Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The buzzing. The incessant buzzing. Like flies ambushing a corpse, feeding on everything that it was. More than anything else, it was the buzzing that had driven Will into giving in. He wanted to prove them wrong.

Will had only been trying to escape the overbearing town he had always known. The constant buzzing of the people around him; their judgemental looks, the prying eyes violating his thoughts, his actions. Nothing but nobody townspeople without anything else to pay attention to. They were nothing more than worn down, good-for-nothing insects that had only managed to live as long as they did because they were surrounded by similarly daft insects.

Of course, he was confused. Initially. The overbearing urges pressing into the temples of his mind, squeezing his wants into one big mass of mush behind the pounding of his eyes. No one had really understood him then. They never bothered to and instead, had chalked it up to nothing but an adolescent attention whore that would eventually become as jadedly ignorant as the rest of the town.

So, in true adolescent fashion, he made sure his dad was dead asleep, propped open the window to his room, and escaped into the shadow of the night.

When he came back several hours later, his cheeks were flush with adrenaline, his hands gilded in blood, and his mind clearer than it had ever been before. The air felt clearer than it had ever been before.

He and the monster had danced.

Chapter Text

Upon her first meeting with him, Hannibal had been strikingly charming if not almost instantaneously off putting as he made it extremely clear that he was off-limits. Even so, she  had been enraptured with her mentor, the poise that he so thoroughly represented. Her infatuation, however, was slightly inappropriate, and through the rumor mill, she had heard that Hannibal had been married for twelve years. 

Alana had been surprised. Hannibal was nothing if not a forbidden crush. He was extremely capable, handsome and very proper. So, naturally, she was extremely interested in who, exactly, had caught the attention of her mentor, and had kept it so devoutly. 

It was very obvious that Hannibal was hopelessly in love with his spouse, but he had always been tightlipped about her. He never talked about her whatsoever, and eventually, she got brave enough to ask why.

“My partner is a very private person. I will not, no matter the circumstance, betray their trust in me for the familiarity of a passing colleague”

“The companionship of another is not worth more than the passionate connection of a soulmate,” Alana finished.

“Right you are, Ms. Bloom.” Hannibal smiled at her, and for a moment, she was breathless.

Though slightly disappointed in his answer, Alana felt as if she had glimpsed something intimate in Hannibal’s personal life, conversation intrusively revealing of Hannibal’s infatuation of his spouse. Although burning with curiosity, she did not want to push her mentorship with the man. She valued his companionship above most others she had created during her residency. 

Needless to say, Alana had wanted to learn more, but she valued her mentorship with Hannibal too much and didn’t want to put any unnecessary strain on that relationship. Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t help but noticing that nobody knew anything about his wife. There was not a whisper of a name, a vague recollection of appearance, and no dastardly rumors. Just how private was Hannibal’s partner?

Even as she had been getting closer to Hannibal as her residency wore on, there was almost nothing to indicate Hannibal was even married besides the gold band around his finger. The few times she had been invited over to Hannibal’s grand dinner parties, and later on, friendly, private gatherings just between the two of them; she had never seen any sign of a spouse whatsoever. 

Even though slightly deterred by the first conversation surrounding his wife, she had hoped that Hannibal would be more willing to share details of his private life, no matter how private he said it was supposed to be. So, when she was brave enough again, she asked. 

“I don’t mean to be intrusive, and by all means, you do not have to indulge me, but why have I never seen your spouse? I mean, you hold such grand dinner parties that it seems such a shame to miss them,” Alana tried. She just needed to sate the burning that had not gone away ever since she had first met Hannibal.

“My partner could care less for my dinner parties, or decorations for that matter, and so, most graciously I might say, those duties are all left to my own indulgence.” Hannibal breezed through his kitchen as he finished preparing their meal, as grand and as meticulous as always.

“Does that offend you?” The words stumbled out before she could stop them. Hannibal didn’t look surprised. 

“I knew exactly the kind of person I was marrying,” Hannibal paused. His movements stilled and as if in another place entirely, his eyes lit up, his gaze distant, glazed, but sharp .  “My partner, however, does love to dance. ”

Alana was unsure of how to respond. She had never seen Hannibal so enthralled and intoxicated, or even, unfocused on the present moment. She couldn’t help but hesitate in taking her first bite of the meal Hannibal had set in front of her. How did one respond to that?

Yes, she was insanely curious, probably more than she was before she had asked, but she recognized the finality in Hannibal’s tone. He was done talking about the subject, respectful of his wife’s privacy.

“This is a beautiful meal,” she tried. Hannibal smiled. “What kind of meat is it?”

“Nothing but the best of swine.”

“Pork,” Alana’s eyebrows rose. “A little plebeian, don’t you think?”

“I assure you, I use nothing but the finest of swine. If cooked correctly, and with enough grandeur, it is nothing if not art.” Hannibal smiled and rose the forks to his lips. 

She continued eating, her curiosity sitting in the back of her throat. Burning. She raised the fork, hesitating one last time before she took her bite. The burning subsided slightly as she moaned, flavor gripping her tongue, overtaking her senses. 

___

When she had first met Will Graham, Alana didn’t really know what to think about him. He wasn’t much. He was clean, if a little twitchy. There was nothing wrong with that, although she felt as if he should have been a little sweatier. He was composed, but impolite, avoiding eye contact as much as he could. While everything else had been a surprise, that hadn’t been, especially considering his disorder and the effects that could entail.

Even with her own assumptions and prejudices, she had made an active attempt to avoid the articles published on Will’s disorder before having the chance to meet with him. Unfortunately, and most embarrassingly, her curiosity had taken hold of her as she read whatever articles she got her hands on. 

An empathy disorder made sense. The sloped form of his shoulders, slightly hunched to shield his body from the world. The bluntness, bordering on rudeness, coloring almost any comment he made to turn the scrutiny from himself to those around him. Almost everything he did was an attempt to be as unsociable as he could. Whether that was to save himself or to save others, Alana was surprisingly unsure.

Empathetic? Yes. Aware of himself? Debatable. Polite? Not quite. 

Of course, her taste for manners had been greatly influenced by Hannibal, but regardless of that influence, found Will refreshingly honest, if not somewhat manipulative. That could be attributed to his empathy. Since he was able to so clearly empathize with those around him, manipulation was just child’s play. 

That had not been a surprise. 

What had been a surprise was the branded strip on his finger, glinting devilishly in the sunlight. 

“Are you married ?” Alana tried to make sure she didn’t sound scandalized, but a man as impolite and manipulative as Will hardly seemed to be in the position to be in any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. 

Will’s face remained unchanged. His stare was unsettling and Alana wished she had been more subtle in her inquiries. While Will was not unpleasant company so far, did not mean that he was not perceptively unsettling. 

“For sometime now,” Will’s answer was short and clipped. It was not necessarily the end of the topic, but Alana felt as if this hasn’t been the first time someone has asked him. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Graham-”

“Call me Will.” Will’s face was impassive and Alana was feeling lost. She did not like feeling lost. But worst of all, for some reason, Alana felt as meek, weirdly offended by his behavior. It almost felt like he was mocking her even though he was only indicating a professional level of interest in her response. 

Needless to say, she felt violated. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Will,” she tried again, “I was not expecting you to be married.”

Will’s smile was sharp. 

“Did you think I was going to be more unstable?”

Upon meeting Will Graham she had believed that she would be holding the upper hand in both the topics of their conversation and in mannerisms. Both, of which it would seem, she was floundering spectacularly in. She felt strangely submissive. 

“If I am honest, yes. Of the psychiatric circles I have paid attention to, most paint you in a very unflattering if almost inhuman manner.” Alana decided that honesty was going to be her best chance to have an equal conversation with Will Graham. 

Will let out a small laugh, almost patronising. Of who, she wasn’t too sure. 

“What is she like?” Alana’s burning had made a return, just as she constantly felt around Hannibal. 

“She ,” Will said in amusement, a small smirk quirked on his lips, “I am afraid, would much rather enjoy being here to have this conversation.” Alana was a little surprised. She had guessed that the spouse in question would have been much more private, a little more like Will. 

“She’s more sociable than you?”

“In a way,” Will looked straight into her eyes, pinning her in place, the blue achingly bright. “But she would much rather be here for the ego boost than the company, I’m afraid.”

“I can’t say that doesn’t peak my interest.”

“I’m sure you wish you could know every single detail you could about my relationship with my spouse.” Will’s eyes had not moved from hers. She didn’t think he had even blinked. Silence washed over them, contemplative as Alana tried to gather her wits again. 

“How did you two meet?” 

Will sat back in his chair, and Alana almost wanted to flinch. When had he started leaning forward?

“With a dance.”

Alana was startled. She had not expected that. However, she was quickly realizing that she didn’t really know what to expect when it came to Will Graham. 

“You don’t seem like the type to dance.” Will only smiled and settled further into the back of his chair, seemingly amused. Finally, he broke his gaze with hers and turned his head, a small smile on his lips.

The burning refused to go away.

Chapter Text

Will Graham was nothing if not a pain in his neck. He was extremely straightforward and Jack did not take well to explicit slights aimed at his pride. Jack also did not take well to being told he was wrong, or that an arguably unstable twitchy man would believe that he knew better than he did. It also didn’t help that he had completely disregarded Jack’s attempt at trying to be civil by not even giving his offered handshake a passing glance, but Jack stamped down the urge to say something about. 

According to Will Graham, Jack was wrong. 

In his line of profession, being wrong meant death. When he was right, and he usually was, he saved people. In the case of Will Graham, his authority seemed to be constantly in question. His confidence in his choices was in question, and Jack did not like that scrutiny- it made him feel like he wasn’t in control and Jack did not take well to that.

“The Evil Minds Museum?” Will Graham scoffed. “Really, Mr. Crawford?”

Will Graham brought one hand to his face, rubbing his temples as if an oncoming headache- or an already existing one- was bothering him enough to show physically. Or, and what Jack was suspecting to be the true reason- Will Graham wanted to break his connection with him in order to slander him more effectively. “As the head of the Behavioral Science unit in the FBI, I expected you to have more tact.”

“Yes, Mr. Graham. It’s clear, straightforward,” Jack paused. “Something I’m sure you would appreciate.”

Will Graham let out a humorless laugh, his head turning to the side, avoiding eye contact with Jack. “Please, it just infantilizes the so-called ‘evil minds’ you’re talking about.”

“Maybe that’s the point. It helps familiarize the general public in a more comfortable space.” Jack was firm in his reply.

“No, what it does, Mr. Crawford,” Will Graham's voice was increasing in tension; his tone was rising, disbelief and dismissiveness clear and piercing, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing towards Jack. Something caught the light as his hand moved but Jack decided to ignore it. “Is make these people, ” Will Graham spit out, “seem like house flies more than a serious threat.”

Will looked at Jack straight in the eye, voice quiet but tense. “It could anger them.”

Jack had obviously heard about Will Graham’s disorder- an object of fascination among psychiatric conversation. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, it was slightly unsettling at how easily it seemed for Will Graham to assume such a radical point of view. Jack himself had been working in this environment for a while now and still, it was difficult to fully assume in order to understand them. It made Jack question how much Will’s disorder was empathy and how much of it was possible kinship.

“With all respect, Mr. Graham-” Jack started.

“Oh please, you have no respect for me. Anything I say is disregarded because you think you are so right you are unable to see how-” Will stuttered, trying to find the word, “-how childish this all is.”

“And you do? Find this childish, I mean?” Jack’s eyebrow rose, amused. Will Graham’s eyes narrowed, registering Jack’s amusement and not appreciating it in the slightest. Will took a deep breath to steady himself. His hand had returned to rubbing his temples, lifting up his glasses in the process. Curls falling down to his forehead, framing his frustration with Jack. 

“What I find childish, Mr. Crawford,” Will forced out, “Is your complete lack of respect for anyone’s opinion but your own.” 

Jack was still amused. To get the infamous Will Graham so riled up was as easy as they’ve said, but in the case of the museum, amusing if nothing else. Jack did, however, want to try to keep some sort of civil relationship between the two of them, just in case he wanted to have Will as an asset on his team. His disorder was extremely valuable. 

Jack let out a sigh, trying to dispel the tension between the two of them. “I believe we got on the wrong foot, Will,” Jack paused, “Can I call you Will?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Can we start over?” Jack held out his hand, hoping for the handshake Will had denied him at the start of their conversation, establishing his respect for him. 

Will Graham let out a sigh, his hand traveling inwards to his eyes, rubbing them to get rid of an itch or as an excuse to refuse any eye contact with Jack, either or, Jack didn’t really care. Jack was sure Will was feeling frustrated, and if Jack wasn’t so amused with the situation, he would agree with Will’s frustration. There was a beat of silence, and eventually, Will extended his hand and shook Jack’s waiting palm. It was strong and firm, confident- or angry, Jack thought in amusement. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. 

“You’re married?” Surprise colored his tone. He wasn’t aware that someone would be able to stand Will for long periods of time. Jack thought himself to be tolerant of all people, and Will Graham was already testing his patience. If he wasn’t potentially valuable, Jack wasn’t sure he would be so steadfast in his civility. 

“What?” Will drawled out, “Is it so surprising that I have someone I actually like?” Will stared at him, hand falling down to his hand. 

“Like? You don’t love her?” Jack questioned, crossing his arms out in front of chest.

Will scoffed again, his hands twitching. “What I do and do not like doesn't seem to have any value to you, Jack.” 

“I am just trying to make some passing conversation, Will. There is no need for hostility.”

“And that is where we disagree. I do not take kindly to being looked down upon.” 

“I haven’t ever heard anything about you being married,” Jack ignored his comment. “I was surprised is all,” Jack defended. He really hadn’t known that Will Graham was capable of keeping such a committed relationship- he seemed more like a recluse than a loving father. 

“ Psychiatrists seem to prefer focusing on the contents of my mind rather than the content of my life.” Will clipped. Jack’s hand traveled down to his pockets, happy that he found some common ground with the hostile man. 

“I myself have been married for almost ten years now, what about you?” Jack asked. If he was honest, Jack was expecting nothing more than three years, if anyone was actually able to stand Will Graham for such an extended period of time, if not a cleverly hidden trick to get out of unwanted situations than the presence of an actual spouse. If anything, Will seemed to be extremely antisocial. Finding a spouse in such extremes of behavior was probably a difficult one - for the wife most of all , thought Jack.

“Over a decade now,” Will dismissed before looking sharply at Jack. Jack was stunned. That was a very long time, much longer than Jack was expecting from Will. To be married for so long was no easy feat, and while Jack was unsure of Will’s exact age, he was by no means old and wisened. 

“You married young?” Jack was extremely surprised. Will seemed so deeply entrenched in his antisocial mannerisms that those characteristics must have only been amplified during his adolescence and twenties- not suitable for finding a partner whatsoever. 

“When I was eighteen, yes,” Will didn’t seem to think that this was such a big deal. And Jack begged to differ. Not only were the odds against him, as young marriages had a statistically higher rate of failing, but he and his Bella haven’t been married for quite as long, and already, their marriage was rife with hardwork and effort. Will’s blatant dismissal of such a milestone was almost insulting.

 Will’s piercing blue eyes remained sharp, he seemed to hesitate but there was a distant fondness creeping into his expression. “It was an instantaneous attraction of desire between the both of us.”

“Must have been quite the woman,” Jack commented, getting over his shock. “Is she older?” 

“I was never taken advantage of, Jack, if that is what you’re getting at.” Will sounded offended, but Jack’s righteousness seemed to be spilling out.

“But you were just so young,” Jack retaliated. 

“Both of us have never bothered to follow societal constructions of right and wrong when it concerns our relationship.” 

“Interesting coming from a man teaching at the FBI,” Jack snided. 

“Not in the way you are thinking,” Will heaved a sigh. “I assure you there was nothing fishy going on with our relationship,” he assured. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Just because my relationship doesn’t follow the conventions of what you think is right doesn’t mean that it is worth less than yours,” Will said heatedly. 

“Certain conventions shouldn’t be in question, Will,” Jack placated. That seemed to be the last thing to him over the edge.

“ Goodbye, Mr. Crawford,” Will spit out, turning on his heel and exiting rather dramatically. 

While amused, Jack decided he shouldn’t give WIll Graham another thought until he was useful to him. Still, Jack couldn’t shake off the amusement of the entire situation. 

Will Graham was certainly interesting if not a pain in the ass. 

__

When Jack had first met with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he was somewhat shocked, but pleased, with his unashamed show of grandeur. Lecter himself was as sophisticated and well-mannered as a man of his refined tastes should be; and, surprisingly, he was a lot more sociable than Jack thought he would be.

However, as much as Jack could take away the few moments of shame, the actual, very first impression of Dr. Lecter was not so positive. While he had passed on from the moment in order to keep things professional, the encounter with Dr. Lecter in the private exit that he provided for his patients was not, in anyway, what Jack would call a successful encounter. 

Needless to say, Dr. Lecter was somewhat cold, not unexpected of a professional, but Jack had not taken kindly to it. At all. It had made Jack feel incompetent. First, Jack mistook Dr. Lecter’s patient as him, sure that a man of Lecter’s status would hold the power in the professional aspect, opening the door first and then allowing for a patient to follow through. He was wrong and Jack didn’t take kindly to his own blunder, but Lecters immediate dismissal of Jack was humiliating. If he was honest, his ego was bruised. He was not usually dismissed in any circle he was in, but Dr. Lecter had such a no-nonsense personality that Jack was distantly reminded of Will Graham, if not the more sophisticated version of said man. 

Contrary to Will Graham, however, Dr. Lecter was much more civil, a lot more social and willing to participate in mutually beneficial conversation. If Jack was honest with himself, his opinion of Dr. Lecter was already well established before meeting him; due to Alana’s recommendation and Lecter’s extremely refined tastes. Those factors were all sources of admiration while Will Graham, arguably, lacked any redeeming traits besides the usefulness of his empathy disorder. While not as sophisticated as Dr. Lecter, Jack knew when to appreciate such exemplary good taste and his respect for the man increased, allowing him to ignore the blunder from earlier. 

“My name is Agent Crawford. I work for the FBI,” Jack started, hoping to appeal to Lecter’s adamant display of professionalism. A good relationship does not start without an introduction, and at Lecter’s initial icy display, Jack didn’t want to take any chances. 

“FBI?” Dr. Lecter paused stiffly, staring at him, a small quirk in his tone. “Have I done something wrong?”

Maybe not as icy as first suspected. Jack was sure Dr. Lecter knew that his visit was not a suspicious one, considering Jack’s fairly casual demeanor. Jack smiled, let out a small half and stopped his observations of Dr. Lecter’s elaborate office. 

“No, no,” Jack trailed off. “Alana Bloom recommended you.” 

“Alana?” Dr. Lecter faced him, a tilt to his head, curiosity like a cat. “What has she recommended me for?”

“I need help with a profile,” Jack confessed, facing Dr. Lecter. 

“Don’t you have profilers at the FBI for that?” Dr. Lecter questioned, his hand behind his back. “Or Alana herself, for that matter? She is a very good psychiatrist.”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Then I’m afraid why you would be in need of my services,” Lecter said kindly. 

“Alana has a conflict of interest. One of our profilers,” Jack started, “Will Graham-” Jack’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Dr. Lecter, expecting that the man had at least heard of the name. 

“Well,” Jack chuckled, “I just want to make sure that he doesn’t get too close. Alana doesn’t trust me enough to keep that promise. I want to try my best to.” He tried to allow his worry color his tone, hoping that Dr. Lecter would pick up on it- to help his proposition be as successful as it could be, and because, even though Jack would never admit it, he was very worried about Will. 

Dr. Lecter regarded him for a moment, silent, contemplative. Jack’s last statement colored the air, blending in with the blues and greens present in Lecter’s office. The books lined on the wall witness to their conversation, judging- or recording, as books do. Jack took the moment to look at him, the neatly pressed suit, clean, planned. Sandy-hair gelled back, out of the way. Clean and sophisticated. His office reflected that. All straight lines, clean floor, dusted shelves, muted color palette. Dr. Lecter was, if anything, consistent and tasteful. 

Dr. Lecter shifted before smiling at him. He extended his hand to Jack, taking a step forward to get closer to him. “I’ll do it,” he stated firmly. Jack took his hand happily, a small wave of relief rolling out of his belly, and disintegrating from Dr. Lecter’s office. 

“I look forward to working with you, Dr. Lecter,” Jack said confidently. 

“And I you, Agent Crawford.’

Lecter’s smile was all teeth.  

______

It was cold outside. Made colder by the dry cold stabbing at all vulnerable pieces of flesh. The cold seeped into his clothes, down to his bones, encouraging his headache to pound against his skull. He liked the cold, he just wasn’t prepared to deal with it. Jack had pulled him out of classes, again. He had taken Will, asked him to help him, and still, constantly looked down upon him. Even Will’s practice at keeping his temper even had been slightly irked at how unchanged Jack was from the first time he met him. It made sense, Jack would never change; he was too set in his ways. Will had known that the instant he had met him, and his theory was only further confirmed the longer they had talked. 

Will, while tolerant, for now, did not really like Jack. He was big, burly, a bully. He was used to getting his way. Will, who was much smaller, and antisocial, was not Jack’s kind of people. He was merely a tool that Jack had thrown into his toolbox, waiting for the right moment he needed it. 

It was dehumanizing. But then again, Will wasn’t so sure he was entirely human to begin with. Especially if Hannibal had anything to say about it. 

Stepping out of his care to the cold, biting aire, Will grit his teeth and shuffled closer to the front door. Jack had not been kind to him. He was sure that even if Jack though that he was being as merciful as he could be, considering the situation, Jack would always work him to the bone. Will wasn’t sure when was the last time he had slept peacefully. Late nights at the academy, late nights with Jack- it was all taking a toll on him. 

Well, thought Will, I may have become a little spoiled. 

He made it to the front door, his joints cold and stiff, hindering his speed and mobility. As Will slid the key into the lock, his eyes blurring around the edges. Not only had he had to handle his classes, he had to consult with Jack on the Minnesota Shrike case. The Minnesota Shrike wasn’t the problem, it was the man in charge of it that had truly tested his nerves. His headache had only been worsening as the day dragged on, his eyes straining in their sockets, tired. He was too. Which was why he was trying to slide this damn key into the lock. Why wasn’t it so dark outside? 

