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Wallet? Check. Glasses? Check. Shirt buttoned correctly? Check. Remembered to put on underwear? Will felt around. Check.
"I can do this," Will said, pep talk at ready. "I can go to his house and keep my clothes on. We'll eat dinner and talk and that's all." He picked up his keys and bid the dogs goodbye. The dogs gazed up at him, full of reproach.
"Don't look at me like that," Will told the dogs with a stern gaze. "I'm not going to sleep with him."
The dogs looked skeptical. As did the shade of Garret Jacob Hobbs.
"I'm not!" Will insisted. "He's a serial killer."
Now the dogs looked embarrassed for him. Winston buried his face in his paws. Garret Jacob Hobbs shook his head sadly, like he couldn't believe the depths of Will's denial.
"I don't have to answer to any of you," Will informed them, feeling snippy. "I know I'm not going to sleep with him."
***
The thing people didn't understand about Will's empathy - okay, one of things people didn't understand - is that he knew a killer when he saw one. People thought Will was being antisocial when he didn't make eye contact or talk with people. Which, to be fair, he was. But eyes betrayed people. Eyes told secrets. Secrets Will didn't particularly want to know.
He as much told people so when they pushed him on the eye contact thing. Eyes were distracting. Will saw too much. Especially in a killer's eyes. It wasn't so much an eyes-are-windows-to-the soul thing as it was eyes-frantically-waving-a-red-flag-in-warning thing. Especially the smug, smirky bastards. Their eyes all but glow red in the dark, flashing DANGER, DANGER.
He just wanted to be able to order a coffee in peace without having to call the police to tell them the barista was a murderer. Because he was never doing that again. Local pd misses obvious homicide by calling it a suicide and somehow Will's the odd one.
When he stupidly - oh so stupid, William - looked into Hannibal Lecter's eyes and saw a stone-cold killer looking back there was really no one else to blame but himself. And Dr. Lecter, naturally. For killing people. But whatever. It's not like Will was going to sleep with him.
So what if the guy was ridiculously charming, rich, good looking, and had an accent that made Will's toes curl. The good kind of toe curl, not the bad fingernails on a chalkboard kind of toe curl. There were plenty of men like that (again, good kind). Men who weren't the Chesapeake Ripper (and wasn't that an extra kick in the ass when Will put it together). There were definitely plenty of attractive men in the world who weren't gaslighting Will on a semi-regular basis for their own personal entertainment.
"Besides, I don't have sex with murderers," Will said to Garret Jacob Hobbs who was chilling in the backseat and watching Will in the rear view mirror. "I only did that once." Okay, twice. "But everyone experiments when they're young and away from home for the first time." And again at thirty in grad school.
Garret Jacob Hobbs gave him a judgmental look.
"Shut up," Will told him.
***
"Will," Lecter greeted him with a warm smile. "How good to see you. Please come in."
Oh god, toe curl. "Dr. Lecter," Will said, playing it cool. Because he wasn't going to sleep with him.
"May I take your jacket?"
"Sure." Will stripped his jacket off at warp speed and all but threw it at him. If he didn't Lecter would "help" Will out of his coat and there would be hands involved. The hands were worse than the voice. The hands might lead to places far worse than a toe curl. Lecter paused but was otherwise nonplussed as he shook out Will's jacket before hanging it up.
Will didn't know what he was thinking - accepting an invitation to Lecter's house. This was where the doctor slept. In a bed. Wearing pyjamas. Or not. And possibly made plans to kill people.
Or maybe the house was where he killed people. God. Will was an idiot.
"I'm so pleased to have you for dinner," Lecter was saying, eyes bright with amusement.
Will made eye contact. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The missing organs. Oh, no.
Dr. Lecter was eating them.
Will smiled weakly. "Something light I hope," he said, awkward smile offered up awkwardly. One hand hovering protectively over his abdomen as if to protect it from a mad slasher. "Stomach's a bit off today."
Lecter blinked. A calculating blink. Will didn't know such a thing was possible.
"I'm sorry to hear it," he said smoothly. "I'm sure I can prepare something that will settle well."
"I don't want to put you out," Will said, hovering one good sprint away from the front door. "We can always do this another time."
"Nonsense." Lecter gestured with a hand, herding Will further into the murder house. "I wouldn't dream of letting you go. Not without seeing to your needs."
More toe curl. Fuck. Be strong, Graham, Will thought. Power through. Try not to eat anyone while you're here.
Lecter smiled at him. Like a cat who got the cream. Or caught a mouse. Then butchered it, cooked up its organs, and ate them with a delectable cream sauce.
Will gulped. Just don't sleep with him.
***
"I didn't sleep with him," Will crowed triumphantly to his dogs, Garret Jacob Hobbs, and the Ravenstag when he returned home. The Ravenstag burst into flames. So did Garret Jacob Hobbs. The dogs whined to go out, doing the gotta pee dance.
Will didn't let their lack of enthusiasm throw him off. His belly was warm and giddy full of lightly spiced broth, delicate sandwich wedges layered with thinly sliced vegetables, and chocolate mousse so airy it was like eating, uh, air. But chocolate air. And he was 90% sure none of it was people. Maybe 80%.
And even though Will knew the menu was altered due to the feigned stomach issue Lecter had it all on the table in under twenty minutes. So the man was a culinary wizard in addition to being a serial killer and a psychiatrist. A cannibalistic serial killer psychiatrist wizard.
"He's going to need bigger business cards," Will told Winston, the first back from the pee brigade. Winston wagged his tail. Because he was a good boy who didn't kill or eat people. That Will knew of. He never did find out what Winston was doing on the road the night Will came across him.
When all the dogs were finished their business they trooped into the house with Will who went straight into the kitchen. Because he was starving. After shovelling cold slices of cold pizza, half a bag of potato chips, a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, and half a box of stale mini powder doughnuts in his face Will was finally full.
A half-hour later his stomach was demonstrating its gymnastic routine in anticipation for the next summer Olympics. Going for gold.
***
"So the question remains," Katz was saying, "which kid killed the parents?"
Katz, Price, and Zeller were arguing over that very question when Will dragged himself into their science lair at Quantico. Will coming through the door clutching a bottle of aspirin in one hand and Pepto Bismol in the other caused raised eyebrows around the metal slabs in the middle of the room. Not from the occupants obviously. Because that would be weird.
