Archive of Our Own ^beta

Will took off his glasses, and folded them closed on the desk, click-click. 'You're the one who knows Ms Bloom, right?'

The applicant was sitting up straight-as-can-be in the chair opposite, looking alert and crisply-pressed. He'd brought a physical copy of his résumé: thermal transfer, a tasteful serif, printed on slightly heavier-than-average cream-colored paper with a pleasing tooth to it, so it had a sense of gravity, history, staying power in your hand. This guy knew the tricks, knew how to stand out. He didn't seem nervous, but he wasn't exactly cocky either; if Will had to describe him, he'd probably go with self-possessed.

'Yes, Mr Graham. I was her TA at Georgetown.'

'Is that right?' Will tipped his chair back a little, the leather creaking as it moved. 'Well. I trust Alana's judgement—mostly. My last assistant had some, uh. Romantic notions. I had to let her go. That won't be a problem with you, will it?'

'No, sir.'

'I won't walk in here some afternoon after a long lunch to find you sprawled out on my desk with your frilly panties hanging off one ankle, assuming I'm going to do something about it other than fire you?'

'Absolutely not, sir.'

Will pulled back one of the steel spheres of the clacking-swinging-ball thing a colleague had given him, and watched them tap together, back and forth. The metronomic quality of the sound added tension to the room, and Will scanned the young man's face for any new hint of nervousness.

Nothing.

'You dress a little loud,' Will noted. 'You'll have to tone it down for court.'

'I understand, sir.'

'I'll warn you in advance. Did Alana tell you this job means you'll be on-call 24/7?'

'Yes, Mr Graham.'

Will watched the subtle change in his expression whenever he replied; there was an ardent earnestness, there. Nothing needy, but clearly very Type A, with something to prove. Will was curious to find out what so desperately needed confirmation. 'You don't aspire to having any sort of personally enriching, vibrant social life, do you?'

'I have plenty of friends, but we don't often see one another.'

'Probably for the best, you'll be exhausted. I'm not exactly the easiest guy to work for.' Will picked up the résumé again. 'Where are you from? Early schooling is in France, but you're clearly not French.'

'I was born in the countryside of Lithuania, sir.'

'Not sure I could point to it on a map.'

'Nor could many people there, sir.'

'Odd name, Hannibal. You must get a lot of comments.'

Hannibal's expression remained neutral. 'It doesn't trouble me.'

'You like the attention.'

'I like being myself, sir.'

Will skimmed down the page, on the hunt for sore spots. 'What made you decide to stop pursuing medicine?'

'A patient died during my surgical residency,' said Hannibal.

Will oscillated his chair slightly. 'They tend to do that from time to time.'

'I was not as…' Hannibal paused for the length of a blink, 'prepared for the consequences of that eventuality as I'd anticipated.'

'Well, I can't fault you.' Will opened a drawer, and stuck the résumé down into the depths. 'I'd hate to cut people up just to keep myself fed. When I was your age, I wanted to be a cop, if you can believe it.'

Hannibal's eyes were bright with interest. 'What changed?'

'I succeeded,' said Will, and let the matter drop. 'You know what we do here at Crawford, Bloom & Graham, don't you? Not the business card answer, the real answer.'

'Alana told me not to assume. I learned a long time ago to heed her advice.'

'Wise of you.' Will laced his fingers together on the desktop and leaned forward a little, saying in a stage whisper, 'We help get the bad guys off. That doesn't give you a sick little twinge down in your conscience, does it?'

'Not at all, sir.'

Will gave him a long look, long enough to rattle some people, but Hannibal didn't show any signs of backing down. 'Why the fuck not?'

'I find myself drawn more towards the blue-orange axis of morality, than black and white.' Hannibal seemed keen on sustained eye contact, and Will had to draw upon years of practice to maintain it, to maintain his position of authority in the room. 'I'm not God, Mr Graham. I have no way of knowing the depth and breadth of one man's influence over his fellow man. If I were to allow myself to determine who's wrong and who's right—' He breathed out a soft laugh, looking away, down at his hands. 'That might go very badly for the wrongdoer. I'm certain you understand, sir.' And he flicked his gaze back up to meet Will's.

His eyes were captivating, honestly, and Will had to take a second to compose himself before he spoke. 'You don't have to wrap up every sentence with "sir,"' said Will, at last.

Hannibal smiled, with only his eyes. Exceedingly professional. 'As you say, Mr Graham.'

* * *

Alana accepted the dark glass of beer Hannibal handed her, and raised it a little in a toast. 'I hear congratulations are in order.' She gave him a fond look. 'What do you think of him?'

'You were right.' He was preparing them dinner, fingers red with spices. 'I like him.'

'Be careful with that feeling, Hannibal,' said Alana, leaning back against the counter to watch him work. 'He's just as perceptive as you are.'

Hannibal arranged the meat in the baking dish, then went to wash his hands. 'Mr Graham seems to believe that I don't know what I'm getting into.'

'Well,' she said, making a so-so gesture with her free hand. 'We are kind of an unusual firm.'

Hannibal turned off the taps, and dried his hands on the towel from over his shoulder. 'And he's one of your best public faces. He has every reason to suspect my ability to support that reputation, once I'm privy to his secrets.'

'No one's privy to all of them.'

Hannibal smiled. 'That's as it should be, isn't it?'

* * *

His phone buzzed at 4:45am, and he was buzzed into Mr Graham's high-rise apartment building across town at 5:30 on the dot.

Will looked him up and down. 'You stopped to get bagels?'

'And they're hot,' said Hannibal, gesturing a little with the paper sack as Will stepped aside, keeping the dogs at bay with a little tch tch sound to let him into the apartment. 'I live over the shop.'

Will smiled, shaking his head. 'I couldn't huff bread every day of my life and get anything done, you must have some kind of superpower.'

'I have an almost distractingly keen sense of smell.' Hannibal set the bag down on the bar-height portion of the countertop, next Will's half-finished cup of espresso. 'But the scent of baking things reminds me of better times. Do you want me to take dictation, sir?'

'No, I want your input, we're spitballing. We have all the facts, now we need to play with feelings.' Will unfolded the top of the bag and peered inside. 'God, that's fantastic,' he said, selecting which one he wanted, then took his bagel of choice and his espresso cup along for the ride as he paced the room. 'What do you think of the wife?'

Hannibal perched on a stool at the end of the counter. 'If our research checks out, she was an upstanding woman, sir. Local librarian, volunteered with at-risk youth, Girl Scout camp counselor for fourteen years, regular donations to End the Backlog and Planned Parenthood, increasingly active in Community Watch—'

'I didn't ask what we know about her, I asked what you think of her.'

'I think she, along with a number of others, was murdered by her husband, sir.'

'That's not an opinion, that's a verdict.' Will stepped up to the counter, flipped open the file on the top of the stack and tapped the glossy photo of their client's wife. 'Look into her eyes. What do you see?'

Hannibal had examined the photo countless times by now, and instead took the opportunity to examine the curvature of Mr Graham's nails, the raised twist of veins across the back of his hand, the lack of a ring or the shadow of one ever having been worn.

'I think overall she was a moral person, but began to overcompensate, sir.'

'Why?'

'Because she suspected she knew something, but was either too afraid or ashamed to confront reality.'

Will had finished his espresso, and went to the machine to pull another. 'When?'

Hannibal swiveled his barstool to face him as he moved. 'When her husband's behavior began to exhibit subtle changes she couldn't ignore.'

There was a pause as Will ground the beans for his shots. Then he said, 'What sort of changes would a woman like that see first?'

'I believe Mrs—'

'Client,' Will cut him off, leaning hard to tamp the grounds. Hannibal watched the shape and movement of his shoulder through his white t-shirt, taking it in to save for later, because he could. 'He's our client, his wife is Mrs Client, their dearly-departed parents are old Mom and Pop Client, etc.'

Hannibal waited while Will fitted the portafilter into the machine and turned it on. 'May I ask why, sir?'

'The defendant doesn't get to live in my house,' said Will, and his office-terseness was present in full intensity; you could almost hear the irreproachable cut of his suit, though he was in pajamas. 'It's a rule. Remember it.'

One of the larger dogs was nosing at the crook of his knee. 'Of course, sir.'

'If Mrs Client were unrelated to the man in question, that would be another story. His other victims—oh, sorry,' Will scoffed a little under his breath, 'alleged victims, they're first name basis. Tell me their names.'

Hannibal hesitated for half a second before he replied. 'I've only committed their surnames to memory thus far, sir.'

'Not good enough.'

'Have you taken me on as a legal intern, Mr Graham? I was under the impression I was a glorified secretary.'

'Nothing glorified about it, kid.' Will laughed a little. 'But you are more than that. You're my right hand, now, you need to know them, feel for them. Try to remember, come on.' Will snapped his fingers, and kept snapping, making a little go on gesture as he did so. He wasn't even looking at Hannibal, watching instead the slow golden drizzle of espresso into its waiting cup. One small dog with a big underbite was watching it, too.

