Nameless One, 15/
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".
Additional, Additional Notes: I've gone back and included this chart of chapters on previous posts and will update it regularly. I hope this makes things a little bit easier to navigate!
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
Murdock sends him flying, surrounded by sky and whirling eddies of airflow.
He finds him in the upstairs bedroom and leans against the doorframe, watching Murdock as he stares out the window. The curtains have been pushed back, blinds pulled up, window open to air out the faint musty smell. It smells like lemon furniture polish, freshly laundered cotton, and hay. Face breathes it in before he gingerly sits on the bed next to his friend. Murdock grins at him and there’s an answer to a question Face didn’t even know he had in the white flash of teeth.
“You don’t take your meds,” Face says. It’s not an accusation, not really, just an observation and he squelches that small voice inside of him that insists it’s not fair, that the team can only handle one type of crazy and that spot’s already been filled, brother.
“Sometimes I do,” Murdock admits. He sits back on the bed, letting his head and torso dangle upside down over the side, staring at the baseboards. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Face asks, frustrated with this game.
Murdock shrugs as best he can against gravity. “The point is, Facey, that you’ve got a choice here. I’m not afraid of my crazy, but seems like you are. So you gotta make a choice whether the crazy is who you are or whether you’re too afraid to find out who you are without it.”
That makes sense, in a weird, Murdockian kind of way. Face joins him, letting his body flatten out and lean back so that he’s joining Murdock upside down. Maybe a change of scenery will turn everything right-side up.
There’s a comfortable silence, when Murdock’s hand creeps down from where he’s thrown it across his chest, inches along the duvet, and grabs Face’s in his, letting their fingers intertwine. Face stares at them, long thin fingers tangling together on top of the flowery pattern.
“You made that choice?”
“Sure. Everyone does. Some people go their whole life bein’ so afraid of what their answer will be that they don’t even realize they already made it. They’re on the third floor.” Psycho ward, Face remembers. The ones considered a danger to themselves and others. The kind who cry at night and bang on the walls and keep insisting that they’re everyone except who they are. “But that doesn’t mean a thing for you. You gotta make that choice, Face-man. And don’t go usin’ me as an example. I’m one of a kind, baby.”
Face cracks a smile at that, glancing at Murdock and his wide grin. “That you are, buddy.”
“So there you go,” Murdock says, pleased, like he’s just made it easy and that crazy Face-guy keeps complicating things that are really very simple.
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe he’s just overthinking things, and what he really should be concentrating on is how good it feels to have someone holding his hand as easy as two kids, best friends, walking down the street to school and both scared and neither one willing to admit it; how warm the sunshine through the blinds feels on where his t-shirt has ridden up and the light pools on his skin; how everything is upside down and his brain keeps reminding him that he’s hanging the wrong side but his eyes keep telling him he’s right-side-up.
Maybe.
One way to find out, but for now, he's content to stare upside down out the window into that expanse of blue through the small square window, lying with his best friend on an old, well-loved bedspread on a summer day.
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".
Additional, Additional Notes: I've gone back and included this chart of chapters on previous posts and will update it regularly. I hope this makes things a little bit easier to navigate!
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
Murdock sends him flying, surrounded by sky and whirling eddies of airflow.
He finds him in the upstairs bedroom and leans against the doorframe, watching Murdock as he stares out the window. The curtains have been pushed back, blinds pulled up, window open to air out the faint musty smell. It smells like lemon furniture polish, freshly laundered cotton, and hay. Face breathes it in before he gingerly sits on the bed next to his friend. Murdock grins at him and there’s an answer to a question Face didn’t even know he had in the white flash of teeth.
“You don’t take your meds,” Face says. It’s not an accusation, not really, just an observation and he squelches that small voice inside of him that insists it’s not fair, that the team can only handle one type of crazy and that spot’s already been filled, brother.
“Sometimes I do,” Murdock admits. He sits back on the bed, letting his head and torso dangle upside down over the side, staring at the baseboards. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Face asks, frustrated with this game.
Murdock shrugs as best he can against gravity. “The point is, Facey, that you’ve got a choice here. I’m not afraid of my crazy, but seems like you are. So you gotta make a choice whether the crazy is who you are or whether you’re too afraid to find out who you are without it.”
That makes sense, in a weird, Murdockian kind of way. Face joins him, letting his body flatten out and lean back so that he’s joining Murdock upside down. Maybe a change of scenery will turn everything right-side up.
There’s a comfortable silence, when Murdock’s hand creeps down from where he’s thrown it across his chest, inches along the duvet, and grabs Face’s in his, letting their fingers intertwine. Face stares at them, long thin fingers tangling together on top of the flowery pattern.
“You made that choice?”
“Sure. Everyone does. Some people go their whole life bein’ so afraid of what their answer will be that they don’t even realize they already made it. They’re on the third floor.” Psycho ward, Face remembers. The ones considered a danger to themselves and others. The kind who cry at night and bang on the walls and keep insisting that they’re everyone except who they are. “But that doesn’t mean a thing for you. You gotta make that choice, Face-man. And don’t go usin’ me as an example. I’m one of a kind, baby.”
Face cracks a smile at that, glancing at Murdock and his wide grin. “That you are, buddy.”
“So there you go,” Murdock says, pleased, like he’s just made it easy and that crazy Face-guy keeps complicating things that are really very simple.
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe he’s just overthinking things, and what he really should be concentrating on is how good it feels to have someone holding his hand as easy as two kids, best friends, walking down the street to school and both scared and neither one willing to admit it; how warm the sunshine through the blinds feels on where his t-shirt has ridden up and the light pools on his skin; how everything is upside down and his brain keeps reminding him that he’s hanging the wrong side but his eyes keep telling him he’s right-side-up.
Maybe.
One way to find out, but for now, he's content to stare upside down out the window into that expanse of blue through the small square window, lying with his best friend on an old, well-loved bedspread on a summer day.