Hook, Line and Sinker (Part Two)
Nov. 21st, 2010 02:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none yet...
Summary: Part two of three of a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Another Hannibal-meets-Face first time request, but with a twist. At that point, Face is one of/employed by the enemy. Either through ideals or lies or blackmail, Face is on the other side when Hannibal first meets him.
Hannibal, of course, sees the potential in the kid, and sets out to convince and/or seduce Face away from the Dark Side. Slash is preferred, but not strictly necessary.
Templeton Peck, conman and adopted son of mafia cappo Anthony Santori, gets more than he bargained for when he’s sent to take down the new VP of a major defense contractor, John Hamilton. Seducing John isn’t a problem. Dealing with the fallout, however... that gets a bit trickier, especially once he finds out who John really is, and what he’s trying to do.
As the cab pulled up in front of the non-descript office building that evening, Peck felt a surge of triumph and made sure he squeezed Hannibal’s hand in nervousness.
Blue eyes, no longer so familiar, softened in sympathy. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”
“Can you protect me from what they’re going to do if they find out about this?” He was worried about that, everything in him screaming about what Santori might do if he wasn’t informed about the specifics of the situation before finding out about it.
“I’ll keep you safe, kid.”
“I don’t know, John.”
Peck hadn’t been able to figure out what had been going on all day.
He’d had a sublimely effective break-down on John the previous night, who’d bundled him up into his arms and taken him back to bed. The older man had stayed awake for a long time, arm around Peck’s back, stroking his skin with those gun-rough fingers, staring into the darkness.
“I’m going to need your cell phone, kid,” John had told him when they woke, all the sweet closeness gone.
“Don’t trust me, John?” he asked. “I’m hurt.”
There hadn’t been an answer. Just a look on Hannibal’s face, one not belonging to a man accustomed to being disobeyed or questioned. Didn’t seem like John at all. Peck had felt another pang of loss, dull and deep, one that persisted still.
He’d handed over his phone and spent the day curled up on John’s sofa, watching daytime TV, while John made a ridiculous number of calls.
Now, the man was different Not incredibly, unrecognizably different. Just different. The commanding presence, the essence of him, hadn’t changed. It was incredibly subtle, Peck knew. The way he carried himself, the way light teasing had given way to more direct words. Building a distance. Subtle, but there. Like he was slipping into a different role as he guided a studiously anxious Peck up into the building and elevator and out into a mostly empty office, lights on in a glass conference room without exterior windows where a small group of men were waiting.
Was Hannibal peeling away the layers of John that he’d been hiding himself in these past few months, or was John simply being submerged back into Hannibal? Having some professional experience in the subject, Peck was leaning towards the latter. But he wasn’t sure.
Hannibal. It made him sick.
And he wasn’t sure to what degree Hannibal had been playing him.
So he balked, letting himself collide back into Hannibal, turning around and grabbing his hands before the military man could react. “John, please, I don’t know if this is a good idea...”
“I told you, I’ll take care of you, kid. That hasn’t changed,” he said, clearly exerting effort to not lean forward and hug him, a silent, pleading apology in his face. Peck understood, that stupid fucking policy about gays in the military, and he was liable to get Hannibal in some real trouble if he kept trying to test the boundaries. That would get him nowhere. But the boundaries were there, which meant Peck could use those boundaries against Hannibal, keep him on edge, keep him unbalanced, maybe tip him off completely, for insulting the Family...
“Right,” he said with just the right amount of hurt and nodded, letting go. “I’m okay.”
“Brave boy,” Hannibal said across the rift between them and thumbed over his shoulder to the conference room. “Let’s go meet the team.”
There was a massive amount of paperwork with something like this. Hannibal had already apologized for the necessity of it, but there was no way around it. Can’t protect you unless you’re in the system somewhere, Hannibal had explained. Peck didn’t care, as long as he was able to get to Santori in the next few hours and let the cappo know. Otherwise, once this filtered down to their FBI contacts, things could get ugly.
Hannibal held the door for Peck and closed it behind him. The young man balled his hands up into his pockets and shuffled his feet a little, fully well aware of the scrutiny being directed his way by the little group clustered around the table.
The colonel sat down at the head, and motioned for Peck to sit down opposite everybody else. It was unmistakable. The last little shreds of John were out of sight, tucked away. The older man was completely at easy, in command, Peck thought, and his stomach turned over. The wave of nausea come on too fast to hide, and Hannibal winked at him.
“Good, glad you all make it.” He pointed at Peck. “Everybody, this is the informant I spoke about on the phone this morning. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves...”
Peck’s eyes flicked over each of them as they spoke, trying to figure out what he was dealing with. A cute dark-haired man, head cocked just a little, HM Murdock, at your service, a big black guy with an incredibly dubious expression on his face, Corporal BA Baracus, and lastly a variety of suits that couldn’t be anything other than FBI. One of these last ones was staring at him, open-mouthed, and Peck grinned inwardly as the gaze flicked over to Hannibal.
“Aren’t you Special Agent Carter?” he asked the one who’d looked at him. “Yeah, I think you are.”
“Of everybody you could have flipped, Col Smith,” the man said, ignoring Peck completely, “I’m surprised it’s our little Templeton here.”
Hannibal raised an eyebrow at Peck, who belatedly realized he’d never told the man his first name. He hated using it, sounded ridiculous. “Why’s that, Carter?”
“He arrested a very good friend of mine a few years back,” Peck replied, still sounding nervous. He was feeling it. This guy knew him. Peck remembered that morning, the one where he’d been thrown out of bed by the SWAT team, the man next to him handcuffed and marched into the station in a bathrobe, all the evening’s surveillance equipment seized, all the needed blackmail material lost. Then he grinned. Time for some snark. “I didn’t know he’d remember me. I’m flattered you care.”
“You do know what he does for them, don’t you?”
“What he talked ‘bout, Hannibal?” the big black man, BA, interrupted, and Peck caught the anger in the words.
“What matters right now, corporal, is that Peck’s agreed to help us.”
“Ain’t nothing good about no gangsters, Hannibal...”
“Aw, BA, I think he’s kinda cute. A little cute gangster,” and that was the other man, Murdock, who was grinning like an idiot and doodling on a notepad. “Cute little baby gangster. Larval. Larval gangster.”
Who said shit like that?
“I am not a gangster,” Peck spat, trying not to crack up.
Carter, that FBI asshole, snorted. “No, no you’re not, Templeton. Would you like me to go over what we’ve got on you? How about...“
The noise was growing as little side conversations started up between the two military guys, the FBI agents, questions forming, and Peck shot a pleading glance over to Hannibal, begging for help. If he could only drive a wedge between Hannibal and the rest of this little task force...
“I’m well aware of what the kid does for the mob here,” Hannibal growled, effectively silencing the room. “Let’s get him processed and back to Santori before I have another armor failure on my hands,” Hannibal continued in an incredibly dismissive tone, and the FBI agents all exchanged a little look. Carter, shook his head and started pulling papers out of a folder by his elbow.
“Now, Templeton Peck, I want you to understand the seriousness of what you’re about to agree to here...”
+++++
By the time they were finished, Peck’s hand was cramping up from too many signatures, and the dark haired guy, Murdock, was cat-napping in his chair. BA looked extremely bored. There was something about those two, the way they looked at the colonel, the way they’d spoken to him over the past few hours, deferring to him completely, the loyalty he saw in both of them... he wanted it for himself. Those thoughts came up again, the ones about working for somebody like Hannibal, being there, every day, not just for a fuck and a cuddle, but for a real reason, for something real.
Peck realized he wanted to know what that felt like.
But here he was, betraying everybody in his life, John with his actions, his Family with his feelings...
“That’s the last one, Templeton,” Carter said, and Peck slumped back gratefully.
“Thank Christ, “ he muttered, and saw Hannibal smile at him. Wasn’t the same smile he’d been using the last few months, but it was pretty damn close. He smiled back weakly, and yawned. “So, I’m good?”
“We need you to wait outside while we confer,” the agent said, and he looked to Hannibal. The colonel nodded his head and waved him out, Murdock standing up to follow.
“No, captain, sit down. We need you in here. BA, can you watch him please?”
Murdock sank back down into his chair, grumbling in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.” It was actually a pretty good Michael Corleone impression, and Peck started laughing as BA ushered him outside.
“Crazy fool,” he growled at the man behind him, and then looked at Peck. “You gonna cause me any trouble, fool?”
“No,” Peck said cautiously. This was the one he was going to have to watch out for.
“Good. Cause I will beat your ass, no joke. Hannibal thinks he know what he’s dealing with in you, but I know better.”
“Based on what?”
BA just fixed him with a stare, and Peck’s first inclination was to start laughing. He thought better of it and quailed just a little, inwardly wondering how deep the ties between these three men went and what he would have to do to cut them apart.
It was a good ten minutes before the little group emerged from the conference room. Hands were shaken, pleasantries and thank-yous exchanges and Peck got one last icy look as the FBI left and it was just the military guys left, talking.
He let himself collapse up against the nearest wall, hand up in his hair. “I’m glad that’s over,” he muttered to himself, and looked up at Hannibal, who was clearly torn between his men and his shiny new informant. Peck mentally punched the air in victory when Hannibal was there, pulling him back up and patting him on the back.
