Keeping The Watch (H/F)
I loved Spot_On60's This And That collection, and Spot_On60 challenged:
"Here’s a suggestion for you, BUT only if you’re up for it. Take any of these and expand it into a longer version."
This little piece is the result of one such attempt. The first few lines, highlighted, are taken directly from 'This And That', with thanks to Spot_On60 for the inspiration and permission! It was originally only one part, but grew after encouragement from readers on ao3.
Part One
"How is he?" Murdock approached Hannibal as he watched over their LT: BA's sounding board; Murdock's best friend; and Hannibal's XO and life partner.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds. He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
Hannibal's eyes returned to the sleeping man whose head was cradled in his lap. He shook his head. "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
Murdock stood there for another few moments, waiting to see if their Colonel would change his mind, before creeping quietly away backwards towards where their other teammate sat, keeping watch.
“I guess he didn’t take you up on the offer then?” BA’s voice was hushed, alert as he stared out into the darkness of the desert.
“’Course not.” Murdock dropped to a crouch by BA’s side, rifle in his hands, his own eyes remaining locked on their comrades on the other side of the makeshift camp. “Face’ll be okay.”
Murdock was trying to convince himself as much as convincing BA. Face was a mess, his torso and belly wrapped in all the pressure dressings the team had carried, red stains showing through even in the soft glow from the emergency torches. An IED, just when they were nearly home safe.
War was a bitch.
“Face is made of tough stuff, man.” But BA sounded as unconvinced as Murdock felt. “And Hannibal won’t let him give up.”
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Good. Best thing for him.” Without turning from his watch for even a second, BA reached one big hand to pat Murdock on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Why don’t you catch some sleep too? I’ll wake you in a bit to take over the watch.”
Murdock shook his head, watching mesmerised as Hannibal stroked his hand gently through Face’s dirty, blood-streaked curls. Even from this distance he could see the older man’s lips moving; he wondered what words Hannibal of comfort was whispering to his wounded lover.
“They really are in love, aren’t they?” The words slipped from his mouth without conscious thought, and from the corner of his eye he saw BA glance over at him briefly, clearly confused.
“You only just figuring that out now? I knew you were crazy, but - ”
“That’s not it.” Murdock hadn’t felt quite this sane in a long, long time. Seeing your best friend nearly blown to pieces right in front of you tended to have that effect. “It’s just, they’re normally so private. We know they’re in love but we don’t see it much.”
“That’s ‘cause they’re professionals.”
Murdock dropped back from his crouch to sit completely on the cold, hard rocky floor, leaning sideways until he was pressed against BA. “But they could show it around us,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Me neither.” BA leaned into him almost automatically, his muscular body a solid wall of heat against the chill of the desert night. A few metres away, Hannibal tenderly adjusted the thin foil blanket wrapped around Face’s motionless body, tugging it up over his shoulders as if hiding the bloody bandages. “And they know that. But that’s just not what they do.”
“Hannibal’s so gentle with him.”
“He’s been gentle with us, too, when we’ve been hurt or sick.”
“But not like he is with Face.” A sudden pang of loneliness hit Murdock. “Do you ever think you’ll find that with someone? That kind of love?”
BA snorted softly. “If this is your way of asking me out, man, let me tell you now - ”
“No.” Murdock laughed, a bitter sound even to his own ears. “You ain’t my type, big guy, sorry to burst your bubble.”
“And you really ain’t mine, fool.” BA glanced sideways at him again, bumping their shoulders together companionably. “I don’t think about it,” he confessed quietly. “But yeah, I’d like it. One day. With someone.”
“Me too.” But who would ever want Murdock’s kind of crazy? Or BA’s kind, for that matter; there was a reason the four of them fitted together so well as a team, after all. “They’re really lucky.”
“I think Face might question that statement if he was awake right now.”
Murdock elbowed BA gently in the kidneys. “You know what I mean.”
A soft grunt, then - “Yeah, I know.” A long pause, both of them lost in their thoughts as the night closed in further around them.
Murdock couldn’t help remembering the first time he’d ever met Hannibal and Face, knowing almost instinctively that the two men were together. It had been a feeling, more than anything concrete, and it had been weeks before he’d even seen them hug, let alone kiss. He’d never once felt that the two men were hiding, though. It really was just how they were.
Private. Professional.
Deeply in love.
On the other side of the camp, Hannibal craned his head down to press his lips to Face’s forehead. It was a sign of how dire Face’s injuries were, Murdock knew, as their Colonel and his XO were never, ever demonstrative in the field. It was also a sign of the depth of Hannibal’s trust in Murdock and BA, knowing they would keep watch until extraction, allowing Hannibal to focus on Face.
“How much longer?” Murdock dropped his head down sideways onto BA’s muscular shoulder, adrenaline battling exhaustion, though he wouldn’t sleep. “’Bout an hour or so?”
“Give or take. Then another hour back to base.”
Maybe two hours total. Murdock settled his rifle more comfortably in his lap and sighed. Face would make it. Given what they’d survived in the past, two hours was nothing.
