Expecting (Parts 16 - 30 of 30) (H/F)
Expecting Parts 1 - 15
16. Needing
“Are you awake, John?”
Hannibal smiles as he feels a teasing lick to his neck, though he keeps his eyes closed as he replies, “Nope.” He fakes a silly little snore, and Face actually giggles. There’s the click of the bedside light turning on, the soft glow barely visible behind Hannibal’s closed eyelids.
Then, a kiss to his collarbone, and a warm hand stroking down his arm. “You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you, husband-mine?” Face’s voice is husky, sounding almost breathless, though Hannibal isn’t worried, at least not about Face’s physical health.
He knows exactly what Face wants. It’s the same thing Face wanted when he woke Hannibal at dawn. The same thing he wanted in the shower before breakfast, then again after lunch, and twice again before they fell asleep. And, truth be told, at this point Hannibal is a little worried about his own role: the spirit is more than willing, always, but the flesh may simply not be capable. Not again.
Sadly, he’s not a young man anymore, though he’d shoot anyone who said as much to his face. He’s always struggled a little to keep up with Face’s libido, and advanced pregnancy seems to have kicked said libido into overdrive. Hannibal is fully aware that their baby is sitting heavily on his husband’s bladder and putting pressure on his prostate, leaving Face in a state of near-permanent semi-arousal that is driving him a little insane by his own reluctant admission, but Hannibal is starting to wonder if it’s time to invest in a few little blue pills for himself.
A demanding bite just above his right nipple startles Hannibal into opening his eyes with a gasp. “I would never lie to you, husband-mine,” he replies belatedly, as he looks up at Face kneeling on the bed by his side, cast in soft shadows from the lamp and with a predatory look in those beautiful baby blue eyes Hannibal loves so much. “Well hello there, handsome.”
Face looks utterly glorious, even with the most spectacular bed-head Hannibal has seen in a while. He’s still wearing the faded Rangers t-shirt he’d fallen asleep in earlier, the thin material loose over his shoulders and chest yet stretched tightly over the bulge of his stomach, but Hannibal can’t help noticing that Face seems to have somehow lost his boxer shorts.
Face smirks at him, one clever hand stroking up and down Hannibal’s arm again as the other reaches down between his own legs to take his hard cock in a loose grip. “Hello, boss,” he says softly, that huskiness growing deeper. “Wondered if you might be able to help me with this little problem I’ve got?”
“Not so little.” Hannibal feels a twitch of his own beneath the sheets as he watches Face stroke himself to full hardness, and any concerns he may have had about his ability to provide what his pregnant husband clearly wants - no, what Face clearly needs - disappear in a heartbeat. “How do you want me this time, sweetheart?”
Face starts tugging at the sheets, eventually giving up trying to fold them back neatly and just hurling them to the floor with a grunt. “Why don’t you let me do all the work this round?” he suggests with a wink.
For a moment Hannibal’s sleep-fogged brain isn’t entirely sure what Face might mean - a brief glance at the clock shows him it’s barely three in the morning - but then he is blessed with the gorgeous and erotic sight of his husband swinging one leg up and over to straddle him, hands braced on Hannibal’s shoulders as he shuffles himself awkwardly into position with some considerable effort.
Thank goodness Hannibal hadn’t had the energy left to get dressed before he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep earlier that night. That means he doesn’t have to waste time trying to strip now. Instead, his hands come up instinctively to rest on Face’s hips, thumbs stroking gently over the vivid stretchmarks on the sides of the swollen belly, guiding and supporting some of his husband’s weight as Face lowers himself into place, unerringly spearing himself on Hannibal’s waiting erection.
Face is still open and slick from their several earlier rounds of love-making, and the two of them groan in unison now as he sinks down, the added weight of their baby making their coupling harder and faster than it would have been once upon a time. Hannibal bites his tongue as his cock is suddenly surrounded in warm, tight heat, Face’s own cock pressed between the flat of Hannibal’s stomach and the bulge of his own.
“Oh god, right there.” Face throws his head back, exposing the long length of his neck and letting his mouth hang open as he gasps, “Fuck. That’s the spot.”
This position is incredible for both of them, but there really is little Hannibal can do to help. He keeps his hands on Face’s hips and simply stares up in wonder at the man who has put himself through so much in order to give them a child of their own, as Face pushes himself up a few inches before dropping back down, taking a breath before rising again and starting to ride Hannibal with a look of determination on his handsome features.
Penetrative sex has become a never-ending challenge as Face’s body changes steadily, his stomach rounding outwards and his chest becoming tender to the touch, and Hannibal has never in his life been one to back down from a challenge. He’s poured his heart and soul into finding new ways to keep Face satisfied, particularly when Face has been utterly exhausted and yet still desperately needy.
He’s taken Face from behind, and from the side, one hand cupped around the swell of their child. He’s pleasured Face with toys, with Face stretched out on his back or nestled in a sea of pillows, and he’s had Face in his lap on the sofa, and at the dining table, and on the bench in their yard.
But this position, with Face just using Hannibal to take his pleasure, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes him shout loudly with joy? This position, with Hannibal pinned to the bed beneath the weight of his husband and unborn child?
This position is Hannibal’s absolute favourite, and as Face abruptly tenses above him before spurting his release hot and wet between their bellies, Hannibal suddenly finds his own release with a shout as the world whites out around him.
17. Guessing
Face is convinced he’s carrying a girl, though of course he hates it when Hannibal teases him gently about his ‘mother’s instinct’. He talks about their little girl almost without conscious thought as he strokes his stomach, blaming her when he’s sick and dizzy before immediately apologising to her, and calling on her vote in order to outnumber Hannibal in any minor domestic dispute.
Though he hasn’t said it out loud, Hannibal knows Face thinks Hannibal wants a son. Face thinks Hannibal wants to play football with his boy, to raise a little soldier in their image, and to play rough and tumble in a way he wouldn’t dare with a little girl. Face jokes about it all quite casually on rare occasions, but Hannibal can tell his husband is genuinely a little nervous that Hannibal won’t love a little girl in the way he would love a little boy.
But the truth is, all Hannibal actually cares about is the health of his husband and their baby. Nothing else matters.
Hannibal already loves their little one more than he’d ever imagined possible, almost as much as he loves Face, though not quite. He’s the luckiest man in the entire world.
18. Weeping
Hannibal hates to admit it, but he’s at something of a loss. Face is the smooth talker, the man with the silver tongue who knows just what to say in any given situation. But right now Face is the one sobbing on the sofa for no obvious reason that Hannibal can see.
And Hannibal is terrified of saying the wrong thing.
Over the last few weeks, Face’s emotional highs and lows have grown ever more extreme and unpredictable. He might be laughing one moment then in floods of tears the next, and while Hannibal knows all it’s just the hormones messing with his husband’s system, he wishes with all his heart that he knew what to do or say.
To make things a little more challenging, Face might well look as if he’s swallowed a beach ball - though Hannibal would never dare whisper that opinion out loud - but he’s still a Ranger through and through. Hannibal has had to duck more than one punch when he’s made the cardinal sin of asking Face what’s been wrong.
It might have been something on the news, or something Hannibal said several days ago without thinking. Yesterday, Face had spent nearly two hours crying on the floor because he couldn’t tie his shoelaces without help, just about breaking Hannibal’s heart. Last week, he’d wept so hard he’d made himself physically sick because of the beauty of a rainbow.
Right at that moment, Face is slumped into the corner of their long, over-stuffed sofa, one hand resting limply on the mound of his bump and the other rubbing his eyes. Hannibal can hear the tell-tale hitch in his breathing and can actually see the shine of tears streaming down flushed cheeks as Face sobs quietly, barely moving.
In spite of the tears, and in spite of how uncomfortable Hannibal knows he must be, Face is still glowing. He is the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever seen, especially now he is swollen large with Hannibal’s baby, but saying that out loud might not be the best idea right now.
At times like these, Hannibal decides, actions speak louder than words.
Deliberately making his footsteps a little louder than normal in an attempt to let Face know he’s there, Hannibal crosses the room and sits carefully at his husband’s side, keeping a deliberate inch of space between their bodies just in case.
He needn’t have been so cautious. Face immediately turns sideways and buries his head in Hannibal’s chest, his bulging stomach pressing awkwardly into Hannibal’s side and one leg swinging up over Hannibal’s knee. “I hate you for this,” Face sobs, though the somewhat desperate way he grasps hold of Hannibal’s shirt suggests otherwise. “I really mean it.”
Hannibal gently rests his hands on Face’s lower back, right where he knows the worst of the pain has been lately, and tries not to smile as he feels Face’s tears soaking through his shirt. “I know you do,” he whispers, knowing Face doesn’t mean it for even a second. “But I love you.”
Face just sobs even harder, and Hannibal settles in to hold his husband for as long as might be necessary.
19. Fitting
“The doctors really didn’t think this through. There are no shops that make maternity clothes for men, because there are no other pregnant men!”
“I hear boyfriend-fit jeans are all the fashion these days - ”
“If you finish that sentence I’ll shoot you.”
“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”
“Seriously, though, what am I supposed to wear? Nothing fits any more, apart from my pyjamas.”
“Murdock is a dab hand with a sewing machine - ”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“You remember that ‘Flash’ costume he wore last Halloween? Made it himself.”
“…Can you imagine what he would make for me? I’d look even more of a freak than I already do.”
“You look gorgeous. You’re positively blooming. And how much harm could Murdock possibly do letting out your uniform pants?”
“Do you really want to find out?”
“It’s either that or wear your pyjamas to work. Or maybe you could take early leave - ”
“Again, finish that sentence and I’ll shoot you.”
20. Protecting
Hannibal knows he’s always felt protective over Face, since long before he put a ring on his man’s finger. Back when Face had first joined his unit, when he’d still been little more than a gangly teenager determined to prove himself to the world, Hannibal had instinctively wanted to make sure no harm came to such a brilliant, bright talent.
Face is a Ranger, of course, and over the years Face has proved time and again that he is more than capable of looking after himself. He’s also proved to be more than protective of Hannibal, too, going after anyone who dares to question one of Hannibal’s decisions with a fierceness that has even startled Hannibal at times.