“You did good, kid. I’m proud of you,” Hannibal said sincerely, and Peck literally had to fight to keep from surging in for an embrace, a tidal wave of emotion swelling up in him at those simple words. He cursed himself inside. Why should that affect him so much? Especially since Hannibal believed he'd just gotten Peck to betray his entire Family?
Peck didn't trust him, couldn't trust him, he told himself, because he's probably just playing you, using you while he works on his own plans...
Murdock looked at them both, and some kind of recognition seemed to come into those fevered eyes of his. “He another one of your projects, boss?”
Hannibal didn’t answer, but there was a clench of tension in his neck and a slight tightening of his eyes, like what this Murdock character had said hit home somewhere. Interesting. “You boys got a good place to stay while you’re here?”
“Have you seen the hotel rooms in this town?” BA complained. “Closets. Sharin' one with this fool...”
“We’ll get you an apartment as soon as we can, okay?”
Peck sniffled a little. “I could do that, if you’d like.”
“Aw, hell, no, Hannibal, I ain’t sleeping anywhere this fool finds...”
“BA, it’s just an offer. And no kid, don’t worry about it.” He turned around and looked at the two behind him. “You boys got the plan?”
“Batshit as usual, boss,” Murdock grinned.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to get Peck back to the dorms.”
Murdock pulled a very reluctant BA away, and the second the elevator doors closed, Peck practically leapt into Hannibal’s still-open arms, shaking. “John...”
Hannibal froze, and looked towards the elevator, relaxing considerably when he noticed it was shut, that they were alone. “Shh, I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”
“Your guys don’t seem to like me very much.”
“Murdock loves you, I guarantee it, and BA, well, he'll warm up to you.”
“Don’t take me back to the dorms tonight, John,” Peck begged. He kept a dorm room on campus, just for appearances’ sake and also because it occasionally came in very handy. But tonight, he couldn’t stomach the thought of it. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if he left Hannibal alone. He had to keep tightening down his hold on the man, keep him off-kilter. An absence tonight could undo weeks of work. “Don’t leave me alone after that.”
Hannibal seemed to hesitate, and then pulled him up for a long, slow, burning kiss that left them both breathless and panting. “After all this, I wasn’t sure if you’d still want...” he began when they pulled apart.
“I want, John,” Peck said, and Hannibal ran a reassuring hand through his hair.
“My brave boy,” John whispered and Peck felt that surge of emotion once more, but this time he couldn’t stop it, and he really was crying, and he told himself it was okay, that he could use it later, and he collapsed into the reassuring strength that was this man, scheming done for the evening.
Exhausted.
Safe.
No matter how self-delusional that belief might be.
+++++
Hannibal had given Peck back his cell phone when they’d gotten home, back to John’s apartment. And wasn’t that nice? He’d made his own calls, told Hannibal it was necessary, and the colonel just nodded.
Shmuck.
Trusting him like that...
Mr. Santori, making progress.
What kind of progress, Peck? Haven’t heard from you in a week or two...
It’s been worth it. You got time today, boss?
Tonight. Wife’s doing dinner at the house
Peck looked over the top of his coffee, black, strong, no bullshit. It was a crowded, noisy little place, one of those student coffee shops with an ironic name, carefully battered furniture and too many hipsters, but it was decent and they’d both just gotten out of class and he wanted to get this over with.
“How you been, Neo?” Peck asked serenely, batting his eyes at the redhead stumbling over his own feet to sit down. “You want anything? My treat...”
“You’re fucking crazy, man, you know that? Do you have any idea what you asked me to do last night?”
“Yeah, dig up some military records. I’m going to get you something. You want, what, a latte?”
“Did you hear what you just said? Military, Peck. Military networks. You know how illegal that is?”
“Mocha?” Peck joked, making like he was going to leave.
“Seriously!” the geek said urgently, and the conman slid back down into his chair. “This is beyond fucked up...”
“Okay, okay, get your voice down,” Peck said, and rubbed the geek’s knee under the table, smiling reassuringly. “Were you able to get those guys for me?”
The redhead fished a big document envelop out of his messenger bag and handed it over. “You owe me.”
“Getting pushy on me, buddy?” Peck snapped, letting a little edge into his voice and the geek sort of shrunk back into his chair. Satisfied, the conman reached in. “So, you don’t want to bore me with the details?”
The geek actually looked a little sick. “Damnit, man, so illegal...”
“You do this all the time. What’s the fucking problem?”
The redhead stood up and leaned forward over the little cafe table. “I’m not a motherfucking, shitsucking, manipulating, asshole criminal who shells for some bigger motherfucker downtown,” he hissed.
He just started shuffling the papers out of the envelop. Damn, this was thick. “Yes, but you still take it up the ass from me.”
“Let me tell you something, Peck. When you’re putting bullets through the heads of gangbangers who’ve pissed your boss off, I’m going to be working out in Silicone Valley making a shitload of money...”
“And drinking organic champagne and playing with diamond-studded buttplugs,” Peck replied with a little laugh. “Fuck your future.”
“At least I have one,” the redhead snapped.
Peck hadn’t know the pale grad student was even capable of that much anger. It took him aback, but he hoped it wasn’t showing. Why would it be? He was so good at lying. But it didn’t matter, because when he looked back up, the geek was gone.
He shrugged and went back to the papers.
We haven’t had you over for dinner in a while, have we, Peck? The wife’ll be glad to see you...
I’ll be there, Mr. Santori. Can I bring anything?
If you’d stop by Lugo’s deli and pick up my order...
Peck smiled and started skimming the papers.
It wasn’t a pretty picture.
Evidently, they specialized in the ridiculous.
Captain HM Murdock, decorated combat pilot and bugfuck crazy, judging by the psychiatric records. Corporal Bosco Baracus, moonlighted on the amateur MMA circuit and had a real bad attitude, according to his personnel evaluations. Lieutenant Colonel John Smith, aka, Hannibal.
John.
He paused at that one, realizing how much he wanted to know who this man was, like how much he used to love reading the backstory novels on video games and movies before his parents died. Having met a small part of him, he wanted to know all of him. Wanted to know everything.
And what was in there scared him.
Not like Santori scared him. Hannibal wasn't the kind of guy who’d take a fourteen year old orphan along on a hit and then enlist the kid’s help in weighing the body down in the East River. Take him out for ice cream after. Not that kind of scary.
This man was noble to his core. His record screamed of it, his actions shining through the dry military writing of performance reports and citations, entire sagas contained in short little lines of type. The thing about Iraq was true. So were a ozen other operations. Bosnia, Afghanistan, Somalia, the Philippines... it just went on and on.
The geek had even found a couple of articles, one from the Army Times, glossy printer photos, a funeral at Fort Bragg. Hannibal was there in his uniform, beret at a rakish angle, handsome as fuck. Little caption under the photo. LTC Smith oversees funeral of PVT Lewis, “Died a national hero...”
Peck felt his stomach turn over and he let the stack fall to the table.
Why?
This guy was just a job.
So what was going on with him?
+++++
He was still thinking about it that night, helping Maria Santori slice up the buffalo mozzarella he’d picked up for her. The entire crew was over, drinking beer and watching basketball in the huge living room. He’d always loved this house. Not so much for the heavy-handed American Revival decor, not for the ridiculous size of the place, but for that living room. When all the guys were over, laughing and drinking and bullshitting. Like a family was supposed to. He’d missed that, his year on the streets, the warmth of his parents’ tiny apartment, mom baking cookies, dad teaching him how to play poker and how to keep a straight face, so as not to give the game away.
But they’d died. Left him alone. None of the the family on the West Coast would come out and get him, and he’d escaped the CPS and their rules and their indifferent foster family, only to find the New York City was a rough place to be homeless in the winter. All the things he’d done, trying to avoid starvation...
And then Santori had found him and picked him up and he’d finished growing up in this house, in its big hallways and garlic-infused kitchen, guns hidden in practically every room. And he’d remembered dad’s lessons about poker face, and not showing what he was really feeling, not ever, so as not to lose the new family...
Peck suddenly wondered what his father might say, if he could see him now, if he knew what his son had done with that tiny kernel of knowledge. If he knew his son was busy screwing over a good man like John...
He didn’t even notice he’d cut himself until Maria was there with a paper towel, hustling him over to the sink, squeezing down on his thumb.
“You’ve been distracted all evening, baby. You feeling okay?” she asked and brushed a strand of hair out of his face. It was longer than he usually wore it, but John had made a comment about liking it long, so he’d let it grow. The man liked to run his fingers through it, grab big handfuls during...
“Fine, Mrs. Santori,” he said with a winsome smile, and she laughed, slapping him lightly and going back for her Pinot Grigio.
“Don’t you try your little conning cuteness on me, Templeton.” She was the only one who ever used his first name. Such a sweet woman, black-haired and just this side of heavyset. Fantastic cook. Somewhere between a big sister and an aunt to him, a MILF to his high school buddies. He had no idea how Santori had kept her all this time. “You’re hiding something.”
“Come on, ma’am, you know I can’t make you an accomplice to a crime.”
She cocked her head a little, letting the wine glass dangle between her fingers. She wore more jewelry than most rappers. It had always amazed Peck how she was able to keep them clean in all that cheese and tomato sauce and...
“It’s not about some job, honey. I know that look. I know that look very well. So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“What?”
Maria frowned. “You’re in love, baby. Don’t you see it?”
