![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Hannibal (implied)
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: character death
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme (hyperlink won't work, apologies!).
Since we’re moving and all... and I'm in need of some serious angst (like, just sort of bawled my way through Up), I dare you anon and others alike:
Kill/write about the death of one of the boys. Slash or gen.
it might be cathartic, no, before we move to the shiny new moderated meme?
The team’s on a mission in Africa, and everything goes to shit.
This mission had been fucked from the get-go.
Client hadn’t told them enough about the local warlord, what the asshole’s militia looked like or the funding the guy was obviously getting from somewhere. Base, not where they’d expected. Firepower, not what they’d planned for. Plan, totally inadequate. Coordinates for Murdock’s pick-up, too far away. GPS map, inconclusive on the terrain.
And now, because of all of that, in the pre-light of the African dawn, the explosion was unmistakable.
Face felt it in his chest, the percussion burst, the rush of adrenaline, and instinctively turned his back, sheltering the oddly silent three year old in his arms. The kid buried his face in the lieutenant’s sweat-drenched shirt, and he held the little head there as he stood back up.
“Hannibal?” he whispered, tapping his earpiece. “Hannibal, you okay?”
“Don’t move, lieutenant,” the boss replied over the radio, his voice sparked with something far, far too familiar and far too strange.
“What’s going on, Hannibal?” he asked.
“Stop.” One word. Strained. Then nothing.
The toddler plastered to him stared up with big eyes, barely visible. Face exaggerated a finger to his lips, and stood, careful as he could, keeping an arm tight around the little package they’d been asked to retrieve, the last of a family that would never go home. They’d been too late to save the rest.
Face hated death, hated it. Part of being a Ranger, and that much he had been able to come to terms with. But it wasn’t so easy anymore.
How many years had he been walking out into it now? How many bodies was he expected to witness, how many people was he expected to kill himself, before they got out of this line of business? The familiarity didn’t breed comfort, and it was all the worse for Hannibal’s bullshit reasoning.
They’d had that argument frequently. Too frequently.
“Death’s part of it, Hannibal.”
“I can’t see you killed, kid.”
“You don’t have to. We can get out...”
But when they got calls like the one last week, from a distraught co-worker at the US Embassy in Somalia, Hannibal walked out into it. And Face followed.
He’d go anywhere, do anything, for that man. Even if it meant they never had anything for themselves.
BA caught up with him, chest heaving, hands on his knees. He clapped a hand on Face’s shoulder. “What’re you doing, fool? We don’t got time...”
“Minefield,” he hissed, and the black man stopped cold.
“Where’s the boss?”
“Out there.”
Across a minefield, evidently. Unfamiliar terrain. Shit, they were better than this, weren’t they? How had they missed this?
Face couldn’t see Hannibal’s body against the sky. Anywhere. The man was nowhere in sight. No. No. This was not happening...
“Are you hit?” he asked over the comms, not wanting an answer, not getting one.
Nothing.
This was insane.
“Hannibal, what the fuck are you doing?” he screamed across the muddy field, not caring if the tin-pot militia heard, not caring if he woke up the village, not caring if that got the little kid wailing. No answer.
“Fuck this,” he grunted, and bundled the kid and his GPS unit over to BA. “Call Murdock. Get him in the air, get him to the secondary landing zone. Get the kid out.”
“Face...” BA growled.
He switched on his red flashlight, the one that didn’t carry beyond the little pool at his feet, and took a step forward, in the direction of the explosion. “I’m giving you an order, corporal,” he snapped, using a voice he hadn’t used since the discharge, and had never used on BA. A command that wouldn’t, couldn’t be argued with. Flat, determined, set.
The other man took a step back and nodded tightly. Held out his spare clip.
It was all the ammunition that they had left.
Face didn't take it. "Keep that kid safe, buddy. Not fair, the little guy going to grow up an orphan."
BA's lips were set in a thin line. “They were five, maybe ten minutes back. I'm gonna make for...”