Finally, the lock gave and Will turned the handle, slowly stepping into his house, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The lights were on, Will observed. The warm sepia soothing his headache, but his eyes were still straining. He let out a sigh. He was so tired. 

As he closed the door behind him, his eyes half-lidded. He registered a shift in gravity, his body heavy. 

He thought he was falling. 

Soon, warm, strong forearms captured him before his head slammed into the floor. Will knew these arms. They were familiar, more so than his own. He knew their frailty, their craft, their mobility. He also knew of their strong brutality, athe violence rendered beautiful as they tore apart reality, a quality he loved all the same.

“Hannibal?” Will whined. His eyes were drooping even further know. He was struggling to keep them open, but it was a losing battle. 

Hands sifted through his hair, placating, soft and comfortable. Will let out a small noise, sinking into the hold. His headache was turning into a dull ache, helped by how comfortable he was. He didn’t need to worry about Jack, or killers, or anything. He could just stay here and sink into the warmth. Nothing was expected of him here. 

“Shh,” Hannibal whispered, his hot breath caressing his neck. “Rest, my love,” he said simply. 

Will drifted off, feeling comfortable and safe.

Chapter Text

Will felt protected. Warmth graced his cheek, caressing it ever so slightly, soft, comforting and almost weightless. His limbs followed suit, lax and pliant, too heavy to pick them up, but no weight burdened them. His cheek was on something sturdy, hotter than the light gracing the other side of his face. His hand resting on the chest beneath him, the thin coat of fur tickling his nose. It was familiar, achingly so. 

In the presence of a predator, he felt completely and utterly at ease. 

Hannibal’s chest was a metronome, steadily controlled, consistent in its tempo- tick tick ticking to the beat of his heart, accompanied by the  upbeats of the rise and fall of his chest, creating a beautiful contrast in their legato to the staccato of Hannibal’s heart so closely pounding against his ear. It was vulnerable, in its rhythm, controlled in its vulnerability, completely aware of the danger it was in so close to his hands, his teeth. 

Oh, the damage he could do. The damage he had done. The damage he will do. 

Will slowly became aware of the hand comfortably resting in between the forest of his locks, small tingles of pleasure racing down his spine, miniscule in their scale, but a domestic pleasure like no other. Will’s hand in Hannibal’s chest tightened as a small huff of amusement exhaled from the man he had married so long ago.

“Do I need to be afraid?” Hannibal all but whispered, his mouth, his teeth, so crystally clear in its nearness, in its danger.

Will opened his eyes slowly as he craned his neck upward, staring at his beloved. Their bed was expansive due to Hannibal’s luxurious taste, but Will always seemed to end up on top on top of Hannibal in some fashion, and for the years that they had been together, Hannibal had never, not once, tried to discourage the habit (Will knew he found satisfaction, frustratingly smug in Will’s dependency for human contact, Hannibal the sole positive provider. No matter how smug he became, however, Will never once stopped, and Hannibal never refused). 

Will took great pleasure of the private moments he was privy to, that no other being would ever be able to share. Hannibal, while different from the incessant buzzing of the mundane and boring, still suffered from his restrictive human nature. While-physically speaking- Hannibal was more uninhibited than most, much to his chagrin, Hannibal was still affected by the sleep clearing from his eyes, the mess of his hair. The hair- that should’ve been painfully straight no matter what- never failed to form a birds nest- so precisely consistent in its location- the left side on the crown of Hannibal’s  head, knotting impossibly. It was an unspoken norm for Will to work diligently to detangle the anomaly, Hannibal contentedly humming away, barely audible if at all. His eyes closed, his back to Will- trusting- as he enjoyed the domestic peacefulness they had bled for.

While he would never admit it to his husband, that small, intimately quiet part of their morning was his favorite part of their morning routine, achingly so. He also suspected that it was Hannibal’s too (Hannibal had stopped refusing his help very, very early on in their marriage and instead had settled into it like a cat would for pets). 

“Always,” Will said lovingly, his smile small but sharp. He raked his hand teasingly down Hannibal’s chest, starting directly above is heart to just above the dip where Hannibal’s ribs rolled off, leading straight down to the tender of his stomach. 

“You are a captivating creature,” Hannibal said breathlessly, his pupils expanding as he looked lovingly at his partner. The utter adoration glittering in the darkness of his eyes, hooded with mischievousness, humorous in their truth. Will snorted as a physical shiver of pleasure raced down his back. He ignored and reacquainted his cheek with the blanket of Hannibal’s chest, the beat of his monster’s heart unhurried, lulling his eyes to get heavier and heavier.

“I would have to be,” Will blinked slowly as his hand traveled further down Hannibal’s stomach, just past his belly button. Will basked in the soft tissue- tearable, fragile. “To keep the attention of the likes of you.” 

Hannibal said nothing in return, he didn’t need to. Will knew him too well, words were a fun pastime, important for the stimulation of their minds but unimportant for their relationship. What they said and did not say was a matter for them, no one else. It was intimate in the softly whispered words, the harsh syllables of their teasing forming a dance that just they knew the steps to, its intricacies difficult in the web of their design.

Hannibal resumed his petting, possessive of what was his, of the prize he had won. Will’s hand returned to Hannibal’s chest, clawed over his heart, nails sinking into the tender flesh. He usually kept his nail short, but had felt like indulging his husband, he was his after all. Both he and Hannibal had won their prize, priceless in their ruthlessness in the violent lullaby of their domesticity. 

“Truly a magnificent creature,” Hannibal said admiringly. It was fact to him, even if Will sometimes failed to see it. Hannibal never failed at making him feel so uniquely and violently pretty . Will breathed out the weariness that he felt in his bones- the weariness he had felt so deeply in his joints, in the marrow of his skeleton- submitting to his monster above, granting his submission as a gift. He felt his eyes get heavier, the world darkening once again. His hand relaxed, satisfied to be poised right above his lover’s heart, threateningly loving. 

Will felt lips press against the top of his head, soft and sweet as teeth scraped against his scalp teasingly, sharp and dangerous. With that, he fell once more into the black void of nothingness, his monster his loyal protector. 

__

Will was reading Freddie Lounds most recent fetishized article, riddled with fake empathy and surface-level inquiries to grab the attention of the masses. While Freddie might think she was a smart girl, and manipulatively talented at that, she was nothing more than the bee in a playground, intimidating all others around it, but overall, harmless and buzzingly mundane. 

Although she thinks herself superior, she is just another cog in the machine.

“ Hannah Arendt?” Hannibal asked teasingly, setting Will’s mug gently in front of him. Will put down his tablet, reaching for his coffee, which was, undoubtedly, made to perfection. Hannibal knew exactly how Will liked it. 

“Oh please,” Will muttered against the lip of his mug before taking a sip. He felt its warmth race down his throat to the center of his chest, blooming dangerously close to his heart. Hannibal settled down in front of him, gracefully arranging his limbs like a cat, folding in on himself confidently as he took a sip from his own mug. 

“A matching set,” Hannibal looked at him with what was probably the closest thing Will had ever seen ‘puppy eyes’ from the man. 

Will rolled his eyes, his husband’s antics exasperatedly amusing. “How romantic,” Will snided. 

Hannibal’s eyes creased with a gleeful smile, happy with his spoils of battle. 

“Hannah Arendt at least had some tact, “ Will muttered into his mug. Another sip followed the trail of fire burning down to his chest, pleasurable in its warmth. “If anything, Freddie Lounds-” 

Hannibal’s eyebrow’s rose. Steam from his coffee floating into the air freely as the shrill screeching of his phone screamed through the blissfully peaceful morning. Will sighed heavily, the warmth in his chest gone, replaced with the cold dread of anticipatory disappointment. Letting his head fall with a dull thud onto the back of his chair as he prepared himself for the call, he carelessly answered the phone, his neck bare. Will still managed to see the predatory darkness of Hannibal’s eyes locked onto the soft exposed skin of his throat. Will grinned cheekily, his mood brightening up ever so slightly. 

“Hello?”

“I need you at the BAU.”

“Not even a ‘hello’, Jack?” he drawled, eyes still set on the downcast gaze of his lover. Will heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the phone. It would seem that Uncle Jack was frustrated.

“This isn’t the time to be a smartass,” Jack snarled, his frustration seeping into his tone. Will was barely paying attention to him, his gaze sharpening as Hannibal kept his gaze steadfast. He picked up his mug and took another sip of the coffee his husband had prepared. He took a sip, slowly working his tongue around the liquid, relishing the feeling of his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, Hannibal’s eyes following religiously. 

“I wasn’t trying,” Will said distractedly. Playing two games at once was dangerous, Jack was one handful but Hannibal was a lethal distraction. It was just a matter of which one he wanted to play. 

“Just get your ass here,” Jack growled, “ Now.” The line went dead, a singular deafening tone that Will managed to quickly ignore. Finally, he put his mug down as Hannibal lifted his eyes, slowly and appreciatively up Will’s face. 

“I take it you have to leave?” Hannibal teased, raising his matching mug to his smirking lips, eyes hooded with desire. He took a sip and set the mug down quietly. 

“I’m afraid so,” replied Will. An innocent look slipping onto his face in feigned obliviousness. He started to rise out of his chair, rearranging his clothes to look more presentable before heading to the main hallway where their (needlessly expensive) coats hung in their respective places. He heard the shuffling of socked feet following close behind as strong, warm arms wrapped around his midsection. 

“Don’t cause too much trouble,” Hannibal said adoringly, kissing the side of his cheek. Will looked behind him quickly, eyes softening when looking at his monster. 

“I’ll try.”

With that, Will opened the door and bathed in sunlight.

Chapter Text

“I’m not some kind of miracle worker, Jack,” Will rubbed his temples, the oncoming headache pounding away at his head. He had taken some aspirin earlier, but it seemed that it wasn’t helping. Of course, taking away all possible irritants, like Jack’s insistence would’ve probably done wonders on his headache. Unfortunately, he lacked tact and couldn’t think of a way to say that politely- especially with a row of murdered girls in front of his face. That macabre train of thought, while not a new one, definitely reminded him of Hannibal. He was a true parasite, if nothing else. 

Either way, the case was serious, Will got crabby when he was suffering through social situations (Hannibal actually called him ‘crabby’ once). Will wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass, Jack just always wanted things done as quickly as possible in the way that he preferred it to be done. Unfortunately for him, it was not always feasible, and sooner or later, Jack was going to run Will into the ground, 6-feet under with a monstrous murderer vengefully nipping at his heels. For both his sake and Jack’s, Will was hoping that it didn’t end that way, even though everything in him was telling him that, like Jack, Hannibal always got his way. 

Well, almost always. 

“Then what are you,” Jack asked cynically. He was frustrated. His suit, while clean and well kept, his tie was askew, the pin lower than he usually cared to put it. The blue dress shirt he was wearing was wrinkled, not from multiple use in a short timeframe, but from carelessness in his posture- most likely from hunching over at his desk, his head in his hands. Jack was many things, but he was almost never sloppy. He took care of what he had, because what he had he had had to work for. One of the reasons why he was so set on catching the Minnesota Shrike- or even, the Chesapeake Ripper. He had to work to keep his place, and he knew that. As the head of the BAU, Jack constantly had eyes watching his every decision. Needless to say, Will was not at all surprised that Jack was exasperated at Will- he was projecting his inability to understand the Minnesota Shrike was something that could end his career. Jack was being pressured, and he needed to find the Minnesota Shrike fast. His reputation depended on it, and Will, like always, was a means to an end. 

Unfortunately for Jack, Will was a tool with a consciousness of his own.

“I look at the evidence,” Will seethed. He was getting tired of Jack constantly berating him, constantly overworking him only to yell at him for something he couldn’t control. “I draw conclusions from the evidence I see- that’s all. ”

“No, you get into their heads,” Jack said darkly. “So why,” Jack pounded his fist down onto the desk, his voice rising, glaring at Will, “-can’t you tell me more about the Minnesota Shrike?”

Will rubbed his eyes, the migraine was only getting stronger, beating against the confines of his skull. He really didn’t want to be here right now. He just wanted to go home, drink some whiskey and fall asleep. Jack yelling at him was only fueling the darker impulses within him. The ones he was trying to desperately quiet down, they wouldn’t help him here. 

Will let out a tensed sigh, bringing his hand away from his face to look at the pictures of the victims. 

“They’re all very ‘mall-of-America’,” Will muttered quietly. He was trying to keep his tone controlled. He could not let Jack escalate the situation any further, for both their sakes.

Jack nodded behind his desk, staring at Will intently, trying to catch everything he was doing. 

“It’s not about all of these girls, it's about one of them,” Will started. His headache pulsated faintly. “She will be the same weight, same height, same color, same age- that’s,” Will paused to look at Jack directly. 

“-That’s your golden ticket,” he finished. Jack only nodded, his jaw firm, before he made a swift exit out of his office. 

Will’s hand attempted to rub away the headache. 

__

“Dude, are you okay?” Beverly’s concerned face appeared in front of him, her brows furrowed as the corners of her mouth turned down into a slight frown. Out of everyone on the team, she was the most genuine. Will appreciated that. 

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. He was pulling at his hair, hoping that the sharp sensation would ease the pain he felt raking inside his head. Beverly continued to look at him concerned. 

“Jack’s really putting you through the wringer, huh?” She tried to sound easygoing but there was an undercutting tone of concern. She looked at him, brows furrowed, her posture stiff like she didn’t want to scare. 

Will let out a humorless laugh. It was gruff and strained, like he was trying to gasp for air but there wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it. Nothing had ever been this bad before. “Jack wouldn’t notice if he did,” he said dryly, trying to ease the pain that was now grabbing his chest. Beverly only looked at him, her expression didn’t change before she looked away and only stood next to him. He appreciated that she wouldn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be. 

Out of his peripheral he saw Beverly give him one more side glance before looking ahead. “I’m here whenever you need anything, okay?” She said quietly. 

Will nodded. The tightness in his chest easing just a little. The pain is his head slightly dimmed. 

They stayed like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence. 

__

“Hello, Special Agent Crawford,” came the clipped, accented voice. Jack looked up to see Hannibal Lecter standing before him. His suit was cleanly pressed, not a hair out of place. Jack smiled at him, wanting to be as inviting and as welcoming as Will probably wasn’t going to be. 

“Dr. Lecter, I’m glad you could make it,” Jack said. Hannibal smiled gracefully before moving further into his office, suit jacket draped artistically over his forearm. Jack bowed slightly, motioning to one of the chairs. Hannibal nodded his acknowledgement before sitting down in one of the seats, light and weightless. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” Jack offered. Hannibal settled in further into his chair, smoothing down his suit jacket in his lap before he looked up at Jack. Hannibal raised up his paper cup elegantly, finders resting on it lightly, before smiling, “Seems as if the waiting room has beat you to it.” Jack gave out a small chuckle. 

Hannibal glanced to his right, a small pause in his movements as he cocked his head ever so slightly. His gaze was inquisitive, slowly scanning the board before he gestured towards it softly with a graceful hand, turning his head to Jack. “May I?” he asked, his hand still pointed towards Jack’s board on the Minnesota Shrike.

Jack smiled, “Please.”

Hannibal set down the coffee in the paper cup on the corner of Jack’s desk before standing up and resting his suit jacket on the back of his chair. His movements were quiet, subdued. Not timidly, but rather in a strong, controlled manner. 

“Tell me, how many confessions?” Hannibal’s hands found comfort in the pockets in his slacks as he leaned forward to look closely at the photos. Jack rested his hand on his hips, glad that Hannibal was easier to work with than Will Graham was. 

“Enough to know none of them are the right one,” came an exasperated drawl. 

Speak of the Devil. 

“Mr. Graham, you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Jack scolded. He couldn’t let his temper get the best of him, especially in front of a guest as posed as Hannibal Lecter. Will didn’t look at him, his head angled down and away before he had even stepped into his office. Compared to Hannibal, Will all but stomped to his seat, not bothering for Jack to invite him to sit down as he took the seat that Hannibal’s suit jacket did not occupy. He stubbornly refused to look at Jack and Hannibal, greeting neither of them before slouching down into his chair. Jack sighed, the case had already exhausted him and Will was no help whatsoever. 

Hannibal looked at Jack, eyebrows raised in question or amusement, Jack didn’t know which one he preferred. Jack gave Hannibal a friendly, pleading smile as he once again gestured to his seat. The quiet of the room was deafening. Jack wanted to strangle Will. Not that it was necessarily his fault but it was, Will always had a habit of seizing control of the situation when Jack was supposed to be the one holding down the reigns. Whether conscious or not, Will was very good at pressing his control. 

“I had class,” he paused, “To teach,” continued his clipped reply. Jack shared one more look with Hannibal before they both moved to take a seat. Jack got behind his desk as Hannibal passed behind Will to get to his seat. 

Will glanced over to his left, eyebrows rising as he sharply glanced at Jack. 

“What’s he doing here?” Will spit out, his eyes blazing. Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wanted to give Dr. Lecter a better impression but that was speeding out the window faster than Jack had thought it would. 

“This is Hannibal Lecter,” Jack started, “He’s here to help with the profile,” he explained. Will let out a humorless laugh before turning his gaze stiffly toward Hannibal. 

“I am only here to help, Will,” Hannibal said kindly. Jack wanted to praise him for his adaptability. He was way too respectful for his own good, especially considering how rude Will was being. He wanted Lecter’s help, this case was too important to cut any corners. 

“ Help,” Will gritted out menacingly. “Psychiatrists are rarely here to help, Doctor.” Will averted his eyes to the floor, his shoulders stiff. His hands were gripping the armrests of the chair. Hannibal seemed a little taken aback. Holding his composure Hannibal arched his head down slightly trying to get Will’s attention before smiling softly. Will’s head rose slightly, his eyes catching Hannibal’s. 

“I am not here to cause you undue harm, Will,” he started his hands resting neatly in his lap. His smile was still soft, tender. 

“Oh really?” Will said tensely. 

“Yes. I can promise you that,” Hannibal finished. His face was still soft, and Jack was sure he was hallucinating because it looked almost fond. They stared at each other for a moment before Will lifted his head and looked through Jack. Yup, he needed to close this case quick, he was seeing things. He needed his beauty sleep. 

“Who’s profile is he working on, Jack? ” Will asked. He said Jack’s name like it was a curse. Jack wasn’t sure what he had just witnessed but he was happy that Will and the doctor seemed like they would be able to get along. It made his job much easier and gave their team more manpower. Which he knew they would need for this case and for the ones undoubtedly to present in the future. 

Will also didn’t seem to be too happy, but now his anger was directed at him again and Jack wanted to sigh. Will was, for the lack of a better word, intense. It came with his empathy, Jack firmly believed. He was intense because he was trying to keep people as far away as he could be, but Jack needed him. So much so, he was afraid where he would be without Will Graham. Yes, he was a pain in the ass but he was the best. 

“I need you to calm down, Will,” Jack placated. He knew Will was sensitive but there was a limit to how much sensitivities he was going to allow—especially in the line of the work that they were in. 

“ Whose profile is he supposed to be working on Jack.” Will breathed out. Jack did realize that he may have overstepped his boundaries just a little, but he also knew that Will needed to get it together. 

“He’s here to assist us with the Minnesota Shrike, Will,” Jack said firmly. He needed to stop this temper tantrum right now. Will seemed to glare at him for a little longer before sitting back. He was still tense, his glare piercing and never straying from his face. His hands, however, had started to fidget with his wedding ring. 

That little band of gold never seemed to surprise Jack (he was also pretty certain that Will wasn’t actually married, he had never heard of his wife at all). 

“If I may—” Hannibal interjected

Will stood up and left his office. Jack panicked a little bit, staring in disbelief. He didn’t really know how he was supposed to salvage the situation. Hannibal turned his body to follow Will out the door. 

“I’m really sorry,” Jack apologized. “He’s usually not like that. I pressed one too many buttons, I suppose”

Hannibal stayed staring at the door, still as a statue. He didn’t glance at Jack at all, his shoulders slowly stiffening. Although the meeting was a disaster Jack was glad that Hannibal seemed to want a friendship with Will. That would work well for him. 

“No.” Was all Hannibal said before the room was suffocated in silence. 

__

Will wanted to hit something. He didn’t know what, just something. Like Hannibal’s goddamn face because how dare he—

“Will.” The achingly familiar voice whispered in the depths of his mind. 

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he said stubbornly. His headache had been pounding the entire time throughout the meeting. It hadn’t helped his mood. Hannibal could tell, he just knew it. He knew fucking everything. 

“Will.” The voice came out softer, pleading. 

He had been taking pills for days now and nothing had helped the incessant buzzing pressing against the walls of his mind. It was just a pounding buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz—

“Will.” The voice came even softer, accompanied by a delicate touch under his chin, lifting his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes. Will closed his eyes. He told himself he just didn’t want to see Hannibal’s pleading eyes (but the light only amplified the pain in his head). 

“What are you doing?” Will whispered. He wasn’t really mad, not over this—not yet. He just wanted the comfort and warmth that only his husband would be able to provide. Barely thinking, Will shifted slightly forward, his forehead landing softly in the crook of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder, trying to bury into it as tightly as he could. He wanted to get out of the goddamn light. 

“We can talk more later when your mind is clearer,” Hannibal promised. “I am more concerned that you seem to be in pain—” Will breathed in sharply. He wasn’t hiding it well, he knew, but he still didn’t want Hannibal to worry about him. The last time he had been on the verge of death had almost broken the man. 

“How long has this been going on?” It wasn’t supposed to make him feel guilty, but it did. They very rarely hid anything from each other, but Will really hadn’t wanted Hannibal to worry. Not for something like this. 

“A couple of days,” Will whispered. 

“Has it been getting worse?”

“No.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hannibal asked. His strong, skillful hands pressing Will closer to him. One hand went to the back of his head, tangling themselves into the sweaty curls, pressing him closer to his husband. The other rested on his waist, bringing the rest of his body nearer to one of his only sources of comfort. 

