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There is an almost imperceptible pinch to Hannibal’s brow as he goes through the mail that morning, but Will notices it.
He eats his breakfast—protein scramble—and waits for Hannibal to tell him what it is in the letter he’s picked up that disturbs him so. There is easy peace here in their new life, their beachfront house in Havana. It’s everything Will refused to admit he wanted, from the scratches on his back right down to the wedding bands around both of their fingers. They’re cleaned of bloodstains weekly, and Will wouldn’t have it any other way.
Just looking at Hannibal now sends a stab of longing for him, never mind that they woke up together as they have every morning for the past year and a half. Hannibal isn’t the only one nourished by the sight of his beloved. Just the view of him in his robe, tan from the beach, happy and content and made so by Will, is enough to make him melt.
“The custodian in charge of the matters of my ancestral home is retiring,” Hannibal says casually, interrupting the silence. However, Will notices the white knuckle grip Hannibal has on the letter, crumpling one corner of it.
Will waits, sipping coffee.
“I have always held a great deal of respect for him.” Hannibal frowns at the letter, reading it over and over. “There are many matters that he will now need to pass to me, while I wait to find someone to replace him. And, there is much to attend to at the estate that I have not even thought upon in decades.” Hannibal puts down the letter and picks up his spoon. The crux of the problem emerges. “He is suggesting that I come home.”
Will tilts his head.
“He doesn’t know what has kept me from home all these years,” Hanniabl says, answering his unspoken question.
“Will you go?” Will asks.
Hannibal meets his eye. “Will you?”
“If you ask. If you want me to.”
Hannibal grasps his hand on the table, kissing the back of it, running his lips along the back of Will’s ring. “Come with me, Will. Come with me to…to the place I swore to never return. Be with me, and keep me strong through this endeavor.”
Will smiles, he can’t help it. Everything is a romantic overture with Hannibal, and Will has long stopped being surprised by it. He’ll come home to corpses on their doorstep or in the living room with artful displays surrounding them. This is tame by comparison. “Yeah. Yes.”
Hannibal’s shoulders deflate of tension. “I will write to my custodian, then. There are a few things I must pick up before we can go. You are welcome to either come with or stay, although I will warn you now that it will be terribly boring to traipse behind me through short visits throughout various countries.”
Will smirks, thinking that that’s exactly what they did once upon a time, cat and mouse, one leaving hints for the other. Sometimes bodies. “Things? Like?”
“Safety deposit boxes.” Hannibal leaves it at that, other than to assure him that they will not be compromised. He has long skirted the law. Now is no different.
Will chooses to stay and prepare for the trip on behalf of them both while Hannibal takes care of his business. Will thinks on many things as he packs suitcases, going through Hannibal’s closet and feeling like a stranger in it. Hannibal never even talks about home, and he has not once expressed an interest in setting foot back in Lithuania.
Hannibal let on nothing about how he feels about it this time around, other than the white knuckle grip, but Will is no dummy. He knows the horrors Hannibal has been running from all his life, the ghosts that haunt him. Will knows he still has nightmares occasionally.
Will has no idea what to expect going into this. That Hannibal is even putting himself through this at all is quite strange. Will takes a breath and prepares himself to pick up the pieces should Hannibal fall apart. Once, it would’ve been all he desired, but now…not like this.
Hannibal returns from his trips with a few briefcases in hand and a smile on his face. Will’s worries calm. Rather, Hannibal soothes them.
On the plane to Lithuania, Will watches Hannibal’s features as he sleeps. A peace and a vulnerability he doesn’t give to anyone else.
Will notices the moment Hannibal wakes, tension returning to his shoulders. Hannibal stares at him with such naked adoration it makes Will’s breath hitch. “I would know your thoughts,” Hannibal says in his scratchy, newly woken voice, with a tenderness that makes Wil smile.
“Thinking about the last time I went to your ancestral home.” Will feels for Hannibal’s hand, exhaling as his fingers are instantly gripped. The warmth of Hannibal’s ring settles in Will’s palm, and he aches. He’s home. “We’ll be alone this time. No Chiyoh. No one to disturb us.”
Hannibal nods. “But for the ghosts.”
Will sighs. He’s been trying to live in ignorant bliss. “But for the ghosts.”
On the ground, the drive to the castle is tense with silence. Will doesn’t know what to say, and he sure as hell doesn't know what Hannibal is thinking, so he says nothing at all.
Then, at last, they arrive and park almost exactly where Will did four years ago. So far, all looks the same except for overgrown shrubbery. Will was half expecting vandalism.
They both stare up at the tall expanse of the estate. Perhaps because he’s seen it before, Will is far more interested in Hannibal. His eyes are fixed on the castle with a blankness that doesn’t permit anyone within.
Will’s tongue feels lodged in his throat. Hannibal makes a small sigh, and leads the way toward the castle.
Instead of breaking and entering, Hannibal reaches into his pocket for a key. With it, he neatly unlocks the chain and the lock on the gates. “One of the things I had to retrieve from a safety deposit box,” he says. He replaces those in his briefcase and retrieves a heavy keyring, what must be dozens of keys strung on it. “This was Chiyoh’s.”
Will raises a brow. “Did you see her?”
“No. She left it for me. I think she knew that I could not hide from this place forever.” Hannibal holds the gate open for Will, who’s carrying all of their bags.
Just as Will did years ago, they stop by the graveyard on the way in. Will watches Hannibal’s face tighten as he looks at Mischa’s grave. They move on quickly from it. Will is glad—the fog hanging in the air adds an air of mystery enough already.
Hannibal unlocks the grand front doors, through which Will never went.
