Nameless One, 13/
Title: Nameless One
Author: tripatch
Rating: R
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt, Face secretly takes meds for bipolar disorder. But for whatever reason, Face is no longer on his meds. Then the manic behavior starts, from getting into a mess of fights to needing to have tons of sex with strangers. Then when the emotional roller coaster stuff starts, Face begins cutting himself during the darkest times. His teammates notice, and try to help but Face is stubborn and refuses help, heavily in denial.
Additional Notes: Title taken from James Clarence Mangan's poem, "Nameless One".
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Missing Scene
Hannibal steadies him, holds him safe and secure when everything spins out of control around him.
Hannibal curls up with him on the couch, spooning him from behind, one heavy arm across his stomach, fingers curled around each other. Normally, Face would crack a joke, would kiss him again, would try and push for that conclusion they both want, but it’s not the ending of the story yet and they both know it.
Face stares at their twined bodies in the reflection off the TV screen.
“Kid, I-“ Hannibal sighs heavy in his ear, a warm gust of breath against his skin. “I didn’t know what was going on with you. I thought-We went through your stuff.” The hand around his waist tightens, like he’s afraid Face will bolt. “We found the medication. Murdock said it was for depression.”
“It is,” Face says, wondering where this conversation is going. He knows he should be insulted at the implication hiding in Hannibal’s words, but he can’t really blame him.
“The way you were acting, before,” Hannibal is tripping over his tongue in a way that he never does, “Murdock said-he said it was, said it was something else.”
Face rolls over in the narrow space, burrowing into the man’s broad chest. Those strong arms circle around him automatically.
“Did you know?”
“Yes,” Face admits.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hannibal says quietly.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Face murmurs. He’s not ready to go into this yet, not when it’s so fresh and raw, like a scab being picked at before it can heal properly. “I was handling it.”
The chest under his ear rises and falls deeply several times and Face realizes Hannibal is trying to take deep breaths, control his anger.
“I was handling it,” he insists.
“You weren’t-you aren’t, kid,” Hannibal says. One of his hands strays to the tender skin of Face’s forearm again. “B.A. and I went into town today. There’s a doctor...”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Face says, a hint of fire in his voice. It feels good for any measure of warmth after weeks of winter. He clings to it, stokes the flames. “I’m fine. It’s good, Hannibal, I promise. It hit me fast and I couldn’t stop it, but it’s gone now. I’ll be fine.”
“Templeton,” Hannibal sounds serious, “this stuff doesn’t just go away.”
“I can deal with this.”
“No one’s saying you can’t, kid, but you can’t do it alone. Just talk to him. Please.”
He keeps expecting it to be like those offices he visited, with the plush chairs and the therapy art hanging on the walls, comfortably bland and desperately trying to cover up the sterile atmosphere with manufactured hominess. He waits for Hannibal to pull out a card and press it into his hand with a sympathetic smile and hidden relief that he doesn’t have to be the one to deal with Face anymore, but instead his calloused thumb just runs a slow circle over the warm skin of Face’s palm. It’s not relief, but a respite. Hannibal will wait for him to decide. Hannibal wants him to ask first.
Face closes his eyes and presses his cheek into the fabric of the pillow, soaking up the warmth of Hannibal against his back, the gentle press of his lips against his ear, and waits.
Hannibal will wait with him, will wait for him, and that thought loosens the band that's been holding his breath trapped inside.
Author: tripatch
Rating: R
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt, Face secretly takes meds for bipolar disorder. But for whatever reason, Face is no longer on his meds. Then the manic behavior starts, from getting into a mess of fights to needing to have tons of sex with strangers. Then when the emotional roller coaster stuff starts, Face begins cutting himself during the darkest times. His teammates notice, and try to help but Face is stubborn and refuses help, heavily in denial.
Additional Notes: Title taken from James Clarence Mangan's poem, "Nameless One".
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Missing Scene
Hannibal steadies him, holds him safe and secure when everything spins out of control around him.
Hannibal curls up with him on the couch, spooning him from behind, one heavy arm across his stomach, fingers curled around each other. Normally, Face would crack a joke, would kiss him again, would try and push for that conclusion they both want, but it’s not the ending of the story yet and they both know it.
Face stares at their twined bodies in the reflection off the TV screen.
“Kid, I-“ Hannibal sighs heavy in his ear, a warm gust of breath against his skin. “I didn’t know what was going on with you. I thought-We went through your stuff.” The hand around his waist tightens, like he’s afraid Face will bolt. “We found the medication. Murdock said it was for depression.”
“It is,” Face says, wondering where this conversation is going. He knows he should be insulted at the implication hiding in Hannibal’s words, but he can’t really blame him.
“The way you were acting, before,” Hannibal is tripping over his tongue in a way that he never does, “Murdock said-he said it was, said it was something else.”
Face rolls over in the narrow space, burrowing into the man’s broad chest. Those strong arms circle around him automatically.
“Did you know?”
“Yes,” Face admits.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hannibal says quietly.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Face murmurs. He’s not ready to go into this yet, not when it’s so fresh and raw, like a scab being picked at before it can heal properly. “I was handling it.”
The chest under his ear rises and falls deeply several times and Face realizes Hannibal is trying to take deep breaths, control his anger.
“I was handling it,” he insists.
“You weren’t-you aren’t, kid,” Hannibal says. One of his hands strays to the tender skin of Face’s forearm again. “B.A. and I went into town today. There’s a doctor...”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Face says, a hint of fire in his voice. It feels good for any measure of warmth after weeks of winter. He clings to it, stokes the flames. “I’m fine. It’s good, Hannibal, I promise. It hit me fast and I couldn’t stop it, but it’s gone now. I’ll be fine.”
“Templeton,” Hannibal sounds serious, “this stuff doesn’t just go away.”
“I can deal with this.”
“No one’s saying you can’t, kid, but you can’t do it alone. Just talk to him. Please.”
He keeps expecting it to be like those offices he visited, with the plush chairs and the therapy art hanging on the walls, comfortably bland and desperately trying to cover up the sterile atmosphere with manufactured hominess. He waits for Hannibal to pull out a card and press it into his hand with a sympathetic smile and hidden relief that he doesn’t have to be the one to deal with Face anymore, but instead his calloused thumb just runs a slow circle over the warm skin of Face’s palm. It’s not relief, but a respite. Hannibal will wait for him to decide. Hannibal wants him to ask first.
Face closes his eyes and presses his cheek into the fabric of the pillow, soaking up the warmth of Hannibal against his back, the gentle press of his lips against his ear, and waits.
Hannibal will wait with him, will wait for him, and that thought loosens the band that's been holding his breath trapped inside.