Gravity stopped working for a moment, everything sliding out of place and locking in at the same time. A little voice in the back of his mind started fucking cheering, being acknowledged for the first time, the truth of what had been nagging him for the past two months finally given a word and voice in this sweet Italian woman who washed bloodstains out of her husband’s clothes, who’d washed them out of his own...
He was too stunned to say anything at all.
She frowned, like she could tell she’d said something wrong, hit a nerve, and patted his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry about, Templeton. It happens to every man, sooner or later.”
“I’m not...”
“Not what, Peck?”
Santori. The conman threw Maria a desperate glance, and the woman, who’d spent most of her life around this thing of theirs, gave him a little nod and started laughing. Forced, but good enough for the half-bottle of wine she'd put down. “I was asking him about whether or not he was thinking about quitting school.” She always teased him about that. “He’s too smart for that fucking place.”
“Can I borrow him for a moment, love?”
The lovely woman waved them out with her wine glass. “Go, go, I can finish up here. Templeton cut himself anyway.”
The cappo led him outside, far enough away from the house out of the cold lawn, far enough to avoid any bugs that might be there. Being paranoid was typically a good idea in their line of work.
“So?”
Peck knew he had to say something, that he had to hide whatever he was feeling, that emotion he had to ignore right then, and he picked his words carefully. “He’s working for the DOD, investigating some bullshit about faulty equipment...”
“Can’t pin that on us,” Santori growled, sounding none too confident. “We collect from the company. It’s not our fault if they produce sub-standard equipment instead of taking a financial hit. We’ll work that. What’s your impression of the guy?”
“Dedicated. He’s pissed about this. Could work to our advantage...”
“Okay, make sure that it does. You need anything right now?”
“No, I’m good, boss.”
“One more thing before we head back inside.”
“Yes, boss?”
“We’re talking about opening the books in a month or two. I’m proposing you for membership.”
You are expendable, Peck
“...what?”
“The whole fucking-men thing is going to have to stop, but other than that, I think you’re ready. You’re a good earner and you’re fucking smart. We can use you, Peck.”
Kid, this is no life for you...
There was a snowstorm in his head, heavy and thick and he couldn’t see through it. so he fell back on instinct and went for the lie. The lies he was so good with. “That’s, that’s great news, Mr. Santori. I barely know what to say.”
“Good, good,” Santori said, laughing again. “Come on. Stop helping my wife with her bullshit, come watch TV.” The cappo clapped him on the back, and turned to go. Peck didn’t move for a few moments, rooted to that spot. He couldn’t help but remember Hannibal, remember John, doing that to him last night...
The man that I love.
He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted to scream it out. He wanted to laugh until he couldn’t breath, giddy, free to feel something he hadn’t known since the CPA had come to drag him away from twin graves that weren’t even covered with sod yet.
But he couldn’t do any of those things, he knew. Celebrate? Bullshit.
Now, like then, he wasn’t able to do anything but mourn.
And then he bit down the rage and got his feet moving, and followed Santori into the house.
+++++
It was almost too easy, manipulating this man.
Even if it had lost some of its sheen since last week’s revelation.
“Time to get up, kid,” John murmured against his ear.
Peck rolled into that warm sound, nudging his nose against the older man’s bare neck as he ran his fingernails lightly down John’s sides. He loved having this man naked now, really naked. The slide of skin on skin, the way he smelled, that light dusting of hair over sculpted muscle, even the scars that littered the otherwise flawless expanse. All his to touch and feel and lick now. Loved it. “Mmm, no, Wanna stay here.”
He felt an arm slide around his waist, and rolled his hips forward, letting John feel his morning wood. “Can’t, kid.” It wasn’t quite forceful enough. “The team’s going to be in here in a few minutes.”
“And you haven’t told them.” Peck pushed himself away with that, like it hurt him, and it did, but he wasn’t normally the pouty type. If John wanted to hide who he was from the rest of the world from now until the end of time, that was none of Peck’s business. He himself was inclined to laugh it off and give John a blowjob, getting them both cleaned and dressed just in the nick of time. Peck was still having to play the rent boy.
But he was okay with that. He didn’t trust his own judgment right now. It was easier to play the role, the overlapping and conflicting roles, than it was to be honest right now. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
“Kid, we talked about this,” and those blue eyes were sad again. He was a man far too used to it, Peck thought to himself. “I can’t tell them.”
“I know, I know. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Your fucking enlightened military that hates the gays,” Peck said sarcastically, and shimmied out of the sheets before John could kiss him, fishing around on the floor for his jeans, shaking them out.
The other man sat up and moved back against the headboard, hands open, emploring. “It doesn’t change anything, kid.”
Peck sniffed his shirt. Could he get away with this? He was a college student, wasn’t he? He pulled it on. “Right. Absolutely changes nothing. You can’t tell your buddies there you’re gay because of your job, can’t tell them about us because of your job. None of it’s your fault.” What had he done with his socks? “You’re really just a victim in this situation. Poor gay victim of the military’s bullshit. Don’t worry, I understand.”
“I don’t...”
“What? Don’t think of yourself as a victim? Guess it would be a little hard, Hannibal...”
And either John had some kind of super speed or Peck's quest for his left sock had consumed him to the point where he’d just blocked it out, but suddenly there John was, right in front of him, hauling him up by the arm.
Not speaking. Some hard grief in his face that Peck knew he wouldn’t give voice to.
Peck stared at the man’s hand, clenching down just below his shoulder, fingers almost touching. He swallowed, like he was far more nervous than he was. “What? Gonna throw me out for using your real name?”
“John is my real name,” he said softly.
Definitely not what he’d been thinking. But Peck could work with that - it was still real. He’d rather it be something less, rather than more, hurtful at this point. He couldn’t afford to start pulling his punches, not now, though, and so he pushed through the little film of nausea that seemed to coat all such actions there days and went for it.
The conman smiled, matching that sadness he always saw in this man, and touched his cheek. “Not from what I’ve seen in last couple of days.”
“Don’t be like this, kid.”
“No,” he said, and knocked John’s, Hannibal’s, whoever’s hand off his arm, “no, you’re right. I’m being an idiot. We, this... my life...” and he tried to force a smile, like he was fighting with himself. It wasn’t hard to fake. “I understand.”
The older man laid his forearms on Peck’s shoulders, possessive and strong, and smiled down at him, playing with the short hairs on the back on his neck. The door buzzer rang, letting them know that Murdock and BA were downstairs, right now, standing in the morning cold, wanting to be let in and let up. John didn’t budge.
Peck shoved a hand in his pocket and squirmed a little. He honestly had no idea what the man was doing, what he was looking at. “John?” he asked, hating the uncertainty creeping into his voice, not knowing how to stop it. “Shouldn’t you let them in? BA’s already pissed enough about this assignment.”
“He’ll get over it,” John murmured, that blissful expression really starting to confuse the younger man now, and leaning in until his lips were very nearly touching Peck’s ear. “You’re beautiful, Templeton. You’re the most beautiful thing I...” and there he faltered, smile failing, like he was unsure of himself, and Peck shifted a little, one of his hands splayed out on the older man’s flat abs. John took a breath, and smiled again. “Well, you know.”
The buzzer rang again.
“I’ll go let them in,” Peck said, pressing a kiss into one of those calloused palms as he untangled John’s arms, reaching down and hooking up the older man’s pants by a belt loop. And he didn’t look back as he fled.
He barely managed to get himself out the room, out into the little central room with its television and kitchenette unit. Peck hit the button to open the door and got the cereal out of one of the small cupboards. Lucky Charms, the kind the pilot seemed to like so much. He poured himself a huge bowl and drowned it in milk and took himself over to the sofa, switching on the TV. Saturday morning cartoons. Thoughtless, easy.
Peck crossed his legs up under him on the cushion and noticed, with his first bite, that his hands were shaking. Why? Because John had just called him beautiful? He’d heard that before, heard it from other men before. He fucking knew what he looked like. He worked on it. He used it.
No, it wasn’t the word itself. It was the way John had said it, the way John had used his name, whispered it like some kind of prayer. No mark had ever used it on him before. No mark had ever spoken to him like that. Raw need and affection and something else, something selfless. He hadn’t said it because he was looking for anything in return.
He’d said it for Peck’s benefit. Peck’s benefit alone.
His eyes stung. What was it with this man and his goddamn selflessness?
There was a knock on the door, more a hard pounding than an informative tap, and there was he was, right behind Peck, sliding a hand down his chest.
“You’re a better man than you think you are, kid,” John said, low and honestly. “You’d figure that out, if you just let yourself.”
And what was Peck supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to feel about that?
The younger man just stared at the TV, not really registering the door opening or Hannibal’s voice, greeting his men, until Murdock flopped down next to him. He’d come to really like the pilot over the last couple of meetings. He was definitely crazy, like the time he’d brought sock puppets and acted out Hannibal’s current knowledge of the Santori organization to the colonel’s narration, adjusting for Peck’s corrections and narrowly avoiding BA’s fist a few times.
They weren’t exactly in the planning stages right now. Hannibal seemed to know what he wanted to do, but he needed more information in order to do it. Peck kept telling him that it wasn’t going to be a matter of finding a paper trail or evidence sitting around somewhere, which Hannibal seemed to understand and had his own ideas about. Over the past few days, Hannibal had chewed cigars in the evening and sent BA and Murdock off to do some kind of surveillance and picked Peck’s brains over who did what, where and how, occasionally biting back shock or disgust at some of the things that came out. Overall, though, the plan, he’d said, was all coming together. Today, they were going to go over the details.