But Hannibal has never felt more protective over Face than now, as the pregnancy moves into the third trimester and Face’s swollen belly somehow continues to grow. Face is a little slower and a lot heavier, easily exhausted and prone to headaches, and in addition his balance has become uncertain on occasion.
He has no doubt that Face could still take care of himself, but it’s Hannibal’s job to keep him safe and see that he has everything he could possibly need - blankets or fans, juice or snacks, a foot rub or a hot bath - particularly now Face has finally taken leave from work and is spending his days pottering around the house or resting.
That is, when they aren’t at the clinic.
The doctors are keeping an increasingly close eye on Face as their experiment continues, increasing their scans to twice a week along with more blood tests and booster injections. Hannibal feels at his most protective when Face is in their hands, though they are always gentle when they handle his aching body; Hannibal knows that, to the doctors and nurses, this is still an experiment first and foremost. They are thinking about developments in their fields of organ transplantation or fertility treatments and yes, they are also thinking about Face and the baby, but Hannibal knows in his guts that the science comes first for them.
He has a recurring nightmare, of a world where Face is held against his will, forced to undergo the experimental surgery and carry a child in his body with absolutely no choice in the matter. The doctors could do it, Hannibal has no doubt of that.
So every time the doctors start to get lost in the science, talking about ‘the host’ or ‘the subject’, Hannibal reminds them that their experiment has a name. Face.
Every time they start to talk about their ‘ideal outcome’, he reminds them that their outcome is his child. Hannibal’s baby girl or baby boy. Face’s baby, too, in every way that counts.
He doesn’t think the doctors would deliberately hurt Face or put their child at risk, but he won’t take that chance. For every second they are in the clinic, Hannibal stays glued to Face’s side, alert and on edge. He’ll protect Face from any threats that might come their way, even if those threats are only in Hannibal’s head.
But the fact that Face clings to his hand until the moment they step back out into the sunshine? That suggests that Hannibal isn’t the only one with nightmares.
21. Preparing
“So, we obviously can’t go with pink or blue, since we don’t know the sex.” Hannibal stares again at the folder of colour swatches Murdock has somehow put together, as a surprise present for them. “And I don’t think white is a great idea.”
“I absolutely agree.” Face rubs both hands in circles over his full stomach, sinking back carefully into the cushions piled behind his back with a tiny wince. “I don’t like the idea of gender stereotyping anyway. Though she’s a girl, I’m sure of it.”
Hannibal choses to ignore that last comment, though secretly he loves how certain Face is. “What about something like this?” he suggests, finger hovering over one page of various shades from lilac and lavender through to the deepest darkest purple.
“A bit gothic, don’t you think?” Face frowns, reaching out and turning the page to reveal - “How about silver? Or gold?”
“A bit ornate, if you ask me.” Neither of them are particularly showy people, though Face has always had more upmarket tastes than Hannibal, with his wardrobe full of designer clothes for off-duty days. All non-maternity wear, of course, much to his continued and vocal annoyance.
Another page turn. “Green?”
Hannibal shudders. “Reminds me of hospitals”
“Yellow?”
“Reminds me of vomit. And I think we’ll see enough of that when the baby gets here.”
“Hannibal!” Face smacks him gently on the arm, though he sounds more amused than annoyed, and Hannibal playfully winces. “What options does that leave us with, then? We are not painting the nursery black!”
“There’s always red, white and blue,” Hannibal jokes, then ducks out of reach with a laugh as Face tries to smack him again. “Or, we could take Murdock up on his offer?”
Face sighs, sinking sideways to lean against Hannibal, who gathers him in carefully with an arm around his shoulders. His swollen belly presses against Hannibal’s side, and he can feel their energetic baby rolling around lazily beneath the taut skin. “We really should’ve decided this months ago,” Face says softly, and Hannibal resists the urge to point out that they’ve been talking about decorating the nursery since long before they even got the go-ahead for surgery. They’ve just never quite been able to agree.
They’re soldiers, not interior decorators.
“So, Murdock?” Hannibal suggests again, in all seriousness. Their crazy pilot has been dropping increasingly unsubtle hints about helping them decorate, while BA is on standby to help Hannibal build the crib and changing table, currently stored in the garage still in their boxes. “How bad could it be?”
Another soft sigh from Face, more thoughtful than before. “I guess,” he says eventually, though to Hannibal’s knowing ear he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “It would be one less thing to worry about.”
Hannibal presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his husband’s curly head. “If we hate it, I can paint over it immediately,” he points out, and Face laughs at that, closing the folder of colours firmly with one hand and pushing it off Hannibal’s lap to land heavily on the floor.
“You make a most excellent point. You win, make the call.”
Murdock is, of course, over the moon when Hannibal phones him later that night, and he begins work the very next day. Hannibal doesn’t know quite how worried he should be when the pilot actually manages to fit a padlock to the door so neither he nor Face can sneak a glimpse at the work in progress, but BA has been allowed in while helping Murdock carry the numerous tins of paint, and he is surprisingly reassuring when Hannibal tentatively asks.
“Don’t worry, boss.” The big guy pats Hannibal on the back as he leaves one night, nodding at Face who is watching curiously from the sofa. “Crazy fool isn’t going too crazy. Not yet, at least.”
In the end, it’s nearly two weeks before Murdock finally throws the nursery door wide open with a flourish and announces loudly, “It’s done!”
Hannibal takes Face by the hand to help him up from the sofa, then stays close behind him as his heavily pregnant husband moves carefully up the stairs. Face’s balance really hasn’t been great over the last few weeks, their baby sitting low and putting pressure on his hips, and the fact that he hasn’t pushed Hannibal away yet suggests he is grateful for the attention.
“Is it wrong that I’m more nervous now than before I had the operation?” Face whispers as they climb, and Hannibal snorts softly with laughter.
“Remember, I can paint over it if you hate it,” he whispers back, but then they are there, BA and Murdock standing to one side to reveal -
“Oh,” Face sighs happily, leaning back into Hannibal’s chest. “Guys, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Hannibal can hardly believe his eyes. It is indeed perfect. He never would have thought of it. “It’s a jungle,” he says in awe, wrapping his arms around Face’s disappeared waist and cupping the enormous bump gently. “Murdock, you’ve outdone yourself. And BA, thank you. I can hardly believe this is the same room.”
Their tiny little home office has been completely and utterly transformed. Bright blue sky and vivid green grass, trees complete with swinging monkeys and singing birds, a painted elephant leaning against the window. And all the nursery furniture is built, complete with jungle themed blankets and a whole brigade of stuffed jungle animals. There is even a rocking chair next to a bookcase, full to bursting with all the picture books they’ve been buying, with new additions that Hannibal hasn’t seen before.
“Hope you don’t mind,” BA speaks up from behind them. “Thought we might as well get it all in place for the three of you.”
“It’s absolutely perfect.” Hannibal can hardly speak for the lump in his throat. “Thank you, both of you. This is more than we could have ever asked for.”
“That’s what godfathers are for, right?” Murdock slips around them and into the nursery, looking a little nervous as he glances over at Face. “You really love it, Face-man?”
Face just nods wildly, tearing himself out of Hannibal’s hold and throwing his arms around Murdock’s neck.
This baby is certainly going to be spoiled, Hannibal suddenly realises with a grin, as BA steps up behind Face to add his own muscled arms to the embrace. And he pauses for only a moment before joining in himself.
22. Nesting
At first, Hannibal thinks he’s imagining it. With the nursery completed, it’s only natural that there are more pillows and blankets around the house than ever before. And as Face’s stomach grows ever larger, his aches and pains far more intense, it’s only natural that he spends more time resting on those pillows and snuggled in those blankets.
Then, it starts to manifest in other ways. Face has always been a tidy person, just as Hannibal is; as soldiers, it’s been ingrained into them for many, many years. But now, he’ll suddenly climb awkwardly out of his pillows to start reorganising their wardrobe, or refolding all the baby clothes in the nursery, for no obvious reason Hannibal can see.
One evening, Face spends an hour cleaning the kitchen work surfaces, when they weren’t dirty to begin with, waving off Hannibal’s offers of help. Then he mops the bathroom floor over and over again one morning, before collapsing into bed at noon and sleeping for nearly three hours. The house is vacuumed from top to bottom, the skirting boards scrubbed, and the DVDs filed alphabetically.
At least Face seems to know he’s acting a little unusually. “Please don’t ask me,” he begs Hannibal weakly, as he rearranges the picture books in the nursery for the third time that day. “I just need to do this. I don’t even know why.”
The faint sheen of tears in Face’s beautiful baby blue eyes tells Hannibal enough. He simply kisses Face on the forehead and quietly closes the nursery door behind him as he leaves Face to nest in peace.
23. Yearning
“I honestly think I’d kill for a beer right now.”
“We’ve got that alcohol-free brand, if you fancy?”
“That’s not beer. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not beer.”
“Only a few more weeks, sweetheart, then you can have that beer. And I can have a cigar.”
“I never once said you had to quit smoking, y’know. I just asked you not to smoke around me while I’m pregnant.”
“If you can’t have a beer then I can’t smoke. Fair’s fair.”
“No, fair would’ve been if you’d quit drinking alongside me. Rather than sipping that perfectly frosty bottled beer right in front of me on the hottest day of the year.”
“…I could go and drink it outside?”
24. Failing
Perhaps it had all been going just a little bit too well. Hannibal had prided himself in paying vigilant attention to how Face had been coping as he approached his seventh month of pregnancy, and of course he’d noticed the increased exhaustion and how uncomfortable Face had become as he developed a definite waddle in his step. But Face really had seemed to be coping, still smiling and still glowing, caressing the swell of his stomach and willingly taking things easy whenever he could.
Now, everything has changed in the blink of an eye, and Hannibal feels his heart might beat clean out his chest with fear. The medical staff are hovering nearby, each of them wearing a carefully constructed mask that barely hides their own growing sense of panic as they keep a close watch on their ‘experiment’, though the little room in the heart of the clinic is calm and quiet besides the soft beeping of monitors.
