“Who gave that crazy ass son-of-a-bitch a fucking rocket launcher?!”

B.A. is still fuming eight hours later, in another country, as they make their way out to the lake, bouncing along the dirt track to the cabin that belongs to the wife of a cousin of someone Face slept with once. And Hannibal has no idea where he got the truck from either; he doesn’t think he wants to know, but it only has two seats, Face is driving and he called shotgun without a word being spoken. The rough ride isn’t improving B.A.’s mood because he’s angry about the flight and he’s sharing the back with Murdock who’s loving it, laughing like a hyena as he hangs on for dear life. Maybe it’s madness. Maybe it’s that the truth of their situation hasn’t sunk in yet. They’re fugitives, and this time there is no plan.

Up front, Hannibal watches Face wrestle with the steering wheel because it’s easier than watching the truck swallow the dirt. He’s feeling a sudden and inappropriate surge of sheer unadulterated happiness. Did he really really think that they would get their lives back? Probably not. Because there isn’t anyone in the world he trusts who isn’t here with him right now.

At a bend in the road, Face glances at him and there’s a question in his piercing blue eyes, but it doesn’t get voiced until they’re ensconced in the cabin, the truck stowed, fire lit, water heating up. The sound of B.A. and Murdock fighting over the upstairs front bedroom drifts from the open window to where he and Face stand on the wooden decking out front, beers hanging from their fingers, looking out at the lake and hills just visible through the trees.

Then Face asks. “What now?”

And knowing it’s been coming since the truck hasn’t helped; Hannibal still doesn’t have an answer. So he responds honestly, “I don’t know.”

His men don’t hear those words from him often, he makes sure of it. There’s always a plan, no matter how desperate the situation, no matter how insane the resolution. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ are the words Face most of all needs to hear. But for the last decade or more they’ve had the backing – the technology and the money - of the military. Now they’re on their own. They’re never going back to the Army and that realisation is just starting to sink. But he can’t allow himself to fall apart even if he’s capable of it.

Face is still looking at him, waiting for something more. But he doesn’t have anything more, so he says, “There’s no reason for us to stick together.” He doesn’t know why he says it, or even if he means it. It’s inaccurate and far from the truth and Face’s expression calls him on it. He holds up a hand to stop the immediate tirade. “I mean... we don’t have to stay together.”

Shaking his head, Face at least lets him finish before hissing, “With respect, Boss, that’s bullshit.”

It makes him all the more determined to make his point. “We’re not in the Army now, Kid. We’re not a unit any-“

Face’s palm slamming hard against his chest takes him by surprise and he stumbles back. “Don’t say that! Give us some credit! I know, B.A. would do okay on his own – he did before you ran into him all those years ago. But Murdock needs you.” Hannibal glances down at his hand, and Face seems to see it for the first time because he pulls it away like Hannibal’s chest is burning him, and he says, “I need you.”

“No, you don’t.” But all he’s doing is buying time, because Face’s confession has surprised him more than the hand on his chest. “You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for. It was your plan that cleared us –“

Face laughs, a sound with a bitter note because he’s suddenly angry – not with Hannibal but with himself – and he takes two steps back and turns away. “But we’re not clear, are we? We’ll never be clear! We know there was a conspiracy but it feels like we were the only ones not in on it!” There isn’t anything he can say to that; it’s the simple truth and it hurts more than he’s willing to admit, just like it’s hurting Face. He steps forward at the same moment Face turns back, the gap between them closing in a heartbeat so that unexpectedly they’re close enough to share breath and his thoughts are railroaded from their situation and back to that place they absolutely aren’t allowed to go. Only this time instead of resisting he puts his hands on Face’s shoulders, resting them there, mostly-empty bottle still hanging from his fingers. Face doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile, just meets Hannibal’s eyes in a silent challenge, and slowly he lets his palms slide down muscled arms until the tips of his fingers are touching warm skin and cool glass.

They’re not in the army now. There’s no one to ask and no one to tell. There’s just Face staring at him, lips slightly parted, like sin incarnate. Hannibal raises his empty hand, pushes his fingers through Face’s thick hair, splaying them, curling them. He’s been resisting this particular temptation for over a decade and he is only human.

“Why are you still holding back?” He can’t answer that, he isn’t sure if he is holding back or just pausing for breath, admiring the view. “You’ve been holding back since the day we met.” Face’s smile is almost predatory. “You’ve wanted me for ten years. Ten years of scowling at every woman or man who comes near me, of yelling at me every time I mention Charissa! You’re only fooling yourself and now you don’t have anything to lose.” He lets his hand slip to the back of Face’s neck, wondering again – so many, countless times – how he will taste, how he will look and sound when he came. “Do it. Take me.”