“How’s it going, muchacho?”
He craned his neck back, where Hannibal was talking to BA about something or other, and BA was staring right at him with a frown on his face. Peck waved. The frown deepened.
“He’s cranky today, isn’t he?”
“Big mean man like that?” Murdock said and turned the volume on the TV up. “He’s always cranky. When’d you get here?”
“Few minutes ago,” he said, forcing himself to be happy, and slurped at the sugary milk in the bowl. “Cold out, isn’t it?”
“Why you always over here, eatin’ the boss’s food, fool?” BA asked, settling down into the chair next to them. Peck smiled, and shoveled a huge spoonful of soggy cereal into his mouth. He really did love those little marshmallows in this stuff. At least it was less angry, more gruff, representative of some progress. He hoped.
“He brought it over himself, BA,” Hannibal sighed, not a trace of the earlier affection present in his voice, and Peck felt himself wilt, just a little. He knew it was hypocritical of him, but he hated the dichotomy in this man. Hated it in himself. Why couldn’t things just be simple, just the two of them, no lies and no scheming, no mission, no complications. Just bare skin and soft words and... “Peck? You in there? Would you mind joining us at the counter?”
When had BA and Murdock moved?
“Uh, sorry, Hannibal. Cartoons, you know...”
"Stealin' a bowl of your cereal, kiddo!" Murdock hollered, going for the box and a can of orange soda instead of milk, and Peck grinned as he shoved himself up.
“You sure about this kid, Hannibal?”
“I was up late trying to get a paper done, BA,” Peck groaned theatrically. He caught a little smile from Hannibal, from John, as Murdock moved over for him, bumping bowls with him like they were doing shots, and BA rolled his eyes, all of them waiting for the boss to start talking.
Hannibal struck a match and lit one of those cigars Peck had given him. Inhaled deep. Paused. Grinned.
“Here’s what I’m thinking, boys...”
+++++
Peck had to hand it to Hannibal; he was impressed by the plan.
The plan was simple. The plan was elegant. The plan was clearly insane, and if it worked, well, Santori would probably was going to drop Peck down a very deep hole and that would be the end of it. Because the plan didn’t revolve around killing Santori, which had surprised him a little. So, at the end of all of this, the cappo would still be alive. He’d come after Peck. He’d come after Hannibal, and Murdock, and BA, and Special Agent Carter and anybody else who’d been marginally involved. Contracts would be put out. Heads would be collected. Scorched earth.
That’s just how things worked.
And that afternoon, walking the three miles back to his dorm from Hannibal’s apartment, Peck couldn’t quite decide how he felt about it. Or what he should do.
What Hannibal was planning wouldn’t just expose the union ties and the deal with the defense company. It was going to tear a bleeding wound in Santori’s operations that the feds would attack like the maggots that they were.
The basic premise, as Peck understood it, was getting the cappo to admit to the deal. Hannibal was going to get him to renegotiate the terms, push him hard about it the right words are said. That was the evidence the DoD needed to break its legal obligations and haul the entire senior leadership board in front of Congress to testify. That was Hannibal’s concern in the matter. None of it was going to be admissible in court. So Hannibal didn’t think it mattered.
Seemed a little myopic of him, Peck thought. There were broader repercussions that he didn’t think Hannibal cared about or had even considered. Special Agent Carter would have all the info. But a few bank account numbers, the right people paid off or threatened or cajoled, that testimony as a starting point... it would be like using wikipedia to find sources for a research paper. Patterns would emerge, evidence would surface. It would all add up to federal indictments. Other enterprises would be discovered, all their businesses laid bare. Vast ripples, from a single cappo admitting to the deal.
And it might not even work. Santori might not go for it.
It all depended on whether or not Santori believed Hannibal was VP John Hamilton or not. And that was going to depend on what Peck told him. And if Peck went to him right now and told him who Hannibal was and what he was here to do...
He had the sudden image, one he’d seen a dozen times before, of John, a bullet in his neck, skin graying as the blood died on the concrete and veins collapsed, hands still twitching...
Peck tucked his chin deeper into his scarf and turned up the volume on his iPod, washing it all away in a dark blue surge of post-rock. That was enough thinking for the day, he decided. More than enough.
But the image persisted well back to the dorms, up the stairs and into his room as he flopped down on his bed. The details shifted. It was his face now, the bullet was in his neck, and that was his blood on the floor. He had no doubt of it. Santori had taken him in, treated him like a son, hardly ever took advantage of him, even agreed to pay for what the scholarship wouldn’t cover when he’d gotten accepted to NYU, but Peck knew better than to believe the cappo wouldn’t kill him. He’d probably be the first on the chopping block after all this came out.
If he can find you... that little voice in the back of his head whispered, and wasn’t that absurd? Of course they’d find him. No matter what Hannibal did with him afterwards.
And what was Hannibal’s plan, exactly? His idea for getting Peck out? He’d asked the colonel after BA and Murdock were gone, right before he’d left himself.
“John, what happens to me?”
Hannibal had rubbed the butt of his second cigar into the too-small ashtray. He looked tired. He looked like he was trying to hide the fact that he was tired. “I told you, kid, I’ll take care of you. I promise, you’ll be safe.”
“You going to take me with you?”
“You know I would, kid...” and then John had cut anything further off by capturing Peck’s mouth for a long, long kiss.
Peck didn’t believe for a second that Hannibal really know who or what he was dealing with. Terrorists who made broad proclamations of hate for the United States and blew up buildings in his hometown were one thing. Men who smiled and laughed and slipped a knife between your ribs when you weren’t looking were something else entirely. Peck knew Hannibal didn’t have it in him to deal with their brand of evil.
You’re a better man than you think you are, kid
How else could John say something like that, unless he truly believed it? And if he believed it, how could he possibly understand what they were capable of doing to him? No, John, Hannibal, he was what he was, a colonel who just didn’t understand...
You know I would kid...
The thought hit Peck cold and he bolted upright, tearing his headphones off and balling his hands up in his hair. Shit, how could he have been so stupid?
There wasn’t a way to do this. He couldn’t manipulate Hannibal out of his plan, couldn’t manipulate the plan around anything that mattered. Couldn’t prevent it from blowing a big fucking hole in the middle of his family. Couldn’t stop Santori once his blood got roused. It wasn’t that there were too many moving parts to control.
It was that the men he was dealing with were too entrenched in the way they did things. That his man was too entrenched in the way he did things.
...I would...
Except he wouldn’t. John wouldn’t take him away from this. He couldn’t, not with his job. Couldn’t have some kid living with him, probably couldn’t even afford the rumor of it. And Peck suddenly knew what that sadness was in John, that thing that was always haunting the man; he knew it too. He couldn’t do a damn thing for Peck.
John was lying.
Everything went still in Peck’s head, like all his senses had been cut off at once, nothing getting in, that single truth rippling outward.
Peck was going to help him, help John because he was an idiot and had fucking fallen in love with his fucking mark. He was going to destroy everything he’d known for the last ten years for, for what? Some stupid fucking emotion that wasn’t going to lead anywhere? For some man who just felt sorry for the poor mafia whore, a man who was too ashamed of what he was to even admit it to his closest associates, a man who had never intended to follow through on anything he said?
A man who was just going to leave him when this was all over, abandoning him to the witness protection program, just like his parents had left him, alone and at the mercy of some fucking government agency that didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died...
He caught himself, breathing hard, fingernails digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood. Peck stared at the red lines he’d dug in his own skin and he knew he wasn’t being fair. But it didn’t matter how fair he was being or not - it was true. He was going to be alone in the world again if he did this.
Nothing was worth that.
You’re beautiful, kid...
“Shut the fuck up, John,” he muttered, and swung his feet off the narrow pad that passed for a bed here. Not like that queen-sized one in John’s apartment with the down mattress topper and those sinfully soft sheets...
He slid his jacket back on and grabbed his car keys and headed for the parking lot around the corner. $800 a month to rent a parking space, and every penny was worth it right then to have a space that he knew was his. Just his. Nobody else’s.
...I’ll take care of you...
Peck told himself to knock it off. To not think about it. Because that bed, that apartment, all the sweet words, the reassurance and comfort and ease of things, everything about the past two months had been an absolute falsehood, a carefully constructed reality that was going to blow away in the first stiff breeze, something he could never have. Because it had never existed. It never would.
But he still hesitated as he pulled out his cell phone, stared at the glowing contact list on the screen. He had their house number listed under “home”, Santori’s number listed under “dad” and Maria’s as “mom”.
What kind of fucked-up was he?
He pushed the button. It rang. Once, twice, and he almost hung up, but Santori’s caught it on the third ring.
“Hey, Peck, how’s it going? Everything going well with your project or whatever the fuck?”
Casual. In case the goddamn feds were listening. “Yeah, my homework’s going great,” he replied, and sunk down in the seat, closing his eyes. “I’ve almost got it wrapped up. Just wanted to run a few things by you.”
“Tonight?”
“Can’t wait.”
“Come by the club. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Santori.”
“And Peck?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I’m proud of you.”
That was it. The line went dead, and Peck let his forehead hit the steering wheel for a moment. It was decided, and it was over and there was nothing more he could do.
“Goddamn it, John,” Peck muttered, and threw the car into drive.
No time to think about it anymore. He had to get going.
Continued in Part Three...
