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Chapter Text

Hannibal and Will had been the Graham-Lecter’s for nine years when Jack Crawford first decided to bother them. Will had quit his job as a police officer and they had moved to Baltimore. They got a big house, and it was blissfully calm. If you ignore all the screaming and gore, that is.

Zoe and Buster soon got other friends. Jack was the first, followed by Max and Harley, and then finally Ellie. Hannibal tried to fight against each new pet but soon forgot what the conversation was even about when Will started kissing him and telling him all the sweet things he would do to him.

“We’ll go upstairs and don’t worry about dinner. We’ll bring it with us.”

“Mon cher, how I’ll lavish you.”

“How about afterwards, we go out for some meat? You will only need to watch. Though I’m sure you’d rather participate.”

“I’d rip you open with only my teeth and drink your blood till you have no more to give and eat your heart raw.”

Soon, the first offer had come in the mail. The police department in Baltimore wanted to hire him. His reputation, it seemed, preceded him. The detective with almost a perfect record of solved cases. A mind with pure empathy. Will had never intended to become infamous, he was unsure as to when it had happened.

Hannibal encouraged him to take the job. He was an excellent detective, and he wouldn’t deny that he strived to prove himself smarter than the killers he was after. It happened often, that their mind took over his own, but it felt good to understand, to know. And Hannibal had been curious. There really had been no reason not to accept.

Then, a better offer came. The FBI wanted him to teach. Him, in a classroom full of people, lecturing them. Yeah, no thanks. But they would only listen, he wouldn’t have to interact with them. Once again, Hannibal had been supportive of it. He would, however, respect whatever decision Will would make. He took the job.

Will had still feared losing himself, though he knew he would find his way back when he had Hannibal awaiting for him. So, they made a deal. Will would only be a teacher. Not an agent and not a consultant. Hannibal had been stern about it. He would not let him go even for a second. He would protect him. For his sanity.

After, it didn’t take Jack long to visit him.

He had just been finishing up a lecture when the door to the classroom clicked open. He registered the sound but chose to ignore it. Interrupting a class was quite rude. He finished his prepared speech and started packing up.

Agent Crawford stepped up to his teaching station. “Mr. Graham.” He called to Will. Will got out his glasses and swiftly pushed them up his nose. They acted as a shield from his surroundings. Being in the mind of Crawford seemed dull. No need for it to happen. “I’m special agent Jack Crawford; I head the Behavioural Science Unit.”

He offered a hand, and Will took it with barely a glance. I know who you are. “We’ve met.”

“Yes. We had a disagreement when we opened up the museum.” Jack said, eyes searching both the room and Will thoroughly. They both recalled the moment well. Jack viewed it with interest while Will did so with boredom. Hannibal hadn’t been there. What other emotion had there been to feel?

Will didn’t know why he’d decided to attend the opening even when Hannibal was working a shift at the hospital, therefor unable to accompany him. He wanted to see the museum and compare it to his own mind. Perhaps it had a similar layout, certainly the museum would be the more organized one.

But then he found out what exactly they had named it. The Evil minds research museum. What a joke.

He ignored the way his skin prickled, and entered, eyes safely behind his glasses. The displays were colourful. They had most of the information about the killers, their phycological profiles and some information about how they were caught and who caught them. There were facts, but no understanding. No respect either for the dead, their families, nor the killers that had done so because they were sick.

Wrong, wrong. It’s all so wrong! The pressure in Will’s head increased and reached its highest point when a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned, startled.

The sight of a man he vaguely recognised from the halls of the Academy greeted him. His hands were raised, either in defence or as a calming movement was indistinguishable. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes searched Will like he was a display instead of its viewer.

“Can I help you?” Will asked, eyes skirting to the floor. He preferred it when Hannibal talked. It was much more amusing.

“Special agent Jack Crawford.” The man introduced himself, holding out a hand. Will ignored it and could feel an echo of annoyance in his chest that was not his own. “You’re Will Graham.” Crawford stated. Will stayed quiet. When he went with Hannibal to openings, there was at least whiskey.

Crawford had never been a man to let discomfort stop him from getting what he wanted. He accepted Will’s silence and continued carrying the conversation himself. “What do you think?” He wanted to know.

Will took a deep breath and decided to humour him. “Superficial.”

Crawford didn’t seem surprised. “It is. But we couldn’t make it any more volatile. No one would come.”

“No one sane.” Will corrected. “Or no one thinking themselves sane.” Crawford waited for more. “But that’s the point. They’re disgusting. Volatile. This, this is –“ stupid, provocative, simplifying, so fucking wrong, WRONG “– a lie. I see very little good coming out of it.”

Crawford looked to be thinking about Will’s statement. “I disagree. We’re making the public aware of the possibilities and making it easier for them to watch out for themselves.” He sounded adamant, more so about being right than about servicing the public. “We’re warning them. Protecting them.” Are you convincing me or yourself?

Will scoffed. “You aren’t protecting anyone. The Evil minds? It makes them sound juvenile. Like monsters under the bed. But they aren’t. They’re real and some of them are sick and some of them are traumatised and some of them” uncultured swines “were just born liking other’s pain or wanting power. They are dangerous and calling them evil will just make others underestimate and misunderstand them!”

He panted and faced away, only then realising that somewhere along his rant, he had taken off his glasses and had looked into Crawford’s eyes. Want for justice burned at his brain.

Crawford continued staring at him, detached. “But not you.” He said, unblinking and emotionless.

The sharp turn confused Will. “What?” He asked, breathless, hand rubbing his eyes.

“You understand them.” Will didn’t have to see into Crawford’s mind to know where the conversation was headed. He turned from him and walked away with determined steps, glasses in place. Being the only one in his own head was a bliss. Almost, anyway. He could hear an echo from beneath. He is quite rude, isn’t he darling?

Another set of steps followed him. “You know exactly what they are capable of.” Crawford’s tone was accusing. What do you know of my mind?

Will faced him with a sharp turn on his heels, making Crawford have to lean away. “What do you want from me?”

Crawford studied him for a long moment. “I want to borrow your imagination.” He said finally.

“Yeah. No.” He left the museum without a goodbye. Figures that would happen when Hannibal wasn’t there to entertain people or rather make them his entertainment.

“So, you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching position and, I also understand that it’s difficult for you to be social.” Crawford pulled him back to the present with his statement.

“Well, I’m just talking at them, I’m not listening to them. It’s not social.” Will deadpanned, giving up on going home anytime soon.

“I see.” Crawford responded with a slight smile, amused it seemed, and reached out. “May I?” He asked and moved Will’s glasses higher on his nose. What followed were some superficial observations from Crawford and Will correcting them.

“Can I borrow your imagination?” Crawford repeated the question he had asked almost a year ago.

Will didn’t like the glint in Crawford’s eyes. He didn’t like breaking deals he made. Especially Hannibal’s. Those held consequences. But he couldn’t help but hear the man out. Hannibal wouldn’t resent that, right?

Hearing the man out turned out to be just a bit more complicated when it became going to the house of the eighth victim of the newest killer. Elise Nichols had been young and pretty. According to her parents, she had been kind. Another body would soon drop. There was no way Will would ever back down from this case. Not now. Not after he found her body, seemingly undisturbed, laid in her bed. Underneath his lungs, he had felt a father’s grief for the shortest of seconds.

Jack let him have the room and tried to sound comforting when he told him he could talk when he wanted to and stay quiet if he felt like it. He managed to sound calm, cautious and boiling with interest all at once. It’s coddling and Will hated it because it wasn’t Hannibal.

As the door shut behind Jack, Will closed his eyes and let himself see.

Elise looked innocent. Pure and so very alive that it ached her killer’s heart when he wrapped his hands around her neck and hit his knee against her chest, ribs cracking with quiet snaps. He wanted to comfort her, when she tried to scream but couldn’t. He had her too tightly in his grip. Her face was ashen, and the whites of her eyes gradually turned red, the capillaries in them bursting one by one.

She died crying. He felt her pain. But there was no other way. In the back of Will’s mind a voice that was neither Hannibal’s nor his own whispered. I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

“You’re Will Graham.” A new voice pulled him back to himself. He looked around, confused.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. “You aren’t supposed to be in here.” He told her, shaky. He looked back to Elise, feeling pity. He never finished it.

“You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity.” At her words he turned back to the forensic. Somehow it was much more validating to be recognised for his work than for his mind. The woman seemed nice. Interested in him, because he was part of her work, and friendly, despite his unstable demeanour.

“Found velvet in two of her wounds.” She informed him, indicating the tweezers she held between them. “You’re not real FBI?” She asked, suddenly. “They have strict screening procedures that detect instability. Are you unstable?” As curious and amused as she was, her tone held no malice, no fear.

He answered her honestly. “Never went through them. They offered me a teaching position, and my partner and I thought it best to refrain from… this.” He gestured to the body lying in bed. “I tend to get… too connected.”

“To the victims or the killers?” She asked, head tilted, brow raised.

He copied her pose. “What do you think?” He asked, lips staying parted.

She frowned and swallowed before speaking. Her voice was steady, her eyes meeting Will’s. “I think you’re interesting.” He swayed backwards on his heels. He didn’t like being interesting. It was vague. A way to cover up disliking. But then she continued with a soft smile. “And that you’d make a good drinking buddy.”

Will’s eyes flickered to the floor; he felt satisfaction make itself known in his belly. It was warm. “You already know my name and I make a habit of knowing my drinking buddies’ names.”

“Do you have many?” She questioned, though she knew the answer. “Beverly Katz.” A friend. How about that? He stared at her longer than was polite. She let him. In fact, she returned his stare, unafraid. Unhidden.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” Jack’s booming voice interrupted them. Beverly looked to him, undeterred. She told him what she had previously told Will about the body. Will subtly retreated from the conversation, eyes back on Elise. I’m sorry, child. It was an echo. From whom, he didn’t know. And what a pathetic apology it is.

Will knew how much Hannibal hated tardiness. He hated being late. His days were long enough that even a second more without his cher was despicable. Which is why he hurried home the moment his plane landed. He hadn’t told Hannibal the specifics of what he’d done that day. Just said work had ran late. No need to worry his husband over nothing.

Beside the road something reflected. Will slowed down and squinted at it. He rolled down his window as he came side to side with a dog. They were quite big, no longer a puppy, and it was almost impossible to see the colour of their fur because of how filthy it was.

“Hello.” He said to the dog. Around their neck they had a rope tied like a leash. Will drove past the dog and stopped the car. He gets out, thoughts already racing on how he’ll care for them, when the dog abruptly turned jogged the other way. Will sighed. A long day turning into an even longer night.

He got back into his car and drove in the direction he had come from. When he passed the dog once more, he drove some way further and stopped the car sideways on the road. When they came to the car, they couldn’t go further.

As he was about to launch forward and grab them, they turned and trotted in the opposite direction once more. Will ran his fingers through his hair and opened his trunk, sitting in it. He had picked up some food at the airport in Minnesota. It came in handy at the moment.

He ripped the hot dog into pieces the dog could eat and waited for them to smell the food and return. They ate gladly from Will’s hand and let themselves be picked up and set in the car once the food was gone.

It was sometime past midnight when he finally came home. He sighed in relief and quickly walked to the house, Winston in arms.

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice rang through their home the moment the door closed.

“Hey, cher!” Will called to him. The dogs rushed to his side, jumping on his legs to get a good smell of what he was carrying. He somehow battled his way into the sitting room. The sight of Hannibal was like the earliest ray of sunshine. Bringing relief and warmth. The frown on his face changed the image, but nothing could ever ruin it.

“Will, darling. What is that?” He asked, stern, fingers already twitching to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Who. Not what. “This is Winston.” Will responded, cheerfully. He set the dog down and rummaged around the house for the supplies he would need to get him clean. He trusted the others to keep Winston calm. Hannibal followed him out of the room.

“Once again. You have already named it.” The exasperation in his voice was clear, but so was the fondness in his eyes.

“It’s a he. And he can’t not have a name.” He had repeated said argument with all his dogs.

“William.” Will paused at that and turned, bucket, short in height and wide in length, in hand. “We already have six pets. A pack of them. It is beyond me why you felt the need to bring home a seventh.”

“He needs a home.” He gathered all his supplies and went back to the sitting room where the others were giving Winston a wide berth, so he didn’t feel threatened.

“Not here, my dear boy.” He sounded sorry about it. Will ignored him and knelt before the dog, adding the soap to his bucket filled with water. “I shall take him to a shelter in the morning.”

Somehow, those words send him into a panic. “N – no! No, no, no.” He stood and grabbed at Hannibal’s shirt. His eyes were wide and watery. “C’mon cher. Please. Please?”

Hannibal frowned and leaned closer, using his height as an advantage to press his cheek against Will’s forehead. “Cher? What are you doing?” Will mumbled. His eyes fell closed, the contact soothing him.

“You don’t have a fever. But you are warmer than you should be.” Hannibal pulled away, his hands remaining on Will’s cheeks, eyes checking over his entire body.

Will huffed out a laugh and took Hannibal’s hands in his own to lower them. “I am perfectly fine.” He told him, certain.

“You do not beg.” The dogs barked at them, wanting attention. Will should really get back to taking care of Winston.

“I do when it’s you.” Sometimes. Hannibal seemed unconvinced. “I’m not sick cher. Just stressed.” He rested their foreheads together with a sigh. “Let him stay.”

