Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You want me to what ?" Hannibal asked over the top of his book. It was one of his favorites. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. The negative caricature of Plath's slavic characters left a lot to be desired, but the overall plot and witty writing style made up for it. Alana's shrill voice ripped him from his musings and brought him back to the harsh reality of his cell in the BSHCI. 

"I do not want you to, you are going to work at Bath & Body Works," she quipped, false honey dripping from her tongue. Hannibal shuddered at the thought of this so-called "Bath & Body Works." Customer service was never his cup of tea (is it anyone's?) and he ran into more than enough rude people as it was being a psychiatrist. No need to daddle with the masses. 

"I'm curious as to your choice of location, Alana." He stepped closer to the glass. Alana did not step back, but the right corner of her mouth flinched. "So many options here in Baltimore, not to mention that if you want to put me to work there are more than enough tasks within this hospital." 

"Ah, well you have to understand. Torture is technically illegal, so I have to make do with what I have. Merry Christmas, Hannibal," she said, an unmistakable smirk coloring her features. 

It can't be that bad, Hannibal thought as she turned her back to him and he listened to the soft clacking of her heels on the linoleum floor. 

It was that bad. Hannibal found himself dressed in an ugly Christmas sweater and an even uglier checkered apron. "Just like your old suits" Alana had said. First of all, comparing his suits to this thing was a travesty all in itself. Secondly, his suits were plaid, not checkered. Of course Alana rolled her eyes when he pointed out the difference. Sweater and apron aside, the absolute worst part had to be the smell. It was likely intense enough to be strong for a regular person, but Hannibal had been (now regretfully) afflicted with hyperosmia, so the mingling scents of various candles, body washes, perfumes, scrubs, and hand sanitizers was actually going to kill him. "I think I prefer the orphanage toilets," he muttered to himself under his breath. 

The two guards who were posed as security raised an eyebrow at him, and he did his best to put on a version of his psychiatrist voice and reassured them that everything was quite alright. Alana said that the guards would dress like mall security not to alarm the customers, which was alarming by itself. After all, he was a serial killer, a cannibal, and had been officially declared insane by a court of law. There was no way any of this was legal, but because of the latter part of that list, it was likely that no one would listen to him. 

If someone had told the shivering boy who sat staring out the windows of his home-turned-prison that he would one day work at Bath & Body Works as punishment for killing and cannibalizing the general populace, he would have starred in confusion because Lithuania did not have any Bath & Body Works. It wasn't that the Soviets were not a fan of soap, just not a fan of any "Western Ideology". Bath & Body works was truly the epitome of Western Ideology.  

Since Alana did not have the authority to take over an entire store at the mall, he was plagued with working alongside two other co-workers. They both looked to be about high school or university-aged, so at least the chances of them trying to talk to him were low. Suppressing the urge to strangle his co-workers would take more energy than he had patience for, so it was for the best. 

As if prompted by the devil himself, the younger girl walked over to him. 

"Hey," she beamed. "Could you help Jess and me with those boxes?" She pointed over to a stack of cardboard boxes and winced. "They're a bit heavy." Hannibal looked over to the guards for permission, and they nodded their heads in unison. 

"Yes, of course," he began moving around the register. "Where would you like me to move them?" The girl, Journey going off of her name tag, smiled even wider and pointed to the display at the front of the store. 

"Just over there. This is the latest Holiday display." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "If I hear another Mariah Carey song I'm going to rip someone's eyes out." Hannibal wanted to comment that ripping a person's eyes out is not as cathartic as it seems, but Alana forbade him from discussing anything to do with murder, cannibalism, or himself as pertaining to being a serial killer. Oh well. He simply nodded his head in agreement. 

He nodded to Jess as he picked up the first box, which was actually heavier than it looked. Either that, or he was losing muscle mass because that excuse for a hospital decided that protein is not one of the four building blocks of life as high school biology teachers like to say. The scent of candles was beginning to become extremely overwhelming, and he wrinkled his nose at the worst offender. The label read "Blueberry pancakes" but there was nothing "blueberry" or "pancakes" about it. 

"Hey, can I ask you something, Robert?" This time it was Jess, who seemed equally as exasperated by the Holiday cheer as she twirled a brown curl around her finger. 

"You may," replied Hannibal, miffed at the fact that he had to go by a fake name. Of course Alana chose his uncle's name. Of course. 

"Why are you working at Bath & Body works? I mean you're a guy and also like fifty years old–no offense," she quickly added. 