Those two words are like a splash of ice cold water, send sudden chills down Hannibal’s spine and he backs off, hands falling away, draining his beer with one gulp and not looking at Face again when he turns and goes back into the cabin, heading upstairs and slamming the bathroom door closed behind him. B.A. and Murdock are still arguing in the front bedroom, at least he thinks that’s what they’re doing. So after a cold shower and a piss, he takes the bedroom at the back, locks the door and sits on the unmade bed, Face’s words playing over and over in his head. How many people has Peck said that same thing to? And how many times has it been the last thing he wanted? Hannibal doesn’t know if Face feels the same way about him or not, the man is an expert con artist, adept at lying. He doesn’t know how many men and women Face has convinced are his world just to get something in return, something he – or they –needed.

Rubbing his face with his hands, he drops back to the bare mattress, closing his eyes.

~

Face finishes his beer and leaves the empty bottle out on the veranda, finally following in Hannibal’s footsteps, going inside. It’s late, almost two in the morning. The cabin has fallen quiet and Murdock is standing uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs. He obviously wants to say something and Face schools his expression as ‘approachable’ with difficulty. He sits down heavily, tired, into the couch and holds out one arm as an invitation, wiggling his fingers until Murdock comes to sit beside him, snuggling into his side, his hand falling to Face’s shoulder.

“Bosco kicked me out of my bed,” he complains quietly.

Face nods in understanding, dropping his cheek to rest against the crown of Murdock’s head. “I know the feeling,” he says. It’s barely loud enough for his own ears to hear but Murdock replies,

“You and the Boss man would be good together.”

It doesn’t surprise him in the least that Murdock knows what he’s talking about. For a certified insane person, he is entirely too perceptive and Face is too tired to deny it. “Yeah.” He sighs. “Try telling him that.” He feels Murdock turn his head into him and with a small smile to himself he settles down too, knowing he’s going to have a terrible crick in his neck when wakes up but too exhausted to care. They’re all whacked; low on sleep, adrenaline gone. Hannibal will think of something, he has to. Because right now they’re royally fucked, and not in any good way.

~

“CONTACT! SIX O’CLOCK!”

“Who the fuck is firing at us?!” Face is shouting because he feels like shouting; primal screen therapy as he throws himself down against the nearest tree, casting a look over at Hannibal who’s squatting down a couple of trees to his left and asking hopefully, “Are you armed?”

“Pistol. Won’t help at this range. Whoever it is, they’ve got rifles.” Another shot rings passed them and he’s at least grateful that whoever’s taking pot-shots isn’t a good aim.

“So all we can do is squat and hope.” It puts a smile on Hannibal’s face so it’s worth it. “Would this be a good time to tell me why you went from hot to cold last night faster than I could say ‘fuck’, which was kinda where I was hoping the night would go?”

“No, I don’t think this is the time....”

But he isn’t going to take no for an answer and he leans forward to make his point, instantly regretting it when a bullet almost takes his ear off. He sits back quickly, flat against the thick tree trunk, taking a steadying breath. “For your information, I have never done anything I haven’t wanted to do.” He sighs loudly. “I don’t know what horror’s in your head, Boss, but I can guess. I know you see me as a victim but I promise you, I’ve never been, nor do I ever intend to be, raped!”

Hannibal’s scowling again. “You sell yourself.”

It isn’t anything he doesn’t already know Hannibal is thinking, but it still hurts. “When the circumstances called for it and for things we’ve needed! Desperate times call for desperate measures, you know that.” He hesitates. “You’re saying because I slept with people you haven’t approved of, you don’t want me? No – wait, I know you’re not saying that because I know you want me.” He glances across at Hannibal and the intense look he’s sporting assures Face that he’s hit a nerve. “So what is stopping you?”

He thinks maybe he’s about to get an answer, but Hannibal raises a finger to his lips. For a moment, Face almost explodes with anger, but he realises there’s someone in the undergrowth directly behind them. Hannibal has risen to the balls of his feet, ready to spring, and Face mimics him. The moment their attacker steps between the two trees, they both jump.

~

“Hunter. Right,” Face mutters as he and Hannibal makes their way back to the cabin. “He could bring a plane down with that thing –“

“I don’t think any less of you because you use your body to make deals.”

It‘s so unexpected, Face trips over his own boot and stops dead in his tracks as he plants his feet back on uneven ground. “What?”

A few steps ahead, Hannibal halts too. “And I don’t want you to fuck me because it’s what I want or because you’ve been with so many people you don’t like, you figure you might as well be with someone you do.” Face feels his mouth fall open and his eyebrows climb, but he can’t think of a single other word to say. He watches Hannibal back track to where he’s standing, watches his hand as it moves to touch his fingers. “I want you to want me. That’s what I’ve been waiting for. But I don’t think –“

They’ve both waited too long. Face shoots his hand out, cups the back of Hannibal’s neck and pulls him hard towards him, closing the gap with his entire body, kissing him hard and rough; a starter for ten just to make his point crystal clear. When he lets Hannibal pull back, just far enough for them to breathe, he says, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

“Don’t do this just to please me.”

Face shakes his head with a smile. “No matter what you think, Hannibal, I haven’t devoted my life to pleasing you.”

Calloused fingers touch his throat. “Could have fooled me, Kid.” It’s a prelude to the best kiss of his life. There is so much they need to work out now but this, at least, feels like a plan.