Face is asleep, as he has been for the last few hours, the peaceful eye at the centre of the storm threatening to tear Hannibal’s world apart. He is curled on his left side, his heavily pregnant body supported by numerous pillows and swaddled in warm blankets, dark shadows beneath his closed eyes and his hair lying flat and greasy on the pillow.
There are so many wires and cables snaking beneath Face’s blankets that Hannibal is almost scared to touch his husband at all for fear of disturbing one. Heart monitors, IV lines, a catheter, a pulse-ox monitor clipped to his finger. A whole bundle of cables Hannibal knows are connected to a wide band wrapped tightly around Face’s distended stomach, keeping a close watch on their baby.
Face may be struggling physically, but at least the doctors say their baby is still thriving.
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” A gentle hand comes to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, though he doesn’t startle. He’d heard the doctor step inside the room several minutes ago. “We’ll look after him, I promise. He’s stable and comfortable now, and we’ll call you if anything changes.”
Hannibal shakes his head once. He’ll sleep in the chair if he has to, but there’s no force on earth that can tear him away from Face tonight. “Stable?” he asks, his voice rough from the tears he’s been choking back since Face collapsed in their yard earlier this morning. “What about his kidneys? The nurse mentioned you were still concerned. And his heart, you said…?” His voice fails him entirely, and he can only shake his head again, staring at Face’s loosely closed eyes and the dark circles beneath them.
“We’ll keep a close eye on his urine output, Hannibal, and if necessary we can put him on dialysis, though I don’t think it will come to that.” The doctor walks around to stand at the end of Face’s bed, her eyes focussed on Hannibal rather than on her patient. “And his pulse is much stronger already, he’s reacting very well to the medication.”
“And that won’t harm the baby?”
“No, it’s quite safe, as I explained earlier.” She pauses, and Hannibal’s own heart stutters in his chest as he guesses what she’s about to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to even contemplate it, but, sure enough - “In the worst case scenario, if Face continues to grow weaker, we can actually deliver the baby now. At 29 weeks gestation the baby is certainly viable, though of course there may be complications and - ”
“No.”
The single whispered word of protest comes from Face, and Hannibal lurches to his feet to lean over the bed as washed-out blue eyes blink halfway open. “Stay still, sweetheart,” he urges desperately, stroking one hand through Face’s hair. “You need to lie still.”
“Don’t let them take her,” Face whispers, reaching out with a shaking hand that Hannibal immediately clasps loosely in his own. Face’s skin is far too cold despite the thickness of the blankets. “It’s too soon.”
“Face, if there’s no other choice - ”
“Save her, if it comes down to a choice between her or me. Promise me, John.”
Hannibal’s eyes blur with tears, his throat too closed up to speak. He wants this baby so very much, loves this baby so very much already, but not if the cost is Face himself. If he has to make that decision, if the impossible comes to pass, he knows he will choose Face every single time.
“Please,” Face whispers weakly, eyes fluttering shut helplessly as his fingers go limp in Hannibal’s grip, the doctor still watching the two of them silently and sadly from the foot of the bed. “If you love me, promise me you’ll save her.”
But Hannibal simply can’t make a promise he knows he will break in a heartbeat, and Face is asleep once more before the first tears finally slip from Hannibal’s eyes.
25. Naming
“I’d like it to mean something,” Face suddenly breathes, opening his eyes halfway when Hannibal had honestly thought he’d drifted back to sleep, midway through their conversation. “If that makes any sense?”
Hannibal squeezes Face’s hand gently, reassuringly. “I think I know what you’re getting at, sweetheart.”
“So we can agree to throw Murdock’s list of suggestions out of the window, right?” Face manages to crack a weak grin, and Hannibal can’t help but smile back at him, though he wishes with all his heart that they were having this conversation at home rather than in this tiny room deep in the clinic, this room which has become their home now and will remain so until the end of Face’s pregnancy.
“Agreed.” Hannibal is secretly glad Face feels that way about their friend’s generous suggestions. He could never call his child Zadok or Thor or Otter, or anything taken from either ‘Game of Thrones’ or ‘Lord of the Rings’. Those names might work for some people, but they just wouldn’t work for him, and thankfully it sounds like they wouldn’t work for Face either. “So, do you have any ideas? And do you mean you want the name to have a good definition, or - ?”
“No, I want it to mean something to one of us.” Face blinks heavily, a slight shiver running through his body, and Hannibal leans over to tug the blankets a little higher, careful not to disturb the heart monitor or IV lines. Face is doing so much better, but he’s still very weak.
“Like a family name?” he asks, settling back into his chair and taking hold of Face’s hand again. “Or naming them after someone we know? Someone who matters to us?”
Face smiles again, a little stronger now, as he closes his fingers around Hannibal’s as tightly as he can. “Exactly,” he whispers, blue eyes sparkling. “And we need to decide on both boys names and girls names, just in case. Though I really believe she’s a girl.”
Like choosing the colour of the nursery, this is a conversation they’ve been having over and over again since long before Face became pregnant, though it feels more imminent now. More urgent. Face is stable and comfortable enough, if weak and exhausted, but they are both very aware that the doctors might choose to deliver their baby any day now if his condition takes another turn for the worse.
Every moment feels like borrowed time.
“I do have one idea,” Hannibal says slowly, oddly nervous. He hasn’t mentioned this name before, for fear of Face hating it, but it’s now or never. “If it really is a girl, how about Emily?”
“Emily.” Face closes his eyes loosely, taking a deep breath. “After your Mom.”
Hannibal suddenly feels a little choked. He doesn’t remember ever telling Face about his long-deceased parents, but of course his husband knows. He steels himself. “Yes, after my Mom. What d’you think?”
A pause, then - “I love it. Emily Smith.”
“Emily Peck-Smith,” Hannibal corrects gently, and Face smiles briefly. “But as for boys’ names, I have to say I think there are enough ‘John Smiths’ in the world.” Hannibal is technically ‘John Smith Junior’, and as much as he loved his father he doesn’t particularly feel an urge to pass on his name to the next generation.
“Hmm.” Hannibal isn’t sure whether Face’s soft exhalation is an agreement or just a thoughtful little noise, but after a moment’s silence Face suddenly says, “I thought about David, maybe. Or Russell, if you liked.”
Russ would be proud and honoured, Hannibal knows, and he’s been nothing but supportive during this entire experiment. But then he thinks of Face’s mentor, the elderly priest who had been his husband’s one constant throughout the shifting landscapes of his childhood, and he just knows. “I think David would be absolutely perfect.”
Face breathes a tiny sigh, his smile growing a fraction wider though his eyes remain closed, and Hannibal abruptly realises that perhaps Face had been as nervous mentioning his mentor’s name as Hannibal had been suggesting his mother’s.
“So we have either an Emily or a David.” Face’s voice is barely audible, and Hannibal knows it won’t be long before he falls asleep now, his overtaxed body craving rest. “And we’ll meet them soon. We’re so nearly there.”
26. Fantasising
“Do you think they’ll want to become a soldier one day?” Hannibal asks, his quiet question seeming somehow too loud in the tiny enclosed courtyard behind Face’s room. “To follow in our footsteps?”
They’re so close. Face’s official due date is barely two weeks away now, and Hannibal has moved into the clinic in order to be by his side every moment of every day. It finally feels real, in a way it somehow hasn’t until this point, and they are both allowing themselves to give voice to their privately-held dreams.
“Maybe,” Face answers thoughtfully, his voice stronger than Hannibal has heard it in weeks. The doctors and nurses have been taking good care of him and their unborn baby, and near-total bed rest has helped enormously, to the point where Hannibal has been allowed to help his heavily pregnant husband into a wheelchair and bring him outside into the sun. “Or maybe she’ll be a dancer. Or an artist.”
Hannibal smiles, squeezing Face’s hand where he holds it in his lap. “He could be a musician,” he muses. “A lawyer. A doctor.”
“A writer, or a teacher, maybe.” Face suddenly gasps, pressing his free hand to his bulging belly, quickly reassuring Hannibal, “I’m okay, I’m okay. She’s just kicking me again. Or punching me. I’m not sure which.”
“Our little fighter.” Hannibal leans over to kiss Face gently, hoping to distract him from the momentary pain. “He or she wants out of there, I think. Must be a bit cramped by this point.” Face’s stomach looks about fit to burst, and Hannibal can’t even imagine how uncomfortable his husband must feel.
“I’m ready for them to be out of there, too,” Face confesses in a whisper, though he has a tiny smile on his lips as he rubs careful circles over his belly, shifting awkwardly in the wheelchair and squeezing Hannibal’s hand almost painfully tightly. “I’m about done with being pregnant now. I want my body back.”
“But no regrets?” Hannibal has to ask the question, though he’s positive he knows the answer, and sure enough Face’s answer is swift and decisive.
“Not a single one. In fact, I’ve been thinking, maybe…” Face tails off mid-sentence, shaking his head and biting his lower lip nervously.
Hannibal gives him a moment before prompting, curiously, “Maybe what?”
A long silence, then Face glances across at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, before finally continuing. “One day, maybe, if we decided this little one needed a baby brother or sister, then maybe I…” A one-shouldered shrug. “Y’know. Maybe.”
Oh. Wow. Hannibal hadn’t dared hope, though perhaps he might have dreamed. “Let’s see how we cope with just the one first,” he eventually replies, a huge grin splitting his face, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders to tug him as close as he can. “But I do like the sound of that. Only if the doctors say it’s okay, though. Only if it’s safe for you.”
“I’m talking about a few years down the line, John. Not next month.”
“By next month we’ll be parents.” It seems crazy when Hannibal says it out loud. “Changing diapers and heating bottles of milk. Singing lullabies and reading bedtime stories.”
“First steps. First words. First day at kindergarten.” Face sighs happily, dropping his head sideways onto Hannibal’s shoulder, his position awkward given the wheelchair and the bulk of his stomach though he clearly wants to be close. “First day at high school. Prom.”
“Picnics and family holidays,” Hannibal picks up the thread, swept up in a vision of the life he will have with Face and their children. It’s a life he’s always dreamed of, though he can barely believe it’s within reach. “Teaching them to ride a bike. Having a dog, or a cat, maybe. Or both.”
“Oh, both, definitely.” Face pauses, then, so softly Hannibal can barely hear, “Walking her down the aisle on her wedding day.”