“Every day I wonder how much I would truly do for you and every day you prove to me that it would be anything.” Hannibal met Will’s eyes. “He can stay.” And despite himself, when Winston was clean and happily getting to know his new pack, Hannibal smiled.

Later, when they were lying in bed, Buster, Zoe and Winston around them on the floor and others in the sitting room downstairs, Hannibal called out quietly. “Will? Darling?”

Will hummed in response, back pressed against Hannibal’s chest, their fingers intertwined on his stomach. He didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes. He was far too comfortable.

“What happened at work to make you stay so late?” Hannibal was simply curious and a bit worried of how stressed Will had seemed.

Will’s eyes snapped open. He searched for words briefly. “We had a meeting about the missing girls. They wanted my input.” He snuggled into his husband, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Who did you have a meeting with?”

“Doctor Bloom.” Was the first one to come to mind. “She just wanted to go over something with me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alana Bloom? I find it hard to believe she would need help. And that kept you busy for more than five hours?” He sounded incredulous but not suspicious. Why are you lying, darling boy? He said in Will’s head. Don’t want to upset you.

He swallowed his words when the truth burned at his tongue. “Well, you know. I had to chase after Winston when I found him. That took a pretty big chunk out of my schedule.”

“I’m sure.” Hannibal grumbled, tired and worried and childishly hoping the morrow would bring by better news, a better mood. “Rest well, my dear.” The bed squeaked as he leant up on his elbows to kiss Will’s temple.

“Night, cher.” Will replied, bringing their joined hands up to his own lips. Though exhausted, he was awake long after Hannibal's breaths had evened out. He squeezed the hand in his tight, an anchor keeping him in place when the sea was wild and stormy.

The next morning, Hannibal had breakfast with seven instead of six dogs watching him from the doorway. “You must be patient. Your food will be ready shortly.” He informed them. He fed them before he sat at the table with Will.

Will’s leg extended under the table and his bare foot touched Hannibal's shin. Feeling him there made everything easier.

“Any more meetings today?” Hannibal put down his utensils and set his hands in his lap.

“Not sure. I’ll let you know.” Will spoke through his next bite. Liar.

“If they ask you to consult any more or go to a crime scene you’ll refuse.” It was a question, a statement and a plea all at once. He’s just worried.

“Of course.” Liar. “We made a deal.” Liar! Will shook his head to clear it. I’m just protecting him. He took a moment to study his husband, squinting. “You look like you want to stay home.”

“I want to stay beside you. I always do.” Will lifted an eyebrow at the reply. “And more so when Franklyn is on my schedule.”

Will snorted and covered his mouth when Hannibal gave him a stern look. “Not funny?” He asked. Hannibal huffed, indulging. He smiled when Will leaned over the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We survive today, and I’ll show you just how great being by my side is.” He whispered, mouthing at his ear. It was odd, how one’s mouth watered when he had just eaten.

Despite Hannibal’s deepest desires, it was not Will that awaited him in front of his private exit for his patients. He finished his work before letting the man in. It is not very proper to show up unannounced.

His eyebrow flew up in surprise once he learned of the identity of the man before him. Special Agent Jack Crawford. What a curious thing to happen. His foremost thought was Will. It couldn’t be, so he moved on from it quite quickly. The next was that he was being suspected and investigated. That had too been easy to rule out. As much as Hannibal liked the battle of words, he would much rather do so at home. With Will.

Finally, it seemed, Crawford got to his point. “I’d like you to help me with a phycological profile.” He said, eyes still roaming around the unfamiliar room.

“Of a killer? I believe you have many experts in your office. Even in your Academy. Doctor Bloom one of many and one of the best, if may I suggest.”

“Not a killer. A… colleague.” He hesitated at the word, as if unsure what they were to each other. “He has quite the interesting way of thinking. He reconstructs the murders.” Will. “An empathy disorder, they say.” Will. “He has been consulting with me on a case. The missing girls. Have you heard?” He never waited for a confirmation. “I fear his mindset is too fragile. He seems – between you and me – unstable. And I need him on this case.”

"I shall get my coat." Crawford's answer was a smile. So, Will had gone behind Hannibal's back. Naughty boy.

After his classes ended, Will walked to Jack’s office, glasses in place and brow set in a frown. He passed Beverly and she smiled at him. He returned it easily.

“Will. Sit.” Jack told – ordered – him. He did so, resting his elbows on the chair handles, one hand coming up to massage at his temples. “I invited a psychiatrist to help with the profile.” Jack informed him, back turned. Just then, the door to his office opened. “Will. I'd like you to meet Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” The smile was audible in his voice. Will froze.

“Hello, Will.” 

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Hannibal looked disappointed. Not even angry. Just… fucking… miserable. He hid it well, but his eyes always seemed to betray him. It made Will lower his gaze instantly. He felt like a disappointment too. He knew his dishonesty had been wrong. Just hoped he wouldn’t have to face it.

He thought Hannibal would have started subtly chiding him or even pull him out of the room to fully express himself. Neither happened. Instead, Hannibal walked to Jack’s side and observed the board where the missing girls’ pictures were hung.

“Tell me then. How many confessions?” He asked Jack, eyes never flickering to Will. It felt intentional. Like a punishment. Will’s lower belly fell down to his feet. His tongue itched but no word would leave it.

“Tasteless.” Will murmured finally. He just wanted Hannibal to look at him. His voice prompted him to do so.

His expression was locked in place, no emotion escaping. His eyes still held adoration, the hand he brushed over Will’s shoulder stayed gentle. He spoke as if they were strangers, but his words echoed his worship. He did not wish for it to be otherwise. Will was his and no word and no action could ever change that.

Their words rung out before the silence was ready to settle and the only talk done was between the flames in their eyes. Forgive me.

Jack cleared his throat. He looked mildly uncomfortable. “Have you two met before?”

“Whose profile are you working on?” Will questioned, lips trembling but voice steady. “Whose profile is he working on?” He asked Jack when Hannibal was content to simply observe him.

“Please don’t psychoanalyse me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalysed.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. I know every inch of you, dear boy. Will clenched his jaw. “Now excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalysing.” He thought he caught Hannibal’s lips twitching up at his statement.

He stomped out of the room with frustration rolling off him. Instead of returning to his classroom, he stopped in the hall and leaned against the wall. He thumped his head backwords once and pushed his hair off his sweaty forehead.

Back in his office, Jack sighed and opened his mouth to speak. Hannibal never let him start. “Good day. Excuse me.” He wished him distractedly and stood, hurrying after Will and leaving Jack gaping behind him. He found him panting.

Will startled when arms boxed him in. He turned his head to the side. His eyes were shut. His breaths were deep and too quick. “Why lie?” A devested whisper flew to his ear.

His fingers strayed to Hannibal’s torso, gripping his jacket. Don’t go. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He croaked out with difficulty.

“There’s more.” The words were firm, but an arm lowered, hand coming to hold his own. I’m not going anywhere. The thumb caressed his wrist. Just you and I, my heart.

Will’s eyes fluttered open despite him. He licked his lips in thought. In his eyeline, he could see the way Hannibal leaned into him, the tips of his feet in line with his own, shoulder close enough to lay his head on. “I wanted to help. You wouldn’t have let me.”

He felt Hannibal’s huff on his neck. He shivered. “We would have talked about it. I could have helped you.” Why didn’t you let me? Asked the tightening of his grip. I’m sorry. Said the tear slipping down Will’s cheek.

“Will you now?” Will asked, turning his head. It bumped Hannibal’s.

“Will you stop?” Hannibal countered, hoping.

“Eight girls are dead.” They both knew. There was no reason for a reminder. It was an excuse and a poor one at that.

“We kill more in three months.” Hannibal’s body slammed forward, the hand that had still been resting on the wall coming up to act as a padding for Will’s head when he hit the wall. I don’t want to see you in pain. Don’t you know? Hannibal pressed his face into Will’s neck, feeling the faint pulse on his skin. Will was okay.

“We have a reason.” Will argued once the tremors of the hit finally released him. His hand came up around Hannibal’s back, his fingers tangling in his hair. Let me hold you. Please let me pretend.

“So does their killer. At least he thinks he does.” He spoke still into his neck. His breaths were hot and uncomfortable. He was so close. Will never wanted him to move.

“Let me save her.” He begged finally. The grip he had on Hannibal’s hair must have hurt, but he never let go.

Hannibal pulled back as if Will had just put a stake through his heart. “You or the killer?” Whose head are you in?

Will ignored him, too wound up to even think about the question. I don’t know. I don’t know. Don’t make me know. “I won’t get too close.” He promised, nose now pressing up against Hannibal’s jaw. He felt cool on Will’s boiling skin.

“You already are.” The eyes that turned onto Will were red-rimmed and watery.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing. “What are you going to do about it, cher?”

He heard and felt on his cheek the trembling inhale Hannibal took in. He felt his presence and his weight on him long after he had stormed off. Liar! I’m sorry. Are you?

He stayed like that, back against the wall, gaze lingering on the last space he saw Hannibal in, until he heard a door open. His head snapped to the sound, a little voice screaming apologies and pleads in his head, convinced it was Hannibal.

It was Beverly walking towards him, a concerned frown over her face. He hit the wall with his head again and pushed himself off it. She stopped before him and studied him for a minute. She switched the papers she was holding to one hand, pressing them to her chest to secure them and put the other on Will’s shoulder.

“You alright?” She asked. He nodded in response, lips pressed together tightly. Her face softened further. “You sure?”

“I’m fine Beverly. Thanks.” He assured her, stepping back, making her hand fall down to her side. She seemed pained for a moment.

She shook her head to clear it. A smirk briefly passed her face. “You told me you had a partner, but I didn’t know you were married.” She said suddenly, walking back to her lab, trusting Will would follow.

“Why do you say that?” Will matched her steps, walking turned to the side to look at her.

She paused, halting so suddenly that Will almost crashed into her. Her face was only centimetres from his when she spoke, serious. “I am one of FBI’s best forensics. I know things.” He nodded his understanding. She leaned back, satisfied. “Also, your neckless fell out.” She informed him, flicking the silver chain around his neck that carried his ring.

He quickly tucked it back under his shirt, but not before Beverly got an eyeful of the two rubies and diamond in the centre. She whistled her appreciation. “You married well I see.” His fists clenched. “It’s not a bad thing.” She tried to correct his view on her words.

“My husband…” He started. Beverly’s eyebrows flew high. “He is very particular.” He rubbed the ring between his thumb and pointer finger through his shirt. “He also likes to spoil me.” He added with an amused smile. He has always before forgiven me. No even that. He has always supported, worshipped, my actions.

“You’re really in love.” Beverly observed. She snapped out of her musings and started her path to the lab once more. She fiddled with the papers.

When she looked to her side, Will met her eyes. “I am nothing without him.” There was no doubt in his voice. No regret.

Beverly frowned and bit her cheek. “That doesn’t seem healthy.” She said slowly, unsure. She hadn’t known Will long. She didn’t know which critique might make him explode. She ventured to be honest all the same. He deserved that at least.

A fleeting smile appeared on his face. “It probably isn’t.” He admitted, shaking his head slightly. “But there would never be anyone but him for me. He makes me feel like myself, even when I think like another, even when I crave to be someone else. He makes me glad I am me.” He quieted down as they passed an agent. He barely glanced at them, continuing on his way. “And I can do nothing but try to make him as happy as he makes me.” He finished the thought once they were alone again.

She hummed to his words, thinking. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.” She held the door open for him, back resting against the glass, when they entered the lab. She messily put the large stack of papers from her arms. It fell but didn’t mix up, so she was confident in her ability to find them their right places later.

He rubbed roughly at the spot on his arm she had hit in mock chiding when he had passed her. “I wasn’t, before.” He sat on her desk and watched her search for a hair tie in her bag.

“So, it’s true then?” She asked, tying her hair in a ponytail and pulling on her lab coat. “To be loved is to be changed.” She clarified with dramatic gestures, waving her arm around in the air, chin high, when he looked at her blankly.

Will snorted. He answered all the same. “To love is to want to be the best version of yourself so your beloved could have the least they deserve. To love is to see and accept and worship. To become insatiable.” He fiddled with his ring again, mind far away. “To be loved is to accept yourself. The way you were meant to be. Because no matter what, you feel safe in their embrace. At home.” He thought of the scent, the warmth and the assurance. He never lost it yet still missed it dearly with each second away.

“Damn dude.” Beverly deadpanned, her form still, thoughts halting momentarily.

Will let a smile grace his lips. Whether it was embarrassed, self-deprecating or amused, it was hard to tell. “You should hear my husband speak. He’s better at it.”

Beverly hummed in consideration. She picked up a sample of a piece of evidence from a crime scene Will wasn’t working on and brought it up to her microscope. “I think you’re pretty good. He’s lucky to have you.”

Not all the time. I feel more like a curse than a gift. “Believe me. I’m the lucky one. There is no one more interesting or smarter or more well-spoken. No better cook and no better poet. He’s all proper, but he’s really provocative when he wants to be. Above all – he’s curious.” He spoke breathlessly, head tipping back slightly.

Beverly snorted. “Wow. You should stop there. No need to make me feel even more single.”

“You’re single?” He asked in surprise. She seems so kind.

“Nope.” She replied with nonchalance. She leaned closer to him, speaking in a faked hushed voice. “Tell me – will your husband miss you terribly if I take you for a few drinks tonight?” Will matched her grin in response. “Great! Now get out. I’ve got work to do.” He rolled his eyes but exited her lab with a wave.