'I—' Hannibal pulled himself together. 'Sophia, and Lara.'

Will snapped on. 'Keep 'em coming, tiger, we're staying put until you have it.'

'Delilah,' said Hannibal, closing his eyes so he wouldn't simply keep waiting for Will to look at him. He'd put the files in a perfectly reasonable place in his mind, but Mr Graham was so distracting, everything felt softened at the edges, lost in familiar rooms. Hannibal only wanted to be in this one. 'Penny,' he added, keeping himself from any hint of an upturned, questioning tone.

'That's it. You gonna put your back into it? My fingers are getting tired.'

Hannibal swallowed, wet his lips, opened his eyes to see that Will was looking right at him, now.

'Reagan,' Hannibal went on, confident he knew them all. 'Addison, Daisy.'

Will looked pleased, and blew steam gently from his fresh cup of espresso. 'Missed one. You'll get it by the time I kick you out of here, or I'm giving you more homework.'

'Yes, sir.'

Will resumed his pacing, and Hannibal spun his chair again to follow. 'So,' said Will, quite casually, 'did Bloomers ever ride your ass this hard back at Georgetown?'

'You could say she had a gentler touch, sir,' said Hannibal.

He stopped to scratch the border collie behind the ears. 'Wonder why she didn't snag you for herself.'

'Alana no longer benefited from my assistance,' said Hannibal, with the faintest of smiles. 'There were particular roles I was unable to perform to her standards.'

Will gave him an amused look. 'Huh.' He tore off a scrap of bagel. 'Well. Jot that down for me.'

* * *

He knew the town car was at the curb already. He didn't want to make Mr Graham wait.

But.

But his tablet had just pinged with an alert that a new article was up on Tattle Crime—to do with their upcoming trial—and Hannibal wanted to just glance at it, just briefly, before they set off to meet with whomever-it-was and the day scrolled away beneath the barrage of Mr Graham's questions and instructions and the thick, dark curl of his lashes, but then—

Someone was knocking.

'Nice lady downstairs with the three borzoi buzzed me up,' said Will. He was standing in the hall, hands in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat, his hair perfectly windswept across his brow. 'Recognized me from the dog park and figured I wouldn't loot the place. Did you fall in?'

'Sorry, sir,' said Hannibal, with a little nod that was closer to a bow.

'I don't need sorry, I needed your ass in the car eight minutes ago so we could beat the toll crunch.' He glanced curiously over Hannibal's shoulder, then back to meet his eyes. 'But our nine o'clock will soften up if I let him grumble at me about it. Traffic is a universal hell.'

'I'll only be a moment, Mr Graham. Please, come in, with my apologies.' Hannibal shut the door behind them, and locked it back.

'You know,' said Will, as Hannibal busied himself collecting up his things, 'when you said you lived over a bagel place, palatial isn't what I pictured.'

Hannibal slid his tablet into his bag. 'You knew my address, sir.'

'Yeah, but I don't make a habit of checking if you're on the damn Historical and Architectural Preservation list. Rent-controlled living sure must be nice, is it a family plot?'

'I inherited a number of properties, sir. It belonged to my aunt's sister, who left it to her.'

'You own it? Roundabout way of landing yourself a thirty-foot ceiling, but I'll take it.' He took a few steps here and there, reading the spines of some of the books that lined nearly every side of the massive room. 'You sleep in the loft?'

'Yes.' Hannibal was pouring his travel mug of coffee. 'You can go up, if you like.'

'Is that right?'

He suppressed a smile. 'I did offer.'

Will didn't take him up on it, but didn't seem put off, either. 'You know, last time I climbed a ladder to get into bed, I was probably about twelve. I'm a bit rusty.'

'Did you outgrow your bunk?' said Hannibal, screwing the cap onto his mug.

'I, uh.' Will chuckled at himself. 'I unbolted the ladder. A neighbor was building a treehouse, and I wanted to impress her. She told me if I thought she needed a ladder to get up there, I was dumber than I looked.'

'I've never been inside a treehouse,' said Hannibal. 'Trees, yes. A surprising number of spiders, up there.'

'I reckon they're in it for all the ants.' Will glanced over at him. 'You good?'

'Yes, sir, sorry to have kept you waiting.'

Will made a dismissive noise as he followed Hannibal back into the foyer, watching him unlock the door. 'Can't resist peering into other people's windows. That's my primary character flaw.'

Hannibal locked up behind them. 'I wouldn't say that, sir.'

'Oh?'

When Hannibal turned to look at him, Will was smiling. 'I didn't mean—'

'No, go on, Hannibal, tell me my primary flaws. That's usually a pop quiz I save for a little further down the road, but we're already wreaking havoc on my agenda this morning.'

They went down the building's broad stairs, side by side.

'It would be deeply unprofessional, sir.'

'You've seen me barefoot in my boxers, kid, "professional" just means whatever your workplace's status quo happens to be. By all means, express yourself.'

Hannibal hesitated, averting his eyes. 'I wouldn't want to offend you.'

'Hey.' Will caught his arm, gently, and they stopped in the stairwell. His usual barbed tone was softer, somehow, even with its ever-present rasp that read as aggression if you weren't listening. 'Tell me what you see.'

Hannibal felt pinned, deliciously so, by the almost vulnerable expression in Will's eyes, by his touch, even through his overcoat and jacket and all, and he said, quietly so it wouldn't carry, 'Your gift is that you let people in, but you rarely seem to allow yourself out.'

Will's lips parted to answer him, some patent retort that always waited in the wings, but he closed them again, just looking at him. Then Will let his hand drop, gave Hannibal a smile and said, 'See? That wasn't so terrible, was it?'

'I don't mean to be rude, sir.'

Will breathed out a laugh. 'Please. When you've been in this business as long as I have, rudeness looks very different. And it's not exactly news.' They went through the twin doors, out into the snowy morning air. 'I know who I am.'

* * *

The seatbelt indicator chimed as they reached cruising altitude.

'So,' said Will. 'We've got two hours to kill, and I'm sick of looking at the file for this asshole we're about to represent. Might as well get to know each other better.'

Hannibal got a little leather-covered notebook out of his breast pocket and clicked open a pen. 'If you like, sir.'

'You're going to take notes?'

'Would you prefer I didn't?'

Will laughed a little, shaking his head. 'Okay, kid, first of all, that's not the kind of question you should ask. This firm is known for being unshakable, that has to apply to anyone we're professionally associated with.' He paused to flag down the flight attendant for a drink, then added, 'At least on this side of the bench. You want anything?'

Hannibal seemed to know it was a test. 'I'll second your order, sir.'

'Safe move,' Will noted, after the flight attendant had come and gone. 'A little too safe. If you keep letting me speak for you, people will get ideas.'

'I can't stop them thinking, sir. Why not allow them to assume what they please? It creates a foundation of complacency, which can be easily manipulated.'

Will raised his eyebrows, accepted the scotch he was handed when the attendant returned, and took a drink of it. 'You're not a sweet little church mouse after all, point taken. Alana wouldn't have given you such a glowing reference if you were. How long were you two sleeping together?'

Hannibal didn't hesitate in his reply. 'Eighteen months, give or take.'

'That's a lengthy stroll for an illicit fling.' Will reached across him to raise the window shade all the way, looking past Hannibal at the thick bank of clouds below. 'What really ended it, old Bloomers get tired of the expense of keeping a pet?'

Hannibal wrote something down before he answered. 'I was demanding too much of her time.'

'What did you write?' Will could clearly see the page, but Hannibal wrote in a slanting, elegant copperplate that was hard to read from the side, and it seemed to be some kind of code, as well.

'"Unrequited romantic interest in legal partner,"' said Hannibal.

'In what, though?'

'Lithuanian,' said Hannibal, 'in my personal shorthand.'

'Anyone stateside ever cracked it before?'

'No one's had the chance.' He smiled.

Will nodded at his glass on the tray table. 'You haven't touched your scotch.'

'No, sir.'

'Hard to survive this business dry. Did you just not want to say "no, thanks"?'

Hannibal shook his head. 'Last night when you were briefing me on the case, you had two.'

Will gave him a look of amused disbelief.

'You've felt particularly frustrated by our current client, Mr Graham,' Hannibal explained. 'It seemed only kind.'

Will set his empty glass down and picked up the second. 'You're growing on me, kid,' he said. 'Risky. It's better to quit while you're ahead.'

Hannibal looked out at the mountains of cloud, and the dim reminder of life far below. 'I have no intention of quitting, sir.'

* * *

Highway 394 was at a dead stop, tunnel construction clogging the already hectic pipeline through the city. Hannibal sat across from Will, who had his back to the driver; despite the uniformly grey afternoon, and the frustration of creeping forward what felt like only a few inches every ten minutes or so, the jammed offramp had an excellent view of the Basilica.

'Have you ever wanted to murder someone?'

Hannibal looked up; he'd been sketching to pass the time while the car was at a standstill. Will was looking out of the window.

'Many times.'

'I don't mean out of anger,' Will clarified. 'Everyone feels a hot surge of rage or misery now and then, and wishes someone were dead.'