Two hours, then they could all sleep, once Face was safe in the arms of the medical team back at the FOB. Until then, they would each keep their watch; BA watching the desert, Murdock watching Hannibal, and Hannibal watching Face.
Part Two
"How is he?" Murdock’s soft voice barely reached BA’s position, though BA could still picture the scene behind him almost too easily: Hannibal still cradling Face’s broken body in his lap, Murdock hovering anxiously over them both.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds.” Hannibal sounded even more distant, somehow, a trick of the desert. “He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep." But BA knew exactly what their Colonel would say to that, and sure enough -
"No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
BA didn’t even blink, staring out intently into the dark of the desert night instead, rifle clutched tightly in his hands. He counted silently to ten, feeling more than hearing Murdock as the skinny pilot moved back over to his position, before asking, “I guess he didn’t take you up on the offer then?”
“’Course not.” Murdock dropped to a crouch by BA’s side with a sigh, facing back into the camp rather than peering out into the shadows. “Face’ll be okay.”
BA wished he could be so certain. They’d all been hurt before, a hazard of the job, but Face’s wounds this time were as bad as any BA had ever seen. His belly had been almost ripped apart by the force of the blast, his insides now held together by layers of bandages.
War was a bitch.
BA shook himself mentally. If ever there was a time for positive thinking, it was now, and Murdock needed the reassurance. “Face is made of tough stuff, man. And Hannibal won’t let him give up.”
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Good. Best thing for him.” Without turning from his watch for even a second, BA reached one hand over to pat Murdock gently on the shoulder. “Why don’t you catch some sleep too? I’ll wake you in a bit to take over the watch.”
He knew Murdock wouldn’t take him up on the offer, for the same reason Hannibal wouldn’t rest either. BA’s self-appointed place was keeping watch over the night until their extraction arrived. Murdock would watch Hannibal watching Face. And Face would hopefully sleep the pain-free sleep of the deeply drugged until they could get him into the hands of the best medics the Army had to offer.
“They really are in love, aren’t they?” Murdock suddenly commented, completely out of nowhere.
BA snorted in surprise. “You only just figuring that out now? I knew you were crazy, but - ”
“That’s not it.” Murdock sounded almost terrifyingly sane; BA figured that seeing your best friend nearly blown to pieces right in front of you might have that effect. The sight would certainly be haunting him in his sleep for the foreseeable future. “It’s just, they’re normally so private. We know they’re in love but we don’t see it much.”
“That’s ‘cause they’re professionals.”
Beside him, Murdock shifted until he was sitting completely on the cold, hard rocky floor, then leaned sideways to press himself against BA. “But they could show it around us. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Me neither.” BA leaned into him almost automatically, the familiar skinny yet strong body a comfort against the growing chill of the desert night. “And they know that. But that’s just not what they do.”
“Hannibal’s so gentle with him.”
“He’s been gentle with us, too, when we’ve been hurt or sick,” BA pointed out, remembering the countless times Hannibal had sat with one of them, a steady and reassuring presence.
“But not like he is with Face.” Murdock sounded strangely hesitant as he whispered, “Do you ever think you’ll find that with someone? That kind of love?”
BA snorted again, barely resisting the urge to twist and stare at his teammate. “If this is your way of asking me out, man, let me tell you now - ”
“No.” Murdock actually laughed, a bitter little noise. “You ain’t my type, big guy, sorry to burst your bubble.”
“And you really ain’t mine, fool.” BA risked a quick glance sideways at him, bumping their shoulders together companionably. “I don’t think about it,” he confessed more seriously. “But yeah, I’d like it. One day. With someone.”
There was someone out there for everyone - Hannibal and Face were living proof of that - and BA had always believed without a doubt that he would find his someone someday.
“Me too.” Murdock sighed. “They’re really lucky.”
“I think Face might question that statement if he was awake right now.” That earned him a not-so-gentle poke in the kidneys from one of Murdock’s bony elbows.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And BA did know. He’d known from the very first seconds he’d seen the two men together back in his van in Mexico, when Face had been riding high on adrenaline and Hannibal had been trying to appear angry, when all BA had been able to see was the incredible relief in the older man’s eyes that Face was safe.
Seeing the two men kiss for the first time, weeks later, hadn’t been a surprise. They just weren’t the demonstrative types, and never would be. Above all things they were private and professional, yet BA had never once doubted that they were very deeply in love.
“How much longer?” Murdock’s heavy head came to rest on BA’s shoulder. “’Bout an hour or so?”
“Give or take. Then another hour back to base.”
Two hours. Not long, not in the grand scheme of things, but BA found himself praying that Face would be strong enough to hold on. He was all too aware of his comrades and friends in the camp behind him, both suffering in unimaginable ways, while by his side Murdock kept a close watch over them.
But BA kept determinedly to his own watch and didn’t turn. Out in front of him, the darkness of the desert was almost total, no shadows or flickers of movement, let alone stars.
Only two hours. Two hours was nothing.