"Wild night?" Katz asked.
"Do tell," Price chimed in.
Will grunted something at them that might have been a word. It might have even been English. There was some throat clearing while he took another hit from the Pepto bottle and soon they were back to business.
Gathered around the bullet ridden bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzdaniels. Who, having been dead all of 36 hours, looked about how Will felt. But at least the stomach upset was distracting from the headache for once.
"It's the son," Zeller said, confident and blunt. "Double parricide. It's always the son."
"It's not always the son," Katz objected.
"Near enough."
"Might have been both of them." Price played it down the centre. "Close in age. Both claiming they were out of the house at the time of the shooting. Refusal to implicate the other in interviews."
"Maybe the daughter knew," Zeller allowed. "But the son pulled the trigger. C'mon! He's the only one who had gunpowder residue."
"Only trace," Katz said. "On one sleeve of his shirt."
"So? The son did it."
It was hard doing any kind of imagining while the science trio were arguing around a pair of corpses. And while his stomach was doing the Rumba. But Will was nothing if not a multi-tasker. Actually he was never much of a multi-tasker, but he could tune people out with the best of them.
"It wasn't the son," Will said, nursing the Pepto. "It was the daughter. She killed them both."
Zeller sighed. "With this level of overkill? No way. What kind of daughter shoots her mother so many times she doesn't leave mom with a face?"
Will shrugged. "A determined one. Daughter did it."
"What about the son?" Price asked. "And gunpowder evidence?"
"The son knows. The gunpowder trace was transfer. Probably cleaned his sister up afterwards. He feels guilty."
"Guilty? Why?" Katz leaned forward with interest.
Will eyed his aspirin bottle. Was it too early to take more? Was the Pepto cancelling them out? Or was it making everything worse? Why didn't he stay home today? His eyes drifted back to the bodies. Oh, right. Because Jack called him at o'dark early to bark at him to solve this one. Because dead parents and killer children were bad. Or something. Will hadn't really been listening. Now that he was upright and awake and here he didn't know why he was upright and awake and here. Dead parents did not warrant a federal investigation.
"Ask him," Will said. "Something was going on in the house that inspired this. He wants to protect his sister now because he feels like he failed to do it before. Hit him with enough sympathy and he'll tell you why."
"Okay," Katz said. "I guess that's it. At least now we know this one isn't related to the family annihilator working the east coast."
Oh, right. Will forgot about him. Jack probably wanted him to hurry up and solve that one too. Too many serial killers running around as of late. Including the one Will wasn't going to sleep with. In fact, he wasn't going to sleep with any of them. Will Graham was keeping his underwear on, thank you. The serial killers were just going to have to live with it. Assuming they lived at all.
Katz eyed Will clutching his bottles to him like a cranky toddler. "What happened to you? Bad Chinese?"
"No. I had dinner with Dr. Lecter." That he ate his own weight in junk food after returning home went unmentioned.
"Geez, jealous," Price said. "I've heard legends about that man's food."
"You've no idea," Will muttered.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
"What was it like?" Katz was smiling. "Having dinner with your psychiatrist?"
"Not my type, but that man is fine," Price said.
"It's the accent," Zeller didn't look up from the notes he was making.
"Oh, yeah. Among other things." Katz smile turned naughty.
"I'm not going to sleep with him!" Will blurted. Then remembered where he was and who he was with. His cheeks erupted in flames. A small eep escaped from...someone. Possibly himself.
They all gaped at him. Beverly stared as her eyebrows vanished into her hair. Zeller cursed and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and handed it over to a smug Price.
"Leave me alone," Will said. He turned on his heel and left, taking his bottles with him.
***
"How you doing, really?" Will asked, taking a seat next to Abigail.
It was Dr. Lecter's idea for the two of them to visit Abigail today. He proposed it while leaning over Will's desk at Quantico, eyeing the photographs of DC's latest spree killer laid out. Probably mentally sneering at the other guy's work. An invitation to visit Abigail segued into another dinner invite. Will said yes to Abigail, no to food. He pleaded the need to come back to work and solve his latest case before the nation's leaders wet themselves in a collective frothing at the mouth fit.
It gave him the excuse to dodge Lecter's car along with his food. Not that Will didn't like the Bentley. The Bentley was great. But he was worried it might be doubling as a murder car. Will didn't want to be seen riding around in a murder car.
But that was silly, wasn't it? Dr. Lecter wasn't likely to be using the Bentley for murders. The upholstery alone must cost more than Will's entire car. Lecter might be a sadist, but he wasn't some nut job that got blood all over his interior. He must have a different car he used for murders. Or a van. Every serial killer worth their salt had access to a van.
Will eyed Lecter across the lawn where he's stepped away to take a call. He couldn't picture him driving a murder van.
"Will?"
"Hmm?"
Abigail giggled. "You okay?"
"Of course I am."
"You asked me how I was, then went like a million miles away."
Will smiled. "Sorry. A lot going on. How are you?"
She shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I keep waiting to wake up one day and feel better. Normal. But it never happens."
"I think this is one of those gradual things where you inch your way to normalcy."
She tossed a significant look at the hospital behind them. "Don't think it's going to happen here."
"Maybe not. But you won't be here forever."
She nodded before changing topics with the abrupt ease of the young. "Where are you going next? Dr. Lecter's?"
"Uh, no. No, going back to work."
"Oh." She looked disappointed. "That's boring."
Will snorted. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"I'd rather go to Dr. Lecter's house. Have dinner or just hang out. Have you eaten there?"
"I have," Will admitted. "But I'm not going there tonight."
"M'okay. Just wondered. You guys seem to spent a lot of time together."
"I'm not sleeping with him," Will said.
Abigail's eyes went wide.
"No! I didn't mean that I'm not - " Her eyes went wider. "I mean, obviously I'm not going to - because he's - you know what? Forget I said any of that." Will's laugh was stilted and fake even to his ears. He wanted to slap himself.
There were things not appropriate for young ears. Even if those ears belonged to a young woman who'd been helping her father hunt other young women. Will hadn't needed to look in her eyes, the guilt rolling off her was confirmation enough, the eyes just confirmed it. Her eyes gave her away again when Nicholas Boyle popped up just long enough to mysteriously disappear. On Hannibal's watch, a part of him whispered. Because as if it weren't bad enough Hannibal killed people he had to be complicit in other peoples crimes, too. Which was just greedy.