“Take me home?” His voice cracked. He didn’t have to always be strong in front of Hannibal. Not always. He would take care of him, he always did. Hannibal was the only person who he could trust.

“Please?” he added. 

They were in the parking lot, hidden away in a dark corner that Hannibal had chosen to park his Bentley. Will wanted to scoff in amusement. Hannibal was always one for the dramatics, no matter how small. Will was just afraid if he made any more sudden movements his headache would descend to become short of unbearable. 

Hannibal turned his face and kissed the crown of his head, pillowed by his soft curls. Will relaxed even further into Hannibal, letting out a tense breath of air. Yes, his monster. His alone to be tamed, to be ravaged. 

Didn’t change the fact that he was kind of an asshole. 

“Of course,” Hannibal whispered sweetly before they walked slowly towards Hannibal’s Bentley, Will’s face still in the crook of his husband’s neck. Hannibal walked Will to the passenger side, opened the door and gently helped Will settle into the seat, his limbs sagging his head pounding. 

Hannibal closed his door before he got into the driver's seat and starting up the car. 

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Will tried to put heat behind his words, but his head was making it hard to do much of anything. 

“I only wished to surprise you,” Hannibal replied. Will felt the car start to move. He rested his forehead on the cooled glass. 

“If you really want to surprise me—” Will started, He stopped, the headache making itself known once again. He didn’t want to end this here, but he couldn’t think past the pound pound pounding that wouldn’t stop in his goddamn, stupid ass, fucking head.

 “Stay?” he pleaded, voice getting quiet at the end. Everything felt like it was crashing down on him. 

The car was silent for a few moments and Will was sure Hannibal was just processing his request. It was rare when Will would be so openly vulnerable.

Hannibal must have reached over instead of speaking anything, in the next second his skilled hands had enveloped Will’s own in comfort and warmth. Will sagged even further into his seat. 

“Always,” Hannibal answered, his voice soothing his headache ever slightly. 

The rest of the car ride was spent in soothing silence.

__

“You made me chicken soup.”

Hannibal hesitated before a grimace shook his shoulders, his face scrunching up. 

“It is a little more sophisticated than that,” Hannibal replied with dignity. A wave of fondness passed through Will. 

“You made me chicken soup.” His voice was starting to show his amusement. He wanted to kiss the man so badly, wanted to grab his face and just squeeze him until he crumbled underneath his palms.

Hannibal sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. 

“I made you chicken soup,” he grumbled, clearly ruffled. Will’s smile only got bigger. 

“Thank you,” Will said sincerely, reaching out to grab his husband’s hand, caressing the top of his palm softly. He loved this man. 

“Is this amusing to you, my love?” Hannibal questioned. He wasn’t that angry or put off, in fact, he still seemed concerned and worried for Will ever since they had gotten home a couple of hours ago. Hannibal’s frustration was all surface level and a pretense. Under it all, Hannibal was nothing but a mother hen. 

“Very,” Will said proudly. His smile wouldn’t stop curling up, hiding his enjoyment of the situation. Hannibal sat next time, his hand never leaving his as he turned his undivided attention onto Will. He expression saddened just a tiny bit before his other hand came up to brush the side of his face, caressing sweetly. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Will let out a small humph of breath before he leaned his head into his lover’s hand. 

“Yes,” he whispered. Hannibal only stared at him as if he was the most captivating thing in the entire kitchen—and Hannibal did love his kitchen. Will, however, had been married to Hannibal for far too long to be unaware of his manipulations. 

“We still need to talk about that entire thing with Jack,” Will prompted, his head still comfortably resting in his husband’s palm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hannibal never once stopped his movements before he spoke, his eyes staring straight into Will’s soul. “I wanted to surprise you—”

Will snorted.

“—and I wanted to see how the FBI does its work,” Hannibal finished.

“A peeping tom? Is that what you are?” Hannibal smiled, his hand moving to brush Will’s curls. 

“More like a curious cat,” Hannibal supplied.

“Definitely not a domesticated one,” Will laughed. He wasn’t actually too angry, and Hannibal had never lied to him; not when they were so intrinsically part of one another. That still didn’t mean that Will shouldn’t be concerned about any other surprises. 

“I beg to differ,” Hannibal’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Will. Will groaned. The hand through his hair was pure bliss, especially since the headache had just gone away. “I only have one owner.”

Will was close enough to Hannibal to have his head fall onto his shoulder. He was tired, but it was finally hitting him just how exhausted he was. He just wanted to go to their bed, press himself against Hannibal and sleep like the dead. With Hannibal, he knew he would always be protected. 

“Not an equal? How surprising,” Will said drowsily. He was beginning to fall asleep. 

“I would let you do anything to me if you thought it was the right thing to me. I have all of you and you have all of me. Forevermore.”

“My monster,” Will whispered against Hannibal’s neck. 

He wanted to bite it. 

“My heart,” Hannibal finished. 

Will fell asleep in the warm embraces of the Devil itself. 

Chapter Text

“He’s eating them. “

“What?” Jack turned to face Will, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“He’s eating them,” he repeated. 

Jack exhaled a tired breath, rubbing his temple. He slowly made his way to the front of his desk, settling down in front of Will with his head pointed towards the floor. He was still trying to rub away what was undoubtedly an oncoming stress-induced headache. For all his experience and professionalism, Jack was nothing if not human. 

The silence dragged into Jack’s office, settling and sizzling with the tension of the recent realization. For all that Jack’s caring nature made him passionate about his job, it really dulled his sense of humanity. 

As for as Will was concerned, there was nothing inhumane about the situation—humans constantly committed the most atrocious of actions. It is simply human nature. 

And human nature is downright dogshit. 

Jack finally turned to face Will, staring him straight in the eye as if that would help him understand the gravity of what the evidence suggested.

Well, more like the lack of it. 

With his hands on his hips pulling his suit jacket out of the way, Jack looked at him, face stern and brows still furrowed to a point, his posture tense, “Are you sure?”

Will gave a slight nod. Jack understood what he meant, he just didn’t want it to actually be reality. Will resettled into his chair, finding the tense atmosphere in the room choking him. He brought up a hand to massage his jaw in order to ease the ache making an appearance. He had too many other things to worry about that was just a bit more pressing than the mediocrity of an aching jaw. 

Besides, Hannibal really didn’t need another thing to be worried about, as much as a mother hen as he was—or as he would say it, “ I’m a doctor, Will. It is within my nature to heal just as much as it is yours to help others” —he could really be a pain 

“He wants to honor them,” Will continued. “He wants to show them that they’re loved.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“He’d honor every single part of them, Jack,” Will said, his gaze piercing, looking straight at Jack. As a man who had wanted him for his opinion and insight, Jack really made it a point of questioning everything that he said. It didn’t really matter in the end, it was the truth no matter how much Jack didn’t want it to be.

There was a quick tap at the door, dismantling the tense atmosphere in the room but only served to further Will’s oncoming headache. Bright fluorescent lights like the screech of the silence, tense, concentrated and right in his face had him wishing he could lay under the covers of his bed and block out the world around him. Hannibal would have probably preferred it that way, especially with the recent difficulties Will was having just standing up straight. If Hannibal had his way, Will would be caged into the house, hand fed by his husband who would force him to rest while watching him for any symptoms that indicated something more nefarious at play. 

Of course, that was if Will let him.

He rarely ever did. 

Will looked behind him, seeing Beverly’s smiling face and a folder in her hand, “We got a lead.” 

Jack only exhaled once again before standing up to follow Beverly back to the lab. His resolve had hardened and his heart caged once more to do his job. 

Will followed, body weak and tired, but he had a part to play. 

__

“Woah, woah. What’s that?” Will glanced up sharply to look at Beverly from his seat on the table. She was shuffling into the seat straight across from him, takeout lying right next to her. Beverly barely glanced at it as she gestured towards him, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“My lunch,” he said gruffly. He stabbed his fork back into the fancy side salad Hannibal had prepared for him. That could only do so much to release the anxiety and tenseness that constantly filled him to the brim. 

“Are you sure?” Beverly continued, “That looks more like a five-course meal with money and pretentiousness served on the side. I pegged you to be more of a disjointed mess than a gourmet.” Will barked out a laugh. He liked her honesty, it was refreshing. 

“Trust me, if it wasn’t for my partner I probably wouldn’t even remember to eat most days,” Will supplied. He stabbed his fork back into his fancy salad.

“You’re dating someone?” Beverly exclaimed.

“Not dating, married,” Will corrected. Beverly’s eyes quickly traveled down to Will’s left hand and only grew bigger at the gold band innocently sitting on his ring finger.

“How the fuck did I never notice that before? I am literally paid to see small details on dead bodies. Wait—how in the world did you, and I mean that wholeheartedly— you bag a partner who literally cooks rich-people food for you?” 

“I think it had to do with my magnetic charm,” Will deadpanned. 

“No shit,” Beverly breathed in. “How long have you guys been married? I mean, if they’re making food for you it must mean you guys are still in the honeymoon stage, right?”

“Almost 2 decades, I think,” Will said nonchalantly. It really wasn’t a big deal. Hannibal was the only one for him anyway. No one had ever understood him so effortlessly, or tested him as ruthlessly as Hannibal never failed to do. And for that matter, no one had ever managed to make him feel as protected and free as Hannibal had. Even as intense as their relationship could get, Will never doubted Hannibal’s nature and Hannibal never doubted his. They worked in perfect tandem—a prize won with the blood spilled into the earth and claws aching for the carnage of the other. Their marriage was a triumph. 

A triumph savagely earned. 

Will stabbed his fork back into his fancy marinated steak with the fancy vegetables and whatever else Hannibal had decided to put on there, before he realized that Beverly had never said anything in response. He looked up at her to see that her mouth was agape, eyes unblinking and staring right at him. 

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Will averted his eyes back to his fucking salad that Hannibal had no doubt lovingly crafted with a painstaking eye to detail while Will was passed out on their bed. 

“What?” He asked. 

Beverly continued to look at him but said, “What? What?!” she said incredulously. She leaned back into her chair and dropped her hands down to her sides before laughing a breathy, disbelieving laugh. 

“Dude, you don’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me to let it go,” she started,”Almost two decades? That's hella impressive, and I’ll be honest, you in all your you-ness,” she gestured vaguely at him, ”—are like, the last person I would have expected to be in a relationship, much less a 20 goddamn year-long marriage.”

Will shrugged. Hannibal had always been an integral part of him. At this point, one could not exist without the other—

And that was powerful. 

“Wait,” Beverly stopped herself before looking at him critically. “How old are you?” 

Will sighed before he shoved his pretentious lunch away from him.

“Yes, I married young,” Will answered cautiously. He was interested to see where this conversation went. 

“Dude, that’s—” Will took in a deep breath, his mood turning sour. He hoped that he still liked Beverly after this conversation. For her sake, not his. “—fucking impressive!” Will’s eyes widened in surprise, the ball of anxiety in his chest loosening slightly. Previous conversations he had about his marriage had never been so kind, and usually bordered on downright rude. This was a nice change of pace and made him appreciate Beverly. Especially since it was nice to talk about his relationship outside of the pretentious people that Hannibal just had to surround himself with. Their facade of kindness and eagerness for gossip made his blood boil. 

Hannibal found it amusing. 

“How’d the two of you meet? I mean, it must have been, like, magical or something, right?” Beverly’s hand started to gravitate to her forgotten takeout, her disbelief fading into genuine, casual interest. 

“It was,” Will supplied. His right hand gravitating towards his left, fiddling with the gold band that represented half of him, the half that he could not live without. It was a comfort and a reminder of what he had and what he stood to lose. 

He did not plan to lose anything. 

“It was a dance,” Will started, his mind dredging up the sharp tang of blood from his memory. Kintsugi with vivid crimson gleaming preciously against Hannibal’s face, healing Will into a whole piece that he never thought he could be again. The darkness surrounding them like the blanket of a protector, a hushed third witness to the fated meeting of souls inevitable, deadly, and dangerous. 

“Sounds like some dance,” Beverly huffed, amused. 

Will only smiled.

Chapter Text

It was starting to get cold outside. Snow had yet to fall but that didn’t stop the air to chill, warm breaths turning into crystal smoke as he breathed out. It was sunny, the wilted grass frosted over, glistening in the sun. Diamonds surrounding the centerpiece of the treasure bestowed upon them. Crimson rivers of gold, ivory skin of design. 

Will took in a sharp breath, the air biting and sharp. He walked around the body mounted on the horns, peaceful and in stasis. A body carved out of marble, the finest and most delicate of artist catching the supple frigidity of her skin, the highlight of her thighs–

This was their design. 

“What is this, Will?” Jack stood sternly back, his back strong and upright, but his shoulders sloped with the weight of weariness. A righteous man, but a bone-tired one. 

“This–” Will started, “This is all wrong.” He took in a deep breath, head cleared with the stinging air. He didn’t think the clearness was going to last too long. He’d been muddy for weeks, and he thought that it boiled down to Jack. Of course, that came to no surprise to him. 

He was at Jack’s beck and call.

Hannibal did not appreciate the constant disappearances.

“How?” Jack walked until he stood right next to him, hands gloved and in his pockets. 

Protection. Jack didn’t want to get too close. Unfortunately for him, Will already had. Jack was always too close. That’s what got him in this position anyways. Not that he would ever admit it. 

“Our killer loves women,” Will said desperately. “This-this killer thinks that she was a pig,” he spat out. Jack only looked at him, face impassive with inherent distrust. Will believes that Jack believed in his assessment, at least for now, but Jack was in a position of great stress. 

Stress that would be to his detriment. 

“And what do you want that to mean to me?” Jack only looked at him expectantly. Always looked at him expectantly. Did he forget that he was the head of the Behavioral Science unit or was he getting old to remember such a fact? So world-weary that he could no longer stomach, understand, catch these killers without a hand leading him down the hallway? Why was he still in charge if he was no longer able to do his job? Why was Will standing in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, hands chilled and freezing, breath crystallizing in the air the bright sunlight when Jack could no longer see what was right in front of him?

“It means, Jack, that this isn’t our killer.” Will felt his nose start to go numb. 

“Then who is this?” Jack retorted. My monster, thought Will before he slipped his hands into his pockets. Fuck was it cold. He should have worn the fancy gloves that Hannibal had gotten him but he forgot. Hannibal wouldn’t be too happy about that. 

“I don’t know. It’s a copycat; he’s probably never killed like this before, most likely will never kill like this again. This girl is just a game to him,” Will spat out. “Our real killer loves women, he-he would use every part of them, honor them.”

“If he loves women so much why does he murder them, then?” Will was ready to slit Jack's throat, feel the warmth of the blood on his hands, warming them up, turning them red with life. 

“I’ve already told you this, Jack,” Will grabbed at his hair, pulling on it to relieve some stress, 

“Because it’s not about all women, it’s about one of them,” Will insisted. 

“Who?” Jack looked at Will as if he was lesser. Will wanted to bark out a laugh. The FBI expected Jack to catch them? When Jack was no better than a fumbling baby barely able to walk, needing the assistance of everyone and everything around him? This was a joke, because either they kept him out of some outdated sense of duty and tenure, or they were counting on his obsession with the Chesapeake Ripper to pay out in the end. Either way, the FBI was fucking themselves over. Both with Jack and his obsessions. 

“Like I’ve already said,” Will stated curtly,” She’d be the same age as the others. Same hair, same skin same everything; probably a daughter or a significant other, something.”

“He hurts others in order to not hurt her?” Jack questioned. All Will could do was nod before he said anything too pointed at Jack. A stupid man, but a prideful one. 

The prideful ones are always the most volatile. 

Jack simply turned away and looked at all the other professionals on the scene. He stalked over to start wrapping everything up. Will had already started walking to the car, ready to be home in the warm embrace of his monster. 

Fuck was he cold. 

“Will,” his name was called softly as soon as he opened the door and the orange ambience of the room flooded out, spilling onto his feet. He shook off the remaining water off his shoes, setting them aside on the slight raised shelf that Hannibal had insisted on having. A large pair of strong hands enveloped him while also reaching behind him to stop the cold from invading inside. 

All Will could do was relax slightly, or at least, as much as he could with the layers of heavy coats he was wearing. Even with that slight discomfort, however, everything faded to a dull reminder as the familiar and comforting smell of Hannibal overtook all of his senses. 

“ Hannibal ,” he breathed. There was nothing like the arms of his lover, his protector, his monster, his soul.

“Long day, I have it?” The words were mumbled into the side of his neck, right under where the thin fragile skin of his neck streamed up towards his chin. Will stayed pliant as Hannibal took his time to carefully remove the extra layers in favor of what laid underneath; freeing Will from the scorching heat rising up his body. The rustling sounds of the fabric blending nicely with the sounds of the crackling fireplace that Hannibal just adored. 

Will did nothing but grunt in answer to Hannibal’s question. He was too tired, too warm and felt too safe to not simply crumble in his husband’s arms. 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Hannibal said before he punctuated his sentence with a kiss to his  forehead. “Dinner is almost ready.”

Will managed to gain some control of his body before he lifted up his heavy head from Hannibal’s shoulder and blinked owlishly at him. Before he could even say anything, Hannibal placed his glasses right onto his nose.

“Thanks,” Will yawned. Hannibal just smiled before turning around and walking towards the kitchen. Will followed him, content in the silence that surrounded them. After two decades of marriage and unity, merely each other’s presence was enough, most times—and the knowledge that if he really wanted to, Will could just go right next to Hannibal, put a scowl on his face and like a clingy sloth, Hannibal would drape himself over Will. No hesitation, simply just touch. 

Two chairs were already set up by the island in the kitchen, a glass of wine where Hannibal would sit, water and whiskey where Will typically favored. Sitting down in his chair, Will immediately grabbed the water and drank the entire glass—the faint lightheadedness that hadn’t gone away all day dulled even further, seeming more like a phantom of a sensation. 

The sizzling sounds of Hannibal’s cooking had replaced the sounds of the burning wood in the living room. The familiar sounds and smells made Will take in a deep breath before settling further into his chair.

“I invited Alana over for dinner tomorrow,” Hannibal stated as he stirred whatever the hell he was making. 

“Did you?” Will teased, closing his eyes as he leaned back. 

“It’s been a while and I thought it would be a good time to reinforce the connections we have made.”

“Does that mean you want me to be there?”

“It means that you have free reign to do whatever you would please, my love,” Hannibal replied simply. The clinking of plates and silverware rose to Will’s ears.

“What would you do if I was there?”

Silence followed his question. Will felt a quirk of his lips.

“That is appropriate?” Will specified his question. That seemed to be what Hannibal had wanted from him. 

“Depending on what you would like, treat you like a guest or treat you like I would like to.”

“Oh,” Will said as he opened his eyes. He found that Hannibal was still on the other side of the island, but he had foregone his plating to simply look at Will. 

His looks always felt more like a confession. 

“And what would you do to me?”

Without any hesitation, Hannibal smiled his catlike smile and said, “Worship the very ground you bestow your presence upon with the blood of those lesser than you.” After letting out the last word, Hannibal turned around and started finishing the last few details of whatever the fuck he was plating. 

Will laughed, his smile forcing its way onto his face. His lover certainly knew how to make him feel better. Reaching towards the whiskey still on the table, Will brought it up to his lips.

“Our anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” Will said before taking a small sip of the alcohol. 

Hannibal turned around, both plates in hand before he carefully set down the plates onto the island. 

“I do believe so,” Hannibal said nonchalantly. Will called bullshit. If nothing else, his husband was a hopeless romantic at heart. A murderous one, but a romantic nonetheless. 

“And what does this have to do with Alana?” asked Will. 

Hannibal merely smiled. “Nothing.”

Will understood the implication. Nothing, right now.

“So will you come to dinner tomorrow, my love?” Hannibal asked, taking a sip of his wine. 

“As your husband or as your colleague?”

Hannibal just smiled.

Chapter Text

“Alana.’’

Alana smiled up at Hannibal. To be quite honest, she had been extremely happy receiving an invitation to dinner from Hannibal. With him leaving the hospital and her starting her practice, it seemed as if it had been a long time since they were able to eat casually with one another. They had their moments, here and there, but Alana would be damned if she wasn’t happy to be allowed to taste Hannibal’s cooking once again. 

“Hannibal,” she replied pleasantly. She brought up her hands, “I brought wine.”

“Sassicaia?” Hannibal quirked an eyebrow in fond amusement. 

“Only the best for you,” Alana quipped. “Indulgences are good for the soul.”

“I agree with you on that,” Hannibal said simply before he took the supplied wine out of her hands. “This will pair well with today’s course.” Alana smiled, happy that she made the right choice.

Hannibal took a step back, moving out of the doorway and with an inviting hand gestures for her to enter the door. Stepping in from the cold, Alana kept a pleasant smile on her face, the warmth of his home bombarding her freezing cheeks. With the stark change in temperature, she felt her cheeks tighten, unsure of the onslaught and rushing to bring back the heat to her face. The distant crackling of the fireplace made her smile wider. 

Hannibal brought her to the dining room, the plates and silverware all set out already, staged for the dinner that was to come. There was a beautiful arrangement of flowers in the middle, and Alana wasn’t too sure what they were—they looked exotic—so she didn’t ponder too much on them. She was sure that it was just Hannibal’s aesthetics that always got him carried away. 

“Your displays never disappoint,” Alana commented. Hannibal looked at her pridefully. If nothing else, you could always count on his need to display his own sense of taste.

“Thank you,” Hannibal replied simply. His pride didn’t come without merit, it was simply fact to any and all that knew. 

“Please take a seat,” Hannibal gestured to one of the chairs on the side of the elaborate, dark mahogany dinner table. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Alana asked, trying to be a polite and respectful guest. She would enjoy helping but she also knew of Hannibal’s fondness for the entire process of cooking—the preparation, the plating, the hosting and the serving. 

“Please, you are a guest today,” Hannibal replied. Alana let out a little chuckle. “Besides, you have already bought me wine, what more could I ask for?” 

“It is my pleasure.” Alana smiled up at him, feeling dimly like a child receiving praise from a parent—pure happiness. However, as Hannibal looked at her, her wine in his hands, he seemed to contemplate something before he brought his eyes to hers, a chilling sensation zipping up her spine unexpectedly. 