Part Three
"How is he?" Hannibal glanced up briefly at Murdock’s soft question, seeing the barely contained fear on his pilot’s face. He could only hope Murdock would hold it together a little longer; he couldn’t spare the other man much attention, nor could he feel guilty about that.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds,” he replied after a few moments. “He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here.” Exactly as Hannibal had expected, and it didn’t need an answer, but then Murdock offered, “I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
Hannibal simply returned his attention to Face, whose head was cradled in his lap. He shook his head. "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
He knew it made little sense from a tactical perspective. He should rest while he could; Murdock and BA had each managed a few hours’ sleep last night, while Hannibal and Face had been stealthily making their way across the desert to meet up with them. But there was no way Hannibal could rest now. He could barely blink, hypnotised instead by the shaky rise and fall of Face’s bandaged chest, terrified that it would cease.
Dimly, he was aware of Murdock backing away and moving across their makeshift camp to join BA, but the entirety of his focus was on his injured lover. He trusted that Murdock and BA would keep the watch until extraction arrived, though nothing would happen now. Hannibal could do nothing more to help any of them, especially his poor Face.
Hannibal should have seen it coming, should have stopped it happening. An IED, just when they’d all thought they were safe. He’d let his guard slip, missed all the warning signs. He kept replaying it all over and over in his mind; surely there must have been warning signs, somewhere. There must have been something he could have done differently.
If Hannibal could change places with his boy then he would, in a heartbeat. But Face was the one paying the price for his mistake. Face was the one with his stomach and chest torn open, glimpses of red guts and white ribs visible through the tears in his tanned flesh before they’d managed to wrap him tight in layers of pressure bandages.
“You never even made a sound, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmured, stroking his hand gently through Face’s bloody curls. “I’m so proud of you.”
Face’s bright blue eyes had been dulled with agony as he laid motionless on the dusty ground in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, his lips twisted and his breath coming in painful gasps, but he hadn’t even cried out in pain once. A good soldier, through and through. Hannibal’s most obedient and loyal soldier; he always had been, deep down, even when he’d chafed against orders and resisted training. Even before they’d become lovers.
A generous dose of morphine had finally sent Face to sleep, and his handsome face was now relaxed, the lines of pain gone from around his closed eyes and slightly parted lips. But where Face’s skin had been white earlier, now it was grey, his lips tinged with blue. Beneath Hannibal’s questing fingertips, his pulse was growing slower, irregular and increasingly hard to find. The bandages were soaked through with bright red, fresh blood.
They were running out of time.
“Don’t leave me,” Hannibal begged, the words slipping from his lips almost without thought as he carefully adjusted the foil blanket around his lover. Like this, he could almost pretend Face was just sleeping peacefully, with the bloody bandages hidden from sight. “You have to hold on for me, just a little longer. I can’t do this without you.”
It was a terrifying realisation. Hannibal had been a soldier for nearly thirty years, and Face had been by his side for almost half that time. They’d been comrades, then friends, then finally lovers. Face was the love of Hannibal’s life. He completed Hannibal in both a professional setting and on a deeply personal level.
To go on for even a single day without Face by his side would be utterly unthinkable.
On the far side of the camp, Hannibal could hear Murdock and BA conversing in soft, hushed tones, though he couldn’t make out their words. He knew without a doubt that they would keep the watch until help arrived, and he’d never been more grateful for their acceptance and support. Neither man had ever batted an eyelid when they’d first realised Hannibal and Face’s relationship went far beyond CO and XO, and the four of them were now knotted together as a family as well as a team.
They’d be worried sick about Face, but they would leave Hannibal alone with their wounded brother. They didn’t need to be told how desperate the situation was.
Hannibal could feel the damp warmth of Face’s blood soaking into his pants leg beneath the blanket, and swallowed down a wave of nausea. Face needed him to be strong. Hell, Murdock and BA needed him to be strong as well, but Hannibal had never felt more weak and helpless in his life as Face’s heart beat slower and slower with each passing second.
Craning his neck painfully, he leaned down and carefully pressed a lingering kiss to Face’s forehead. “I love you so much,” he whispered against his lover’s cool skin, though he knew in his heart that Face wouldn’t hear him under the influence of Morpheus. “I don’t tell you that often enough. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and you make me a better man just by being with me. Please hold on.”
Perhaps another hour until their extraction arrived. Another hour after that until they would be back at base. But with every moment that passed by, Face lost more precious blood, and the risk of a fatal infection grew exponentially higher. Hannibal was a realist, a planner, and a Colonel, and he knew the odds of his Lieutenant reaching base alive were virtually non-existent. Odds were good that his Lieutenant would breathe his last on this cold desert night, cradled in his CO’s lap, before the chopper even arrived.
But Hannibal was also a lover, and the lover in him absolutely refused to accept those odds.
Part Four
They think he’s asleep.
They think he can’t hear them, but they’re wrong. He can hear every word.
"How is he?"
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds. He's sound asleep."
Whatever they’ve given him has dulled the pain, at least. He was in agony, he remembers that much, though for the life of him he can’t remember exactly what happened to leave him in such intense pain. Everything is more than a little hazy. He was with Hannibal, he remembers that. He was with Murdock, and with BA, and then something happened.
Perhaps it’s better he doesn’t remember.