Will forced himself to smile, hoping for reassuring but probably hitting grimacing. "It's been a long day. I'm tired. So - forget I said anything."
Abigail blinked. "Okay."
"Okay."
"'Cause that's not really something I want to think about, you know?"
"Yeah, sure."
Abigail's nose scrunched up. "It's kinda gross."
"Um."
"You're both so old." She shuddered as if Will's "old" cooties might get her.
Brat. "Thanks," Will deadpanned.
"But you can, you know. Sleep with him. If you want to."
Will stared at her.
"Just remember to use a condom. And try not to break a hip or anything."
"I'm leaving now."
Abigail smiled sweetly. "See you next week!"
***
"How are you getting along with Dr. Lecter?" Jack wanted to know. A casual chat was how the agent put it when summoning Will from the safety of his dim, safe classroom to the soul-sucking artificial brightness and government carpeting of Jack's office.
"Why?" Will was instantly suspicious. "What did you hear?"
He may have come across a bit too hostile. Jack reacted exactly the way one would expect Jack Crawford to react to someone daring to be hostile at him. He glared at Will through narrowed eyes. "Why don't you tell me what I should have heard."
If Will's right eyeball wasn't at that moment threatening to make a break from his face to escape the rummaging ice pick sensation going on behind it, he might've taken more time to admire Jack's ability to turn a question into a demand. No one had said anything about Will's outburst in the science lab a few days ago. As much as Zeller might want to rat him out, Katz's ire might act as a sufficient enough deterrent. Price didn't care enough either way. And last Will heard the Fitzpatricks were still dead, so they were out.
"Nothing," Will tried. He peeked at Jack over the rims of his glasses. Jack looked back, skeptical and unimpressed. "Everything's fine," Will said. "With Dr. Lecter. It's...good."
"Then Dr. Lecter is helping you?" Jack said in the same manner he might say, "Then Dr. Lecter is keeping you from running into traffic?"
"I guess so." Not taking into account all the gaslighting.
Will may not have an MD among his degrees, but even he could figure out that night terrors, sleep walking, non-stop headaches, and seeing dead people and stags everywhere he went was NOT normal. All the more reason not to sleep with him. Not only was Dr. Lecter a serial killer and an asshole, but he was a lousy doctor. Probably too busy killing people during the do no harm bit of his medical training.
Jack was cautiously pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. Anything else I should know?"
"No," Will said, eyeing the door.
"Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
No. "Yes."
Jack leaned back in his chair. Accepting he wasn't getting blood from a stone. "Okay. Then it's settled."
"Good."
"Good."
"Because whatever you heard I'm not sleeping with him." Unless the blood came from a particularly stupid stone named Will Graham.
"What?!"
And that's how Will ended up sitting in a waiting room with Jack sitting sternly beside him. Will had only himself to blame. If only he kept his mouth shut, dismissing the inappropriate comment as voicing a rumour circulating about him and Dr. Lecter. But no. Will had to go and make it worse.
Worried by the sight of Jack erupting from his chair, eyes ablaze, Will launched into a babbling, barely coherent listing of various ailments including fever, sleepwalking, and hallucinations (he mentioned the weird stag following him around, but not the dead guy). All using them as reasoning for why he felt the need to deny sleeping with his psychiatrist to a guy who was sort of Will's boss.
Said sort of boss who then made him sit there while making a phone call before marching Will out to Jack's car, drove him to a hospital, escorted him inside, and took a seat next to him. Glowering all the way like some ancient deity gearing up to smite a village.
"You don't have to stay," Will said into the awkward silence while they waited to see a doctor.
"I think I do."
"Really, you can go. I..."
"Will," Jack cut him off with a sharp look. At least he'd stopped glowering. "I'm staying."
"Okay." Will slouched down in his chair. He was trying not to feel like he was waiting at the principal's office next to his pissed off father after Jeb was called at work. 25 years later Will still maintained that little shitstain Kenny Bishop had the broken nose coming to him. Jeb had agreed, even though he'd felt obligated in the spirit of decent parenting to ground Will for a week. But he'd also taken Will for ice cream on the way home.
Will had received a lot of mixed messages as a child. It was no wonder he had issues. Besides the empathy that is.
Will glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye. At least this was better than Will being bawled out and suspended for trying to break the face of one of his peers for calling him a freak. Jack would surely agree if Will pointed it out.
Jack did not agree. The silence resumed. And the glowering was back.
Four hours, one emergency room doctor, several tests, a neurological consult, more tests, a clock drawn on a piece of paper, an MRI, Jack growing steadily more concerned/furious, and a fun diagnosis of encephalitis later Will was admitted to hospital.
"Can't I just go home and take medication?" Will asked, reasonably he thought.
"No," the neurologist and Jack both said.
"But my dogs..."
"I'll make sure they're taken care of," Jack said.
"But..."
"Will," Jack was wearing his stern boss face. "You're staying."
Will stayed. At least encephalitis beat being crazy(ier). And that day at the principal's office.
***
Will had not expected his dad to show up at the hospital the following day.
Will gaped at him. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Jeb said. "You look at yourself and ask me what I'm doing here."
"I'm fine."
"Sure, you are. You're in a hospital 'cause your brain's on fire with some kinda thing I never heard of before and you're fine."
"Did Jack Crawford call you?"
"He's your boss, right?"
"Sort of," Will mumbled.
Jeb went on like Will hadn't spoken. "Yeah, he called." He gave Will a pointed look. "Someone had to."
"Why?" Will was incredulous. He wasn't dying. He couldn't imagine how Jack must've made it sound to get Jeb to hop on a plane so fast.
"I'm your emergency contact, aren't I? Brain being on fire seems like an emergency to me."
"I'm fine!"
"Oh, like hell you're fine," Jeb snapped. "According to you you're always fine. You get jumped after school, get your arm broke - you're fine. You miss half your finals second year 'cause you're too sick to get outta bed - you're fine. You get stabbed at work - you're fine. You didn't call me 'bout that one either, that's how fine you were. Your boss had to call me then, too."
Will was already lying down, but he found room to slump down into the mattress some more. "I'm okay. They caught it early."
Jeb pushed off his ball cap, holding it in hand as he rubbed the back of his neck while contemplating his offspring. "That's something then. They say how long you gotta be in here?"