"I'm actually forty-six," he admonished, but smiled to prove he carried no ill-will. "And as to why I work here, let's just say it was a favor for an old friend. Besides, it is not like I dislike bath products, although maybe not," he pauses to read the label of a scrub, "vanilla pumpkin marshmallow." Journey laughed at that. 

"What do you mean? Vanilla pumpkin marshmallow is clearly the best scent! Right after pure wonder , of course." She shared a knowing look with Jess, clearly an inside joke of some sort. 

"Well if you do not require my assistance anymore, I am going to finish opening the store. It is just about time." The girls nodded at him, returning to their candle-stacking. Even as he walked away, the growing cacophony of candle scents was becoming a menace. Alana had won this round, but he would win the war, eventually. 

Unbeknownst to Hannibal, Bath & Body Works was actually a very popular store, especially at the mall where it was easy to access. He still had no idea how it was legal for Alana to both do this to him and to everyone else around him, but he was already resigned to his fate as a candle-connoisseur. Somehow the overpowering stench got even worse as customers opened candles to sniff them and sprayed the testers everywhere. Why people needed to stick their entire face inside a candle to smell it when he could smell it from ten feet away he would never understand. 

The two girls had an established rapport, and they were already mingling with customers, asking if they had any questions or needed help finding anything. Hannibal kept to the cash register, mainly because Alana liked the idea of there being a solid block of something between him and the customers (not that that ever stopped him), but it also meant that he was interacting with customers for longer periods of time than the girls for the most part. 

The first customer of note was a young girl also wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. She had soft blonde hair that stopped at her shoulders and a button nose that reminded him a little of Mischa. Her eyes lit up when she saw his sweater. 

"Oh my god I love your sweater!" she chirped. "We're matching, see?" She stepped back from the counter, showcasing her sweater with flashing Christmas lights. It was probably the ugliest piece of clothing Hannibal had ever seen, but he told her how much he loved it and agreed that they were in fact "twinning". 

The next customer was very infuriating. Their entire exchange started off with polite-albeit stilted-pleasantries, but then the middle-aged woman asked him very enthusiastically.

"Wow, your accent is so exotic! Where are you from?" 

"I live here in Baltimore," he replied, smiling innocently. 

"Oh no no no," she enunciated as she signed the receipt. "I mean where are you really from?" Hannibal debated lying to her, but there was a significant chance that she did not even know what Lithuania was. 

"I was born in Lithuania, if that is what you are asking." 

"Ooh, Transylvania! How wonderful. Are you a vampire?" It took a significant amount of effort not to laugh at the sincere tone, but he managed to school his features into a serious expression. 

"Yes," he answered, voice devoid of any emotion. The guards both gave him pointed looks, and he shrugged his shoulders and smiled fakely. "I'm kidding of course. I would never, ever think of drinking human blood." The guards rolled their eyes at that, and he smiled genuinely this time. "I am from LITHUANIA, not Transylvania," he corrected. 

"Ohhhhh!" said the woman as she stuffed her oversized wallet into her oversized purse, obviously still not recognizing the country. "And where is that?" At this point Hannibal wished that she would just take her things and leave, but she seemed committed to finding out. If only the FBI were as diligent as customer number 18, they would likely have caught half of their unsolved cases by now. 

"It is a Baltic country," he supplied, and when the blank look on her face didn't go away, he added, "in Eastern Europe."

"Oh. . ." she trailed off, a look of disgust on her face. "Did you even have running water growing up?" 

"Yes."

"You must be a commie then," she said, clearly flustered at her lack of knowledge. It took serious willpower for Hannibal not to jump over the counter and strangle her right then and there, but he decided it would be more satisfying to kill her with words instead. 

"Why yes!" he chirped and her eyes went wide as saucers. "I just adore Karl Marx and the Communist Manifesto, don't you?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. "He really was a true visionary. I was best friends with Stalin growing up, he really had some great ideas." At this point, the woman's jaw was practically on the floor, so he smiled, handed her the bag of candles, and wished her Happy Holidays. She left without another word. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, the girls ambushed him. 

"That was amazing!" praised Jess. 

"I know right?!" added Journey. "Xenophobes get what's coming to them." Jess nodded her assent. 

"Do you often have trouble with such people?" he frowned. 

"Sometimes. My first language was Spanish, but I was born here, so when people tell me to go back to where I came from, it's kind of dumb." Jess explained. 

"Well if anyone ever troubles you, tell me and I will deal with them," Hannibal promised. 

