is an unexpected option, and I thought we should talk about it. No pressure, no expectations, just a conversation.”
Face is practically vibrating with tension. “No pressure?” He huffs a laugh that sounds more painful than amused, and his hands tighten into fists in his hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You want us to have a conversation about me having surgery so I can get pregnant with your baby?”
When it’s put that way, Hannibal can absolutely understand why Face is so upset. He’s been such an idiot. He kisses his boy again and again, apologetically, once on the forehead, then on the temple, the cheek, and finally on those pouting lips. “If it’s not something you want, then we forget all about it,” he tells Face softly, choosing his words very carefully. “I never meant to upset you, and I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you. I love you so very much, just the way you are, and I never want to change you, not in any way. You are absolutely perfect to me.”
For a long moment there is no reaction whatsoever, Face standing stock still in his arms with eyes still tightly closed, and Hannibal feels his chest tighten painfully as he realises he may have just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to him. If Face can’t forgive him, if Face ends their relationship entirely…
Then, finally, a shaky breath and a whispered question.
“So, you don’t wish I was a woman?” Face cracks his beautiful baby blue eyes open, the hint of tears gone though the hurt is still clearly visibly.
“Never,” Hannibal vows immediately.
“And, this surgery, it isn’t permanent?”
That question alone is more than Hannibal could have hoped for after Face’s initial horrified reaction, and he takes his time before answering. “Not in any way. It’s a temporary transplant, as I understand it.”
Face slowly loosens the grip his still has on his own hair, though he doesn’t lower his hands. “And you just want to talk about it? To meet with these doctors, to see if I’m even a suitable candidate?”
“Just a meeting. A conversation. I won’t even let them run any tests, not if you aren’t interested after hearing what they have to say. I promise.” Face is a Ranger, of course: Hannibal knows that no doctor could run tests on Face if Face didn’t want them done, not without using brute force or powerful drugs, but his lover still visibly relaxes a fraction at his words. “And we would need to talk about this in a lot more detail first. The two of us, I mean. It would be a huge lifestyle change, if we do eventually decide to participate. Having a baby.”
They’ve talked about children in the abstract. About adoption or surrogacy, in the next five years or so. About retirement for Hannibal and a stateside transfer for Face, about buying a house together off-base, about getting married. These are things they both agree they want, though they’ve also both agreed that it’s too soon for any of it. They still have career ambitions within the Rangers, and they’ve only been together romantically for a year, though they’ve known each other for more than a decade.
Maybe it really is too soon.
What is Hannibal even thinking?
But, then.
“A baby?” Face suddenly smiles tentatively, eyes shining with unshed tears once more. “We could have a baby?”
Hannibal finds himself smiling back, the knot in his chest loosening at last. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions, suddenly feeling a little choked up at the whole idea. “First, we set up a meeting with the doctors, and we hear what they have to say. One step at a time.”
“Baby steps, you could say?” Face immediately cracks up at his own joke, his arms wrapping tightly around Hannibal’s shoulders as they fall into each other’s arms at last.
4. Proposing
“You’re just an old-fashioned gentleman at heart, aren’t you, John?”
“I can’t help the way I was raised, Templeton.”
“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the experimental surgery, artificially implanted uterus and lab-grown embryo?”
“No, then comes the baby. Our baby. But not before I put a ring on your finger first, sweetheart.”
5. Operating
Hannibal is fighting the urge to start pacing the length of the waiting room, knowing he has to stay calm for Face, who is sitting and leaning casually against his side, head on Hannibal’s shoulder. After so many months of meetings and discussions and tests and scans, after rearranging their entire lives and careers, the day they’ve both been looking forward to is finally here. And Hannibal is suddenly terrified that they’ve made the wrong decision.
What if something goes wrong with the surgery? It’s an experimental procedure after all. What if he loses Face?
“That’s it.” Hannibal stands abruptly, nearly toppling Face to the floor. “I can’t go through with this. We’ll adopt. I’m not risking you.”
“John, calm down.” Face’s steady hands come to rest on his shoulders, turning Hannibal until they stand face to face. “It’ll all be okay. We’ve been through this over and over again. The doctors know what they’re doing. I’ll be in good hands, and everything will work out just fine, I promise.”
“You can’t know that. You can’t promise me…” Hannibal’s throat closes up and he prepares to throw Face over his shoulder and carry him out of the clinic if he has to, but his new husband silences his protests with a tender kiss, heedless of anyone who might be watching.
When the kiss ends, Face cups Hannibal’s cheek gently in one hand, smiling up at him with shining blue eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, and Hannibal finds himself nodding, comforted by Face’s confidence.
He takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Face’s slender waist - it won’t be slender for long, of course, not if everything goes well today - and squeezing tightly. “I love you.”
“And I love you too.”
The sound of voices outside the waiting room makes them step apart instinctively, though the doctors here know about their relationship and their recent marriage. DADT doesn’t seem to apply within the walls of the clinic, something Hannibal gives thanks for each and every day, but after years of hiding their love it’s a hard habit to break.
A soft knock, then the door swings open to reveal their lead surgeon ready in his blue scrubs, surgical mask loose around his neck. “Colonel Smith, Lieutenant Peck.” He nods a greeting to them both, and Hannibal again swallows down the urge to snatch Face and run, forcing himself to nod in return. “I mean Hannibal, Face. Today’s the big day. Are we all ready?”
“You’re sure this is safe?” Hannibal blurts out. “You don’t need more time? More testing?”
Face elbows him hard in the ribs. “John, what did we just talk about?”
“I’m sorry, I just - ”
The surgeon actually huffs a laugh, gesturing for them both to take a seat and settling opposite them. “Last minute nerves are entirely understandable,” he says calmly, before focussing on Face, all professionalism now. “The latest test results have been nothing but positive, and the scans we ran on you yesterday, Face, show that you are in perfect health. Years of research has gone into this moment. We are fully prepared for the procedure and, while there are never any guarantees, I am as confident as I can be that everything will run smoothly.”
“I’m ready,” Face says before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “I trust you and your team. And I can’t wait to get started.”
“Then shall we get you settled in a room?” The surgeon stands, gesturing towards the door, and Hannibal’s legs turn to jello as Face also stands.
Something suddenly occurs to him. “Wait, what about the anaesthetic?”
“We’ve spoken about this, Hannibal, remember?” The surgeon speaks over his shoulder, his voice steady and reassuring, though he is already ushering Face from the room as if sensing Hannibal’s desire to snatch him back. “The anaesthetist has had full access to all of Face’s medical records, and we’re well aware of his history with anaesthetics. We’ll be using a drug that has given Face no problems at all in the past. Please try not to worry.”
“I won’t feel a thing, John.” Face pauses in the doorway, offering Hannibal a wide grin, though Hannibal can see the barely concealed nerves beneath the bravado. “See you on the other side, okay?”
“Wait.” Hannibal finally manages to stand on his shaky legs, and the surgeon turns tactfully away as he pulls Face into a fierce embrace, his throat closing up as he tries to speak.
Face hugs him back, and Hannibal can feel his lover trembling slightly, though Face is the one to step back this time, detaching Hannibal’s arms determinedly from around his shoulders. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, and Hannibal can only nod as the surgeon leads Face away from him.
6. Nauseating
Hannibal can hear the awful sounds coming from behind the bathroom door, and his heart aches for his husband even as his own stomach twists in sympathy. He’s torn between rushing to Face’s side to offer what little comfort he can, and keeping his distance to allow Face some dignity. The fact that the bathroom door has been firmly closed, in spite of the speed with which Face disappeared from the breakfast table, suggests the latter may be more welcome, but a pitiful groan makes up his mind in a heartbeat.
“Face?” With a gentle tap on the door, Hannibal pauses for only a second before slipping inside, immediately taking in the sight of his newly pregnant husband on his knees hunched over the toilet, retching helplessly over and over again. “Easy there, sweetheart.”
Face spares him a single glare, watery blue eyes filled with a venom that startles Hannibal, before diving back over the bowl. One hand is braced on the floor and the other against the cistern as Face’s body contracts once again, strong back arching and every muscle tense as he purges the contents of his stomach, though Hannibal can’t help but wonder if there is anything left at this point.
Heading for the sink and snatching up a washcloth, he lets the cold tap run for a few moments before soaking the cloth as thoroughly as he can. Kneeling carefully by Face’s side, he settles the cool material against the nape of Face’s neck, sweeping the sweat-damp hair out of the way. Face groans softly, a shiver running down his spine, but leans gratefully into Hannibal’s touch.
“I hate this,” Face manages to gasp, swallowing hard before straining forwards again, coughing up something nasty that Hannibal is glad he can’t see.
In the three weeks since Face’s successful surgery, Hannibal has already learned better than to offer even a hint of sympathy over any pregnancy sickness - Face had actually punched him the first time Hannibal had dared say how sorry he was, leaving a nasty black eye that was still fading, though Face had been horrified and immediately apologetic, blaming the hormone implants.
Instead, Hannibal slips a hand around Face’s waist, taking some of his husband’s weight and rubbing gently over the spasming stomach muscles, careful to avoid the dressing still taped in place over the healing stitches lower on his belly.
“What was it this time?” he asks gently when Face pauses to catch his breath.
Face gags once, twice, before managing to answer. “Toast, I think. Not sure.”
Hannibal winces in unspoken sympathy, flipping the washcloth over before pressing the cooler side back against Face’s heated skin. The list of foods that upset Face’s stomach is rapidly growing too long to keep track of easily, the combination of hormones, anti-rejection medication and a brand new implanted pregnancy all messing with his husband’s system even more than the doctors had anticipated.
“Just cereal from now on,” Hannibal vows, leaning closer to press a reassuring kiss to Face’s temple, only to pull back when Face shakes his head violently.
“Bad idea.” Face gags again but succeeds in not throwing up this time. “Milk. Not good.”
“Okay, sweetheart. No milk, no toast.”