Why was she scared all of a sudden?

“Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I made slight changes to our plans today,” Hannibal started after an intake of breath. Alana’s smile slipped off her face in concern. She let her confusion settle onto her features, brow furrowing, lips pursing. 

“I must confess that I did take the liberty of inviting someone else for our dinner without consulting you,” Alana’s eyebrows jumped up, creasing her forehead. This seemed very un-Hannibal. If nothing else, Hannibal was extremely well organized and polite, and would never turn so rudely on company. 

Well, now that she thought of it, he had done something like this to her before, a long time ago. During her residency, when Hannibal was still holding his famous (and infamously envious) dinner parties thrown in celebration of the hospital staff—she remembered all the busy, extra tasks that Hannibal would do in preparation. It had taken him months to get all the necessary equipment, food, hiring chefs and waiters, cleaners, decorators—the planning and coordination it took was insane. She remembered seeing him in between small breaks on the phone with a florist, or some kind of service, jotting down notes and insane amounts of money. So much time and effort had been put into this party and the feelings of excitement that all of the hospital staff had felt for the dinner party was palpable in the air as the date became closer and closer. 

She also remembered this particular dinner party because, with all the preparations, she had been, unfortunately, seeing him less and less and Alana, as a young, aspiring student, felt robbed of her most prized role model. Of course, however, she couldn’t be too disappointed in it because all the effort that Hannibal had been putting into the party was obviously something that he enjoyed doing very much. It was very obvious that even with the added weight of the incoming dinner party, he seemed excited—well, as excited as the ever composed Hannibal Lecter would show to anyone. 

She also did remember a peculiar instance where she had stumbled upon him talking on the phone. At that point in time, it wasn’t too rare to see his phone attached to his ear, speaking with whatever service company he needed to figure out, but this one was slightly different. 

“Do you prefer the burnt umber or the ivory?” She had followed the timber of his voice, in a secluded, typically empty part of the hospital bathed in the sunlight of the afternoon sky. 

“That’s not what I said. I will not reduce them merely to brown or—” Hannibal cut himself off as he listened to the other end of the phone. Alana was a little confused and very, very interested. As far as anyone knew, Hannibal didn’t ask for opinions, he always seemed to just know the right choice. Hell, nobody could even consider Hannibal to have something as mundane as friends. Acquaintances, yes. Friends? 

He was not so common of a man.

“Yes, the tablecloths. I am talking about the tablecloths,” Hannibal clarified. He seemed slightly huffed with the direction of the conversation. “I’m trying to see if you think the burnt umber of the ivory best fits the courses of the night.” Hannibal paused again, patiently waiting as the other end of the phone made its case. He let out a small chuckle at whatever the other person had said.

“Absolutely not, now you’re just being provocative,” Hannibal said with a smile. Alana couldn’t help but stare slack-jawed. This was a Hannibal she had never seen before, a Hannibal that Hannibal doesn’t allow to be seen to colleagues. Of course, she had seen him in the comfort of his own home before, but never so calm, so lax, so human. In Alana’s eyes, even as he stood right in front of her, he had always seemed untouchable, otherworldly. This grounding of his character was shocking. 

Her observations were then cut short as someone called for her name, shifting her attention from the unexpected display of humanity that she was honestly not really sure Hannibal would be able to possess. Before she left, she stole a quick glance back towards her mentor only to see his back to her. Afterwards, as she was able to contemplate who could have possibly been on the other side of that call, she only came to one possible conclusion. 

Although fading to the back of her mind, eventually, the day of the dinner party came and any pondering musings gave way to excitement for the night. Out of a sense of kindness she had offered Hannibal her services, whether that meant last minute errands or even something as small as folding napkins. He had refused her and Alana didn’t take it personally, Hannibal was an extremely independent man (although that did make her wonder who he could have possibly been on the phone with to make him ask for an opinion , of all things. Not a rhetorical question, not a hidden insult, but an opinion that had obviously held some value. It truly and utterly baffled her). 

The only other thing she could remember about that night was the fact that Hannibal had been acting strangely the entire time, preoccupied with something else even as he was throwing one of his most prestigious and famous dinner parties—something that he took great joy and pride in. Alana was not able to stay much of that night either, other things taking her away and, disappointingly, never seeing the person on the other side of the phone that had made Hannibal smile. 

Blinking away the old memory, Alana felt the pleasant smile on her face become a little too tight, a little too forced. 

“Alana?” Hannibal asked. Alana was still surprised. She thought that it would just be the two of them, like old times. She was a little taken aback and slightly (very) disappointed. She was also surprised that Hannibal would sprout this on her so late into their dinner. It seemed slightly disorderly for him, if anything, but truth be told, Hannibal was very much a communal animal if nothing else. 

“The more the merrier?” Alana tried to placate, her smile feeling unnatural and forced. Even with the slightly disappointed in the turning of events of the evening she would try her best to enjoy it to its fullest. Hannibal was still the host, after all. 

“Well, if you may excuse me to finish up the dinner preparations,” Hannibal exhaled. He clasped his hands behind him before bowing softly and quietly making his way to the kitchen door. Alana just smiled until his back disappeared and decided it was best to just sit. She felt like she was in for a doozy. 

“Preening like a peacock,” Alana jerked at the sound of the voice. She glanced over to see Will leaning in the doorway before he started sauntering to the wine cabinet that Hannibal kept in the dining room not for all his wine, but for the wine he would be willing to have for a meal. Alana knew that the rest of his wine was actually in his own cellar, having seen glimpses of it only in passing in visitations of the past. Seeing Will so casually make his way to the wine cabinet left Alana feeling wrong-footed. Alana herself, and she assumed she was one of Hannibal’s closer acquaintances, wasn’t comfortable with touching anything that Hannibal had not given her explicit instruction to touch. Affronted, Alana wasn’t too sure how Hannibal would react to Will’s assumed presence and familiarity with the place. Hannibal, while a well-mannered man, was very much a possessive man. This manifested in the complete and utter control he insisted on when planning dinner parties, making plans, decorating his home—Hannibal liked things a certain way and wanted things that specific way all the time. 

“Will,” Alana startled. She couldn’t decide if he looked out of place or at home. There was a hazy duality that Alana couldn’t quite tear apart from either notion. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“No one ever is,” he answered as he pondered the arrays of wine before him. Eventually, he picked one out, reaching out to grab it. Alana started to feel the thumping of her heart beat in her chest. 

“While I’m sure you’ve gotten closer, shouldn’t you wait for Hannibal to pick?” Alana questioned, tone placating. She wanted to tell Will that he was being rude, and that touching Hannibal’s things was a sure way to get him on the man’s bad side, but she also didn’t want to create even more tension between them. Besides, she had brought her own wine for a reason. 

Will stopped in mid-movement to just look at her. His looks were always haunting, heavy with the burden of knowing. The beat of her heart seemed to crescendo.  

“What do you mean?” He asked. His tone was carefully neutral, as if he truly didn’t understand why she had asked him that question. Not for the first time, Alana wondered if he was asking that for his own benefit, or simply to put her own feelings on the spot. Alana also wondered if, even with his empathy, he was still blind to such important social cues, especially with a friend (and Alana hesitated to call them that) as well-mannered and as drenched in politeness and social awareness as Hannibal was. 

“I asked him to pick out a wine for today’s course,” entered Hannibal, the soft lisp of his accent cutting sharply into the rising something between her and Will. His stature was sure and confident, the sharpness of his facial features casting shadows uniquely onto his face. Alana was sure she had only made it up, but it seemed as if a gleam flashed across his eyes—she wasn’t sure if it was amusement or something else. 

“Oh, I see,” Alana tried in an attempt to redeem herself. 

“Unfortunately, I was mistaken, the Sassicaia you’ve bought for today wouldn’t pair well with the flavors of the evening,” Hannibal supplied. Alana nodded even though she felt the small twinge of disappointment in her breast. 

“And Will knows what’s suited to my tastes so I simply just asked him,” Hannibal said flippantly—as if Alana had not taken a double take at the statement. Hannibal, as Alana knew him, was always self-assured in everything he knew. Asking Will to pick out a wine for the dinner he had spent hours crafting over and to have it potentially be ruined and—

Oh, she thought, He’s trying to get closer to Will. 

What other explanation was there? Hannibal was a smart man, and when he made concessions he made them very consciously. With the two of them spending more time together in the field, it would be important for Hannibal to create a friendly relationship that encourages better work, especially when taking Will’s dispositions into account. 

Alana relaxed at the realization. This is why he had invited Will to dinner, Alana’s presence was a familiar one that would make him more comfortable and more open to their possible friendship. 

“I see,” Alana pursed her lips before looking back at Will, forgotten. “I didn’t know you’re a wine connoisseur,” she joked. Will didn’t say anything, just looked at her for a moment. As the anxiety in her chest returned in the silence, Hannibal spoke again, shattering it once more. 

“Please, everyone have a seat, I will bring out the appetizers.” Hannibal turned to Will, “Thank you for choosing the wine, Will,” Hannibal said softly, his hand on the bottle that Will was holding, a whisper of familiarity and sensual grace. 

Will’s emotionless face finally twitched, upturning into a cheeky smirk, “My pleasure.” 

Will wasn’t too sure what Hannibal’s goal for the dinner was, but he did know that he was going to have fun with it. Alana was kind, but stuck in morals so rigidly that that rigidness was applied to all other aspects of her life. She liked to think that she was a freer creature, free from the mundanity and narrow-mindedness of the world, but she was a creature of habit—one that didn’t like its power to be disturbed.

In front of Hannibal and Will, however, that was always the wrong assumption to make. Will was sure that during her residency, Hannibal had encouraged that kind of behavior and action, not because he agreed with it, but because he found it amusing. Will probably would have found it amusing too, if that rigid moral compass wasn’t constantly trying to “understand” him in some sense of justice that she held. Hannibal found it amusing, Will found it grating. 

The clinking of silverware on ceramic, unhurried but enthusiastic filled the room, tension in the set of Alana’s shoulders. Will felt at ease, and Hannibal even more so—this was their territory and the predator’s would have no trouble subduing the little lamb that wandered in. 

“This is amazing,” Alana chirped, looking at Hannibal. She hadn’t really spared Will a glance, still unsettled by their earlier encounter (and some sort of revelation of the relationship between him and Hannibal, although Will didn’t think it was the right one quite yet). “My compliments to the chef,” Alana chuckled. Will just stared at her and drank some more wine (the one he chose). 

“I can’t take all the credit,” Hannibal harrumphed, taking a sophisticated yet happily juvenile bite off his plate. Will tightened his grasp on the wine glass—Hannibal wanted to play.

And who was Will to defy him?

“All I really did was chop some onions,” Will supplied before taking one last sip from his wine glass. 

Alana’s tinkling noises of cutlery against plate stopped for a second and Will peered up at her. She was staring straight at him. 

“You helped with today’s meal?” Alana asked politely. Well, as politely as she could without sounding condescending with her surprise at his unexpected involvement. 

Will didn’t say anything. 

“He has helped me on many occasions, I can always trust in the quality of his work,” Hannibal smiled as he took another bite, looking directly at Alana. 

Alana cleared her throat. “Many occasions? Wow, I did not expect you two to get as close as you seem to be.”

“And why is that?” Will asked dryly. He really just wanted Alana to piss Hannibal off even more. It didn’t spell out a great future for her. Out of the many ways to insult Hannibal was to insult his husband—a husband that was all too used to such impolite comments and a husband that Hannibal just could not stand to have insulted. 

It was fun. 

“It feels like you guys have just met and you come from such different,” Alana paused, trying to find the right impoliteness, “ Backgrounds. ”

“Oh,” Hannibal asked with a raised brow. “And what could you possibly mean by that?”

Alana squirmed a little in her seat, seeming to understand that her commentary did not seem to be appreciated. 

‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I simply meant that Will simply has a much harder time trying to create and keep connections with others while you,” she gestured towards Hannibal, “Thrive in an environment where you can create connections.”

“You mean I’m too unstable for Dr. Lecter?” Will quipped. 

Alana flushed at the accusation, especially with Hannibal’s piercing gaze on her. 

“That is not at all what I meant to sa-”

“I do not appreciate you insulting the company I have personally invited, Alana.” Hannibal said simply. Alana flushed even further, her blood rising to the surface of her skin. 

Hannibal would love to slit her throat and drain her out like a pig. Store her blood and then put it in some sort of ridiculous, over the top blood sauce or something, Will thought. 

Will didn’t say anything at this exchange, this was lovely to watch. Besides, once Hannibal got going there really was no way to truly stop him. 

“I apologize,” Alana remedied quickly. “I did not take into account how my words my be taken with mal-intent, it was not my intention.”

“Intention or not, Dr. Bloom, I would appreciate it if you did not bring such impolite behavior to my dining room again.” Hannibal let a small beat of silence pass in the tension before he resumed his eating. Will had never actually stopped. Eating, that is—Hannibal had made one of his favorites and he couldn’t let the entertainment spoil the evening.  

“You mentioned that you were going to the market tomorrow?” Will questioned, no longer able to stand Alana’s sad aura from being talked down to by her most respected mentor. 

“I am? Would you like to accompany me, Will?” Hannibal asked casually. Usually Will didn’t go, not really wanting to draw attention to himself, and Hannibal always drew attention. But he truly hadn’t been in a while and he felt that he needed to separate himself from the suffocating work at work. 

“Can I?” Will teased. Hannibal stopped his eating once again before giving him his full attention. 

“What would I get in return?” 

“My presence.”

Hannibal smiled, “Deal.”

Alana seemed to boil in disbelief. 

“You’re too cruel,” Will said as he started to unbutton his shirt. Hannibal moved quietly to stand in front of him, his larger stature making him feel safe in return. His husband’s skilled hands caressed the side of his jaw before traveling down to lightly cup his own hands on the journey down his shirt before gently moving them out of the way and continuing the process himself. Will settled his hands on top of Hannibal’s, enjoying the feel of the strong tendons and muscles shifting beneath the calluses of his own fingertips–the heat radiating off of their shared connection warming him to the core. 

“For you, mylimasis, always,” Hannibal whispered with a kiss pressed firmly to his forehead. Will just closed his eyes and took comfort in the familiarity in the sensations. 

Eventually, Hannibal coaxed the shirt off his shoulders, fingers skimming the soft skin before landing another kiss on the crown of his collar bones, climbing up his neck. Will threw his head back, allowing Hannibal more access to the vulnerable flesh. 

“Our anniversary is coming up,” Will said breathlessly. Hannibal’s hands traveled down the length of his body. “You better not do anything ridiculous.” A sharp bite accompanied the fingers digging into the sides of his body. 

“Nothing ridiculous, just customary,” Hannibal lulled into Will’s ear. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Will dug his own fingers into the soft flesh of Hannibal’s back, digging in deep until his nails broke through the skin. 

“Don’t tempt me, Will,” Hannibal said with fake offense. 

“I thought that was all I did,” Will brought his hands forward, cupping Hannibal’s face, the gritty texture of stubble gliding across his palm. 

“And you always will.” Hannibal grabbed him by the waist and started pushing him back towards the bed. 

Hannibal always did know just how to spoil him. 

Chapter Text

“It’s time to wake up, Will.” Will only groaned, turning around to get away from the hand that carded through his hair. He wanted to keep sleeping, tired after the whole Alana debacle. Right now, he was in his room, with his husband, in his (needlessly expensive) comfortable bed surrounded by all the pillows and blankets that smelled like them, the clean lullaby of his husband’s voice crooning in his ear. 

“Leave me alone,” Will managed, his voice thick with sleep, croaking with effort. 

“You told me we were going to the market today, darling boy.” Will bemoaned his stupidity. He had only really done that to piss Alana off, and damn did it feel great, but now Will was regretting it. Hannibal hadn’t even been planning to go but Will had to open his big mouth. Hannibal did not mess around when it came to cooking and, by extension, this included going to the market. The really expensive, high-end, pretentious market that Will did not really ever go to because it was, well, pretentious. 

“You know I don’t wanna go,” Will grumbled, facedown in his pillow. Hannibal hummed, his hands still carding through the curls on his head. 

“I am very much aware, mylimasis. ” A soft kiss was pressed to the back of his head before the hands left his hair. “However, I do believe you were going to graciously grant me the honor of your presence.” Hannibal hummed again before letting out a sigh after a beat of silence. 

“I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Mrs. Komeda that my husband has decided to abandon his relationship in favor of Hypnos,” Hannibal said disappointingly. Will let out another groan and grumbled as he turned to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

“You’re a pretentious, manipulative bastard, you know that?” Will questioned Hannibal. 

“And by extension, you are as well, dear,” Hannibal said with a quick kiss to Will’s forehead. Will grumbled in discontentment. 

“I’m only doing this because I actually like Komeda, not you,” Will said with displeasure. That, and he did want to piss off all the other rich snobs that would be there, just for fun (and he could give Jack an excuse not to bother him, it was his day off, afterall.)

“Whatever you say, mylimasis,” Hannibal accentuated with another kiss. Will dropped his hand and looked at his husband who was already fully dressed in his stupud three piece suit. “Breakfast will be ready when you are finished getting ready.” With that, Hannibal got up and left their room. Will yawned, already tired for the day yet to come, wanting to curl back into the warmth of their bed. But Will couldn’t deny that the temptation of breakfast was hard to resist so, with a lot of effort he got himself off the bed and into the shower before Hannibal would undoubtedly check up on him once again just to be a bastard.

Their bathroom was needlessly grandiose, as was up to Hannibal’s taste, but many of the customizations, like certain woodworked pieces and such Hannibal had let Will create and install, probably to amuse him but also as a show of love—Hannibal, the control freak, releasing some control. Will didn’t really care, but he did enjoy the fact that Hannibal had let him participate in the material manifestation of their life together. 

Will’s shower was quick and short, as most of his showers were when Hannibal wasn’t involved. After throwing on some clothes (which were also needlessly expensive), Will started walking down when he heard a voice. 

Jack’s voice. 

Will paused for a second, trying to steel himself for he was sure it was going to be an extremely taxing conversation with his boss. Even with Hannibal here, who Will wasn’t sure didn’t also want to punch the man. 

Taking in a deep breath, Will continued his descent down, spirits lowered. 

The first thing that came into view was Hannibal, backside turned to him and he had started to plate breakfast, which Will was happy to see was actually Hannibal’s ridiculously fancy (but utterly delicious) homemade pancakes, with that delicious berry and wine sauce that he always made just for Will. While not a complete recovery, Will was a little happier. 

Jack, on the other hand, was standing at the opposite end of the counter, hand in his pocket as he talked with Hannibal. Nothing in his body language gave away why he was here, it seemed like friends simply checking up with one another, but Will didn’t think that was Jack’s style. 

The first to notice him was Jack, whose eyebrows jumped up in surprise at seeing him. 

“Will?” 

Will simply grunted in acknowledgement before he quickly made it to pick up the plate that Hannibal had quickly held out to him before Will quickly snatched it from his hands like a starving child. Hannibal unbothered, used to his husband’s antics and simply continued plating his own plate (and Will noticed the distinct lack of a third plate for Jack). Will quickly sat on the stool underneath the island, closest to Hannibal and started eating (cutlery already on his plate). Will took a bite before even looking at Jack who just looked at him in disbelief. 

“I must apologize, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal started. “I wasn’t expecting your company and had, therefore, only made enough for two.” 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t expecting to stay long,” Jack said out of courtesy, not willing to be rude to the good doctor. “But I wasn’t expecting Will to be here, is all.”

“Hannibal and I had some plans today, I was just freshening up,” Will said curtly, not looking at Jack as he continued eating. He really didn’t feel like dealing with his boss this early in the morning. 

“Plans?” The disbelief in Jack’s tone was grating on Will’s nerves. It was way too early to be doing any of this, especially before he had any coffee. 

“We do enjoy each other’s company, Agent Crawford. I am sure that we are allowed to have plans outside of just our work,” Hannibal said. Almost anything that Hannibal asked (stated) wasn’t really a question— it was all completely rhetorical. 

Hannibal finished plating his own food before setting it down on the stool next to Will, but he didn’t sit down and instead went to the counter to finish making Will’s coffee—a touch of cream and a whole lot of sugar, or as what Hannibal liked to call it, “a sickeningly disgusting affront to nature and its plentiful abundance of flavors untouched by human contamination.”

“And you’re eating breakfast together?” Jack asked.

“Am I supposed to go hungry, Jack?” Will said. Hannibal picked up Will’s mug and handed it to him. The coffee was nice and hot and smelled perfect. Will took a sip. 

Just how I like it. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, Will. I’m just surprised, is all. I just wasn’t aware how,” Jack paused to find the right word. “—How friendly you and Hannibal are.”

“I would hope we were,” Hannibal chimed in, his own cup of coffee in hand as he worked his way around the island to sit on the stool where he had placed down his own food. Jack looked a little confused at the comment before he decided to simply let it slide with a shake of his head. 

“Either way, it’s good you’re here,” Jack started, his tone of voice back to normal and ready for business. Will wanted to groan in frustration. He really didn’t want to be doing this right now. 

“Will, I need you at the BAU today, I need you to—”

“No,” Will interrupted, not up to deal with this right now. Jack looked at him strangely. 

“No?”

Will took another sip of his coffee.

“No. It’s my day off.”

Jack let out a huff of anger. “Will, this isn’t a job where you can just back out whenever you want to.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Will agreed, “But you still have an entire team of trained professionals that I am sure are working today, and have already solved cases without my help. It doesn’t look too good that the BAU has to rely on one civilian for every case that pops up.”

“But Will—”

“I said no,” Will said firmly. He was not going to entertain Jack, not today, when he could go spend some time with his pretentious husband at some pretentious market. Maybe, if he didn’t have Hannibal, he would give in more easily, but Will had already concerned him enough, came home extremely unwell and left Hannibal restless. He was not going to do this today. For Hannibal, but also for his own sanity. 

“Will—”

“I’m afraid he already gave you his answer, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal said curtly. His quiet voice commanded the power in the room. “And I’m sure you have your own work to do,” Hannibal dismissed, trying to tell Jack that he wanted him gone and out of their property. 