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none yet...
Summary: Part two of three of a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Another Hannibal-meets-Face first time request, but with a twist. At that point, Face is one of/employed by the enemy. Either through ideals or lies or blackmail, Face is on the other side when Hannibal first meets him.
Hannibal, of course, sees the potential in the kid, and sets out to convince and/or seduce Face away from the Dark Side. Slash is preferred, but not strictly necessary.
Templeton Peck, conman and adopted son of mafia cappo Anthony Santori, gets more than he bargained for when he’s sent to take down the new VP of a major defense contractor, John Hamilton. Seducing John isn’t a problem. Dealing with the fallout, however... that gets a bit trickier, especially once he finds out who John really is, and what he’s trying to do.
As the cab pulled up in front of the non-descript office building that evening, Peck felt a surge of triumph and made sure he squeezed Hannibal’s hand in nervousness.
Blue eyes, no longer so familiar, softened in sympathy. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”
“Can you protect me from what they’re going to do if they find out about this?” He was worried about that, everything in him screaming about what Santori might do if he wasn’t informed about the specifics of the situation before finding out about it.
“I’ll keep you safe, kid.”
“I don’t know, John.”
Peck hadn’t been able to figure out what had been going on all day.
He’d had a sublimely effective break-down on John the previous night, who’d bundled him up into his arms and taken him back to bed. The older man had stayed awake for a long time, arm around Peck’s back, stroking his skin with those gun-rough fingers, staring into the darkness.
“I’m going to need your cell phone, kid,” John had told him when they woke, all the sweet closeness gone.
“Don’t trust me, John?” he asked. “I’m hurt.”
There hadn’t been an answer. Just a look on Hannibal’s face, one not belonging to a man accustomed to being disobeyed or questioned. Didn’t seem like John at all. Peck had felt another pang of loss, dull and deep, one that persisted still.
He’d handed over his phone and spent the day curled up on John’s sofa, watching daytime TV, while John made a ridiculous number of calls.
Now, the man was different Not incredibly, unrecognizably different. Just different. The commanding presence, the essence of him, hadn’t changed. It was incredibly subtle, Peck knew. The way he carried himself, the way light teasing had given way to more direct words. Building a distance. Subtle, but there. Like he was slipping into a different role as he guided a studiously anxious Peck up into the building and elevator and out into a mostly empty office, lights on in a glass conference room without exterior windows where a small group of men were waiting.
Was Hannibal peeling away the layers of John that he’d been hiding himself in these past few months, or was John simply being submerged back into Hannibal? Having some professional experience in the subject, Peck was leaning towards the latter. But he wasn’t sure.
Hannibal. It made him sick.
And he wasn’t sure to what degree Hannibal had been playing him.
So he balked, letting himself collide back into Hannibal, turning around and grabbing his hands before the military man could react. “John, please, I don’t know if this is a good idea...”
“I told you, I’ll take care of you, kid. That hasn’t changed,” he said, clearly exerting effort to not lean forward and hug him, a silent, pleading apology in his face. Peck understood, that stupid fucking policy about gays in the military, and he was liable to get Hannibal in some real trouble if he kept trying to test the boundaries. That would get him nowhere. But the boundaries were there, which meant Peck could use those boundaries against Hannibal, keep him on edge, keep him unbalanced, maybe tip him off completely, for insulting the Family...
“Right,” he said with just the right amount of hurt and nodded, letting go. “I’m okay.”
“Brave boy,” Hannibal said across the rift between them and thumbed over his shoulder to the conference room. “Let’s go meet the team.”
There was a massive amount of paperwork with something like this. Hannibal had already apologized for the necessity of it, but there was no way around it. Can’t protect you unless you’re in the system somewhere, Hannibal had explained. Peck didn’t care, as long as he was able to get to Santori in the next few hours and let the cappo know. Otherwise, once this filtered down to their FBI contacts, things could get ugly.
Hannibal held the door for Peck and closed it behind him. The young man balled his hands up into his pockets and shuffled his feet a little, fully well aware of the scrutiny being directed his way by the little group clustered around the table.
The colonel sat down at the head, and motioned for Peck to sit down opposite everybody else. It was unmistakable. The last little shreds of John were out of sight, tucked away. The older man was completely at easy, in command, Peck thought, and his stomach turned over. The wave of nausea come on too fast to hide, and Hannibal winked at him.
“Good, glad you all make it.” He pointed at Peck. “Everybody, this is the informant I spoke about on the phone this morning. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves...”
Peck’s eyes flicked over each of them as they spoke, trying to figure out what he was dealing with. A cute dark-haired man, head cocked just a little, HM Murdock, at your service, a big black guy with an incredibly dubious expression on his face, Corporal BA Baracus, and lastly a variety of suits that couldn’t be anything other than FBI. One of these last ones was staring at him, open-mouthed, and Peck grinned inwardly as the gaze flicked over to Hannibal.
“Aren’t you Special Agent Carter?” he asked the one who’d looked at him. “Yeah, I think you are.”
“Of everybody you could have flipped, Col Smith,” the man said, ignoring Peck completely, “I’m surprised it’s our little Templeton here.”
Hannibal raised an eyebrow at Peck, who belatedly realized he’d never told the man his first name. He hated using it, sounded ridiculous. “Why’s that, Carter?”
“He arrested a very good friend of mine a few years back,” Peck replied, still sounding nervous. He was feeling it. This guy knew him. Peck remembered that morning, the one where he’d been thrown out of bed by the SWAT team, the man next to him handcuffed and marched into the station in a bathrobe, all the evening’s surveillance equipment seized, all the needed blackmail material lost. Then he grinned. Time for some snark. “I didn’t know he’d remember me. I’m flattered you care.”
“You do know what he does for them, don’t you?”
“What he talked ‘bout, Hannibal?” the big black man, BA, interrupted, and Peck caught the anger in the words.
“What matters right now, corporal, is that Peck’s agreed to help us.”
“Ain’t nothing good about no gangsters, Hannibal...”
“Aw, BA, I think he’s kinda cute. A little cute gangster,” and that was the other man, Murdock, who was grinning like an idiot and doodling on a notepad. “Cute little baby gangster. Larval. Larval gangster.”
Who said shit like that?
“I am not a gangster,” Peck spat, trying not to crack up.
Carter, that FBI asshole, snorted. “No, no you’re not, Templeton. Would you like me to go over what we’ve got on you? How about...“
The noise was growing as little side conversations started up between the two military guys, the FBI agents, questions forming, and Peck shot a pleading glance over to Hannibal, begging for help. If he could only drive a wedge between Hannibal and the rest of this little task force...
“I’m well aware of what the kid does for the mob here,” Hannibal growled, effectively silencing the room. “Let’s get him processed and back to Santori before I have another armor failure on my hands,” Hannibal continued in an incredibly dismissive tone, and the FBI agents all exchanged a little look. Carter, shook his head and started pulling papers out of a folder by his elbow.
“Now, Templeton Peck, I want you to understand the seriousness of what you’re about to agree to here...”
+++++
By the time they were finished, Peck’s hand was cramping up from too many signatures, and the dark haired guy, Murdock, was cat-napping in his chair. BA looked extremely bored. There was something about those two, the way they looked at the colonel, the way they’d spoken to him over the past few hours, deferring to him completely, the loyalty he saw in both of them... he wanted it for himself. Those thoughts came up again, the ones about working for somebody like Hannibal, being there, every day, not just for a fuck and a cuddle, but for a real reason, for something real.
Peck realized he wanted to know what that felt like.
But here he was, betraying everybody in his life, John with his actions, his Family with his feelings...
“That’s the last one, Templeton,” Carter said, and Peck slumped back gratefully.
“Thank Christ, “ he muttered, and saw Hannibal smile at him. Wasn’t the same smile he’d been using the last few months, but it was pretty damn close. He smiled back weakly, and yawned. “So, I’m good?”
“We need you to wait outside while we confer,” the agent said, and he looked to Hannibal. The colonel nodded his head and waved him out, Murdock standing up to follow.
“No, captain, sit down. We need you in here. BA, can you watch him please?”
Murdock sank back down into his chair, grumbling in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.” It was actually a pretty good Michael Corleone impression, and Peck started laughing as BA ushered him outside.
“Crazy fool,” he growled at the man behind him, and then looked at Peck. “You gonna cause me any trouble, fool?”
“No,” Peck said cautiously. This was the one he was going to have to watch out for.
“Good. Cause I will beat your ass, no joke. Hannibal thinks he know what he’s dealing with in you, but I know better.”
“Based on what?”
BA just fixed him with a stare, and Peck’s first inclination was to start laughing. He thought better of it and quailed just a little, inwardly wondering how deep the ties between these three men went and what he would have to do to cut them apart.
It was a good ten minutes before the little group emerged from the conference room. Hands were shaken, pleasantries and thank-yous exchanges and Peck got one last icy look as the FBI left and it was just the military guys left, talking.
He let himself collapse up against the nearest wall, hand up in his hair. “I’m glad that’s over,” he muttered to himself, and looked up at Hannibal, who was clearly torn between his men and his shiny new informant. Peck mentally punched the air in victory when Hannibal was there, pulling him back up and patting him on the back.
“You did good, kid. I’m proud of you,” Hannibal said sincerely, and Peck literally had to fight to keep from surging in for an embrace, a tidal wave of emotion swelling up in him at those simple words. He cursed himself inside. Why should that affect him so much? Especially since Hannibal believed he'd just gotten Peck to betray his entire Family?