"We'll beat you there." Face patted his old friend on the shoulder and moved into the field.
Anywhere.
It was slow going, picking his way through the field. Terrifying. He knew what landmines looked like, the coils under the soil or the little antenna sticking up. Still terrifying. Who knew who had left them here or why - too many little wars in this part of the world to say for sure. Didn’t matter. Terrifying. He couldn’t help it.
An eternity seemed to pass like that, heart hammering, palms sweating, fear tugging around the edges of all of it, until Face spotted a dark shape in a shallow crater a few yards in front of him.
Hannibal.
Face was on top of him in a flash, heedless of the possible danger as he skidded down to his knees and caught the boss’s hand up in his own, snapping the red filter off his light, looking for a pupil response, feeling for a pulse, and he was rewarded with a light squeeze around his thumb.
Blood was thick in the air, mixed in with dry dirt and long-dead grass and burned gunpowder. Face flashed the light down and instantly wished he hadn’t, his stomach churning up at the sight.
Keep it together, Peck, he ordered himself.
“Boss, Hannibal, you awake?” he asked, trying to stay calm, and put the light down on Hannibal’s still belly. He ripped off his belt, moved around to the side and just sat there for a moment. It was worse from this angle.
A tourniquet wasn’t going to do any good. There wasn’t anything left to save.
“You guys... need to get out of here,” Hannibal muttered. His skin was ashen and his eyes half open. His blood pressure was dropping.
“I’m not leaving you behind, boss,” Face said, desperate. There had to be a way to fix this, had to be. “Murdock’s coming...”
“He can’t land here...”
“Then we need to get you up.”
“Face...”
“Air Force’s got a base on the coast, we can get you...”
“Lieutenant!”
The bellow was as strong as it ever was, hands shooting up and pulling him down, and it was all Face could do to keep from landing right on top of the other man. They’d been here before, close but never quite, and never like this. For better reasons in better days. Far from here. Where they’ll never be again.
He was still expecting what was left of the warlord’s little army to come over the hill, guns blazing. They would. Matter of time. But Face couldn’t bring himself to care right then.
Those beautiful blue eyes were laced with pain, clouding already.
“That kid okay?” Hannibal asked, air barely making it out of his lungs.
“Yes, sir.”
“You boys, you’ll be okay...”
On the very limits of his hearing, Face heard the thump-thwmp of rotary blades. “Murdock’s coming, boss, please...”
“Promise me, Face,” and there was that familiar growl, one last time.
His eyes were stinging. “Hannibal, I love you...”
He’d never said it. Hannibal never let him get that far. Said he wouldn’t be able to control himself, hearing those wrds.
Hands tightened.
Face had always known it would be his turn one day, that death was going to come for all of them, that it’d be his turn and when it came, the only thing he’d regret was leaving the team behind.
Leaving Hannibal behind.
Whose hands had gone slack.
So, not a problem now.
Shouting. Not English. Louder than the approaching chopper, louder than Murdock’s voice, screaming in his ear. That was okay. They hadn’t been so far behind BA, after all.
“Face, Face, where’s the bossman?”
“Everything’s fine, buddy,” he said, surprised at how smoothly the words came. Murdock couldn’t land. Face wouldn’t allow that, not with that kid, who hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve seeing his family killed like that and certainty didn’t deserve to die out here. “Pick us up later
“Face! Don’t even think...”
But whatever it was that Murdock wanted to say, Face didn’t want to hear. He took the earpiece out and turned his radio off.
Took a deep breath.
Face looked down one more time, kissed the still-warm forehead, wondered if he was imagining the smirk there. “Should have been Arlington, boss,” he murmured, and turned back to the task at hand. Shouldered the AK, checked the breach, tapped the clip in. He had a few rounds left after all. That was something.
The sun was coming up, a beautiful morning. His heart was incredibly light.
Nothing to be scared of now.
“Anywhere,” he whispered, and that was that.