The very thought is utterly breath-taking, and heart-breaking at the same time. They haven’t even met their little girl or boy yet. Hannibal isn’t even remotely ready to think about giving them away.
“Oh, the places you’ll go,” he says instead, feeling oddly choked, and Face laughs, correcting him gently.
“No, love. The places we’ll go.”
27. Anticipating
“I love you so much,” Hannibal whispers into the darkness of their little room in the clinic, spooned up close behind Face, his arms cupped around the heavy bump which holds their unborn baby. He can barely close his arms now around the circle of Face’s waist, a far cry from where they started all those months ago. “Have I told you that lately?”
Face laughs softly. “Only a thousand times today,” he teases, and Hannibal smiles.
“Only a thousand? Then I’ve not been doing my job properly, sweetheart.” Hannibal nuzzles into the soft hair on Face’s nape, breathing in as deeply as he can. Underneath the scent of antiseptic and sterile hospital soap, he can still smell something essentially Face, something sweet and spicy and perfect.
Face shifts backwards a fraction, pressing his back into Hannibal’s chest as much as he possibly can. “I love you too,” he whispers. “And tomorrow we’ll finally become parents. I can hardly believe it’s been nine months already.”
Tomorrow will indeed be the day, one way or another. Face is two days overdue now, and while that may not be much, the doctors are wary of letting him continue with the pregnancy any longer than he has to, even though he’s stronger and more stable than he has been for weeks. If Face doesn’t go into labour himself by mid-morning, they’ve decided they’ll induce him.
Better safe than sorry, after all.
Hannibal lifts his head from the pillows just enough to press a kiss to Face’s temple, rubbing one hand in gentle circles over the enormous swell of their baby. “You’ve been incredible,” he tells his husband, trying his hardest to pour all his love and pride into his words. “So brave, and so strong. So beautiful.”
“So fat,” Face breathes with another tiny laugh, sliding his own hand down to hold Hannibal’s tightly in place over his admittedly huge belly.
“So stunning,” Hannibal corrects immediately. “You’ll be an amazing Dad.”
“And you’ll be an amazing Papa. I really do love you so much.”
They lapse into a comfortable, expectant silence, knowing neither of them will sleep much but each of them content just to be close.
Tomorrow. Their lives will change forever tomorrow, and Hannibal simply can’t wait.
28. Delivering
It happens quickly, in the end. Nine long months and it’s over in minutes.
Well, not quite minutes, though it almost seems that way when Hannibal looks back afterwards. Face wakes with a sudden shout of pain in the early hours of the morning, startling Hannibal so much that he falls out of bed in his haste to summon help. Face is a solider, and he’s been hurt before, but Hannibal has never seen the love of his life in such agony as during the long two hours he suffers contractions before the doctors finally take him through for his C-section.
Apparently the contractions are good for their baby’s lungs, though Hannibal just focusses on trying to soothe Face, patting his forehead with a cool cloth and helping him remember his breathing exercises. Trying not to flinch when Face screams out every swear word he’s ever learned, in more than a dozen languages, cursing Hannibal himself to hell and back again. Trying not to scream himself when Face squeezes his hand so tightly Hannibal fears he may now have a few broken bones.
Then, in the blink of an eye, they are in the surgical suite, with Face drugged to the highest heavens and giggling rather than screaming. Blue drapes, blue scrubs for Hannibal, and Hannibal keeps his eyes on his husband’s face rather than watching the doctors as they work. He’s seen more than enough blood during his time at war; he has no desire to watch Face being cut open.
He and Face just smile at each other, Hannibal stroking his hand gently over Face’s forehead, and tune out the soft murmur of conversation from the busy team around them. But suddenly there is a sharp high-pitched cry, piercing the air, and the two of them gasp at the same moment.
Hannibal turns quickly to see their doctor already holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle towards him, and he leans closer, mesmerised.
A pink, squashed face. Bright blue eyes, wide open already, staring up at him.
He’s head over heels in love already, tears of joy streaming down his face, before the doctor says softly, “Would you like to hold your daughter, Hannibal?”
29. Parenting
“She looks like you,” Face whispers with a tired smile, clearly unable to tear his eyes away from their baby girl, who is sleeping peacefully and cradled safely in his arms. “She has your nose.”
“Oh, I very much hope that’s not true.” Hannibal has always hated his nose, though Face has repeatedly told him how much he loves it.
Face laughs very softly, still utterly entranced by their daughter, and shifts carefully on his mountain of pillows. “She’s her Papa’s girl alright.”
Emily. Hannibal can hardly believe she’s really here at last, after so many months of anticipation.
Ten pound two ounces, with bright blue eyes, long eyelashes, and the faintest wisps of light brown hair on her tiny head. A calm baby, so far, and curious, though maybe that’s a touch of wishful thinking. When she grips Hannibal’s finger in her tiny fist, he knows he would die rather than ever let anyone hurt her.
She’s absolutely perfect, in every possible way.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking in the dark circles under his husband’s eyes and the pallor of his skin. Four days after his caesarean, and Face is finally returning to the land of the living, still doped up on painkillers and hooked up to IVs of fluids. He’d gone into shock after Emily’s birth, unfocussed eyes slipping suddenly closed just as Hannibal held their daughter in his arms for the first time, and he’s been slow to recover after the voluntary trauma his body has been through over the last nine months.
Hannibal himself has spent the last four days on a rollercoaster of emotions, equal parts petrified and over-the-moon. He’s been worried sick for Face, though the doctors have been nothing but reassuring, even as he’s been falling head over heels in love with Emily at the very same time.
Finally being able to pass their daughter into his husband’s arms has felt like the single greatest achievement of Hannibal’s life.
Now, rather than answer Hannibal, Face just smiles again in his hospital bed as he strokes Emily’s cheek very carefully with one finger, hypnotised as he watches her continue to sleep. And Hannibal just has to smile in return at the beautiful picture they make, his handsome husband and his gorgeous baby girl.
Still, he worries, and eventually he asks again, “Face, please. How’s the pain?”
Face glances up at him briefly from beneath his long eyelashes, before looking back down at Emily. “You worry too much,” he whispers, but Hannibal shakes his head.
“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine.” Without even looking up, Face must somehow sense Hannibal’s doubtful frown, as he continues quickly, “Honestly, whatever they’re giving me for the pain is working. I’m not hurting. I’m absolutely exhausted, and even the thought of getting out of bed makes me want to sleep for a year, but I’m not in pain, I promise. And anyway, all the pain has absolutely been worth it.”
Thank goodness for that. Face does indeed look exhausted, but there is truly no hint of pain in his shining eyes, and Hannibal can breathe a small sigh of relief for the first time in days. Face’s stomach is still swollen, of course, though far less so than before the C-section, and the doctors are planning to keep him in for at least another week of observation. They warn that there may be withdrawal symptoms from some of the hormones and medications, and, as always, their key phrase is ‘better safe than sorry’. Their experiment isn’t quite over yet.
Hannibal doesn’t mind. He is staying in the clinic too, in a small room close by with Emily sleeping in a bassinet by his bedside, getting used to the initial shock of parenthood. Heating up bottles, changing diapers, and snatched moments of broken sleep pierced by sudden cries. They’ll all go home together, the three of them, when Face is strong enough, and begin their new life in the real world as a family.
For now, Emily sighs softly in her sleep, wriggling her tiny nose, and Hannibal watches as Face instinctively cradles her closer still. “Is she waking up?” Hannibal asks, leaning forwards in his chair. “She’s due a feed soon.”
“No, I think she’s good.” Face wrinkles his own nose a little. “Though I think we may have another situation brewing. Gosh. That’s a particularly powerful scent for such a little girl.”
Oh, the joys and delights of parenthood. Hannibal leans over the bed and tries to breathe through his mouth as he and Face share a tender kiss. He caresses Emily’s few fine strands of hair before lifting her carefully from Face’s sheltering arms, as gently as if he was handling the most sensitive grenade, and settles her against his chest just as she starts to grumble.
“You look good like that,” Face tells Hannibal, blinking up at them both with a tired yet bright smile. “Papa Hannibal.”
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Hannibal replies, almost without thinking, and, as if on cue, Emily blinks open her baby blue eyes and seems to smile up at him. Hannibal knows it’s not a true smile, not yet, but his heart melts into a thousand pieces all the same. “Hello there, beautiful. And thank you, Templeton. Or I guess I should say, Dad?”
When there is no answer, Hannibal glances up to see that Face has fallen asleep once again, his smile still in place though his lips are parted ever so slightly. Leaving him to his much-needed rest, Hannibal stands as carefully as he can and moves towards the changing table, switching his focus back to their daughter.
She seems so tiny in his arms, this unexpected and undeserved gift. Not bad for an old soldier, Hannibal can’t help thinking, still amazed at how his life has turned out. At one point he’d given up on ever finding love, then Face appeared out of nowhere. He’d never truly believed he would have children of his own, then the doctors found a way to help Face bring Emily into their family.
There will be numerous challenges ahead of them, Hannibal knows. There will be good days and bad days, but with Face at his side and Emily to love and protect and nurture, he is certain above all things that they will always be happy.
30. Dreaming
Face wakes with a sudden gasp, trembling all over as the dream slips quickly away from him, trickling through his desperate fingers like water. Blinking into the darkness of his prison cell.
Weighted down with a rolling, tumbling, kicking creature in his swollen stomach.
Hips and spine screaming in agony, bladder screaming for release, cock screaming for attention.
Imprisoned in a hell which he could never have imagined, from which there seems no escape.
Experimented on time and time and time again, with no permission sought, and no apology offered.
Tortured, even.
Without realising it, there are tears streaming down his face. It was a beautiful dream, but that’s all it was: just a dream. A fantasy of what might have been, in another world. This nightmarish reality has to end soon. He wants her out, wants his body back, wants his life back.
Things could have been so very different. In that other world, Hannibal might have asked Face, and in that other world, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. They could have had a family together. They could have been so happy.
That won’t happen now. It can’t. Face wants nothing to do with Hannibal, nor with the squirming baby he’s been forced to carry within his body. She means nothing to him. Less than nothing.