Jack’s shoulders tensed before they relaxed, always more respectful of Hannibal’s opinion than Will’s. Will wanted to claw his eyes out in distaste. 

He felt a strong hand touch his shoulder briefly to calm him down, the comforting heat radiating off of Hannibal’s hand, seeping through the thin fabric of his clothes to the surface layers of the soft flesh underneath. 

“If you would please, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal gestured towards the entrance, and Jack, after a moment of hesitation, made sure he had all of his things before he followed Hannibal’s form, ever the polite and courteous host. As he was leaving, he gave one last narrowed look in Will’s direction, trying to communicate his disappointment at the course of actions. 

“We’re going to talk about this, Will.” Were his parting words. Will didn’t say anything back, ignoring him. He didn’t think he would be able to contain himself if he turned around right now and answered back. Will was sure he would get himself in a whole heap of trouble and do something stupid.

Eventually, with some mumbled parting words, Jack left their home, the sound of the door closing brought a resounding sense of finality to that conversation and Will’s patience.

“I don’t appreciate the influence he has over you,” Hannibal’s accented voice said to him softly, both a reprimand and a lament. Will’s hand went up to grip at his hair, wanting to pull them out from his head, make himself bleed in self-medication. He didn’t think he could deal with any kind of stressor to his life, he just wanted to spend his day off with his husband, not fetching after the serial killers that clawed their way into his skull, dripping with malice and the need for control over him. He couldn’t do that right now. 

A hand larger than his settled on top of the crown of his head, gliding slowly forward to reach his own hand, a silent plea to relax. 

“Breathe,” came Hannibal’s voice. Will hadn’t even realized that he had stopped breathing, chest tight and taut with anxiety and guilt. “There is nothing to worry about, mylimasis. ”

“We won the battle but did we win the war?” Will asked, incredulous. 

“You know we will. After all,” a small pause as Hannibal reached forward to cup the side of Will’s jaw and forced him to lean his head up against Hannibal’s chest.” —We always have,” came the confident answer accompanied with a soft kiss to the top of his head. A small smile made it’s way onto his lips, eyes fluttering close to avoid his presence in reality. 

“You’re a menace,” was all Will could say. 

“And you are going to be the faithful husband that accompanies me to the market today,” Hannibal’s chest rumbled. All Will could do was groan, a smile on his lips. 

Besides the bustling and crowded nature of the market, there were many other reasons Will greatly disliked coming here. Will didn’t fit in. While the argument could be made that Will never really fit anywhere and that this was completely normal, there was just something about the fact that Will was sure he was also making everyone else judge Hannibal, too. 

They weren’t strangers to attention, two men, married to one another, wealthy and in a long relationship without the worry and need for any other connection besides what Hannibal entertained himself with. Not only were they other, they were envied and envy brought a whole lot of looks their way. That being said, that was only true when people had already bothered to get to know them as a unit, either through some (very rare) dinner parties in which Will was present or when Will and Hannibal went to the opera with one another. 

From afar, what their relationship really looked like was much more scandalous since Will didn’t fit in . While wearing expensive clothes (that Hannibal bought him, there were other more worthwhile battles), especially next to Hannibal, Will was nothing but a scruffy man that seemed to leech off of Hannibal’s wealth. Pretty much, he was seen to be too poor to be in this godforsaken high-end, pretentious market. Which is why Will should have known not to stray away from Hannibal, lest he received some unsavory looks and overall prejudiced doubt when he was on his own. 

To be honest, however, Will was just kind of over it and didn’t really care, he had just seen the storefront and told Hannibal that he was going to look around, the other man preoccupied with a vendor just down the area, giving him a nod before they departed. Truly, the only reason Will wanted to come in here was because it was less crowded, not that this stupid rich place was too crowded, and he thought it looked like a store that would have something Hannibal would like. 

So, he stepped in and started looking around. This store had various different accessories: handkerchiefs, cufflinks, and watches—the pocket watches had specifically caught his attention. Making his way over, Will was hoping that he wouldn’t be bothered as he browsed but considering the clientele this store most likely received and the fact that Will was one of only two people in the store, it was inevitable.

“Are you lost, sir?” 

Will looked up to see an employee, or presumably the owner, looking at him with a poorly hidden pained look in his eyes. Will decided to just let it slide, he was here for a specific purpose. 

“No,” was his curt reply. The employee gave him a strained smile. 

“Then what can I help you with?” Will could tell that the employee didn’t actually think Will was here to shop, and was putting on that fake politeness to hopefully discourage him. 

“Do you have any more skeleton pocket watches?” was all Will said, flickering his gaze back down to the array of watches before him. “Preferably Tissot?”

With an eyebrow raised, Will looked up once again to stare at the shopkeep. 

“Tissot?” the employee’s tone rose slightly in surprise,” I’m not too sure that we have any within your budget…sir.” 

“I am sure I can deem that fact for myself, sir, ” Will just looked at him expectantly. The shopkeep seemed to argue with himself for a bit, his instincts seeming to war with one another on whether to just kick Will out now or humor him for just a little longer. Eventually, in a matter of seconds, the employee gave out a contained sigh, shoulders rising and relaxing before his posture straightened out and gestured a hand behind him.

“This way.” Will just looked at him, wanting to humor himself for a bit. 

“May I have your business card?”

Hannibal had been inspecting a variety of vegetables, trying to discern which one was of the better quality, already formulating in his mind what he would make for the rest of the evening and the rest of the week. Will had left him, his own curiosity leading him elsewhere. Hannibal should just be grateful that Will had found something to preoccupy himself instead of silently and grumpily tagging along for the errands. 

He was rather enjoying this day out, earlier interruption aside. He was sure Jack had not been expecting to see Will so early in the morning, especially since Hannibal presumed that none of their shared co-workers seemed to have pieced together the fact that while both Hannibal and Will were married, profoundly, they were married to each other. 

Hannibal didn’t really understand where the cognitive dissonance had settled in their minds, most of all Jack Crawford who held a respectable position of power in the FBI and yet and not bothered to pay attention to the fact that he was married to the BAU’s very own ace. While Jack had not explicitly asked him to psychoanalyze Will as they worked together, it was heavily implied—an implication Hannibal chose to ignore when accepting the position that Jack was offering. He had accepted out of curiosity, wanting to see the inner working cogs of the government machine as well as to see his dearly beloved on the field (and to keep an eye on him; Will’s condition seemed to continuously worsen, something that worried Hannibal to an increasingly large extent.)

“Dr. Lecter?” Came a squeaky voice, interrupting his train of thought. Hannibal tensed for a second before indicating his pickings to the vendor who started to wrap them up for him. Hannibal turned himself around, staring down at the man before him before making sure his face was pleasant enough for polite talk. 

“Franklyn,” Hannibal inflected his voice lightly, “I’m quite surprised to see you here.” 

He was not surprised, just annoyed. It seemed as if both him and Will were cursed to encounter their respective work nuisances—perhaps karma for the small fun they had the night before with Alana. 

“I wasn’t aware we shopped at the same places,” Franklyn said brightly.

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Hannibal said dryly. He wasn’t entirely in the mood to entertain Franklyn’s delusions.

“Like yourself, I also love to make sure that whatever I put into my body is of the highest quality, no compromises,” Franklyn said, attempting to appeal to him. Hannibal didn’t mutter a response. Choosing to simply look at the twitchy man, desperate for his idolized companionship. 

“We-We should do this together, since we have such similar tastes,” Franklyn tried to plead his case. 

Hannibal just turned around to gather his now wrapped purchases, a small nod to the vendor in thanks before he started to walk to the place that he and Will had departed. Franklyn followed him like an attention-starved puppy, still waiting for his response. 

“I’m afraid I am being accompanied by my lover, Franklyn,” Hannibal started. “A private day out, if you will. This — ” Hannibal said, referring to him and Franklyn,”—is somewhat unseemly.”

Franklyn’s step faltered. Before he could say anything, another voice called their attention off to the side. 

“I wasn’t expecting adultery, Dr. Lecter,” came a snarky voice off to the side. Hannibal allowed him a small smile before turning to the sound of that voice, Franklyn also following suit with confusion clearly written on his face. 

There stood Will, his curls artistically combed and framing his face, blue eyes piercing and light with a teasing, glinting curl of delight. There was a small bag within the lithe set of his fingers, unassuming and a deep, dark blue. 

“Who are you to say something so inappropriate,” Franklyn’s voice rose in disbelief. Will’s eyes flickered to Franklyn, surprised, seeming to have already forgotten the other man. Franklyn was just so incredibly forgettable, after all; a bug to be squashed underneath the leather of his shoes. Will didn’t respond to Franklyn’s accusation and said one of his own. 

“And who are you ?” Franklyn flushed a deeper red, his twitching increasing. 

Hannibal decided it was the time to play the act of the kind, benevolent doctor. 

“Will,” Hannibal reached a hand out towards his direction, gesturing for him to get closer, which Will did. Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his lover’s waist, grip firm and possessive. 

“This is one of my patients, Franklyn Froideveaux.” Franklyn’s gaze was locked onto the hand at Will’s waist, 

“And this,” Hannibal gestured towards Will, “Is my husband.” Hannibal very purposely did not give much more on that, assured that Will would let him have his fun, he would not appreciate other games. 

“Husband?” Franklyn whispered in surprise and disappointment. 

“And while it was a lovely time having bumped into you, I am afraid that I should take my leave,” Hannibal said. “Anything more would be improper, you are my patient, after all,” Hannibal said, sounding concerned. “I should not overstep the professional relationship I hold with you, Franklyn.” 

“Bu-but we just, we just happened to bump into each other. I wasn’t-we weren’t, we weren’t doing anything bad,” Franklyn pleaded. 

“Either way, these types of encounters should be minimized before things escalate too far,” Hannibal smiled innocently. He felt Will snort at his side. Hannibal paid him no mind. 

“W-What?” Came the reply. Franklyn’s eyes were starting to fill up tears, the shock to his system too great. “I just, I hoped we could—”

“You should not hope for anything outside of our appointments, Franklyn,” Hannibal state with a disappointed tone. Franklyn couldn’t seem to muster any words beyond that, afraid to say something wrong and ruin whatever chances he had disillusioned himself to believe that he still had. For now, Hannibal thought, at least he had staved off an increasingly alarming set of behavior—Franklyn more like a kicked puppy than looking for vengeance. He was considering the referral, however. 

“Now, if you would please excuse me, I would like to spend the rest of the evening with my spouse. '' Turning around, Hannibal and Will made their exit from the situation, leaving an embarrassed and humiliated Franklyn in their dust. 

“He’s stalking you,” Will muttered.

“Nothing that is not within my control, mylimasis. He is harmless, I can assure you of that,” Hannibal said. 

“You’re playing with him,” it was not a question. Hannibal flashed him a wicked smile. 

“Why, my dear, I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to.”

The soft punching of the horns pulsed in a repeated rhythm fast and lively, the soft shush and swing of the cymbal coupled together with the heavy warmth of the dancing bass line pulsed like the lively heart shared between the two bodies moving as one across the living room floor. The ornate furniture had been pushed to the side, not a sight too unfamiliar, but one that warmed Hannibal’s heart in routine and nostalgia. A swell of pure love as the music crescendoed and spilled onto their shared living room floor bathed in life.  

The honeyed light that dripped out of the fireplace reminding him as a sharp stop pulled Will to the left.

To the right.

And then around Hannibal as a controlled sway to Will’s hips untainted with no ulterior motive besides to enjoy the adrenaline coursing through their bodies. The bouncing of the rhythm section silenced and gave way to the technique of all the horn players, Will’s body coming in closer to dance along to the rhythm, intimate and sweet.  

“Can you keep up, Dr. Lecter?” Will’s sickeningly sweet smile curled up in pure joy, his voice lilted and teasing, his southern twang seeping through the seams of his words. His face was amber-flushed, a clean sheen of the most delicate acknowledgement of effort bounced off the light of the fireplace. The curve of Will’s hips swaying to the swing of the music, becoming the swing of the music as natural as the rapid rise and fall of his chest caused by the exertion of his movements. The syncopated rhythm encouraged Will’s movement, the quick succession moving his feet as if it was nothing but second nature. Hannibal knew from experience and well-loved memory that Will’s body would always remember the swell of horns, of tumbling rhythm, of the sounds of their times in New Orleans—Hannibal inturn would never allow himself to forget it. 

“How you tease me, you wicked boy,” Hannibal puffed out as their movements came to a quick halt in time with the music, controlled silence pushing into the composition, a playful melody filled with sonorous silence, their breathing part of the composition, as Will barked a short laugh of joy, feet and form too close too Hannibal—not close enough, really. 

Slowly, as the tempo of the music picked up, Hannibal reached for one of Will’s outstretched hands, dancing in and out circling their living room, Will’s movements sharp and fluid, gliding through the air, through the strain of muscle guiding Hannibal, even all these years later. The music swelled and Hannibal joined Will in the victorious cacophonic entrance of the rhythm section once again, tempo regulating itself once again, Will and Hannibal hand and hand, just as they had been the first time they had danced together, the second time, the third time, and all the times after in the years they had been together, Hannibal’s smile soft and liquid contentment. 

Many mistakenly thought that Hannibal’s favorite form of music was the orchestra, or even the opera for its control, the planned meticulousness of every note and melody; the same meticulousness that Hannibal carried in his day to day life; it’s complete and utter classicality, but Will—

Oh Will, was nothing if not a disruption to his control and rigid routine. 

The influence of his youth and the Louisiana air, Hannibal’s favorite type of music, undoubtedly, had always been Will’s body in the throes of jazz—the breaths, the drip of sweat, the bounce of curls framing the flush of his face, the sweet smell of adrenaline and endorphins, the sway of his hips and laughter warmer and richer than any instrument could ever accomplish. 

Hannibal had rather enjoyed New Orleans, the birthplace of their relationship, the violent start of it all. Will was the sound of New Orleans, of the live big band music playing as they danced in victorious obsession with one another the world too small to contain them, and yet, too vast for them to explore it all. Maybe that was when he had fallen in love, maybe it was sooner, but all he knew was that the sway and glide of Will’s body near to his, close to his, was like a drug with no cure.  

The crackling fire was muted by the music filling the room, but the golden light that flickered and across Will’s cheekbones, highlighting the glowing radiance of Will’s curls, the slight scruff on his jaw had Hannibal enraptured in the vivid vitality of his husband before him, enjoying where the horns took him.

It was the most carefree Hannibal had seen him in a long while and made him feel such melancholy for just how much he had missed seeing Will joyful, without worries or problems. Whenever he could get the chance, he would get his hands on Jack Crawford and make him seek repentance for causing undue stress to the angel that he worshiped with blood, the same one that worshiped him with teeth and claw. 

“I don’t think I tease you enough, love,” Will let out with another breath, all the dancing catching up to him and yet only making him seem more radiant with every lively movement. Hannibal simply growled before the horns belted once more, leading to the grand finale of this familiar dance; catching hand around the soft skin of his lovers’ waist, a sneaky touch down to his backside (which Will side-eyed him for, full of unadulterated happiness), a twirl, dress shoes worn in with the familiar movements, another laugh, neck open and long, temptingly near before moving with the rest of his body in this dance they shared.

Jack Crawford would have his due time come to him but for now Hannibal would breath these moments through the cells in his body, the neurons of his brain, etch them deep into the marrow of his bones for nothing was more important than the sound of New Orleans staring at him with all the carnage and ruthlessness he craved. 

Will, his love, his dearly beloved ruthless monster, depraved and indulgent in his state of being, drenched in the blood less of the pigs that surrounded him and ached for his attention would never get the chance. Will was Hannibal’s, as much as he was Will’s and together, in the wailing cries, the belting swell of the big band would Hannibal always remember Will—lively, joyful, teasing, and absolutely vicious .

With a cacophonic squeal of the cacophonic finale did their movements come to a halt, him and Will breathing heavily, bodies touching and Will with his head thrown back, a soft smile dripping up his cheeks. 

“You are absolutely radiant, my love,” Hannibal said with a nip to the exposed skin of his husband’s neck. Will’s body was pliant underneath his hands and their breaths regulated themselves shortly as a softer tune started playing in the background, softer and sweeter, but nothing could beat the sweetness of his lover’s skin underneath the sharpness of his teeth. 

“I’m surprised we could both still keep up,” Will said breathlessly, seemingly on a high before righting himself to stand up, still within Hannibal’s embrace. Hannibal was forced to move his mouth for Will’s neck and looked to stare Will in eyes soft with amusement. “I’m surprised you can keep up, old man,” Will chucked in jest. Hannibal simply huffed a scoff. 

“It’ll take much more than just that to tire me,” Hannibal said back. Will’s hand came up to wrap around his shoulders, linking behind his head. 

“Oh, I know,” Will teased, his eyes bright and open with playfulness. “I do hope that my faithful dance partner won't give out on me.”

“For you, my dear,” Hannibal gripped him tighter, nails struggling to dig in deeper to delicate skin, “I would never.”  Will simply laughed once again, sonorous and sweet, before leading him once again to start moving to the new tune filling the living room. Hannibal thought that this is what heaven would have to be, if it existed at all—Will, and the sound of New Orleans.

Chapter Text

The countertops were cluttered. 

The countertops were cluttered and the dining table was all set up: cups, sugar, sauces and  silverware placed. A white kitchen towel decorated with printed sunflowers looped over the handle of the oven matching the sheer, pale yellow curtains closed over the windows, blinds open but not pulled up. The kitchen was brightly lit, sun streaming in through the cracks of the blinds. 

Will guessed that even in desperation, Garret Jacob Hobbs’ love for his daughter had surrounded both of them in the warm ambience of sunlight, wrapping around their frames like lukewarm fire, Abigail Hobbs’ livelihood painted in crimson ichor across the gash in her neck down to the floor, around Hannibal’s hands. 

Will wasn’t sure if he was saving her or choking her—not that that would do much in this case. Hannibal had simply just stared at her as her eyes looked at them in panic, in a plea for help. Will still held his gun in a deathgrip, his knuckles turning white, his vision clouded in a haze. 

Garret Jacob Hobbs was limp against in the corner where cabinets met, blood seeping around him, his eyes still trained on his daughter even in death—honoring the artistic expression she painted on their kitchen floor. Her hair black as tar, deepened by the blood slowly drying around her, a vivid pop of color that starkly contrasted against the pale yellows and tans of the kitchen. And like this, was she in her purest form, the form in which Garret Jacob Hobbs had been refraining from himself—he was there for her at her birth, he would see to it her death as well. 

Will just stared at Garret Jacob Hobbs, at the man that had disrupted his routine so thoroughly, the man that had drawn Jack Crawford to him—the man he had just shot nine times. He was still pointing his gun at Garret Jacob Hobbs, unable to drop it, let it go, let the entire situation be done with. 

Will had never shot anyone. It was why he quit the force. 

He-He had never shot anyone. 

Will jumped, hands violating his vision, unseen until they landed onto his cheek, the metallic smell of blood familiar and yet uncanny, its warmth unsettling deep in his stomach.

“ Mylimasis, ” whispered Hannibal, his voice riddled with worry and a question, a question Will wasn’t sure he could answer. Will hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been breathing. He thought, he thought that—his-his chest was tight, a weird lightness digging deep into the bottom of his lungs, making him dizzy, he didn’t, he wasn’t—why couldn’t he breathe?

“Do you know your name?” That was Hannibal, he knew Hannibal, HannibalHannibal Hannibal—

He clung onto him like a parasite. 

“Will Graham—” he gasped, “My name is Will Graham-Lecter.” Hannibal’s hand started to move to cup the abc of his head, slowly and intentionally making sure not to alarm him with any sudden movements. 

“Who am I?” Will could feel his heartbeat start to slow down, his tumbling spiral down into a pit of anxiety and of the unknown slowly starting to focus onto the beacon of light standing right in front of him. His husband’s hot breath fanning against his face, warmth radiating off of confident hands, the proximity of their bodies familiar and grounding.

“Ha-Hannibal,” Will moaned pitifully, his voice whiny with desperation. He was slowly coming back to himself, ever so slowly, Hannibal his anchor in a sea of his mind’s own demise, waves crashing against the side of his skull. “It hurts.”

And it did. With sudden crashing awareness, rapid and violent, pain pounded against the cage of Will’s mind, his thoughts and feelings trying to claw their way out of his skull, trying to tear down the walls too small to hold them in. He was feeling too much-

“Will,” came Hannibal’s stern voice, “I need you to focus on me.”

Will thought that he heard sirens in the distance. 

“Focus on me, Will. Where are you?” Hannibal asked again. His other hand had traveled down to the deathly tight grip he had around his gun, calluses grating softly on his hands, something about their prevailing warmth causing Will to suddenly feel weak, his muscle seemed to forget how to work but his trembling didn’t stop. 

When did he start shaking?

“I’m at a house,” Will’s lips trembled. 

“Very good,” Hannibal’s voice soothed, calm and collected as ever. “Whose house?”

“G-Garrett Jacob Hobbs’,” Hannibal hummed in agreement, the soft vibration of the action made Will focus on the skin just above Hannibal’s scarf, right before his neck sloped into his chin. 

“Why are we here?” 

“No phone number,” came Will’s curt reply; Hannibal’s hand was still on top of his. Will realized that the gun wasn’t in his grip anymore. When had he dropped that?

“What a smart boy,” Hannibal gave a soft caress to the back of his head.

”I need you to name our dogs,” Hannibal said softly, his hand taking both of his in gentle, but secure grip, heat radiating off of them. His other hand was still at the back of his neck, Will thought that Hannibal’s hand was scorching him, branding him—the heat seemed to make him a little less hazy, but suddenly he felt a whole lot more tired. 

“Winston,” Will started. He felt Hannibal’s nod. Finally emboldened, and the aimlessness of this weird drifting was slowly starting to leave him, sensations slowly returning to him. He was so cold and yet sweat was dripping along the connection between his ear and cheek. 

“Keats,” Will could feel the tips of his ears raging hot, as if he was recovering from freezing temperatures outside. 

“Ella,” Will took in a deep breath, filling out the caverns of empty space aching to be filled, a shiver running from the tops of his shoulders down to the middle of his back. His heartbeat was starting to feel more normal, his trembling quieting ever so slightly. 