Perhaps Hannibal would help. Please, mon cher. Trust me. Even though I do not trust myself. I need your faith. Let me see what you see in me.

The hope soon faded from his mind when he took in the naked and discarded body of Cassie Boyle. My dear child… She had been a daughter. Now, she was art. The antlers cutting holes into her scarless body, healing whatever wrongness that had made her end up on them. In death, she had a chance to be better. The artist in Will smiled.

A part of his mind cried, screeching in pain. It hurt. She made a horrifying image. It was beautiful. Yet it made him taste the metal echo of blood. Not sweet like Hannibal’s but bitter, spoiled. She had been dishonoured. It was wrong. Hannibal what have you done?

It was both a masterpiece worth viewing over and over again and the ugliest thing in the world. It was so wrong but so right. Will’s eyes stayed dry even as his soul wailed.

He skipped the outing with Beverly. Told her he’d like to be with his husband tonight. He was quite sure she thought he had lied about being stable. Had he said it? He couldn’t remember. He knew he came off as anything but.

When he got home, late in the night, he slipped his shoes and jacket off in silence. When Hannibal called his name, he didn’t answer. When his outwear was in place, he stood there, swaying with exhaustion and indecisive. He stayed there long enough Hannibal went looking.

“Something wrong, my darling?” An innocent question. Will faced him slowly, head rolling on his neck painfully. He felt his heart move up to his throat.

“Wrong?” Hannibal remained staring silently. “No.” He answered, dragging the word out. Hannibal blinked. Will spat out his thoughts. “Cassie Boyle. Was she to help me or to overwhelm me?” His whole body trembled.

Hannibal raised an unaffected eyebrow. “She helped you understand, didn’t she? It is what you wanted.” He said steadily, trying hard to ignore the hitching of Will’s breath. Don’t cry, dear boy.

He didn’t. He let out an incredulous laugh instead. It still sent a jab through Hannibal’s heart. “You knew I was in the mindset of someone who would love her. You knew it would hurt me.” He might as well have been screaming. Hannibal flinched at the words all the same.

Hannibal stepped forwards, stopping only when he could lean his head down and have it rest against Will’s. He hissed his words into his beloved’s ear. “Do you realise now what will happen if you continue with this? Whether you want it to or not, this is what you will have to face day and day again. Can you accept that?” Then quieter. Not calmer, no. It was the surface of a still water, waiting. “I cannot lose you.” Don’t make me lose you. I won’t let you. “You used to fear losing yourself. Where is that fear now?”

When Will pushed him away with a hand on his chest, it hurt them both to their very souls. “I’m not giving up. Don’t stand in my way.”

“Or what?” Hannibal challenged, stepping closer once more. Will let him. Felt his breath on his lips and met them with his own.

They separated soon. Too soon. It always was, but it had never before felt incomplete. “Or nothing. I am asking you. Please, don’t stand in my way.” It appears I was right before. I do sometimes beg, when it’s you.

Hannibal closed his eyes. He could not deny him otherwise. “I am not letting anyone hurt you. Not even yourself.” He promised. To himself or to Will, it didn’t matter.

All breath left Will. He walked away quietly. Hannibal turned, looking after him, not daring to follow. “Will?” He called out once more. It only took some moments until he could no longer keep himself away. He found his boy in the kitchen. The only light was the one shining in from the hallway. It was enough to make out the knife in hand.

He rethought his grip a few times and finally settled it. He slipped the knife over his own palm. It split the skin in the middle with little pressure. He smiled grimly and turned to where he knew his husband stood in the doorway.

“I would invite you to think over your actions.” A warning he was used to hearing from Hannibal. He didn’t care for it. He lifted the knife menacingly almost to Hannibal’s neck. He cackled and pressed together his trembling lips.

“I wouldn’t kill you, Hannibal. We both know I wouldn’t survive it.” He reminded him. You know so. “But you never were against me tasting your blood.” He nicked his neck so only a few drops escaped.

It was Hannibal that took the first swing. Will’s quivering lips soon turned up in a smile. Hannibal was… invigorating.

The hit landed on Will’s cheek. It made him bite down on his lip, drawing blood. He left it there for Hannibal to crave. The rich red entranced him. Even with so little light, he knew its shine. He was perfectly still; muscles locked in place. He licked his own lips.

The dogs barked from the sitting room, never passing the threshold. They were unsure as who to protect. Their master or the one their master wanted protected.

The hand holding the knife had been knocked lower, now positioned between Hannibal’s legs. Will moved his fingers, manipulating the knife so the tip turned towards his wrist. He pulled up his hand, glaring at the place on Hannibal’s thigh the strike would have hit had he not moved it towards himself at the last moment. Instead of a stab, it was a slice. A superficial one.

Hannibal held back a grunt. He caught Will’s wrist with ease. His boy was too worked up to really think. Will moved with his free hand instead to hit him with an open palm. Hannibal gripped that wrist right by his ear. He wanted it to be over, but he would let it go on if his dear wanted. His head tilted, eyes straying once again to Will’s lips. He pushed Will’s hand outward. He kept his arms pinned by his sides as he leaned in and licked off the blood. He shut his eyes forcibly, the sweetness the only thing on his mind, the only thing he detected on his body.

“Will…” He exhaled, the words staying unfinished. His lips still pressed against Will’s. It was Will’s sob that broke them apart. He tipped his head back, wishing. His neck was in perfect view to Hannibal. He took the opportunity and mouthed at it, leaving behind a stain of Will’s own blood. His fingers let go. It didn’t matter anymore. Will. My Will. His mind chanted over and over again.

Will paced himself in a moment of fury. He bent at the knees, a hand slipping under Hannibal’s thigh, the other wrapping around his torso, tipping him off balance. Once most of his weight laid in Will’s arms, he threw him into the wall.

Pain spread over Hannibal’s back and soon after his side when he crashed to the ground. When he looked up it was to Will looming over him, knife still in his grip, dripping red drops all over the floor. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He studied Hannibal with such disoriented focus it was easy to jump to his feet and slam him into the wall instead.

Will ignored it all, pressing them both tightly to the wall and rolling them against it so he leaned over Hannibal. He panted loudly into his mouth. He kissed him hungrily, letting him suck blood from the wound still there.

“Hannibal.” He finished the thought Hannibal had previously started. The knife laid discarded on the floor, covered in both their blood.

“I broke my promise. I lied.” Will whispered into the shadows. His head was bowed down. He was ashamed. “I did not do so to hurt you. I could never. It pains me to think I did even with no intention of it. Forgive me, my love.” He felt a hot drop run down his cheek. He was unsure whether it was sweat or a tear.

“You did not trust me.” He was asking for confirmation and hoping for denial.

Will pushed himself away, staring at the floor and wishing he could look at his eyes. “I did not want to disappoint you.” He admitted.

Hannibal took his chin in hand and tilted it up. “You could never. You enrage me. It makes me alive.”

Will swallowed harshly. He started to speak and gave up at the very beginning multiple times before finding himself. “Will you help me? Truly help this time. No more games. Just – let me save her.” I don’t know who she is, but she is important.

Hannibal took a deep breath that resonated in the stillness of the night. It was quiet for a while longer. “I will forgive your lies if you forgive me this.” He said finally. Will huffed out a devastated laugh. “I cannot be the reason. Not for your suffering.”

“Alright.” He responded cooly almost immediately. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

He didn’t let Hannibal get a sound in and just left, dogs trailing after him. He took a spare blanket and pillow from a closet in the hall and brought it with him to the sofa. It wasn’t meant to be slept on, so it wasn’t very comfortable.

Only some minutes of Will lying motionlessly passed before Hannibal joined him. “Sit up.” He told him, already getting a hand under him and pushing him upright. “Lift your shirt. Let me see the bruises.” He reached for the hem and was stopped by Will’s hand. He gave him a pointed look. “I need to know if you are hurt.”

After studying him cautiously, Will slowly pulled his hand back. “Thank you.” Hannibal breathed and it sounded truthful. He hummed at the sight of a blue shoulder. “Does it ache?” He asked and received a shake of the head in reply.

He sat on the edge of the sofa, right beside Will’s knees, and put his hand on his thigh, the other coming up to hover over his lip. “You are beautiful covered in blood, but I never again want to see you stained in your own.”

“I echo the sentiment.” Will finally said. Hannibal’s look warmed. “You didn’t bandage the cut yet.” He complained, noticing the rip in Hannibal’s pants and the raw wound underneath.

“Your injuries were a more pressing matter. Your hand?” Will startled at the ask until he remembered cutting into his palm. He extended his hand to his husband. Hannibal bandaged it and stood, unbuttoning his pants before taking them off. He sat again and studied his own injury.

“My bruise and little cut were worse than your sliced up thigh?” As incredulous as Will sounded, it was something they both did. Did they really deserve to be healed while their love was hurt?

“Of course.” Hannibal finished bandaging up his thigh and walked to the table. Though barely, it was noticeably that he took longer to put weight on his right leg. His muscled contracted and more blood oozed out with each step, he didn’t wince once. There was no pain when his darling was safe.

“Does your back hurt? I threw you into the wall pretty hard.” Will stepped up behind him, needing to touch him.

Hannibal turned and stared him down. Will stared back. Hannibal’s lips twisted into a soft smile. “Go shower. You cannot sleep like this.”

Will looked down at himself. “I’m not going to sleep in the bed. I don’t see the problem.”

Hannibal heaved a heavy sigh. “There is quite a lot of blood on you.” He smirked as his gaze travelled to Will’s neck. He then scowled as he registered all of Will’s words. “And shall you insist on that?”

“I said it already. Better get in practise on not breaking promises, right?” He grimaced at his own words and left the room to go clean up. He didn’t much want to sleep in clothes that smelled of death. He would walk in them in his dream either way. No need to wake in them too.

He let the water wash the smell and the thinking off his body and his mind. He closed his eyes and felt the echoes of Hannibal’s hand around his biceps, over his stomach, on his cheek. He got out and laid back down on the couch once dressed in boxers and a T-shirt.

No matter how long he stayed still, focused on his breathing or the ceiling or the image of Hannibal’s eyes that had been imprinted in his mind long ago, he couldn’t fall asleep. The dogs were all snoring in various places around the sitting room. He felt cold and kept clutching the blanket expecting a hand to grip back.

Some twenty minutes later, he heard bare feet sounding over the floor. He remained still and listened, back turned.

A warm body settled behind him. “You did not honestly think I’d let you sleep in discomfort. Not alone anyway.” Hannibal whispered into his ear, arms wrapping around his middle. They huddled close in silence. Their heads leaned together even as their minds were far away. It was a while before it became apparent, they weren’t going to sleep soon.

“Mylimasis?” Hannibal croaked. He sounded pained. Will turned his head slightly to show his attention. “Did you want to be hurt? So, I could heal you. To prove that I care. That this is real. That you are real?”

Will swallowed before speaking, his eyes were once again closed. He felt his cher’s breath ruffle his hair. “I’m real. I’m real when I’m with you.” Hannibal was satisfied with that answer. They needed each other. “You asked me why I no longer fear losing myself.” Will licked his lips hearing Hannibal’s hum. “It’s because I know I’ll always find my way back to you.” He whispered and felt a kiss press to his neck. And I shall always await you with open arms and adoring words, my darling boy.

After that, they slept soundly.

When Will woke, it was to gentle fingers stroking his hair and a soft voice he couldn’t understand. Hannibal hadn’t meant to interrupt his sleep. Not when he was finally getting rest. His long lashes fluttered just as Hannibal hung up. He snuggled into a touch before he even registered it.

“Good morning, my heart.” A kiss to the temple followed the whisper. Will smiled. He never wanted to wake up. “You must get up, sweetness.”

Will’s fingers dug into Hannibal’s side. What should have been a pained groan was an adoring laugh. Will opened his eyes even if just to see Hannibal. It was odd how long one could stare at an image and find it fascinating even when it was written with into their soul.

“Who were you on the phone with?” He asked groggily, still staring. His hand spilled over the edge of the couch and Buster trotted to it, demanding pets. Will obliged him.

“Jack Crawford.” Hannibal answered, standing and walking to the kitchen. The simple answer was obviously meant to get enough of Will’s attention that he got off the couch and followed him. Will knew it. It worked anyway.

“What’s he want?” Will demanded, standing beside Hannibal, wrapping his arm around his waist protectively. Possessively more like it, darling.

“He is deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.” Hannibal informed him, carrying two plates to the table, the dogs already happily munching.

“I can’t believe him!” Will exclaimed, following him. “You’re a civilian.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “So are you.” Will rolled his eyes and prepared to argue. Hannibal beat him to it. “You certainly aren’t an agent. And I may have vastly overestimated you if you honestly thought I would let you go by yourself.”

They sat at the table. Will paused with a piece of sausage on his fork. When he spoke, it was with a tight throat. “Is this Cassie Boyle?”

Hannibal held eye contact as he responded. “Yes.” He pointedly took a bite and licked his lips after he chewed.

Will copied his movements, eyes closing for a long moment of their own accord. “It’s delicious.” She. She’s delicious. At least this part of her will be honoured. He took another bite. Hannibal’s smile encouraged him.

“Thank you.” Will told his husband as they were driving. Will was in the passenger seat, staring absentmindedly out the window.