But still, if Hannibal had asked.
If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.
Sequel: Emily
16. Needing
“Are you awake, John?”
Hannibal smiles as he feels a teasing lick to his neck, though he keeps his eyes closed as he replies, “Nope.” He fakes a silly little snore, and Face actually giggles. There’s the click of the bedside light turning on, the soft glow barely visible behind Hannibal’s closed eyelids.
Then, a kiss to his collarbone, and a warm hand stroking down his arm. “You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you, husband-mine?” Face’s voice is husky, sounding almost breathless, though Hannibal isn’t worried, at least not about Face’s physical health.
He knows exactly what Face wants. It’s the same thing Face wanted when he woke Hannibal at dawn. The same thing he wanted in the shower before breakfast, then again after lunch, and twice again before they fell asleep. And, truth be told, at this point Hannibal is a little worried about his own role: the spirit is more than willing, always, but the flesh may simply not be capable. Not again.
Sadly, he’s not a young man anymore, though he’d shoot anyone who said as much to his face. He’s always struggled a little to keep up with Face’s libido, and advanced pregnancy seems to have kicked said libido into overdrive. Hannibal is fully aware that their baby is sitting heavily on his husband’s bladder and putting pressure on his prostate, leaving Face in a state of near-permanent semi-arousal that is driving him a little insane by his own reluctant admission, but Hannibal is starting to wonder if it’s time to invest in a few little blue pills for himself.
A demanding bite just above his right nipple startles Hannibal into opening his eyes with a gasp. “I would never lie to you, husband-mine,” he replies belatedly, as he looks up at Face kneeling on the bed by his side, cast in soft shadows from the lamp and with a predatory look in those beautiful baby blue eyes Hannibal loves so much. “Well hello there, handsome.”
Face looks utterly glorious, even with the most spectacular bed-head Hannibal has seen in a while. He’s still wearing the faded Rangers t-shirt he’d fallen asleep in earlier, the thin material loose over his shoulders and chest yet stretched tightly over the bulge of his stomach, but Hannibal can’t help noticing that Face seems to have somehow lost his boxer shorts.
Face smirks at him, one clever hand stroking up and down Hannibal’s arm again as the other reaches down between his own legs to take his hard cock in a loose grip. “Hello, boss,” he says softly, that huskiness growing deeper. “Wondered if you might be able to help me with this little problem I’ve got?”
“Not so little.” Hannibal feels a twitch of his own beneath the sheets as he watches Face stroke himself to full hardness, and any concerns he may have had about his ability to provide what his pregnant husband clearly wants - no, what Face clearly needs - disappear in a heartbeat. “How do you want me this time, sweetheart?”
Face starts tugging at the sheets, eventually giving up trying to fold them back neatly and just hurling them to the floor with a grunt. “Why don’t you let me do all the work this round?” he suggests with a wink.
For a moment Hannibal’s sleep-fogged brain isn’t entirely sure what Face might mean - a brief glance at the clock shows him it’s barely three in the morning - but then he is blessed with the gorgeous and erotic sight of his husband swinging one leg up and over to straddle him, hands braced on Hannibal’s shoulders as he shuffles himself awkwardly into position with some considerable effort.
Thank goodness Hannibal hadn’t had the energy left to get dressed before he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep earlier that night. That means he doesn’t have to waste time trying to strip now. Instead, his hands come up instinctively to rest on Face’s hips, thumbs stroking gently over the vivid stretchmarks on the sides of the swollen belly, guiding and supporting some of his husband’s weight as Face lowers himself into place, unerringly spearing himself on Hannibal’s waiting erection.
Face is still open and slick from their several earlier rounds of love-making, and the two of them groan in unison now as he sinks down, the added weight of their baby making their coupling harder and faster than it would have been once upon a time. Hannibal bites his tongue as his cock is suddenly surrounded in warm, tight heat, Face’s own cock pressed between the flat of Hannibal’s stomach and the bulge of his own.
“Oh god, right there.” Face throws his head back, exposing the long length of his neck and letting his mouth hang open as he gasps, “Fuck. That’s the spot.”
This position is incredible for both of them, but there really is little Hannibal can do to help. He keeps his hands on Face’s hips and simply stares up in wonder at the man who has put himself through so much in order to give them a child of their own, as Face pushes himself up a few inches before dropping back down, taking a breath before rising again and starting to ride Hannibal with a look of determination on his handsome features.
Penetrative sex has become a never-ending challenge as Face’s body changes steadily, his stomach rounding outwards and his chest becoming tender to the touch, and Hannibal has never in his life been one to back down from a challenge. He’s poured his heart and soul into finding new ways to keep Face satisfied, particularly when Face has been utterly exhausted and yet still desperately needy.
He’s taken Face from behind, and from the side, one hand cupped around the swell of their child. He’s pleasured Face with toys, with Face stretched out on his back or nestled in a sea of pillows, and he’s had Face in his lap on the sofa, and at the dining table, and on the bench in their yard.
But this position, with Face just using Hannibal to take his pleasure, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes him shout loudly with joy? This position, with Hannibal pinned to the bed beneath the weight of his husband and unborn child?
This position is Hannibal’s absolute favourite, and as Face abruptly tenses above him before spurting his release hot and wet between their bellies, Hannibal suddenly finds his own release with a shout as the world whites out around him.
17. Guessing
Face is convinced he’s carrying a girl, though of course he hates it when Hannibal teases him gently about his ‘mother’s instinct’. He talks about their little girl almost without conscious thought as he strokes his stomach, blaming her when he’s sick and dizzy before immediately apologising to her, and calling on her vote in order to outnumber Hannibal in any minor domestic dispute.
Though he hasn’t said it out loud, Hannibal knows Face thinks Hannibal wants a son. Face thinks Hannibal wants to play football with his boy, to raise a little soldier in their image, and to play rough and tumble in a way he wouldn’t dare with a little girl. Face jokes about it all quite casually on rare occasions, but Hannibal can tell his husband is genuinely a little nervous that Hannibal won’t love a little girl in the way he would love a little boy.
But the truth is, all Hannibal actually cares about is the health of his husband and their baby. Nothing else matters.
Hannibal already loves their little one more than he’d ever imagined possible, almost as much as he loves Face, though not quite. He’s the luckiest man in the entire world.
18. Weeping
Hannibal hates to admit it, but he’s at something of a loss. Face is the smooth talker, the man with the silver tongue who knows just what to say in any given situation. But right now Face is the one sobbing on the sofa for no obvious reason that Hannibal can see.
And Hannibal is terrified of saying the wrong thing.
Over the last few weeks, Face’s emotional highs and lows have grown ever more extreme and unpredictable. He might be laughing one moment then in floods of tears the next, and while Hannibal knows all it’s just the hormones messing with his husband’s system, he wishes with all his heart that he knew what to do or say.
To make things a little more challenging, Face might well look as if he’s swallowed a beach ball - though Hannibal would never dare whisper that opinion out loud - but he’s still a Ranger through and through. Hannibal has had to duck more than one punch when he’s made the cardinal sin of asking Face what’s been wrong.
It might have been something on the news, or something Hannibal said several days ago without thinking. Yesterday, Face had spent nearly two hours crying on the floor because he couldn’t tie his shoelaces without help, just about breaking Hannibal’s heart. Last week, he’d wept so hard he’d made himself physically sick because of the beauty of a rainbow.
Right at that moment, Face is slumped into the corner of their long, over-stuffed sofa, one hand resting limply on the mound of his bump and the other rubbing his eyes. Hannibal can hear the tell-tale hitch in his breathing and can actually see the shine of tears streaming down flushed cheeks as Face sobs quietly, barely moving.
In spite of the tears, and in spite of how uncomfortable Hannibal knows he must be, Face is still glowing. He is the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever seen, especially now he is swollen large with Hannibal’s baby, but saying that out loud might not be the best idea right now.
At times like these, Hannibal decides, actions speak louder than words.
Deliberately making his footsteps a little louder than normal in an attempt to let Face know he’s there, Hannibal crosses the room and sits carefully at his husband’s side, keeping a deliberate inch of space between their bodies just in case.
He needn’t have been so cautious. Face immediately turns sideways and buries his head in Hannibal’s chest, his bulging stomach pressing awkwardly into Hannibal’s side and one leg swinging up over Hannibal’s knee. “I hate you for this,” Face sobs, though the somewhat desperate way he grasps hold of Hannibal’s shirt suggests otherwise. “I really mean it.”
Hannibal gently rests his hands on Face’s lower back, right where he knows the worst of the pain has been lately, and tries not to smile as he feels Face’s tears soaking through his shirt. “I know you do,” he whispers, knowing Face doesn’t mean it for even a second. “But I love you.”
Face just sobs even harder, and Hannibal settles in to hold his husband for as long as might be necessary.
19. Fitting
“The doctors really didn’t think this through. There are no shops that make maternity clothes for men, because there are no other pregnant men!”
“I hear boyfriend-fit jeans are all the fashion these days - ”
“If you finish that sentence I’ll shoot you.”
“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”
“Seriously, though, what am I supposed to wear? Nothing fits any more, apart from my pyjamas.”
“Murdock is a dab hand with a sewing machine - ”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“You remember that ‘Flash’ costume he wore last Halloween? Made it himself.”
“…Can you imagine what he would make for me? I’d look even more of a freak than I already do.”
“You look gorgeous. You’re positively blooming. And how much harm could Murdock possibly do letting out your uniform pants?”
“Do you really want to find out?”
“It’s either that or wear your pyjamas to work. Or maybe you could take early leave - ”
“Again, finish that sentence and I’ll shoot you.”
20. Protecting
Hannibal knows he’s always felt protective over Face, since long before he put a ring on his man’s finger. Back when Face had first joined his unit, when he’d still been little more than a gangly teenager determined to prove himself to the world, Hannibal had instinctively wanted to make sure no harm came to such a brilliant, bright talent.
Face is a Ranger, of course, and over the years Face has proved time and again that he is more than capable of looking after himself. He’s also proved to be more than protective of Hannibal, too, going after anyone who dares to question one of Hannibal’s decisions with a fierceness that has even startled Hannibal at times.