'What do you mean, then, sir?'

The season's first snow had yet to arrive, here, and bright foliage still clung to the trees. Will seemed to be watching how it moved. 'It's not an emotion, it's… knowledge. This brief little droplet of clarity that sends ripples through everything beyond it. It comes before planning, before any real calculation enters into things, you just know, and you accept that it's a possibility.'

Hannibal mulled it over for a moment before replying, 'I suppose it always is.'

'I used to read a lot of short fiction anthologies, when I was in college. There was this one story, this kind of debate between two aliens that are made of light.' He tipped his chin, indicating that Hannibal follow his gaze. 'Storm's coming. See how the leaves go belly-up? They sense it. They're thirsty.'

'What happens to them?' said Hannibal. 'The two beings of light?'

'They discovered Earth, and it creeped the fuck out of them. They decide that there's no way they can countenance humanity's existence as viable and on-par with their own, because,' Will smiled wryly, 'we're made of meat. That blew my mind when I was twenty-one. I thought, shit, that means I am, too. Some more powerful creature—or someone just a little quicker on their feet—could grind me up, slap me on a grill, and not think twice about it.'

'But if you're made of meat,' Hannibal pointed out, 'then so is everyone else.'

'I don't know about you,' said Will, 'but that's what I call a life-changing philosophical insight.'

They were quiet again, and traffic crept forward at its funereal pace, and Hannibal shaded the curls at the nape of Will's neck with the edge of his scalpel-sharpened pencil.

* * *

They had connecting hotel rooms.

'Listen,' said Will, as he got dressed, 'this guy's a piece of shit. I know that, and you know that, and the jury will definitely know that, but they also need to know that this kind of case can't be wrapped up with circumstantial alone.'

'And eyewitness,' said Hannibal. He was leaning in the doorway, watching Will fasten his cufflinks.

Will made a faint noise of derision. 'Only because they don't have anything else to bring to the table. Eyewitness is on its way out, just like fiber and polygraph. And not a day passes when I don't hear about some newly-discredited blood spatter analyst that gets case after case overturned, because they had the dumbass notion to go into forensics with an agenda.'

'But we know the client isn't innocent.'

'We're not aiming for acquittal, Hannibal, we specialize in the perfectly-executed plea bargain, and the occasional bad faith mistrial.'

'Does it not matter that he's guilty, sir?'

'We know what he did,' Will corrected him. 'Guilt doesn't factor into it. Responsibility, yes. He was responsible for those deaths, but that doesn't mean he's ever going to feel guilty about it.'

'But should he not be made to serve penance for his crimes?'

'That's a fantasy.' Will buttoned his shirt. 'The system was built upon the notion that people are made by a loving God and are fundamentally good. In reality, someone does bad things and we want to shun them, put them in a box so we don't have to look at the problem anymore. And if someone's already in the box, we assume they deserve it.'

Hannibal's eyes followed his every move, and seemed to glean information from each. (The fact that Will was tucking in his shirt at the time didn't factor into it at all.) 'What made you decide to leave law enforcement, sir?'

Will shrugged a little as his belt clicked closed. 'I saw that the law itself was distorted and biased, and its enforcers corrupt.'

'So you turned to defending those who break it most flagrantly, instead?'

Will didn't acknowledge that comment. 'Change your tie.'

'I like this tie, sir.'

'And Alana holds her own tit for comfort while watching scary movies,' said Will. 'Context. Change it.'

'I'm wearing my most subdued suit already, sir.' Hannibal sounded a little pained. 'I'll disappear.'

'You're an assistant, kid,' Will pointed out, turning up his collar to put on his own tie, 'that's your job. I should be able to slip you out of sight as easily as putting my phone in my pocket.'

'What happens if we lose?'

'We don't.'

'But, sir—'

Will put one hand on either side of the doorframe and pinned him with a look. 'Trust me,' he said, softly. 'There's something I've got that prosecution doesn't.'

Hannibal seemed to realize he was staring; he pressed his lips together, looked away, and, very gently, straightened Will's collar. 'I trust you, sir.'

In a fraction of a second, Will had Hannibal's tie wrapped around his hand and had tugged him closer; his expression was calm and friendly, but there was that same edge to his voice, the sharpness that made Hannibal feel like he couldn't quite breathe. 'That's a little preemptive, don't you think?'

Hannibal swallowed, and his lips parted to reply—but nothing came to him, because Will proceeded to undo the complicated Balthus knot of Hannibal's tie, slid it free of the curve of his collar, and Will tossed it aside, where it landed on the edge of his bed and slithered to the floor.

'Get the navy blue one out of my wardrobe,' said Will, turning away but with the ghost of a smirk on his face, 'and do as you're told.'

* * *

Hannibal had the best seat in the house.

He'd come into this with doubts, though more so with curiosity. Alana had told him as much as she could about Mr Graham's process—when she first reached out to Hannibal to see if he, of all people, could make sure Will had a competent assistant for more than six months. But there was so much that she couldn't explain, because no one could, save perhaps for the man himself. Will Graham kept a tight lid on his secrets, and anyone in the field who didn't know him personally had to assume that he was, quite simply, just that unnervingly good at his job.

Hannibal had read transcripts of prior cases, looked through the firm's files, had hushed conversations with the lesser attorneys whose office doors led up to Will's in the long, windowed corridor. He'd had only three weeks to learn, answering incisive questions, fetching coffee and dry cleaning. Showing up at Mr Graham's door before dawn on a Sunday, to sit in his kitchen and be quizzed about his impressions of people. Waking up in the middle of the night to meet Mr Graham at the corner in one of the firm's black town cars, to drive across town to meet with someone whose face Hannibal wasn't allowed to see. He'd looked into professional disputes, a libel case from 2004, everything he could get his hands on. Hannibal had befriended the doorman of Will's apartment building, chatted up the woman who minded his dogs during the day, the man who delivered Will's groceries, the receptionist who had a crush on him.

There seemed to be three versions of Will Graham.

There was the sharp-tongued, cynical, perpetually exasperated man Hannibal saw every day, who didn't take shit from anyone and, in a professional setting, would only take no for an answer if it meant someone owed him a favor.

There was the sensitive, almost shy gentleman who checked in with his neighbors after they had a breakup or when their kids left for college, who donated a substantial amount of his earnings to local charities, who would sit with the loved ones of his clients and soothe their fears. The man who took in any skinny old stray that followed him home.

And then there was this. Here and now, Will stood before the jury to deliver his opening statement, and every doubt in Hannibal's mind evaporated on the spot.

Will didn't pace, didn't stand at a distance from them. He positioned himself, instead, at the end of the juror's box, nearest the front of the room, an elbow against the edge; they had to turn to the right just a little to face him, and from their vantage point the judge could be seen over his shoulder, backing him up. He wore warm colors in the courtroom, as a rule: rich brown suits with a soft texture, nothing that caught the light too much, nothing flashy. Never a white shirt, always something faintly pink, faintly pollen-gold. Earthy colors. Comfort, security. Not to mention the elbow patches that gave him a fatherly, studious air.

He wore different glasses in court, slightly narrow frames that gave him a look of peculiar earnestness and intensity. Over the weeks leading up to a trial, he'd grow out his beard a bit, shape it a little more roundly at the edges. Will looked soft, and put on a voice to match: a little more of his accent came forward, now, and though his words still made slightly straining shapes, it was closer to molasses than a knife's edge.

'Good people of the jury.' Will avoided gendered terms of address, tried to make sure they were all in this together. He was certain to make eye contact with each of them, but not in any order they could predict. 'Good morning. I'm Will Graham, and my client there,' he nodded to the table where the defendant sat, 'well, you've been introduced, seeing as the state didn't see fit to put a gag order on the press. We've all got our opinions going in, and it's not my job to tell you what to think.

'You know why you're here; my client is believed to have killed several people. Ms Otero, who's already spoken to you on behalf of the prosecution, is going to be showing all of you a lot of photos throughout the course of this case.' He moved his hand slightly, a curling-inward of his fingers, to indicate his own discomfort, and swallowed. 'I, personally, am not going to be doing that, because that's not why I'm here. I'm here,' said Will, taking a steadying breath, 'because my client has a child that needs providing for.'

The client seemed to tense, at that.

'As you're no doubt aware,' Will went on, his eyes lingering on two women in the back row, 'a lot of the evidence to be presented throughout these proceedings is in regard to young people being killed. People who had their whole lives ahead of them. They had friends, and plans, and feelings and opinions. We know that. We need to respect that, here, in a court of law, maybe even more than we might anywhere else.'

He paused, to let that gel for a moment.

'Except on account of a technicality, I am not here in defense of my client,' he said. 'I'm here in defense of a young, blameless person whose life is still ahead of her. Her life is worth as much as any one of us, and I don't believe any child should pay for the sins of their father. All I ask, no matter what you see in the coming days, is that you allow yourself to think of this twelve-year-old child, who's still here. This child who's been through hell, who only has her father in the whole world, nobody else, this sweet girl who'd get lost in the system easy as dropping a penny down the gutter. I know it's that easy, because I've seen countless kids go down that same road, and not everybody comes out as lucky as me.

