Chapter Text
It’s Christmas Eve, and it’s snowing. Will walks in a winter wonderland past houses lit up with twinkling lights. Trees festooned with stars and baubles. A group of carollers passes him by, wrapped in scarves and tinsel, happily chatting to each other.
Will isn’t much of a holiday sort of person. But tonight, he feels festive. He scuffs through the falling snow, a red scarf around his neck, snow settling in his curls.
Last year at this time he was spending Christmas Eve in the library, surrounded by crime scene photos and forensic data about the Chesapeake Ripper. He hardly noticed the glitter, the decorations, the celebrations going on around him. His plans for Christmas Day included obsessively reading psychological profiles, popping aspirin, and drinking too much whiskey. By himself.
Tonight, one year later, he’s got a bag of gifts under one arm, a bottle of wine under the other, and he’s going to a party.
Ahead of him, the carollers ring on a doorbell and as soon as it’s answered start singing “Deck the Halls.”
Will smiles and sings under his breath as he walks. “Deck the halls with bowels of Holly, fa la la la la, la la la la.”
Cannibal jokes. That’s another thing that has changed since last year.
He rounds the corner, grinning, a spring to his step, and pulls a handwritten invitation out of his pocket to check the address. That’s it, there: number 25, the big white house on the little hill, with the huge wreath on the door and every window lit up with candles. Even from here, he can hear the sound of laughter and singing from inside. Will makes his way up the carefully-shovelled path and knocks on the door.
The door is almost instantly opened by a small beaming woman wearing a sparkly Santa hat. “Will Graham, as I live and breathe!” Dr Wendy Gold, his former head of department, says in delight. “I wasn’t sure you’d come to the party, since you’ve quit being a student.”
“Your Christmas parties are famous,” says Will, bending down to kiss her on either cheek, a move which delights the professor even further. “I couldn’t pass up the invitation.”
“Well, come on in,” she says. “You’ll know one or two people here, I think. It’s a runion of your thesis committee. We’ve got Frederick Chilton, Alana Bloom, even Jack Crawford. And, of course, your erstwhile supervisor, Dr Lecter.” She twinkles at him.
Will’s heart leaps at the mention of Hannibal’s name, though he’d be hard-pressed to say exactly why. They were in bed together not two hours ago, after all: a lazy, seductive snowy afternoon, warm and drowsy in the heat of each other’s bodies while the weather raged outside. So he couldn’t possibly be missing Hannibal. And their last words to each other, between lingering kisses, had been “I’ll see you at Dr Gold’s party”. So he’s not surprised that Hannibal is here, either, even though they arrived separately for discretion’s sake.
Maybe his heart beats faster at the mere mention of Hannibal’s name simply because Hannibal Lecter makes him happy.
Dr Gold takes the wine and presents and relieves him of his jacket and scarf, leaving him in his soft red sweater. (It’s Hannibal’s red sweater. Will didn’t have anything red to wear, and the invitation said specifically to dress in Christmas colours. Will hopes that no one recognises it.) She gives him a headband, which has reindeer antlers on it. Against his better judgement, he puts it on.
“And we’ve got all kinds of things planned,” continues Dr Gold cheerfully. “Charades, carol singing, Secret Santa...and of course—” she lowers her voice to a whisper— “the mistletoe.”
“It’s a parasite,” Will says.
“Pardon?”
“Mistletoe. It feeds on its host. Of course—” and here Will lowers his voice to a whisper, too— “no one would dream of feeding on you, Dr Gold.”
She giggles and slaps his arm. “Oh, you joker. I never knew you had a sense of humour, Will. I always pegged you as more the obsessive type. Much as I was sorry to see you go, maybe it’s been good for you, giving up your studies.”
“I haven’t given them up,” Will tells her. “I’m still just as interested in the Chesapeake Ripper as I ever was. Maybe even more. It’s just that these days, I prefer to take a more...hands on approach.”