But Hannibal has never felt more protective over Face than now, as the pregnancy moves into the third trimester and Face’s swollen belly somehow continues to grow. Face is a little slower and a lot heavier, easily exhausted and prone to headaches, and in addition his balance has become uncertain on occasion.
He has no doubt that Face could still take care of himself, but it’s Hannibal’s job to keep him safe and see that he has everything he could possibly need - blankets or fans, juice or snacks, a foot rub or a hot bath - particularly now Face has finally taken leave from work and is spending his days pottering around the house or resting.
That is, when they aren’t at the clinic.
The doctors are keeping an increasingly close eye on Face as their experiment continues, increasing their scans to twice a week along with more blood tests and booster injections. Hannibal feels at his most protective when Face is in their hands, though they are always gentle when they handle his aching body; Hannibal knows that, to the doctors and nurses, this is still an experiment first and foremost. They are thinking about developments in their fields of organ transplantation or fertility treatments and yes, they are also thinking about Face and the baby, but Hannibal knows in his guts that the science comes first for them.
He has a recurring nightmare, of a world where Face is held against his will, forced to undergo the experimental surgery and carry a child in his body with absolutely no choice in the matter. The doctors could do it, Hannibal has no doubt of that.
So every time the doctors start to get lost in the science, talking about ‘the host’ or ‘the subject’, Hannibal reminds them that their experiment has a name. Face.
Every time they start to talk about their ‘ideal outcome’, he reminds them that their outcome is his child. Hannibal’s baby girl or baby boy. Face’s baby, too, in every way that counts.
He doesn’t think the doctors would deliberately hurt Face or put their child at risk, but he won’t take that chance. For every second they are in the clinic, Hannibal stays glued to Face’s side, alert and on edge. He’ll protect Face from any threats that might come their way, even if those threats are only in Hannibal’s head.
But the fact that Face clings to his hand until the moment they step back out into the sunshine? That suggests that Hannibal isn’t the only one with nightmares.
21. Preparing
“So, we obviously can’t go with pink or blue, since we don’t know the sex.” Hannibal stares again at the folder of colour swatches Murdock has somehow put together, as a surprise present for them. “And I don’t think white is a great idea.”
“I absolutely agree.” Face rubs both hands in circles over his full stomach, sinking back carefully into the cushions piled behind his back with a tiny wince. “I don’t like the idea of gender stereotyping anyway. Though she’s a girl, I’m sure of it.”
Hannibal choses to ignore that last comment, though secretly he loves how certain Face is. “What about something like this?” he suggests, finger hovering over one page of various shades from lilac and lavender through to the deepest darkest purple.
“A bit gothic, don’t you think?” Face frowns, reaching out and turning the page to reveal - “How about silver? Or gold?”
“A bit ornate, if you ask me.” Neither of them are particularly showy people, though Face has always had more upmarket tastes than Hannibal, with his wardrobe full of designer clothes for off-duty days. All non-maternity wear, of course, much to his continued and vocal annoyance.
Another page turn. “Green?”
Hannibal shudders. “Reminds me of hospitals”
“Yellow?”
“Reminds me of vomit. And I think we’ll see enough of that when the baby gets here.”
“Hannibal!” Face smacks him gently on the arm, though he sounds more amused than annoyed, and Hannibal playfully winces. “What options does that leave us with, then? We are not painting the nursery black!”
“There’s always red, white and blue,” Hannibal jokes, then ducks out of reach with a laugh as Face tries to smack him again. “Or, we could take Murdock up on his offer?”
Face sighs, sinking sideways to lean against Hannibal, who gathers him in carefully with an arm around his shoulders. His swollen belly presses against Hannibal’s side, and he can feel their energetic baby rolling around lazily beneath the taut skin. “We really should’ve decided this months ago,” Face says softly, and Hannibal resists the urge to point out that they’ve been talking about decorating the nursery since long before they even got the go-ahead for surgery. They’ve just never quite been able to agree.
They’re soldiers, not interior decorators.
“So, Murdock?” Hannibal suggests again, in all seriousness. Their crazy pilot has been dropping increasingly unsubtle hints about helping them decorate, while BA is on standby to help Hannibal build the crib and changing table, currently stored in the garage still in their boxes. “How bad could it be?”
Another soft sigh from Face, more thoughtful than before. “I guess,” he says eventually, though to Hannibal’s knowing ear he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “It would be one less thing to worry about.”
Hannibal presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his husband’s curly head. “If we hate it, I can paint over it immediately,” he points out, and Face laughs at that, closing the folder of colours firmly with one hand and pushing it off Hannibal’s lap to land heavily on the floor.
“You make a most excellent point. You win, make the call.”
Murdock is, of course, over the moon when Hannibal phones him later that night, and he begins work the very next day. Hannibal doesn’t know quite how worried he should be when the pilot actually manages to fit a padlock to the door so neither he nor Face can sneak a glimpse at the work in progress, but BA has been allowed in while helping Murdock carry the numerous tins of paint, and he is surprisingly reassuring when Hannibal tentatively asks.
“Don’t worry, boss.” The big guy pats Hannibal on the back as he leaves one night, nodding at Face who is watching curiously from the sofa. “Crazy fool isn’t going too crazy. Not yet, at least.”
In the end, it’s nearly two weeks before Murdock finally throws the nursery door wide open with a flourish and announces loudly, “It’s done!”
Hannibal takes Face by the hand to help him up from the sofa, then stays close behind him as his heavily pregnant husband moves carefully up the stairs. Face’s balance really hasn’t been great over the last few weeks, their baby sitting low and putting pressure on his hips, and the fact that he hasn’t pushed Hannibal away yet suggests he is grateful for the attention.
“Is it wrong that I’m more nervous now than before I had the operation?” Face whispers as they climb, and Hannibal snorts softly with laughter.
“Remember, I can paint over it if you hate it,” he whispers back, but then they are there, BA and Murdock standing to one side to reveal -
“Oh,” Face sighs happily, leaning back into Hannibal’s chest. “Guys, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Hannibal can hardly believe his eyes. It is indeed perfect. He never would have thought of it. “It’s a jungle,” he says in awe, wrapping his arms around Face’s disappeared waist and cupping the enormous bump gently. “Murdock, you’ve outdone yourself. And BA, thank you. I can hardly believe this is the same room.”
Their tiny little home office has been completely and utterly transformed. Bright blue sky and vivid green grass, trees complete with swinging monkeys and singing birds, a painted elephant leaning against the window. And all the nursery furniture is built, complete with jungle themed blankets and a whole brigade of stuffed jungle animals. There is even a rocking chair next to a bookcase, full to bursting with all the picture books they’ve been buying, with new additions that Hannibal hasn’t seen before.
“Hope you don’t mind,” BA speaks up from behind them. “Thought we might as well get it all in place for the three of you.”
“It’s absolutely perfect.” Hannibal can hardly speak for the lump in his throat. “Thank you, both of you. This is more than we could have ever asked for.”
“That’s what godfathers are for, right?” Murdock slips around them and into the nursery, looking a little nervous as he glances over at Face. “You really love it, Face-man?”
Face just nods wildly, tearing himself out of Hannibal’s hold and throwing his arms around Murdock’s neck.
This baby is certainly going to be spoiled, Hannibal suddenly realises with a grin, as BA steps up behind Face to add his own muscled arms to the embrace. And he pauses for only a moment before joining in himself.
22. Nesting
At first, Hannibal thinks he’s imagining it. With the nursery completed, it’s only natural that there are more pillows and blankets around the house than ever before. And as Face’s stomach grows ever larger, his aches and pains far more intense, it’s only natural that he spends more time resting on those pillows and snuggled in those blankets.
Then, it starts to manifest in other ways. Face has always been a tidy person, just as Hannibal is; as soldiers, it’s been ingrained into them for many, many years. But now, he’ll suddenly climb awkwardly out of his pillows to start reorganising their wardrobe, or refolding all the baby clothes in the nursery, for no obvious reason Hannibal can see.
One evening, Face spends an hour cleaning the kitchen work surfaces, when they weren’t dirty to begin with, waving off Hannibal’s offers of help. Then he mops the bathroom floor over and over again one morning, before collapsing into bed at noon and sleeping for nearly three hours. The house is vacuumed from top to bottom, the skirting boards scrubbed, and the DVDs filed alphabetically.
At least Face seems to know he’s acting a little unusually. “Please don’t ask me,” he begs Hannibal weakly, as he rearranges the picture books in the nursery for the third time that day. “I just need to do this. I don’t even know why.”
The faint sheen of tears in Face’s beautiful baby blue eyes tells Hannibal enough. He simply kisses Face on the forehead and quietly closes the nursery door behind him as he leaves Face to nest in peace.
23. Yearning
“I honestly think I’d kill for a beer right now.”
“We’ve got that alcohol-free brand, if you fancy?”
“That’s not beer. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not beer.”
“Only a few more weeks, sweetheart, then you can have that beer. And I can have a cigar.”
“I never once said you had to quit smoking, y’know. I just asked you not to smoke around me while I’m pregnant.”
“If you can’t have a beer then I can’t smoke. Fair’s fair.”
“No, fair would’ve been if you’d quit drinking alongside me. Rather than sipping that perfectly frosty bottled beer right in front of me on the hottest day of the year.”
“…I could go and drink it outside?”
24. Failing
Perhaps it had all been going just a little bit too well. Hannibal had prided himself in paying vigilant attention to how Face had been coping as he approached his seventh month of pregnancy, and of course he’d noticed the increased exhaustion and how uncomfortable Face had become as he developed a definite waddle in his step. But Face really had seemed to be coping, still smiling and still glowing, caressing the swell of his stomach and willingly taking things easy whenever he could.
Now, everything has changed in the blink of an eye, and Hannibal feels his heart might beat clean out his chest with fear. The medical staff are hovering nearby, each of them wearing a carefully constructed mask that barely hides their own growing sense of panic as they keep a close watch on their ‘experiment’, though the little room in the heart of the clinic is calm and quiet besides the soft beeping of monitors.
Face is asleep, as he has been for the last few hours, the peaceful eye at the centre of the storm threatening to tear Hannibal’s world apart. He is curled on his left side, his heavily pregnant body supported by numerous pillows and swaddled in warm blankets, dark shadows beneath his closed eyes and his hair lying flat and greasy on the pillow.