Hannibal brightens a bit as he turns to let Will pass. “Welcome, my love, to my childhood home. I’m glad we get to see it together this time.” Hannibal looks up and around through the foyer, hanging with cobwebs. “It hasn’t changed much.”
Will laughs and sets down the bags. The doors swing shut behind him, creaking mightily on their hinges. “I feel like I’m in Count Dracula’s castle. This place is foreboding, and quite impressive.”
Hannibal beckons him to follow, not that Will would stray anywhere else. They tromp up two flights of creaky stairs, Hannibal leading the way down a myriad of hallways. Will is already lost. It’s dark other than the broken windows through which light comes.
They head down a long and narrow hallway with a window at the end. Taking out his keyring, Hannibal reaches for the door to unlock it, but it swings open under his palm. Hannibal gives voice to Will’s silent question. “My parents’ bedroom.”
Will takes it all in, the dark plum walls and large window overlooking the grounds. Everything smells old and musty with disuse. “I assume these rooms have been largely untouched since you were a kid.”
Hannibal nods.
Will sets down the bags in the corner, noting the sizeable layer of dust coating everything including the bed. He preemptively reaches for the handkerchief in his pocket for when he sneezes. “Is it going to be too much for you, sleeping in here?”
Hannibal meets his eyes. “No. There are many places on these grounds that will give me difficulty, but this should not be one of them. Although I do believe a change of sheets is in order.”
Will smiles. “Where do you do laundry in this place?”
Hannibal relaxes. It’s almost imperceptible, but Will knows him better than anyone. “In the basins downstairs. Come, allow me to give you a tour of the basic necessities as I remember them.”
Hannibal strips the sheets and leads the way. Will is too afraid to broach the question of if anyone has slept in this room since the day Hannibal’s parents were killed. The very same sheets.
Hannibal is handling this remarkably well. One could argue that he handled three years of prison remarkably well, but that was his choice. This is the most out of control he’ll have ever been since Will’s known him.
Hannibal finds a lantern and lights it with a match, carrying it with him. Will shivers, noticing the cool draft drifting through a broken window. They descend the stairs to a beautiful living room near the front of the castle. His eyes stray to the sizeable fireplace, sitting full of old ash. His cold bones ache in sympathy.
Hannibal shows him a not terribly run down bathroom, the washroom where he starts the linens, the kitchen—and how his eyes darken in the kitchen. The interior is well preserved overall.
Hannibal points to a door off the kitchen and slips one of the keys from his keyring into Will’s palm. “The firewood stash should be through there, unless Chiyoh moved things around. If you would, my dear. I am going to see to the papers that brought us here.”
Will heads through the door Hannibal indicates. He vaguely remembers Chiyoh going to fetch wood from behind that door, but it’s been over four years since he was here with her that night she left this all behind.
Will checks out the stash and finds it rotted through with moisture, as there is a hole in the roof where the water drips through. The insulation in the walls is certainly not what it should be, either.
Will finds Hannibal, after a few minutes’ search, in a study. This place is so big, they’ll be texting one another to say where they are soon. “I’m going to chop wood for the fire. There’s not much in the stash, and what is there is rotted through.”
Hannibal nods and waves him on, distracted with the papers in front of him.
It’s difficult finding an open door that leads outside, but once Will does he sets his eyes on a few trees at the edge of the forest. The axe he brought with him in hand, Will strips off his jackets and gets to work. Selecting and felling a tree reminds him of being a kid listening to his father’s instructions.
He falls into his world with a meditative sense of routine. He didn’t expect to find much productivity awaiting him here, but he has a feeling he’ll find only too much.
Despite the fog, Will gets sweaty quickly. He’s glad for hard labor. It quiets the mind—if only Hannibal would be caught dead with a felled tree beneath him, he would probably benefit.
Several felled trees and split logs later, Will nearly jumps out of his skin when he notices Hannibal watching him from the porch. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right to not be alone in this place, this house of ghosts. He forgot Hannibal was there.
Hannibal is staring keenly at him. “Hey,” Will says. “Lost track of time, I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for when you look like that, my dear.” Hannibal leans against the wall and roves his eyes slowly over Will’s form. His train of thought is obvious.
Will licks his lips, stubbornly reminding himself that it’s the middle of the day and he has work to do if he wants to turn this place into somewhere they can live in comfort for the foreseeable future. “Is it alright with you if I do some repairs around the house just for practicality’s sake? Small things to bring the house up to date. I’ll tell you everything I do, I promise.”
Hannibal frowns. “You needn’t be so hesitant about it. This place has not been my home for a long time. My home is you.”
When Will still looks expectantly onward, Hannibal huffs. “Yes. You may do whatever you wish, wherever you wish.”
Will sure as hell isn’t going to do so without asking, but he accepts it for now.
Hannibal descends the steps and wraps his arms lightly around Will’s waist from behind. A peaceful sigh escapes him. “There is something terribly appealing about you seeing to our new home so expertly.”
Will sighs, wanting both to lean further back into Hannibal’s arms and crawl out of them. He fears he doesn’t he’ll never leave. “I was trying not to rile myself up with you standing there, lookin’ at me like that. I’m trying to focus.”
Hannibal squeezes him and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “I don’t think this is the first time I’ve disrupted your focus, my love.”
Will sighs again and wriggles out of Hannibal’s grasp, his right hand still firmly gripping the axe. “Move, if you want a warm fire tonight. You’re a terrible influence.”
“I must confess, the thought of sharing with you the couch that my parents once did is inspiring.” Hannibal leaves off, taking a step back in a cloud of cologne. It’s so thick it makes Will dizzy, gulping airfuls of his husband’s scent.
It’s rather pathetic, how insatiable they are for one another. Over a year that they spend every moment in each other’s presence, and yet they still come together each time ravenously.