"A few days maybe. Then I can continue treatment as an out patient."
"You got good insurance at that job of yours, don't you?"
"Yeah, Daddy."
"Good."
"You don't have to stay," Will offered.
Jeb gave him a look. "I just got here."
"But I'm..."
"You say you're fine one more time and I'll smack you one, boy. Don't think you're too old."
Will folded his arms across his chest and pouted.
"Bit old to pout, son." Will glared up at him. Jeb ignored him. "So what do you do in here all day? Did you bring a book?"
"Didn't think to stop at the library when Jack was driving me to emergency."
"Smart ass."
"Can't imagine where I got it from."
Jeb smacked him on the head with the ball cap.
"Hey!" Will protested.
That's when the asshole serial killer strolled in. "Am I interrupting?" Dr. Lecter asked, eyeing the two of them.
Two pairs of stormy blue eyes eyed him back.
And because he never passed up a chance to slither closer to the mongoose that might one day eat him, Lecter stepped up to Will's hospital bed. He extended a hand to Jeb. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter."
"Jeb Graham." Jeb returned the handshake with all the enthusiasm of a father meeting his teenager's leather-clad, motorcycle riding boyfriend for the first time. Jeb had them packed up and on the road three days later. So much for Denny.
"Ah. Will's father, I presume. I can see the resemblance."
Liar. The only things Will had in common with Jeb was blue eyes and a bad attitude.
"It's like I always say, my boy is like looking in a mirror," Jeb deadpanned.
"A cracked mirror," Will said. Chip off the old block.
Lecter smiled like he was trying to decide which of their livers would be tastier. "Well, I won't intrude upon your visit. I just wanted to stop in and see how you were feeling, Will. I feel awful I didn't realize you were ill. I hope you won't hold my oversight against me."
"Of course not," Will said. There were so many other things Will could hold against him. What was a little medical oversight over Will's brain frying in his skull? He wondered just how long ago Lecter had figured it out? What a fucker. Will was glad he never slept with him. "Thank you for stopping by."
Lecter bid them both a farewell and took his leave, all good-postured elegance and nice manners. The Grahams stared at his retreating back.
"That fancy fella one of your doctors?"
"No," Will said. It wasn't a lie. He was never technically Lecter's patient. And none of Will's actual doctors were conducting a ethically dubious experiment in gaslighting on him. At least not yet. "We work together sometimes." Also not a lie. Will hunted serial killers. Hannibal Lecter was one. It was a circle of life sort of relationship. Only with more cannibalism and murder art.
Jeb eyed the door as if on the lookout for Lecter's return. "Doesn't look much like an agent."
"He's not. Neither am I, remember?" The Bureau hired a serial killer to consult, but Will was the mentally unstable one they wouldn't let join their special agent club. Was he bitter? Hell, yeah.
"Probably for the best," the corners of Jeb's mouth were quirking upward. "Reckon if you were an agent they'd make you cut your hair."
Will laughed. "Perish the thought."
"Nice of him to come visit you," Jeb said.
"I'm not sleeping with him."
Jeb stared at him. "Helluva hairpin turn, son. Sure that medicine is working?"
Will rather thought not. 'Cause if it was why would his face suddenly feel like it was on fire? "Side effect of the encephalitis. I say weird things. I do weird things." Sometimes he saw weird things.
"Huh." Jeb sighed. "Well, at least this one's a doctor." He looked sternly down at Will. "Doesn't have a motorcycle, does he?"
"Not that I know of," Will slumped again.
"I should go find some coffee. Been up since dawn and the coffee you get on the plane is nothing but flavoured water. You want some ice cream?"
Speaking of hairpin turns. "Sure, Daddy." Will didn't want to have this conversation any more than Jeb. One thing they were both great at was avoidance.
"Be right back."
***
Jeb stayed on for six days, two of which spent with Will back home. By the second day of having someone else in his living space Will was reminded why he'd lived alone for the past fifteen years no matter how tight his budget. Jeb packed his suitcase with the same air of relief as when Will moved out to go to school. Neither one of them was good at sharing space.
"Thanks for coming, Daddy."
Jeb pulled him into a hug. "I'm always here for you, Will. Even if think you got too big to need me." He eased Will back enough to cup his face in both hands. "But the next time you land your arse in trouble and don't call..."
"I won't," Will said. Jeb smacked his head. "I will. Call."
"For any reason. I mean it."
"Even bail money?"
"Wise ass, kid."
Will grimaced. He wasn't exactly joking. Playing with the fire that was Hannibal Lecter was likely to land Will up shit creek. Whether the creek be jail or the morgue was anyone's guess. Probably Jeb wouldn't be too happy if he had to get back on a plane again to identify Will laid out on a metal slab. A reminder to keep both eyes on Lecter. Good thing he wasn't sleeping with him.
Will saw Jeb off in a cab and returned to puttering around his house in solitude. Just him and seven dogs. He was officially on medical leave until his doctor deemed him fit to resume work. Though unofficially it sort of depended on how well behaved the nation's serial killers were feeling. In the meantime, Will was on strict orders to eat, sleep, and "take it easy." Whatever that meant. He figured petting his dogs and napping were allowed, so he did plenty of that.
Three days after Jeb left Will was bored out of his head.
"It's not that I can't keep myself busy," he complained to Alana when she dropped in to visit. "I have plenty to do. Stuff I keep putting off because I don't have enough time since I started working with Jack. I've been meaning to clean out the barn for ages. The gutters need work. Back porch has a loose railing. I've got a window upstairs that keeps sticking." That it was the same window he climbed out of while sleepwalking didn't seem worth mentioning. "Plus there's still the hole in the chimney." He'd patched it by taping some plastic sheeting over the hole, but it was kind of an eyesore. At least it distracted away his having a bed in the front room.
"None of that sounds like taking it easy," Alana said.
"No, no," he protested. "I am. Taking it easy." Will fidgeted and tapped a manic beat on the arm rest with his fingers. "I've never been so well-rested."
Alana's eyebrows rose. "So I see," she said, humouring him. "Have you spoken to Hannibal?"
"Why?" It came out more snappish than he intended.
"Just wondering. He asked about you the other day when I saw him."
"No, I haven't spoken to him since I got home."