Dr Chilton passes, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Just be careful not to make the same mistake that my student Matthew Brown made, and end up dead and flayed,” he says drily. “There’s a danger in getting too close to the Chesapeake Ripper.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s possible for me to get too close,” says Will. He accepts the glass of champagne that Dr Gold gives him and he surveys the crowd for Hannibal. He doesn’t see him yet, but he does see Dr Alana Bloom, holding a beer and looking beautiful in a red wrap dress with a large silk poinsettia flower tucked into her glossy dark hair. She smiles at him and kisses him on the cheek.
“Will,” she says warmly. “How good to see you. You look...really well.” She stands back and gazes at him. “Really well. You’ve gained a little weight, you look well-rested, and...happy.” She beams at him.
“It must be the time of year,” Will says.
“It’s contagious, whatever it is,” Alana replies. “Hannibal is also looking much healthier these days. I was worried about him for a little while, but tonight he’s positively sleek. And his mince pies that he brought—have you tried them yet?”
He sampled one at Hannibal's house before he came tonight. “I haven’t seen Hannibal yet, so no.”
“They’re to die for. Made to the original medieval recipe, apparently, with real mincemeat in them. And crusts made with lard.”
“Not exactly vegetarian friendly,” says Dr Gold. “Fortunately, I’m not a vegetarian. I’ve had six.” She pats her nonexistent tummy.
“I’ll have to try them,” says Will.
“How’s your little puppy?” asks Alana.
“He’s great.” Except for the fact that he chewed on Hannibal’s hand-stitched Italian shoes this morning. Will’s a bit worried about what will happen when Hannibal discovers that. Probably not much; as fearsome as he can be, Hannibal has a soft spot for Leon.
“Graham,” thunders a voice from the other side of the room, and the crowd parts to let Jack Crawford through. He’s unusually festive, wearing a red shirt and a green tie with his charcoal suit. He claps Will on the back. “Good to see you, Will, good to see you. I hope you’re excited to start at Quantico in the New Year.”
“Very excited,” says Will truthfully. He lowers his voice. “Any news on Agent Castello?”
“We found some interesting things in a storage facility that he’d rented,” Jack murmurs, close to Will’s ear. “I’ll catch you up on it later.”
“Hannibal must be sad to see you go as his student,” says Alana. “I know he took a lot of pride in your work.”
“Speak of the devil,” says Dr Chilton, looking distinctly underwhelmed as Hannibal appears, holding a silver platter of mince pies. He’s wearing a forest-green plaid suit with blood-red shirt, red silk tie and red handkerchief. Someone has, incredibly, tied a string of gold tinsel around his neck, but he wears it with his normal impeccable style.
Will’s heart flips over. His man, so handsome.
His man. Forever.
“Dr Lecter,” he says, cordially.
“Will,” says Hannibal, with equal cordiality. “Would you like a mince pie?”
“Oh, no thank you Dr Lecter. I’m really not hungry.”
“I’ll have another one,” says Jack, and Will watches as Jack bites into the minced pastry-clad remains of the man whom he and Hannibal killed together yesterday: one of the youths who taunted and bullied them months ago when they kissed outside the sushi restaurant. Will tracked him down, and he and Hannibal hunted together. It was one of the most beautiful and thrilling experiences of his life: seeing the Chesapeake Ripper in action, and bathing his hands in the blood of their victim as he reached inside his chest, and pulled out his hot dripping heart. A dream come true.
And only the first of many, many experiences like this that he and Hannibal will share.
“Delicious,” says Jack, munching on the person whose death he’ll be investigating tomorrow.
“I’m glad it’s to your taste, Agent Crawford,” says Hannibal. He turns again to Will, a gleam in his maroon eyes. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to indulge? It’s Christmas, after all.”
Dr Gold coughs loudly. She points to a spot over Will and Hannibal’s heads.
They look up. Hanging from the light fixture is a bright green, white-berried sprig of mistletoe.
“You know what that means,” says Dr Gold, clapping her hands together with glee.
“Oh,” says Will.
“Surely it’s not appropriate,” says Hannibal. “After all, Will and I are—”
“Will’s no longer your student,” says Alana. “And Hannibal’s no longer your supervisor. In fact, there’s no professional link between the two of you at all.”
“You can get married if you want to,” drawls Chilton, and takes another glass of champagne. He gulps it down and reaches for a third.