“M-Milton,” his eyelids were starting to feel heavy. He was so tired all of a sudden. His limbs like stones. It was okay, if he fell, he knew Hannibal would catch him. 

The sirens were now accompanied by flashing lights. 

Will felt the hand at the back of his neck push him closer towards Hannibal. Will didn’t have it in him to resist the force, there was no reason to resist, not right now. His head felt like it would fall off his shoulders if not for Hannibal’s secure grip—so heavy that it just flopped right onto his husband’s shoulder, his nose sticking into Hannibal’s scarf, his forehead teasingly making contact with the skin under Hannibal’s chin. 

“A-Apollo…” Will trailed off. Suddenly everything was just too much. He was just so tired, he had been tired for so long, it felt like. And here he was, pressed against his most trusted problem, his monster in human clothing, cradling him like he was his most precious possession. Will recognized that this intimacy, this intense vulnerability was only possible with Hannibal—no one else could see him as he could. 

Will could feel himself start to sway, drifting now that he could smell Hannibal, strong, masculine, familiar. This was his husband, the partner he had chosen to stick with for the rest of their time, he could let go here in the embrace of what he knew best, of who he know best. 

His devil, his damnation—his salvation. 

Will drifted off in darkness, a stag calmly looking at him in the dimming edges of his vision. 

___

“What in the hell happened here?”

Hannibal made sure that Will was securely in his arms, the deadweight of his body not at all a hindrance for him, but the entire situation bothered him, and Jack would not allow him the courtesy of processing it. 

No matter, Will was somewhat lucid, not truly having asleep, simply drifting; but he had been coming out of his panic attack so Hannibal would grant him this reprieve, for however long his situation would allow him to. Will could take his time coming back to himself, Hannibal would deal with Jack. 

Hannibal craned his neck to look at Jack who had a gun ready in his hands as he took in the scene before him; Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ unseeing eyes staring at his daughter, crumpled and cold, Will’s gun that had long since clattered to the ground, limp as a ragdoll, unresponsive to the stimuli around him; Abigail Hobbs on the floor, blood that had long stopped pumping through her veins pooling around her in a puddle of scarlet death, the gash on her neck a stroke of a painter’s brush. 

Mother nature did always supply the best tools for artistry, Hannibal mused. 

“Will!” came Jack’s sharp command, trying to get his lover’s attention, something Will was currently incapable of giving at the moment. 

“I am afraid that he is in shock, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal supplied calmly. Jack looked at him, brows furrowed in displeasure and confusion. “He’s currently unresponsive.” 

“Did he do this?” Jack’s voice was uncharacteristically small, almost as if the accusation was something he didn’t want to believe but couldn’t help but somewhat believe the death sentence he was spouting. 

“Garret Jacob Hobbs? Yes. Abigail Hobbs?” Hannibal looked down at her body once again,”Fortunately, or, unfortunately rather, we were too late. She was at the mercy of her father.”

Jack’s face creased, gun no longer tense in his hand, something in his body language deeply resigned to the fact that even though the murderer was caught, they were still to late. Jack looked beaten down, defeated and tired with the state of the responsibilities on his shoulders. Hannibal didn’t much care, not when he had assumed Will was at fault for such a ghastly display of desperation. 

Please, Will would never be so crass . 

Other government officials had started shuffling in, ready to record the crime scene and do their jobs. The shuffle and bustle finally completely popping the bubble that had surrounded him and Will, one that Jack had almost disturbed at the wrong moment. Something that would’ve been truly unforgivable. 

"I’ll need to take both of your statements,” was all Jack said before he turned swiftly, heading back towards the exit. Hannibal just stared at Jack’s retreating back until one of the paramedics approached him, inquiring about Will. 

Hannibal gave Abigail one last stare, face impassive and completely unfeeling besides that of slight disappointment. 

What a waste of good meat. 

_____

Hannibal had recounted his account to a couple varying sources, the current one being Jack—of which was doubtful of everything he said, especially when it came to Will. A sentiment that Hannibal was not fond of.

“Should I be concerned, Dr. Lecter?”

Not fond of it at all. 

“I am sure with some counseling, both Will and I will manage to deal with the events that have transpired today,” Hannibal supplied. Hannibal wasn’t too willing to indulge Jack in this game that he wanted to play, not when his husband was merely feet away, leaning against the side of an ambulance, the smallest quiver still wrecking his frame—his face was flushed with sweat, curls in disarray. 

Hannibal did not want to share this image with anyone, they didn't deserve to see Will so debased when he knew that his lover was incredibly strong, ruthless. This vulnerability was something that Hannibal had to fight for, with snaps of teeth, rivers of blood, with courting gifts that had bewildered so many but endeared his other half. If only he could kill everyone; he would carve out their eyes to punish them for even glancing upon Will’s state, then he would saw their skulls open watch was their brains sloshed out in its gelatinous state and destroy any memory that they could have possibly stored—

Yes, that was one possibility he supposed, but he didn’t think Will would appreciate the monotonous repetitiveness of the process, perhaps he could come up with something else. 

“That is not what I’m worried about.” Jack muttered. Hannibal mused that Jack was concerned, on some level. After all, his one trick pony might be broken. 

“I am not quite sure what you are insinuating, Agent Crawford.” Hannibal hadn’t ever stopped looking at Will, he was sure Jack didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. Eventually, however, Jack turned to face the source of his concerns. 

“He’s never killed before,” started Jack, “And he just shot a man nine times.” Hannibal could feel the intensity of the stare, the accusation said under tense words. 

“Are you saying you’ve never shot anyone in the field before?”

Jack paused before letting out a blow of air. 

“I have done many things I regret in my career, Dr. Lecter, and I hope Will Graham isn’t one of them.” 

Jack was a large man. Hannibal considered how much force it would take to knock him out. 

“Would you conduct an evaluation—a psychiatric evaluation—to see if he is still fit to be on the field?”

Hannibal tore his eyes away from his beloved to look at Jack. Jack was already looking at him, worry etched deep into the creases of his forehead, white hairs even more apparent in the unforgiving lighting of the outside. Jack was concerned, but he also had found his perfect toy, one he could use over and over until it broke beyond repair. 

Hannibal wondered if Jack ever truly felt remorse for the toys he had torn apart; had he mourned them? Cried that he lost a prized possession? Or wailed for the loss of its use? 

He mustn’t have. After all, he kept taking new ones. 

“Agent Crawford,” Hannibal said calmly. “I am afraid that what you have just asked of me shows an astounding insensitivity to the well-being of your subordinate—one that you called to the field.” Hannibal’s voice stayed steady. Jack’s face creased from worry into one of prideful hurt. 

“I don’t know where you came to that conclusion.”

“Besides the morally reprehensible connotation of your actions, the ethicacy of them is telling of how far you are willing to go to justify the means to your ends.” Hannibal wished he could sink his teeth into the man’s jugular. Maybe Will would like to watch him do it, but knowing him he would probably want to do it himself. 

Jack just looked at him disapprovingly. “I am disappointed, Dr. Lecter. Maybe you have spent too much time with Will. It is unbecoming of you.”

Hannibal rolled a tongue across the rows of his teeth. 

“Apologies for my rudeness,” Hannibal said. Jack seemed to be placated slightly, his tensed shoulders slowly relaxing. “But I will not be conducting any sort of evaluation on Will.” With finality, Hannibal turned back towards the ambulance, walking towards his quivering husband. 

Jack fumed behind him and Hannibal could feel a metallic tang staining his tongue in remembrance of familiar comfort. One day, he would be able to experience the real thing, Will healthy and by his side; Jack’s eyes filled with hatred and betrayal as he laid at their feet, bleeding out his sins. 

One day. 

____

“Mr. Graham, is there anyone you would like us to call?” The paramedic that had given him the shock blanket looked at him with kind eyes. Will could tell she was a stern woman and had enough years under her belt to be confident in what she was doing. But Will could notice the droop in her shoulders, the creases in her forehead engrained after years of gruesome situations and what could be hundreds of deaths she had been witness to, of that Will had no doubt. 

“My husband is already here, thank you,” Will replied kindly. She was just doing her job and Hannibal was indeed heading his way. She didn’t need to worry about him anymore. Will knew a thing or two about shouldering an uncontrollable death, toeing the line of Creator and Destruction, of righteousness and chaos. She did not need to worry about him—he already had his own outlet, his own support; possibly the only support he’d ever need. 

The paramedic looked at him a little confused, “Well, that was quite fast,” she commented before she gave him a quick smile, this one genuine. “It’s good you have someone to care for you.”

Will gave her a tight smile, his polite social persona already draining him to the core. He had been through too much today, and all the rustling and bustling of government agents recording and interviewing and investigating—Will just wanted a moment to close his eyes and block it all out. 

“Will,” came Hannibal’s gentle voice. After so many years, Will could hear the subtle worry in his tone, his concern too strong to hide behind his need for control, control that extended to even the timbre of his voice. 

“Mr. Graham?” the paramedic asked, that confused look back onto her face. Will was sure that she had taken some note of Hannibal, of her surroundings. Even if not a clear memory, she had some vague sense that Hannibal had been present for a while; she was probably questioning how he had gotten here so early and that he hadn’t come over sooner. 

“Yes,” Hannibal said in affirmation, giving the paramedic a small smile and a tilt of his head in polite acknowledgement and respect. Of course, that was all so he could crowd Will’s personal space, movements slow and precise so Will could see and stop them if he wanted but all he did was grasp his chin gently, a whisper of a caress before tilting his chin to back and forth, then up and down, staring into his eyes intensely. Hannibal was in his “doctor” mode, as Will liked to call it, finally assessing if there were any other extenuating factors that could have contributed to his earlier breakdown. Will really wasn’t looking forward to the rest of this conversation. He had a sinking feeling about what Hannibal would want to do. 

“Is there anything to be immediately concerned about?” Hannibal said while still looking Will over, paying to every single detail he could. 

“I’m fine,” Will huffed out. He definitely wasn’t fine. The body shaking tremors that he had experienced had calmed down to a slight tremor in his hands. He was a little sweaty, his body working overtime trying to figure out what was going wrong and trying to figure out how to fix it—a response that Will was not only used to, but getting much more accustomed to as more and more he fell into this vulnerable state. Will was sure something was wrong. 

He just wanted to ignore that fact for as long as he could before giving into this vulnerability; Will did not like to be vulnerable.

“Considering your current condition and the fact that you have been increasingly tired and overworked when you come home,” Hannibal raised a brow. “I beg to differ.”

Will just rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The paramedic cleared her throat. “Besides seeming to be emotionally stressed due to the traumatic events that have passed, from my preliminary examination he seems to be doing okay.” Will looked Hannibal in his eyes, feeling smug. 

“However,” she continued,”If what you say is true, I would recommend taking him to the hospital to make sure everything is okay. Just to be safe.” 

Will’s feeling of smugness was quickly squashed under her foot. Hannibal, however, simply smiled. Will knew that was his intention anyway, he didn’t want to take any chances when it came to Will’s wellbeing. Will, however, really didn’t want to deal with this right now. He didn’t want to deal with it at all, actually. 

“Thank you,” Hannibal said sincerely to the paramedic. “I’ll make sure I get him checked up soon.”

Will just scoffed, looking away. He was fine. He was fine. 

If he said that enough times he was sure that he’d eventually believe it. 

Eventually the paramedic left to allow them some privacy. Hannibal started to inspect him more thoroughly, not caring that there could possibly be onlookers. Honestly, Will didn’t care either. Not right now, not when he was so shaken up all he wanted to do was shove his face into Hannibal’s shoulder, allow his monster to rake his limber fingers through his hair, and start reading something in a foreign language to lull him to sleep. He just wanted it to be the two of them, in their own little bubble. In their own little part of the world. 

Hannibal’s fingers were scattered throughout Will’s head, calluses touching his scalp, their heat both scorching and comforting. Will felt his eyes flutter close, knowing he could trust Hannibal to find anything the paramedic could have possibly missed (even though Will was sure she actually did what she could). 

“We need to get you checked, Will,” Hannibal said quietly, concern and worry thick in his voice. Will just sighed, his peaceful spell broken. 

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Hannibal.” Hannibal just looked at him, lips ever so slightly pursed in disagreement. Will was only winning because Hannibal knew not to push his boundaries, not right now. 

“I’m concerned,” Hannibal said. He wasn’t expecting an answer. He never expected anything from Will, only observed, accepted, and worshiped . 

Will knew Hannibal was right, he knew he was right. But he couldn’t deal with this. Not with the crowd of people around them, not when he felt like he was going to pass out if he blinked for a second too long. 

“Please, mylimasis, ” Hannibal pleaded, as much as Hannibal could. Will looked up at him, feeling a little guilty. Hannibal rarely asked him for anything, choosing to push and take, to do as he pleased when he knew he could get away with it. Was content to let them play this game between the two of them; predator between predator. 

Except, right now, Will felt like he was nothing more than a doe with a broken forest in the middle of the forest. Eventually, he’d be devoured by whoever found him first. Will had a suspicious feeling that Jack would somehow manage to take advantage of him first; swiftly, quickly, without mercy, and with a fueled sense of righteousness. 

Hannibal would skin Jack alive before he would allow that to happen.

However, even with his own monstrous protector, Will felt completely out of his depth. He hadn’t felt this weak and vulnerable since his youthful days, before he had met Hannibal, before they had truly become together. 

Will just wanted to feel like himself again. 

Hannibal’s fingers were still tangled in his hair, slightly pulling at the strands as the curls licked around the familiar offenders. Hannibal had brought down his own face and angled up Will’s so that they could meet in the middle, foreheads touching, breaths pooling in between them; their secrets, their promises, their understandings. 

“Okay, okay,” Will relented. The grip on his hair felt nice. “But not today.” 

Hannibal moved away to kiss him at the crown of his head, fingers moving about in a soothing pattern once again. 

“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal said, voice so sincere. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Will grumbled. “Right now, I just want hot chocolate, my dogs and I want you to read to me,” Will admitted. It wasn’t anything new, something they did quite often, actually. But asking for it right now felt more like a confession than anything; a confession that he didn’t feel quite right, that he needed to be comforted. 

Will felt that some distant part of him did not like that he was weak, feeble; but the larger part of Will, the one that had grown and changed with Hannibal at his side knew that he needed to stop before he fell apart, needed to trust in the bond that he had bled for, the relationship he had helped build through torn nails, blood and gore—he needed to trust the man that he married. Right now. 

Or Will worried that he would lose himself before he could get himself back. 

Will just closed his eyes, pushing his head against Hannibal’s sturdy chest. He was wearing too many clothes for it to be possible but Will was sure that he could feel the strong and steady beat of Hannibal’s heart, calling to him, beating for the both of then, alive and strong. 

Right now, that was all Will really needed. 

“Whatever you need, my darling boy,” Hannibal said softly, another soft tug to his hair, another soft kiss pressed to his curls. 

Hannibal was brimming with bloodlust, Will knew that was an unquestionable fact. Soon, Will would be better, they’d figure out what was wrong and be able to satisfy both of their appetites. 

But first, Will would have to figure out how to stop seeing Garrett Jacob Hobbs corpse, feet away from him, pale and dead, stiff and unmoving besides his lips whispering, “See?”

___

“Are you seeing this?” Zeller asked them. 

“I think so, unless I’m starting to actually go cuckoo from all the dead body fumes I’ve inhaled,” Price quipped. 

Beverly just nodded her head, as she stared at Dr. Lecter and Will, both ridiculously close and intimate. Before, Dr. Lecter had just been touching Will like he was nothing more than a patient with a condition that he had to assess. All touches were clinical, purposeful. 

“Is this some weird, rapid trauma bonding?” asks Zeller. Dr. Lecter had not stopped his inspection of Will, his actions quick, concerned and practiced. Will, on the other hand, was the concerning one. 

“Maybe that isn’t actually Will,” chimed in Price. “It’s actually a clone.”

“Clone Will,” added Zeller unhelpfully. 

“Haven’t they known each other for like, a month?” asked Zeller. “Like, this isn’t the Will we know, right?”

Price let out a fake aggrieved gasp. “A human being who has just been traumatized seeking comfort by the person who also shares that trauma? Preposterous.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Zeller side-eyed Price, unimpressed but fond of his partner. Silence passed between them before Priceand Beverly jumped, eyes slightly wide and stupefied as Zeller suddenly became animated in an ‘aha’ moment. 

“I’ve connected the dots—”

“You haven’t connected shit,” Beverly interrupted. 

“I’ve connected the dots,” Zeller said even more confidently. Beverly was pretty sure that she was closer to connecting the dots than Zeller would ever be. He was smart, but damn was he dense.

“Our Will is actually being held captive by aliens,” Zeller said seriously. “And this is his alien clone that was bewitched our dear Dr. Lecter. This is all Alien Will’s plan to take over the world.”

Beverly and Price just looked at Zeller, unimpressed. A moment of silence passed between them before Price answered back to his partner. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Price started, “—and I’m married to you.”

Ouch.

Zeller brought up his hand to his chest, looking aghast at the insult.  

“How dare you,” he said with fake hurt. 

Beverly just rolled her eyes as they started to bicker with one another, forgetting what the topic of conversation had been. Beverly, however, could not stop staring at Will submitted under Dr. Lecter’s advances, pliant and willing to be doted on. Will was many things, but touchy was not one of them. He liked to keep to himself, both in his private life and in his personal space—he did not like his personal space invaded. 

And yet, here she could see him, relaxed, seemingly small in this moment of weakness, shadowed by Dr. Lecter’s concern and the rigid frame of the ambulance. Beverly looked away. 

She was sure that Will didn’t want anyone to see how small Jack had reduced him to be. 

She just hoped Dr. Lecter would do a better job of keeping him away than Beverly ever could—she had seen it too late. 

____

“You told me he wouldn’t get too close, Jack,” Alana sliced into him, accusatory and furious. Jack was in his study, just a day after the whole Minnesota Shrike fiasco, deep into the mountain of paperwork that he would to fill out. It felt like he was still piecing the pieces together, something not fitting quite right. He didn’t know what it was, but he would find out eventually. 

“I told you not to let Will get too close,” Alana reiterated. Jack put down his pen, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. 

“I wasn’t expecting them to actually figure it out,” Jack said. Alana’s raged expression didn’t change. 

“That’s not the point,” Alana said, “You know how good Will’s empathy is, you wanted for him to figure it out for you, and he did,” Alana’s tone brightened before it deepened in anger. 

“You’re just disappointed that it didn’t happen on your own terms.”

Jack looked away. He respected Alana, he did, but he also didn’t like having his authority questioned. 

“Alana,” Jack warned. Alana stared at him defiantly. 

“Will just shot someone nine times, Jack. Nine times, ” Alana pleaded. “If you keep going at this, you’re going to push him too far.” Jack just looked at her, face impassive. 

“Are you saying that he’s a threat?” 

“I’m saying that you’re going to make him into one,” Alana replied quickly. 

Jack leaned back in his chair, suddenly tired. 

“You’re lucky Hannibal was there,” Alana added. “But it still doesn’t make it right. You’re letting civilians do your dirty work, Jack.”

“They know what they’re doing,” Jack stated. “And Will has become an indispensable member of our team…”

Alana didn’t even raise an eyebrow to play along with him. The curves of her face all fury and righteousness. “Will isn’t a tool, Jack. He’s a person, a person that you’re going to destroy for your own gain.” Alana huffed. 

“Will and I don’t necessarily get along, not as much as I would like,” Alana admitted. “But I can’t standby as you lead him to his destruction, with Hannibal to drag along to boot.”

Jack let out another large breath. He just wanted things to workout smoothly for once and in his line of work, that was simply impossible. He knew that he had pushed Will too far, and Dr. Lecter had not been as much of an ally as Jack needed him to be. The entire situation had gone completely out of hand and Jack was suffering the consequences, in endless paperwork and angry superiors. Everything had gone out of proportion so quickly, so unexpectedly that Jack didn’t really know what to do; and he couldn’t find it in himself to actually admit that he had made a mistake. He couldn’t make a mistake. People died when he made mistakes, their lives, the grieving of their families, all of it was on his hands.

He sighed in defeat, “I need Will, Alana.”

Alana finally seemed to deflate, sensing Jack’s change in demeanor. She was righteous, but she was also kind. 

“At least make sure he is okay to return to the field Jack, if he wants to return to the field,” Alana compromised. 

Jack let out a humorless laugh. “I tried talking to Dr. Lecter about conducting it,” Alana’s face pinched a little, but Jack continued. “He said he wouldn’t do it. He called me something along the lines of being insensitive and ethically and morally reprehensible for my suggestion.” 

Alan’s eyes darkened. She started to bite the side of her. “Hannibal and Will have gotten really close, lately.” Something in her eyes shone with jealousy before she tamped it down. 

“I can see why he would be reluctant to evaluate his ‘friend’,” she emphasized with air quotes. “Hannibal is a proper man, he does everything by the book,” she looked a little ways away. “It’s most likely a conflict of interest.” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed lightly, resigned and accepting of what Alana had to give him. 

“He found it offensive that you would ask him to commit career suicide and ethically unsound. He thought you were just looking for a quick fix for your ‘Will’ problem.” 

Jack just nodded, a headache forming behind his eyelids. “Why didn’t he just say that?” 

Alana looked at him coldly before a frown set firmly on her face. 

“Why Jack, aren’t you the head of the Behavioral Science Unit in the FBI?” Jack stilled, staring Alana down. “It’s your job to know what happens around you, and the relationships you keep. Jack,” Alana took a breath. “This wasn’t just your failings as a leader, but the skills that have gotten you to this position have taken a backseat because you shoved Will into the driver’s seat, no training, not scaffolds—you just want his results.” 

Silence passed between them, Jack not wanting to say anything lest he gave anything more away. He trusted Alana’s opinion, he really did, it was why he kept her around. And he knew she was right, he just didn’t want it to be true. 

“Will is driving this team forward and you decided to take a backseat: a puppet master making sure his puppets do their jobs just as they should, but Jack—” Alana’s eyes stared straight into his, piercing daggers of seeing, almost like Will. But Jack knew that the reason he and Alana had always butted heads was because they were very much alike. 