The not-at-all-good doctor had swung by another time while Will was laid up in the hospital, hinting oh-so-casually at his desire to speak at Will alone. A hint Jeb had not taken, remaining firmly planted at Will's bedside. Lecter could wield his gracious charm and old-world manners all he liked, but there was nothing a Graham found more suspicious in a person. That and money. Lecter had left defeated.
"He probably didn't want to disturb your time with your dad. Now that you're on your own again I'm sure Hannibal will be in touch." Alana smiled reassuringly.
"He can touch all he wants I'm still not going to sleep with him."
Alana's eyebrows went high and her mouth dropped low.
***
Many babbled explanations and significant looks at the line-up of medication on the bedside table later, Alana departed. Will was at least 50% sure she believed he wasn't being sexually harassed by his psychiatrist. He was another 50% certain Alana would find a way to raise the topic of psychiatrists sleeping with their patients being a no-no with Lecter in the near future. Will would then 100% be leaving town and changing his name.
While contemplating future alternative names for himself - he was leaning toward Hank - the phone rang. It was Lecter. Because of course it was. Almost as though summoned by a dark spirit that got its kicks out of kicking Will. Just like Hannibal Lecter.
"Will," Lecter sounded decidedly chipper, "how wonderful to hear your voice. I hope you are feeling as well as you sound."
Will paused before answering. Did spending a week recuperating from months worth of headaches, hallucinations, and enough sweating to fill a swimming pool count as feeling well? "I guess so," Will decided. "Certainly feel better than before I went into the hospital."
Though being able to feel his limited energy drain through the bottoms of his feet was a new experience. One the doctor told him to get used to for awhile before discharging him. "You've a very serious illness, Mr. Graham," Dr. Mahoney told him. "It'll be months before you're fully recovered. Maybe up to a year. Some fatigue is normal."
Will wondered if falling asleep on the front porch at ten in morning counted as normal fatigue? He'd have to ask.
"I'm pleased to hear it. Has your company departed?"
He knows. There wasn't a shred of doubt in Will's mind. Paranoia washed over him. Was Lecter spying on him? Was there a hidden camera in the house? Were the dogs collars wired for sound. No, that was silly. Lecter was a serial killer not some kind of ninja spy.
Or was he? How was the Chesapeake Ripper getting to his victims? They couldn't even figure out how he was choosing them.
"Will? Are you there?"
"Yeah," he said. "Sorry. Spaced out a bit."
Spaced out as in picturing Lecter snaking through underbrush to stalk his hapless victims. Peering over fences and around sheds to get closer. Befriending household pets as to not to be given away. Befriending dogs, that is. Cats wouldn't give a damn. Leaving their humans to their fate while they saunter off into the neighbourhood in search of new person to serve their needs. This was why dogs were better. Will smiled at his sleeping dogs. Not a watch dog among them. If having to face down a murderer they would sacrifice Will in a heartbeat. But they would miss him. He was almost sure of it.
"Will?"
Will coughed. "Sorry, sorry. It's been a long day."
"It's not yet noon."
"And yet it feels almost time for bed," Will joked. Except not joking.
"Understandable," Lecter said warmly. "You've been through a trying ordeal. Illness has a way of besting the strongest of us. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to know Jack noticed something amiss. Though he was somewhat circumspect in his explanation of what tipped him off."
"I think it was something I said."
"So he mentioned. I wonder what you might have said to Uncle Jack that had him spiriting you to a hospital so quickly?"
"I don't recall," Will said vaguely.
"Well, it hardly matters now. You are on the road to recovery and soon this will all be behind you."
Yeah, right.
"With that in mind," Lecter continued smoothly, "I hope this means I'll be seeing you tomorrow for your regular appointment?"
Shit.
***
D-day arrived with little fanfare.
Will woke up. Fed and walked the dogs. Caffeinated and fed himself. Showered and dressed. Answered a text from work confirming he was returning the Monday after next. Answered another text confirming, yes really, the Monday after next. One more text that, yes he was still on sick leave because of the whole brain on fire leave, and no he couldn't maybe come back a little earlier to solve a murder so stop texting goddammit! Sat down and panicked.
Not because he cursed at Jack. But because Will was due at Hannibal Lecter's office in - he checked his watch - nine hours.
He drank more coffee. Tried to read - failed. Tried to work on his latest paper - failed. Tried shoving a pillow over his face and groaning in despair - succeeded. Took a call from Katz and listened to her razz him over managing to piss Jack off from afar. Drank more coffee. Ate lunch to try to offset all the coffee.
Wired from all the caffeine and with indigestion from an ill-advised lunch - that burrito looked fine when he picked it up from the clearance shelf at the store - Will opted for some fishing. His happy place. In the rain. After he finished throwing up the burrito and most of the coffee. The dogs were giving him doubtful looks from the corners of their eyes. Not one moved a single paw from their beds while Will gathered up his gear, slapped a hat on his head, and headed out the door.
At least Garret Jacob Hobbs wasn't around to add his two cents.
This was just what he needed, Will decided. A good slog through mud and puddles. A stream that looked like it needed Prozac. Fish that were not biting worth a damn. But it was better than sitting in the house not thinking about you-know-who. And between the coat, waders, and hat Will was more or less dry. Until he slipped and fell in the water.
Will slogged home, dribbling stream water all the way. Only to find a Bentley parked next to his house. With you-know-who standing on the porch.
Will stood there dripping rain and stream, staring dumbly at his uninvited guest. Said uninvited guest furrowed his brow in a convincing display of concern, stepped off the porch, and opened the umbrella in his hand. Lecter held the umbrella over Will's head.
Will huffed a laugh. "Not much point. Probably can't get any wetter."
"Then we must endeavour to get you dry. Come." Lecter's hand hovered over the base of Will's back. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel like an electric prod.
Will moved stiffly, finding it more difficult to walk with his toes curled inside boots. He let Lecter escort him to the safety of the porch where he dumped waders and fishing gear in one corner and began an fumbling strip tease in the effort to get out of his wet outerwear. Lecter closed the umbrella and set it aside before moving to help Will out of his coat, hands brushing Will's shoulders, arms, back. If his toes curled anymore, cold as they were, they were liable to snap off.
Will laughed awkwardly as he tried to casually shuffle out of Lecter's reach. "I got it, thanks."
Amusement tugged at Lecter's sharp features. "Of course."