“And no coffee, tea, orange juice, fresh fruit.” Face slumps sideways into Hannibal’s hold with a tired sigh as he reaches one shaky hand up to flush the toilet, this round of sickness apparently over for the time being. “No cheese. No pasta. No chocolate.”
Hannibal hadn’t known about the chocolate, so he adds that to his mental list, sliding the washcloth round to pat at Face’s forehead as he cuddles his husband closer. In a moment he’ll help Face stand, then steady his hand as he brushes his teeth before helping him into the shower - they’re both still in their sleep clothes, and the day has barely started, yet Hannibal feels exhausted already. He can’t even imagine how Face must feel.
“You want to stay home today?” he asks hesitantly, wishing Face would stay in bed for the day and just catch up on some sleep, having been up twice during the night - the term ‘morning sickness’ is a complete misnomer, they’ve discovered, and poor Face seems to be throwing up morning, noon and night.
But Face, perhaps predictably, shakes his head. “No, I’d rather keep busy than sit around feeling sorry for myself. I’ll take it easy, though, I promise.” Desk jobs for both of them now, working in planning and intelligence, and Hannibal will be able to check on Face throughout the day at least, even though Face might punch him again if he hovers too obviously.
For now, Hannibal carefully pulls Face a little closer still, feeling strong arms wrap around his waist in return as Face settles his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, his breath warm and reassuring against Hannibal’s chest. “This little one is certainly making their presence felt already, huh?” he chuckles softly, rubbing gentle circles over Face’s still-flat stomach, marvelling at the thought of their child growing beneath the skin there. They’ve chosen not to find out if it’s a girl or a boy, though of course the doctors are certainly aware.
“No surprises there. It’s your child, after all.” Face presses his own hand flat over Hannibal’s on his belly, laughing once before clarifying, “Any offspring of yours is bound to be the world’s biggest attention seeker.”
7. Confirming
“I feel incredibly exposed here.” Face squirms yet again in the examination chair, and Hannibal drops a hand gently onto his shoulder to settle him, squeezing reassuringly. “This is crazy. I’ve been in far stranger positions, but…”
“It’ll be worth it,” Hannibal says, leaning down to drop a kiss on Face’s forehead. “And I’m right here with you.”
Face is right, of course, and they’ve both been in far more exposed positions, but given Face’s condition Hannibal can absolutely understand his feelings of vulnerability. Face is lying almost completely flat, only the head of the chair raised slightly, with his shirt unbuttoned and open wide. The top button of his jeans is also undone, leaving his toned stomach and chest bared to the room - the temperature is comfortably warm, thankfully, but Hannibal can see the goose-bumps rising on Face’s skin nonetheless.
Hannibal’s own protective instincts had kicked into overdrive the moment they stepped back inside the clinic, and he knows there is no force on earth that could pull him away from his husband and their unborn baby right now.
Their doctor chooses that moment to enter the room, greeting them both with a smile and a nod as she moves quickly over to their side. “Good morning to you both. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
“The sooner the better.” Face shifts his hips again, a slight wince passing over his handsome features. “I really, really need to piss.”
The doctor laughs softly, readying her equipment. “That’s good,” she tells Face. “That means we should get a nice clear picture here. We’ll take a break after the scan so you can get comfortable before we move on to the rest of the examination.”
Hannibal’s grip on Face’s shoulder tightens slightly, almost instinctively, his heart racing with anticipation and adrenaline. This will become a weekly event as the experiment continues, but this is their first ultrasound scan since the surgical implantation a month ago. The first time they will see their tiny baby and hopefully hear their heart beating. The first time they will know for sure if the experimental procedure has been successful so far, though Face’s continued pregnancy sickness - to call it ‘morning sickness’ would be to make light of the hell Face has been suffering on a daily basis - strongly suggests a positive result.
A clear gel is squeezed onto Face’s lower belly, just above the fresh scar from the operation, before the doctor immediately lowers the scanner onto Face’s skin, moving it around slowly and pressing down slightly as she presses a series of buttons on the attached screen.
Hannibal keeps his focus entirely on Face as his husband closes his eyes with a shaky sigh, brushing his free hand calmingly through caramel curls. “You doing okay?” he asks softly, fully prepared to stop the doctor if something is wrong, but Face nods.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Face reassures him. “Just feels a bit weird. And I really do need the bathroom.”
Hannibal is about to attempt a joke or two to lighten the atmosphere, when suddenly a strange rushing, thumping sound fills the room. Face opens his eyes with a gasp, lifting his head from the pillow to stare at their smiling doctor as she adjusts the angle of the screen so they can both see.
“There we go,” she says, almost triumphantly, slowly turning a dial until the thumping grows louder still.
“Is that…?” The blurry grey mass on the screen looks more like a tadpole than a baby, not that Hannibal would dare admit that, but that rhythmic sound can only be one thing. “Oh god… That’s…”
The doctor’s smile grows wider still, glancing up at them both. “That’s your baby,” she confirms, keeping the scanner pressed into position over Face’s lower stomach. “That’s the confirmation we were looking for. Everything looks good, and it certainly sounds good too.”
Face’s hand suddenly finds Hannibal’s, squeezing desperately, and Hannibal looks down to find tears streaming down his husband’s face as he stares unblinkingly at the screen, mouth hanging wide open in a surprised grin. Hannibal’s own eyes feel suspiciously damp as the sound of their child’s rapidly beating heart continues to fill the air. He can barely believe this is really happening for them.
Suddenly, this all seems too real.
He leans down to kiss Face tenderly on the lips, tasting the salt from his husband’s tears of happiness. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice coming out far more choked than he’d expected as his eyes are drawn helplessly back to the screen. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Thank you for asking me,” Face whispers back. “Look, John. Look what you did.”
“No, sweetheart. Look what we did.”
8. Showing
“Hannibal!”
Face’s cry rings loudly through the early morning quiet of their house, and Hannibal’s heart immediately begins to race as he sprints up the stairs towards their bedroom, mind filling with a thousand horrific images of what might await him there. He’d left Face sleeping peacefully, determined to bring him breakfast in bed to celebrate their first full weekend off together in months, but now…
“I’m here, Face.” Bursting into the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, Hannibal slams to a stop in the doorway when he sees his husband standing calmly in front of the full-length mirror, wearing only a loose pair of boxer shorts that sit low on his hips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What’s happened?”
There’s no blood, thank goodness, and no obvious sign of illness or miscarriage, which was Hannibal’s first and greatest fear. Face’s pregnancy sickness has been a little easier lately, and they’ve finally figured out a range of foods he can keep down, though he’s been dizzy and achy as his body struggles to adjust to a pregnancy it was never designed to carry.
“Look,” Face whispers, hands placed delicately on his hips as he bits his lower lip nervously, meeting Hannibal’s eyes in the reflection. “Can you see?”
Hannibal takes a cautious step closer, then another, until he is standing directly behind Face. His heart is still racing, but Face seems so calm. For a long moment he can’t see it, whatever it is, but then Face shifts his hips slightly, turning to one side, and -
“Oh,” he breathes, pressing his chest to Face’s back as he brings his hands around to rest carefully on the tiny bump that has appeared overnight. “Well, that came out of nowhere.”
“I know, right? I finally popped, just like the docs said I would.” Face places his own hands over Hannibal’s, dropping his head back to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, and together they stand there smiling at each other, holding the swell of their baby.
The bump is still small, so small that Hannibal could probably cup the entire expanse in one of his huge hands, but the skin of Face’s stomach is warm and taut as it bulges out beneath Hannibal’s reverent touch. This is the first actual physical evidence they have that there is really a baby growing in there, nestled safely within Face’s body, beyond a little bloating and some swollen ankles.
“No stretch marks,” Hannibal whispers, somewhat awed, and Face huffs a slightly teary laugh as his bright blue eyes start to well up.
“No six-pack either,” he points out, and it’s true, the muscle definition Face has always worked so hard for has disappeared, quite literally in the blink of an eye. “There goes my figure.”
Hannibal strokes his thumbs gently over the bump, dipping his head to press a lingering kiss to the racing pulse in Face’s throat. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he tells his husband firmly, startling another laugh from Face though a single tear slips down Face’s cheek at the same time. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” Hannibal kisses him again, and again, thankful that Face is still smiling through his tears.
“I’m not crying,” Face tells Hannibal weakly, as another tear slips free. “Seriously, I couldn’t care less about my figure, not when we’re really going to have a baby. Am I allowed to blame the hormones yet?”
“Of course you can.” Implants, pills, and injections - Hannibal strongly suspects he would be a sobbing mess if he was the one carrying their baby, and frankly he’s amazed at how well Face is coping so far.
He can already tell that he’s going to find it hard to stop touching Face’s beautiful bump. It’s as if there is some sort of magnetic pull, as if Face has become the centre of his entire world, gravity tugging his hands into position over the small yet perfectly formed swell.
Face doesn’t seem inclined to move either, thankfully, and they stand there together smiling into the mirror, tears rolling slowly down Face’s cheeks, hands tangled together cupping Face’s stomach and swaying gently together.
9. Revealing
Neither Murdock nor BA have said anything for nearly five minutes, and Hannibal is starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Strange, he hadn’t been worried until now. Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown, are staring unblinkingly at Face from the opposite sofa, and two mouths are hanging as wide open as Hannibal has ever seen them.
Murdock recovers first, after another few painful minutes of silence, visibly shaking himself as, in a heartbeat, his gawp turns into a huge grin. “Congratulations, you two! I mean, you three!”
“Thanks, man.” Face ducks his head slightly, oddly shy as he sits closely against Hannibal’s side, Hannibal’s arm tight around his shoulders. Hannibal knows just how nervous his husband has been about this moment, with both their former teammates away on missions until just yesterday. “We wanted you both to know as soon as we could be sure things were okay, and I’m beyond the first trimester now so it’s safer. Though it’s all classified, obviously.”