Hannibal startled slightly at his sudden break of silence. “For what?” He questioned, truly puzzled.

“For my gift. Cassie Boyle. You showed me the negative so I could see the positive. You helped me think. For that I am grateful.” His hand flew to Hannibal’s forearm, grasping it tightly. “Don’t do it again.”

Hannibal’s jaw clenched, his gaze flickering to Will. “Don’t consult again.” He countered. His eyes were suddenly tired. He wanted to close them and fall asleep in a bed next to Will, never to leave his embrace.

“Hannibal –“ Will started too loudly but cut himself off. “There is a place and time for this conversation and this is neither.” Hannibal agreed with silence. For the duration of the journey neither said a word more.

They took a plane to Minnesota and a rental car from there. They drove to the construction site that used the metal Beverly had found on Elise Nichols to make pipes. They looked through the files until a name stood out to Will. Garret Jacob Hobbs.

It seemed like a perfectly normal house for a perfectly normal family. He is normal to himself. That is until a woman was shoved out, collapsing into a heap on the porch, the door slamming shut behind her. Her throat had been slit. She was bleeding out fast and vastly. Will dropped to his knees beside her. Putting pressure on the wound did nothing but cover Will in her blood.

After, he vaguely recalled Hannibal staying back. It took even longer to think it should have stroke him as odd. What he didn’t see was Hannibal’s grimaced smile. It hurt but it had to be done.

Will’s body shook, his every breath was a gasp. He stumbled to his feet and pulled out his gun. He kicked at the door. When he was finally inside, he raised his weapon and walked shakingly through the house.

“Garret Jacob Hobbs! FBI.” He exclaimed, walking with unsteady but determined steps. The world blurred when the killer came into view. He had his daughter pinned against his chest, a knife to her throat. He whispered in her ear. He seemed apologetic.

That wasn’t what Will saw though. Child! My baby. He was barely aware his hands shook. He certainly didn’t care about it when he pulled the trigger. Hobbs was the one to make the first move, slicing into the girl’s neck. For spilling her blood, he got ten bullet holes in his chest. Will flinched back with each one. He had to save his daughter.

He rushed to her side as he did with her mother. This time, there was a shorter cut, blood sipped out slower. His hands continued to shake as he tried to hold them to her neck. Her eyes turned to him, accusing and hopeful in equal measure. He wondered briefly if letting her die would be best. He didn’t act on his doubt.

Tears prickled at his eyes, sweat mixing with blood, as the red soaked into his shirt and slipped between his fingers. “No. No.” He murmured or even thought. He wasn’t sure. The blood that was supposed to be hot froze the skin on his hands.

He looked up not to look at her. Her eyes had glazed over. She wouldn’t know it. His gaze fell onto the collapsed killer. Each of his wounds bled, the blood tainting the floor. His breathing was harsh, shallow. Will felt nothing but righteousness.

“See? See?” The collapsed man hissed at him. Yes. Will wanted to hiss back. But I don’t want to.

His husband’s hands came over his own. But I don’t have to. He looked away from Hobbs, nobody witnessed his worthless, meaningless, death. Will backed away, letting Hannibal take care of their girl. Whose girl? It didn’t matter.

As soon as a paramedic intruded into the kitchen, Hannibal moved to Will. He called his name. Or maybe for help? Will didn’t really know, he was too focused on his eyes. There was worry but there was also regret. Did you do this cher? Is this how you protect me?

He voiced neither of those thoughts. Instead, he let Hannibal cup his face, eyes closing and tears escaping. His husband pulled his to his chest. Will leaned into it and listened to the steady beat.

He let him slip his arm under his knees and the other behind his back. He didn’t care, not when he was lifted in the air and not when he was carried out of the house, as long as he kept hearing that beat. That strong, never-ending beat.

To say Jack Crawford was baffled when Hannibal Lecter carried Will Graham out of the Hobbs’ residence, would hardly summarise it. He stomped to the men and took in the blood covering them both. “Doctor Lecter –“ he started but was cut off.

“No.” The doctor said firmly, walking fast past him. His head lowered periodically as he whispered into his beloved’s ear.

Crawford’s jaw clenched along with his fists. He followed after him and questioned him further. “Doctor Lecter. What happened in there?”

Lecter finally listened and turned on his heels to face him. He made an imposing image, hands bloody and a grown man in his arms like he weighted no more than a toddler. “Will took a life.”

It hit Crawford all of a sudden, he hadn’t thought it a possibility. A cop who couldn’t pull the trigger. Well, no more. “He needs to give a statement.” He ordered as he collected himself.

“No.” Was the firm response Lecter gave. “What he needs is rest. He is in shock. You call him before I call to tell you he is ready, you won’t like what happens.” Crawford shivered at the words. He had never seen Lecter as anything but neutral. His eyes froze whole bodies with their coldness. Crawford took a step back subconsciously. It seemed to satisfy Lecter. Crawford wasn’t sure he was sure of anything anymore. They only just met?

Hannibal gave Crawford one last malicious look and walked to the car. Will was unwilling to let him go as he tried to sit him in the passenger seat. He sighed and sat in it instead with Will in his lap. “Mylimasis.” He whispered. “I need to set you down. I shall soon return to my place. I need you to be patient. I will not let go of you. You will not get lost.”

He still had to walk around the car with Will in his arms, sliding him into the passenger seat from there. They never stopped touching. Once settled, Hannibal took his hand and gripped it tightly. Will’s head lolled to him. Hannibal gently swept some stray strands from his eyes.

No need to worry. I shall take care of you, beloved.

It is a promise.

Chapter Text

Hannibal stayed in the car for some time he couldn’t have determined the length of if pressed. He stared ahead, letting the guilt, so little in quantity yet so overwhelming wash over him. His eyes were unfocused, still lost in the image of Will covered in blood. Magnificent. His ears rang of the harsh breaths his beloved took in with difficulty. Wrong. Lost.

Will’s hand in his grounded them both. It was stained red, some of it had dripped onto the leather of the car. It would be cleaned later. For now, Hannibal returned to the moment, lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed against the skin he could see a tender kiss. Will turned to him abruptly.

There was no blame in his gaze, only the knowledge Hannibal would take care of him. The trust. Hannibal could go against him a hundred times over. It wouldn’t be betrayal. If he betrayed anyone it would be himself. Will would forgive him. He had no need to shut his eyes to his affliction the way Hannibal did. There would be no separate end for them. Just like it had to be. Will could not imagen a different world.

Those were only his thoughts when the daughter’s image finally disappeared. That was what he had ended up calling her in his mind. The daughter. He never thought how much better it would be to just call her Abigail. Didn’t occur to him he didn’t know her. In his mind, he did. She was a daughter before she was Abigail.

When he blinked, in the darkness it wasn’t her body that he saw. It was Hobbs’. Because he was Hobbs before he was her father. He wheezed and bled, and his eyes were the kind of crazed Will feared looking in the mirror for. See? See? Will opened his eyes and turned them to Hannibal.

Hobbs disappeared and Abigail’s body wasn’t yet a corpse. His thoughts settled. They were of his cher.

It had felt good to kill Hobbs. It had felt just and thrilling. He was disoriented when doing it and from it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t his design. He didn’t have to care. In that moment it had been Hannibal’s.

He let go of Hannibal’s hand long enough the latter came around the car and opened his door for him.

“Will?” Hannibal called to him through a fog that shouldn’t have been there. “My darling?” He called again, fingers sliding over Will’s cheeks, briefly brushing his lashes with their tips. “Come back to me.” There was a confidence in his voice.

Will managed to focus long enough to lean forward and wrap his arms around Hannibal’s neck before they fell limp.

Hannibal pulled him as close as he could not to crack his own ribs. He wouldn’t dare bruise Will’s. Not then, anyway. One hand slid through Will’s hair, caressing with care. He wasn’t sure when he had knelt.

He pulled his Will into his lap, never letting him touch the ground. One hand securing his back, the other his legs, he stood. Will only burrowed closer.

The short journey seemed momentary with little right thoughts for the conversation they both knew awaited. When Hannibal tried to put Will on a chair, he was once again unable to.

“Will –“ Hannibal started to coerce softly. It seemed the threat of separation put order back in place. At least for a little while.

“No!” Will screamed. His throat felt raw from a single word. He swallowed before speaking again, this time calmly. “No. You will not let me go. I am covered in blood you spilled on me.” He pulled his face back from where it was resting against Hannibal’s neck.

Hannibal’s eyes flashed for half a moment. You are thrilling in every way, my darling. “I wasn’t the one making you bathe in it.” He commented, unaffected, though the corners of his lips twitched up.

“But you sure are glad for it.” Will noted. You always were.

Hannibal ticked his lips and tilted his head. His arms ached faintly. The last action he wished take was put his beloved down. “What is it that you want from me?”

“Stay.” It was an order. One Hannibal would have followed regardless of if it had been voiced.

He smiled, hoisting Will higher to hold him better. He didn’t seem to notice, interested only in his answer. “Where else would I go? You are the only one whose mind and body call for me, the one I crave.”

Will lowered his head again, not satisfied – they never were when it came to each other, they were simply insatiable – but pacified. He nosed at Hannibal’s neck, pressing a little kiss every few moments. The kisses stopped, his lips still in place. “Forgive me.”

Hannibal tsked, frowning in mild surprise. “I didn’t know you were still worrying about that, sweet boy.”

Will rolled his half-closed eyes. “Not worrying. Forgive me and I’ll forgive you.” It was a kiss that sealed the deal.

It wasn’t long before Will’s tongue entered Hannibal’s mouth. He searched desperately for something to latch onto, feeling his focus slip. Hannibal put the kiss to an end, pulling away, lips lingering.

The second it was over, Will’s eyes glazed over again and he fell limp in Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal lowered his head, forehead against Will’s hair. He contemplated simply lying Will on the bed and settling beside him. He concluded it would be better to clean him first.

He carried him to the bathroom, muscles grateful when he finally set him down on the closed toilet seat. Leaning him against the wall securely. He turned on the water in the bath and waited until it was the perfect temperature to plug the drain. He crouched in front of Will as it filled. His fingers tangled in Will’s hair as he carted them through it. He finally had free hands to take off his and Will’s jackets and shoes.

“You will be perfectly alright. We’ll make you alright.” He murmured. He turned from Will just in time to stop the water from overflowing. He turned it off and quickly stripped Will. When his shirt was off and Hannibal was leaning forward to unbuckle his pants, he rested his head on his shoulder. Hannibal frowned at the unexpected warmth he could feel though only his shirt.

He put it aside for the moment and carefully picked Will back up, his arms still fatigued from the earlier extorsion. He laid him into the water and held onto his arms when they tried to flail around. It seemed Will had been more out of it than he had realised.

The water splashed around, the tub emptying rather quickly. It soaked many patches into Hannibal’s shirt. He paid it no mind until the wild movements were subdued. As Will calmed, Hannibal could see awareness hide and reveal itself in his expression. A part of Will wanted to feel everything, cherish the blood and the power. The other, the one holding him back, wanted nothing but to forget.

“Will? Can you hear me?” Hannibal questioned, opening the pipe again. The trashing had emptied the tub almost halfway. “I’m here, my sweet boy. Waiting for you. Don’t get lost.” He shook his head with his last words. Who’s begging now?

Hannibal sighed at the lack of response and unbuttoned his wet shirt. He pulled it off his shoulder and folded it somewhat mindlessly to add it to the stack of Will’s clothes. When his gaze returned to the tub, he found Will returning it, a small smirk in place.

He raised an eyebrow at it and it was quite the reassurance to see Will shrug casually and ogle shamelessly. Hannibal turned the water off and cupped some to pour it over Will’s chest.

The tub was too short for him to stretch out, so his legs were bent at the knees. His arms were posed on its sides. Hannibal was crouched beside it. He continued pouring water over all the parts that stuck out of it.

“Will?” He questioned and waited for Will to hum his attention. “We need to get this blood off. I will simply grab a washcloth from my bag. I shall come right back.” Another hum answered him. He hesitated for a moment before standing.

A wet hand caught his wrist before he could take the first step. More water spilled over the edge, adding to the quite sizable puddle on the floor. “Stay.”

Hannibal slowly pulled his arm back, until it was his palm Will held, and gripped back so he could almost hear the squeaking of bones. “I just need to get the washcloth. Don’t you think you’d feel better without blood on you?”

Will blinked, it took a while before he focused. He only then registered the change in the hold. “You usually enjoy it just fine. Lick it off me most of the time.” It was not untrue, though most was an exaggeration.

“I do. But I likewise enjoy cleanness. And I prefer when the blood compliments the ruthlessness you are capable of. Not when it clearly overwhelms you. And regardless of my wishes, I don’t think you truly want it to stay on you. It is not just Garret Jacob Hobbs, but also his wife and Abigail.” Hannibal wasn’t saying it to be cruel.

Will was obviously still halfway out of it. “Stay.” He said again, tugging at his hand.

“I shall return.” Hannibal promised through a sigh. “I will not leave you as long as you will not leave me. Even so, I would spend every waking second searching. You know so.”

Will swallowed and pulled Hannibal’s hand closer with surprising strength. It made Hannibal stumble. He mouthed at the skin, teeth glazing over it, just short of biting. “I do.” He said and released his arm.

It took less than a minute to get the washcloth, but it was enough for Will’s mind to transgress where it never should have had access to. Hannibal came back to the sight of the red drops that had almost dried on Will’s face being mixed with tears. He could vaguely hear words being murmured to wall. He dropped to his knees carefully and leaned closer to hear.