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
It’s Murdock, he realises, and talk about a crazy idea. He would laugh, but he can’t move a single muscle, no matter how hard he tries. But he knows exactly what Hannibal will reply, and sure enough, his lover soon says, "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
His heavy head is cradled securely yet tenderly in Hannibal’s lap, his limp body stretched out on the cool desert sands. He’s wrapped in tight layers, bandages most likely, or possibly a blanket. He’s safe. He’s protected. He’s loved.
He’s dying.
He prays he’s wrong. But he remembers the all-consuming agony, a fire ripping apart his chest and tearing his stomach open, in those endless moments before the world became this confused blur. He remembers blood, and he also remembers trying his hardest not to make a sound, desperate not to give away his team’s position. He hopes he succeeded. They’re all here, close by, so he must have succeeded.
A gentle hand strokes through his hair, pulling his fading attention back to the world around him. “You never even made a sound, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
If he could smile, he would. It’s as if Hannibal can read his mind. Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was true; Hannibal knows him inside and out, better than anyone has ever known him. Heart and mind. Body and soul.
Now, his body is weak, and his heart is failing. He can’t feel any pain, but he can feel the stuttering beat deep in his breast, just as he can feel the creeping coolness in his fingers and toes. He’s still bleeding.
But his mind and his soul are still here. He’s not giving in without a fight.
“Don’t leave me. You have to hold on for me, just a little longer. I can’t do this without you.”
Hannibal sounds broken, almost desperate. Hannibal should be focussed on the rest of the team, on keeping them all safe, but instead Hannibal is right here with him. Nothing more to be done but wait, clearly.
But a man like Hannibal should never be reduced to begging. It makes everything feel even more off-balance, like the world is somehow askew on its axis. A man like Hannibal should always be in control. A man like Hannibal should be laughing at the world while grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and convincing it to do his bidding.
Hannibal is the love of his life, and he hates hearing his lover beg.
Outside of the bedroom, at least.
But the truth is, he knows he would do the exact same thing if their positions were reversed.
Warm, dry lips are suddenly pressed to his forehead. A kiss, tender and full of all the love they have ever shared, and he wishes with all his heart that he could kiss Hannibal in return. But all he can do is lie there, feeling his heavy body becoming somehow heavier still, the sand beneath him growing damp with what he knows is his own blood. His heart beats slower now, and every breath is becoming a struggle.
And then, Hannibal starts to whisper, for his ears only.
“I love you so much. I don’t tell you that often enough. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and you make me a better man just by being with me.”
Oh, but the exact opposite is true. Hannibal makes him a better man. Hannibal has made him into the man he is today, moulding him and shaping him and showing him a better way to live. Hannibal amazes him every single day, by loving him and simply by staying with him.
But then, they really do complete each other. He worships the earth Hannibal walks on, but Hannibal is only human. Hannibal is fallible. Hannibal sometimes needs to be grounded, and at other times Hannibal needs to see the world from a different point of view. Hannibal is handsome and brilliant and flawed and imperfect and utterly perfect, all at the same time.
They are too tightly entwined to ever function separately now. And he will never, ever regret that.
“Please hold on,” Hannibal whispers, and it almost sounds as if there are tears in his voice.
He’ll try. That’s all he can do.
It might not be enough.
He is trying so hard, but any sense of choice is leaving him now, along with all his other senses. His hearing is starting to fade, and Hannibal’s whispered words start to lose their meaning. He can no longer feel the damp stickiness of his blood leaving his body. He can no longer feel his heart struggling.
But he will keep holding on. He will hold on for Hannibal, who can only keep watching.
* * *
He drifts, body numb and breath failing.
Time passes, infinite and endless, yet also immediate and present.
Voices fade in and out around him, and there is movement, but none of it reaches him. He’s afloat. He’s flying.
He’s going. No matter how hard he wants to hold on, he’s going.
But he’s not gone, not entirely. Not yet. There’s a sudden roaring in his ears, and more voices, and more movement, and he wants them all to just stop and simply let him be, but they don’t.
There are lights, bright behind his closed eyes, and a sharp pinprick that pierces the numbness, and then he really is gone, lost to a blackness so complete that it simply must be the end of everything.
* * *
And then, to his great amazement, he opens his eyes.
He’s alive.
He’s in a hospital, or a medical unit of some kind, surrounded by gleaming white walls and softly beeping machines, and with lots of incredibly good drugs coursing through his veins. The world is fuzzy at the edges yet bright and very real around him.
He blinks, and there is Hannibal, sitting patiently by his bedside, while Murdock and BA stand at the foot of his hospital bed. All three of them have clearly been keeping their self-imposed watch over him while he slept. It would be creepy if it wasn’t so completely wonderful. His lover and his brothers, right here with him.
He’s scared them all, and he’ll apologise later, when he regains enough strength to form words. For now, he settles for smiling up at them. He tries to pour all the gratitude he feels into his eyes, though he isn’t sure how well he succeeds.
Hannibal smiles back at him, blue eyes now shining brightly with happiness, and squeezes his hand very gently. BA visibly heaves a sigh of relief, muscular shoulders relaxing fractionally, while Murdock barks a delighted laugh and leans heavily against the bed.
They can take their own rest now, and stand down their watch at last.