“It might be classified, Faceman, but it ain’t gonna stay secret for too much longer.” BA points one meaty finger at the baby bump, which is very visible in Face’s seated position, his dark face inscrutable and his voice very soft. Hannibal can’t tell what he’s thinking. “That gut you’ve got growing is definitely not a typical beer belly. People are gonna talk.”
“Then let them talk,” Face replies calmly before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “Let them assume whatever the hell they want, and let them call me all the names under the sun. It’s no one’s business but ours. Besides, I’m wearing loose clothes at work, and I’ll be down to working part time soon anyway.”
‘Part time’ can’t come soon enough for Hannibal, and recently he’s actually been fighting the instinctive urge to force Face to quit work entirely, knowing Face wouldn’t thank him for his overprotectiveness. Face is hiding it well in front of their friends, but Hannibal knows he’s been struggling a lot with the pregnancy over the last few weeks, battling a perpetual exhaustion and in constant pain from his hips and his back, weepy and oddly clingy as the hormones kick into overdrive.
But their not-so-little bump continues to grow bigger by the day, and the doctors say all is well.
“Do you know what it is?” Murdock’s grin has somehow grown wider still, hands twitching as if he wants to reach out and grab at Face’s belly. Hannibal is immensely glad the pilot is restraining himself for now, as he’s feeling even more overprotective than he’d expected, and also still very aware of how nervous Face is about their friends’ reactions, in spite of how well he seems to be hiding it. “Boy? Girl? Twins? Ooh, are they gonna call you Mom, Face?”
Face laughs, sitting up a little straighter though he keeps one hand resting on Hannibal’s knee, the other rubbing a gentle circle over his bump. “No, I’m going to be Dad, and Hannibal’s going to be Papa. And it’s definitely just the one, though we don’t know the gender. We’re keeping it a surprise, even though I keep thinking of her as a ‘she’.” He pauses, glancing over to BA who has gone back to staring open-mouthed. “What are you thinking, big guy? Too strange for you?”
BA shakes his head slowly, running one hand back through his hair. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything…” he mutters, biting at his lip. “I don’t know, man. This is beyond insane, even for us.”
“It’s a baby, Bosco,” Hannibal says quietly, watching the big sergeant carefully while Face tenses up again under his arm. They’d hoped Murdock would go along with the whole thing easily enough, expecting a thousand and one questions from the excitable pilot, but BA’s reaction had always been less predictable. “We’re having a baby, like a lot of married couples do. It’s an unusual way to go about it for two guys, I admit - ”
“I love babies.” Something seems to click into place with Hannibal’s words, and BA suddenly smiles a little, his broad shoulders relaxing fractionally as he sinks back into the sofa. “And ‘unusual’ is certainly one word for this whole thing, but damn it all to hell, you two never go about things the easy way, do you?” He shakes his head again. “Honestly? I think I’d be more surprised if you just said you were gonna adopt.”
“You’re gonna be great daddies,” Murdock tells them, with real feeling in his voice, and Hannibal’s heart swells with pride even as his stomach churns with sudden nerves. They’ll certainly do their best, though he’s sure they’ll make more than their fair share of mistakes along the way.
BA nods his agreement, his smile growing wider and more certain, and Hannibal heaves a mental sigh of relief at knowing Face will have the full support of their brothers. “Yeah, you really will be. The kid’ll be lucky to have you, both of you.” He pauses, elbowing Murdock. “And we’ll be great uncles, if you’ll have us.”
“Actually…” Face glances sideways at Hannibal as if asking permission, though they’ve already discussed this. Instead of answering him, Hannibal just leans over and presses a quick kiss of reassurance to his cheek. “Actually, we were hoping you’d both agree to be Godfathers.”
Silence again, but this time Hannibal isn’t worried at all as he watches these two remarkable men, their two best friends. Two of the toughest Rangers he’s ever known both swallow hard, eyes growing visibly a little damp, and this time it’s BA who manages to recover first, speaking for both himself and Murdock.
“We’d be honoured, brother.”
10. Craving
On the surface of things, Hannibal figures it could have been worse. Last week Face had merrily tucked into a large plate of mashed potatoes covered in caramel sauce, while the week before he’d experimentally smeared some strawberry jam on his breakfast sausages and proclaimed them utterly delicious. Thankfully neither combination has made a reappearance yet, and Hannibal doesn’t dare mention either just in case.
At least Face is eating, Hannibal tells himself. Any food has to be good food after so many months of unpredictable pregnancy sickness. The doctors certainly seem delighted and not at all concerned, telling Face to give in to any cravings he feels, within reason.
Face’s craving for ice cubes does seem to be here to stay, but they are easy enough to provide and at least it doesn’t upset Hannibal’s own stomach to watch Face crunching his way contentedly through an entire bowlful, even if it does make him shiver in sympathy.
Who would’ve thought it would be guacamole that might be Hannibal’s downfall?
“It has to be fresh,” Face had explained, busy over his production line one Sunday afternoon, with heaps of fresh chillies, tomatoes and onions next to a truly mountainous pile of avocados. “I don’t even know why, it just does.”
Easy enough, until Face had made and eaten three entire mixing bowls full of the stuff for dinner, and still craved more, begging Hannibal to find the ingredients for him. Easy enough, until it turned out their local shop had run out of avocados, and it was nearly midnight.
“What do you mean they’ve run out?” Face’s absolute horror rings out loud and clear over Hannibal’s cellphone when he nervously calls to report the news. “They can’t have run out. Did you ask them? They have to have some out back, surely?”
“They’ve definitely run out, sweetheart, I did ask.” Hannibal bites his tongue to avoid pointing out to Face that they’d bought the last of their stock themselves yesterday. He hesitates before suggesting, “They have got ready-made guacamole, though, if you like?”
Just as Hannibal expects, Face doesn’t even dignify that offer with a response, though the desperation in his voice is clear when he asks, “What about Al’s Whole Foods?”
“They close at ten.”
“The fruit market?”
“Closed at seven.”
“John, I need…” There’s a ragged breath over the line that sounds to Hannibal as if his husband might burst into tears at any moment. And that simply won’t do. “Please, there has to be…”
“I’m heading over to the next town,” he tells Face immediately, desperate to keep his husband happy if at all possible. “There are at least three shops that might have some and should still be open. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
This? This is the time where all those years of planning and improvising in the Rangers come to the fore. This is where Hannibal can excel.
Mission: Avocado will be a success, even if takes all night.
11. Glowing
It was just one of those myths Hannibal hadn’t paid much attention to, until suddenly it becomes very obvious and very true, a few weeks into Face’s second trimester.
Face is positively glowing. Hannibal can only imagine how uncomfortable Face must be feeling as his pregnancy advances steadily and his stomach swells ever outwards, but his husband’s skin is clear and rosy, his hair full and curlier than usual.
Face is carrying himself and his growing bump confidently, his smile contented and his eyes shining brightly.
Face is utterly beautiful, both inside and out, and he takes Hannibal’s breath away.
12. Moving
When Face stops in the very middle of the kitchen, cupping his hands over his bump gently and smiling a private smile that lights up his entire face, Hannibal tries not to feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy; Face has been able to feel their baby moving for the last week or so, describing it as a faint rumbling deep in his stomach rather than any true sense of kicking yet.
“C’mere,” Face whispers to Hannibal, beckoning wildly, and Hannibal obediently shuffles to his husband’s side, holding out his hand and letting Face take it and slide it under his shirt to press it against one side of the bump, close to Face’s freshly popped-out navel. “She’s really rolling around in there. Maybe this time?”
Nothing. Face’s skin is warm and smooth, thanks in no small part to the body butters Hannibal is taking great pleasure in massaging in each and every day, but Hannibal can’t feel any movement apart from Face’s steady breathing.
“I think it’s still too soon for me,” he tells a clearly disappointed Face, though he swings his other hand around as well to cup the lower side of the bump, just in case. It’s no hardship at all to be so close to his pregnant husband. “Does it hurt you in any way?”
Face shakes his head. “No, it just feels very strange. Like I’ve eaten too much. And like I really need… oh, sorry, gotta go.” And just like that, he shrugs apologetically out of Hannibal’s gentle hold and disappears in the direction of the bathroom, something that has been happening with increasing frequency as the pregnancy progresses.
Another week passes, then two, three, and Hannibal grows used to Face grabbing his hands at odd times of the day and guiding them quickly into position over the swell of their baby. Still nothing. They sit side by side on the sofa with one of Hannibal’s hands tucked under Face’s shirt, just in case. They fall asleep with Face lying on his left side and Hannibal wrapped around him from behind, both hands holding the bump tenderly.
Nothing.
Hannibal wakes one morning long before the alarm goes off, still spooned up close behind a Face who is clearly dead to the world, wondering what had dragged him out of his own exhausted sleep - they’d had a disturbed night, thanks to an unexpected flare-up of Face’s pregnancy sickness. Too much guacamole, perhaps, Face’s craving still without bounds much to Hannibal’s bemusement.
Then Hannibal suddenly feels it, at last, a vibration beneath the palm of his hand where it lies on the lower curve of Face’s belly. It stops suddenly, then starts again, a little stronger than before. It’s like nothing Hannibal has ever felt before, and his heart leaps into his throat as he realises.
“Hello there, little one,” he whispers, wanting this moment just for the two of them while Face sleeps on, unaware. “I’m your Papa. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
13. Working
Hannibal always thought he would miss being out in the field. The idea of being stuck at a desk day in and day out, the idea of typing reports and doing filing and sitting in endless meetings, just the very idea of an office job had always filled him with horror.
It had been a sacrifice he was always willing to make for Face, though. For their family-to-be. And, to his incredible and unending surprise, he really doesn’t hate it at all. Quite the opposite.
Yes, he has an office, but he rarely uses it, preferring to be out on the floor working with his team of tactical planners. Yes, he has reports to write, but he also has a brilliant assistant who takes most of the strain. And yes, there are meetings, but they are usually with other officers who don’t like sitting still any more than Hannibal does, so thankfully they are short and sharp.