“My girl. She was my girl. Or was she his?... I didn’t want to kill him – no, I did. I certainly wanted to rip that fucking – apart. I didn’t plan to kill him. Hannibal did… She’ll be fine. Just fine… Hannibal.”

He startled at his name being called, a sudden clarity in a mess of unrecognisable thoughts, bouncing of the walls of Will’s skull, cracking and distorting it. “Yes, sweet boy?” He asked softly, fingers gently sweeping away salty tears tainted with pink.

Will looked content simply staring without words. Hannibal nodded to himself and put some soap on the cloth. He dipped it in water and started scrubbing at Will’s hands. Will observed him. “Garret Jacob Hobbs had chosen his own fate. You simply sealed it. It wouldn’t have changed anything. He got what he desired.” He spoke as his hands worked, one rough to rid Will of the stains, the other gentle.

“No.” Will disagreed. “Abigail is still alive. He never would have gotten what he had wanted.” Hannibal dunked the washcloth under again, his face edging closer to Will’s. “It doesn’t matter.”

Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What doesn’t?”

“What he chose. What I did. I simply followed your design.” And Hobbs’. To a point.

Hannibal rolled his shoulders, his head tilting. “Do you still think it was beautiful?” He questioned, toneless.

Will frowned, uncomprehensible. “You always are.”

Hannibal’s hands slipped from the side of the tub back into the water. “Then it is alright. Either way.” He scrubbed one hand finally clean, the water already gaining colour. “You are mine. Mine to take care of. Mine to worship.” He paused. It seemed to be hesitation but truly was only his dramatic way of putting importance on his words. “Mine to destroy.”

The washcloth moved to Will’s face, strokes now slower, more intentional. They brushed Will’s lips. Tease. He licked them. “In my experience – and yours – it is far more effective to do so with tongue.” Will commented, one hand sliding over his leg from his knee to his hips.

When he spoke Hannibal sounded unaffected, but Will saw the way his throat bobbed, and his eyes shone with hunger. “I rarely drink others’ blood. Do you know why?” Will raised an eyebrow. “Because I know that each drop that is not yours will be disappointing. So, I apologize for being unable to cater to such a request.”

Will’s body jumped forward, wet hand grasping at Hannibal’s hair, pulling him closer and steadying. “Then make me bleed.” The order was a plea.

Hannibal’s hand snapped up, his grip on Will’s hair equally as strong and threatening. “Not tonight, my dear boy.” He whispered. Will slumped back sullenly and let himself be cleaned.

“You are perfectly alright. Safe and sound in my arms.” Hannibal said as he scrubbed at the unclean hand when Will’s eyes started to drift.

He pressed his lips to his neck when his head lolled and suck with vigour. “How sweet you are my boy.” It made Will’s head tilt at a sharper angle, hoping to reveal enough skin – vulnerability – that Hannibal simply couldn’t resist. Hannibal simply smiled, pleased.

Done with soaping up Will’s body, he laid the washcloth on the side of the tub. He tangled his fingers in Will’s hair and push him back, so his knees bent more, and his back was at the water surface. Will inhaled harshly. “We’ll make everything alright.” Hannibal promised and pushed him under. He pulled him back up by his hair the moment the hair was wet enough.

“Tomorrow, I shall prepare you a meal worthy of you.” He commented – bribed – as he shampooed his hair, trying to untangle it with little success yet. He rinsed it out and repeated the process once more.

Sure, it was over, Will leaned towards him, hand on his cheeks to press a peck to his lips. Even the short contact seemed to pacify them both. “Sweetness…” Hannibal resonated, seemingly too dazed for words.

“We’ll be fine. Just fine.” Will whispered, resting his forehead against Hannibal’s. A lone tear slipped down his cheek. Hannibal caught its shine and licked it off. He felt Will melt.

“We should rinse you off now.” Hannibal decided, suddenly breathless. It might not have been blood that was in his mouth, but it was his Will. He reached into the water and unplugged the tub. Will’s hand caught his and brought it to his abdomen.

“We should. Or maybe we could stay like this. Maybe –“ He pulled at Hannibal’s arms, making him straighten his legs, still bending forward, luring him. “– you could join me.”

The wanting in Hannibal’s eyes was unmistakable. He craved it. Of course he did, it was his perfect boy. He reminded himself of the shock Will’s body could still be in or fall into and turned on the shower head above them the coldest it went.

Will jerked back with a shuddered inhale. “What the fuck?” He exclaimed incredulous. “Is this your revenge? I thought we decided to forgive and forget!” He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow while his lips curled up on their own accord. “I have never mentioned anything about forgetting. To forget everything you forgive would be to unlearn survival.”

Will blinked at him, then narrowed his eyes. “None of that tells me why you just iced me!”

“There is no need to be dramatic, William.” Hannibal said, putting his hands under Will’s arms and standing him up, making sure he caught his balance before letting go.

“Yeah, well. Pot meet kettle.”

“I am not.” Will head fell down and he looked at Hannibal through his lashes in disbelief. Hannibal seemed vaguely offended. “No matter that now. Your temperature was elevated.”

Will threw his hands up in exasperation. “You couldn’t have given me warning?”

Hannibal ran his hand through Will’s hair and pushed him forwards for his entire head was submerged in the spray. When Will managed to get out from under it, he spit out some water, looking like he wanted it to hit Hannibal’s face. “Would you not have tried to get out of it and likely half drown me in the process.”

Will scoffed. “I would not have drowned you.”

Hannibal nodded his feigned agreement. “Just a little bit of waterboarding. Never hurt anyone.” He finally – finally – turned the water off and lifted Will out of the tub. “Isn’t that better?”

And in the very back of Will’s mind he could admit to himself that it was. His skin wasn’t sticky, and he could keep concentrating and falling down a spiral. There was no need for Hannibal to know that, however. If asked, he’d answer truthfully. He saw no need for an answer to a question that was clearly rhetorical by the way Hannibal wrapped him in a creamy green towel that seemed too large for its use. It covered most of his shin and stuck up in his face, almost obstructing his vision.

He attempted to complain, but before he could so much as peep a sound, he was swept off his feet. Literally and metaphorically. He accepted his faith and leaned against Hannibal’s chest, almost subconsciously snuggling closer contently.

Once in the bedroom part of the room, Hannibal set him down on his own two feet and untightened the towel around him. He dried every inch of his skin carefully. He needlessly helped him dress by holding the clothes and letting Will just slide into them. They were Hannibal’s clothes. They smelled of him more strongly than Will’s did. He lifted the edge of the red sweater and inhaled its scent.

Hannibal smirked and watched him lay down. He pulled off his own pants, underwear and socks, letting Will enjoy the magnificent view. He expected him to go to the bathroom and clean up, but he just laid beside him, completely bare. Vulnerable for Will’s sake. They shared a smile.

“Is now either the time or place?” Hannibal asked once the quiet settled.

Will hummed in thought. “No. But I don’t believe we’ll get a better one.” He sighed and turned from his back, so he faced Hannibal. The other reflected his movements. “You want me to stop consulting.”

“It is dangerous. You just experienced what it did to you. Can you truthfully say you want to go through it again? I know that I meddled and changed some of its factors, but at its core it is the same. I will not give up until you are safe in your own mind. Jack Crawford can find himself another precious cup. You are mine. And you are certainly not fragile.”

“Okay.” Will responded and scooted closer to burrow into Hannibal’s chest. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him.

“Okay? Care to share some more.” Hannibal thumb stoked Will’s neck. His breath was warm on his neck.

“You’re worried.” Will felt the nod more than he saw it. “I’m –“ sick, exhausted, wrong “– I’m tired. Something bad happened. I did something bad.”

“Because you killed him.”

“Because I killed him with no precautions, no plan, no organisation, no art. It was reckless and the only thing I could do in that moment. I was in his head. It was full of –“ love “– obsession. It was unnecessary and it brought me nothing but less bullets in my gun.” His nails dig into Hannibal’s bare chest.

“It brought you Abigail.” Hannibal commented, thinking back to the disoriented muttering he had returned to from his search for a washcloth.

Will scoffed. “She’s in a coma. Besides. I think we both know better than to raise a child.”

“She is not a child. She has already been shaped by others and her own experiences. She can make choices and understand them. There is no need for us to teach her.” He sounded sad about it. And relieved. Like a burden he hadn’t realised he had wanted was lifted from his shoulders.

Will frowned, shutting his eyes tightly and creating complete darkness by pressing his face into Hannibal. “Because she has already been thought every lesson you could think to of the hunt. You think she helped her father?”

Oddly, it was hesitation that followed. “She survived him.” He said, finally. “You are truly agreeing not to help Jack Crawford?”

Will nodded slowly, meaningfully. The tension going through him lessened. “I’ll still teach of course. Young minds rely on me for education. But no more consultation.”

He was rewarded with a kiss to the crown of his head. “Thank you.”

“Thank me when you actually believe me.” He countered. It was followed by his own kiss to Hannibal’s collarbone.

“It might take a while.” Hannibal said truthfully, idly playing with Will’s hair.

“That’s okay then sweet cheeks. We’ve got a lifetime.” As long as you’ll have me, mon cher.

“And beyond it? Will you stand by my side either in the darkness, the gates to heaven or the cages of hell?” Will regarded him and answered nothing. He responded with a kiss, bloodless but nevertheless so very sweet. Hannibal closed his eyes in bliss. As long as you’ll have me, my darling.

It was the ringing of a phone that interrupted them. Will reached over and glanced at the caller ID, immediately rolling his eyes. “Crawford.” He told Hannibal. His gaze was on the phone, so he missed the way Hannibal’s eyes shone with rage. Just as he was about to grab the phone and decline the call for Will, his husband did it himself.

As proud as he was of his darling boy in that moment, the only thing filling his mind was anger. He had to take care of Will first. “Jack Crawford is –“

“An asshole? Yeah. A big one.” Will scoffed, his words in a tone believing it was obvious. “But you know what I think?” He asked and waited for Hannibal to crook a brow. “Jack Crawford could wait a while longer. Tonight, it is only you and me.” It hit Will suddenly. He had never needed more. He felt whole, his face was cool and his chest full.

His mind was quiet and only his. He could rest for the moment. Himself.

Will’s beauty had long since distracted Hannibal for good. His mind fascinated him with no end and he somehow always expected a card up his sleeve to be there, just not to be the Uno one.

However, there was something that took more of his attention that night. He had made Jack Crawford a promise.

He intended to keep it.

Chapter Text

The hospital room that held Abigail numbed the ears with its silence. It was unnerving, clustered rooms that felt too empty always were. Every few minutes a nurse or a doctor rushed by. They knew well where they were going, what was needed of them. They never glanced into the room. Will watched them go by, waiting for one to enter, tell him he had missed a sound or scene, and Abigail was gone. They never did. Hannibal’s hand never left his. He was grateful for it.

It had been a struggle to convince his husband to take him to see her. He had gotten up with hesitance but no pause and busied himself getting ready and drinking coffee instead of enjoying Hannibal’s warmth. It was not the time, no matter how much he had wished it were.

Eventually, Hannibal had accepted Will would not give in and got up himself. He had walked up behind him, carted his fingers through his hair and leaned down to press his lips to the crown of his head, arms slipping down to wrap around his neck. Though neither could see it, they both closed their eyes, savouring.

“What are you planning, my dear?” Hannibal had finally asked with a sigh, sipping on his own cup, grimacing but indulging. He had sat beside Will, wanting to look at his face. He had always been expressive. It comforted Hannibal to see vulnerability and know he could not but return it.

Will’s hands had been wrapped securely around the cup warming them. He had regretted the lost contact with his cher. “Abigail Hobbs. I want to see her.” He had told him confidently.

“If I recall correctly, you told me she is in a coma.” Hannibal had let his cup hit the table too loudly. “You want to hear her words, her image is not enough, I know. But she will not talk to you. She does not know you.” Even if she were awake.

“I want to see her.” Will had repeated. “There is so much research about patients in a coma hearing, feeling, what’s around them.” I want her safe. To know she is safe with her – what?

Hannibal had taken Will’s face into his palms, trying not to let his nails touch the skin on it, not knowing if they would dig till blood. Till the promise Will had made would be scarred into him. “You promised you wouldn’t consult.”

“I agreed but never made a promise.” Will had argued and immediately realised what a bad idea it had been when Hannibal’s eyes had hardened. “Hannibal –“

“You are correct, of course. But you did promise it beforehand. Years ago. You may have broken it, but forgiven, the promise holds again.” Hannibal had swallowed painfully and tilted Will’s head, so their foreheads rested together. “Why are you trying so very hard to hurt yourself.” He had whispered.

“I’m trying to save others! I can – I have to – outsmart these killers.” Will had laughed, sounding crazed. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Very.” Hannibal had admitted. “But I would not give you up for such a whimsey. You are my Will. Nothing is worthy losing you. I stand by that, and I shall continue to do so until I have no breaths to make words and no limps to embrace you and no mind nor heart to love you.”

Will’s lips had quivered. He had wanted so much to just give in and comply. He hadn’t been sure if it had been his mind holding him back. “There are some instances of her father left in me, I know it, but it’s hard to recognise them. I need to see, Hannibal. I need to remember.” He had pleaded. “Show me the negative so I can see the positive. You did so before.”