“I came out here to invite you in for dinner. Bring some of the fruits of your labors inside with you, and wash up." Hannibal turns heel and sweeps inside. Will is half expecting him to come out in a high collared cape and two fangs in his mouth.
Will goes inside and takes a few minutes to clean out the old ash from the hearth, and starts a fire before heading to the kitchen. Hannibal serves them a basket of chicken from god knows where—what’s more surprising is that it’s not prepared by Hannibal. Will bites his tongue.
Hannibal explains himself as, “I need to go to the market in town to stock up this kitchen, and I am not quite up to hunting tonight.” Whether he means hunting game on the grounds or someone on a lonely road is unclear. Will smiles into the wine Hannibal bought at the airport. His husband has priorities.
Will’s curiosity to explore every inch of this place wars with jetlag, and he finds himself heading upstairs before he can think about it. They change the clean sheets in a silence that seems unbecoming of this place. This whole situation is one level of bizarre after another. They’ve done much more horrifying things according to polite society, but what they do only matters to them.
The sight of Hannibal in his pajamas makes the change a little easier to adjust to. His smile and the taste of him as he bids Will goodnight send butterflies up through him for the thousandth time. He drifts off to sleep in old sheets with Hannibal wrapped in his arms, believing that perhaps he could grow to love this place as he grew to love Hannibal.
At first, Will isn’t sure what wakes him. A glance at his watch in the moonlight proves it’s just after two AM. Upon reaching out; however, he finds empty space where Hannibal should be, proving why he woke. They’re finely attuned to each other in every way.
Will sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Hannibal?”
Hannibal is standing at the window, looking out over the grounds with his back turned. He doesn’t reply.
Will turns and goes back to sleep, leaving Hannibal to wander the hallways of his memory palace, knowing there’s little he can do to pull him out.
When Will wakes up in the morning, Hannibal is gone, but that’s not surprising. Disappointing, yes, as the fog outside is thick enough and the morning cool enough to make Will yearn for nothing more than a warm body beside his, simple cuddling or perhaps a hand shaking down Hannibal’s front…
He sighs, mourning the thought of Hannibal’s warm smile under these warm blankets with him. He’s sure they’ll have many more opportunities to stay in bed. Will doesn’t know how long they’ll be here.
Will rises and hesitates over his choice of clothes. He pulls on a robe, feeling like this place demands to see him in more than his t shirt and sweatpants.
Hannibal is fully dressed and at the stove, whisking eggs into a pan. His face is blank, but when he sees Will, he smiles and his shoulders smooth out. He drinks Will in like he did the first time their eyes met across the barrier of prison glass, like he’d been starved and only just fed by that sight alone. “Good morning, mylimasis.”
For a moment, it’s just like their kitchen in Havana, just like any other lazy morning in. Will smiles, glad for the familiarity of it. And then Hannibal’s words make it through his uncaffeinated head. “What did you say?”
Confusion and then dawning realization fall in quick succession over Hannibal’s face. “Forgive me, being among these walls again has made my first language creep back into that position. Beloved is what I called you.”
Will goes to pour himself a coffee only to find that Hannibal has already done that, done up with milk that he found god knows where in this place. It belatedly dawns on him that Hannibal probably went to the store early this morning.
Only once Hannibal has taken his seat, plates before them both, does he speak. “I imagine you’re wondering how you will fill your time.” Will nods. “You are free to explore anywhere that you like. I want it to be clear that there are no holds barred. You are as free–or as trapped–as I.”
Will is likely much freer than Hannibal, but he doesn’t speak aloud that brutal reminder of everything Hannibal has yet to face.
“The house has many secrets to reveal to you which I’m sure will appreciate your unmasking of them. And,” Hannibal says, “I will be kept busy doing some tedious paperwork. I’m afraid I warn you now.”
“I’m sure I’ll find things to amuse myself,” Will says, thinking of all the secrets this place must hold, long forgotten corridors and archways. Will fears there won’t possibly be enough time to discover everything this place holds.
“I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of exploring with you, though,” Hannibal says casually. “Before I set myself to work.”
Will smiles. “I missed you in bed. I would’ve rather had you there than out here making breakfast for me.”
Hannibal smiles, but Will knows him, and can see that it’s strained. “Another morning,” he promises, confirming Will’s suspicions that this place is affecting him after all. If he were feeling alright, he would’ve invited Will back up to bed straight after breakfast.
Instead, they walk through the house after breakfast, silently stalking ghosts through old hallways. He leads the way, and Will finds the two of them heading downstairs without realizing. Then, they step in front of an all too familiar door, and Hannibal’s eyes linger over it, a storm brewing within them.
“Hannibal, no.” Will puts a hand on his shoulder, guides him back. The lucidity returns to Hannibal’s eye somewhat. “You don’t have to go in there. There are some places where it may be too much even for you. You have nothing to prove.”
Hannibal regards him. “If I do not go, I will spend the rest of my life wondering how I’ll feel when I step in there. It has been a long time, and there is some healing that has taken place.”
“Time isn’t everything.”
Hannibal smiles. Will can see tears straining in his eye. “Time heals all wounds, as they say.”
“Wounds may heal over, torn skin may come together again, but the scars remain.”
Despite that, Hannibal pushes past him and through to the cells where Will met the prisoner, where Hannibal was held with his sister after their parents’ murder decades ago.
A few seconds pass where Hannibal is perfectly still before him. He’s looking right at the ajar cell door, the low light glowing from the lantern in Will’s free hand. Will, for the second time, doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he should leave Hannibal to his memories, or if his presence is imperative to keep Hannibal tethered to this reality.