There are no bullets or knives, and yes, Hannibal would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the adrenaline rush he used to get when a plan came together at the exact right moment, but there had also been a lot of sitting around in the field, waiting for things to happen. Now, every day is full to bursting point, with barely time to grab lunch on some days when a time-sensitive plan needs perfecting with only moments to spare.
It’s safe, and steady, and interesting, and it turns out there’s nothing wrong with that at all. It also allows Hannibal to pick up his husband from his own office at eighteen hundred hours every day, and to drive them both back to the house they have finally made into a proper home.
They pick up fresh food on the way home and talk about their days while Hannibal cooks and Face sits resting at the kitchen table. They might take a walk in the evening or just curl up together on the sofa. They’ve changed their minds at least a hundred times on what colour to paint the nursery. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to do it all over again.
They aren’t working in the same unit, which is probably a good thing, though Hannibal would dearly love to have eyes on Face at all times as Face’s stomach steadily rounds out. A larger size of BDU pants and a looser fitting jacket are concealing the pregnancy so far, and both Hannibal and Face are well-liked and well-respected, so any potential comments have been made far out of earshot of either of them.
The time is coming, though, when Face will need to cut back his hours even further. Already he’s only working half-days, and taking Wednesdays off entirely to spend at the clinic being scanned and prodded by the doctors, with Hannibal glued to his side.
It’s a life Hannibal never knew he truly wanted but, as the anticipation builds towards the day when their family of two becomes a family of three, Hannibal wouldn’t change it for all the world.
14. Aching
“Harder. C’mon, Hannibal, put your back into in!”
“I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. Either of you.”
“You won’t. Harder! And lower, left a bit, oh, yes - fuck, right there - ”
The semi-pornographic noises coming from Face should be illegal, Hannibal fervently believes, as he obediently digs the heels of his hands harder into the bunched muscles either side of his husband’s long spine, sweeping them out across Face’s pelvis. Hannibal has been hard for what feels like hours now, and each groan and gasp that slips from Face’s lips is only making things worse.
He feels like an utter bastard for the fact that this turns him on in any way. Face has been in pain all day, suffering from almost crippling back spasms and what he describes as ‘lightning bolts of fire’ shooting across his hips. Hannibal had been on the verge of suggesting a trip to the clinic when an almost-teary Face had practically begged him for a massage instead.
So now, a shirtless Face is braced against the back of the sofa, feet hip-width apart and leaning slightly forwards so his swollen belly hangs low, a position which also happens to put his delectable ass on perfect display in too-tight shorts as he begs Hannibal to go harder. Faster. Deeper.
Hannibal had always thought he was stronger than this.
Turns out, he’s only a weak-willed man after all.
Beneath his oil-slicked hands, Face’s skin is toasty warm and silky smooth, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the entire room. The knots in Face’s back are rock-hard and must be agonising, so Hannibal keeps the pressure as constant as he can, trying to ignore the pressure of his cock swelling in his pants.
His own desires are nowhere near being a priority right now. Face is the priority. The only priority.
“Fuck yes, that’s the spot!” Face groans loudly, dropping his head down and tilting his hips up into Hannibal’s hands, and Hannibal has to bite back his own groan. He knows Face isn’t doing it on purpose. Once upon a time Face would certainly have teased Hannibal like this, but now, uncomfortably pregnant and obviously in pain, it clearly isn’t deliberate. “More, John. Give me more, please! Don’t make me beg!”
Hannibal practically bites his tongue in half at that, sweeping his hands up to Face’s shoulder blades and back down again, dipping out across his hips and down to rub at the sides of the bump as Face practically purrs at his touch. He can feel the weight of their baby rolling around in his husband’s stomach, and can only imagine how much strain Face must be feeling. A good firm massage is the very least Hannibal can do for the man carrying his child.
Another soul-deep groan and a slight yet unintentional wriggle of that perfect backside as Face arches up into his hands, and Hannibal’s cock twitches in its confinement, despite all his innocent intentions.
Hannibal is just a jackass, clearly.
15. Kicking
“Fuck, she’s really got a kick on her now.” Face actually stops dead in the middle of the path as they take a slow stroll through the park, visibly wincing as he presses one hand to the side of his bump and rubs at his lower back with the other. “Ouch. Playing soccer with my internal organs is not a sport! Or maybe it’s kickboxing, or jujitsu. She’s definitely her Papa’s girl.”
“Or his Papa’s boy,” Hannibal points out with a grin, as he always does, adding his own big hands to rub at his husband’s back as he stands in front of Face.
Face just shakes his head, pursing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut with another wince. “It’s a girl. Trust me.”
There’s no way that Face can know, of course. Beyond the fact that the baby has Hannibal’s genes, they’ve chosen not to know anything at all about the woman who donated the egg for the experiment, and they’ve been absolutely determined not to find out the gender of their baby, averting their eyes during key moments beneath the ultrasound scanner.
“Mother’s instincts?” Hannibal asks cheekily, shifting his hands around to help support the weight of the bump and immediately feeling - “Oh, goodness, I see what you’re complaining about!” The soft vibrations and distant rumbling he used to be able to feel beneath Face’s skin are long gone, and this is most definitely kicking, violent and almost rhythmic. “Is that an elbow?”
Face leans gratefully into Hannibal’s support. “Could be,” he gasps in answer to both questions, as what might just as easily be a foot suddenly pushes out the skin near his navel right beneath Hannibal’s palm.
“Gently does it, little one.” Hannibal drops to one knee, not giving a single damn that they’re causing a bit of a scene and drawing a few curious glances from nearby dog walkers. “Go easy on your Mama, there.”
“I’m no one’s Mama.” But Face’s protest is lost in a slightly happier moan as Hannibal slides both hands up under Face’s too-tight shirt and starts to rub soothing circles over the rippling skin of his stomach, trying to soothe their active child. “Fuck, yes. Right there. Shit.”
They’ll have to talk about Face’s language at some point soon, as Hannibal has read that their little girl or boy can actually hear them at this point, but from the strength of the kicks Hannibal feels he can forgive his husband a little cursing.
Those kicks ease off slowly but surely, changing to a more familiar rolling, tumbling movement, and Hannibal stares in fascination as one unidentifiable protuberance travels from one side of Face’s full stomach to the other. He can’t even imagine how it must feel for Face, but he just feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the fact that they get to experience this together.
He leans forwards and presses his lips to the mound of his husband’s belly, and Face’s hands slide into his hair, keeping him close, as their son or daughter continues to roll and kick and stretch away happily in their cosy little waterbed.
Expecting Parts 16 - 30
Try as I might, I can't seem to move away from this particular 'verse, and this will make absolutely no sense if you haven't already read the earlier stories in this series. There is a true sequel to 'Justification' in progress, but I also found myself writing little snippets of what might have happened if Hannibal had just asked Face about the experiment, so please consider this an alternative rather than a sequel. All previous warnings still apply.
LB x
1. Dreaming
Face drifts in and out of a restless sleep, his head throbbing and his entire body in agony as his heart thunders painfully beneath his breast. Eight long months of confinement so far, and the weight of his hugely swollen stomach and the constant kicking from deep within are making it impossible for him to get any true rest, no matter how hard he tries to find a comfortable position for his abused body.
If he lays on his back, he can’t breathe. If he lays on his side, it hurts his spine and sends stabbing pains through his hips. Lying on his front, his preferred sleeping position before this hell began, ceased to be an option months ago. And however he settles, the thing stretching his stomach beyond all recognition kicks merrily away at his bladder and his prostate and his kidneys, trying her hardest to rearrange his internal organs a little bit more than she already has.
Eight long months, and it can’t be over soon enough. Frankly, if he could cut her from his body right this very second, then he would. But the doctors say everything is fine. The doctors say he only has a few weeks left to go.
Face wonders, somewhat hysterically, if he can possibly hold on that long.
He also can’t help but wonder if Hannibal had ever even thought of asking his permission.
Things could have been so very different. If Hannibal had asked, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. He’d done the seemingly impossible for him before. Admittedly, it would have been quite a leap from procuring a pink jeep in the middle of the desert with an hour’s notice to carrying a squirming baby within his body for nine agonising months, but if Hannibal had asked…
If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.
2. Offering
It isn’t often the two Rangers find themselves attending a baby shower, but that’s exactly what happens one Sunday afternoon in May. They are the only two men in attendance, and they’re both doing their very best to fit in, though of course Face seems to be doing a far better job than Hannibal is.
“You boys having a good time?” Sergeant Tracy Pullman, eight months pregnant and somehow still glowing, gently elbows Hannibal in the ribs. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“We’re honoured to be invited,” Hannibal replies, leaning down to peck a soft kiss to her cheek.
Tracy smiles as she caresses the swell of her stomach with both hands. “It was the least I could do after the two of you saved our lives like that.” A nasty car crash in torrential rain, Hannibal and Face able to get Tracy and her bump to safety just in time before a lorry spun out of control and smashed into her vehicle. “You’re our two heroes.”
“Just don’t name the baby after either of us, okay?”
Face suddenly appears at Hannibal’s elbow just in time to catch his last comment. “Are you kidding, boss?” he gasps dramatically. “’Templeton’ is a wonderful name for a boy. Don’t you agree, Tracy?”
Just at that moment, one of Tracy’s friends calls to her from across the room, saving her the difficulty of finding a diplomatic response as she turns away with a smile, leaving Hannibal with Face. Face has clearly entered thoroughly into the spirit of the party and is wearing a silver plastic tiara along with a pink feather boa. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining, and Hannibal has never been so much in love in his life.
He can’t kiss Face, though. Not here. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks instead, and Face just grins at him, threading one arm through Hannibal’s to pull them close together.