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: character death
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme (hyperlink won't work, apologies!).
Since we’re moving and all... and I'm in need of some serious angst (like, just sort of bawled my way through Up), I dare you anon and others alike:
Kill/write about the death of one of the boys. Slash or gen.
it might be cathartic, no, before we move to the shiny new moderated meme?
The team’s on a mission in Africa, and everything goes to shit.
This mission had been fucked from the get-go.
Client hadn’t told them enough about the local warlord, what the asshole’s militia looked like or the funding the guy was obviously getting from somewhere. Base, not where they’d expected. Firepower, not what they’d planned for. Plan, totally inadequate. Coordinates for Murdock’s pick-up, too far away. GPS map, inconclusive on the terrain.
And now, because of all of that, in the pre-light of the African dawn, the explosion was unmistakable.
Face felt it in his chest, the percussion burst, the rush of adrenaline, and instinctively turned his back, sheltering the oddly silent three year old in his arms. The kid buried his face in the lieutenant’s sweat-drenched shirt, and he held the little head there as he stood back up.
“Hannibal?” he whispered, tapping his earpiece. “Hannibal, you okay?”
“Don’t move, lieutenant,” the boss replied over the radio, his voice sparked with something far, far too familiar and far too strange.
“What’s going on, Hannibal?” he asked.
“Stop.” One word. Strained. Then nothing.
The toddler plastered to him stared up with big eyes, barely visible. Face exaggerated a finger to his lips, and stood, careful as he could, keeping an arm tight around the little package they’d been asked to retrieve, the last of a family that would never go home. They’d been too late to save the rest.
Face hated death, hated it. Part of being a Ranger, and that much he had been able to come to terms with. But it wasn’t so easy anymore.
How many years had he been walking out into it now? How many bodies was he expected to witness, how many people was he expected to kill himself, before they got out of this line of business? The familiarity didn’t breed comfort, and it was all the worse for Hannibal’s bullshit reasoning.
They’d had that argument frequently. Too frequently.
“Death’s part of it, Hannibal.”
“I can’t see you killed, kid.”
“You don’t have to. We can get out...”
But when they got calls like the one last week, from a distraught co-worker at the US Embassy in Somalia, Hannibal walked out into it. And Face followed.
He’d go anywhere, do anything, for that man. Even if it meant they never had anything for themselves.
BA caught up with him, chest heaving, hands on his knees. He clapped a hand on Face’s shoulder. “What’re you doing, fool? We don’t got time...”
“Minefield,” he hissed, and the black man stopped cold.
“Where’s the boss?”
“Out there.”
Across a minefield, evidently. Unfamiliar terrain. Shit, they were better than this, weren’t they? How had they missed this?
Face couldn’t see Hannibal’s body against the sky. Anywhere. The man was nowhere in sight. No. No. This was not happening...
“Are you hit?” he asked over the comms, not wanting an answer, not getting one.
Nothing.
This was insane.
“Hannibal, what the fuck are you doing?” he screamed across the muddy field, not caring if the tin-pot militia heard, not caring if he woke up the village, not caring if that got the little kid wailing. No answer.
“Fuck this,” he grunted, and bundled the kid and his GPS unit over to BA. “Call Murdock. Get him in the air, get him to the secondary landing zone. Get the kid out.”
“Face...” BA growled.
He switched on his red flashlight, the one that didn’t carry beyond the little pool at his feet, and took a step forward, in the direction of the explosion. “I’m giving you an order, corporal,” he snapped, using a voice he hadn’t used since the discharge, and had never used on BA. A command that wouldn’t, couldn’t be argued with. Flat, determined, set.
The other man took a step back and nodded tightly. Held out his spare clip.
It was all the ammunition that they had left.
Face didn't take it. "Keep that kid safe, buddy. Not fair, the little guy going to grow up an orphan."
BA's lips were set in a thin line. “They were five, maybe ten minutes back. I'm gonna make for...”