Peck didn't trust him, couldn't trust him, he told himself, because he's probably just playing you, using you while he works on his own plans...
Murdock looked at them both, and some kind of recognition seemed to come into those fevered eyes of his. “He another one of your projects, boss?”
Hannibal didn’t answer, but there was a clench of tension in his neck and a slight tightening of his eyes, like what this Murdock character had said hit home somewhere. Interesting. “You boys got a good place to stay while you’re here?”
“Have you seen the hotel rooms in this town?” BA complained. “Closets. Sharin' one with this fool...”
“We’ll get you an apartment as soon as we can, okay?”
Peck sniffled a little. “I could do that, if you’d like.”
“Aw, hell, no, Hannibal, I ain’t sleeping anywhere this fool finds...”
“BA, it’s just an offer. And no kid, don’t worry about it.” He turned around and looked at the two behind him. “You boys got the plan?”
“Batshit as usual, boss,” Murdock grinned.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to get Peck back to the dorms.”
Murdock pulled a very reluctant BA away, and the second the elevator doors closed, Peck practically leapt into Hannibal’s still-open arms, shaking. “John...”
Hannibal froze, and looked towards the elevator, relaxing considerably when he noticed it was shut, that they were alone. “Shh, I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”
“Your guys don’t seem to like me very much.”
“Murdock loves you, I guarantee it, and BA, well, he'll warm up to you.”
“Don’t take me back to the dorms tonight, John,” Peck begged. He kept a dorm room on campus, just for appearances’ sake and also because it occasionally came in very handy. But tonight, he couldn’t stomach the thought of it. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if he left Hannibal alone. He had to keep tightening down his hold on the man, keep him off-kilter. An absence tonight could undo weeks of work. “Don’t leave me alone after that.”
Hannibal seemed to hesitate, and then pulled him up for a long, slow, burning kiss that left them both breathless and panting. “After all this, I wasn’t sure if you’d still want...” he began when they pulled apart.
“I want, John,” Peck said, and Hannibal ran a reassuring hand through his hair.
“My brave boy,” John whispered and Peck felt that surge of emotion once more, but this time he couldn’t stop it, and he really was crying, and he told himself it was okay, that he could use it later, and he collapsed into the reassuring strength that was this man, scheming done for the evening.
Exhausted.
Safe.
No matter how self-delusional that belief might be.
+++++
Hannibal had given Peck back his cell phone when they’d gotten home, back to John’s apartment. And wasn’t that nice? He’d made his own calls, told Hannibal it was necessary, and the colonel just nodded.
Shmuck.
Trusting him like that...
Mr. Santori, making progress.
What kind of progress, Peck? Haven’t heard from you in a week or two...
It’s been worth it. You got time today, boss?
Tonight. Wife’s doing dinner at the house
Peck looked over the top of his coffee, black, strong, no bullshit. It was a crowded, noisy little place, one of those student coffee shops with an ironic name, carefully battered furniture and too many hipsters, but it was decent and they’d both just gotten out of class and he wanted to get this over with.
“How you been, Neo?” Peck asked serenely, batting his eyes at the redhead stumbling over his own feet to sit down. “You want anything? My treat...”
“You’re fucking crazy, man, you know that? Do you have any idea what you asked me to do last night?”
“Yeah, dig up some military records. I’m going to get you something. You want, what, a latte?”
“Did you hear what you just said? Military, Peck. Military networks. You know how illegal that is?”
“Mocha?” Peck joked, making like he was going to leave.
“Seriously!” the geek said urgently, and the conman slid back down into his chair. “This is beyond fucked up...”
“Okay, okay, get your voice down,” Peck said, and rubbed the geek’s knee under the table, smiling reassuringly. “Were you able to get those guys for me?”
The redhead fished a big document envelop out of his messenger bag and handed it over. “You owe me.”
“Getting pushy on me, buddy?” Peck snapped, letting a little edge into his voice and the geek sort of shrunk back into his chair. Satisfied, the conman reached in. “So, you don’t want to bore me with the details?”
The geek actually looked a little sick. “Damnit, man, so illegal...”
“You do this all the time. What’s the fucking problem?”
The redhead stood up and leaned forward over the little cafe table. “I’m not a motherfucking, shitsucking, manipulating, asshole criminal who shells for some bigger motherfucker downtown,” he hissed.
He just started shuffling the papers out of the envelop. Damn, this was thick. “Yes, but you still take it up the ass from me.”
“Let me tell you something, Peck. When you’re putting bullets through the heads of gangbangers who’ve pissed your boss off, I’m going to be working out in Silicone Valley making a shitload of money...”
“And drinking organic champagne and playing with diamond-studded buttplugs,” Peck replied with a little laugh. “Fuck your future.”
“At least I have one,” the redhead snapped.
Peck hadn’t know the pale grad student was even capable of that much anger. It took him aback, but he hoped it wasn’t showing. Why would it be? He was so good at lying. But it didn’t matter, because when he looked back up, the geek was gone.
He shrugged and went back to the papers.
We haven’t had you over for dinner in a while, have we, Peck? The wife’ll be glad to see you...
I’ll be there, Mr. Santori. Can I bring anything?
If you’d stop by Lugo’s deli and pick up my order...
Peck smiled and started skimming the papers.
It wasn’t a pretty picture.
Evidently, they specialized in the ridiculous.
Captain HM Murdock, decorated combat pilot and bugfuck crazy, judging by the psychiatric records. Corporal Bosco Baracus, moonlighted on the amateur MMA circuit and had a real bad attitude, according to his personnel evaluations. Lieutenant Colonel John Smith, aka, Hannibal.
John.
He paused at that one, realizing how much he wanted to know who this man was, like how much he used to love reading the backstory novels on video games and movies before his parents died. Having met a small part of him, he wanted to know all of him. Wanted to know everything.
And what was in there scared him.
Not like Santori scared him. Hannibal wasn't the kind of guy who’d take a fourteen year old orphan along on a hit and then enlist the kid’s help in weighing the body down in the East River. Take him out for ice cream after. Not that kind of scary.
This man was noble to his core. His record screamed of it, his actions shining through the dry military writing of performance reports and citations, entire sagas contained in short little lines of type. The thing about Iraq was true. So were a ozen other operations. Bosnia, Afghanistan, Somalia, the Philippines... it just went on and on.
The geek had even found a couple of articles, one from the Army Times, glossy printer photos, a funeral at Fort Bragg. Hannibal was there in his uniform, beret at a rakish angle, handsome as fuck. Little caption under the photo. LTC Smith oversees funeral of PVT Lewis, “Died a national hero...”
Peck felt his stomach turn over and he let the stack fall to the table.
Why?
This guy was just a job.
So what was going on with him?
+++++
He was still thinking about it that night, helping Maria Santori slice up the buffalo mozzarella he’d picked up for her. The entire crew was over, drinking beer and watching basketball in the huge living room. He’d always loved this house. Not so much for the heavy-handed American Revival decor, not for the ridiculous size of the place, but for that living room. When all the guys were over, laughing and drinking and bullshitting. Like a family was supposed to. He’d missed that, his year on the streets, the warmth of his parents’ tiny apartment, mom baking cookies, dad teaching him how to play poker and how to keep a straight face, so as not to give the game away.
But they’d died. Left him alone. None of the the family on the West Coast would come out and get him, and he’d escaped the CPS and their rules and their indifferent foster family, only to find the New York City was a rough place to be homeless in the winter. All the things he’d done, trying to avoid starvation...
And then Santori had found him and picked him up and he’d finished growing up in this house, in its big hallways and garlic-infused kitchen, guns hidden in practically every room. And he’d remembered dad’s lessons about poker face, and not showing what he was really feeling, not ever, so as not to lose the new family...
Peck suddenly wondered what his father might say, if he could see him now, if he knew what his son had done with that tiny kernel of knowledge. If he knew his son was busy screwing over a good man like John...
He didn’t even notice he’d cut himself until Maria was there with a paper towel, hustling him over to the sink, squeezing down on his thumb.
“You’ve been distracted all evening, baby. You feeling okay?” she asked and brushed a strand of hair out of his face. It was longer than he usually wore it, but John had made a comment about liking it long, so he’d let it grow. The man liked to run his fingers through it, grab big handfuls during...
“Fine, Mrs. Santori,” he said with a winsome smile, and she laughed, slapping him lightly and going back for her Pinot Grigio.
“Don’t you try your little conning cuteness on me, Templeton.” She was the only one who ever used his first name. Such a sweet woman, black-haired and just this side of heavyset. Fantastic cook. Somewhere between a big sister and an aunt to him, a MILF to his high school buddies. He had no idea how Santori had kept her all this time. “You’re hiding something.”
“Come on, ma’am, you know I can’t make you an accomplice to a crime.”
She cocked her head a little, letting the wine glass dangle between her fingers. She wore more jewelry than most rappers. It had always amazed Peck how she was able to keep them clean in all that cheese and tomato sauce and...
“It’s not about some job, honey. I know that look. I know that look very well. So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“What?”
Maria frowned. “You’re in love, baby. Don’t you see it?”
Gravity stopped working for a moment, everything sliding out of place and locking in at the same time. A little voice in the back of his mind started fucking cheering, being acknowledged for the first time, the truth of what had been nagging him for the past two months finally given a word and voice in this sweet Italian woman who washed bloodstains out of her husband’s clothes, who’d washed them out of his own...