“You bet I am. A whole room full of hot women, what’s not to love?” Face throws a wink at Hannibal, letting him know that he’s just playing up to his reputation, though of course Hannibal already knows that. They’ve only been together romantically for a year, but he knows Face inside out, and trusts his boy implicitly.
Face is warm and strong by his side, bright blue eyes shining with happiness and love, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with this incredible man, raising a family of their own. Perhaps it’s far too soon to ask the question - a single year of love is not long, after all, even if they have known each other for more than a decade - but the words slip out nonetheless.
“Do you ever think about this?” he asks, and Face tilts his head a little in response, curious. “A family,” Hannibal clarifies quietly. “Children. Our children, specifically.”
Face blinks at him, and for a moment Hannibal holds his breath. Then, so softly Hannibal has to strain to hear - “Yes. I think about that. I want us to have children, I want everything, so long as it’s all with you.”
Hannibal suddenly wants to kiss Face so much it almost hurts, but he settles for squeezing his boy’s hand where it rests on his arm, feeling a wide smile split his face. “Okay, then.”
“Okay.” Face’s eyes are suspiciously damp as he smiles back, then glances across the room to where Tracy is now sitting in a circle of her giggling girlfriends, her heavily pregnant belly even more prominent now. “Just so y’know, John, if I could do that for you, for us, then I would. In a heartbeat.”
The offer nearly takes Hannibal’s breath away entirely. The thought of Face carrying his baby, stomach beautifully swollen with their child, is a beautiful image and something Hannibal never knew he could want. It isn’t possible, of course, but there is adoption or fostering, or even surrogacy.
Marriage first, though. Hannibal is an old-fashioned romantic at heart, and he suspects Face is too.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, haven’t we, sweetheart?” he whispers, and Face squeezes his arm one more time before pulling away.
“Come on. They’re about to start playing ‘guess the flavour of the baby food’.”
Hannibal can’t think of anything worse, but he follows Face in his tiara regardless, just as he always will.
3. Asking
“Why would you even ask me this?” Face is pacing in increasingly wide circles, one hand running repeatedly through his already messy hair while the other waves about in the air, and Hannibal is growing dizzy just watching him. “Why would you even - ?”
“Face, baby, please sit down.”
But rather than sitting, Face slams to a sudden stop in front of Hannibal’s chair and gasps in horror. “You wish I was a woman, is that it?”
“Sweetheart, no - ”
“All that agonising about whether you were really gay or just confused, all those nights we spent endlessly talking about things before you would even kiss me.” Face buries both hands in his hair, shaking his head. “After all that, you still want to be with a woman? No, worse: you want me to have a sex change?”
Hannibal pushes to his feet and reaches out to lay his hands on Face’s shoulders, already regretting bringing up the subject at all. He should have known how Face might react. Should have explained himself better. “Templeton, stop. Breathe. That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it?” There are tears in Face’s eyes now, and his bottom lip is trembling ever so slightly, though Hannibal takes some solace in the fact that his lover isn’t trying to pull away from him. “I don’t understand, John. I don’t know what you want from me right now.”
“I can explain some of it, though I don’t even pretend to understand all the science. It’s an experiment, and they’re using my sperm and I just thought…” Hannibal dares to press a quick, reassuring kiss to Face’s forehead. “We’ve spoken about having a family one day. About raising children together. This is an unexpected option, and I thought we should talk about it. No pressure, no expectations, just a conversation.”
Face is practically vibrating with tension. “No pressure?” He huffs a laugh that sounds more painful than amused, and his hands tighten into fists in his hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You want us to have a conversation about me having surgery so I can get pregnant with your baby?”
When it’s put that way, Hannibal can absolutely understand why Face is so upset. He’s been such an idiot. He kisses his boy again and again, apologetically, once on the forehead, then on the temple, the cheek, and finally on those pouting lips. “If it’s not something you want, then we forget all about it,” he tells Face softly, choosing his words very carefully. “I never meant to upset you, and I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you. I love you so very much, just the way you are, and I never want to change you, not in any way. You are absolutely perfect to me.”
For a long moment there is no reaction whatsoever, Face standing stock still in his arms with eyes still tightly closed, and Hannibal feels his chest tighten painfully as he realises he may have just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to him. If Face can’t forgive him, if Face ends their relationship entirely…
Then, finally, a shaky breath and a whispered question.
“So, you don’t wish I was a woman?” Face cracks his beautiful baby blue eyes open, the hint of tears gone though the hurt is still clearly visibly.
“Never,” Hannibal vows immediately.
“And, this surgery, it isn’t permanent?”
That question alone is more than Hannibal could have hoped for after Face’s initial horrified reaction, and he takes his time before answering. “Not in any way. It’s a temporary transplant, as I understand it.”
Face slowly loosens the grip his still has on his own hair, though he doesn’t lower his hands. “And you just want to talk about it? To meet with these doctors, to see if I’m even a suitable candidate?”
“Just a meeting. A conversation. I won’t even let them run any tests, not if you aren’t interested after hearing what they have to say. I promise.” Face is a Ranger, of course: Hannibal knows that no doctor could run tests on Face if Face didn’t want them done, not without using brute force or powerful drugs, but his lover still visibly relaxes a fraction at his words. “And we would need to talk about this in a lot more detail first. The two of us, I mean. It would be a huge lifestyle change, if we do eventually decide to participate. Having a baby.”
They’ve talked about children in the abstract. About adoption or surrogacy, in the next five years or so. About retirement for Hannibal and a stateside transfer for Face, about buying a house together off-base, about getting married. These are things they both agree they want, though they’ve also both agreed that it’s too soon for any of it. They still have career ambitions within the Rangers, and they’ve only been together romantically for a year, though they’ve known each other for more than a decade.
Maybe it really is too soon.
What is Hannibal even thinking?
But, then.
“A baby?” Face suddenly smiles tentatively, eyes shining with unshed tears once more. “We could have a baby?”
Hannibal finds himself smiling back, the knot in his chest loosening at last. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions, suddenly feeling a little choked up at the whole idea. “First, we set up a meeting with the doctors, and we hear what they have to say. One step at a time.”
“Baby steps, you could say?” Face immediately cracks up at his own joke, his arms wrapping tightly around Hannibal’s shoulders as they fall into each other’s arms at last.
4. Proposing
“You’re just an old-fashioned gentleman at heart, aren’t you, John?”
“I can’t help the way I was raised, Templeton.”
“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the experimental surgery, artificially implanted uterus and lab-grown embryo?”
“No, then comes the baby. Our baby. But not before I put a ring on your finger first, sweetheart.”
5. Operating
Hannibal is fighting the urge to start pacing the length of the waiting room, knowing he has to stay calm for Face, who is sitting and leaning casually against his side, head on Hannibal’s shoulder. After so many months of meetings and discussions and tests and scans, after rearranging their entire lives and careers, the day they’ve both been looking forward to is finally here. And Hannibal is suddenly terrified that they’ve made the wrong decision.
What if something goes wrong with the surgery? It’s an experimental procedure after all. What if he loses Face?
“That’s it.” Hannibal stands abruptly, nearly toppling Face to the floor. “I can’t go through with this. We’ll adopt. I’m not risking you.”
“John, calm down.” Face’s steady hands come to rest on his shoulders, turning Hannibal until they stand face to face. “It’ll all be okay. We’ve been through this over and over again. The doctors know what they’re doing. I’ll be in good hands, and everything will work out just fine, I promise.”
“You can’t know that. You can’t promise me…” Hannibal’s throat closes up and he prepares to throw Face over his shoulder and carry him out of the clinic if he has to, but his new husband silences his protests with a tender kiss, heedless of anyone who might be watching.
When the kiss ends, Face cups Hannibal’s cheek gently in one hand, smiling up at him with shining blue eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, and Hannibal finds himself nodding, comforted by Face’s confidence.
He takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Face’s slender waist - it won’t be slender for long, of course, not if everything goes well today - and squeezing tightly. “I love you.”
“And I love you too.”
The sound of voices outside the waiting room makes them step apart instinctively, though the doctors here know about their relationship and their recent marriage. DADT doesn’t seem to apply within the walls of the clinic, something Hannibal gives thanks for each and every day, but after years of hiding their love it’s a hard habit to break.
A soft knock, then the door swings open to reveal their lead surgeon ready in his blue scrubs, surgical mask loose around his neck. “Colonel Smith, Lieutenant Peck.” He nods a greeting to them both, and Hannibal again swallows down the urge to snatch Face and run, forcing himself to nod in return. “I mean Hannibal, Face. Today’s the big day. Are we all ready?”
“You’re sure this is safe?” Hannibal blurts out. “You don’t need more time? More testing?”
Face elbows him hard in the ribs. “John, what did we just talk about?”
“I’m sorry, I just - ”
The surgeon actually huffs a laugh, gesturing for them both to take a seat and settling opposite them. “Last minute nerves are entirely understandable,” he says calmly, before focussing on Face, all professionalism now. “The latest test results have been nothing but positive, and the scans we ran on you yesterday, Face, show that you are in perfect health. Years of research has gone into this moment. We are fully prepared for the procedure and, while there are never any guarantees, I am as confident as I can be that everything will run smoothly.”
“I’m ready,” Face says before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “I trust you and your team. And I can’t wait to get started.”
“Then shall we get you settled in a room?” The surgeon stands, gesturing towards the door, and Hannibal’s legs turn to jello as Face also stands.
Something suddenly occurs to him. “Wait, what about the anaesthetic?”
“We’ve spoken about this, Hannibal, remember?” The surgeon speaks over his shoulder, his voice steady and reassuring, though he is already ushering Face from the room as if sensing Hannibal’s desire to snatch him back. “The anaesthetist has had full access to all of Face’s medical records, and we’re well aware of his history with anaesthetics. We’ll be using a drug that has given Face no problems at all in the past. Please try not to worry.”