'It's not my job to convince you good people that my client is innocent. I know this is an unconventional approach, and I sincerely thank the Honorable Judge Schumann for her patience. As jurors, I want you to question, I want you to wonder. And I want you to think of that little girl, think of the weight that's been placed on her narrow shoulders. Ask yourself how she can survive this. Thank you.'

Will went back to his seat. Their client had written a line of question marks on a notepad and gently spun the paper so Will could see, as the judge was explaining the next steps to the courtroom. Will took the pen and wrote back, Trust me.

Hannibal just watched him, watched the gears as they turned.

* * *

'Do you need help?'

The girl looked up at Hannibal. 'Does it look like I need help?' She had her arm stuck inside the vending machine, using a pencil to try to poke loose a bag of Skittles that was caught and dangling just out of reach.

'Here,' said Hannibal, feeding quarters into the slot. 'Now you get two.'

She squiggled her arm free and stood up, holding one of the bags out to him. 'I can't accept that.'

'It's only candy,' Hannibal pointed out. 'Not a sizeable bribe.'

'I'm pretty sure nobody's stupid enough to take candy from strange men,' she said. 'Even if they just watched it come out of the machine. What if you do some kind of switcharoo close-up magic and make me eat drugs?'

'You're very astute,' said Hannibal.

They sat on a nearby bench together, regardless.

'You're holding that like it'll bite you,' she said, nodding at the Skittles bag in his hand.

'I'm allergic to artificial coloring.'

'You're just snooty, huh.'

'I'm afraid you may be right.'

She opened her candy, idly kicking one leg to and fro where it hung a couple inches from the floor. She'd worn a Sunday dress to court, but with beat-up Converse, and there was a small hole in the knee of her tights. 'My dad says that your boss is the best.'

'If you want to know the truth,' said Hannibal, his voice conspiratorially low, 'I've only just met my boss. But I've read a great deal about how good he is at his job.'

She gave him an unwavering stare. 'Are you good at your job?'

'I like to think so, yes.'

'Are you like,' she was picking out the green Skittles to eat all at once, 'an emergency backup lawyer?'

'I think I'd be permitted to choose my own tie, if I were.'

She did a little half-snorted laugh, and poured her handful of candies into her mouth. 'Wow. Is he that much of a hardass?'

'When I've figured that out, I'll let you know.'

They watched the comings and goings in the hall for a few minutes.

'When I was your age,' said Hannibal, 'I thought I knew everything, but then as I got older, I seem to have misplaced it.' He tried to hand her the other bag of Skittles, and she handed it back. 'Do you still know everything?'

The girl shrugged. 'Probably not. But I do pay attention, you know. People act like I don't—guess they think I'm,' she sounded mildly scathing, 'traumatized.'

'I know what you mean. They treat you like a beautiful animal brought in from the woods, and they want to look at you and say they mended you, but they're terrified when you still behave in the ways you were taught to survive.'

She was frowning at him, but it was the sort of intent expression like something had been explained properly for the first time. 'Maybe you still know some real things. You're not that old.'

'I am.'

'You're what, like…' she was grasping at straws, 'thirty?'

'Twenty-five,' said Hannibal. 'Ancient, all the same. Would you be willing to do something for me?'

'Not if it's pervy,' she said, rolling her eyes, picking lemon Skittles out of the bag now. 'I'll kick you in the nuts.'

'As you ought.' He smiled. 'Nothing pervy, I promise. There's been a red-headed woman here,' said Hannibal, 'in a dark red coat that flares out like a dress. If she wants to speak with you, and you can't get out of it, I'd like you call me from a public phone, not the one in your hotel room or your personal number.'

She took the card he offered her. 'Okayyy,' she said, a little warily. 'One: Why? Two: Your name is weird.'

'I've never met another Hannibal,' he admitted. 'I feel as if I wholly belong to me. Have you met another Abigail?'

She stuck the card down the side of her high-top sneaker. 'Not really anybody my age, it's all Katies and Brooklyns. Why should I call you?'

'It's my job to keep an eye on you,' said Hannibal, getting up, 'as part of your father's case.'

'Hey,' said Abigail, catching him by the hand before he could leave, 'someone told me the kind of things that could happen to my dad, if—when he goes to prison,' she took a shaky breath, 'and, and it's not right to torture people. I know that they're not supposed to, officially, but that doesn't mean that other inmates won't, sending him off where…' Abigail trailed off. 'It's inhumane.'

Hannibal gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. 'If it comes to that, there are steps that can be taken.'

He left the Skittles behind.

* * *

Will stood, backlit, in the connecting doorway.

Hannibal sat up at once, setting aside the file he'd been going over; he had a terrible habit of reading in bed, holding things above him until his arms got too tired to continue. 'Did you need something, Mr Graham?'

'Company. Want a drink?'

Hannibal followed him into his room.

There were papers spread out on the table, crime scene photos in clusters on the bed, arranged by victim. A tidy grid of Post-it notes decorated one door of the TV cabinet: names and juror numbers, thumbnail sketches of every face, information gathered during voir dire. Hannibal skimmed over a few of them as Will got a glass for him from the mini bar.

Felicity Cameron-White, late 20s. Left abusive boyfriend after abortion. Eldest of three sisters.

Marcus Cowan, 60s. Former miner. Gay? Raised by grandmother and aunts.

Gladys Ann Beech, mid-50s. Adopted as a teenager, foster mother 10+ years. Devout Catholic. This name was circled and underlined.

Jeff Nelson, 30s. Hunter, prepper, outspoken misogynist.

Dmitri Albright, 20. Nursing school, newlywed, wife fits profile, mother died young.

'Where was all this this morning, sir?'

'I don't like to wake up to it,' said Will.

Hannibal nodded to the photos, their bloody scenes seeming all the grislier in the low light from the single lamp. 'But you let them sleep in your bed.'

'Only rest I can give them, for now.' He sounded a little terse, but then he usually did. 'And it's not my bed. Go get some ice, would you?'

Hannibal went off barefoot down the carpeted hall, plastic bucket in hand. So far, Mr Graham seemed to tolerate him well enough, and might even begin to like him. Hannibal was, after all, a remarkable assistant: hardworking, diligent, obliging and organized, and (this wasn't something you could put on your list of qualifications) he gave as much as he got. While Hannibal would be the first to admit that he admired Mr Graham professionally—the man had an undeniable talent for coaxing people into the mindset he wanted—he was greatly enjoying discovering where Will's boundaries were, what made him the most snappish, what might get Hannibal into trouble.

He'd always had a reckless streak, and it's almost as if Will was daring him to indulge it. Every time Will implied that Hannibal was naïve, Hannibal relished it, reveling in that little hint of disdain. It meant he got to prove Will wrong, prove that he was just as clever, just as devious. Maybe someday, he could show Will just how clever he could be.

Then again, Hannibal had always formed sudden and irrational attachments to people. He'd get an idea into his head, and nothing could sway him from following through. People will look at the way you learned to survive and they will fear you, never willing to admit that nature has no notion of cruelty.

He walked back down the long, repetitive hall to Will's room. All the materials for the case had been tidied away, even the Post-its.

'A little more welcoming, I think,' said Will, dropping ice into their glasses. 'So,' he went on, sitting down in one of the matching chairs by the window. 'You've seen me in action, finally. What are your thoughts?'

'Are you testing me to determine whether I'll praise or criticize you?'

'Ties are off, bets are off,' said Will with a shrug. 'You've been solid so far, and Alana likes you, so I may be starting to value your opinion now and then, God help me.'

'Sounds exhausting,' said Hannibal, smiling.

'I know, right?' Will poured Hannibal's drink first. 'It's so much easier to just manipulate the shit out of someone, isn't it? You talked to the daughter.'

'Have you?'

'Verboten, she'll be on the stand. Anyway, I'm not good with kids—they don't bend the same ways.' Will settled back in the chair, giving Hannibal an appraising look. 'You've been doing your homework, Hannibal. You're starting to catch onto how we do things, aren't you?' He smiled. 'And you have an idea.'

'I might, sir.'

'On-brand for the firm? Ours is a boat that can't be rocked, or Uncle Jack will have your head on a stake.'

'I know, sir.'

'Is it a,' Will paused for another sip of whiskey, 'viable solution?'

'I believe so, sir.'

Will made a thoughtful noise, and set his glass on the table with a soft thunk. 'I can't catch you. I can't know what you're doing.'

Hannibal's expression would have been hard to read, to anyone but Will. 'I understand, Mr Graham.'

'It can't follow me home in any conceivable way. If there's even a shred—'

'I know, sir,' said Hannibal. 'I swear it.'

'Well,' said Will, his tone lighter as he picked up his glass again, 'then it's settled.'

* * *

The transport van had veered into the ditch, its guards disgorged in a bloodied heap on the shoulder—guards who, if you knew who to ask, were understood to be notoriously lax with prisoners' personal space and bodily integrity. The body of Garrett Jacob Hobbs was a hundred yards away, off in the trees.