The next issue presented itself not ten minutes later when a three-year-old decided to dump an entire bottle of pure wonder body spray on the floor. Hannibal rushed to try to save the remaining bottles from the devious child's hands while her mother apologized profusely. 

"It's quite alright. Accidents happen, after all," he smiled politely while the insides of his nostrils died a thousand deaths. He was beginning to understand why pure wonder was spoken with such caution. 

"Iced rosé, star jasmine, and warm white amber," sighed Journey. "Why is it always pure wonder?" Hannibal wrinkled his nose. 

"If this is supposed to smell like rosé, I believe that the chemists behind it have never had any in their lives, or at least any good rosé," Hannibal added disappointedly.   

Hannibal stocked a few of the shelves while the girls took their break in the back. There were no customers in the front of the store, so he could hear parts of their conversation whether he wanted to or not. 

"We should invite him to go drinking with us," said a shrill voice, likely Jess. 

"What? He's like fifty years old!" replied a deeper, more melodic voice, likely Journey. 

"Forty-six, besides, he's our co-worker, it's fine!" Giggling ensued and he could not make out the next few words. 

"Stop! I do NOT have a crush on him!" said Jess, a tinge of annoyance coloring her tone. "Besides, I'm sure he'd be better company than Mason." 

"Oh my god, don't get me started on that bitch. The nerve of that guy!" They went on to trash-talk this so-called Mason, and Hannibal chuckled at the thought that the two bearers of that name he was aware of were both terrible contributions to society. 

Hannibal was busy minding his business when he heard a little boy crying. 

"You can't have any hand sanitizer. This one is only for girls. Do you want to smell like flowers? You wanna smell like a girl? No son of mine is going to smell like a sissy!" A man, likely the boy's father, was crouching next to the tear-stricken child, sneering in disgust at his own son. 

"But dad, he just wants to match with me," a young girl pleaded. "He can even have one that isn't pink! Look, there's a cucumber one." Grunting in frustration, the man ignored the girl and walked over to where Hannibal was arranging the candles. 

"Excuse me, sir. Could you tell my son that he cannot have the hand sanitizer because it's only for girls?" The man looked at Hannibal expectantly, and Hannibal allowed himself one deep breath before turning to face the man. 

"Why yes, I certainly could," he begins, noting the slight dip of the man's chin as he nods, "but I am not going to." The man's face twists in confusion. "First of all, even if you consider pink things and floral scents to be overly feminine, there are many non-gendered choices such as sport, white t-shirt, and leaves. As you have obviously stated, you consider these choices to be unacceptable, which implies that you find the practice of using hand sanitizer something emasculating. Tell me, sir, is your masculinity so fragile that you feel threatened by ethanol or isopropyl alcohol? Does the prospect of cleaning yourself detract from your hard-fought manhood. Or is that what you keep telling yourself when your wife refuses to touch you?" The man's confusion turned into outrage and anger, but this was the most fun Hannibal had had in months. "Do your children know that you spend time with them as an excuse to meet with your mistress? Or is it mistresses in the plural?" The man scoffed, his anger overtaking any other emotion, and stomped off with both children in tow. 

"Oh my god," muttered Journey from her vantage point behind the main Christmas display. 

"That was amazing!" chimed in Jess. "How did you even do that?" 

"I was a psychiatrist," Hannibal explained. "It becomes easy to read people with enough practice." He turned to continue stacking the candles, but Journey got his attention again. 

"Woah woah woah, you can't just leave us hanging like that. What do you mean you were a psychiatrist? Why the heck do you work here then!" 

"I'm afraid that I am not at liberty to say," he began. "I advise you both to drop the subject, at least for the time being." 

"Alright," exclaimed Jess, returning to the cash register. 

"You have got to stop picking fights with customers." Journey handed him the last two candles in the box. "If someone complains you'll get fired."

"I'm not certain that would be a negative outcome for me." He took the last candle from her hand.  

It was nearing the end of Hannibal's first shift at Bath & Body Works, and he had managed to avoid doing anything that would warrant calling Alana. That all changed the second he took a breath and his olfactory receptors flooded with a delicious scent that was unmistakably WILL. That was not possible because he knew Will lived in Maine with his wife, although his nose had never lied to him before. . . He shook his head. Thinking about Will right now would not be productive in any sense, but then he looked up, and there he was in his scruffy-haired, flannel-wearing glory. He was holding hands with that pesky wife of his, their fingers intertwined. Hannibal decided to ignore that for now and took a moment to simply enjoy the sight of Will, but that proved to be a mistake when he looked up right into Hannibal's gaze. His eyes widened comically, and Hannibal thought the man was about to short-circuit when he collapsed forward like a fallen tree in one of those cartoons. The woman beside him, his wife (regrettably), rushed to his side, and began saying his name frantically. 