“It brough you pain. I did so to bring you pain, so you would quit this nonsense. It will only do the same now.”

“It was the reason we solved this case. It helped with the profile, the motive. Pain makes us aware of reality and gives us ideas outside it.” Will had slid off his chair to kneel in front of him. “Please, mon cher?” It had been too much to ask of Hannibal to deny those big watery eyes that lit up so beautifully, that sweet voice that trembled ever so slightly.

Now that Hannibal gazed at the girl his beloved had been so determined to see, his throat tightened. His Mischa had been so young, undefined. But this girl – he was certain she was already guilty of so much. Still, there was innocence he knew.

He was the first to sit. He observed her fair skin, dark hair and soft features. Will had been the one to save her. Hannibal had been the one to hold pressure on the wound. He had held the life inside her. Will had saved her. Maybe it was Hannibal that had doomed her.

He reached out a hand and held hers. It seemed small. Not childish, but certainly fragile. She had survived and to do so again, perhaps it was time to teach her how not to be.

Will let go of his hand to sit on the other side of her. His fingers twitched once, though he wasn’t sure what they urged to accomplish. He felt a smile quirk at his lips, gaze straying to where Hannibal’s thumb stroked Abigail’s palm.

Hannibal considered him, eyes flickering between him and Abigail. “You care for her.” He stated, making Will’s head snap up. “Not just the mindset of her father you took over. Feeling paternal, darling?”

“Aren’t you?” Will countered quietly. Their love was an everlasting flame, but their hearts each had moments of wandering.

Hannibal licked his lips in thought and with his free hand took Will’s. “I suppose.” He agreed. “She could be useful.”

“Hannibal.” Will scolded, voice hard. Hannibal looked curious as opposed to chastised. “She’s just a girl and right now, an innocent one.”

“You believe Jack would agree?” It was inevitable for Jack to bring it up at a time. She’d make the perfect bait.

“I couldn’t care less if he’d agree. His opinion is not my problem. You might recall that I don’t work for him. Never have.” Will shot back, hand ripping from Hannibal’s hold. He stood, at first abruptly and then more carefully for Abigail’s sake.

“Is that why you ran out on me?” Came the booming voice of Jack Crawford with a slamming of the door. He stomped into the room with authority. Will didn’t care for it. “What kind of coward are you, Will?” He asked, his eyes narrowing and nostrils widening in his anger.

Hannibal stood beside Will, a subtle hand on the small of his back in support. “I shot a man. Ten bullet holes in one body. I was in shock. Reasonably so. I don’t even remember most of it. Haven’t talked to you in more than two days.” Will wanted to walk right up to Jack’s face and rage, but the threat of losing the warmth of his husband stopped him.

“That’s another thing.” Jack stepped forward, glancing briefly between him and the Doctor. “You weren’t answering your phone. When I call you, you answer. You are my consultant, I need you!”

“Not anymore.” Hannibal told him calmly. Jack faced him, expression of pure surprise. He went to argue but Hannibal beat him to it, hand slipping from Will’s back after a moment of added pressure, and walked to the door, holding it open. “This is not a conversation for a hospital room. Why don’t we step outside?”

Will went first, used to Hannibal opening doors for him. Even after many arguments he hadn’t stopped. Jack followed, sulking, and spoke the second the door closed. “We found Hobbs’ cabin. I need you there. You do no good here.”

Will rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d had the forethought to bring his glasses with him. “And I’d do no good there. You have one of the best forensic teams in the FBI. Why would you need me to process the evidence?”

“You’re the profiler.”

“So are you. Or at least you’re suppose to be. Haven’t seen much action from you. Or much thinking to be honest. In fact, what exactly is it that you do?” Jack gaped like a fish out of water and Hannibal let out a sound that many would interpret as a snort.

Will continued unmoved. “And putting all that aside, once again, why would you need a profiler to process evidence. I have told you already, he ate them, probably fed them to his family.” He glanced at Abigail, feeling pity and satisfaction. He would not be the one to corrupt her. If her father had made her a killer, he’ll just show her how to live with it. If she hadn’t been my daughter before, she was now. “He honoured them. No parts of them went to waste.” He’d be glad for it if he could care for them beyond the image of Abigail they represented.

“It’s still your job. We need to find the bodies or some remains. He couldn’t have eaten them all. The hair, the bones. Something!” Jack insisted, hands gesturing widely.

“My job is teaching. And I will go back to it once we get back home. I’m not your pet.” Will turned on his heels and stormed back to Abigail’s bedside. Considering the surprising appearance of Jack Crawford, he doubted he’d be staying for long.

Jack turned to Hannibal. He felt too old. He’d passed the age where he could retire, most FBI agent did, preferring to find another job in their fifties where they still could do so easily. He could not. Not without catching the Ripper. Not after – “Doctor Lecter, you can’t possibly agree with this? I want him back in the field. Do you not think he is stable?” A psych eval would be necessary either way.

“Enough so to make it his decision and not yours.” Hannibal stated, expression neutral but eyes shining. “Now, please, if you would be so kind?” He showed the protesting man down the hall that led to the exit. “And Agent, I warned you.” He called quietly after him, back turned.

“What are you on about?” Jack asked, anger still colouring his voice. Hannibal smiled then turned to him, brow raised as if he hadn’t said anything. Jack ever the man to trust his intuition, narrowed his eyes once more and turned to walk away, hesitance clear.

It took Hannibal a moment to locate Will in the room. He was leaning against the wall across from Abigail’s bed, face enclosed in shadows. He was protecting her from himself. “Do you still consider it a wise decision to have come here?”

Will chewed on his upper lip as he answered. “Does it matter? It’s done.” He pushed himself from the wall and walked toward his husband. His eyes stayed on the girl. “You think she’ll wake up?”

“Yes.” The reply was certain enough Will’s head snapped to him, expression lightening with hope. “There is no timeline for it and there is some weight to the possibility of it not being so, but I do believe she will recover sooner rather than later. She’s strong.”

Will nodded slowly in agreement. “I suppose you want to go home now.” Hannibal blinked at him as he sighed. “She’s safe. At least there is one thing Crawford was right about.” Will rolled his eyes at the sharp look his husband sent him. “Don’t worry, something drastic would have to happen before I come running back to his whistle.”

They left the hospital neither glad nor bitter about their encounter with the outside world. It was some hours later that Will’s phone rang.

They had finally gotten back to Baltimore. Hannibal was reading the newest articles in the Journal of Psychiatric Research while Will was lazily playing with Ellie, the other dogs sleeping or dozing around the room. It was the beginning of the afternoon, but the animals seemed serene, having picked up on the solemn mood. Will laid on the sofa, head in Hannibal’s lap and hand dangling off it to scratch at Ellie’s ear.

The phone was still in the pocket of his jacket that had been thrown over the back of the sofa. He sat up with a groan and answered the call as soon as he saw the caller ID. He wasn’t smiling but there was no mistaking the pleased air around him.

“Hey, Bev.” He said and scooted off the sofa, side leaning against Hannibal’s leg and head resting on his thigh. It wasn’t long before fingers started playing with his hair. It felt nonchalant but he knew Hannibal was watching carefully for any sign of distress or anger. He could use it. And his darling was so pretty when he let himself feel.

“Bev? That’s a new one for you. You give everyone nicknames or am I just special, Graham?” Beverly sounded slightly winded but the kindness in her voice never left.

“It’s everyone. Though not as kind and obvious as yours.” Will frowned, gripping Ellie’s fur tightly, making her whine quietly wanting to know what put her owner on edge. “Tell me it wasn’t Crawford that told you to call me.” He was prepared for either answer. By how Hannibal’s body tensed, he was too, though he would only let one slide.

“I do have a mind of my own in case you hadn’t noticed.” Beverly countered, scolding lightly. “I am wondering why you aren’t here though.”

“I thought this was a friendly call.”

“As your friend I find myself in suspense to know why you stopped consulting and are letting us solve this one by ourselves. I think Jack is baffled.” She sounded worried now. She didn’t want to force Will into anything. That wasn’t her style.

“There’s a new case?” He asked, voice choked. Hannibal grabbed the back of his neck, holding more the skin than the meat.

Even through the phone, he could hear Beverly swallow. “Seven bodies. Buried alive in a high-nutrient compost to keep them that way. Well. As long as one could. We are kind of stomped. Could use your help.”

He didn’t want them to leave. Like all the others had. He took in a shaky inhale. “My husband caught on. He’s not very glad I broke our deal.” Hannibal leaned down and kissed his forehead in reassurance.

“Damn. He mad?” She hesitated for a moment then gave a mental ‘what the hell’ shrug. “Need a place to sleep?”

Will snorted a short laugh. There was no way Hannibal would let himself suffer a night without Will. “No. He’s just worried. And I can’t resent him for that. Especially –“ After I became an unorganised killer and developed the recklessness that might just get us both in trouble. He shook his head and let out a tired exhale. “Hobbs.”

She made a sad sound and spoke softly. “I get it. I’ll tell Jack to back off. You need anything? Want anything? A shoulder to cry on – more importantly – booze?”

Will cackled a low laugh. “I think we got it covered.” He licked his lips before continuing. “You do too, you know. You are one of the best forensics in the FBI.” She hummed in acknowledgement. “You think he’ll listen?”

“Not sure. But I got your back.” She assured him, yells and odd sounds coming from her side of the line.

“I know. I trust you.” A moment of quiet understanding followed.

“Of course you do. Though one of these days I have to get you out for a drink. You know, confirm the drinking buddies status.”

“I hear you. Don’t let Jack crush you.” Hannibal tried to catch his eyes and almost slipped off the sofa in the process.

“Take care Will. Also, I will meet the Mister soon.” She hung up before he could respond.

“Beverly Katz is a forensic. She works with Jack Crawford.” He informed Hannibal when the latter waited with raised eyebrows and a pointed look.

“Is she a problem?” He immediately questioned, hands reaching under Will’s arms and pulling him into his lap. Ellie barked at the loss of pets and Will rolled his eyes at the blatant display of protectiveness. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t killed for Hannibal and then proceeded to cuddle him while being reduced to being the big spoon.

“She’s a friend.” He protested, deadpan. He reached back stroked his thumb over Hannibal’s cheek. One good thing that came from Hannibal’s obsessive behaviours was that Will never had to endure the prickliness of newly grown stubble.

“A friend to have for dinner?” Hannibal questioned, covering Will’s hand with his own and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“A friend to have over for dinner.” Will corrected sternly and pulled his hand away. “No hurting Bev, alright?”

Hannibal gave an uninterested hum. “I don’t hurt anyone that doesn’t give me a reason to.”

Will pressed his nose against his own and spoke in a mock hurt voice. “Why hurt me then?”

“You are just too irresistible, I fear, my dear.” Will pecked him once on the lips and stood with a stretch.

He leaned forward, hands firmly on Hannibal’s knees. “No harm will come to her unless it is the only choice. One that you did not plan.” Hannibal gladly agreed if only to please his delicious looking darling.

On the other side of the line, Beverly sighed as she turned off her phone. Jack was more pleasant when he had answers. It was understandable but in only a single case he seemed to have gotten too used to the new faster method of just using Will Graham.

She winced as he snapped at another local officer and joined back to her team. “Someone get me Will Graham!” He screamed as he finally hit his own last nerve. “Call him.” He ordered to Beverly.

“Already did.” She countered and walked over to the freshest grave. Jack trailed behind, waiting for answers to jump into his lap. “He won’t consult.”

She could swear she heard his teeth gritting together in irritation. “Why? I’m not happy-go-lucky but not even I am that bad of a boss.” His hands curled into firsts, one of them hovering over a tree as if he was deciding whether hitting it was worth it.

She took a sample of the soil and put it in a plastic bag labelled evidence. She lifted it and studied it though she didn’t expect much before she could analyse it. “It’s not you. It’s the job. He won’t do it.”

Brian Zeller appeared beside her, a camera in hand and a mocking expression on his face. It wasn’t meant for her, she knew. He wouldn’t dare. “Did you try to convince him? Lure him in with the tasty fresh body?” He suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

“No.” She deadpanned with such an empty look at him that his smile faded just a little and he turned from her, muttering. “It’s his own decision to make.” She walked with heavy steps to the other side of the crime scene. She’ll just start with the oldest grave. Jimmy Price was already studying the body in it and the best way to remove it.

“You seem affected.” He observed. “He’s your friend.” Her eyes dared him to insult her or her friend. He put up his hands in defence. “Hey, no judgement. That judging bag of random facts and unusual reactions over there is my best friend.” He jabbed his head in Zeller’s direction. It prompted her to snort. Just as soon as the sound left her mouth, Jack was there, urging them to get on with it.

“He’s dead set on getting this Graham guy.” A petite ginger woman said to a local detective guarding the crime scene.

The detective nodded. “Oh, yeah. He’s a special consultant. Empathizes with the sickos. At least that’s what’s going around. You didn’t hear it from me though.”

“But he’s not here now?” She questioned, watching the FBI agents and officers fleet around the space. Her neck extended longer to see, her eyes shining with opportunity.

“He’s the one that caught the Minnesota Shrike. Big fish, you know?” The detective continued. “But he doesn’t enjoy it. Honestly. How could anyone? To be in the mind of a killer that messed up. Must be horrifying.” He shook his head, pity visible.