His heart rested in his bound hands, which had been severed and placed at his feet, facing outward, as if offering it in supplication to those he had wronged. He was enthroned on a rack of antlers, the remains of his arms bound tight behind his back. He was missing his intestines, and two limbs: A coward, denied the ability to flee retribution. His neck was broken, and positioned so that he looked perpetually over his shoulder, in dread of what had hunted him down.

The ground was drunk with rain, and with blood, and any remnant of the hand that set the scene was washed away.

* * *

Will had been in the shower when the call came, and Hannibal had knocked on the door to get him out. Now, nearly dripped-dry from the amount of time he'd spent on the phone with various authorities, Will sat on the end of his bed with his towel still around his waist.

'That,' he said, 'was not what I expected.'

Hannibal stood in the doorway between their rooms, leaning one shoulder against the frame; he'd been taking shorthand notes while Will had the calls on speaker. 'Does this count as having lost, Mr Graham?'

Will gave him a look like he couldn't believe his good fortune. 'Come in here, please.'

Hannibal obeyed, and stood in front of him, arm's length away. 'Is there something you require, sir?'

Will just looked up at him for a moment, reading the tiny details of his expression—the position of his lips, the size of his pupils, the pace of his pulse in his neck. Every flicker of muscle, the length of every blink was vital information. Microscopic tells that conveyed more truth to Will than words ever did.

'Yes,' he said at last, 'there is.'

Hannibal's gaze flicked between Will's eyes, and—he couldn't help it—to his lips, the shadowed dip of his collarbone, the way he sat at the end of the bed in just a towel, more at ease with himself than most people were when fully dressed. That was the strange dichotomy that Hannibal found so fascinating, the alternating shyness and bold confidence that verged upon disregard.

Will reached up and cupped Hannibal's jaw, his thumb skimming just under Hannibal's lower lip for a moment. Hannibal inwardly thrilled at the touch, his eyes falling closed in a long blink, his breath snagging on anticipation.

'I don't want you to tell me if you're responsible,' said Will. 'I don't want to hear you say it, or anything that might imply it.'

'Yes, sir,' said Hannibal softly. The flat of Will's thumb dragged gently against the margin of his mouth when he spoke, and Hannibal resisted the urge to taste it.

Will watched him, watched how his face pinked a little in the weak morning light. 'Hypothetically,' said Will, and paused. He moved his hand away, just a fraction, and felt Hannibal lean after it, chasing his touch.

(Well. That was interesting. And he didn't really have any intention to deny him.)

'If you were to have, for instance,' Will made a little illustrative gesture, 'snapped our client's neck…'

Hannibal bit his lip as he listened, and it slid free of his teeth as he replied, 'Yes?'

'Hypothetically speaking,' Will went on, 'how would you have felt?' And he tucked the fingertips of his other hand beneath the waistband of Hannibal's trousers, against the little triangle of white formed by the hem of his waistcoat revealing the shirt beneath.

'It would have felt righteous,' said Hannibal, smiling as Will tugged him just a little closer.

'Righteous?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Imagining, for a moment, that you watched the light fade from his eyes,' said Will, his hand sliding from Hannibal's jaw down the side of his neck, then loosening his tie. 'This man who killed eight girls who looked just like his daughter, and then killed his own wife so that he could have her to himself. Do you think that would be a rewarding experience?'

His answer came on the wings of a shaky breath. 'Yes, Mr Graham.'

Will's eyes narrowed, and he gave Hannibal a look that wasn't quite a smirk, but wasn't quite anything else, as he slid Hannibal's tie from his neck. 'I seem to recall your résumé describing you as an ambitious self-starter, and you've certainly followed through so far.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'You've proven yourself to be the sort of man who doesn't need to be told what to do next.' Will unfastened the top button of Hannibal's shirt. 'You pick up on the slightest cues.'

'I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir.'

Will had maneuvered Hannibal between his canted-open knees at the foot of the bed. 'I'm sure you will.'

Hannibal knelt before him, and leaned the side of his face against Will's knee, closing his eyes for a moment. He seemed happier, here, in supplication, like this was his favorite place to be. 'Please,' he whispered.

'Better to ask forgiveness than permission,' said Will. 'Do your worst.'

'I prefer to do by best,' said Hannibal, untucking the edge of the towel that held it closed.

'Good boy,' said Will in an undertone, and Hannibal shivered.

He kissed his way along Will's inner thighs, and nuzzled him at the angle where they met his hips. 'I'm grateful for the opportunity, sir,' he said, breathless.

'I'm grateful that you turned out to know what the hell you're doing,' said Will, with a smile. 'We occasionally get a bad egg, you know.'

Hannibal cupped the pleasant weight of him in his hand, enjoying the silken feel of his skin. 'How so?'

'Bleeding hearts,' said Will, dismissively, 'the sort who think we're only out here to free the wrongfully accused.'

Hannibal licked his lips, reveling in the clean, tempting scent of him. 'Does the firm not do that, sir?'

'Alana and her team,' said Will. 'But that's not what Jack does. It's not what I do.'

The way Hannibal looked up at him was almost worshipful. 'I'm glad you chose me, sir.'

'You and me both.' Will brushed back a lock of Hannibal's hair, the one that always fell across his brow. 'You seem nervous.'

'No,' said Hannibal. 'Just… awed.'

Will gave him a fond look, but there was a hint of fire in it. 'You say that as if you're not the one who, hypothetically, just pulled off the best wrap-up to a case in my entire career.'

'Have I, sir?' Hannibal's expression was deceptively innocent, and he chose that moment to give Will a long, slow lick.

Will let out his breath in a soft rush, shaking his head a little. 'You're really something, aren't you?'

Even in the beam of watery sun through the parted curtains, Hannibal's pupils were wide and dark, hungry. 'That's for you to decide.' In the light, his amber eyes seemed almost red, and they fell closed as he took Will's cock into his mouth.

Will rested his weight back on the heels of his hands on the bed, watching him. 'I'm withholding judgement for the time being.'

As with any other pursuit, Hannibal was attentive and precise; neither too repetitive nor distractible, he paced himself well and devoted his attention wholeheartedly to the task in front of him.

(Will made a mental note to send Alana a bottle of something expensive, in thanks.)

'You figured out how we usually do things,' said Will, with a hint of pride, 'and bypassed it entirely. Quick, dramatic, nothing that would lead back to us.'

Hannibal sat back on his heels, wetting his lips. 'Your opening statement convinced me.'

'And talking to the daughter, I bet.'

'Yes.' Hannibal tipped his head a little to one side, looking up at Will with hope in his eyes, seeking approval. 'I made her a promise.'

'We don't make promises, kid.'

'I do.'

'That was a dangerous move.'

'Her father taught her that one must kill humanely, or not at all. It seemed only fair to respect that.'

The look Will gave him made the back of Hannibal's neck sparkle with shivers. 'This is all conjecture, of course.'

'Of course, sir.' He leaned forward again, dragging his lower lip against the head of Will's cock, back and forth against his frenulum, a delicate touch that made Will's fingers curl tight against the rumpled sheets.

'There'd be no reason to assume you had anything to do with something like this.'

'Of course not, sir.' Hannibal traced the shape of the crown with the tip of his tongue. 'No more than anyone had reason to suspect the firm before.'

The pattern had been obvious to Hannibal, after reading up on only a handful of cases in his first few days on the job. Maintain a sympathetic approach toward the victims, angle for reduced sentences but not for exoneration, never take the insanity defense, if at all possible make sure they end up in Gen Pop, or a particular facility that was friendly with the firm. And within six months to a year of beginning their sentence, former clients of Crawford, Bloom & Graham would, quite often, conveniently run afoul of their fellow inmates.

No one could blame the kind-hearted people who had represented these scumbags out of a sense everyone deserving justice, could they? No one could fault you for what happened on the inside. Often it was after a transfer to another state, or a lengthy hold in solitary, but even when it wasn't… well, everyone knew what happened to certain prisoners. If you've done something to women or children, especially something that endangered your own children, all bets were off.

'It's rare to find someone who takes to our line of work so… readily,' said Will, running his fingers through Hannibal's hair again. 'I'd love to see a portfolio of your previous work.'

Hannibal made a soft sound in the back of his throat, unable to speak at the moment.

'I knew there was something about you.' Will tightened his grip in Hannibal's hair for a second, made note of Hannibal's expression. More of that later, perhaps. 'There's this intensity to you, the way you observe people. The way you look at me. Like you know something about everyone, something they hide, and are just waiting for the opportunity to use it.'

Hannibal sat back for a deeper breath. His lips were a little swollen, pinker than before. 'What have you hidden that you think I've seen, sir?'