Shaking himself free of coat and the sodden sweater underneath, Will turned stiff fingers to the daunting task of unlacing soggy boot laces. "What are you doing out here anyway?" he asked, as if Lecter wasn't standing nearby all dry and polished while watching Will struggle with his laces like a kindergartener.
"It occurred to me I wasn't certain if you were cleared to drive given your illness. I called to offer to drive you to Baltimore this evening. I left a message. My last appointment was at two. You had not yet returned my call, nor did you answer when I called again. Remembering you are here alone I grew concerned and thought it best to come check on you."
And didn't that all sound reasonable and caring and not entirely stalkerish.
"I'm fine," Will said, successfully kicking free of one boot. He smiled reassuringly, hair dripping in his face. "Just fine."
The amusement returned. "So I see."
"It's fine for me to drive." Probably. "I'm sorry you came out all this way."
"Not at all," Lecter replied. "It's fortunate I arrived when I did if only to ensure you do not become ill. Encephalitis is a tricky thing. Even a simple cold risks becoming something more serious. You should get into the shower right away. Just a brief one. Dry off and dress in warm clothes. I'll prepare you something warm to drink." Lecter opened and held the door for him. "After you."
Will gaped. Seven sets of canine eyes watched him drip from the other side of the door. Not one of them trying for outside. Lecter raised his eyebrows at him in expectation. Will shook himself free of the remaining boot and slunk into the house.
He followed the doctor's recommendation and made a beeline for the bathroom, making sure the door was firmly shut and locked before stripping out of the rest of his clothes. Will ducked into the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand. While scrubbing stream muck out of his hair the bathroom door opened. Will yelped.
"Just me," came Lecter's rich, caramel voice. Not a voice Will wanted to be hearing while he was naked. Stupid toes. He only just got them uncurled. "I'm leaving a glass of juice here for you to drink. And I gathered a change of clothes for you."
"That door was locked," was all Will could think to say.
"You are mistaken." The door clicked shut.
Will peeked out from behind the shower curtain to ensure he was alone. No cannibals detected. He finished washing his hair and emerged from the shower. As promised the bathroom counter held a stack of clothes next to a glass of orange juice. He dried off, downed the juice, and got dressed - trying not to think overmuch about Lecter rifling through Will's underwear - before leaving the bathroom.
He went in search of Lecter, finding him - not surprisingly - in the kitchen. On the stove the kettle was steaming. Lecter was poking through the cupboards. He caught sight of Will, eyes roaming over him with approval.
Approval for what exactly Will didn't know. Didn't want to know. Because he wasn't going to sleep with him.
"Ah, good. You look much better with colour back in your cheeks." A smile played along Lecter's lips. "I wanted to make you a hot cup of tea with some honey. I found the honey, but I cannot find where you keep the tea."
"I don't buy tea."
Lecter blinked. "No tea?"
"Nope."
"Ah. Well, perhaps simply hot water and honey will do the trick. I'll prepare some soup for you. Chicken, I think. If you have the ingredients."
"Should be some Cup-of-Soup in one of the cupboards."
Lecter's face froze. "I meant real soup. If there's chicken."
"Did you look in the deep freezer in the back room? I think there's some chicken patties left in the last value pack I bought. Might be a little icy. But I'm sure they're still good."
Lecter twitched. "I think not." He opened the freezer over the fridge and started rooting around. He pulled out a package of chicken thighs. "Perhaps these will suffice."
"Put those back," Will objected.
"Why?"
"They're for the dogs."
Lecter said nothing as the chicken thighs went back in the freezer. He moved on to rummaging through the fridge, emerging with one shrivelled carrot, a bottle of lemon juice, and half a green onion that started out life in Will's kitchen as a yellow onion. Lecter tossed the onion in the garbage without comment. "I don't see any garlic."
"I have garlic powder."
Lecter stared at him. "Ginger?"
"Does ginger ale count?"
"It does not."
"Then no."
Lecter turned back to the stove, snatching up the kettle and pouring hot water into a clean mug with more aggression than necessary. He snatched up the lemon juice bottle, eyed it like it insulted his mother, and poured a liberal amount into the mug. This was followed by a white-knuckled squirt of honey from its bear shaped bottle. Lecter stirred the mixture with the kind of malevolence Will imagined all the Chesapeake Ripper's victims were subjected to at the end.
He slid the steaming mixture across the counter to Will. Will took a cautious sip. It was terrible. Might be improved with whiskey.
Lecter wiped his hands on a tea towel. "I'll need to go out for some things. There's a Whole Foods not far from here. I won't be long."
"You shop at Whole Foods?"
"I do not. But it would take too long to drive to any of the markets I frequent. You have a stock pot, one presumes?"
"Sure." Somewhere. "You don't have to do any of this. I'm fine."
"Nonsense," Lecter said. "I'm here now. We can talk while I make soup, and at least I can leave you with food you haven't dug out of a pile of discards."
"Hey!"
"There's a burrito wrapper with a 50%-off sticker affixed to it in the refuse bin." He retrieved his suit coat from a hook by the back door and shrugged into it. "Now please drink the rest of that and keep yourself warm. I would've started a fire for you, but I notice there's a hole in your chimney. I'll be back as soon as I can."
When the front door closed a few of the dogs ventured into the kitchen. "Never take anything from that man," Will told them. "You don't know where - or who - it's been." Buster cocked his head and barked. "That's right. No cannibal snacks."
Will sipped at his drink. It needed something. He pulled a bottle of whiskey down from the cupboard and topped up the cup. Gave it a stir. Sipped. Made a face. Poured in a little more booze. Stir, sip. Better. He took a healthy gulp and topped up the cup once again. Stir, sip. Perfect.
Will's dining room was small and long and separated from the kitchen by a weirdly placed wall. Its lone window didn't do much to chase out the gloom in a room that resembled more an extra wide hallway than a dining area. He stuck his little two-seater table under the window when he moved in. The dining room looked ridiculous bare. Probably meant to hold a bigger table and a sideboard or china cabinet. Will didn't have any of those things. So he moved his sofa in there. Most people might've put their couches in the living room, but most people probably would've put their bed in one of the three bedrooms upstairs. Most people weren't Will Graham.