When Hannibal still remains still as stone, Will makes his choice and steps around to face him. Hannibal’s expression is faraway, but that’s not what draws Will’s eye. A pair of tears run down Hannibal’s face on either side. In his eyes is nothing but a deep well of grief.
Will’s stomach clenche. He’s losing Hannibal before his very eyes. He slowly reaches out, not knowing what’s going through his mind, not keen on getting stabbed again.
Hannibal draws his eyes up to Will’s. The fog clears, but the tears remain. His voice, for one of the very rare times, wavers. “She was just a girl. She—she didn’t deserve it. I ate her to honor her, to keep her with me always, but she—I—“
He breaks off, closing his eyes. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
Will sighs, “Oh, Hannibal,” and gathers him into his arms. Hannibal at first sags like a limp doll, then clings tightly to Will’s shoulders, wrestling him close, desperate grasping for stability. A clutch for balance.
It’s tighter than he’s ever held him before, other than when they fell off the cliff together, baptized in mutual destruction and rebirth.
Hannibal weeps quietly into Will’s shoulder for a girl who’s been dead forty years, the only other person he’s ever loved. He doesn’t pull back even the slightest bit, so neither does Will, stroking Hannibal’s hair.
“Your name,” Will murmurs softly, desperate to pull Hannibal out of that well of grief and memories he’s stuck in, “is Hannibal Lecter, it’s 10:39 AM, and you’re with me. The only thing that could hurt you is me. We are alone.”
Hannibal’s breathing smooths out, and his shoulders deflate of tension with a long exhale in Will’s grasp.
“And what a sweet hurt it would be,” he says softly into Will’s coat, finally raising his head. His eyes are glistening, cheeks wet, expression raw with ten kinds of emotion. Will is painfully aware of the vulnerability he’s being offered.
Shifting Hannibal in his arms, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Will is gentle, careful, handling Hannibal with the care of a spooked deer.
When he’s done, he draws Hannibal close again and kisses his forehead, tucking Hannibal’s face into his neck.
What happened here is done, and there is nothing Will could’ve done or can do to change the past. However, he can do something now, for the future, by attempting to heal Hannibal of the trauma this place brings forth.
Hannibal lifts his head, eyes fixed on something at the end of the room. Will sees what it is, the rotted remains of the artwork he made. “Chiyoh was more creative than I gave her credit for.”
“Oh, no, that’s—“ Will gestures. “My work. The prisoner who was here, after Chiyoh killed him, I strung up. Covered him in snails and broken glass, gave him wings. Made him a mockery.” A pause. “I wish you could’ve seen it fresh.”
Hannibal’s lips are parted in awe, he runs a reverent hand up the sculpture. “You made a sculpture of him. A memory.” He turns. “Why? To honor him?”
“No,” Will whispers. “To honor you. To honor Mischa. I hoped someday that you would see this. I never dreamed I would see it with you. I forgot about it.”
“You always manage to surprise me just when I think I’ve seen it all,” Hannibal murmurs, gripping the back of his neck and using the hold to pull him close for a kiss.
#
Will is a light sleeper. Sleep has never been his friend in the first place, with the nightmares of his past occupation infiltrating his sleeping hours. Tonight, the thought of Hannibal in his arms in the dungeons made him apprehensive to sleep, preferring to stay awake to watch Hannibal breathe peacefully.
He’s not sure at first what wakes him tonight, either. Hannibal never stirs in his sleep. He’s muttering, murmuring furiously to himself, in a mix of English and melodic Lithuanian. Will catches a few of the words. “Mischa—darling, no—”
In his sleep, he reaches out as best he can, a crease wrinkled into his brow. Will belatedly notices the glimmer of tears against his face. “Mischa.” He whispers her name over and over, caught in anguish, in pleading. He sounds more like a scared boy than the accomplished doctor, but why shouldn’t he?
With a grim smile, Will knows what he must do. He tentatively grasps his husband’s shoulder, bracing himself to feel the sting of a knife somewhere. “Hannibal.”
But Will doesn’t get stabbed. Hannibal also doesn’t stir. Will shakes him more firmly, growing more concerned by the second. After his murmurs grow louder and louder, Will shouting his name, Hannibal at last stirs. His eyes fly open like those of a newborn deer.
Will studies him carefully. He hovers, keeping close in case Hannibal needs his touch but ready enough to pull away if that’s what Hannibal needs too. “Hannibal, you with me?”
Hannibal’s chest heaves, and his wild eyes search Will’s in the dark. Will fumbles for his lighter, thanking god he doesn’t have to strike a match since his fingers are shaking enough as it is. With the light of a candle; the room bursts into light, suddenly enough and with a crackling sound that makes Hannibal flinch. Will’s stomach only deepens in dread.
He tries his best to keep his voice even. “You’re Hannibal Lecter, it’s 3:13 AM, and you’re in Lecter castle.”
Hannibal brushes a hand through his hair and mutters, “I am all too aware of who I am and where I am.” His voice is rough. He turns away, to wipe away the tears without Will seeing.
Will swallows as shame rises up in his throat. “Right. Of course. You’re here with me, Will Graham, your husband. You’re safe. We’re alone, and there are no ghosts in the room with us, Hannibal.”
Hannibal slowly regains his breath. He turns back to face Will with something like reverence in his eyes. “Tell me she is dead,” he murmurs. “That she isn’t coming back.”
Will is taken aback, but manages, “Mischa is dead, and she’s not coming back. Not now, not ever. She can’t haunt you anymore, Hannibal, not even in this place. You’re free of her.”
“I failed her.”
Will’s heart skips. “You were a child. Your parents had just been killed before your eyes. What were you supposed to do to save her when you were in no position to save yourself?”