'There was a moment,' said Will, and he couldn't keep from staring at Hannibal's mouth, the little shine to his lips in the post-storm light, 'when I'd called to you my place last Sunday to start threshing out the approach for the case. You were on one of the barstools at the counter and every time I paced around, you'd swivel your chair so you always faced me. Like a flower turning to the sun.' Will brushed the backs of his fingers against Hannibal's cheek. 'You had this almost instant devotion to me from day one, this fierce obedience. It's not obsequious or pandering, you just come by it naturally.'

'When given the proper motivation, sir.' Hannibal bowed his head again.

Will's breath hitched here and there, just enough to notice. 'And I thought to myself, I could have him right now. Snap my fingers and tell him to follow, and he would, without question.'

Hannibal made an affirmative, aching little sound.

'I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,' said Will, a devious curl of a smirk in his voice. 'Your gorgeous hands on me. The way your face lights up when I give you the slightest praise. What'll happen to that sweet, soft voice when you're stretched around me, does it go ragged at the edges? Does it break?'

Hannibal sat back, gasping, his expression full of need. 'Please,' he whispered, 'please fuck me, sir.'

Will watched him for a long moment, enjoying his pleading look, his bitten lips, the way Hannibal's hands trembled when they touched him. Then,

'There's a small blue bottle in my shaving kit bag on the counter,' said Will. 'Bring that to me, and a condom from the side pocket.'

Hannibal got to his feet quickly (and rather gracefully, Will thought). 'Yes, Mr Graham.'

When Hannibal had done as he was told, he returned to find Will sitting with his back against the cushioned headboard, idly stroking himself as he waited. Sunlight gilded every curve and angle of him, and the light reflected from the slight slickness of the head of his cock was almost too tempting to bear, and Hannibal stopped short in the doorway, taking in the scene.

There was something about the quality of Will's voice; Hannibal felt his face warming with a blush when Will said, 'See something you want?'

Hannibal murmured in reply.

'What was that?' said Will, as Hannibal set the items on the nightstand.

'I said yes, sir.'

Will gave him a slight smile. 'Undress for me, and tell me what it is you want.'

'I want you, sir.' Hannibal unbuttoned his waistcoat and hung it over the back of a chair, toeing off his shoes.

'That's uncharacteristically vague of you, Hannibal.' Will's gaze alternated between Hannibal's face, and his hands as they bared more of him. 'You know I appreciate your head for details.'

He moved on to his shirt buttons, continuing what Will had started earlier. 'I—' Hannibal swallowed, looking away and smiling.

'Oh, I see,' said Will as Hannibal draped his shirt over the chair, too, 'are you shy?' His voice was playfully teasing, and Hannibal paused, half-dressed, beside the bed. 'Do you want to know what I think?'

Hannibal's eyes kept drifting to what Will's hand was doing, clearly wanting to assist. 'Always, sir.'

'I think you'd enjoy climbing into my lap,' said Will, his free hand on Hannibal's hip, 'so I can see the look on your face as you ride me.'

Hannibal hadn't meant to make a sound, but he did, something close to a whimper escaping with his breath.

'Here,' said Will, 'let me help.' He unfastened Hannibal's trousers and took them down, leaving him in the short black trunks beneath. 'You're allowed up on the bed, you know, you're not one of my dogs.'

Hannibal leaned one knee against the edge of the mattress, hesitated for an instant, then straddled Will's thighs. 'Thank you, sir.'

'You weren't going to take those off?' Will had picked up the bottle of lube from the nightstand and dispensed a little into his palm.

'I'd much rather attend to you.'

'But we work so well together,' said Will with a smirk, tugging down the waistband to just below the base of Hannibal's cock, taking the length of him in his hand.

Hannibal's hips rocked forward gently, and Will loved that he could see the muscles move in the taut plane of his abdomen, loved the needy little sound he made at finally being touched.

Will reached up to caress Hannibal's face again with his free hand, and Hannibal leaned into the contact with a soft, barely-vocalized moan.

'You're so eager for me, aren't you?' said Will. 'You've wanted this as much as I have.'

'Yes, sir.' He gasped a little as Will gave him a firm stroke. 'Yes.'

Will wrapped his hand as well as he could around them both, and guided Hannibal's opposite hand to join his.

'Here's how this is going to go,' said Will, with the same tone he used whenever Hannibal was about to follow him into unfamiliar territory. 'If I tell you to do something, and it sounds like you'd enjoy it, I want you to follow my directions. If it doesn't, you say something—despite rumors to the contrary, I can't read your mind. Got that?'

'I understand, sir.'

Will was still stroking them, Hannibal mirroring him; the heat of the contact was delicious. 'Does that sound like your kind of arrangement?'

'Yes,' said Hannibal, 'please.'

'There's no messing with code words. Just like with anything else, I expect you to communicate with me directly.'

Hannibal's reply was draped over a sigh of pleasure. 'I understand.'

'Good.' Will watched him closely as he spoke. 'You like that?'

Hannibal's hips were rocking, pressing forward against him, sliding in their joined grasp. 'It's perfect, sir.'

'I don't know about that,' said Will, teasing. 'We're only just getting started.'

The very idea of there being more unwound a shaky moan from him, and the look on his face was so captivating that Will drew him down into a kiss. Will had barely moved, tongue skimming the seam of Hannibal's lips before they softly opened for him, fragile sounds of longing left to echo to the roof of Will's mouth.

At a pause for a deeper breath, Will tucked one finger under Hannibal's waistband and tugged a little. 'These should come off.'

Hannibal made a halfhearted noise of protest, kissing him again. 'I'll have to get up.'

'You can't live and die in my lap, Hannibal.'

'I can die in your lap,' Hannibal pointed out, 'once.'

That made Will laugh. 'I'm aiming for littler increments of death, thanks. Come on.'

There was a minute of awkward knee angles, after which Hannibal just rolled off so he was beside Will on the bed, where he could maneuver without bashing anything vital. But once he'd undressed completely, Will moved over him, taking the opportunity to kiss him further. Hannibal felt at ease beneath him, able to move more freely, pressing up to meet him, hands stroking down Will's sides.

Will broke the kiss but then returned with progressively shorter ones, chuckling a bit at how Hannibal chased after him, pulling him back each time. He turned his head, bowing to kiss the side of Hannibal's neck, and murmured against his skin, 'God, you're gorgeous.'

Hannibal could feel him smiling. He reached between them, taking Will's cock in his hand again, missing the shape of it, the slight changes in Will's breathing when they touched.

Will's lips brushed the shell of his ear. 'Tell me what you want.'

'I've,' it was broken up by a gasp as Will found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, 'I've already told you, sir.'

'So tell me again.' Will circled the flat of his thumb over one of Hannibal's nipples, enjoying the response that got him. 'I like hearing you say it.'

Hannibal arched a little, his cock dragging deliciously against the angle where Will's hip met his thigh. 'I want to do what you suggested before.'

'Evasive. Try again.'

Hannibal's eyes fell closed as Will flicked his tongue against the pulse in his neck. 'I want you to fuck me.'

'Could do with some detail.'

'Ardently,' Hannibal added.

Will pulled back to look down at him, barely suppressing a laugh. 'I ask you for more and you go with ardently?'

'I mean it,' said Hannibal, with a hint of a pout.

'I'm sure you do.' Will moved down the bed, admiring him. 'You certainly look invested in the idea.'

The angle of light from the window—brighter now as the clouds dispersed—beautifully illuminated Hannibal's delicately flushed face. Will liked the fact that he seemed just a little rosy here and there: his knees and elbows, his knuckles, like something out of a drawing.

'Hand me the bottle,' said Will.

Hannibal complied, biting his lip as he watched Will gloss his fingers from it. 'I don't take much work,' he said.

'Oh, I trust you're very accommodating,' said Will, with a smirk.

Hannibal canted open his legs, closing his eyes at the first brush of Will's fingers, resisting the urge to squirm closer. 'Thank you, sir.'

'No need to thank me,' said Will, leaning to peck a kiss to Hannibal's raised knee, 'I'm getting just as much out of this as you are.'

'Have I—' He was cut off when Will's phone rang, still on the bed beside them. Hannibal cracked an eye open to see what Will would do.

'Answer it, kid,' said Will. 'My hands are a little bit busy.'

Hannibal took a steadying breath, and did as he was told. Will watched, and slowly began to press one finger inside.

'You've reached Mr Graham,' said Hannibal once he'd greeted who was on the other end of the line. 'This is Hannibal Lecter, his personal assistant. My apologies, my employer's occupied at the moment—may I pass on a message for you?' (A lengthy pause; one digit fully sheathed, Will stilled to let him get used to it.) 'I see.' Hannibal's voice betrayed no hint of what was going on. Perfectly professional. 'No, of course, shocking circumstances… yes. Judge Schumann's chambers at one o'clock.' (Will began to slowly, gently, move his hand back.) 'Our firm is aware there will be an inquiry.' (And back in again, a slow and steady tease.) 'Thank you so much for calling, I'll inform Mr Graham immediately.'

'The only thing you're informing me immediately,' said Will, when the call had ended, 'is how you're feeling.'

'Good,' said Hannibal, letting out a long breath. 'Please don't stop.'

'I'll only stop if you need me to. Do you want more?'

