A scene from "Firing Line" (the third part of the fifth-season opener) from Hannibal's POV (but still third person)--I think it ties in rather well with a scene or two after that as well, but...well, just read it and you decide. You know the drill: I don't own the characters, I make no money off this story...can we just take it as read? J
Waking From a Dream
"Hannibal!"
He stared in shock at the green monster with the cigar in its mouth. He turned back to the firing squad and stared in horror at the guns, all pointed directly at him.
"FIRE!"
NO!!!
They fired.
* * *
"Hannibal!"
Hannibal and BA exchanged glances, both managing to not quite look worried. Face had been muttering in his sleep for the past half-hour or so. The mumbles almost always started out happily enough, something about a girl (of course), but pretty soon became frantic, often ending with him yelling out his CO's name before his dream or nightmare started over again. Hannibal could tell it was starting to drive BA crazy. It would probably have driven Hannibal crazy too, if he didn't feel so guilty.
Face was asking for his commander, and his commander couldn't help him.
It's just a dream. The kid's just dreaming.
That consolation wasn't very consoling.
His team hadn't been handling their confinement very well at all. BA was always obvious in his anger, striking out at anything breakable and as often as not things that weren't normally but became so under BA's strong fists, but Face was different. He seemed so ill at ease in his dress uniform or fatigues, uncomfortable and vulnerable in clothes that had never really suited him in the first place, even less so now. There was real fear in his blue eyes, something Hannibal didn't see very often. And instead of his habitual sarcastic remarks about the latest mess they'd gotten themselves into, or complaining as was his wont (yet another con Hannibal knew; Face really wouldn't be happy in any other life than this one), he stayed quiet, wincing every time he accidentally rattled his chains, or the cuffs scraped against his wrists. Hannibal himself was getting irritable and having to ration his cigars, which didn't improve his mood. He couldn't concentrate; every time he tried to formulate a plan for escape, his thoughts scattered apart, out of his control.
No, none of them were handling it very well.
Face suddenly sat up, his thin face covered in sweat, breathing heavily as if in pain, blue eyes bright and wild in shock. Woken from his dream. BA glanced up at the lieutenant again, scowling, then looked down once more as if it weren't worth the effort. Face rolled off his low bed, the chains getting in his way, and he rattled them in irritation, trying to push them out of his way, a futile move, which he knew. He stumbled away from the bed as if hoping to get out, even though he knew he was stuck in this bare cell with the other two.
"How'd you sleep?" Hannibal asked, blinking up at Face calmly, cigar in mouth, merely by pose and tone of voice forcing the lieutenant to stay calm, not freak out on him. He probably appeared very indifferent, cold even, to the younger man, but at this point, it really didn't matter. He just needed to keep the lieutenant sane and useful, in case they actually could break out of this place.
Face glanced down at the colonel as if he were mad before heading for the door. Face's skin was still shiny with sweat, dripping down to his green fatigues. "Like I didn't have a care in the world," he answered the colonel, still breathless and unnerved but pretending (and failing miserably) to be his usual dry self. He stared out the grilled window, breathing heavily but gradually regaining control. Hannibal watched the lieutenant's face slacken, the quiet desperation barely hinted at in his blue eyes and tense face.
I'm sorry Face. We'll get out of this. I promise.
But still, Hannibal kept hearing his helpless voice calling out his colonel's name. And still Hannibal couldn't respond.