“There is no good answer to that,” Hannibal says, “and every good answer, and the possibilities will continue to torture me as they have the whole of my life. It is not so easy to let those doubts go in the face of logic.”
“I know. I’m not saying that’s what I’m trying to do. I just…want you to hear it from me.” Will sighs and reaches to gather Hannibal into his arms, cradling him. Will thought he felt fragile in the dungeon, but that is nothing compared to the shell of a man in his arms. “I knew it was a bad idea to let you go in there.”
“It was necessary,” Hannibal says, “like antiseptic in the wound before the bandages can be applied. Being here and standing in that place understandably brought those things to mind. The nightmares will pass.”
You don’t know that, Will thinks, but he’d have to be a cruel bastard indeed to say something like that. Hannibal’s inner demons are probably saying enough for him at the moment. It’s a tense sleep that he falls into, but at least he does sleep. He’s not sure he can say the same or Hannibal.
Despite that, Hannibal is remarkably better the next day. Calmer and happier, his normal self, overly affectionate with the way he kisses Will’s cheek as he’s making breakfast and squeezing his shoulders as he places dishes before him. They failed to wake up together, but Will can’t be that mad about it when he spent the night worrying and now sees his worries were for naught.
And at dinner—oh, the dinner. When Will is called downstairs, he’s greeted by a doting Hannibal clad in a red suit. A dark, deep, blood red suit, of the rare solid color. The tie is white with swirls of black interspersed. Will’s lips part, wondering how this thing came to be.
The first words Will manages are, “Did you bring that with you?”
Hannibal chuckles. “Have you seen me leave the grounds to visit a tailor? Have you seen me pick up a package in this shape?”
Will smirks. “I’m sure you could manage it. Anyway, what’s the occasion?”
Hannibal is all smiles, his jovial mood bouncing off the walls of this candlelit kitchen. “I would like to make it up to you, mylimasis, after the difficult first few days we have had here. I do not want you to think you’ve signed yourself up for long weeks of holding me together. I assure you I am in a much better state now, and soon I will be able to share with you the joys of this place.
“Mischa’s ghost seems to have passed me by for the moment. As we went back to sleep last night, myself wrapped in your arms, I dreamt only of you, with all your power over me revealed. You could be my undoing, but at the same time you are my other half; and no one can comfort me like you can, in just the right ways to soothe me in my moment of need. You were truly perfect, Will.”
Eyes sparkling, he kisses Wil’s knuckles. “I digress. What I mean to say is that I am ready. Remove the memories which still haunt me and replace them with new ones. Make it so that the only thing I will be able to think upon seeing the master bed is you, and your warm body, and your divine hands. Nothing else. I invite you to take me, Will.”
Will swallows, though his mouth is dry. Hannibal is still smiling tenderly. “This little speech couldn’t have waited until after dinner?”
Hannibal smiles widely. There is a spark in his eye that has been missing since they received the letter at their breakfast counter in Havana. “I enjoy riling you up. It intensifies the end result.”
Will can’t eat fast enough.
After dinner, after the dishes are done, Will wastes no time before grabbing him by the tie and roughly kissing him. They stumble up the stairs. Hannibal is all passion, all hands straining around Will’s shoulders, all desperation gasped into Will’s mouth as he pulls them as close as possible. Will drinks him in, eats him up. He peels Hannibal out of that delectable red suit later by layer.
Hannibal gasps quietly, reverently, “My God—“
Will takes a leap and lays a palm over Hannibal’s mouth. “That’s not the name of your husband. I’ll hear only my name from your lips.”
Hannibal stares up at him with naked adoration. Will removes his hand, and Hannibal is immediate. “Will, mylimasis, I adore you more than you could ever conceive—“
“You don’t need to talk, Hannibal,” Will says gently, brushing Hannibal’s sweaty hair out of his eyes. So quickly did the neatness of the gel get ruined, as Will always works to achieve. “Just feel. Just be here with me.”
Will takes him to the gates of heaven themselves, Hannibal's eyes wide and vulnerable. As Will asked, his name lies on Hannibal’s lips, passing forth in a reverent gasp.
#
Hannibal spends most of the day working on the paperwork that drew them here in the first place, a slow matter that Will can’t help with. Will walks slowly into the office. He hasn’t known where Hannibal’s limits lie in this place,
Will has felt more blind and more unsure here than he has in years. Of course, Hannibal hears him approach, probably long before Will ever stepped into the room.
His voice cuts. “You need not walk on eggshells around me, Will.”
Will shrugs. Hannibal is vulnerable and embarrassed about it, or perhaps vulnerable from being embarrassed. It’s not something he’s used to. “I’m just trying to give you space.”
Hannibal doesn’t take his eyes from the paperwork in front of him. “I warned you of boredom. Do you regret coming along yet?”
He says it like he’s certain Will shall, it’s just a matter of time. The thought makes his heart clench. “Of course not. There was a time in my life where I would’ve done anything to be bored, to have free time on my hands.”
Will shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s going to take more than that to scare me away, Hannibal. Just tell me if you’re bored of my presence. I don’t want to have to guess.” He doesn’t want to play that game anymore.
“I could never grow bored of you, Will, not even after one hundred years.”
Will smiles, looking around the dim little office. It’s just as dark as Hannibal liked to keep his in Baltimore, but there’s something much less comforting about this room. It doesn’t feel like home, if any of it does. Will is still not certain he’s not in Dracula’s castle, doomed to die. “What’s the water source for this place?”
“A lake a half a mile north. There is a well on the property that we draw from, or at least, it was when I left. I do not know what changes Chiyoh made to make her life more comfortable. The running water here is questionable, as you and I have seen.” Hannibal puts the pen down, facing Will. his eyes rove over him like he’s starving for him. Will still bears the marks from last night, evidence of Hannibal’s passion. “I wish you luck catching anything in that lake. The fish are not known for biting.”