"Here’s a suggestion for you, BUT only if you’re up for it. Take any of these and expand it into a longer version."
This little piece is the result of one such attempt. The first few lines, highlighted, are taken directly from 'This And That', with thanks to Spot_On60 for the inspiration and permission! It was originally only one part, but grew after encouragement from readers on ao3.
Part One
"How is he?" Murdock approached Hannibal as he watched over their LT: BA's sounding board; Murdock's best friend; and Hannibal's XO and life partner.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds. He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
Hannibal's eyes returned to the sleeping man whose head was cradled in his lap. He shook his head. "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
Murdock stood there for another few moments, waiting to see if their Colonel would change his mind, before creeping quietly away backwards towards where their other teammate sat, keeping watch.
“I guess he didn’t take you up on the offer then?” BA’s voice was hushed, alert as he stared out into the darkness of the desert.
“’Course not.” Murdock dropped to a crouch by BA’s side, rifle in his hands, his own eyes remaining locked on their comrades on the other side of the makeshift camp. “Face’ll be okay.”
Murdock was trying to convince himself as much as convincing BA. Face was a mess, his torso and belly wrapped in all the pressure dressings the team had carried, red stains showing through even in the soft glow from the emergency torches. An IED, just when they were nearly home safe.
War was a bitch.
“Face is made of tough stuff, man.” But BA sounded as unconvinced as Murdock felt. “And Hannibal won’t let him give up.”
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Good. Best thing for him.” Without turning from his watch for even a second, BA reached one big hand to pat Murdock on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Why don’t you catch some sleep too? I’ll wake you in a bit to take over the watch.”
Murdock shook his head, watching mesmerised as Hannibal stroked his hand gently through Face’s dirty, blood-streaked curls. Even from this distance he could see the older man’s lips moving; he wondered what words Hannibal of comfort was whispering to his wounded lover.
“They really are in love, aren’t they?” The words slipped from his mouth without conscious thought, and from the corner of his eye he saw BA glance over at him briefly, clearly confused.
“You only just figuring that out now? I knew you were crazy, but - ”
“That’s not it.” Murdock hadn’t felt quite this sane in a long, long time. Seeing your best friend nearly blown to pieces right in front of you tended to have that effect. “It’s just, they’re normally so private. We know they’re in love but we don’t see it much.”
“That’s ‘cause they’re professionals.”
Murdock dropped back from his crouch to sit completely on the cold, hard rocky floor, leaning sideways until he was pressed against BA. “But they could show it around us,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Me neither.” BA leaned into him almost automatically, his muscular body a solid wall of heat against the chill of the desert night. A few metres away, Hannibal tenderly adjusted the thin foil blanket wrapped around Face’s motionless body, tugging it up over his shoulders as if hiding the bloody bandages. “And they know that. But that’s just not what they do.”
“Hannibal’s so gentle with him.”
“He’s been gentle with us, too, when we’ve been hurt or sick.”
“But not like he is with Face.” A sudden pang of loneliness hit Murdock. “Do you ever think you’ll find that with someone? That kind of love?”
BA snorted softly. “If this is your way of asking me out, man, let me tell you now - ”
“No.” Murdock laughed, a bitter sound even to his own ears. “You ain’t my type, big guy, sorry to burst your bubble.”
“And you really ain’t mine, fool.” BA glanced sideways at him again, bumping their shoulders together companionably. “I don’t think about it,” he confessed quietly. “But yeah, I’d like it. One day. With someone.”
“Me too.” But who would ever want Murdock’s kind of crazy? Or BA’s kind, for that matter; there was a reason the four of them fitted together so well as a team, after all. “They’re really lucky.”
“I think Face might question that statement if he was awake right now.”
Murdock elbowed BA gently in the kidneys. “You know what I mean.”
A soft grunt, then - “Yeah, I know.” A long pause, both of them lost in their thoughts as the night closed in further around them.
Murdock couldn’t help remembering the first time he’d ever met Hannibal and Face, knowing almost instinctively that the two men were together. It had been a feeling, more than anything concrete, and it had been weeks before he’d even seen them hug, let alone kiss. He’d never once felt that the two men were hiding, though. It really was just how they were.
Private. Professional.
Deeply in love.
On the other side of the camp, Hannibal craned his head down to press his lips to Face’s forehead. It was a sign of how dire Face’s injuries were, Murdock knew, as their Colonel and his XO were never, ever demonstrative in the field. It was also a sign of the depth of Hannibal’s trust in Murdock and BA, knowing they would keep watch until extraction, allowing Hannibal to focus on Face.
“How much longer?” Murdock dropped his head down sideways onto BA’s muscular shoulder, adrenaline battling exhaustion, though he wouldn’t sleep. “’Bout an hour or so?”
“Give or take. Then another hour back to base.”
Maybe two hours total. Murdock settled his rifle more comfortably in his lap and sighed. Face would make it. Given what they’d survived in the past, two hours was nothing.
Two hours, then they could all sleep, once Face was safe in the arms of the medical team back at the FOB. Until then, they would each keep their watch; BA watching the desert, Murdock watching Hannibal, and Hannibal watching Face.