“Maybe.” She agreed for the appearance of it. She didn’t think it would be horrifying to him. Not at all. He certainly interested her. And Freddie Lounds was a vulture, but one very good at her job.

That evening when Will walked alone to Abigail’s bedside – Hannibal had appointments, though he had offered to cancel them, something he would never let his patients get away with but would do so himself for Will – it was to be met with Doctor Alana Bloom. She stood from her chair as he entered, her face twisting into this soft expression Will wanted to resent but couldn’t force himself to.

“Hello Alana.” He greeted politely. Not how he would a friend, but an old acquaintance. He wasn’t very sure where they stood. It seemed sometimes like a game of push and pull with her.

“How are you Will? We haven’t spoken since – I don’t even know.” She smiled, feeling silly for a moment though it was short-lived when he didn’t respond to her words.

His eyes were locked onto Abigail’s still form. Without Hannibal there to focus on, the image of her withering on the floor, bloody and weak, inevitably protruded his mind. He moved closer without realising it.

See? See? And he did. He saw how special she was. How loved she had been. She was so pure. At least that’s what she represented. Something she was supposed to be. Maybe what she had once been.

“I heard you’re having therapy with Hannibal.” Alana’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“What.” He wasn’t sure where she had heard that. It wasn’t true, though Will was known to spend quite some time in Hannibal’s office. If it was for therapy, it certainly would be an unorthodox one.

Alana sat back down, crossing her legs and intertwining her fingers, hands resting on her knees. “We go a while back. He was my mentor, friend. You can trust him.” She reassured him unnecessarily.

“It’s not therapy.” He argued with a snort.

“No?” She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “You aren’t simply saying so because you are of the opinion that it doesn’t work on you?”

“Believe me Alana. There is no professional manner in our relationship.” His words caused her to frown, and he hurried to find something else to say. He and Hannibal had never hidden their relationship, but it was fun watching people scramble like headless chickens. “Is there to yours? You said friends and not colleagues.”

“We are both, I suppose.” She concluded with another fleeting smile. “I’m sure he has some ideas and interest, professional of course, about the way you think.” Alana was kind, but to be told about his own husband by an old colleague of his was quite the annoyance.

Maybe I’ll just carve his name into my skin. – Wait, no, he’d love that. – Maybe I’ll carve mine into his. – Shit, that’s worse. Pretty sure he asked me about it once. He’ll deal with that later.

“You know who else has that?” He asked her, more than ready to stir the subject away. There was still time to have fun. “Freddie Lounds.”

She nodded slowly, considering her words, thinking too much about what might upset him. “I was wondering if you saw the article.”

“It’s kind of funny.” He commented, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“You really think so?” She sounded astonished. “I think you speaking to Hannibal is a good decision. Even outside of a professional setting. He is a nice man.” She tried to convince him once more.

Okay, that’s enough. “You know what else is nice about him. His ass.” He pressed his lips together not to laugh as Alana chocked on her spit. “It looks so tight. And in those trousers. Mmm. I just crave to see him without them.” He tilted his head backwards and closed his eyes theatrically.

Alana gasped. “Will! He’s married.” She chastised.

“Oh, I know. And doesn’t that make him even tastier!” He turned to Abigail immediately after with such a serious face that Alana had to blink and question if he had actually said that. It took a few minutes but eventually, Alana got frustrated enough with his ignoring that she stormed out. He couldn’t help but cackle.

“That wasn’t very nice of me. But you can understand how maddening listening to a woman introduce your own husband must be.” He said to Abigail. He leaned back in his chair and despite his best efforts, it wasn’t long until he fell asleep.

He woke slowly and groggily. He rubbed his eyes harshly and blinked a few times to restore the blurry image. It was the ringing of his phone that had woken him. He answered without even looking at the caller. He felt his heart beat in his ears when he registered Beverly’s nervous words and the empty bed in front of him. He rushed out of the room, phone falling to the floor, head snapping left and right in hopes of finding her. He ran to the nurses’ station, planted his hands on it to stop himself. The nurse in charge looked at him a bit startled.

“Abigail Hobbs. The girl in that room. Where is she?” He was glad the room was so close to the station so he could simply point. He didn’t think he could recall the number in the mess that was his mind.

“They took her for tests.” The nurse informed him.

“Who took her? Who took her!” He regretted yelling for a moment but shook himself of the feeling. She stammered and he really didn’t have time for it. Abigail didn’t have time for it.

He shook his head and rushed for the stairs, door banging behind him, taking several steps at a time. He doesn’t want to lose her. He never had her, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. It was some doors and halls after, most of which he didn’t even think about, some of which he didn’t register, that he burst into the right place.

At the other end of the hall he was standing in was a man in scrubs taking his Abigail who knows where. He pointed his gun and without hesitation shot. It hit the man’s shoulder. He thought for a second about shooting him some more. Getting Hobbs a friend in hell. He lowered his gun as he saw the man’s on the floor. He rushed towards them and kicked the gun, one hand leaving his own weapon to pull Abigail’s gurney back, away from the vile man collapsed on the floor, seemingly in shock.

“What were you going to do with her?” He asked the man, looming over him.

“We evolved from mycelium. Only reintroducing her to the concept.” Will swallowed, narrowing his eyes, never lowering his gun. The man licked his lips and continued, voice hopeful and excited. “Opisthokontum. A super kingdom of animalia and fungi together. That journalist said you understood me.”

Will frowned, head tilting slightly. “I could. But I don’t want to.”

“You would have.” The man insisted, eyes red-rimmed and watery. Desperately trying to be understood. Footsteps sounded down the hall, nurses and cops coming to investigate the shooting sound. It was a litany of questions, answers that were barely believed and calls to the FBI that followed.

When it was finally, finally, dealt with, Will walked with a nurse to Abigail’s room where he unsurprisingly found Hannibal. He took one look at Will and stood, taking him in his embrace.

“He wanted me to understand him.” Will mumbled into his chest. “I didn’t want to. I don’t want to be anyone but myself right now.” He looked up with tired eyes and found only fondness and comfort.

Hannibal’s hand came up to stroke his cheek. “You don’t have to be. You are my perfect boy.”

Will laughed softly at the nickname. “You do realise that I’m no longer a boy, right? Hell, I was barely even one when you met me.”

“You will always be one to me, sweet boy.” Hannibal pecked his cheek and stepped back, hands trailing down to hold Will’s. “Jack Crawford called me, but he didn’t inform me of any important information. Would you care to do so?”

Will shrugged, not wanting to yet unwilling to deny his cher. “He buried them alive, covered them in fungi so they reached out, could connect. He wanted to help me connect with Abigail.”

“You didn’t kill him.” Hannibal knew by the look on his face. The resentment of a lost opportunity. He couldn’t help but be proud of his boy’s control.

“Kill one. That’s alright. I didn’t have a choice. Kill two and with my reputation. Gossip is very popular in Quantico.” He hung his head.

Hannibal leaned down to catch Will’s eyes. “You wanted to.”

“Yes. He was going to hurt Abigail.” Will said quietly, almost a whisper. He made some distance between them, hands falling to their sides. Hannibal looked at him confused. “Hello Beverly.”

“How long have you known I was standing here?” She asked, a bit disappointed to be caught.

“Depends. How long were you standing there?” He countered, not looking from Hannibal. They seemed almost in a trance.

Will stepped sideways and turned slowly, regretfully. He smiled at Beverly and walked before her into the hall so they could talk. Hannibal’s gaze strayed to them but quickly fluttered to Abigail.

Will waited patiently for her to speak. She seemed unusually serious.

“I don’t like cheaters.” She stated to his surprise. “There’s no way you and Lecter aren’t fucking. No one does that much eye-fucking if they aren’t fucking. So, he is either your husband or your sidepiece. And I don’t like cheaters.”

He huffed out a laugh and lifted his hands in defence. “He’s my husband. You can put your gun away. No need to shoot me today.”

She turned back to the room. The door was still open, and she could she Hannibal perfectly in the too bright hospital light. She ogled him, eyes traveling down his torso and legs. She smirked, nodding approvingly, and hit Will’s shoulder.

“That’s my boy.”

Chapter Text

They had only just settled on the sofa when they were so rudely interrupted. Hannibal’s back had been to the armrest, his journal in his hands. It was harder to write like so, but he didn’t dare move his legs off Will’s lap. Will’s hands ran up and down them, fingers pressing so they stole attention.

The phone rang once, twice. They’ve lost count of it by the time it stopped. Jack was a very persistent man. They simply put it on silent and let him waste his time.

When the sound came from their doorbell sometime later, they were still wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying the easy touch and warmth. At times, it was the one thing that felt natural. Hannibal let a tired breath escape him and stood.

“Leave it.” Will’s voice was groggy from dozing and disuse. He made sure his eyes were appropriately wide when he looked at his husband.

Hannibal ran a hand through Will’s hair and went to the door. A bitter huff followed behind him.

Will slumped in his seat but quickly perked up with interest when he took in Hannibal’s greeting. “Doctor Bloom. What an unexpected pleasant surprise.” Slight hesitation lingered with the word ‘pleasant’.

Will stifled a laugh into Max’ fur. The dog nosed at him in worry.

“I’m afraid it’s not a social visit.” Alana’s voice and heels sounded through the hall.

“Oh?”

She took a deep breath, finding words. “Will Graham.”

“A very special man.” The words very carefully chosen not to reflect any effect his name held.

“That… I can concede to. We’ve had an… unprofessional, I would say inappropriate even, conversation recently.” She paused, wanting his attention. She was quite interesting; he gave it easily.

The one where he put you in your place? When you so misguidedly talked of me and triggered that lovely possessive instinct in him? I do thank you for that.

“What about?” He took her coat and hung it on one of the many handles.

Alana frowned as she noticed a jacket she could never imagen Hannibal wearing on another one. It was worn and a dark green colour. She shook her head in denial of the suggestions and followed Hannibal to his kitchen. They rarely used the sitting room if not for his dinners. She wondered if any other guest got to see it.

“Beer? I know it’s early, but it is from your special brew.” She smiled her agreement. He took one from the fridge and opened it for her, pouring it with clear experience. As she took a sip, he raised an eyebrow, waiting.

She fiddled with the glass idly. “We discussed the therapy he is receiving from you.”

Hannibal frowned theatrically. “We engage in regular conversations. I must say we both benefit from it. I am not his psychiatrist.” Say it.

She put the glass down too harshly after another sip. She seemed put-out. There were strict morals she followed. Rules bent for no one. For now. “Genuinely? Hannibal, he needs a stable crutch. One unbiased. Unaffected. Someone to understand and tell it as is true, no lies but safety nets.”

“He is not helpless.” The words were defensive but his tone aggressive. If Alana had been afraid of him, she’d have called it threatening. “He will surprise you with his strength. And you can trust that there is no lack of understanding between us.” Say it.

She scoffed, running a hand over her mouth and resting her thumb on her lip. “He is not all powerful. And neither are you. You’re highly intelligent and no one would dare question how good you are at your job.” She leaned close, her gaze not pleading but hoping for him to see her reasoning. He did, he just didn’t care for it. “But this is the wrong choice. Back out while you still can. If not for anything else, you know how unstable Will is. And you know how hard separating profession and friendship is.”

“Strangely, I never knew you to assume so much.” He tilted his head at her, swallowing at her frown. Say it! “He is dear to me.” Good enough.

She didn’t look surprised, only disgruntled, disapproving. Her cheeks gained redness, and she looked away. “He commented on how… nice your… mm, backside was.”

“Did he?” Trying and failing in not trying to sound pleased.

“He didn’t seem to care that you are married.” Her voice was choked like she couldn’t believe she had heard it and even less so that she had to say it.

“He wouldn’t.” He murmured, uncaring for the angry look sent his way.

“I think your wife would!” She exclaimed, suddenly angry. She had known Hannibal to be a caring, honourable man. To question it felt wrong.

Hannibal’s head snapped up, his whole body tensed at once. “You have never met my spouse. What do you assume to know of my marriage?” His voice was loud, bordering on a yell.

“I don’t.” She lowered her gaze in acknowledgement. “But your unbothered demeanour and his untoward words make me wonder.” She gulped down a lard portion of her beer to discontinue her rant unless she say something that Hannibal would truly despise.

“Why? It does not concern you.” He demanded.

“It’s rude, Hannibal.” She settled on, realising immediately what a mocking choice of words it was. There was no pulling her foot out her mouth once the stench has already set in. “Shockingly so.”

“Rude? What do you think you have discovered here?” Before she could answer he went on. “Is that the sole reason of your visit?”

She was bitter. She had always thought the best of him, but his reaction didn’t sit well with her. “Abigail Hobbs woke up.”

A chaos and dogs barking could be heard from the sitting room. She frowned at it in bafflement. Hannibal slid past her, intent on seeing what had caused the sound. The cause found him before he even got to the door.

“Will?!” Alana yelped as a dishevelled Will Graham burst into the room, picking up some things along the way. A map here, a pencil there. It was only then that Alana realised just how lived-in Hannibal’s house looked.

Will turned to Hannibal, either ignoring Alana or forgetting she was still there with her mouth hanging open. “I’ll grab our coats. Hannibal – shoes.” He pointed at his bare feet. “Alana – just, make yourself scarce.”

He hurried away, Zoe and Winston following after him in an imitation of a game of chase.

Alana gave Hannibal an accusing look. He returned it shamelessly.

She inhaled deeply and stepped up to him so her words were heard even as whispers. “What is he doing here, Hannibal? Do you not realize how immoral that is!”