Will smiles. “I don’t picture you as the fishing type, somehow. I don’t think that’s a theory you’ve tested often.”
Hannibal doesn’t confirm or deny. “Do you have all you need?”
“Yes. I brought some supplies.” Will smiles. “Not like there’s a town for that sort of thing here, anyway.”
“There is. A few miles down the road, there lies civilization. You can buy whatever you need there.” A dark look passes over his face, but only for a second. Will frowns, noting to dig into that later.
Will steps close and kisses Hannibal on the cheek. “I’ll be back later,” he murmurs. “Don’t die of boredom. Love you.”
He doesn't miss the smile on Hannibal’s face after he’s turned his back, caught by the reflection of a dusty mirror on the wall. Will ‘s chest warms with a sense of accomplishment, going to their room to find his travel sized fishing tackle. He’s been hesitant to leave his things in any other corner of the house, feeling like he’s intruding in a home that has not belonged to anyone for hundreds of years despite Hannibal’s explicit permission.
The fish, contrary to Hannibal’s belief, bite in hordes. Will can hardly keep up. He’s giddy, with the most innocent fun he’s had in a long time. Much like wood chopping, fishing is hard labor that quiets the mind.
Will returns with a bucket of fish in tow and a grin on his face, feeling more at home than he has in days. He goes straight to Hannibal’s office with his spoils. “Hey,” he says, “brought home our dinner. I’m eager to see what you do with it.”
Hannibal smiles and rests down his pen. “I see I’m being put to work.”
Will sets the bag down on the table. Hannibal’s eyes are dancing with ideas for that fish. Will says, “There’s a path I found through the forest that I’m sure you know about. Why don’t we take a walk after dinner?”
Hannibal smiles dare he say bashfully. “It would be my pleasure, myl—my love.”
“I like hearing that other name you call me. Your voice is so nice, speaking your first language.” Will smirks. “You don’t have to hold yourself back for me. Not ever, but certainly not here.”
Hannibal rises smoothly to his feet, brushes his lips over Will’s ear, making him shiver. “Mylimasis.” His voice tickles over Will’s skin.
He pulls away and continues speaking as if nothing has passed, while Will fights for breath. “It is unlikely that I would know this path you found. It’s been many decades since I was here, after all, and even as a boy I was not in the habit of traipsing through the woods. What with the years the nature has had to grow, and whatever Chiyoh has done—it will be new.”
The second time that Will has discovered a part of Hannibal’s home first. Will nods and goes to build up the fire while Hannibal busies himself in the kitchen. Hannibal makes some divine spice blend that he dishes over the fish when he grills it, and Will nearly moans aloud. It’s so good.
Full and sated and happy, after dinner Will guides Hannibal into the woods as he promised. The fog still hangs in the air, though not as thickly as this morning. They’re both bundled up in warm coats, walking side by side, their hands or shoulders occasionally brushing. Will’s heart flutters with domesticity, in the place he thought would hold nothing but pain for them.
Hannibal breaks the silence. “Of all the things I imagined this place could be, peaceful was not one of them.”
Will smiles. “It is beautiful. I thought so on my last visit here.”
Hannibal reaches out for his hand. Trying to contain his surprise, his elation, still treating Hannibal like a spooked animal, Will takes it. His chest unfurls with warmth anyway.
When they get back, Will drags Hannibal to cuddle in front of the warm fire he builds back up. Hannibal turns tender under the care of Will and with the help of brandy. He makes a teasing comment about Will providing the material comforts for them here, chopping wood for the fire and repairing a few of the deadly holes in the floor, fixing the plumbing. Hannibal handles the cooking, but little else.
“It’s my pleasure to protect you,” Will says in answer, stretching an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders.
“There are no threats here, unless you’re planning a surprise.” Hannibal twists to smile at him. Will feels drunk on his own power.
“Only yourself,” Will murmurs, “which is the one thing you’ve always been the worst at protecting yourself from, and the thing I’m the best at protecting you from.”
The slow breath Hannibal releases tells Will their thoughts align. The kiss he coaxes Will into proves that he wants to end that line of thought, or at least distract Will from it.
And in the morning, Will finally gets his wish of waking up with a warm, sleepy, lovedrunk Hannibal. It takes them another hour to get out of bed, because Will is so enchanted with Hannibal’s body and the easy that comes to him despite the room they wake in. He only saw that easy smile in Havana, before.
Before Hannibal can bury himself in work and try to hide from the memories yet again, Will drags him to a room he discovered yesterday. Another long lost treasure, a dusty old library. Upon entering, a smile settles over Hannibal’s face, immediately immersed in memories.
“I found this.” Will hands him a book delicately, as if cradling a child.
Hannibal’s face lights up in joy–rare, unadulterated, unabashed joy. He’s so caught up in it that he forgets to mask it. Seeing it on his face directed at something other than Will makes Will’s breath hitch, wondering if that’s truly how Hannibal looks at him. He knows it is, but it’s one thing to feel it and one thing to see it without emotions getting in the way. Will wonders how he ever bears it.
“I forgot this was here,” Hannibal murmurs, booking reverently at the faded and broken copy of La Commedia Divina, in original Italian. “Nay—that it ever existed.” He reaches for Will to fold him in his arms. “Thank you, Will.”
Will laughs. “All I did was find it.”
Hannibal pulls back to grip him by the shoulders. “Stop minimizing your power, darling. ‘All’ that you have done is remind me of the beauty in this place. It is not just the book. It was never just the book.”
As he so often does, Hannibal steals Will’s words. Hannibal collapses into a dusty chair to peel back the cover of the beloved book. Will circles him.