He stretched out on the couch with his drink, cushions propped against one arm to keep him mostly upright. Buster hopped right up and Zoe followed. Winston put his head on the cushion next to Will's arm. He pet Winston while the other two settled into nap formation. After awhile Winston curled up on the throw rug next to the couch for his own nap. Will drained the mug and rested his head against the back of the sofa, watching the rain fall.
It wasn't long before the whiskey hit him. Will remembered all the little stickers on his prescription bottles. May cause drowsiness. And right beneath that one, alcohol and marijuana may intensify this effect. Whoops. At least he was only drinking the alcohol and not smoking any marijuana. Only half the damage, right?
By the time Hannibal returned Will was half-dozing, half-drooling in a partially upright position.
"Hey," Will snorted awake with a grin. "Welcome back! How was Whole Foods? Still annoying full of suburban soccer moms judging you for not having reusable shopping bags?"
Lecter eyed him curiously, placing his reusable shopping bags on the counter. Will caught the smell of roasted chicken and saw the moment Lecter caught sight of the whiskey bottle sitting innocuously on the counter. He walked over and plucked the empty mug off the rug next to Winston. The dog didn't twitch. Lecter sniffed the mug.
"It was good," Will promised. He flashed Lecter a thumbs-up.
Lecter gave him a fond aren't you adorable? look. "I'm sure it was. Though not particularly advisable with your medicine regimen."
"Eh," Will shrugged. "You said don't get a cold. Alcohol kills germs. Everyone knows that."
The fondness intensified. "Of course."
Lecter carried the mug over to the sink and got to work unpacking the bags. Will shifted on the sofa to give him a better view into the kitchen, congratulating himself for having the foresight to line his couch up with the kitchen door. A whole rotisserie chicken emerged from one bag and two more dogs appeared. Vegetables, stock, spices, a loaf of bread, and other assorted foodstuffs were lined up on the counter. When the groceries were unpacked Lecter removed his suit coat once again and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
"Where do you keep the stock pot?" Lecter asked over his shoulder while washing his hands in the sink.
"Good question." Will meant to find it while Lecter was out. Should never have sat down. Or turned his hot water into a hot toddy.
"What was that?"
"Um...I think it's on the shelf over the laundry machine."
It was not.
Nor was it under the sink in the downstairs bathroom. Or the master bedroom. Or beside the woodpile. Under the piano. In Will's Volvo. In the old shed. In the new shed.
"Maybe look in the barn?" Will held a finger thoughtfully to his lips. "I was fixing a leak in there last month and needed something to stand on."
"I already looked in the barn. And around the barn. I looked under both decks. In all the bedrooms and closets." Lecter's hair was hanging lank over his forehead, dampened by rain. His Italian leather shoes were caked in muck. There was a smudges of dirt on his clothes and across one cheek, his hands were filthy. The good doctor was looking less fond with every trip through the kitchen to ask where else the pot might be.
Serves him right. Showing up at the house looking appallingly attractive. Wanting to keep Will from getting sick and feed him. Where did Lecter get the nerve?
Lecter washed his hands again, before crouching down to open cupboard doors. He shifted his weight to lean forward with his bum sticking out. For a serial killer he had a really nice bum. He probably worked out. Will had never given it much consideration but he supposed murder in the style of the Ripper required endurance and strength. Probably good cardio, too.
Lecter emerged from the cupboard holding a medium-size sauce pot. He stared at it as if the very thought of trying to make soup in it was enough to make him re-evaluate his life choices.
Asshole, Will thought meanly. Lecter deserved to have to make soup in a too small pot for the rest of his life for trying to drive Will batty. Will could drive himself batty just fine without any help, thank you. Seeing things that weren't there was a special kind of hell. That and the hearing things. Stupid doctor. Stupid encephalitis. Stupid chimney.
"Oh!" Will wobbled to his feet. None of the dogs moved a muscle. "I know." Will made it to the living room on shaky legs, with the floor tilting back and forth beneath his feet like the deck of a boat. Lecter trailed after him.
"Will, sit down," he said. "You look as if you're going to fall over. I'll make due with a different pot."
Will ignored him, going straight for the fireplace. He lifted aside the fire screen and reached into the fireplace, fighting to get the grate out of the way before dragging out the stock pot.
Lecter stared, lips parted.
"I needed to keep the bricks in something," Will explained.
***
Will blinked awake in a darkened room, dim light coming from down the hall. Probably a light left on in the living room. He was stretched out on the couch, covered in a quilt from the living room he didn't remember having when he closed his eyes. He was alone except for Winston beside him on the rug. Outside the window the rain had stopped and the sky was clear enough for stars. Will swung his legs to the floor and rubbed his face.
The last thing he remembered was watching Dr. Lecter clear the table after eating. Will had watched him all through the meal prep - including the scrubbing the newly emptied stock pot - to ensure there were no people parts snuck into the soup. Will didn't think such things were offered at Whole Foods, but who knows who Lecter might've encountered there and brought back as ingredients. Best to keep an eye on things, he thought, ignoring Lecter's suggestion to nap.
By the time it was to eat Will was more than ready to set his head down on the table next to the bowl and sleep. He managed to inhale two bowls of soup, three slices of french bread, and another glass of juice, leaving his stomach feeling full and settled. And warm. So nice and warm and sleepy Will would've jumped up and accused Lecter of drugging him if he'd had the energy.,
"Why don't you lie down, Will. I'll see to the clean up," Lecter had suggested, annoyingly reasonable. Will couldn't think of a single reason not to do just that. Other than being unconscious with a serial killer in the house.
Now everything was still and quiet. The faint leftover smell of food hung in the air. The kitchen was clean with everything put away. Will yawned and pushed himself to his feet. Winston followed, bypassing him for the living room when Will ducked into the bathroom. He used the toilet, washed his face and hands, and brushed his teeth, unsure if he'd remembered to do so after vomiting at mid-day. He cringed at the idea of having been in Lecter's company with puke breath. Will clicked off the light and shuffled back into the hall, feeling better rested than he had in ages.
He found Hannibal Lecter sitting in the living room reading a forensics journal. The dogs were arranged in a way that made it look like they had Lecter surrounded. More likely they were arranged in a way to get treats faster despite Will's admonishment to never take anything from him.
"Will," Hannibal noticed him and set the journal aside. "Glad to see you awake. I was beginning to think you might sleep through the night."