“I won’t feel a thing, John.” Face pauses in the doorway, offering Hannibal a wide grin, though Hannibal can see the barely concealed nerves beneath the bravado. “See you on the other side, okay?”
“Wait.” Hannibal finally manages to stand on his shaky legs, and the surgeon turns tactfully away as he pulls Face into a fierce embrace, his throat closing up as he tries to speak.
Face hugs him back, and Hannibal can feel his lover trembling slightly, though Face is the one to step back this time, detaching Hannibal’s arms determinedly from around his shoulders. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, and Hannibal can only nod as the surgeon leads Face away from him.
6. Nauseating
Hannibal can hear the awful sounds coming from behind the bathroom door, and his heart aches for his husband even as his own stomach twists in sympathy. He’s torn between rushing to Face’s side to offer what little comfort he can, and keeping his distance to allow Face some dignity. The fact that the bathroom door has been firmly closed, in spite of the speed with which Face disappeared from the breakfast table, suggests the latter may be more welcome, but a pitiful groan makes up his mind in a heartbeat.
“Face?” With a gentle tap on the door, Hannibal pauses for only a second before slipping inside, immediately taking in the sight of his newly pregnant husband on his knees hunched over the toilet, retching helplessly over and over again. “Easy there, sweetheart.”
Face spares him a single glare, watery blue eyes filled with a venom that startles Hannibal, before diving back over the bowl. One hand is braced on the floor and the other against the cistern as Face’s body contracts once again, strong back arching and every muscle tense as he purges the contents of his stomach, though Hannibal can’t help but wonder if there is anything left at this point.
Heading for the sink and snatching up a washcloth, he lets the cold tap run for a few moments before soaking the cloth as thoroughly as he can. Kneeling carefully by Face’s side, he settles the cool material against the nape of Face’s neck, sweeping the sweat-damp hair out of the way. Face groans softly, a shiver running down his spine, but leans gratefully into Hannibal’s touch.
“I hate this,” Face manages to gasp, swallowing hard before straining forwards again, coughing up something nasty that Hannibal is glad he can’t see.
In the three weeks since Face’s successful surgery, Hannibal has already learned better than to offer even a hint of sympathy over any pregnancy sickness - Face had actually punched him the first time Hannibal had dared say how sorry he was, leaving a nasty black eye that was still fading, though Face had been horrified and immediately apologetic, blaming the hormone implants.
Instead, Hannibal slips a hand around Face’s waist, taking some of his husband’s weight and rubbing gently over the spasming stomach muscles, careful to avoid the dressing still taped in place over the healing stitches lower on his belly.
“What was it this time?” he asks gently when Face pauses to catch his breath.
Face gags once, twice, before managing to answer. “Toast, I think. Not sure.”
Hannibal winces in unspoken sympathy, flipping the washcloth over before pressing the cooler side back against Face’s heated skin. The list of foods that upset Face’s stomach is rapidly growing too long to keep track of easily, the combination of hormones, anti-rejection medication and a brand new implanted pregnancy all messing with his husband’s system even more than the doctors had anticipated.
“Just cereal from now on,” Hannibal vows, leaning closer to press a reassuring kiss to Face’s temple, only to pull back when Face shakes his head violently.
“Bad idea.” Face gags again but succeeds in not throwing up this time. “Milk. Not good.”
“Okay, sweetheart. No milk, no toast.”
“And no coffee, tea, orange juice, fresh fruit.” Face slumps sideways into Hannibal’s hold with a tired sigh as he reaches one shaky hand up to flush the toilet, this round of sickness apparently over for the time being. “No cheese. No pasta. No chocolate.”
Hannibal hadn’t known about the chocolate, so he adds that to his mental list, sliding the washcloth round to pat at Face’s forehead as he cuddles his husband closer. In a moment he’ll help Face stand, then steady his hand as he brushes his teeth before helping him into the shower - they’re both still in their sleep clothes, and the day has barely started, yet Hannibal feels exhausted already. He can’t even imagine how Face must feel.
“You want to stay home today?” he asks hesitantly, wishing Face would stay in bed for the day and just catch up on some sleep, having been up twice during the night - the term ‘morning sickness’ is a complete misnomer, they’ve discovered, and poor Face seems to be throwing up morning, noon and night.
But Face, perhaps predictably, shakes his head. “No, I’d rather keep busy than sit around feeling sorry for myself. I’ll take it easy, though, I promise.” Desk jobs for both of them now, working in planning and intelligence, and Hannibal will be able to check on Face throughout the day at least, even though Face might punch him again if he hovers too obviously.
For now, Hannibal carefully pulls Face a little closer still, feeling strong arms wrap around his waist in return as Face settles his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, his breath warm and reassuring against Hannibal’s chest. “This little one is certainly making their presence felt already, huh?” he chuckles softly, rubbing gentle circles over Face’s still-flat stomach, marvelling at the thought of their child growing beneath the skin there. They’ve chosen not to find out if it’s a girl or a boy, though of course the doctors are certainly aware.
“No surprises there. It’s your child, after all.” Face presses his own hand flat over Hannibal’s on his belly, laughing once before clarifying, “Any offspring of yours is bound to be the world’s biggest attention seeker.”
7. Confirming
“I feel incredibly exposed here.” Face squirms yet again in the examination chair, and Hannibal drops a hand gently onto his shoulder to settle him, squeezing reassuringly. “This is crazy. I’ve been in far stranger positions, but…”
“It’ll be worth it,” Hannibal says, leaning down to drop a kiss on Face’s forehead. “And I’m right here with you.”
Face is right, of course, and they’ve both been in far more exposed positions, but given Face’s condition Hannibal can absolutely understand his feelings of vulnerability. Face is lying almost completely flat, only the head of the chair raised slightly, with his shirt unbuttoned and open wide. The top button of his jeans is also undone, leaving his toned stomach and chest bared to the room - the temperature is comfortably warm, thankfully, but Hannibal can see the goose-bumps rising on Face’s skin nonetheless.
Hannibal’s own protective instincts had kicked into overdrive the moment they stepped back inside the clinic, and he knows there is no force on earth that could pull him away from his husband and their unborn baby right now.
Their doctor chooses that moment to enter the room, greeting them both with a smile and a nod as she moves quickly over to their side. “Good morning to you both. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
“The sooner the better.” Face shifts his hips again, a slight wince passing over his handsome features. “I really, really need to piss.”
The doctor laughs softly, readying her equipment. “That’s good,” she tells Face. “That means we should get a nice clear picture here. We’ll take a break after the scan so you can get comfortable before we move on to the rest of the examination.”
Hannibal’s grip on Face’s shoulder tightens slightly, almost instinctively, his heart racing with anticipation and adrenaline. This will become a weekly event as the experiment continues, but this is their first ultrasound scan since the surgical implantation a month ago. The first time they will see their tiny baby and hopefully hear their heart beating. The first time they will know for sure if the experimental procedure has been successful so far, though Face’s continued pregnancy sickness - to call it ‘morning sickness’ would be to make light of the hell Face has been suffering on a daily basis - strongly suggests a positive result.
A clear gel is squeezed onto Face’s lower belly, just above the fresh scar from the operation, before the doctor immediately lowers the scanner onto Face’s skin, moving it around slowly and pressing down slightly as she presses a series of buttons on the attached screen.
Hannibal keeps his focus entirely on Face as his husband closes his eyes with a shaky sigh, brushing his free hand calmingly through caramel curls. “You doing okay?” he asks softly, fully prepared to stop the doctor if something is wrong, but Face nods.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Face reassures him. “Just feels a bit weird. And I really do need the bathroom.”
Hannibal is about to attempt a joke or two to lighten the atmosphere, when suddenly a strange rushing, thumping sound fills the room. Face opens his eyes with a gasp, lifting his head from the pillow to stare at their smiling doctor as she adjusts the angle of the screen so they can both see.
“There we go,” she says, almost triumphantly, slowly turning a dial until the thumping grows louder still.
“Is that…?” The blurry grey mass on the screen looks more like a tadpole than a baby, not that Hannibal would dare admit that, but that rhythmic sound can only be one thing. “Oh god… That’s…”
The doctor’s smile grows wider still, glancing up at them both. “That’s your baby,” she confirms, keeping the scanner pressed into position over Face’s lower stomach. “That’s the confirmation we were looking for. Everything looks good, and it certainly sounds good too.”
Face’s hand suddenly finds Hannibal’s, squeezing desperately, and Hannibal looks down to find tears streaming down his husband’s face as he stares unblinkingly at the screen, mouth hanging wide open in a surprised grin. Hannibal’s own eyes feel suspiciously damp as the sound of their child’s rapidly beating heart continues to fill the air. He can barely believe this is really happening for them.
Suddenly, this all seems too real.
He leans down to kiss Face tenderly on the lips, tasting the salt from his husband’s tears of happiness. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice coming out far more choked than he’d expected as his eyes are drawn helplessly back to the screen. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Thank you for asking me,” Face whispers back. “Look, John. Look what you did.”
“No, sweetheart. Look what we did.”
8. Showing
“Hannibal!”
Face’s cry rings loudly through the early morning quiet of their house, and Hannibal’s heart immediately begins to race as he sprints up the stairs towards their bedroom, mind filling with a thousand horrific images of what might await him there. He’d left Face sleeping peacefully, determined to bring him breakfast in bed to celebrate their first full weekend off together in months, but now…
“I’m here, Face.” Bursting into the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, Hannibal slams to a stop in the doorway when he sees his husband standing calmly in front of the full-length mirror, wearing only a loose pair of boxer shorts that sit low on his hips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What’s happened?”
There’s no blood, thank goodness, and no obvious sign of illness or miscarriage, which was Hannibal’s first and greatest fear. Face’s pregnancy sickness has been a little easier lately, and they’ve finally figured out a range of foods he can keep down, though he’s been dizzy and achy as his body struggles to adjust to a pregnancy it was never designed to carry.