When he sees the faded pages and cramped words handwritten in cursive, in old Italian, Will says, “Don’t tell me you were reading that at thirteen.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I first read this masterpiece when I was eleven.”
Will rolls his eyes. “That’s not the only thing I found,” he says, not willing to lose Hannibal to Dante for the rest of the day. It’s better than estate papers, but still.
“Oh?”
Will smiles, knowing he has Hannibal’s attention despite the book of his childhood that had him captivated. His charm must be something powerful to pull that off. “This,” he says, moving aside to reveal the antique—well, probably newly bought at the time—record player.
Hannibal smiles once again. “I forgot about that, too.”
Will smiles in return, glad to see Hannibal reveling in pleasant memories instead of terrible ones. He wasn't sure that was possible when this endeavor began.
“My parents would dance to songs from that record player,” Hannibal says, rising to his feet and buttoning his jacket. “I have not thought upon that in a long…long time.”
Will’s smile fades. “Oh.” He abruptly abandons the idea of dancing with Hannibal, choosing carefully from the stack of records all not in English.
Hannibal smiles. “At ease, darling. It is a happy memory. You are kind to be so aware of what may upset me, but in this case, it is unnecessary.”
“Can’t help it,” Will murmurs. “Empath.”
Hannibal fixes him with a look. “You would not do this for anyone.”
“I don’t have anyone else to do this for.”
Hannibal sighs and looks around the room, covered in the corners with spiderwebs. “Yes…we are alone but for the ghosts.” He turns back to Will and smiles. “I would be honored if you could grant me this dance.”
Will’s posture softens. “We’ll clear the dust from the floors.”
Hannibal reaches into the box of records and thumbs through them. He puts one into the record player and takes Will’s hands.
“I would watch,” Hannibal says, “from that table there.” He nods. “Sometimes they would move it to the ballroom.”
Will is enchanted by him, the white suit he donned today, the slicked back hair. He’s never stopped being stunning. Then the words register. “This place has a ballroom? Actual ballroom dancing?”
Hannibal chuckles. “Of course. We shall dance through the halls, my love, until we wind up there. I will see to it.”
Will can feel the heat of Hannibal’s eyes on him. He could be thinking about any number of things with a look like that. He finds himself sitting so his legs don’t give out under him.
“But,” Hannibal says, “something else first.” He steps closer, and his intent becomes clearer. “Will,” Hannibal says just as slowly and carefully as everything, “may I?”
Will sets the book aside and once he sees what Hannibal means to do, ten emotions rush through him in the space of a second. Unsurprisingly, he’s breathless and caught off guard when he replies, “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I’m not sure how I feel about you blowing me in the room your parents used to dance—”
“Will, please,” Hannibal interrupts. “Let me.” His desperation shines in his eyes, his desire to serve .
Will raises a brow and nods assent, for nothing other than Hannibal saying please. Hannibal descends to his knees, and Will ascends in a less literal sense.
Will knows what Hannibal is doing. Hannibal is turning this room from the room where his parents danced happily into the room where Will clenched grounding fingers in his hair . The room where Will gave him back his childhood copy of the Inferno. He is the tool for Hannibal to take back power from the one place that’s ever withheld it from him. It’s hard not to feel honored about that. It’s not manipulation, it’s a form of healing for them both to partake in. Will is acutely aware of the power he has over Hannibal.
Will tilts his head back and breathes. When he’s looking back down, it’s to the heady sight of utter reverence. Hannibal’s eyes are wide and his face high in color, and he’s staring at Will with parted lips like he’s looking into the face of god themself.
Will murmurs, “Go ahead.”
#
Will drags Hannibal out of the myriad of paperwork that has him trapped to actually explore the house. Or rather, Will wants to see Hannibal’s face when he shows him the things he’s discovered.
It takes little bullying to convince him, only a few kisses and the use of Will’s puppy eyes to get Hannibal’s hand into his. Will leads him upstairs to the little study he found, tucked away. In the corner rests an old harpsichord, coated in dust. A bright smile blooms on Hannibal’s face.
Will studies him. “Is this the very one you learned on?”
“Yes.” Hannibal smiles and strokes his fingers over a few of the keys. “It has kept remarkably well, for its age. It is just as enchanting as I remember when I first saw it as a child. I wanted to conquer it, master it, learn it and speak its language.”
Will is once again enveloped with a vision of Hannibal as a happy child, learning the harpsichord with his sister watching on. Without all of the things that happened to him here at this house, he would never have become the man who is now the love of Will’s life. However, it’s not hard to wish he hadn’t had to go through those things in the first place.
“I wonder what you’d be if not for all of it,” Will muses, voicing his thoughts aloud. “If you’d be a concert musician or director or composer somewhere in a fancy theater in Europe. Never a doctor, never a therapist. Never in America.” He pauses. “Never a killer.”
“Never with you.” Hannibal looks at his profile. “That is the most important difference.”
Will whispers, “Sap.” He needs some defense against the way his chest swoops with that statement.
Hannibal raises Will’s hand to his lips and murmurs, “Yours.”
They migrate toward the window, where they stand and look out over the grounds. “When you were a child, what did you want to do when you were older? What sort of dreams did you foster for the future? Did you always want to be a therapist?”
Hannibal tilts his head. He’s always relished Will’s questions. “No. That desire did not make itself known until after I had ended my career as Il Mostro. Before that, I had been…angry. I was not in a position to be providing comfort to anyone.”
Will huffs. “It probably says something about your psyche that you didn’t want to become a therapist until after you were traumatized.”
Hannibal smiles. “I have pondered that many times. The strings of fate are a fickle thing. Without all that has happened, I would not have wound up by your side, and that wouldn’t be any good.”