Having just slept five hours Will thought there was no chance he'd sleep through the night now. "Have they been out?" he asked, tilting his chin at the dogs.
"They have. Even Winston, though he returned to your side immediately after." Lecter leaned forward in the chair as if about to impart a great secret, eyes sparking with mischief. "I do not think he trusts me."
Smart dog.
"Thanks for letting them out," Will said. "And for cleaning everything up in the kitchen. You could've left it for me. I mean, you cooked and everything."
Lecter frowned. "It would have been rude to leave you with a mess."
Rude to kill and eat people, too, Will thought. But apparently leaving dirty dishes is a step too far. "Would've thought you'd gone home by now, Doctor. It's dark and you still have an hour's drive ahead of you."
Lecter rose gracefully to his feet. "The drive doesn't bother me. I did not want to leave until I was certain you were well enough to be alone." He stepped closer to Will, eyes sweeping over him. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?"
Feeling a little scorched having Lecter so close and looking at Will with unnerving intensity. "Fine. I slept well, yeah."
Before Will could react Lecter's hand was on his forehead. "No fever. Any nausea? Aches? Congestion?"
Will shook his head the best he could with Lecter's hand on him. Instead of pulling away the hand slid down the side of his face, coming to rest on his neck. Lecter's other hand joined in on the action on the other side of Will's neck and fingers started feeling around just under his jawline.
"No swelling."
Will gulped. There would be pretty soon unless Lecter removed his hands. And fever. Things were starting to heat up. Any second and his curled up toes were going to start sweating.
Lecter smiled, looking smug. He pulled his hands back, but didn't step away. "You see? Fluids. Rest. Good food. I firmly believe those are the keys to staying healthy."
"I'll take your word for it." Will forced a smile while edging around and away from Lecter. When that brought him too close to the bed for comfort, Will inched in a different direction.
Lecter eyed him with delight masquerading as concern. "Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?"
Will shook his head. "No." He inched another step away. He was so careful to keep eyes on Lecter he nearly stepped on a dog. Max lifted his head and glared. Will paid more attention to his feet.
Lecter pivoted to follow Will's movement. Making him seem to loom in the shadows being cast behind him by the light next to Will's one good armchair. "Are you certain? I would hate to have overstepped somehow and cause offence. I wouldn't want to damage our friendship."
Will almost snorted, turning it into a cough at the last second. What was he supposed to say to that? Don't worry about it? What's a little medical malpractice between friends? Friends don't let friends commit murder and mayhem?
He ignored Lecter's looming shadows and picked up the discarded forensic journal, flipping through it. "Anything good in here? I'm behind on my reading."
"An article on digital forensics caught my eye. Not so much for the subject matter, but for the name of one of the authors. I thought it a man I knew when I lived in Italy. Upon reading his bio I realized it could not be him. But the article itself was interesting for what little of it I understood."
"I didn't know you lived in Italy."
"Yes," Lecter warmed to his topic, "for a number of years as a young man. I stayed mainly in Florence, but spent as much time exploring other cities and the countryside as possible."
"Lotta driving," Will said.
"Indeed. I did my exploration on the back of a motorcycle I owned at the time."
The journal slid through Will's suddenly numb fingers. "A motorcycle?"
"A Ducati. No better way to see a country. I was tempted to bring it with me when I came to America, but opted to sell it. A car seemed a better choice for this region of the world. Though I admit I do miss the feel of riding. All that power and control between one's legs. There's nothing like it."
Will made a small noise in his throat. It might've been a sob.
Lecter's eyebrows rose. "Do you ride, Will?"
"I have...ridden. As a passenger. Sometimes." Denny may have been the first, but he wasn't the last.
The corners of Lecter's mouth twitched upward. "Perhaps you and I might go riding sometime. I've contemplated purchasing a new motorcycle for pleasure use here. Another Ducati. Or perhaps a Triumph. Of course I'll have to purchase new leathers as well."
Will hung his head in defeat. "Fuck it."
He stepped over the line of dogs, grabbed Lecter by his stupid cheekbones, and kissed him. Lecter froze. He was staring when Will pried himself off those pouty lips.
"I'm not sure this is appropriate," Lecter said.
"Sure it is." Will kissed him again.
No further objection was made.
***
Later, when the bed was well made use of and the dogs sufficiently traumatized - Winston left the room altogether - Will was staring up at the ceiling contemplating his life. Another killer. Another motorcycle enthusiast. He'd never managed to combine the two before. Will hoped his dad never caught wind of this. Or if he did that at least the motorcycle rider might distract from the killer part. He sincerely hoped if Lecter was ever arrested Jack wouldn't call up Jeb about that, too.
Mr. Graham? Hello, I'm calling to inform you your son's psychiatrist/stalker/friend/sex partner has been arrested for multiple murders. What's that? A motorcycle?
Will squeezed his eyes shut and cursed his horror of an imagination. He knew full well he should get up, put on pants, and call up Jack Crawford to tell him Will caught the Chesapeake Ripper. That Jack should hurry right over and get him before Lecter caught on and climbed out of bed looking for people to rip.
He made a small whimpery sound. He could picture Jack's face walking into the house. And the subsequent car ride to Chilton's hospital for the criminally insane where Jack would no doubt leave Will on the doorstep.
A warm hand snaked across his hip and bare stomach. Will made another sound, higher than the first.
"Something the matter?" came a drowsy voice, accent thick with near sleep and satisfaction.
Will accepted his toes were never going to uncurl. He hoped it wasn't too noticeable. Good thing his socks were still on.
"No," Will patted the possessive hand.
"Regrets?"
"None." His life would be so much easier if Will knew how to regret have the stupid shit he did. He spent time contemplating that while Lecter - Hannibal - dozed beside him.
"Say my name."
"What?"
"My name. Say it."
"Hannibal."
A deep groan. Hands, teeth, tongue, lips (Hannibal). An undignified squeal (Will).
But there were things to be addressed. Preferably before the warm hand on Will's belly inched any lower than it was currently going.
"Hannibal?"
Hannibal made a deep, rumbling noise. Like the purring contentment of a big cat at rest. Shifting closer he opened his eyes to slits, eyeing Will like a snack. Hopefully the sex kind, not the cannibal kind.
"Yes, dear Will?"
"We need to talk about the Chesapeake Ripper."
Slowly, Hannibal smiled.
end.