“Where’s he leading us, Jack?” Alana turned around and left his office. 

Jack just stared after her. 

Very much alike, indeed.

Chapter Text

The night was heavy. 

Heavy with darkness, burdened with silence. The soft rustle of leaves as the wind kissed them, skirting along the path as it traveled from leaf to leaf. The trees were tall, looming inwards in a mockery, or at least he thought they were—he didn’t know much of anything anymore. He didn’t think he had actually looked up, too dazed, too focused on the stag that was towering in the distance, dark and imposing. The very air around it seemed to tremble in its presence, at its prowess—

Will thought it was beautiful.  

“Are you lost?” 

Will’s neck snapped sharply at the sudden burst of sound, unexpected and too loud. It grated across his raised flesh, traveling down from the base of his neck downwards in a ripple of a faked caress. Turning his head so sharply had caused his neck and shoulders to tense, fingers poised to strike, subtle enough that it was almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. (He pretended that the tremor was from in anticipation, not from whatever was wrong with him nothingwaswronghimheswearsheswears)

Will closed as eyes, blinded by the beaming headlights of a car. 

A car. 

“What?” Will squinted his eyes, the muscles twitching. A man stood in front of the headlight, the light fanning around his silhouette, casting him in shadow. A couple more blinks to adjust (and to try to push out this goddamn headache ). Will could make out a hat. A belt strap. 

“What’s your name?” 

Will saw a badge. It was a policeman. 

Will shook his head from the automatic reaction to attack before the policeman could do first. As his awareness slowly came back, he was aware of just how vulnerable he was; just Hannibal’s shirt and some boxers, socks seeming to have run off his feet, the cold slowly seeping into the spaces between joints, feet starting to pound in their ache. He couldn’t afford to dwell too much, he needed to act natural, answer the cop’s questions or he would be seen as suspicious. He didn’t—they couldn’t afford — 

They?

“Will Graham.”

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Graham?” 

Will looked around them. 

“A road?” Will replied dryly. He really shouldn’t antagonize law enforcement. He blames Hannibal. Will sucked in a breath. 

Hannibal. 

He needed Hannibal. 

The cop ignored his sarcastic comment, “Where do you live, Mr. Graham?” 

“B-Baltimore,” Will managed to squeeze out. He was feeling like his throat was closing up. What was he doing out here? 

“That’s good,” The cop said placatingly. The cop then pointed to something behind him. “That yours?”

Will turned around, posture still stiff. He didn’t like turning his back around strangers, armed law enforcement, and was fully expecting to see the stag that was haunting him but the sight of golden fur trembling the wind as it headed his way managed to relax him just the smallest bit.

“Hi, Winston.” Winston bounded after his owner, tongue wagging out of his mouth. 

“C-Can I sit down?” Will turned back around, his feet were hurting. He looked down—

He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Was he wearing any earlier?

Wha—

He looked back up. 

“Can I also borrow a phone?”

____

Will was seated in the cop car, yet another blanket thrown over his shoulders, Winston next to him observing the ongoing movements as Will patted him absentmindedly, reveling in the softness in the strands of his fur—softness that existed because of Hannibal’s insistence to use a ridiculously expensive and pretentious dog shampoo. He remembered bringing Winston home, the heat of their house as Winston walked in mud and dirt in desperate need of a bath. He remembers walking in the door to their property in Wolf Trap, bought when they (Will) needed something much more grounded, something where there weren’t constant eyes on him. A place peaceful in its solitude when he wanted to go fishing, when they needed to be separate. And, as always, Hannibal did love indulging him. 

As he continues to stroke Winston’s fur he can see Hannibal in soft, red sweaters as the winter looms and threatens, a fire crackling mere feet in front of him in the (comparatively) small living room, their knicknacks strewn across mahogany decor, windows painted with the night sky. He remembers the quiet clip clip of Winston’s paws hitting the hardwood floor as Hannibal just raised his chin up from his book, taking in the scene and raising a brow—fond exasperation and quick acceptance born from past experience mixing in the darkness of his eyes. 

He remembers this, but for how long?

Will feels helplessness settle within him. He feels as if the only thing he can do is to just stare out. He feels so, so , listless. He didn’t really know where he was, he didn’t know how he got here. He was losing time. 

He was losing time—

What else was he going to lose?

A black Bentley pulled up next to the cop car, gravel crackling underneath its tires. Will tried to make the effort to turn his head and watch as Hannibal stepped out of the car but his head felt too heavy, his neck felt too weak. He didn’t really feel like moving right now. 

“Will,” came a soft, accented plea of concern. Will wanted to roll his eyes (and he probably would if it wouldn’t have caused his headache to worsen). Petty ego aside, Will managed to unclench the rest of his body, finally feeling settled in the presence of his husband, of someone he knew he could trust. 

Besides the initial pass at his name, Hannibal didn’t say another word to him before he turned around and exchanged words with the cop but Will didn’t care too much for the interaction. Will wasn’t too keen on paying attention (he couldn’t, it was too much work) and Hannibal was here, Will could trust that he would take care of everything, he always did after all. 

As he keeps his hand in Winston’s silky fur, he couldn’t help but think of how he knew, he knew , that Hannibal was going to be smug, tell him I told you so. As much as Hannibal loved Will, Hannibal loved being right. Even as Will was sure he was slowly going insane, even as Hannibal’s concern and worry colored his actions, Hannibal would never pass up the moment to be petty (which he always was, as far as Will was concerned.)

Even as his husband’s predictable antics brought on a wave of fondness settling heavy and deep below his lungs, even as the haze of the events ever slowly started to give way, Will couldn’t ignore the anxiety like static noise deep within overwhelming him. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, he didn’t hedidn’t hedidn’t —

But Hannibal—

Hannibal was right. 

Will wouldn’t tell him that to his face, and Hannibal wouldn’t expect him to. Inescapably, however, Hannibal loved to live in the implicit. He would be smug enough with the implication of this entire situation—with the implication that something was terribly wrong. 

Will blinked and he was seated in the passenger seat of Hannibal’s Bentley, seat belt snugly strapped against him. He could hear Winston’s quiet shuffling in the background. 

Something was terribly wrong. 

__

When they had gotten back, it was early morning. Something that Hannibal seemed unfazed by as he let Winston into the house and kept a steadying hand on Will’s lower back. Will didn’t say anything as he allowed for that point of contact, both too numb to feel it and too hyper aware of every single thing that touched his skin.  

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” Will attempts. From the instant he had walked through their door, he felt as if some sort of spell had broken, the hazy fog slowly receding as he hears he becomes surrounded by familiar trinkets ( antiques, Hannibal would stress) and the soft, padded echoes of their feet hitting the floor as they made their way up to their room. 

“Please, mylimasis, I have been up much earlier for much more insignificant things,” Hannibal’s accented voice fit just right within the walls of their home and slowly, as Will could feel things start to settle in place. The abrupt wake up call, the constant anxiety, the extreme fog that had settled deep down into the marrow of his bones, his entire body aching—Will just felt so tired. 

“Hannibal,” Will started. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to ask, didn’t quite know why he didn’t know. Maybe it was just a plea. A plea for stability, for control, for his husband. But his husband was more often than not all sharp teeth and no smooth curves. 

Maybe that was exactly what Will needed right now. 

“Hannibal,” Will said once more, much more firmly than he had before. He felt the strength, the bite returning to his voice. 

Hannibal didn’t say anything, merely looked at him innocently—well, as innocently as a predator would look at its prey right before it took action to strike. 

“Take me apart.”

Hannibal didn’t need anything more.

__

“Is it a seizure?” Will asked. 

He and Will were lazing around in their bed, sheets rumpled and soft, surrounding their shared intimacy. As the light pitter pattered against the floor, falling softly onto their bed, Hannibal could only muse it another shared worshiper of Will’s, one Hannibal wasn’t too against when it lit the planes of his lover’s face so beautifully, so warmly—as vibrant as it should be, but had not been for far too long. 

“Post-traumatic stress?” Continued on his love. 

“Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty,” Hannibal said with humor and seriousness, bringing up Will’s hand to meet Hannibal’s lips, soft and familiar. Will merely responded by closing his eyes and tucking his face into the soft, fragile junction of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder. His hand stayed within the embrace of Hannibal’s. 

“I feel like a stranger in my body,” Will started. Hannibal let him speak. “Like my skin is ill-fitting, too many people trying to fit inside that the seams are starting to tear.” 

Hannibal responded by treading his fingers through his lover’s hair.

“Not just a person suit?” Hannibal asked. 

Quietly, almost ashamedly, did Will answer, “Not just a person suit.” 

“Too many people, and yet not enough memories. What is happening to me, Hannibal?” 

Hannibal said nothing. He had a few medical possibilities, none that Will would really care for unless he got a proper diagnosis with possible treatments and plans—ironically, Will didn’t much appreciate speculation. Probably came from the fact that his husband was just so good at knowing. 

To confirm with himself what he had smelt once before, he turned his head and took a deep sniff of his lover’s hair. After a pause Will slowly angled his head upward, eyebrows knit incredulously. 

“Did you just sniff me?” 

“Hard to avoid,” he said with a smile. Will let out a small laugh before settling abc into his previous position, seeming to favor his comfort (and lack of eye contact) over his need to stare in Hannibal’s soul. 

“Well?” Will asked meekly. 

Hannibal thought of the sour smell of too much, the bloated acidity of metallic, copper and sugar—too sweet, too sour, too much. He thought of thoughtless violence, battles fought with no winners, just loss. He thought of rotting corpses, of enemies and allies all at once. His thoughts panged sadness deep within him.

Hannibal kissed his husband’s head. He would not despair for long and he— they— would get their answers soon. Their appointment was coming up. 

“Do not worry, mylimasis“ Hannibal reassured. He squeezed his husband’s hand. “We have beat everything that has come in our way before.”

Will just snorted. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

“Most would say I’m charming,” Hannibal said. 

“More like charmingly deceiving.”

“Only you would know, my dear,” Hannibal spoke into Will’s hair. “Only you would know.”

A comfortable silence rested between them, as soft and as warm as the light the peered over every dip, curve, and sharp edge of Will’s body, of his sleep mussed hair. Like a painter and his muse, Hannibal wanted to capture this moment forever—engrain it so deeply within his memory that he would take days upon days painstakingly recreating this singular scene from memory alone, to capture the warmth, the safety, the danger. 

But that would take him away from his love, and truly, he didn’t think he would want to show anyone this at all. Hannibal was nothing if not flamboyant, needing recognition to fulfill some base need, but Will, Will was only his. He would not, no matter what form, allow anyone to see this. It would not stop him from the need to depict this moment, however. The joints in his fingers ached with the phantom sensation of pencil on paper, of lines full of soft brutality. 

Perhaps a sketch shall suffice, Hannibal mused. Or quick canvas and oil to add to my collection. 

A collection which Will thought as contrived (but also looked at them fondly, small quirk to his lips as he looked at the proof of his husband’s devotion.)

“Do you think I need to distance myself from Jack?” Will’s voice broke through the silence. With Hannibal’s previous thought shuffled away for later, he made sure that his demeanor didn’t change. 

“I think that Jack has not been an agreeable influence on you,” Hannibal said. While he had very select thoughts of Jack Crawford, much of which he knew he shared with Will, he did not want to force Will to do anything he didn’t want to do. “I think that it would be best if your parted ways with him, now before the effects of his ways with you become irreversible.”

Will seemed to laugh at that. 

“Please, the only person’s influence that has been irreversible to my psyche is yours,” Will said it as a statement, a mockery and in reverence. 

What a sweet boy. 

“Be that as it may, my dear, Jack Crawford seeks to destroy you and cast you aside as soon as you no longer serve your purpose.” 

“I know,” Will said softly.

Buzz buzz

Unsurprised, Hannibal looked to Will’s night table, seeing his phone lighting up with what could only be irony. 

“The devil calls,” Hannibal said with humor. As Will slowly started to detach himself from their limbs so heavily intertwined, Hannibal started to feel the distinct cold that invaded him in Will’s absence, sinking down deep into the marrow of his bones, into the joints of his limbs. Will had always brought so much life with him. 

Standing up, Will held his phone in a loose grip, its buzzing still vibrating through the air. Before answering, Will simply turned his head to look at him, and the light haloed his silhouette, did Hannibal feel his love so dear as Will corrected, “The Sycophant calls me, the Devil holds me.”

It left Hannibal with an aching so tender within his chest, that he couldn’t help but want to tear his own heart out. 

__

“I think I need some time off.” Will hadn’t looked up from where he had been cleaning his glasses with the soft, almost imperceptible cloth that had come with it when he had gotten the pair. He didn’t think he could take Jack’s domineering at the moment, not after the fuck show of whatever was going with his mind. This game that he thought he was playing, that both Hannibal and him had been playing with one another, with everyone else well, it seemed tainted but whatever the fuck was happening in the confines of his skull. Hannibal had already set an appointment for, at the very lest, and MRI the following day and, along with Hannibal’s opinion, it was probably better he distanced himself from one of the main aggressors for making his situation worse, if not the plausible cause of it. 

“Time off?” Jack said, his voice inflected with nothing. “You think that serial killer’s take ‘time off’?” 

“That-That’s not what this is about.” Will stuffed the little peace of cloth into his pocket before hastily stuffing his glasses onto his face. He looked up, only slightly, aways from Jack’s face. “It’s getting harder and harder to make myself look,” he said it like a confession, a sinner to a priest. 

Silence passed between them, breaths passed away from one another. 

“No one is asking you to look alone.” 

Will wanted to sharpen his claws, rake them down his skull, across his collarbones, down the soft underbelly to let his organs drip out, let him bleed over the prone body of Jack Crawford and ask him, See?

“That’s not the issue here, Jack. I look and I’m not alone,” Will said hurriedly, trying to properly articulate that there were so many people, all the time, trying to stake claim in his head, to carve themselves within his soul. Hannibal had never asked him to do this with anyone but him, it had come so easily when it was him, even easier than it was to understand himself. But this, this thing with Jack Crawford, with the FBI, whatever it was, made him keenly aware that, even as he tries and has been trying to understand himself—this, whatever this was, was not it. 

“Then figure out how to do it alone,” Jack said harshly, fear edging at the end of his words before it hardened once again. “I know what happens when you don’t look.” 

Will laughed a low, haunting laugh coming from the deep void within his chest. Jack thought that he was something he was not, thought that his empathy alone fueled his morals. Maybe in another life, Will could have bended to his words, become the dog that Jack wanted, that came out when he needed. But that Will Graham had been long dead and gone, had meet the natural disaster that was Hannibal—large, unmoving, inevitable. 

“I can make myself look but the thinking is shutting down,” Will supplied. Even with all that he had done, Will felt Hannibal more merciful than Jack could ever be. Hannibal took him apart, only when Will asked, only when Will needed and, without fail, every single time, would put him back together like a worshiper ready to bleed at his god’s feet. 

Jack was not a merciful man. Just a tired one. 

“What is it about this one?” Jack asked. 

Will looked up at the angelic form of Elliot Budish, the Angel Maker, who had seen evil, who had seeked to avenge it while also seeking to protect himself from what he couldn’t control. From the undeniable truth that he was changing, unwillingly, without the support, without the love that could warrant him safe passage to the afterlife. Will was losing himself. Losing the control of his body as all the slinking darkness flowed and ebbed around the confines of his mind—he knew what it was to be haunted by a goal, he had hundreds of them swimming in his head, refusing to leave when he wanted them to. If he didn’t get out of this now, even for a little bit, Will wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t end up like Elliot Budish suspended by all, elevated to his true form (and Hannibal would rather not ruin and speed up his carefully perfected plan decades too early.)

“I finally realized that I have someone to protect me. I only need to let myself be protected.”

Jack scoffed, no longer trying to appeal to Will’s better sense of self, instead trying to make him feel smaller, weaker, pathetic. “Who? Your wife?”

“Just because yours won’t talk to you doesn’t mean you can make comments about my personal life, Jack,” Will retorted harshly. Even if Jack didn’t know about Hannibal, didn’t know about the monster that creeped with blood dripping out of its mouth, hungry, waiting to attack whoever was too foolish to even fathom coming too close—even without that knowledge, Jack’s manipulation fell just short of schoolyard bullying. 

“What did you say to me?” 

“Is it any different from what you said to me,” Will barked back. 

Another moment of silence passed between them, placating Will’s bark, soothing Jack’s raging ego for another time—from his power trip of thinking he could own and use Will as a tool.  

“Why are you acting like this, Will? I need you in the saddle,” Jack huffed out. Will wanted to bare his teeth, show Jack how much of a hunter he could be. 

“You’re the head of the Behavioral Science Unit, Jack. Why don’t you come up with your own answers if you don’t like mine?”

“ I don’t think that you want to go back to your lecture halls and read about the next one on TattleCrime.com,” Jack gritted out, trying to let Will’s comment slide. But that’s what it always was about with Jack, me, I, mine —and, frankly, Will couldn’t give less of a crap when he no longer felt confident in who he was supposed to be. 

“No, I don’t,” Will said honestly. “But that may be what I have to do. This is bad for me.”

The inky darkness within his head seemed to laugh at him, mock him just as Jack would always do. 

“What do you want me to do?” Jack barked out, “Let you question my authority?” 

You have no authority to question. 

Will just looked back at him defiantly, jaw locked and grinding, eyes piercing and strong. 

Jack let out another laugh of disbelief. “If you want to quit,” he said innocently. “Then quit.” 

Will sat in the silence as the slow, crunching steps of Jack’s shoes against the freshly fallen snow sound just outside his perception of reality. He looked towards Elliot Budish one more time to find him standing in front of him, wings fallen, body aching and so, so human. 

“Fine then,” Will’s voice rang out into the clear expanse of the day. “I quit.” 

Will simply turned around and walked past the still, tense form of Jack Crawford.

Chapter Text

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey. 

Long time no seeeeeeeee. 

Honest to all hell I was not planning on leaving this fic unattended for such a long time. Life just kinda got *in bad, exaggerated british accent* a lil’ busy. I studied abroad, I graduated college, I moved in with my partner of 6 years and have just kinda of been figuring out and sorting out my life and things; and finding the willingness to write in the midst of it (especially considering how much I struggle to write already) was just not something I was able to do. 

I cannot, in any sort of tangible feeling, just this intangible mess of threads and arteries binding our existences together in a tangled, phantasmic root system explain or convey my gratitude to everyone who has read this little ‘ole humble fic of mine that is mediocre at best. Regardless on my feelings on the fic, I am so glad that it has given so many of you joy and, at the best hope, a good read (sparingly as I find those nowadays.) All the people that have engaged with this fic, have liked and shared this fic, have commented on this fic: 

Thank you. 

They mean more than I will ever know how to convery. 

I will make this clear:

I want to finish this fic. 

However, as it stands, one of the major reasons I haven’t been updating and writing anything is because of how much I dislike what I have already written. Glancing over it and reading through has left me extremely dissatisfied with the caliber of my work and that feeling has been contributing to my hesitance and lack of motivation for this fic. Originally, I wanted to actually come here and update a new chapter (that I have yet to write) as a little gift and apology. That is to say, I don’t know if it would be any better or even hold up in the long run. So—

Shall I continue this fic, as is, or, should I rewrite this with my current skill set (that is, if it is at all par to what i have written before.)

I will write according to the will of the majority based on the comments I receive (well, presumptuously thinking I will receive, anyway. I am here for the people.)

With all the important stuff out of the way, I do offer a little treat (hopefully.) A poem I wrote for my partner this year for Valentine’s day. Of course, my partner gave me permission to share this with my tiny little community on the internet, and I just found that it was very Hannibal adjacent. So, as my (temporary) farewell, I give you, a (very Hannibal and gender neutral )  Love poem: 

Luzon Bleeding Heart

O! Sweet Saint Valentine, 

Saw through the sinew and bone

Through the hollow of my sternum—

Serrated arrow pierced back through the scapula of my shoulder blades—

Carve out the hole of my heart, 

Blood bursting forth, flooding

Now for a new cavity, 

But just enough space—

To put they’re heart, right next to mine.

Chapter Text

The soft, gentle pluck pluck of the harp’s gentle gurgle, waves of pitter-pattered sound falling onto the step of the stage like the twinkling of a heartbeat. The crying, moaning weep of the cello, horse hair a stark glisten of white, the bowed wood a rich warm brown, like the colors of the earth ripened by rain and tree bark streaking with the storming howls of the sky—like Will’s brown eyes. 

Oh, so achingly like the sun and the earth, their warmth, their ice, and their danger. 

The low croon of the oboe pangs something in his chest. It aches a little bit like anxiety. 

Hannibal did not do anxiety. 

He did not fret, he did not falter, he did not know what anxiety was beyond a concept. A complete detachment to the disorder beyond professional understanding—knowledge held as a byproduct of his work as a psychiatrist. And, well, his meticulously crafted person suit. 

That was not true when it came to Will Graham. 

No, when it came to Will Graham—no, Will Graham-Lecter—Hannibal could not be more shaken, tremors quivering at the tips of his nerves, yearning to shiver down his spine, wanting to burst out. Kept at bay by will power alone, a tense, immoveable concentration of the smallest of muscles. 

The violinist’s vibrato grabbed the back of his throat, a lump forming unwittingly when the second soloist joined in, a soft twinkling of a swelling sound so sweetly as melodies danced between his ears—the bittersweet decrescendo down, and Hannibal feels the world on his cheek. It drips down his face, caresses the curve of his jaw, and heavily, as if with burden, the tear falls onto the back of his husband’s hand. A silent admittance of guilt. Guilty at the feet of his deity, the only being he has ever felt any sense of what he could only call worship. 

Will has always been a sharp little thing. Well, not quite, no. Will is soft like the curves of worn denim, sharp like the strings on his harpsichord; vicious like the tide against the tree with constant waves of knowing. Undoubtedly, Will, to Hannibal, was nothing short of obsession. 

Will was his pumping heart, the blood warming up his veins, the tingling nerves in his body, holding every stolen breath, every endearment of violence. He and Will had become one so long ago that Hannibal had forgotten how he could’ve possibly been able to live before. Will was his truth.