There are so many wires and cables snaking beneath Face’s blankets that Hannibal is almost scared to touch his husband at all for fear of disturbing one. Heart monitors, IV lines, a catheter, a pulse-ox monitor clipped to his finger. A whole bundle of cables Hannibal knows are connected to a wide band wrapped tightly around Face’s distended stomach, keeping a close watch on their baby.
Face may be struggling physically, but at least the doctors say their baby is still thriving.
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” A gentle hand comes to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, though he doesn’t startle. He’d heard the doctor step inside the room several minutes ago. “We’ll look after him, I promise. He’s stable and comfortable now, and we’ll call you if anything changes.”
Hannibal shakes his head once. He’ll sleep in the chair if he has to, but there’s no force on earth that can tear him away from Face tonight. “Stable?” he asks, his voice rough from the tears he’s been choking back since Face collapsed in their yard earlier this morning. “What about his kidneys? The nurse mentioned you were still concerned. And his heart, you said…?” His voice fails him entirely, and he can only shake his head again, staring at Face’s loosely closed eyes and the dark circles beneath them.
“We’ll keep a close eye on his urine output, Hannibal, and if necessary we can put him on dialysis, though I don’t think it will come to that.” The doctor walks around to stand at the end of Face’s bed, her eyes focussed on Hannibal rather than on her patient. “And his pulse is much stronger already, he’s reacting very well to the medication.”
“And that won’t harm the baby?”
“No, it’s quite safe, as I explained earlier.” She pauses, and Hannibal’s own heart stutters in his chest as he guesses what she’s about to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to even contemplate it, but, sure enough - “In the worst case scenario, if Face continues to grow weaker, we can actually deliver the baby now. At 29 weeks gestation the baby is certainly viable, though of course there may be complications and - ”
“No.”
The single whispered word of protest comes from Face, and Hannibal lurches to his feet to lean over the bed as washed-out blue eyes blink halfway open. “Stay still, sweetheart,” he urges desperately, stroking one hand through Face’s hair. “You need to lie still.”
“Don’t let them take her,” Face whispers, reaching out with a shaking hand that Hannibal immediately clasps loosely in his own. Face’s skin is far too cold despite the thickness of the blankets. “It’s too soon.”
“Face, if there’s no other choice - ”
“Save her, if it comes down to a choice between her or me. Promise me, John.”
Hannibal’s eyes blur with tears, his throat too closed up to speak. He wants this baby so very much, loves this baby so very much already, but not if the cost is Face himself. If he has to make that decision, if the impossible comes to pass, he knows he will choose Face every single time.
“Please,” Face whispers weakly, eyes fluttering shut helplessly as his fingers go limp in Hannibal’s grip, the doctor still watching the two of them silently and sadly from the foot of the bed. “If you love me, promise me you’ll save her.”
But Hannibal simply can’t make a promise he knows he will break in a heartbeat, and Face is asleep once more before the first tears finally slip from Hannibal’s eyes.
25. Naming
“I’d like it to mean something,” Face suddenly breathes, opening his eyes halfway when Hannibal had honestly thought he’d drifted back to sleep, midway through their conversation. “If that makes any sense?”
Hannibal squeezes Face’s hand gently, reassuringly. “I think I know what you’re getting at, sweetheart.”
“So we can agree to throw Murdock’s list of suggestions out of the window, right?” Face manages to crack a weak grin, and Hannibal can’t help but smile back at him, though he wishes with all his heart that they were having this conversation at home rather than in this tiny room deep in the clinic, this room which has become their home now and will remain so until the end of Face’s pregnancy.
“Agreed.” Hannibal is secretly glad Face feels that way about their friend’s generous suggestions. He could never call his child Zadok or Thor or Otter, or anything taken from either ‘Game of Thrones’ or ‘Lord of the Rings’. Those names might work for some people, but they just wouldn’t work for him, and thankfully it sounds like they wouldn’t work for Face either. “So, do you have any ideas? And do you mean you want the name to have a good definition, or - ?”
“No, I want it to mean something to one of us.” Face blinks heavily, a slight shiver running through his body, and Hannibal leans over to tug the blankets a little higher, careful not to disturb the heart monitor or IV lines. Face is doing so much better, but he’s still very weak.
“Like a family name?” he asks, settling back into his chair and taking hold of Face’s hand again. “Or naming them after someone we know? Someone who matters to us?”
Face smiles again, a little stronger now, as he closes his fingers around Hannibal’s as tightly as he can. “Exactly,” he whispers, blue eyes sparkling. “And we need to decide on both boys names and girls names, just in case. Though I really believe she’s a girl.”
Like choosing the colour of the nursery, this is a conversation they’ve been having over and over again since long before Face became pregnant, though it feels more imminent now. More urgent. Face is stable and comfortable enough, if weak and exhausted, but they are both very aware that the doctors might choose to deliver their baby any day now if his condition takes another turn for the worse.
Every moment feels like borrowed time.
“I do have one idea,” Hannibal says slowly, oddly nervous. He hasn’t mentioned this name before, for fear of Face hating it, but it’s now or never. “If it really is a girl, how about Emily?”
“Emily.” Face closes his eyes loosely, taking a deep breath. “After your Mom.”
Hannibal suddenly feels a little choked. He doesn’t remember ever telling Face about his long-deceased parents, but of course his husband knows. He steels himself. “Yes, after my Mom. What d’you think?”
A pause, then - “I love it. Emily Smith.”
“Emily Peck-Smith,” Hannibal corrects gently, and Face smiles briefly. “But as for boys’ names, I have to say I think there are enough ‘John Smiths’ in the world.” Hannibal is technically ‘John Smith Junior’, and as much as he loved his father he doesn’t particularly feel an urge to pass on his name to the next generation.
“Hmm.” Hannibal isn’t sure whether Face’s soft exhalation is an agreement or just a thoughtful little noise, but after a moment’s silence Face suddenly says, “I thought about David, maybe. Or Russell, if you liked.”
Russ would be proud and honoured, Hannibal knows, and he’s been nothing but supportive during this entire experiment. But then he thinks of Face’s mentor, the elderly priest who had been his husband’s one constant throughout the shifting landscapes of his childhood, and he just knows. “I think David would be absolutely perfect.”
Face breathes a tiny sigh, his smile growing a fraction wider though his eyes remain closed, and Hannibal abruptly realises that perhaps Face had been as nervous mentioning his mentor’s name as Hannibal had been suggesting his mother’s.
“So we have either an Emily or a David.” Face’s voice is barely audible, and Hannibal knows it won’t be long before he falls asleep now, his overtaxed body craving rest. “And we’ll meet them soon. We’re so nearly there.”
26. Fantasising
“Do you think they’ll want to become a soldier one day?” Hannibal asks, his quiet question seeming somehow too loud in the tiny enclosed courtyard behind Face’s room. “To follow in our footsteps?”
They’re so close. Face’s official due date is barely two weeks away now, and Hannibal has moved into the clinic in order to be by his side every moment of every day. It finally feels real, in a way it somehow hasn’t until this point, and they are both allowing themselves to give voice to their privately-held dreams.
“Maybe,” Face answers thoughtfully, his voice stronger than Hannibal has heard it in weeks. The doctors and nurses have been taking good care of him and their unborn baby, and near-total bed rest has helped enormously, to the point where Hannibal has been allowed to help his heavily pregnant husband into a wheelchair and bring him outside into the sun. “Or maybe she’ll be a dancer. Or an artist.”
Hannibal smiles, squeezing Face’s hand where he holds it in his lap. “He could be a musician,” he muses. “A lawyer. A doctor.”
“A writer, or a teacher, maybe.” Face suddenly gasps, pressing his free hand to his bulging belly, quickly reassuring Hannibal, “I’m okay, I’m okay. She’s just kicking me again. Or punching me. I’m not sure which.”
“Our little fighter.” Hannibal leans over to kiss Face gently, hoping to distract him from the momentary pain. “He or she wants out of there, I think. Must be a bit cramped by this point.” Face’s stomach looks about fit to burst, and Hannibal can’t even imagine how uncomfortable his husband must feel.
“I’m ready for them to be out of there, too,” Face confesses in a whisper, though he has a tiny smile on his lips as he rubs careful circles over his belly, shifting awkwardly in the wheelchair and squeezing Hannibal’s hand almost painfully tightly. “I’m about done with being pregnant now. I want my body back.”
“But no regrets?” Hannibal has to ask the question, though he’s positive he knows the answer, and sure enough Face’s answer is swift and decisive.
“Not a single one. In fact, I’ve been thinking, maybe…” Face tails off mid-sentence, shaking his head and biting his lower lip nervously.
Hannibal gives him a moment before prompting, curiously, “Maybe what?”
A long silence, then Face glances across at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, before finally continuing. “One day, maybe, if we decided this little one needed a baby brother or sister, then maybe I…” A one-shouldered shrug. “Y’know. Maybe.”
Oh. Wow. Hannibal hadn’t dared hope, though perhaps he might have dreamed. “Let’s see how we cope with just the one first,” he eventually replies, a huge grin splitting his face, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders to tug him as close as he can. “But I do like the sound of that. Only if the doctors say it’s okay, though. Only if it’s safe for you.”
“I’m talking about a few years down the line, John. Not next month.”
“By next month we’ll be parents.” It seems crazy when Hannibal says it out loud. “Changing diapers and heating bottles of milk. Singing lullabies and reading bedtime stories.”
“First steps. First words. First day at kindergarten.” Face sighs happily, dropping his head sideways onto Hannibal’s shoulder, his position awkward given the wheelchair and the bulk of his stomach though he clearly wants to be close. “First day at high school. Prom.”
“Picnics and family holidays,” Hannibal picks up the thread, swept up in a vision of the life he will have with Face and their children. It’s a life he’s always dreamed of, though he can barely believe it’s within reach. “Teaching them to ride a bike. Having a dog, or a cat, maybe. Or both.”
“Oh, both, definitely.” Face pauses, then, so softly Hannibal can barely hear, “Walking her down the aisle on her wedding day.”