Part Two
"How is he?" Murdock’s soft voice barely reached BA’s position, though BA could still picture the scene behind him almost too easily: Hannibal still cradling Face’s broken body in his lap, Murdock hovering anxiously over them both.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds.” Hannibal sounded even more distant, somehow, a trick of the desert. “He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep." But BA knew exactly what their Colonel would say to that, and sure enough -
"No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
BA didn’t even blink, staring out intently into the dark of the desert night instead, rifle clutched tightly in his hands. He counted silently to ten, feeling more than hearing Murdock as the skinny pilot moved back over to his position, before asking, “I guess he didn’t take you up on the offer then?”
“’Course not.” Murdock dropped to a crouch by BA’s side with a sigh, facing back into the camp rather than peering out into the shadows. “Face’ll be okay.”
BA wished he could be so certain. They’d all been hurt before, a hazard of the job, but Face’s wounds this time were as bad as any BA had ever seen. His belly had been almost ripped apart by the force of the blast, his insides now held together by layers of bandages.
War was a bitch.
BA shook himself mentally. If ever there was a time for positive thinking, it was now, and Murdock needed the reassurance. “Face is made of tough stuff, man. And Hannibal won’t let him give up.”
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Good. Best thing for him.” Without turning from his watch for even a second, BA reached one hand over to pat Murdock gently on the shoulder. “Why don’t you catch some sleep too? I’ll wake you in a bit to take over the watch.”
He knew Murdock wouldn’t take him up on the offer, for the same reason Hannibal wouldn’t rest either. BA’s self-appointed place was keeping watch over the night until their extraction arrived. Murdock would watch Hannibal watching Face. And Face would hopefully sleep the pain-free sleep of the deeply drugged until they could get him into the hands of the best medics the Army had to offer.
“They really are in love, aren’t they?” Murdock suddenly commented, completely out of nowhere.
BA snorted in surprise. “You only just figuring that out now? I knew you were crazy, but - ”
“That’s not it.” Murdock sounded almost terrifyingly sane; BA figured that seeing your best friend nearly blown to pieces right in front of you might have that effect. The sight would certainly be haunting him in his sleep for the foreseeable future. “It’s just, they’re normally so private. We know they’re in love but we don’t see it much.”
“That’s ‘cause they’re professionals.”
Beside him, Murdock shifted until he was sitting completely on the cold, hard rocky floor, then leaned sideways to press himself against BA. “But they could show it around us. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Me neither.” BA leaned into him almost automatically, the familiar skinny yet strong body a comfort against the growing chill of the desert night. “And they know that. But that’s just not what they do.”
“Hannibal’s so gentle with him.”
“He’s been gentle with us, too, when we’ve been hurt or sick,” BA pointed out, remembering the countless times Hannibal had sat with one of them, a steady and reassuring presence.
“But not like he is with Face.” Murdock sounded strangely hesitant as he whispered, “Do you ever think you’ll find that with someone? That kind of love?”
BA snorted again, barely resisting the urge to twist and stare at his teammate. “If this is your way of asking me out, man, let me tell you now - ”
“No.” Murdock actually laughed, a bitter little noise. “You ain’t my type, big guy, sorry to burst your bubble.”
“And you really ain’t mine, fool.” BA risked a quick glance sideways at him, bumping their shoulders together companionably. “I don’t think about it,” he confessed more seriously. “But yeah, I’d like it. One day. With someone.”
There was someone out there for everyone - Hannibal and Face were living proof of that - and BA had always believed without a doubt that he would find his someone someday.
“Me too.” Murdock sighed. “They’re really lucky.”
“I think Face might question that statement if he was awake right now.” That earned him a not-so-gentle poke in the kidneys from one of Murdock’s bony elbows.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And BA did know. He’d known from the very first seconds he’d seen the two men together back in his van in Mexico, when Face had been riding high on adrenaline and Hannibal had been trying to appear angry, when all BA had been able to see was the incredible relief in the older man’s eyes that Face was safe.
Seeing the two men kiss for the first time, weeks later, hadn’t been a surprise. They just weren’t the demonstrative types, and never would be. Above all things they were private and professional, yet BA had never once doubted that they were very deeply in love.
“How much longer?” Murdock’s heavy head came to rest on BA’s shoulder. “’Bout an hour or so?”
“Give or take. Then another hour back to base.”
Two hours. Not long, not in the grand scheme of things, but BA found himself praying that Face would be strong enough to hold on. He was all too aware of his comrades and friends in the camp behind him, both suffering in unimaginable ways, while by his side Murdock kept a close watch over them.
But BA kept determinedly to his own watch and didn’t turn. Out in front of him, the darkness of the desert was almost total, no shadows or flickers of movement, let alone stars.
Only two hours. Two hours was nothing.
Part Three
"How is he?" Hannibal glanced up briefly at Murdock’s soft question, seeing the barely contained fear on his pilot’s face. He could only hope Murdock would hold it together a little longer; he couldn’t spare the other man much attention, nor could he feel guilty about that.
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds,” he replied after a few moments. “He's sound asleep."