Maybe that is why Hannibal cannot bear to look at his husband. 

A pale, unnatural pallor, eyes sunken in so deep, it makes caverns of his beloved’s face. His cheeks a-touch-too hollow, wrists a squeak too thin. The pang rings in his chest, the tenseness at the back of his throat a little too much like suffocating. 

Hannibal cannot bear himself to look at his husband. 

And yet, he notices eyelashes fluttering on to those devilish cheekbones (often the subject of a quick moment of pause when Hannibal paints Will’s portrait in his oils, his charcoal, his pencils—appreciative and heavy with something like possessiveness.) Will’s hand is curled on top of his, a gentle blanket of heat. The feeling of his darling’s flesh and bone comforting. 

They had decided that, with Will’s recently cleared up schedule, they needed something normal to do again. Something that was just the two of them—routine, the familiar, and the violent tug between the hearts softly beating together in their own swelling melody. Hence, a return to the symphony. Except—

Letting Will see the extent to which he has seeped his talons into him was a game long played, especially after nineteen years of marriage. Hannibal’s worry, on the other hand, was a different, almost foreign beast; and Hannibal hadn’t felt quite so scattered in a very long time. 

The symphony swooned down to a final vibrato, the violin sweetly slicing the air with its stark white horsehaired-bow—just like bone, strong and sure even as it faded into a longing wail. Hannibal’s own bones felt weak. The very basis to his form slowly losing its life as each day passes by. 

“I’m sorry, dear,” came the soft twang that stumbled out of his husband’s mouth once the crowd's clapping commenced. Yet, Hannibal’s chest swelled in awe, not at the symphony but at the warmth of his husband’s carefully guarded accent, still as ripe as the first day he met him. Hannibal turned his hand around to have Will’s palm in his grip and he squeezed just a little too hard. 

“You need to rest.” Hannibal said simply. While he thought that getting Will out of the house was necessary to keep him from deteriorating further, he couldn’t begrudge his lover from being tired and worn. A battle fighting his mind just as much as fighting his body. Sleep was necessary for a struggling body. All the better that Will didn’t wake up on fire, shaking from both hot and cold, a special kind of purgatory. 

“But I made you cry.” Will was sitting up now, eyes tired but clear. He was looking straight at Hannibal. Earth and sun, breath and blood. Hannibal brought their connected hands up to his lips, guiding the calloused, square fingers, silent in their strength, and delicately pressed them to his lips in a breathless kiss. 

“You have not made me do anything, mylimasis,” Hannibal murmurs against his skin. Lips caressing the hands he has held for nineteen years. Memories of these very same hands glistening like hope—bloodandbreath—followed by the image of them brightly illuminated by the sun dripping into his kitchen—pureandreal—moving against his in the same easy way that Hannibal moved his own limbs; a knife held deadly in their grip. Hannibal has dedicated countless spreads in his sketches to studies of Will’s hands. Soft, but firm, graceful in their violence.

It feels pious to hold them in his palms, lips pressed to the strong joints, a touch that Will has only ever allowed Hannibal; one that Hannibal takes greedily, hunger gnawing at his stomach. Ah, the memories of youth, he muses. 

Hannibal kisses Will’s wedding ring. 

It feels like desperation. 

Will doesn’t say anything. 

And like that, Hannibal feels as if he’s been absolved of sin, even if the desperation still burns. 

Will tilted his head to the side, his curls softly bouncing against his temple, a vague sensation compared to the fire that was Hannibal’s kiss. Hannibal had never been the best liar. He’d always been too amused by the tongue and cheek of it all, of telling everyone exactly what he was doing and watching the cattle stumble and bump around, a barely contained grin on his face. Yes, Hannibal had never been the best liar, no matter how much Will tried (Will is pretty sure that if he wasn’t around to keep that kind of behavior in check, Hannibal would be mega-insufferable.) Regardless, Will knows he’d never let this man go. 

To have someone kneel at your feet, eyes liquid with worship—

Oh. It made him feel light headed.

To have Hannibal kneel at his feet, eyes liquid with hunger, body firm underneath him, muscles shifting and gliding against his skin, hands on him in reverance—

Oh. Oh. It made Will feel powerful. 

Hannibal’s love was a little bit all-consuming. It used to scare him sometimes. The vastness of what Hannibal felt for him, and how much Hannibal wanted to burrow into him. Eventually Will learned that this was something he loved about Hannibal. Will needed someone to consume him, help with all the whispering voices lingering in his mind to help make his own so much clearer. Hannibal wanted to consume him—him—because Will was his salvation. 

Will had complete and utter control over a beast that curled around his legs, settling in for just the hint of a touch. A monster parading around in human flesh. Will took a deep breath. How he wished to tear this beast apart with his teeth. 

Will looked into his lover’s eyes and felt something warm bloom in his chest, blood racing hotly through his veins. 

“Are you trying to woo me, Hannibal?” Will asked, voice bright and slightly delirious with disbelief—a familiar feeling, even after all these years. 

Hannibal’s lips ticked upwards, smile lines and crow’s feet a gentle caress on his husband’s face. “My love,” Hannibal kisses his ring one more time. Quiet and quick. “I have already succeeded.”  

Will scoffed and rolled his eyes, a smile on his face.

“Dr. Lecter!” Both Hannibal and Will stopped. A quick collection of what was small and private and theirs before turning towards the voice, polite masks back into place. 

“Franklyn,” said Hannibal dryly. 

“Dr. Lecter!” Franklyn repeated, a man shadowing him from behind. “It's so good to see you here!” Franklyn’s eyes flicked towards Will, and slight hesitance in their shallow depths. Evidently, not enough hesitation to stop him from following Hannibal. Will could say that he felt irritated to be bothered by someone with such annoying patterns, but honestly, he was just bored.

Will ignored Franklyn, there wasn’t really anything he was hiding, not with his neurotic obsession with his husband. Hannibal who had only ever spoken about his patient with a voice thick with distaste. Just like he was the mud on his shoe. No, Franklyn didn’t need to look all that more into Franklyn, his pathetic, twitchy little heart on his sleeve. Baring it to the world like an exhibitionist. No. There wasn’t anything else to see there. 

Instead, Will set his focus on his companion. He was taller than Franklyn, skin dark, posture straight and rigid. His clothes were clean—appropriate. Will was almost surprised Franklyn knew somebody that frequented the symphony. Well, Will checked himself, he was still Hannibal’s patient and his husband’s services were not cheap. Regardless, Will looked up at Franklyn’s companion, studying his face only to see the man’s dark eyes staring right back at him, a clear challenge communicated in their depths. 

Will felt a little bad. 

He kind of wanted to laugh. 

“Yes, quite a surprise,” Hannibal said. He turned towards Will, placing those sinful hands around his waist and Will’s eye closed softly. He was just so tired. “I am sure you remember my husband, Will.” Will just tightened his smile and gave a curt nod, eyes already open again to look at  their invaders. He didn’t really want to do this right now. He just wanted a nice, small evening with his husband. Now, however, it looks like he has to be sociable. Will thinks he deserves a massage after this—after all, this was Hannibal’s patient. And budding serial killer fanclub, Will thought. 

“Uh…yeah. I do,” Franklyn stilted, not quite as enthusiastic in his greeting to him as he was with Hannibal’s. Well, not that Will’s greeting was much better. “Um, “ Franklyn started again and looked to his shadow. “This is my best friend, Tobias Budge.” 

Tobias’ eye twitched. 

“A pleasure,” Hannibal said. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

Franklyn’s eyes lit up and he started nodding his head. “I loved every minute of it. We actually wanted to come and talk to you about it.” Will thought that Franklyn rather looked like one of his dogs, except, his dogs did quite look that pitiful in their begging. Not that Hannibal tolerated it. 

Tobias’ eyes still bore into Will. 

“We can discuss it next week,” Hannibal stated firmly. His arm tightened around Will’s waist, “I’m afraid my husband and I must retire for the night.” Will watched Franklyn’s face drop. He was just glad that Hannibal wasn’t going to drag this out. Since he had quit, he had that he was tired. Exhaustively so. While he didn’t really like the constant siren’s call of sleepy surrender, he had found himself starting to give. Many of which were carefully orchestrated by his husband; sleepy naps that he stole right on top of Hannibal’s chest. Once upon a time, he would have felt bad about monopolizing his husband like that for so long, but all Hannibal had done, when Will had voiced similar concerns years ago, was smile and tell him to, “Worry nought, mylimasis.” He remembers Hannibal placed his hand underneath his chin and drew Will’s face closer to his and then teased, “I am but the dragon protecting his treasure, in what world would that cause me discontent?” 

Will remembered his face flushing pink, heat coming to his cheeks, his sensibilities still somewhat tender. He was unable to say anything and all he did was lay his head back down, cuddled on top of his husband listening to the thump thump thump of the heartbeat underneath his bones. 

Hannibal had just chuckled and their evening had continued in comfortable silence. 

That. That’s what Will wanted right now. That’s what they both wanted for this evening. And Hannibal didn’t take kindly to deviations to his routine (and to slander against his husband.) 

Franklyn might have tried to say something, or maybe he was just wasting the oxygen in his space. As Hannibal politely started guiding their leave to the entrance, Will’s eyes flickered once more to Tobias Budge, his aura dark and imposing. 

Will exhaled in a small huff. 

Tobias thought he was smart, but he didn’t know the creature that lurked between the hearts and lives of the Graham-Lecter’s.

Will had kept his phone shut off at the bottom of his nightstand drawer for at least a week now. He was sure Hannibal had already snooped around and checked whatever mess that he was sure was his notifications. Hannibal had never been able to stop himself from getting entirely too comfortable with Will’s business (and the fact that Hannibal, at the core, was a horrendous gossip.) If Will had really wanted to hide it from him, he’d have just thrown it into the river. 

When he finally maintained the courage to dig it out of the drawer, had charged it and turned it on, he was surprised to see that Jack had only called him three times. He was probably lying in wait, trying to let Will get lulled into a false sense of security and then try to appeal to his better nature. 

Jack failed to realize that Will’s better nature had long been shaped by something dark and instinctive. Jack thought he was a hunter, the leader—that he could parade Will around like a doll and command him like a soldier. Jack thought he was in control. 

Jack didn’t know what control was. 

Whatever, Will thought. He was sure that Jack was cooking up something bull-headed to try to get him to come back, regardless if he did anything or not, he was sure Jack was already trying to set some things in motion. After all, regardless of whatever feelings Will and Hannibal shared about Jack, he was still the head of the BAU. Jack was many things, a glutton for quick solves in order to fulfill his own moral compass, crossing lines and boundaries when it served his needs. Yes, Jack was many, many things, but, when it came down to it, he wasn’t incompetent. 

Well, mostly not incompetent, Will chuckled to himself. Not that he and Hannibal went out of their way to hide their relationship. They just preferred to keep it quiet and theirs. But, still, nineteen years of marriage did still leave a paper trail. Guess Jack isn’t looking that far back.  

Well, it didn’t really matter anyways. Jack could stumble through whatever scheme he was conducting. It didn’t really matter to him much either way. No, as he looked down the notifications not from Jack, Will could see that the truly psychotic one was Beverly. Will hit call on her contact and brought the phone to his ear. The tone rang for 2 seconds before the line was picked up. 

“How in the hell did you call me forty-three times?” 

Silence and then a shriek. 

“You asshole!” Beverly exploded over the speaker. Will winced at the noise. “You just quit and didn’t say anything and you’re pretending like I’m the crazy one!?”

“Well, the screeching isn’t really helping your case,” he stated. He hears another bemoaned yowl. 

“A woman is allowed to shriek when her friend makes her worry,” Beverly snarled. 

“Okay, okay,” Will relented. “I am actually sorry that I didn’t tell you anything. I just needed some time away from my phone.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Beverly wasn’t huffing and puffing anymore and her volume was starting to recede to normal again, but she still sounded pretty ticked off. Will didn’t really blame her. “So?” She asked. 

“So?” 

“You bitch, tell me how you’re doing? Are you okay? Did you bitch slap Jack in the face because let me tell you, he has been on one since you left. Wait—” she paused, “ Did Jack bitch slap you in the face? Do I need to go beat him up? Your fragile constitution—”

Will laughed.

“Hey, I can beat up Jack just fine. Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to be the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress!’

“No, no,” Will said. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“You better not be!”

“No,” Will paused. It was nice to be reminded that there were still people like Beverly that didn’t want to take advantage of him. 

“A lot has happened and I think it’ll be easier if we talk in person. How does a lunch date sound?” Will offered. 

Immediately, Beverly replied, “God, yes. I need to know all the gossip.”

Will just smiled. “How does today sound?”

“Hmm, let me see.” There was the sound of papers rustling. “I think I can fit you in around 2:30 and You-Owe-Me-O’Clock,” she said sternly. “Send me the address.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will said before he hung up. He thinks that this was going to be fun. 

“How the hell did you get into a place like this on such short notice?”

“Hello to you, too, Ms. Katz.” Will said in good humor. She plopped down into the seat across from him. 

“Blegh, don’t call me that.” Her face wrinkled in mild distaste. “But, like, seriously. How’d you even get in here?” Will could understand her disbelief. All things considered, the All Blue was a mid to high-end restaurant, specializing in seafood. He and Hannibal have been frequenting this place for years, as a compromise between Will’s desire for cheaper alternatives when they went out on dates and Hannibal’s willingness to convince Will to go on said dates. That, and they both were good friends with the owner (to ease his husband’s mind and elitist tendencies.) Even Hannibal couldn’t deny that the food was delicious, the prices reasonable (if slightly on the pricier end,) and his husband’s enjoyment paramount to the entirety of their experiences here. So, while the All Blue was definitely not a fast food restaurant, neither was it the over the top glitz and glamor that Hannibal preferred. It was just some place familiar and right now, Will thought he needed that more than anything. It also came with the benefit of treating Beverly to something nice as an apology. As small of a gesture as it was. 

“I’m actually friends with the owner,” is all Will said as he took a sip from his water. Beverly didn’t reply, just looked at him as he set his glass down. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, as if she was analyzing data in the lab, like he was a puzzle she hadn’t quite expected to encounter. 

“Just who are you, Will Graham?” 

“A figment of your imagination.”

“With how you disappeared off the face of the earth, you might as well as have been a unicorn.” Will laughed at her absurdity. Beverly’s face seemed to finally relax at that, although the twinkle of her curiosity sparkling like water in her eyes. 

“You seem happier,” Beverly said, finally settling down into her seat. 

“Yeah,” Will said quietly. “I think I am.” That seemed to finally make her smile. A quick second of silence and she finally took a look at the menu. “So, what’s good here?” 

Will gave her a few recommendations, things that he thought she would like. The waiter came and went, taking their order and placing a bottle of champagne between them. Will recognized him. A young man by the name of Terrante who was regularly assigned to him and Hannibal when they frequented the restaurant. They both liked him. He did his job well. As soon as he was gone, Beverly started questioning him. “So, what in the fuck happened?” 

“I asked Jack for time off,” Will started, deciding that there was no need to beat around the bush. He started messing around with his glass of water, tilting the glass this way and that, mesmerized by the ice cubes clinking together. He didn’t think he’d be able to look Beverly in the eyes. Even with how much he enjoyed being around her, this was something that needed to be in his head alone. He didn’t need her in his head, too. Not with Hannibal, not with Franklyn, not with Tobias Budge, not with the wisps of slinky sickness sliding around in his head. 

He scoffed and picked up the glass to take a sip. “Let’s just say that he didn’t really like that.” He set the glass down with a thud. 

“Oh no, mister,” Beverly said, “You left me in a state of crisis for a week, you need to give me a little bit more than that.”

“I told him that I couldn’t keep looking, I—” Will saw that his hands were starting to tremble. Even with all this new time off, the doctor’s visit was still a couple days away (much to Hannibal’s keen and constant disapproval.) He was hoping that something was physically wrong with his brain, because if it wasn’t, and it really was just him—

Maybe he didn’t know himself as much as he thought. 

(And in the privacy of his thoughts, deep in the crevices of the softest part of his heart and mind where the tender flesh he held tight and closed in his chest, he was scared that Hannibal would find him unrecognizable. He didn’t know if he’d survive it. Either of them.)

“I told him that every time I looked, I wasn’t looking alone.” He raised his eyes to Beverly’s nose. Still too scared to look her in the eyes (in case she saw something darker—something she didn’t need to see.) Beverly stayed quiet, allowing him the space to continue. “Basically,” without any humor in his voice, “He said that I just need to get over myself. That, ‘Serial killers don’t take time off.’” He said dryly. 

“I told him that I needed to take care of myself, and he mocked me for it.” Will’s trembling hands felt weak and weightless. He didn’t regret anything, and he had confronted worse foes than Jack Crawford—

But he hadn’t really been himself in a while, had he?

“So I quit.” Will forced his right hand to bring the glass close, a sip of the ice cold water soothing an ache at the back of his throat that he wasn’t even aware was there. They stayed in the silence for a little bit longer, Terrante coming with their food, refills for the water, and leaving like he was barely there. 

“We should’ve gone to a bar,” was the first thing Beverly said, hand reaching for the champagne. “I think you need to get fucked up.” Will laughed in response, finally looking at her face once again. She placed a glass in front of him, pouring one for herself and said, “Fuck Jack Crawford,” raising her glass. 

Will picked up his own, “Fuck Jack Crawford.” 

They feasted on the food set before them, Will finding his own amusement in a way that felt a little too much like Hannibal (as entangled as they were.) He didn’t ask Beverly if there were any new cases and she didn’t mention anything about that in return. He asked about her general wellbeing and about Zeller and Price to see if their shenanigans were still afoot. 

“Ugh, like they could ever stop,” Beverly said with exasperated fondness. “Just the other day, we were—”

“As I live and breathe, my eyes must be deceiving me,” a voice interrupted. A very, very familiar voice. “Why, Mr. Lecter, are you an adulterer?” 

Beverly first shot a look of confusion towards Will before she turned towards the voice, and, putting a smile on his face, Will looked towards her as well. “Why, Mrs. Komeda, I wasn’t expecting to be blessed with the pleasure of seeing you today.”

Mrs. Komeda was in a purple dress—elegant enough to show her class, but nothing completely over the top. Her hair in her signature bob, cut closely to the face, her eyes dark, but her grace firmly held within the experience deep into the marrow of her bones. Mrs. Komed was the closest thing that he and Hannibal had to a friend. They both could appreciate her ability to tell everything straight, something that Hannibal didn’t find quite rude, in fact, Will was pretty sure Hannibal liked it (that glutton. ) That, and she was one of the few socialites in Baltimore that had always been kind to them since they had first shown up on the scene. As one of the few queer couples, they could both appreciate her simple willingness to accept them both. 

(They also all loved to gossip together, if Will was truly honest.)

Will stood up to greet her, holding her elbows in his arms, and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She smiled and gave him a quick pat on his own, “Oh, William, the pair of you have always been such flatterers,” she said, as if scandalized before quickly adding, “Don’t stop, dear.” 

Giving him one more soft pat, she turned towards Beverly and appraised her. “And your companion?”

“This is my friend, Beverly Katz.” 

“Hello,” a pause from Beverly, “Mrs. Komeda, was it?”

“Why yes,” Mrs. Komeda sounded delighted. “So rare to meet one of William’s friends. Incredibly elusive, this one. Although,” she sounded only a little disappointed, “I guess I won’t have any good gossip to store away for the next dinner party.” 

“Dinner party?” asked Beverly. 

“Hmph,” Mrs. Komeda replied. “That is, if they have one. Seeing you here, William, while I have just been starving for one of Hannibal’s dinners. Hoarding him all to yourself, aren’t you? Well, I can’t really blame you,” a sultry lilt to her voice, “I would if I had a man that could cook for me like that.” 

“Han—” Beverly looked back towards Will, making a choking sound in her throat before clearing it away. 

“Why, William, be a dear and convince him to throw another one, will you?” 

“I’ll do my best, but I can only convince him to do so much,” he replied. Mrs. Komeda looked at him skeptically, up and down. The doubt was clear in her eyes. 

“He would destroy the world for you, if you asked,” she said seriously. A keen knowing that always brightened the gleam of her eyes. She turned towards Beverly, who hadn’t moved an inch, seemingly stuck in her effort to stay polite and functional in front of their company. “William can just be blinded by his own intelligence, sometimes.” She said this as if it was an affront to her own person. Will didn’t necessarily disagree, but he did have a pretty good idea. He could feel his devotion in every breath.

If he would bathe me in blood, lick every single drop like a delicacy, and devour me bite by bite if he could. 

That’s why whatever sickness he was dealing with was the most devastating of all. Hannibal, oh his dear, monstrous Hannibal—Will wasn’t too sure he’d be able to survive a life on his own. Not, at least, without consuming himself to sorrow and death first. Even after all these years, to be loved so deeply by a creature that prowled and thrived in the night; it made his heart ache so. 

Beverly seemed to have recovered from her shock, but Will knew she wouldn’t let him leave from this conversation without further probing. 

“Wouldn’t I know it? It’s insufferable,” said Beverly. Mrs. Komeda threw back her head and laughed. 

“Oh, I like you,” she pointed towards Beverly with a delicate finger. She looked back at Will. “Invite her to the next dinner party, once you convince that husband of yours.” 

Will gave her a genuine, soft smile. “Anything for you, Mrs. Komeda.” 

She rolled her eyes, giving Beverly a considering look. “A charmer this one, you should be careful,” she whispered with a wink. Will just rolled his eyes at her antics. 

“Well,” she clapped her hands together. ”I must get going. It was lovely seeing you, Ms. Katz, and, William—” 

“Hannibal and I shall invite you to dinner soon,” was all he said. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” With that, Mrs. Komeda was gone as quickly as she appeared. 

Silence sagged heavily between him and Beverly. Logically, he knew that this was going to happen sooner or later, and technically, they weren’t hiding their relationship. At least, not super purposefully. Still, though, he didn’t really know what to say. He really had only wanted to catch up with a friend over food (Hannibal’s influence, no doubt) but it seemed like they might be here a little bit longer than planned. 

They both sat down, taking another sip of their (second) bottle of champagne.

“Will Graham, you better fucking start talking now.”