“Look,” Face whispers, hands placed delicately on his hips as he bits his lower lip nervously, meeting Hannibal’s eyes in the reflection. “Can you see?”
Hannibal takes a cautious step closer, then another, until he is standing directly behind Face. His heart is still racing, but Face seems so calm. For a long moment he can’t see it, whatever it is, but then Face shifts his hips slightly, turning to one side, and -
“Oh,” he breathes, pressing his chest to Face’s back as he brings his hands around to rest carefully on the tiny bump that has appeared overnight. “Well, that came out of nowhere.”
“I know, right? I finally popped, just like the docs said I would.” Face places his own hands over Hannibal’s, dropping his head back to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, and together they stand there smiling at each other, holding the swell of their baby.
The bump is still small, so small that Hannibal could probably cup the entire expanse in one of his huge hands, but the skin of Face’s stomach is warm and taut as it bulges out beneath Hannibal’s reverent touch. This is the first actual physical evidence they have that there is really a baby growing in there, nestled safely within Face’s body, beyond a little bloating and some swollen ankles.
“No stretch marks,” Hannibal whispers, somewhat awed, and Face huffs a slightly teary laugh as his bright blue eyes start to well up.
“No six-pack either,” he points out, and it’s true, the muscle definition Face has always worked so hard for has disappeared, quite literally in the blink of an eye. “There goes my figure.”
Hannibal strokes his thumbs gently over the bump, dipping his head to press a lingering kiss to the racing pulse in Face’s throat. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he tells his husband firmly, startling another laugh from Face though a single tear slips down Face’s cheek at the same time. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” Hannibal kisses him again, and again, thankful that Face is still smiling through his tears.
“I’m not crying,” Face tells Hannibal weakly, as another tear slips free. “Seriously, I couldn’t care less about my figure, not when we’re really going to have a baby. Am I allowed to blame the hormones yet?”
“Of course you can.” Implants, pills, and injections - Hannibal strongly suspects he would be a sobbing mess if he was the one carrying their baby, and frankly he’s amazed at how well Face is coping so far.
He can already tell that he’s going to find it hard to stop touching Face’s beautiful bump. It’s as if there is some sort of magnetic pull, as if Face has become the centre of his entire world, gravity tugging his hands into position over the small yet perfectly formed swell.
Face doesn’t seem inclined to move either, thankfully, and they stand there together smiling into the mirror, tears rolling slowly down Face’s cheeks, hands tangled together cupping Face’s stomach and swaying gently together.
9. Revealing
Neither Murdock nor BA have said anything for nearly five minutes, and Hannibal is starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Strange, he hadn’t been worried until now. Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown, are staring unblinkingly at Face from the opposite sofa, and two mouths are hanging as wide open as Hannibal has ever seen them.
Murdock recovers first, after another few painful minutes of silence, visibly shaking himself as, in a heartbeat, his gawp turns into a huge grin. “Congratulations, you two! I mean, you three!”
“Thanks, man.” Face ducks his head slightly, oddly shy as he sits closely against Hannibal’s side, Hannibal’s arm tight around his shoulders. Hannibal knows just how nervous his husband has been about this moment, with both their former teammates away on missions until just yesterday. “We wanted you both to know as soon as we could be sure things were okay, and I’m beyond the first trimester now so it’s safer. Though it’s all classified, obviously.”
“It might be classified, Faceman, but it ain’t gonna stay secret for too much longer.” BA points one meaty finger at the baby bump, which is very visible in Face’s seated position, his dark face inscrutable and his voice very soft. Hannibal can’t tell what he’s thinking. “That gut you’ve got growing is definitely not a typical beer belly. People are gonna talk.”
“Then let them talk,” Face replies calmly before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “Let them assume whatever the hell they want, and let them call me all the names under the sun. It’s no one’s business but ours. Besides, I’m wearing loose clothes at work, and I’ll be down to working part time soon anyway.”
‘Part time’ can’t come soon enough for Hannibal, and recently he’s actually been fighting the instinctive urge to force Face to quit work entirely, knowing Face wouldn’t thank him for his overprotectiveness. Face is hiding it well in front of their friends, but Hannibal knows he’s been struggling a lot with the pregnancy over the last few weeks, battling a perpetual exhaustion and in constant pain from his hips and his back, weepy and oddly clingy as the hormones kick into overdrive.
But their not-so-little bump continues to grow bigger by the day, and the doctors say all is well.
“Do you know what it is?” Murdock’s grin has somehow grown wider still, hands twitching as if he wants to reach out and grab at Face’s belly. Hannibal is immensely glad the pilot is restraining himself for now, as he’s feeling even more overprotective than he’d expected, and also still very aware of how nervous Face is about their friends’ reactions, in spite of how well he seems to be hiding it. “Boy? Girl? Twins? Ooh, are they gonna call you Mom, Face?”
Face laughs, sitting up a little straighter though he keeps one hand resting on Hannibal’s knee, the other rubbing a gentle circle over his bump. “No, I’m going to be Dad, and Hannibal’s going to be Papa. And it’s definitely just the one, though we don’t know the gender. We’re keeping it a surprise, even though I keep thinking of her as a ‘she’.” He pauses, glancing over to BA who has gone back to staring open-mouthed. “What are you thinking, big guy? Too strange for you?”
BA shakes his head slowly, running one hand back through his hair. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything…” he mutters, biting at his lip. “I don’t know, man. This is beyond insane, even for us.”
“It’s a baby, Bosco,” Hannibal says quietly, watching the big sergeant carefully while Face tenses up again under his arm. They’d hoped Murdock would go along with the whole thing easily enough, expecting a thousand and one questions from the excitable pilot, but BA’s reaction had always been less predictable. “We’re having a baby, like a lot of married couples do. It’s an unusual way to go about it for two guys, I admit - ”
“I love babies.” Something seems to click into place with Hannibal’s words, and BA suddenly smiles a little, his broad shoulders relaxing fractionally as he sinks back into the sofa. “And ‘unusual’ is certainly one word for this whole thing, but damn it all to hell, you two never go about things the easy way, do you?” He shakes his head again. “Honestly? I think I’d be more surprised if you just said you were gonna adopt.”
“You’re gonna be great daddies,” Murdock tells them, with real feeling in his voice, and Hannibal’s heart swells with pride even as his stomach churns with sudden nerves. They’ll certainly do their best, though he’s sure they’ll make more than their fair share of mistakes along the way.
BA nods his agreement, his smile growing wider and more certain, and Hannibal heaves a mental sigh of relief at knowing Face will have the full support of their brothers. “Yeah, you really will be. The kid’ll be lucky to have you, both of you.” He pauses, elbowing Murdock. “And we’ll be great uncles, if you’ll have us.”
“Actually…” Face glances sideways at Hannibal as if asking permission, though they’ve already discussed this. Instead of answering him, Hannibal just leans over and presses a quick kiss of reassurance to his cheek. “Actually, we were hoping you’d both agree to be Godfathers.”
Silence again, but this time Hannibal isn’t worried at all as he watches these two remarkable men, their two best friends. Two of the toughest Rangers he’s ever known both swallow hard, eyes growing visibly a little damp, and this time it’s BA who manages to recover first, speaking for both himself and Murdock.
“We’d be honoured, brother.”
10. Craving
On the surface of things, Hannibal figures it could have been worse. Last week Face had merrily tucked into a large plate of mashed potatoes covered in caramel sauce, while the week before he’d experimentally smeared some strawberry jam on his breakfast sausages and proclaimed them utterly delicious. Thankfully neither combination has made a reappearance yet, and Hannibal doesn’t dare mention either just in case.
At least Face is eating, Hannibal tells himself. Any food has to be good food after so many months of unpredictable pregnancy sickness. The doctors certainly seem delighted and not at all concerned, telling Face to give in to any cravings he feels, within reason.
Face’s craving for ice cubes does seem to be here to stay, but they are easy enough to provide and at least it doesn’t upset Hannibal’s own stomach to watch Face crunching his way contentedly through an entire bowlful, even if it does make him shiver in sympathy.
Who would’ve thought it would be guacamole that might be Hannibal’s downfall?
“It has to be fresh,” Face had explained, busy over his production line one Sunday afternoon, with heaps of fresh chillies, tomatoes and onions next to a truly mountainous pile of avocados. “I don’t even know why, it just does.”
Easy enough, until Face had made and eaten three entire mixing bowls full of the stuff for dinner, and still craved more, begging Hannibal to find the ingredients for him. Easy enough, until it turned out their local shop had run out of avocados, and it was nearly midnight.
“What do you mean they’ve run out?” Face’s absolute horror rings out loud and clear over Hannibal’s cellphone when he nervously calls to report the news. “They can’t have run out. Did you ask them? They have to have some out back, surely?”
“They’ve definitely run out, sweetheart, I did ask.” Hannibal bites his tongue to avoid pointing out to Face that they’d bought the last of their stock themselves yesterday. He hesitates before suggesting, “They have got ready-made guacamole, though, if you like?”
Just as Hannibal expects, Face doesn’t even dignify that offer with a response, though the desperation in his voice is clear when he asks, “What about Al’s Whole Foods?”
“They close at ten.”
“The fruit market?”
“Closed at seven.”
“John, I need…” There’s a ragged breath over the line that sounds to Hannibal as if his husband might burst into tears at any moment. And that simply won’t do. “Please, there has to be…”
“I’m heading over to the next town,” he tells Face immediately, desperate to keep his husband happy if at all possible. “There are at least three shops that might have some and should still be open. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
This? This is the time where all those years of planning and improvising in the Rangers come to the fore. This is where Hannibal can excel.
Mission: Avocado will be a success, even if takes all night.
11. Glowing
It was just one of those myths Hannibal hadn’t paid much attention to, until suddenly it becomes very obvious and very true, a few weeks into Face’s second trimester.
Face is positively glowing. Hannibal can only imagine how uncomfortable Face must be feeling as his pregnancy advances steadily and his stomach swells ever outwards, but his husband’s skin is clear and rosy, his hair full and curlier than usual.
