Nameless One, 3/18
Jun. 24th, 2011 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofknavesTitle: Nameless One
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tripatch
Rating: R
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt, Face secretly takes meds for bipolar disorder. But for whatever reason, Face is no longer on his meds. Then the manic behavior starts, from getting into a mess of fights to needing to have tons of sex with strangers. Then when the emotional roller coaster stuff starts, Face begins cutting himself during the darkest times. His teammates notice, and try to help but Face is stubborn and refuses help, heavily in denial.
Additional Notes: Title taken from James Clarence Mangan's poem, "Nameless One".
If Hannibal noticed anything, he doesn’t say, just gives Face that even stare and asks questions like, “You okay, el-tee?” and Face sometimes wants to blurt out everything, tell him he’s not, that he doesn’t know what’s happening (except of course he does), that everything feels like it’s falling apart sometimes and even the haphazard mix of medications doesn’t help all the time—but instead he just smiles and says, “Perfect, Colonel”.
And Hannibal will nod, but he doesn’t say anything when the nights get so bad that Face shakes in his bed, twisting the scratchy blankets in his hands because he needs something to hold onto. He doesn’t say anything when Face comes to him at the middle of the night and just sits beside his cot, watching him sleep, wanting to curl up beside him and someone to tell him it’ll be alright, because he’s a grown man for God’s sake, he shouldn’t need this.
He doesn’t say anything the next morning when Face puts his game face on and pretends everything is fine. That the bags under his eyes are because he found some cute sergeant who blushed and giggled and let him kiss her behind the mess, and the other guys whoop and holler, slapping him on the back.
Sometimes Face wishes he would, but a bigger part of him keeps reminding him how quickly this can all come crashing down around him and he’ll be trapped in the rubble.
The other guys filter out, some going home, others transferring and getting reluctant goodbyes from Hannibal and Face, until Face feels like he’s tap-dancing on quicksand. The only thing anchoring him anymore is Hannibal, his quiet, familiar presence telling him to steady on. Murdock and B.A. are a welcome addition to the team—B.A. for that same solidity as Hannibal, those broad shoulders always there to defend and protect and to lean on, even though Face will never take him up on it, just as he never took Hannibal’s big hands up on the promises they make to soothe him and bring him down when nights get bad. Murdock is the opposite. He wears his crazy on the patches of his beat-up bomber jacket and the brim of his baseball cap and the Chucks on his feet and when Face looks at him, he wonders if that same glint lives in his eyes.
Face doesn’t know what to make of him at first, so willing to let the world see all his problems, reveling in it, almost, and he wishes he could have that confidence and is terrified of it at the same time. That yellow, dusty hospital in Mexico is a silent testament to the fact that there but for the grace of Hannibal go he.
He finds himself indulging in that crazy more and more often, soaking it in, reminding him that he’s not the only one, even though he tells himself that the best part is that no one will notice him, not when they have Murdock, spinning around and talking to his invisible dog, right there plain as day. He can hide in the shadows of Murdock’s insanity forever, he feels like.
If it occurs to him that there is more than one kind of insanity, Face never says anything.
Author:
tripatchRating: R
Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt, Face secretly takes meds for bipolar disorder. But for whatever reason, Face is no longer on his meds. Then the manic behavior starts, from getting into a mess of fights to needing to have tons of sex with strangers. Then when the emotional roller coaster stuff starts, Face begins cutting himself during the darkest times. His teammates notice, and try to help but Face is stubborn and refuses help, heavily in denial.
Additional Notes: Title taken from James Clarence Mangan's poem, "Nameless One".
If Hannibal noticed anything, he doesn’t say, just gives Face that even stare and asks questions like, “You okay, el-tee?” and Face sometimes wants to blurt out everything, tell him he’s not, that he doesn’t know what’s happening (except of course he does), that everything feels like it’s falling apart sometimes and even the haphazard mix of medications doesn’t help all the time—but instead he just smiles and says, “Perfect, Colonel”.
And Hannibal will nod, but he doesn’t say anything when the nights get so bad that Face shakes in his bed, twisting the scratchy blankets in his hands because he needs something to hold onto. He doesn’t say anything when Face comes to him at the middle of the night and just sits beside his cot, watching him sleep, wanting to curl up beside him and someone to tell him it’ll be alright, because he’s a grown man for God’s sake, he shouldn’t need this.
He doesn’t say anything the next morning when Face puts his game face on and pretends everything is fine. That the bags under his eyes are because he found some cute sergeant who blushed and giggled and let him kiss her behind the mess, and the other guys whoop and holler, slapping him on the back.
Sometimes Face wishes he would, but a bigger part of him keeps reminding him how quickly this can all come crashing down around him and he’ll be trapped in the rubble.
The other guys filter out, some going home, others transferring and getting reluctant goodbyes from Hannibal and Face, until Face feels like he’s tap-dancing on quicksand. The only thing anchoring him anymore is Hannibal, his quiet, familiar presence telling him to steady on. Murdock and B.A. are a welcome addition to the team—B.A. for that same solidity as Hannibal, those broad shoulders always there to defend and protect and to lean on, even though Face will never take him up on it, just as he never took Hannibal’s big hands up on the promises they make to soothe him and bring him down when nights get bad. Murdock is the opposite. He wears his crazy on the patches of his beat-up bomber jacket and the brim of his baseball cap and the Chucks on his feet and when Face looks at him, he wonders if that same glint lives in his eyes.
Face doesn’t know what to make of him at first, so willing to let the world see all his problems, reveling in it, almost, and he wishes he could have that confidence and is terrified of it at the same time. That yellow, dusty hospital in Mexico is a silent testament to the fact that there but for the grace of Hannibal go he.
He finds himself indulging in that crazy more and more often, soaking it in, reminding him that he’s not the only one, even though he tells himself that the best part is that no one will notice him, not when they have Murdock, spinning around and talking to his invisible dog, right there plain as day. He can hide in the shadows of Murdock’s insanity forever, he feels like.
If it occurs to him that there is more than one kind of insanity, Face never says anything.