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here.” Exactly as Hannibal had expected, and it didn’t need an answer, but then Murdock offered, “I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
Hannibal simply returned his attention to Face, whose head was cradled in his lap. He shook his head. "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
He knew it made little sense from a tactical perspective. He should rest while he could; Murdock and BA had each managed a few hours’ sleep last night, while Hannibal and Face had been stealthily making their way across the desert to meet up with them. But there was no way Hannibal could rest now. He could barely blink, hypnotised instead by the shaky rise and fall of Face’s bandaged chest, terrified that it would cease.
Dimly, he was aware of Murdock backing away and moving across their makeshift camp to join BA, but the entirety of his focus was on his injured lover. He trusted that Murdock and BA would keep the watch until extraction arrived, though nothing would happen now. Hannibal could do nothing more to help any of them, especially his poor Face.
Hannibal should have seen it coming, should have stopped it happening. An IED, just when they’d all thought they were safe. He’d let his guard slip, missed all the warning signs. He kept replaying it all over and over in his mind; surely there must have been warning signs, somewhere. There must have been something he could have done differently.
If Hannibal could change places with his boy then he would, in a heartbeat. But Face was the one paying the price for his mistake. Face was the one with his stomach and chest torn open, glimpses of red guts and white ribs visible through the tears in his tanned flesh before they’d managed to wrap him tight in layers of pressure bandages.
“You never even made a sound, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmured, stroking his hand gently through Face’s bloody curls. “I’m so proud of you.”
Face’s bright blue eyes had been dulled with agony as he laid motionless on the dusty ground in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, his lips twisted and his breath coming in painful gasps, but he hadn’t even cried out in pain once. A good soldier, through and through. Hannibal’s most obedient and loyal soldier; he always had been, deep down, even when he’d chafed against orders and resisted training. Even before they’d become lovers.
A generous dose of morphine had finally sent Face to sleep, and his handsome face was now relaxed, the lines of pain gone from around his closed eyes and slightly parted lips. But where Face’s skin had been white earlier, now it was grey, his lips tinged with blue. Beneath Hannibal’s questing fingertips, his pulse was growing slower, irregular and increasingly hard to find. The bandages were soaked through with bright red, fresh blood.
They were running out of time.
“Don’t leave me,” Hannibal begged, the words slipping from his lips almost without thought as he carefully adjusted the foil blanket around his lover. Like this, he could almost pretend Face was just sleeping peacefully, with the bloody bandages hidden from sight. “You have to hold on for me, just a little longer. I can’t do this without you.”
It was a terrifying realisation. Hannibal had been a soldier for nearly thirty years, and Face had been by his side for almost half that time. They’d been comrades, then friends, then finally lovers. Face was the love of Hannibal’s life. He completed Hannibal in both a professional setting and on a deeply personal level.
To go on for even a single day without Face by his side would be utterly unthinkable.
On the far side of the camp, Hannibal could hear Murdock and BA conversing in soft, hushed tones, though he couldn’t make out their words. He knew without a doubt that they would keep the watch until help arrived, and he’d never been more grateful for their acceptance and support. Neither man had ever batted an eyelid when they’d first realised Hannibal and Face’s relationship went far beyond CO and XO, and the four of them were now knotted together as a family as well as a team.
They’d be worried sick about Face, but they would leave Hannibal alone with their wounded brother. They didn’t need to be told how desperate the situation was.
Hannibal could feel the damp warmth of Face’s blood soaking into his pants leg beneath the blanket, and swallowed down a wave of nausea. Face needed him to be strong. Hell, Murdock and BA needed him to be strong as well, but Hannibal had never felt more weak and helpless in his life as Face’s heart beat slower and slower with each passing second.
Craning his neck painfully, he leaned down and carefully pressed a lingering kiss to Face’s forehead. “I love you so much,” he whispered against his lover’s cool skin, though he knew in his heart that Face wouldn’t hear him under the influence of Morpheus. “I don’t tell you that often enough. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and you make me a better man just by being with me. Please hold on.”
Perhaps another hour until their extraction arrived. Another hour after that until they would be back at base. But with every moment that passed by, Face lost more precious blood, and the risk of a fatal infection grew exponentially higher. Hannibal was a realist, a planner, and a Colonel, and he knew the odds of his Lieutenant reaching base alive were virtually non-existent. Odds were good that his Lieutenant would breathe his last on this cold desert night, cradled in his CO’s lap, before the chopper even arrived.
But Hannibal was also a lover, and the lover in him absolutely refused to accept those odds.
Part Four
They think he’s asleep.
They think he can’t hear them, but they’re wrong. He can hear every word.
"How is he?"
"Think he's finally given in to the pain meds. He's sound asleep."
Whatever they’ve given him has dulled the pain, at least. He was in agony, he remembers that much, though for the life of him he can’t remember exactly what happened to leave him in such intense pain. Everything is more than a little hazy. He was with Hannibal, he remembers that. He was with Murdock, and with BA, and then something happened.
Perhaps it’s better he doesn’t remember.
"It should only be an hour and a half or so before our extraction is here. I'll stay with him so you can get some sleep."
It’s Murdock, he realises, and talk about a crazy idea. He would laugh, but he can’t move a single muscle, no matter how hard he tries. But he knows exactly what Hannibal will reply, and sure enough, his lover soon says, "No. Thank you. I’m good where I am.”