The very thought is utterly breath-taking, and heart-breaking at the same time. They haven’t even met their little girl or boy yet. Hannibal isn’t even remotely ready to think about giving them away.
“Oh, the places you’ll go,” he says instead, feeling oddly choked, and Face laughs, correcting him gently.
“No, love. The places we’ll go.”
27. Anticipating
“I love you so much,” Hannibal whispers into the darkness of their little room in the clinic, spooned up close behind Face, his arms cupped around the heavy bump which holds their unborn baby. He can barely close his arms now around the circle of Face’s waist, a far cry from where they started all those months ago. “Have I told you that lately?”
Face laughs softly. “Only a thousand times today,” he teases, and Hannibal smiles.
“Only a thousand? Then I’ve not been doing my job properly, sweetheart.” Hannibal nuzzles into the soft hair on Face’s nape, breathing in as deeply as he can. Underneath the scent of antiseptic and sterile hospital soap, he can still smell something essentially Face, something sweet and spicy and perfect.
Face shifts backwards a fraction, pressing his back into Hannibal’s chest as much as he possibly can. “I love you too,” he whispers. “And tomorrow we’ll finally become parents. I can hardly believe it’s been nine months already.”
Tomorrow will indeed be the day, one way or another. Face is two days overdue now, and while that may not be much, the doctors are wary of letting him continue with the pregnancy any longer than he has to, even though he’s stronger and more stable than he has been for weeks. If Face doesn’t go into labour himself by mid-morning, they’ve decided they’ll induce him.
Better safe than sorry, after all.
Hannibal lifts his head from the pillows just enough to press a kiss to Face’s temple, rubbing one hand in gentle circles over the enormous swell of their baby. “You’ve been incredible,” he tells his husband, trying his hardest to pour all his love and pride into his words. “So brave, and so strong. So beautiful.”
“So fat,” Face breathes with another tiny laugh, sliding his own hand down to hold Hannibal’s tightly in place over his admittedly huge belly.
“So stunning,” Hannibal corrects immediately. “You’ll be an amazing Dad.”
“And you’ll be an amazing Papa. I really do love you so much.”
They lapse into a comfortable, expectant silence, knowing neither of them will sleep much but each of them content just to be close.
Tomorrow. Their lives will change forever tomorrow, and Hannibal simply can’t wait.
28. Delivering
It happens quickly, in the end. Nine long months and it’s over in minutes.
Well, not quite minutes, though it almost seems that way when Hannibal looks back afterwards. Face wakes with a sudden shout of pain in the early hours of the morning, startling Hannibal so much that he falls out of bed in his haste to summon help. Face is a solider, and he’s been hurt before, but Hannibal has never seen the love of his life in such agony as during the long two hours he suffers contractions before the doctors finally take him through for his C-section.
Apparently the contractions are good for their baby’s lungs, though Hannibal just focusses on trying to soothe Face, patting his forehead with a cool cloth and helping him remember his breathing exercises. Trying not to flinch when Face screams out every swear word he’s ever learned, in more than a dozen languages, cursing Hannibal himself to hell and back again. Trying not to scream himself when Face squeezes his hand so tightly Hannibal fears he may now have a few broken bones.
Then, in the blink of an eye, they are in the surgical suite, with Face drugged to the highest heavens and giggling rather than screaming. Blue drapes, blue scrubs for Hannibal, and Hannibal keeps his eyes on his husband’s face rather than watching the doctors as they work. He’s seen more than enough blood during his time at war; he has no desire to watch Face being cut open.
He and Face just smile at each other, Hannibal stroking his hand gently over Face’s forehead, and tune out the soft murmur of conversation from the busy team around them. But suddenly there is a sharp high-pitched cry, piercing the air, and the two of them gasp at the same moment.
Hannibal turns quickly to see their doctor already holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle towards him, and he leans closer, mesmerised.
A pink, squashed face. Bright blue eyes, wide open already, staring up at him.
He’s head over heels in love already, tears of joy streaming down his face, before the doctor says softly, “Would you like to hold your daughter, Hannibal?”
29. Parenting
“She looks like you,” Face whispers with a tired smile, clearly unable to tear his eyes away from their baby girl, who is sleeping peacefully and cradled safely in his arms. “She has your nose.”
“Oh, I very much hope that’s not true.” Hannibal has always hated his nose, though Face has repeatedly told him how much he loves it.
Face laughs very softly, still utterly entranced by their daughter, and shifts carefully on his mountain of pillows. “She’s her Papa’s girl alright.”
Emily. Hannibal can hardly believe she’s really here at last, after so many months of anticipation.
Ten pound two ounces, with bright blue eyes, long eyelashes, and the faintest wisps of light brown hair on her tiny head. A calm baby, so far, and curious, though maybe that’s a touch of wishful thinking. When she grips Hannibal’s finger in her tiny fist, he knows he would die rather than ever let anyone hurt her.
She’s absolutely perfect, in every possible way.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking in the dark circles under his husband’s eyes and the pallor of his skin. Four days after his caesarean, and Face is finally returning to the land of the living, still doped up on painkillers and hooked up to IVs of fluids. He’d gone into shock after Emily’s birth, unfocussed eyes slipping suddenly closed just as Hannibal held their daughter in his arms for the first time, and he’s been slow to recover after the voluntary trauma his body has been through over the last nine months.
Hannibal himself has spent the last four days on a rollercoaster of emotions, equal parts petrified and over-the-moon. He’s been worried sick for Face, though the doctors have been nothing but reassuring, even as he’s been falling head over heels in love with Emily at the very same time.
Finally being able to pass their daughter into his husband’s arms has felt like the single greatest achievement of Hannibal’s life.
Now, rather than answer Hannibal, Face just smiles again in his hospital bed as he strokes Emily’s cheek very carefully with one finger, hypnotised as he watches her continue to sleep. And Hannibal just has to smile in return at the beautiful picture they make, his handsome husband and his gorgeous baby girl.
Still, he worries, and eventually he asks again, “Face, please. How’s the pain?”
Face glances up at him briefly from beneath his long eyelashes, before looking back down at Emily. “You worry too much,” he whispers, but Hannibal shakes his head.
“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine.” Without even looking up, Face must somehow sense Hannibal’s doubtful frown, as he continues quickly, “Honestly, whatever they’re giving me for the pain is working. I’m not hurting. I’m absolutely exhausted, and even the thought of getting out of bed makes me want to sleep for a year, but I’m not in pain, I promise. And anyway, all the pain has absolutely been worth it.”
Thank goodness for that. Face does indeed look exhausted, but there is truly no hint of pain in his shining eyes, and Hannibal can breathe a small sigh of relief for the first time in days. Face’s stomach is still swollen, of course, though far less so than before the C-section, and the doctors are planning to keep him in for at least another week of observation. They warn that there may be withdrawal symptoms from some of the hormones and medications, and, as always, their key phrase is ‘better safe than sorry’. Their experiment isn’t quite over yet.
Hannibal doesn’t mind. He is staying in the clinic too, in a small room close by with Emily sleeping in a bassinet by his bedside, getting used to the initial shock of parenthood. Heating up bottles, changing diapers, and snatched moments of broken sleep pierced by sudden cries. They’ll all go home together, the three of them, when Face is strong enough, and begin their new life in the real world as a family.
For now, Emily sighs softly in her sleep, wriggling her tiny nose, and Hannibal watches as Face instinctively cradles her closer still. “Is she waking up?” Hannibal asks, leaning forwards in his chair. “She’s due a feed soon.”
“No, I think she’s good.” Face wrinkles his own nose a little. “Though I think we may have another situation brewing. Gosh. That’s a particularly powerful scent for such a little girl.”
Oh, the joys and delights of parenthood. Hannibal leans over the bed and tries to breathe through his mouth as he and Face share a tender kiss. He caresses Emily’s few fine strands of hair before lifting her carefully from Face’s sheltering arms, as gently as if he was handling the most sensitive grenade, and settles her against his chest just as she starts to grumble.
“You look good like that,” Face tells Hannibal, blinking up at them both with a tired yet bright smile. “Papa Hannibal.”
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Hannibal replies, almost without thinking, and, as if on cue, Emily blinks open her baby blue eyes and seems to smile up at him. Hannibal knows it’s not a true smile, not yet, but his heart melts into a thousand pieces all the same. “Hello there, beautiful. And thank you, Templeton. Or I guess I should say, Dad?”
When there is no answer, Hannibal glances up to see that Face has fallen asleep once again, his smile still in place though his lips are parted ever so slightly. Leaving him to his much-needed rest, Hannibal stands as carefully as he can and moves towards the changing table, switching his focus back to their daughter.
She seems so tiny in his arms, this unexpected and undeserved gift. Not bad for an old soldier, Hannibal can’t help thinking, still amazed at how his life has turned out. At one point he’d given up on ever finding love, then Face appeared out of nowhere. He’d never truly believed he would have children of his own, then the doctors found a way to help Face bring Emily into their family.
There will be numerous challenges ahead of them, Hannibal knows. There will be good days and bad days, but with Face at his side and Emily to love and protect and nurture, he is certain above all things that they will always be happy.
30. Dreaming
Face wakes with a sudden gasp, trembling all over as the dream slips quickly away from him, trickling through his desperate fingers like water. Blinking into the darkness of his prison cell.
Weighted down with a rolling, tumbling, kicking creature in his swollen stomach.
Hips and spine screaming in agony, bladder screaming for release, cock screaming for attention.
Imprisoned in a hell which he could never have imagined, from which there seems no escape.
Experimented on time and time and time again, with no permission sought, and no apology offered.
Tortured, even.
Without realising it, there are tears streaming down his face. It was a beautiful dream, but that’s all it was: just a dream. A fantasy of what might have been, in another world. This nightmarish reality has to end soon. He wants her out, wants his body back, wants his life back.
Things could have been so very different. In that other world, Hannibal might have asked Face, and in that other world, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. They could have had a family together. They could have been so happy.
That won’t happen now. It can’t. Face wants nothing to do with Hannibal, nor with the squirming baby he’s been forced to carry within his body. She means nothing to him. Less than nothing.
But still, if Hannibal had asked.
If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.
Sequel: Emily