Hannibal’s eyes narrow. “Why do I get the feeling that we’re being set up?”
“Set up?” says Dr Gold. “Surely not. I don’t make the rules, Hannibal. You’re under a sprig of mistletoe: you’ve got to kiss. It’s just the way it is. Christmas tradition.”
Hannibal catches Will’s eye. His own eyes are dancing.
“Well,” he says. “If that’s the way it is, who are we to argue with Christmas tradition?”
He hands the platter of mince pies to Crawford, and steps the last little bit closer to Will. He puts his fingers underneath Will’s chin and tilts it up. Then, slowly, he lowers his lips to Will’s.
Will shouldn’t. Unlike Hannibal he is the very opposite of theatrical. But maybe some of Hannibal’s joie de vivre has infected him these past months, or maybe it's the Christmas spirit...or maybe he just loves Hannibal too much to be able to hide it. He kisses Hannibal back, not shyly but eagerly, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck, opening his mouth to him, and pulling him closer.
Hannibal’s kiss is so intoxicating that it takes a moment or two for Will to realise that everyone around them (or almost everyone) is clapping their hands and cheering.
“I knew it,” says Dr Gold to a beaming Alana. “As soon as I saw the two of them I knew they were perfect for each other. But I knew they’d never think of doing anything while they were working together. They’re both far too professional. But now...”
“Far too professional,” agrees Alana. She wipes a tear from her eye. “I love a good happy ending.”
Frederick Chilton grunts in disgust. He takes the bottle of champagne from the waiter and slips through the crowd for a bit of quality time by himself.
Jack Crawford merely rolls his eyes. Like the good FBI agent he is, he’s known about this liaison for ages. At least since Hannibal and Will engaged in their little light bondage shenanigans in that hotel room. Still, as his wife Bella can attest, underneath his gruff exterior, he’s a born romantic. And even he has to admire the passion of a couple who can kiss under the mistletoe for this…...long…..
When Hannibal and Will finally at long last break apart, it’s to wolf whistles and applause. Hannibal laces his fingers with Will’s, and gazes at him with so much love in his eyes that it makes Will’s heart hurt. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, squeezing Will’s hand.
“Merry Christmas,” whispers Will, wondering if he’s ever meant these words so much before.
Then Dr Gold rushes up to them, kissing them both on their cheeks. “Mazel tov,” she says. She tucks a sprig of mistletoe behind Hannibal’s ear, and then another behind Will’s. “I am taking all the credit for this. I’m a justice of the peace, you know. Licensed for weddings. Let me know when you set the date.” She winks, then she turns to Alana and links her arm through hers. “Now, all that remains is finding you the perfect partner, my dear. Someone rich, good-looking, and smart. Did I ever tell you that I’m acquainted with the heirs to the Verger fortune...?”
The two of them wander off, and the rest of the guests turn back to their conversations, leaving Hannibal and Will and their sprigs of mistletoe. A little island of love in this celebration.
“That was easy in the end,” says Will, tugging Hannibal’s silk tie.
“Shh,” says Hannibal. “We’ve got to keep our cover as brand-new lovers. Pretend you can’t keep your hands off of me.”
That’s easy enough. He runs his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, messing it thoroughly, in the way he likes best. Then, with the attention of all the guests elsewhere, he kisses Hannibal.
“As brand-new lovers,” he murmurs against Hannibal’s lips, “maybe we should slip off somewhere more private. Like your house. Just to keep our cover.”
“Hannibal! Will!” calls Dr Gold from the next room. “Stop canoodling and join us! We’re about to play charades!”
“I think we’ve played enough charades, don’t you?” whispers Hannibal, sliding his hand up the back of Will’s—his—red sweater to touch naked skin. “I think it’s time for you and me to strip off our person suits.”
Will shivers with heat. “Stripping sounds like a very good idea to me.” Though he knows that Hannibal means more than just sex. He means the way they know each other, intimately and wholly, each other's true selves. An acceptance and love that neither of them ever thought they would be able to find. He tugs on Hannibal’s hand. They grab their coats and, without disturbing the other guests, walk out into a world made new with snow.