Hannibal made a soft sound in the back of his throat. 'Yes.'

'Another?'

'Yes, sir.'

So that's what Will gave him. Hannibal could no longer keep from shifting his hips as Will crooked two fingers inside him, forward and back. Hannibal's hands curled in the sheets as he focused on the sensation, and on the look on Will's face.

'You're beautiful, you know,' Will murmured. 'You probably don't hear that enough.'

'I'm all bones, sir.'

'You're a lot more than that.' It made Hannibal smile. 'How're you doing?'

'I want more.'

'More fingers?'

'Anything. More of you.'

'You sure you're ready?' Will took the opportunity to flutter his fingers a little faster, a little more firmly, and Hannibal gave him a gasping moan in return.

'Please,' Hannibal whispered, 'please, I ache, I need it.'

Will has a dark, heated look in his eyes. 'Well, I can't say no to that, can I?' He withdrew his fingers and said, 'Hop up for me, would you? I'm going to sit back where we started.'

As they switched positions, Hannibal got the condom wrapper open, and when Will had settled against the headboard, he rolled it on for him.

'What did I tell you?' Will teased him. 'Endlessly accommodating.'

'Not endlessly,' said Hannibal.

'I'll bear that in mind. Where's the boundary, anyway? We've already crossed about a dozen in the past twenty-four hours, I'd hate to trip over the last one.' Will gestured for Hannibal to rejoin him, and Hannibal straddled him, up on his knees so Will could guide him down.

'I can't know until someone does,' said Hannibal. 'But I doubt you'd trip over it, sir. We seem to be of a similar mind.'

'Easy, now,' said Will softly, one hand on Hannibal's hip. 'That's it.'

At the first moment of pressure, Hannibal's eyes fell closed, and he said with a little hitch in his voice, 'Oh.'

Will reached up to touch Hannibal's face, skim his thumb against his lower lip. 'You okay?'

'Yes, sir.' He eased down a little further, trembling from how good it felt.

'Always with the "sir,"' Will said, smiling. 'You can drop it, you know, I don't mind.'

Hannibal had trouble speaking, at the moment, but he persevered. 'I… I like to be reminded of who's in charge of me.'

Will's expression had a curl of mischief. 'I see.' His thumb pressed gently against Hannibal's mouth, and this time Hannibal didn't resist the urge to taste it. 'Are you going to be a good boy and do as you're told?'

'Yes,' said Hannibal at once, 'yes, anything you want, sir.'

Will tapped him on the hip. 'All the way down. Now.'

Hannibal let his weight drop, fully seated in Will's lap, and his head fell back as he cried out. Will moaned, himself, at the tight clutch of him, at the sweet sounds he made.

Hannibal was curled over him, and rested his forehead against Will's shoulder, catching his breath. He reached out, hand seeking and finding Will's, lacing their fingers together.

'Hey,' said Will, 'look at me.'

Hannibal lifted his head. Will seemed to search his expression for a moment, then kissed him; it was slower than before, comfortable and sweet, like they had all the time in the world.

'It's so good,' Hannibal whispered.

'You've more than earned it.'

'May I move, sir?'

Will smiled. 'I'd love that.' He squeezed Hannibal's hand a little, for emphasis. 'Go on, I want to watch you.'

As Hannibal began to roll his hips, tiny thrusts that nevertheless made him gasp, Will closed his free hand around Hannibal's cock and began to stroke him in slightly counter-time.

'Wish I could have been there,' said Will, captivated by the way the sunlight struck the angles of his face. 'Seen you.'

'You wouldn't want to see that,' said Hannibal quickly, shaking his head once. 'You'd have thrown me out, if you had.'

'You're wrong.' Will raised their joined hands and kissed the backs of Hannibal's fingers. 'It's a rare treat to watch an artist at work. Where did you get antlers on short notice?'

'There's…' Hannibal paused to moan as he found a particularly good angle, 'there's a number of taxidermists in the area.'

'No questions asked?'

'For a large enough tip.'

'Speaking of which,' said Will, tilting his head to kiss Hannibal again, 'how are you feeling? Good?'

Hannibal felt almost giddy with pleasure, bucking his hips enough to make Will gasp, himself. 'Ardently, sir.'

'I hear that's what we're aiming for.' Will tipped his head back against the headboard, eyes fluttering closed. 'God, Hannibal, don't stop.'

'I won't.' Hannibal began to raise up a bit on his knees and then sink down, deeper thrusts that made him shiver with pleasure. Will let go of his hand so he could hold Hannibal's hips, and Hannibal leaned one arm against the headboard for leverage, riding him harder.

'Fuck, that's it.' Will's breath was ragged at the edges, and his fingers bit into Hannibal's skin, hard enough to ache deliciously. 'Good boy, Hannibal, fuck yourself on me.'

Hannibal moaned, hips snapping, putting more weight into the drop of each thrust.

'I want you sink down again and be still,' said Will, 'can you do that for me?'

'Yes, sir.' Hannibal did as he was told. As his breath calmed a little, his heart still thudded just as desperately. He focused on the pace of Will's strokes, the measured, perfect tempo, the slide of his palm. Hannibal was trembling.

Will's cheeks were flushed, and he wet his lips before he said, with more of a scratch to his voice than before, 'I can feel your pulse.'

He kissed him, and began to move, guiding Hannibal onto his back on the bed. Hannibal wrapped his legs around him without hesitation, drawing him closer, and as he quivered with anticipation Hannibal whispered, 'Yes, yes, yes—'

Will kissed the crook of Hannibal's neck as he rocked forward into him. 'You like that, sweetheart?'

There was a slight drawl to it, the one Will allowed to come forward when he was playing the mild-mannered, approachable Southern lawyer for the jury, and Hannibal had never realized just how much he'd wanted Will to call him something sweet.

'You know,' said Will, pausing to listen to Hannibal's soft moan in response to each thrust, 'when you were first in my office and I told you about why I needed a new assistant,' there was a little sound of pleasure and effort, 'and you said, absolutely not, I thought,' he kissed Hannibal's jaw, on his way to his lips, 'well, that's a shame.'

Hannibal turned his head, hungry for kisses, clutching Will's back.

'To be honest, I'm not usually this sort of person,' Will went on as he raised up on his arms, able to move deeper than before. 'Typically keep to myself, the same ruts in the road. But you just…' He shook his head. 'I saw something, and I wanted it.'

'I'm glad you took it,' said Hannibal, breathlessly. 'Never stop.'

They moved together, the only sound their moans of encouragement, and the shush of sheets beneath them.

'Next time,' said Will, after a while, 'I'm going with you.' He bit his lip against a groan. 'I want to watch you. Watch the blood drip slow from your hands.'

The sound Hannibal made was obscene, and he clung to him, hips bucking upward to meet every thrust.

'You're so focused, aren't you?' said Will, breathless and hushed. 'I bet it's exquisite. Everything unfolding from chaos into fractal symmetry, like an act of God.' He kissed him, tugging at Hannibal's lower lip with his teeth. 'You're close, aren't you, sweetheart? I can feel you tensing.'

Hannibal had been making short, keening noises, his nails leaving impressions in Will's back. 'Please may I come for you, sir?'

'And what would you do if I said no?'

'Obey you,' said Hannibal at once, seeming to relish the idea, 'without question or complaint.'

'You have that kind of control of yourself even when you're getting fucked?'

'Perhaps especially then.' Hannibal continued to roll his hips in time with Will's. 'I await your word, sir.'

'Better to ask forgiveness,' Will reminded him, nipping at his neck.

'I'd rather please you.'

Will huffed a laugh, and kissed him. 'You already do. That much should be obvious.' But his tone darkened, and Hannibal felt pinned by his stare. 'Come for me, boy.'

Hannibal's thighs shook and tensed where they wrapped around Will, and he took a deep, stuttering breath, burying his face in the crook of Will's shoulder as he had before, only with the addition of a brief, sharp graze of his teeth. As he finally breathed out, come dashed across his abdomen, he whispered, 'Will.'

Will slowed until they were still, kissing him softly. 'Good boy, Hannibal,' he murmured, stroking back his hair. 'Do you want me to keep going?'

'I want to taste you again,' said Hannibal, his voice a little blurred from the haze of pleasure. 'Please?'

Will pecked a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 'Suit yourself. You'll have to unclamp your legs from my back, though.'

Hannibal pouted a little. 'I suppose I must.'

They found new positions, condom stripped off and dropped aside. Will was temporarily distracted by lapping at the streaks of pearl across Hannibal's stomach, until Hannibal made a pleading noise of impatience.

Will smirked up at him. 'Oh, did you want something?'

'I want your cock in my mouth, sir,' said Hannibal, moving to lay between Will's thighs, propped on his elbows. 'I've wanted it every day, to the point of distraction.'

'You? Distracted?' Will teased him. 'Jeez, that is serious.'

But Hannibal had bowed his head, taking as much as he could in one movement, making Will moan as he drew back up the length of him again, already-hollowed cheeks all the more pronounced as he sucked.