"We'll beat you there." Face patted his old friend on the shoulder and moved into the field.
Anywhere.
It was slow going, picking his way through the field. Terrifying. He knew what landmines looked like, the coils under the soil or the little antenna sticking up. Still terrifying. Who knew who had left them here or why - too many little wars in this part of the world to say for sure. Didn’t matter. Terrifying. He couldn’t help it.
An eternity seemed to pass like that, heart hammering, palms sweating, fear tugging around the edges of all of it, until Face spotted a dark shape in a shallow crater a few yards in front of him.
Hannibal.
Face was on top of him in a flash, heedless of the possible danger as he skidded down to his knees and caught the boss’s hand up in his own, snapping the red filter off his light, looking for a pupil response, feeling for a pulse, and he was rewarded with a light squeeze around his thumb.
Blood was thick in the air, mixed in with dry dirt and long-dead grass and burned gunpowder. Face flashed the light down and instantly wished he hadn’t, his stomach churning up at the sight.
Keep it together, Peck, he ordered himself.
“Boss, Hannibal, you awake?” he asked, trying to stay calm, and put the light down on Hannibal’s still belly. He ripped off his belt, moved around to the side and just sat there for a moment. It was worse from this angle.
A tourniquet wasn’t going to do any good. There wasn’t anything left to save.
“You guys... need to get out of here,” Hannibal muttered. His skin was ashen and his eyes half open. His blood pressure was dropping.
“I’m not leaving you behind, boss,” Face said, desperate. There had to be a way to fix this, had to be. “Murdock’s coming...”
“He can’t land here...”
“Then we need to get you up.”
“Face...”
“Air Force’s got a base on the coast, we can get you...”
“Lieutenant!”
The bellow was as strong as it ever was, hands shooting up and pulling him down, and it was all Face could do to keep from landing right on top of the other man. They’d been here before, close but never quite, and never like this. For better reasons in better days. Far from here. Where they’ll never be again.
He was still expecting what was left of the warlord’s little army to come over the hill, guns blazing. They would. Matter of time. But Face couldn’t bring himself to care right then.
Those beautiful blue eyes were laced with pain, clouding already.
“That kid okay?” Hannibal asked, air barely making it out of his lungs.
“Yes, sir.”
“You boys, you’ll be okay...”
On the very limits of his hearing, Face heard the thump-thwmp of rotary blades. “Murdock’s coming, boss, please...”
“Promise me, Face,” and there was that familiar growl, one last time.
His eyes were stinging. “Hannibal, I love you...”
He’d never said it. Hannibal never let him get that far. Said he wouldn’t be able to control himself, hearing those wrds.
Hands tightened.
Face had always known it would be his turn one day, that death was going to come for all of them, that it’d be his turn and when it came, the only thing he’d regret was leaving the team behind.
Leaving Hannibal behind.
Whose hands had gone slack.
So, not a problem now.
Shouting. Not English. Louder than the approaching chopper, louder than Murdock’s voice, screaming in his ear. That was okay. They hadn’t been so far behind BA, after all.
“Face, Face, where’s the bossman?”
“Everything’s fine, buddy,” he said, surprised at how smoothly the words came. Murdock couldn’t land. Face wouldn’t allow that, not with that kid, who hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve seeing his family killed like that and certainty didn’t deserve to die out here. “Pick us up later
“Face! Don’t even think...”
But whatever it was that Murdock wanted to say, Face didn’t want to hear. He took the earpiece out and turned his radio off.
Took a deep breath.
Face looked down one more time, kissed the still-warm forehead, wondered if he was imagining the smirk there. “Should have been Arlington, boss,” he murmured, and turned back to the task at hand. Shouldered the AK, checked the breach, tapped the clip in. He had a few rounds left after all. That was something.
The sun was coming up, a beautiful morning. His heart was incredibly light.
Nothing to be scared of now.
“Anywhere,” he whispered, and that was that.