"Will, Will! Are you alright? What happened? Dear God, can someone get help, please?!" The desperation was clear in her voice, and Hannibal felt bad for her for one second before he turned to walk over to Will. The security guards moved to intercept him, and he cried in exasperation. 

"I am a doctor for God's sake. I can still do basic CPR if necessary." The guards were clearly reluctant, but they let him go. He knelt beside Will, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

"You're a doctor?" The woman asked, clearly surprised. 

"Most recently a psychiatrist, but I was an ER surgeon for quite some time before that." Will's wife balked, the answer provided clearly not what she was actually asking about. Hannibal ignored her and took Will's pulse, the pressure stable beneath his probing fingers. He moved over to Will's feet, taking off the shoe and sock from one side. He palmed the pen in his apron pocket and ran it across the sole of Will's foot, nodding with satisfaction when the toes began to curl. He relocated back to his position by Will's head, gently rolling him over to his side before asking for a phone flashlight. Will's wife hastily supplied it, and he moved it in front of Will's pupils, checking for the telltale dilation of healthy cognitive function. 

"He's quite alright," he explained to the crowd as he handed the phone back. "Just had a fright, I think." 

"Oh, what do you think frightened him?" she asked. Hannibal frowned. For being married to the man, she certainly did not know much about Will. 

"I'm not sure," is all he said before returning his attention to Will. "Will? Can you hear me?" He gently swept the hair out of Will's eyes, and the guards raised their eyebrows at him. 

Will began stirring slowly, and he smiled when he caught sight of Hannibal, but then the fog faded from his eyes, the smile quickly dissolving into a frown. 

"Hannibal!" he accused, simultaneously pouncing on the man with the skill of an FBI agent. Hannibal himself was usually a formidable opponent, but he was not expecting to be attacked in the middle of a Bath & Body Works, so Will took him by surprise. Will pinned him to the floor, his curls spilling in front of his face. Hannibal could only smile. Oh how he missed seeing Will like this. The smile clearly infuriated the younger man because he dug his nails into Hannibal's flesh.

"Are you purposefully trying to ruin my vacation? I come to Baltimore for one fucking day , a city with 600,000 people, and guess who I run into?? You! Of fucking course it had to be you. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were stalking me." Hannibal laughs, a deep, warm sound. 

"Oh I assure you, I was blissfully unaware of your plans. If I was, I would have strategized much more effectively and would not be in this predicament." He winced as Will dug his nails in further. "Although I must accuse you of the same thing. You came to Baltimore, where you surely knew I would be. I could venture to say that your vacation was all a ploy to get me under you." The missile went off spectacularly, and Hannibal watched as Jess and Journey's eyes widened, the guards tried their best not to laugh, and Will's wife looked between the both of them frantically as her confusion grew, but the best of all was the sight of Will. His cheeks colored furiously, and he ducked his head in an attempt to hide it. Clearly realizing that the focus was on him, he scrambled off of Hannibal, allowing the man to sit up. 

"I fucking despise you, you know?"

"Yes, I am well aware of the fact," Hannibal answered, smiling smugly at the blush still present on Will's face. 

"Oh my God, Robert, is he your ex?" Jess asked, clearly not knowing subtly even if it hit her with a ten foot pole. Hannibal chuckled at the horror on Will's face. 

"No!" the former FBI consultant shrieked. "He's my ex-psychiatrist." 

"Yeah because the obvious sexual tension between the two of you screams doctor-patient relationship," pointed out Journey, who looked like she was seconds away from either running out to get popcorn or pull her phone out to record. Hannibal decided that he did not have anything left to lose, so he added his own insight. 

"Well you did run after me to Italy." 

"Yeah, to stab you!"

"To what ??" cried Will's wife. 

"This is the best telenovela I have ever seen," mumbled Jess. The security guards sighed defeatedly. 

"Right, of course, lest we forget that incident." Hannibal was clearly enjoying himself, and Will was teetering on the verge of losing it. 

"Hey, you don't get to act all high and mighty. I only wanted to stab you because you fucking gutted me in the first place." 

"Well you lied to me." 

"Oh, woe is me! How could I lie to the man who fucking murders and cannibalizes the local population !"

"He what? " shrieked Jess, Journey, and Will's wife in unison. 

"I think it's time we called Alana," said one of the guards as he reached for his pager.  

"Yeah," his partner replied. 