'God…' Will wove his fingers through Hannibal's hair, not applying any pressure, but with an air of possessiveness. 'Good boy, that's it.'

Hannibal made an affirmative sound, and bobbed back down. When he moved back again, he sighed serenely, and stopped to breathe for a moment. 'Am I doing well, sir?'

'Perfect,' said Will, cupping Hannibal's face, and Hannibal nuzzled against his hand. 'You're perfect.'

Hannibal moved to lay beside him, and rested his head on Will's abdomen, taking the head of Will's cock between his lips once more and gently sucking, running his tongue in lazy circles around it. His eyes were closed, his posture open and relaxed, and he had a look of such complete contentment that Will's heart ached a little to see it. He stroked Hannibal's hair and down his neck, slow, tender passes of his hand, and listened to Hannibal's breathing slow to a peaceful, almost sleepy cadence.

'You're so beautiful,' Will whispered, and he didn't remember deciding to say it at all. A coil of heat was building, steady but inexorable; but the climb was more important than its peak. 'Is that good, sweetheart?'

Hannibal seemed to smile a little, with the corners of his eyes. Mmmm.

'I could watch you all day,' said Will.

Hannibal made a series of sounds, that could have been words if his mouth wasn't busy.

'Right,' said Will, amused, 'one o'clock in the judge's chambers. Thanks for keeping me apprised of my appointments, someone's got to have their priorities in order.' He ruffled Hannibal's hair a little then smoothed it back, overcome by a wave of fondness for him. 'God, I love your mouth. I've been daydreaming about all week.'

Mm?

'It's even better than I pictured,' Will replied. 'And trust me, I have a vivid imagination.'

Hannibal flicked his tongue in little strokes just under the head of his cock, back and forth, forward and back. He listened to Will's breathing, let it become his whole world for that moment. And Hannibal couldn't help the soft moans in the back of his throat, the needy, wordless plea for what he wanted.

When Will spoke, it was barely a sound suspended upon breath. 'I'm so close, Hannibal, fuck, that's so good…'

Hannibal hummed, clearly pleased, and the faint vibration of it made Will hiss a gasp through his teeth.

'You may want to pull back,' he said, one hand on Hannibal's shoulder, the other curled tight in the sheets beside him.

Hannibal looked up at him, wide-eyed and worshipful, with a slow curling of his tongue for emphasis. Nn-nnn. And he went back to that delicate pull of suction, eyes falling blissfully closed again with a smile.

That heavenly expression—it was so simple a thing, and Will sighed his name as he came.

Hannibal remained as relaxed as the moment prior, drinking him down until there was no more to be had. Then he pulled back a little, lapping at him, making sure he claimed every bit of what he sought.

They stayed that way for several minutes, Will still idly petting him, Hannibal nuzzling his cheek now and again against the line of hair below Will's navel. The room was filled with golden light, the storm clouds having strolled away over the course of the hour.

'Come up here,' said Will, and Hannibal sat up, reaching for him. Soft hands, smoothing over Will's chest and then up to touch his face as they kissed, to slide through the curls at the nape of his neck.

'We should get dressed, sir,' Hannibal murmured.

'We should,' Will agreed, nibbling at Hannibal's ear.

'Much to do today,' Hannibal added.

'Oh, absolutely,' said Will, sucking a bruise just below where the edge of Hannibal's collar would rest, making him moan softly, still eager for more.

'We'll be dealing with the media, of course.'

'Naturally.' Will pressed his tongue to the tender spot, and Hannibal squirmed a little.

'Shall I wear the blue tie again?'

'Nah,' said Will. 'You know what? Dress to the nines. Wear that obnoxious plaid suit if you want.' He pecked a kiss to his temple. 'Give them something pretty to look at.'

'You'll look radiant for the cameras, sir,' said Hannibal, suppressing a smirk. 'Color in your cheeks.'

Will laughed. 'Radiant?'

'Do you object to the word?'

'No, just…' Will shook his head, smiling. 'Surprised. All of this is a surprise.'

'Not to me,' said Hannibal.

Will put his arms around him, drawing him closer in a comfortable embrace. 'Why's that, kid? Present your case.'

'It's how it should be, I think. You wanted something,' said Hannibal, looking at Will as if he could see everything, 'and you took it.'

Will could still taste himself on Hannibal's tongue, and found he rather liked that idea.

* * *

Sleet pummeled the city in relentless, stinging waves. Down in the harbor, boats knocked and spun, tugging against their moorings like recalcitrant hounds. There hadn't been sunlight in days, umbrellas foolishly opened simply turned inside-out against the onslaught of the Atlantic winds, and the residents of Baltimore shuffled grimly along in their Monday misery, ducking under construction scaffolds, under awnings, into doorways, anything for a moment's reprieve. Up on the hills outside of town, graveyards turned mudslide, their deep-rooted headstones leaning toward one another to complain. The world smelled of damp wool, salt water, and cigarettes.

It was good to be home.

Will looked out of the high windows of his corner office, hands in his pockets. 'Update.'

Hannibal read from the notes he'd prepared. 'Our current Mr Client is out on bail, and a gentleman of his acquaintance has relatively concrete plans to break into his apartment, bludgeon him with a tire iron, and run away with his wife, with whom this gentleman has begun an affair.' He checked off the bullet point with his scalpel-sharpened pencil.

Will turned and began to pace as he listened. 'Classy, that one.'

'Indeed, sir. Former Mr Client, Eldon Stammets, has died in prison of a perfectly ordinary cardiac event, garnering no suspicion whatsoever.'

'Sad to see the old shroomer go.'

Another tick-mark. 'Former Dr Client, Abel Gideon, has run afoul of the security staff of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, rumor having spread that he has somehow been writing salacious letters to several of their wives.'

Will was smiling a little. 'The nerve of that man.'

Tick. 'Freddie Lounds, having followed a tainted lead, has been arrested on trespassing and may face additional charges.'

'Guess there's a first time for everything.' Will pulled back and released one of the clacking-swinging-balls on his desk and watched them tap back and forth.

'I believe this would be the fourteenth time, sir.'

Will smirked. 'Surely not? Well, I stand corrected.'

Tick. 'Gladys Ann Beech, juror number eight from our recent outing to Minnesota, has adopted a twelve-year-old girl, legally changed her name, bought her a puppy, and enrolled her in a prestigious private school.'

'Wonder what name she chose,' said Will, as Hannibal checked it off.

'Something that belongs only to her,' said Hannibal.

Will sat back against the edge of his desk next to him. 'Good, she deserves it. Next?'

'Mrs Crawford thanks you for the birthday gift, and advises you to watch your mouth.'

Will chuckled. 'Noted.'

There was another scritch of his pencil. 'Alana is away for the child abduction case, but wishes me to convey her gratitude for the wine,' said Hannibal. 'And the vintage mink, and the tickets to the burlesque festival.'

'I couldn't get her Jodie Foster's number, so it's the least I could do.' Their shoulders were touching, and Will leaned his head a little against Hannibal's. 'That's quite the list. Anything else?'

'I found the cufflink you lost in my apartment.'

'Oh?' Will turned, taking the notebook from Hannibal's hands and setting it on the desk behind him. 'Where was it hiding? That thing ricocheted across the floor like a prize shooter marble.'

'It seems to have bounced into one of my slippers under the bed,' said Hannibal. 'It's in the ring dish on the dresser.'

'Thanks. Now,' Will laced his fingers with Hannibal's, and gave him a lingering kiss, 'I have that working lunch with Beverly's people. They seem to think I enjoy being tagged in on the weird ones.'

'Bees-in-his-head man?' said Hannibal.

'Bees-in-his-head man,' Will replied.

'In fairness, you do enjoy the weird ones.'

'Not as much as I enjoy the quick ones.'

'When do you think you'll be back, sir?'

Will raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed Hannibal's fingers. 'God, search me. One? Two-ish, if they picked a place with bottomless margaritas? Price is a menace.'

'Price is an alcoholic,' Hannibal pointed out.

'An alcoholic menace.' Will shrugged. 'But he keeps us smiling. So,' he went on, 'consider this a long lunch.'

Hannibal raised a brow. 'A long lunch, sir?'

'Yep.' He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from Hannibal's lapel. 'Lengthy as they come.'

'I'll keep myself busy while you're away, sir.'

'Of course you will,' he said, with a dismissive wave. 'Industrious young man like yourself, I'm sure there's no end of things you could do to keep your hands busy.'

'Undoubtedly, sir.' Hannibal stole a kiss. 'When you return, you must tell me everything about the bees.'

Will rolled his eyes. 'God, not you too! I get enough of that from the Odd Squad.' He stole the kiss back, and made sure he'd gotten the right one, and tried several more just the be certain.

'You behave yourself while I'm out,' said Will. 'No lazing around on my desk like it's some kind of ostentatious modern chaise-lounge.'

Hannibal bit his lip briefly, smiling. 'And when you get back, sir?'

Will gave him a look that was full of promise. 'Well,' he said, 'I guess you'll have to stop.'