He was too stunned to say anything at all.
She frowned, like she could tell she’d said something wrong, hit a nerve, and patted his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry about, Templeton. It happens to every man, sooner or later.”
“I’m not...”
“Not what, Peck?”
Santori. The conman threw Maria a desperate glance, and the woman, who’d spent most of her life around this thing of theirs, gave him a little nod and started laughing. Forced, but good enough for the half-bottle of wine she'd put down. “I was asking him about whether or not he was thinking about quitting school.” She always teased him about that. “He’s too smart for that fucking place.”
“Can I borrow him for a moment, love?”
The lovely woman waved them out with her wine glass. “Go, go, I can finish up here. Templeton cut himself anyway.”
The cappo led him outside, far enough away from the house out of the cold lawn, far enough to avoid any bugs that might be there. Being paranoid was typically a good idea in their line of work.
“So?”
Peck knew he had to say something, that he had to hide whatever he was feeling, that emotion he had to ignore right then, and he picked his words carefully. “He’s working for the DOD, investigating some bullshit about faulty equipment...”
“Can’t pin that on us,” Santori growled, sounding none too confident. “We collect from the company. It’s not our fault if they produce sub-standard equipment instead of taking a financial hit. We’ll work that. What’s your impression of the guy?”
“Dedicated. He’s pissed about this. Could work to our advantage...”
“Okay, make sure that it does. You need anything right now?”
“No, I’m good, boss.”
“One more thing before we head back inside.”
“Yes, boss?”
“We’re talking about opening the books in a month or two. I’m proposing you for membership.”
You are expendable, Peck
“...what?”
“The whole fucking-men thing is going to have to stop, but other than that, I think you’re ready. You’re a good earner and you’re fucking smart. We can use you, Peck.”
Kid, this is no life for you...
There was a snowstorm in his head, heavy and thick and he couldn’t see through it. so he fell back on instinct and went for the lie. The lies he was so good with. “That’s, that’s great news, Mr. Santori. I barely know what to say.”
“Good, good,” Santori said, laughing again. “Come on. Stop helping my wife with her bullshit, come watch TV.” The cappo clapped him on the back, and turned to go. Peck didn’t move for a few moments, rooted to that spot. He couldn’t help but remember Hannibal, remember John, doing that to him last night...
The man that I love.
He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted to scream it out. He wanted to laugh until he couldn’t breath, giddy, free to feel something he hadn’t known since the CPA had come to drag him away from twin graves that weren’t even covered with sod yet.
But he couldn’t do any of those things, he knew. Celebrate? Bullshit.
Now, like then, he wasn’t able to do anything but mourn.
And then he bit down the rage and got his feet moving, and followed Santori into the house.
+++++
It was almost too easy, manipulating this man.
Even if it had lost some of its sheen since last week’s revelation.
“Time to get up, kid,” John murmured against his ear.
Peck rolled into that warm sound, nudging his nose against the older man’s bare neck as he ran his fingernails lightly down John’s sides. He loved having this man naked now, really naked. The slide of skin on skin, the way he smelled, that light dusting of hair over sculpted muscle, even the scars that littered the otherwise flawless expanse. All his to touch and feel and lick now. Loved it. “Mmm, no, Wanna stay here.”
He felt an arm slide around his waist, and rolled his hips forward, letting John feel his morning wood. “Can’t, kid.” It wasn’t quite forceful enough. “The team’s going to be in here in a few minutes.”
“And you haven’t told them.” Peck pushed himself away with that, like it hurt him, and it did, but he wasn’t normally the pouty type. If John wanted to hide who he was from the rest of the world from now until the end of time, that was none of Peck’s business. He himself was inclined to laugh it off and give John a blowjob, getting them both cleaned and dressed just in the nick of time. Peck was still having to play the rent boy.
But he was okay with that. He didn’t trust his own judgment right now. It was easier to play the role, the overlapping and conflicting roles, than it was to be honest right now. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
“Kid, we talked about this,” and those blue eyes were sad again. He was a man far too used to it, Peck thought to himself. “I can’t tell them.”
“I know, I know. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Your fucking enlightened military that hates the gays,” Peck said sarcastically, and shimmied out of the sheets before John could kiss him, fishing around on the floor for his jeans, shaking them out.
The other man sat up and moved back against the headboard, hands open, emploring. “It doesn’t change anything, kid.”
Peck sniffed his shirt. Could he get away with this? He was a college student, wasn’t he? He pulled it on. “Right. Absolutely changes nothing. You can’t tell your buddies there you’re gay because of your job, can’t tell them about us because of your job. None of it’s your fault.” What had he done with his socks? “You’re really just a victim in this situation. Poor gay victim of the military’s bullshit. Don’t worry, I understand.”
“I don’t...”
“What? Don’t think of yourself as a victim? Guess it would be a little hard, Hannibal...”
And either John had some kind of super speed or Peck's quest for his left sock had consumed him to the point where he’d just blocked it out, but suddenly there John was, right in front of him, hauling him up by the arm.
Not speaking. Some hard grief in his face that Peck knew he wouldn’t give voice to.
Peck stared at the man’s hand, clenching down just below his shoulder, fingers almost touching. He swallowed, like he was far more nervous than he was. “What? Gonna throw me out for using your real name?”
“John is my real name,” he said softly.
Definitely not what he’d been thinking. But Peck could work with that - it was still real. He’d rather it be something less, rather than more, hurtful at this point. He couldn’t afford to start pulling his punches, not now, though, and so he pushed through the little film of nausea that seemed to coat all such actions there days and went for it.
The conman smiled, matching that sadness he always saw in this man, and touched his cheek. “Not from what I’ve seen in last couple of days.”
“Don’t be like this, kid.”
“No,” he said, and knocked John’s, Hannibal’s, whoever’s hand off his arm, “no, you’re right. I’m being an idiot. We, this... my life...” and he tried to force a smile, like he was fighting with himself. It wasn’t hard to fake. “I understand.”
The older man laid his forearms on Peck’s shoulders, possessive and strong, and smiled down at him, playing with the short hairs on the back on his neck. The door buzzer rang, letting them know that Murdock and BA were downstairs, right now, standing in the morning cold, wanting to be let in and let up. John didn’t budge.
Peck shoved a hand in his pocket and squirmed a little. He honestly had no idea what the man was doing, what he was looking at. “John?” he asked, hating the uncertainty creeping into his voice, not knowing how to stop it. “Shouldn’t you let them in? BA’s already pissed enough about this assignment.”
“He’ll get over it,” John murmured, that blissful expression really starting to confuse the younger man now, and leaning in until his lips were very nearly touching Peck’s ear. “You’re beautiful, Templeton. You’re the most beautiful thing I...” and there he faltered, smile failing, like he was unsure of himself, and Peck shifted a little, one of his hands splayed out on the older man’s flat abs. John took a breath, and smiled again. “Well, you know.”
The buzzer rang again.
“I’ll go let them in,” Peck said, pressing a kiss into one of those calloused palms as he untangled John’s arms, reaching down and hooking up the older man’s pants by a belt loop. And he didn’t look back as he fled.
He barely managed to get himself out the room, out into the little central room with its television and kitchenette unit. Peck hit the button to open the door and got the cereal out of one of the small cupboards. Lucky Charms, the kind the pilot seemed to like so much. He poured himself a huge bowl and drowned it in milk and took himself over to the sofa, switching on the TV. Saturday morning cartoons. Thoughtless, easy.
Peck crossed his legs up under him on the cushion and noticed, with his first bite, that his hands were shaking. Why? Because John had just called him beautiful? He’d heard that before, heard it from other men before. He fucking knew what he looked like. He worked on it. He used it.
No, it wasn’t the word itself. It was the way John had said it, the way John had used his name, whispered it like some kind of prayer. No mark had ever used it on him before. No mark had ever spoken to him like that. Raw need and affection and something else, something selfless. He hadn’t said it because he was looking for anything in return.
He’d said it for Peck’s benefit. Peck’s benefit alone.
His eyes stung. What was it with this man and his goddamn selflessness?
There was a knock on the door, more a hard pounding than an informative tap, and there was he was, right behind Peck, sliding a hand down his chest.
“You’re a better man than you think you are, kid,” John said, low and honestly. “You’d figure that out, if you just let yourself.”
And what was Peck supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to feel about that?
The younger man just stared at the TV, not really registering the door opening or Hannibal’s voice, greeting his men, until Murdock flopped down next to him. He’d come to really like the pilot over the last couple of meetings. He was definitely crazy, like the time he’d brought sock puppets and acted out Hannibal’s current knowledge of the Santori organization to the colonel’s narration, adjusting for Peck’s corrections and narrowly avoiding BA’s fist a few times.
They weren’t exactly in the planning stages right now. Hannibal seemed to know what he wanted to do, but he needed more information in order to do it. Peck kept telling him that it wasn’t going to be a matter of finding a paper trail or evidence sitting around somewhere, which Hannibal seemed to understand and had his own ideas about. Over the past few days, Hannibal had chewed cigars in the evening and sent BA and Murdock off to do some kind of surveillance and picked Peck’s brains over who did what, where and how, occasionally biting back shock or disgust at some of the things that came out. Overall, though, the plan, he’d said, was all coming together. Today, they were going to go over the details.