Hannibal routinely says I love you in about a thousand different ways, languages, acts, words, touches. It would be arrogant of Will to say he’d gotten used to it, as being the one and only love of the world’s most wanted serial killer is not something one gets used to.
But something about this particular admission that takes Will’s breath away, even after all this time. That Hannibal would willingly submit himself to horrors beyond Will’s comprehension, just because it would mean ending up by Will’s side and he couldn’t bear to live a life without Will in it—
What can Will do but pull Hannibal close to kiss him, trying to pour through his mouth all the loving words he can never seem to get right, when Hannibal conquers them so effortlessly? Still, Will tries. Oh, how he tries.
#
It’s a mix of Will’s curiosity and the necessity of the modern world while living in a castle that finally lures them together to the town down the road. So far, Hannibal has only slipped in and out under the cover of night or early morning to go to the grocery store. Will hasn’t been yet.
They don’t mean to stay long, and they don’t mean to make themselves known, so they keep their heads down.
There’s a lonely general store that they head into under the cover of a foggy morning. Hannibal says nothing looks familiar to him in this town from childhood. He didn’t often leave the castle grounds when he lived here as a boy.
They make their purchases quietly—a mix of fishing equipment, various foodstuffs, particular parts for fixing things around the house. The man at the counter looks them over. He speaks English, perhaps picking up Will’s obvious Americanism from his lumberjack outfit. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
Will stiffens. Hannibal takes the job of answering. “We are looking after the Lecter castle for the time being.” It’s the truth. Hannibal takes great pleasure in his little jokes, the insinuation you’d have to be as clever as him to notice. Luckily, Will is so clever.
The man sneers. “What, that ugly old place? I hope the pay is good, otherwise why bother. They say it’s haunted, you know.”
Will turn to Hannibal to see if he’ll ask for a business card, but his husband betrays nothing but casual indifference. Fishing in his wallet for cash, he murmurs, “Yes, I imagine it is.”
The man sniffs and glares at them both, perhaps noticing their wedding bands and how closely they stand.
Will looks toward Hannibal once the man turns his back—not for approval, but for opinion. Hannibal is frowning, his expression blank. They complete their purchase and leave that man with their careful indifference. Will keeps looking at Hannibal in the street, and again in the car home, but there is nothing said. Will is acutely aware that they haven’t properly hunted here just yet.
It dawns on him belatedly that Hannibal might not want to taint the grounds of his ancestral home any more than they have been. “I want to kill him,” Will says, pushing Hannibal’s opinions into the light.
“Then do so.”
“You won’t participate?”
Hannibal shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road. “I will cook the meal. I will take pleasure in deconstructing your methods, as you once did for me. Otherwise, no, I will abstain.”
Will frowns. It’s not hard to understand why—the one place Hannibal could never go would naturally be the one place he can’t kill. In Havana, they kill as often as they can afford without drawing suspicion. They have killed together more times than Will can count, and each is more glorious than the last. “Will you watch?”
Hannibal meets his eye across the dashboard. “If you ask me to.”
Will slowly forms the words. “Watch me. Watch what you have whispered into the light. Watch…my design.”
Hannibal’s lips part, and he nods. His eyes tear back to the road.
Hannibal didn’t bring their plastic suits with them. That’s not a hindrance. Will doesn’t need any of his pristine cleanliness to hide his tracks. They lure the man to the castle, and a sense of what his fate will be enters his eyes the second he lays eyes on the two of them.
That’s when Will pounces. It is a show, a serenade, Hannibal watching from the shadows as Will pours blood all over their new living room floor.
The lamb finally falls lifeless after the crescendo of Will’s show. When Will turns to him, bloodstained and breathless, Hannibal is heedless of the blood he’s getting on his white cuffs when he cups Will’s cheeks.
Luckily they’re well experienced with cleaning the blood out of pristine whites. Plastic suits are not always a guarantee, after all.
#
All in all, two months pass in ease and coexistence, longer than Will ever thought they would spend there. Will didn’t know what to expect. It was not the peaceful slowness to their days, peppered only occasionally by one of Hannibal’s nightmares.
Their last night in Lecter castle, Hannibal is wine drunk and handsy, fiery, eager for every bit of Will he can get. An extravagant dinner rests in their stomachs, the remains of another rude townsperson that Will did the work on. They wind up in bed, the wine wearing off from the shine in Hannibal’s eyes until there is nothing left but adoration for Will. To see it so nakedly is still a heady feeling.
Afterwards, lying on his side, staring into Will’s eyes, Hannibal asks, “Do you still feel as if you’re a guest in Count Dracula’s castle?”
Will huffs. “No. I certainly don’t feel like a prisoner. I’ve gotten more used to the oddities and the sensation that I'm living in the 1700s.”
Hannibal hums. “In keeping with the novel, I would have to eat you in order to protect myself.”
“I think we’re past that part.” Will smiles and noses his way up Hannibal’s neck, letting his curls brush against him.
“Are you?” Hannibal murmurs, fire in his eyes.
“Thank you for bringing me along. It was quite the experience.”
Thoughts tumble over Hannibal’s face, and Will waits for them to turn into words. “With your warmth and your presence as powerful as the sun and a thousand heroes of old, you have banished the ghosts that lurked in these hallways, the demons trapped in the basement. My soul is light upon looking at these walls for the first time. It is not just I who am free. It is the house.”
Will’s breath hitches. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? They are true. You are the love of my life, my muse, and in many unwitting cases, my knight in shining armor. I love you, Will.” Hannibal smiles slowly, and Will sees the world reflected back in his eyes. They hold each other up. Will would have been just as lost in this place full of ghosts without him. “Such is your power.”