"Well, Will, it isn't like you did not murder and cannibalize the local population with me," pointed out Hannibal, and to be honest, Will couldn't really argue with that. Knowing he lost, he stopped arguing and took a proper look at Hannibal. The three-piece suit was gone, and in place of prison fatigues there was an ugly Christmas sweater and one of those mandated aprons with checkers on them. He breathed in for a second, scrunching his eyebrows at the assault of shitty rosé. 

"Did you just smell me, Will?" Hannibal teased. 

"Difficult to avoid, even with my normal nose. Why do you smell so strongly of cheap rosé?" 

"Pure wonder," said Hannibal just as Jess and Journey descended into groans about pure wonder. 

"What?" asked Will, his confusion only growing. 

"It's a scent," he explained. 

"It's terrible."

"Well dear Alana do not exactly allow me to import my usual aftershave, so I'm regrettably left to bathe in spilled body spray." Hannibal had the nerve to sound miffed at Alana for not allowing him his custom aftershave in prison. 

"It's actually worse than my aftershave," Will chuckled. 

"I'm afraid that I have to agree with you there." The pair was knocked out of their revelry by Will's wife, whose expression of disbelief was beginning to reach comical levels. 

"Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on?!" she yelled, glaring at Jess and Journey who had begun to chant "fight, fight, fight!" over and over. Will opened his mouth to say something, but Hannibal was faster. The cannibal clapped a hand over his mouth and pulled him backwards into his chest, effectively shushing him. Will attempted to struggle, but Hannibal had a better angle and had clearly kept up his exercise in prison. Will looked to the guards for help, but they held their hands up, clearly unable to do anything. What was the point of the guards then?

"As Will is indisposed, I will be retelling our mutual history. Before we begin, may I know your name?" The woman's eyes flickered between Hannibal and Will with Hannibal's hand clamped over his mouth. 

"Molly," she mumbled. 

"Thank you, Molly. Now to begin. When Will and I first met he absolutely despised me from the beginning due to the fact that I was a psychiatrist, and Will hated psychiatrists." At that Will attempted to kick Hannibal, but his leg was at too awkward an angle. "Alright, alright. Will hates psychiatrists. Moving on. It was our second day of being acquainted when Will shot a man to death. I must admit that it was my fault he was in that position, but then again he did shoot him ten times because of his horrific aim. This event was the catalyst for us informally adopting the man's daughter together before I faked her death and framed dear Will for her murder, as well as the murder of a few others. He was suffering from encephalitis at the time, which I view as a positive because I might have had to kill him otherwise." Molly's eyes widened at that, but she remained silent. "Our good Will quickly figured out who was the actual perpetrator of the crimes he was accused of, but luckily for me and unluckily for him, our fellow man often perceives us through our socioeconomic status, which is why no one believed Will when he accused me. Will deviously conspired with Jack to entrap me, but his greatest mistake was actually falling in love with me. He succeeded in deceiving me, an admirable accomplishment, and then proceeded to reject my proposal of running away together, so I broke his heart like he broke mine by actually killing our surrogate daughter and gutting him on my kitchen floor. I also stole his jacket as I was feeling rather petty at the time." Will practically growled at him then, and Hannibal shushed him a second time. "I proceeded to run away to Europe, and Will followed me. He tried to stab me, but my long-time friend shot him before he could. I then set out to eat his brain, but the corrupt police hired by the owner of a slaughterhouse interrupted my efforts because the owner was upset that I made him eat his face. They kidnapped the both of us where he planned to eat me with Will's face, but we managed to escape with a little help from Alana. I carried Will to his house where he rejected me, so I turned myself in, and here we are." He let go of Will, who was trying very hard to look like he hadn't been enjoying being held by Hannibal. 

"Is that true, Will?" Molly asked with tears in her eyes. 

"I'm afraid so." He was actually impressed by how accurate and concise Hannibal managed to make everything. 

"That's it? That's all you have to say for yourself?" 

"I'm not asking for your sympathy, Molls, let me be clear, but what do you expect me to say? That I didn't sail to Europe with a knife in my pocket? That I didn't sit at his table and knowingly eat what he served me? I don't know what you want from me." He lifted his palms up in surrender. 

"You're unbelievable!" Molly sneered as she jumped to her feet and made her way out of the store. "I want a divorce, you hear me?!" she shouted after herself. 

"Yeah, I figured," mumbled Will. "I guess that means I can do this now." He leaned forward and kissed Hannibal. 

Jess almost dropped her phone in her haste to take a picture.