“How’s it going, muchacho?”
He craned his neck back, where Hannibal was talking to BA about something or other, and BA was staring right at him with a frown on his face. Peck waved. The frown deepened.
“He’s cranky today, isn’t he?”
“Big mean man like that?” Murdock said and turned the volume on the TV up. “He’s always cranky. When’d you get here?”
“Few minutes ago,” he said, forcing himself to be happy, and slurped at the sugary milk in the bowl. “Cold out, isn’t it?”
“Why you always over here, eatin’ the boss’s food, fool?” BA asked, settling down into the chair next to them. Peck smiled, and shoveled a huge spoonful of soggy cereal into his mouth. He really did love those little marshmallows in this stuff. At least it was less angry, more gruff, representative of some progress. He hoped.
“He brought it over himself, BA,” Hannibal sighed, not a trace of the earlier affection present in his voice, and Peck felt himself wilt, just a little. He knew it was hypocritical of him, but he hated the dichotomy in this man. Hated it in himself. Why couldn’t things just be simple, just the two of them, no lies and no scheming, no mission, no complications. Just bare skin and soft words and... “Peck? You in there? Would you mind joining us at the counter?”
When had BA and Murdock moved?
“Uh, sorry, Hannibal. Cartoons, you know...”
"Stealin' a bowl of your cereal, kiddo!" Murdock hollered, going for the box and a can of orange soda instead of milk, and Peck grinned as he shoved himself up.
“You sure about this kid, Hannibal?”
“I was up late trying to get a paper done, BA,” Peck groaned theatrically. He caught a little smile from Hannibal, from John, as Murdock moved over for him, bumping bowls with him like they were doing shots, and BA rolled his eyes, all of them waiting for the boss to start talking.
Hannibal struck a match and lit one of those cigars Peck had given him. Inhaled deep. Paused. Grinned.
“Here’s what I’m thinking, boys...”
+++++
Peck had to hand it to Hannibal; he was impressed by the plan.
The plan was simple. The plan was elegant. The plan was clearly insane, and if it worked, well, Santori would probably was going to drop Peck down a very deep hole and that would be the end of it. Because the plan didn’t revolve around killing Santori, which had surprised him a little. So, at the end of all of this, the cappo would still be alive. He’d come after Peck. He’d come after Hannibal, and Murdock, and BA, and Special Agent Carter and anybody else who’d been marginally involved. Contracts would be put out. Heads would be collected. Scorched earth.
That’s just how things worked.
And that afternoon, walking the three miles back to his dorm from Hannibal’s apartment, Peck couldn’t quite decide how he felt about it. Or what he should do.
What Hannibal was planning wouldn’t just expose the union ties and the deal with the defense company. It was going to tear a bleeding wound in Santori’s operations that the feds would attack like the maggots that they were.
The basic premise, as Peck understood it, was getting the cappo to admit to the deal. Hannibal was going to get him to renegotiate the terms, push him hard about it the right words are said. That was the evidence the DoD needed to break its legal obligations and haul the entire senior leadership board in front of Congress to testify. That was Hannibal’s concern in the matter. None of it was going to be admissible in court. So Hannibal didn’t think it mattered.
Seemed a little myopic of him, Peck thought. There were broader repercussions that he didn’t think Hannibal cared about or had even considered. Special Agent Carter would have all the info. But a few bank account numbers, the right people paid off or threatened or cajoled, that testimony as a starting point... it would be like using wikipedia to find sources for a research paper. Patterns would emerge, evidence would surface. It would all add up to federal indictments. Other enterprises would be discovered, all their businesses laid bare. Vast ripples, from a single cappo admitting to the deal.
And it might not even work. Santori might not go for it.
It all depended on whether or not Santori believed Hannibal was VP John Hamilton or not. And that was going to depend on what Peck told him. And if Peck went to him right now and told him who Hannibal was and what he was here to do...
He had the sudden image, one he’d seen a dozen times before, of John, a bullet in his neck, skin graying as the blood died on the concrete and veins collapsed, hands still twitching...
Peck tucked his chin deeper into his scarf and turned up the volume on his iPod, washing it all away in a dark blue surge of post-rock. That was enough thinking for the day, he decided. More than enough.
But the image persisted well back to the dorms, up the stairs and into his room as he flopped down on his bed. The details shifted. It was his face now, the bullet was in his neck, and that was his blood on the floor. He had no doubt of it. Santori had taken him in, treated him like a son, hardly ever took advantage of him, even agreed to pay for what the scholarship wouldn’t cover when he’d gotten accepted to NYU, but Peck knew better than to believe the cappo wouldn’t kill him. He’d probably be the first on the chopping block after all this came out.
If he can find you... that little voice in the back of his head whispered, and wasn’t that absurd? Of course they’d find him. No matter what Hannibal did with him afterwards.
And what was Hannibal’s plan, exactly? His idea for getting Peck out? He’d asked the colonel after BA and Murdock were gone, right before he’d left himself.
“John, what happens to me?”
Hannibal had rubbed the butt of his second cigar into the too-small ashtray. He looked tired. He looked like he was trying to hide the fact that he was tired. “I told you, kid, I’ll take care of you. I promise, you’ll be safe.”
“You going to take me with you?”
“You know I would, kid...” and then John had cut anything further off by capturing Peck’s mouth for a long, long kiss.
Peck didn’t believe for a second that Hannibal really know who or what he was dealing with. Terrorists who made broad proclamations of hate for the United States and blew up buildings in his hometown were one thing. Men who smiled and laughed and slipped a knife between your ribs when you weren’t looking were something else entirely. Peck knew Hannibal didn’t have it in him to deal with their brand of evil.
You’re a better man than you think you are, kid
How else could John say something like that, unless he truly believed it? And if he believed it, how could he possibly understand what they were capable of doing to him? No, John, Hannibal, he was what he was, a colonel who just didn’t understand...
You know I would kid...
The thought hit Peck cold and he bolted upright, tearing his headphones off and balling his hands up in his hair. Shit, how could he have been so stupid?
There wasn’t a way to do this. He couldn’t manipulate Hannibal out of his plan, couldn’t manipulate the plan around anything that mattered. Couldn’t prevent it from blowing a big fucking hole in the middle of his family. Couldn’t stop Santori once his blood got roused. It wasn’t that there were too many moving parts to control.
It was that the men he was dealing with were too entrenched in the way they did things. That his man was too entrenched in the way he did things.
...I would...
Except he wouldn’t. John wouldn’t take him away from this. He couldn’t, not with his job. Couldn’t have some kid living with him, probably couldn’t even afford the rumor of it. And Peck suddenly knew what that sadness was in John, that thing that was always haunting the man; he knew it too. He couldn’t do a damn thing for Peck.
John was lying.
Everything went still in Peck’s head, like all his senses had been cut off at once, nothing getting in, that single truth rippling outward.
Peck was going to help him, help John because he was an idiot and had fucking fallen in love with his fucking mark. He was going to destroy everything he’d known for the last ten years for, for what? Some stupid fucking emotion that wasn’t going to lead anywhere? For some man who just felt sorry for the poor mafia whore, a man who was too ashamed of what he was to even admit it to his closest associates, a man who had never intended to follow through on anything he said?
A man who was just going to leave him when this was all over, abandoning him to the witness protection program, just like his parents had left him, alone and at the mercy of some fucking government agency that didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died...
He caught himself, breathing hard, fingernails digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood. Peck stared at the red lines he’d dug in his own skin and he knew he wasn’t being fair. But it didn’t matter how fair he was being or not - it was true. He was going to be alone in the world again if he did this.
Nothing was worth that.
You’re beautiful, kid...
“Shut the fuck up, John,” he muttered, and swung his feet off the narrow pad that passed for a bed here. Not like that queen-sized one in John’s apartment with the down mattress topper and those sinfully soft sheets...
He slid his jacket back on and grabbed his car keys and headed for the parking lot around the corner. $800 a month to rent a parking space, and every penny was worth it right then to have a space that he knew was his. Just his. Nobody else’s.
...I’ll take care of you...
Peck told himself to knock it off. To not think about it. Because that bed, that apartment, all the sweet words, the reassurance and comfort and ease of things, everything about the past two months had been an absolute falsehood, a carefully constructed reality that was going to blow away in the first stiff breeze, something he could never have. Because it had never existed. It never would.
But he still hesitated as he pulled out his cell phone, stared at the glowing contact list on the screen. He had their house number listed under “home”, Santori’s number listed under “dad” and Maria’s as “mom”.
What kind of fucked-up was he?
He pushed the button. It rang. Once, twice, and he almost hung up, but Santori’s caught it on the third ring.
“Hey, Peck, how’s it going? Everything going well with your project or whatever the fuck?”
Casual. In case the goddamn feds were listening. “Yeah, my homework’s going great,” he replied, and sunk down in the seat, closing his eyes. “I’ve almost got it wrapped up. Just wanted to run a few things by you.”
“Tonight?”
“Can’t wait.”
“Come by the club. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Santori.”
“And Peck?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I’m proud of you.”
That was it. The line went dead, and Peck let his forehead hit the steering wheel for a moment. It was decided, and it was over and there was nothing more he could do.
“Goddamn it, John,” Peck muttered, and threw the car into drive.
No time to think about it anymore. He had to get going.
Continued in Part Three...
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Date: 2010-11-22 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 01:12 am (UTC)