Face is carrying himself and his growing bump confidently, his smile contented and his eyes shining brightly.
Face is utterly beautiful, both inside and out, and he takes Hannibal’s breath away.
12. Moving
When Face stops in the very middle of the kitchen, cupping his hands over his bump gently and smiling a private smile that lights up his entire face, Hannibal tries not to feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy; Face has been able to feel their baby moving for the last week or so, describing it as a faint rumbling deep in his stomach rather than any true sense of kicking yet.
“C’mere,” Face whispers to Hannibal, beckoning wildly, and Hannibal obediently shuffles to his husband’s side, holding out his hand and letting Face take it and slide it under his shirt to press it against one side of the bump, close to Face’s freshly popped-out navel. “She’s really rolling around in there. Maybe this time?”
Nothing. Face’s skin is warm and smooth, thanks in no small part to the body butters Hannibal is taking great pleasure in massaging in each and every day, but Hannibal can’t feel any movement apart from Face’s steady breathing.
“I think it’s still too soon for me,” he tells a clearly disappointed Face, though he swings his other hand around as well to cup the lower side of the bump, just in case. It’s no hardship at all to be so close to his pregnant husband. “Does it hurt you in any way?”
Face shakes his head. “No, it just feels very strange. Like I’ve eaten too much. And like I really need… oh, sorry, gotta go.” And just like that, he shrugs apologetically out of Hannibal’s gentle hold and disappears in the direction of the bathroom, something that has been happening with increasing frequency as the pregnancy progresses.
Another week passes, then two, three, and Hannibal grows used to Face grabbing his hands at odd times of the day and guiding them quickly into position over the swell of their baby. Still nothing. They sit side by side on the sofa with one of Hannibal’s hands tucked under Face’s shirt, just in case. They fall asleep with Face lying on his left side and Hannibal wrapped around him from behind, both hands holding the bump tenderly.
Nothing.
Hannibal wakes one morning long before the alarm goes off, still spooned up close behind a Face who is clearly dead to the world, wondering what had dragged him out of his own exhausted sleep - they’d had a disturbed night, thanks to an unexpected flare-up of Face’s pregnancy sickness. Too much guacamole, perhaps, Face’s craving still without bounds much to Hannibal’s bemusement.
Then Hannibal suddenly feels it, at last, a vibration beneath the palm of his hand where it lies on the lower curve of Face’s belly. It stops suddenly, then starts again, a little stronger than before. It’s like nothing Hannibal has ever felt before, and his heart leaps into his throat as he realises.
“Hello there, little one,” he whispers, wanting this moment just for the two of them while Face sleeps on, unaware. “I’m your Papa. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
13. Working
Hannibal always thought he would miss being out in the field. The idea of being stuck at a desk day in and day out, the idea of typing reports and doing filing and sitting in endless meetings, just the very idea of an office job had always filled him with horror.
It had been a sacrifice he was always willing to make for Face, though. For their family-to-be. And, to his incredible and unending surprise, he really doesn’t hate it at all. Quite the opposite.
Yes, he has an office, but he rarely uses it, preferring to be out on the floor working with his team of tactical planners. Yes, he has reports to write, but he also has a brilliant assistant who takes most of the strain. And yes, there are meetings, but they are usually with other officers who don’t like sitting still any more than Hannibal does, so thankfully they are short and sharp.
There are no bullets or knives, and yes, Hannibal would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the adrenaline rush he used to get when a plan came together at the exact right moment, but there had also been a lot of sitting around in the field, waiting for things to happen. Now, every day is full to bursting point, with barely time to grab lunch on some days when a time-sensitive plan needs perfecting with only moments to spare.
It’s safe, and steady, and interesting, and it turns out there’s nothing wrong with that at all. It also allows Hannibal to pick up his husband from his own office at eighteen hundred hours every day, and to drive them both back to the house they have finally made into a proper home.
They pick up fresh food on the way home and talk about their days while Hannibal cooks and Face sits resting at the kitchen table. They might take a walk in the evening or just curl up together on the sofa. They’ve changed their minds at least a hundred times on what colour to paint the nursery. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to do it all over again.
They aren’t working in the same unit, which is probably a good thing, though Hannibal would dearly love to have eyes on Face at all times as Face’s stomach steadily rounds out. A larger size of BDU pants and a looser fitting jacket are concealing the pregnancy so far, and both Hannibal and Face are well-liked and well-respected, so any potential comments have been made far out of earshot of either of them.
The time is coming, though, when Face will need to cut back his hours even further. Already he’s only working half-days, and taking Wednesdays off entirely to spend at the clinic being scanned and prodded by the doctors, with Hannibal glued to his side.
It’s a life Hannibal never knew he truly wanted but, as the anticipation builds towards the day when their family of two becomes a family of three, Hannibal wouldn’t change it for all the world.
14. Aching
“Harder. C’mon, Hannibal, put your back into in!”
“I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. Either of you.”
“You won’t. Harder! And lower, left a bit, oh, yes - fuck, right there - ”
The semi-pornographic noises coming from Face should be illegal, Hannibal fervently believes, as he obediently digs the heels of his hands harder into the bunched muscles either side of his husband’s long spine, sweeping them out across Face’s pelvis. Hannibal has been hard for what feels like hours now, and each groan and gasp that slips from Face’s lips is only making things worse.
He feels like an utter bastard for the fact that this turns him on in any way. Face has been in pain all day, suffering from almost crippling back spasms and what he describes as ‘lightning bolts of fire’ shooting across his hips. Hannibal had been on the verge of suggesting a trip to the clinic when an almost-teary Face had practically begged him for a massage instead.
So now, a shirtless Face is braced against the back of the sofa, feet hip-width apart and leaning slightly forwards so his swollen belly hangs low, a position which also happens to put his delectable ass on perfect display in too-tight shorts as he begs Hannibal to go harder. Faster. Deeper.
Hannibal had always thought he was stronger than this.
Turns out, he’s only a weak-willed man after all.
Beneath his oil-slicked hands, Face’s skin is toasty warm and silky smooth, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the entire room. The knots in Face’s back are rock-hard and must be agonising, so Hannibal keeps the pressure as constant as he can, trying to ignore the pressure of his cock swelling in his pants.
His own desires are nowhere near being a priority right now. Face is the priority. The only priority.
“Fuck yes, that’s the spot!” Face groans loudly, dropping his head down and tilting his hips up into Hannibal’s hands, and Hannibal has to bite back his own groan. He knows Face isn’t doing it on purpose. Once upon a time Face would certainly have teased Hannibal like this, but now, uncomfortably pregnant and obviously in pain, it clearly isn’t deliberate. “More, John. Give me more, please! Don’t make me beg!”
Hannibal practically bites his tongue in half at that, sweeping his hands up to Face’s shoulder blades and back down again, dipping out across his hips and down to rub at the sides of the bump as Face practically purrs at his touch. He can feel the weight of their baby rolling around in his husband’s stomach, and can only imagine how much strain Face must be feeling. A good firm massage is the very least Hannibal can do for the man carrying his child.
Another soul-deep groan and a slight yet unintentional wriggle of that perfect backside as Face arches up into his hands, and Hannibal’s cock twitches in its confinement, despite all his innocent intentions.
Hannibal is just a jackass, clearly.
15. Kicking
“Fuck, she’s really got a kick on her now.” Face actually stops dead in the middle of the path as they take a slow stroll through the park, visibly wincing as he presses one hand to the side of his bump and rubs at his lower back with the other. “Ouch. Playing soccer with my internal organs is not a sport! Or maybe it’s kickboxing, or jujitsu. She’s definitely her Papa’s girl.”
“Or his Papa’s boy,” Hannibal points out with a grin, as he always does, adding his own big hands to rub at his husband’s back as he stands in front of Face.
Face just shakes his head, pursing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut with another wince. “It’s a girl. Trust me.”
There’s no way that Face can know, of course. Beyond the fact that the baby has Hannibal’s genes, they’ve chosen not to know anything at all about the woman who donated the egg for the experiment, and they’ve been absolutely determined not to find out the gender of their baby, averting their eyes during key moments beneath the ultrasound scanner.
“Mother’s instincts?” Hannibal asks cheekily, shifting his hands around to help support the weight of the bump and immediately feeling - “Oh, goodness, I see what you’re complaining about!” The soft vibrations and distant rumbling he used to be able to feel beneath Face’s skin are long gone, and this is most definitely kicking, violent and almost rhythmic. “Is that an elbow?”
Face leans gratefully into Hannibal’s support. “Could be,” he gasps in answer to both questions, as what might just as easily be a foot suddenly pushes out the skin near his navel right beneath Hannibal’s palm.
“Gently does it, little one.” Hannibal drops to one knee, not giving a single damn that they’re causing a bit of a scene and drawing a few curious glances from nearby dog walkers. “Go easy on your Mama, there.”
“I’m no one’s Mama.” But Face’s protest is lost in a slightly happier moan as Hannibal slides both hands up under Face’s too-tight shirt and starts to rub soothing circles over the rippling skin of his stomach, trying to soothe their active child. “Fuck, yes. Right there. Shit.”
They’ll have to talk about Face’s language at some point soon, as Hannibal has read that their little girl or boy can actually hear them at this point, but from the strength of the kicks Hannibal feels he can forgive his husband a little cursing.
Those kicks ease off slowly but surely, changing to a more familiar rolling, tumbling movement, and Hannibal stares in fascination as one unidentifiable protuberance travels from one side of Face’s full stomach to the other. He can’t even imagine how it must feel for Face, but he just feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the fact that they get to experience this together.
He leans forwards and presses his lips to the mound of his husband’s belly, and Face’s hands slide into his hair, keeping him close, as their son or daughter continues to roll and kick and stretch away happily in their cosy little waterbed.
Expecting Parts 16 - 30