His heavy head is cradled securely yet tenderly in Hannibal’s lap, his limp body stretched out on the cool desert sands. He’s wrapped in tight layers, bandages most likely, or possibly a blanket. He’s safe. He’s protected. He’s loved.
He’s dying.
He prays he’s wrong. But he remembers the all-consuming agony, a fire ripping apart his chest and tearing his stomach open, in those endless moments before the world became this confused blur. He remembers blood, and he also remembers trying his hardest not to make a sound, desperate not to give away his team’s position. He hopes he succeeded. They’re all here, close by, so he must have succeeded.
A gentle hand strokes through his hair, pulling his fading attention back to the world around him. “You never even made a sound, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
If he could smile, he would. It’s as if Hannibal can read his mind. Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was true; Hannibal knows him inside and out, better than anyone has ever known him. Heart and mind. Body and soul.
Now, his body is weak, and his heart is failing. He can’t feel any pain, but he can feel the stuttering beat deep in his breast, just as he can feel the creeping coolness in his fingers and toes. He’s still bleeding.
But his mind and his soul are still here. He’s not giving in without a fight.
“Don’t leave me. You have to hold on for me, just a little longer. I can’t do this without you.”
Hannibal sounds broken, almost desperate. Hannibal should be focussed on the rest of the team, on keeping them all safe, but instead Hannibal is right here with him. Nothing more to be done but wait, clearly.
But a man like Hannibal should never be reduced to begging. It makes everything feel even more off-balance, like the world is somehow askew on its axis. A man like Hannibal should always be in control. A man like Hannibal should be laughing at the world while grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and convincing it to do his bidding.
Hannibal is the love of his life, and he hates hearing his lover beg.
Outside of the bedroom, at least.
But the truth is, he knows he would do the exact same thing if their positions were reversed.
Warm, dry lips are suddenly pressed to his forehead. A kiss, tender and full of all the love they have ever shared, and he wishes with all his heart that he could kiss Hannibal in return. But all he can do is lie there, feeling his heavy body becoming somehow heavier still, the sand beneath him growing damp with what he knows is his own blood. His heart beats slower now, and every breath is becoming a struggle.
And then, Hannibal starts to whisper, for his ears only.
“I love you so much. I don’t tell you that often enough. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and you make me a better man just by being with me.”
Oh, but the exact opposite is true. Hannibal makes him a better man. Hannibal has made him into the man he is today, moulding him and shaping him and showing him a better way to live. Hannibal amazes him every single day, by loving him and simply by staying with him.
But then, they really do complete each other. He worships the earth Hannibal walks on, but Hannibal is only human. Hannibal is fallible. Hannibal sometimes needs to be grounded, and at other times Hannibal needs to see the world from a different point of view. Hannibal is handsome and brilliant and flawed and imperfect and utterly perfect, all at the same time.
They are too tightly entwined to ever function separately now. And he will never, ever regret that.
“Please hold on,” Hannibal whispers, and it almost sounds as if there are tears in his voice.
He’ll try. That’s all he can do.
It might not be enough.
He is trying so hard, but any sense of choice is leaving him now, along with all his other senses. His hearing is starting to fade, and Hannibal’s whispered words start to lose their meaning. He can no longer feel the damp stickiness of his blood leaving his body. He can no longer feel his heart struggling.
But he will keep holding on. He will hold on for Hannibal, who can only keep watching.
* * *
He drifts, body numb and breath failing.
Time passes, infinite and endless, yet also immediate and present.
Voices fade in and out around him, and there is movement, but none of it reaches him. He’s afloat. He’s flying.
He’s going. No matter how hard he wants to hold on, he’s going.
But he’s not gone, not entirely. Not yet. There’s a sudden roaring in his ears, and more voices, and more movement, and he wants them all to just stop and simply let him be, but they don’t.
There are lights, bright behind his closed eyes, and a sharp pinprick that pierces the numbness, and then he really is gone, lost to a blackness so complete that it simply must be the end of everything.
* * *
And then, to his great amazement, he opens his eyes.
He’s alive.
He’s in a hospital, or a medical unit of some kind, surrounded by gleaming white walls and softly beeping machines, and with lots of incredibly good drugs coursing through his veins. The world is fuzzy at the edges yet bright and very real around him.
He blinks, and there is Hannibal, sitting patiently by his bedside, while Murdock and BA stand at the foot of his hospital bed. All three of them have clearly been keeping their self-imposed watch over him while he slept. It would be creepy if it wasn’t so completely wonderful. His lover and his brothers, right here with him.
He’s scared them all, and he’ll apologise later, when he regains enough strength to form words. For now, he settles for smiling up at them. He tries to pour all the gratitude he feels into his eyes, though he isn’t sure how well he succeeds.
Hannibal smiles back at him, blue eyes now shining brightly with happiness, and squeezes his hand very gently. BA visibly heaves a sigh of relief, muscular shoulders relaxing fractionally, while Murdock barks a delighted laugh and leans heavily against the bed.
They can take their own rest now, and stand down their watch at last.