“Morals are subjective. I see none broken here. Do you?” He remained impassive though his posture turned challenging.

Her eyes bulged out in disbelief. “What – he – you’re – You agreed to make a profile of him for Jack! Your interest is obviously not simple friendship.”

Blinding rage filled his mind. Spread to his body and froze his heart. “You’re saying he isn’t worth it?”

She avoided his eyes, a stabbing pain in her belly developing. “You got a taste of his mind. Even as small as it was, it’s just too much to let it go. It won’t last. He’ll get hurt.”

Hannibal huffed out a scoff. It’s the most improper Alana had ever seen him. “Protectiveness. Is that what this is?” He strode through the hall, certain of her following even if she had to jog to keep up with his long legs.

She caught his arm. He stumbled back slightly. “Will is vulnerable. His imagination brings fear.”

“He is not yours to comfort.” He spat. “I know well of his fear. He’s scarier. I trust him to take care of himself. Make his own decisions. You obviously don’t. How patronising you can be.” He bent down and picked up his and Will’s shoes, stomping back to the kitchen where he had assumed they’d be meeting.

She was unused to him speaking like that to her. They respected each other once. “He needs someone on his side.” She argued, unwanted desperation making its way into her voice.

“To advise, not control.” His voice was firm. Will already had everything he will ever need.

She shook her head with his words, frustrated. “He’s unstable. He may not recognise good from bad.”

“You mean what you consider right or wrong.” Will’s voice snapped them to attention. He had on his coat, the one that had stood out to Alana when Hannibal had taken her own. “I’m not lost. I know exactly who I am.”

Her voice was softer than when she spoke to Hannibal. Measured, condescending. “You may not know your own mind as much as you think you do.”

Will pecked Hannibal’s cheek as he took the shoes from him, his eyes staying locked on hers. “And you know it better?”

“You’re unstable.” She convinced herself. The kiss registered in her mind, and she turned to Hannibal almost speechless. “And you! What about your wife? Did he sleep here? He is dangerous. His affection for you has little pillars holding it up. He’s not – sane!”

Hannibal’s eyes burned. His teeth could be heard gritting. With each word, he stepped closer into her space, pushing her towards the wall behind her. Like a predator playing with prey. Something she had not been until she had insulted his Will. “I would advise you to think very carefully of the next words you chose to dishonour my husband with. They might just be the last that slide off your vile tongue in polite company, Alana.”

“Your husband?” She choked out. Shock kept her in place and her voice barely audible.

Hannibal extended a hand to Will and when he felt his settle in it, he pulled him closer. Their bodies crashed against each other. Will hand slipped from his and his arm wrapped around his waist. Will’s hand came up to brush his hair back into place.

They took some moments to replace those previously taken from them. As they untangled, Will stepped forward, posture protecting, standing proud in front of his cher.

He leaned close to Alana. “Would you mind? We’re just going out. There’s someone we need to see.” His breath was uncomfortable on her cheek.

She wanted more than anything to get out and never look back. She could not. One choice she’d always make was being brave for those she though could not be. “I don’t think you should see her.” She felt the snaps of anger in him. “Not yet.” She amended. Because it was true and not to please him.

“I want to see her. She has no one. I want – “ need  “ – to help her.” My girl. My responsibility.

Alana swallowed painfully and straightened her back. “Your visit might just do the opposite.” She warned him, pleading him to understand.

He turned to Hannibal instead. “Whatever you think is best, my darling.” He said neutral, curious. Alana winced at the nickname.

Will’s gaze flicked between them and landed on Alana as he answered. “We’ll wait. I’ve got a lecture to give either way.” It was an excuse. He respecter her. If not for Hannibal he would crave her respect in return. As it was, it mattered very little.

She squeezed his upper arm in thanks. He ripped it from her grip. “Can I ask – “

Hannibal interrupted her, impatient for once. “You can do so later. For now, I’d rather you leave. Doctor Bloom.”

She gave a tight nod and finished her forgotten beer in four sips before leaving their home.

Will felt a presence behind him. He leant against his husband’s chest and sighed. His eyes closed on their own accord. He though he lost his breath as laboured wheezing intruded his ears. It was Abigail’s. Had been. She’s fine now. Just fine. All that blood, spilled for nothing but scars.

A kiss was pressed to his temple, and an inquiring hum pulled him from his thoughts. “What is the lecture on?”

“You. Cassie Boyle.” A bitter echo sounded in his chest. He turned his head, so he listened to his husband's heartbeat. “She’s awake. He failed.” He whispered.

She’ll be just fine.

Yet he wondered, how much more blood would have to be spilled for it to be so?

Chapter Text

She woke up cold. There was a tube down her throat. Suffocating her. Funnily, it felt freer to breath with it down it than her father’s hands around it. It hurt when she pulled it out. At least she wasn’t dead. Hell would have been harder on her, right?

They kept telling her what she felt. They were wrong more often than not. She lied. A lot. She had to. It didn’t make her a liar. It just meant she survived. Those were the words that let her sleep. But not rest. It was guilt and fear that caught up to her in her dreams.

She got the impression they were glad he hadn’t succeeded. She knew he didn’t, but it didn’t feel like he’d failed either. He died thinking she’d join him soon. That she’d be glad to see him. She would have been, but she wasn’t supposed to. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to.

She should have hated him. She didn’t. They told her he had been a horrible man. But. He had loved her. He had loved them, just didn’t care for them. He loved her too much to lose her. Too much to not honour her. They were sacrifices to his insatiable heart in her place.

She wondered if she was forever doomed by her father’s sins. If they were now her own. Her body felt numb and her mind sluggish. She supposed she was now an orphan. She grieved for her mother. For what her father had once been. For what she had lost of them and of herself.

Doctor Bloom came to talk to her. To tell her what she had already known. Her voice was familiar, soothing even. Or maybe she was a little too much like her mother for Abigail to refuse her rudely like her mind urged her to. Still, she revealed nothing.

A journalist was next. She listened, wary. Freddie Lounds was straightforward compared to the condescending nurses and doctors that tip-toed around truth. She didn’t like her, but she appreciated that at least.

She understood. Until Will Graham walked through the door. He didn’t look insane. Shaky and running on nerves but not deranged. But then again, her father hadn’t either.

He didn’t want Freddie to stay in the room. The orderlies listened to him. The man beside him was the only one composed. She envied him.

Freddie reached out to hand her a card. “If you want to talk –“ Will ripped the card from her and put it inside his pocket. “She can make her own decisions.” She argued, struggling against the arms holding her back.

“She needs to know all the facts first.” Will told her, calmly, with disinterest in her and more curiosity of Abigail’s reaction.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Freddie snapped.

“You’re a journalist.” It shut her up long enough so she could be escorted out. Abigail thought it funny. The smirk on the other man’s face said he thought the same.

“Abigail.” Will addressed her with wide eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. It’s nice to finally see you awake. “This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Do you… remember us?”

She hesitated in giving her answer. “I remember you.” She conceded. “You killed my dad.” His eyes lowered but not before she caught the glint of tears. She thought back to her dreams. The voice. “And it really wasn’t very nice of you, but neither was it of her.”

He huffed out a surprised laugh. Hannibal raised an amused eyebrow. Will ignored him in favour of Abigail. She felt it made sense. And at the same time also like she was a child being humoured. It wasn’t true. He was protective, but he didn’t think her stupid.

“The truth can be hurtful but is always necessary.” He told her, voice lecturing. He’d make a patient father.

She snorted. “Yeah, but there is a choice in the way you tell it.” Her lips twitched up a little. “It was good entertainment though.”

“I’m glad I was of use.” There was a pause, and she had enough hesitation.

“You’re here to talk about what happened, so talk.” It came out harsh, but they were adults.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save your mother. We did everything we could, but she was already gone.” Will rushed out before his brain caught up. He had needed to say it. “And your father.”

“My father?” She snapped, angry and very suddenly teary-eyed. It was more emotion than she had showed in all the time she’d been awake. “How could you have saved him? He was crazy. Evil! Wasn’t he? That’s what they said.”

Will rested a hand on her shoulder to calm her. It did very little. “He was sick.” He reminded and only got an incredulous look full of pain for it. “He loved you very much.” That he knew to be true.

“Too much!” Abigail pulled off the scratchy blanket covering her and threw herself off the bed. Her knees wobbled and both men were prepared to catch her, arms raising and expressions alert. She quickly gained her balance and her composure. “Oh yeah, he was loving right up until the second he wasn’t. But not to them. He might as well have hated them. Me.”

“He didn’t.” Will argued more passionately than he wanted. Than he should have. It was wrong for her to insult the one thing her father had done right.

“Why does it matter!?” She demanded, her feet taking her so close to him. In his desperation to make her understand he looked like her father. But the words he spoke were his own.

“Because it was what you brought out in him. He loved you. Obsessively. But you were his everything. The thought of losing you brought him to madness, not the thought of loving you. Trust me, I would know.” She could hear the shame in his voice.

Knowing she was not the sole offended one settled her mind. Not all the way, but enough. “Because you were in his head?” He nodded, words lost. “But you are not him.” Is that a good thing? I miss him.

“What he did wasn’t your fault.” He sounded sincere enough. His voice was soft.

She wasn’t sure of the truth of his statement. She ignored it. “You seem much saner than she made you sound.” Her legs trebled from the effort they were unused to, and she sat down. Will sat beside her, not wanting to look down on her.

“That’s because Hannibal is here.” He leaned closer and continued with a conspiratory whisper. “My husband keeps me sane.”

Abigail’s eyes snapped toward the man to find him returning her gaze. She could hardly get a read on him. Something she was used to being good at. He looked harmless. When he spoke, it was to Will and with a voice she had heard her parents use on each other so much, she simply thought it love. “And you keep pushing me to the edge of madness, my dear.”

It made Will huff and Abigail let out a minutely hesitant laugh. Their company was the best she had had in the hospital.

“Your father.” Hannibal talked with no pause, sure of himself and his words. He knew what he wanted, and she knew he’d get it. “You said he was loving. But perhaps there were times he wasn’t?” She went to deny, and he stopped her calmly. “You do not have to answer right now. I just want you to think, remember. Sometimes the most important things are the ones forgotten. Rarely are they unreachable.”

She thought and said nothing. She waited for him – dared him – to continue. To taint the memories she had of her dad into those of a vile man. He hadn’t been. “Did he tell you about the young women he murdered?” Will looked like he wanted to snap at his husband. Abigail turned to him to defend her. From one parent to another.

“I’m worried about nightmares.” She said instead, eyes on her hands, fidgeting in her lap.

Will reached out and stopped her nails from scratching off some skin. “We’ll help you with the nightmares. Hannibal is an expert at calming one from them.” He gave a small smile.

“Do you have nightmares about killing my dad?”

I have nightmares of being in his head and killing you, child. “Sometimes.” He looked distinctively uncomfortable, but she couldn’t stop now. Not when she was finally getting straight answers.

“Killing somebody, even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?” She grasped at his jacket, unaware of how young she looked in that moment. He wanted to tell her everything yet nothing in fear of upsetting her.

“Did it for you?” Hannibal cut in, wondering.

“What? I haven’t killed anybody.” She protested, fingers releasing the fabric and body leaning backwards.

Hannibal gave a nod. “No. But you helped your father do it.” He was convinced of it.

She let out a hoarse laugh, throat itching with words unsaid. “You honestly believe that? I didn’t know. He’d have killed me.” Though it was Hannibal she was answering, it was Will she was talking at.

“He wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.” Will assured her, staring at her, unblinking.

“No one is judging you here, Abigail.” Hannibal added, coming to a crouch in front of her. It still felt like he was looming over them. It was bothering, though his grand presence was protective, possessive, more than threatening.

She felt cornered all the same. “No, you’re just accusing me of being a murderer.” She pushed herself to her feet and walked a way away from them. They straightened as she did so.

“We understand. Perhaps we are the only ones who do.” Hannibal told her, comforting. The hand he offered was steady and warm when she took it.

“I want to go home.” She pleaded. They shared a look. It angered her to be at the mercy of their decision. “And I want you to get out.” She demanded of them. Not like they invaded her space, and it felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar. She pouted. Like a sullen teenager.

They did as she asked. The room felt too big for her body and too small for her mind. They were strangers, she shouldn’t have trusted them with anything. But she did.

They left feeling like they had achieved a common peace of mind. Of course, there were so many that couldn’t let it last very long.

“Special Agent Graham!” Freddie Lounds screeched from her place in front of their car. She took measured steps towards them. “I never formally introduced myself. I’m –“

“Freddie Lounds.” Will finished for her with a begrudgingly amused smirk. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” Sarcasm dripped from his every word.

Freddie frowned, offended. “Intimidated.” She corrected, smugly. Smug means underestimation. And we all know where that gets you. “I am, after all, the one holding the projection of the perspective Abigail will take on you. I’d advise being nicer.”

“Abigail is a smart girl. The truth will not escape her.” Hannibal told her, arm wrapping around Will’s upper back, guiding him to the car. Secure, not hurrying.

“Psychiatrists tend to be more willing to talk, usually, Doctor Lecter.” Freddie told him harshly, catching his bicep and pulling him back. Her hold didn’t last very long. Will ripped her away from his husband and gently, though he wanted for it to be anything but, turned her from him and made her take some steps back.

She inhaled in surprise, her body stiff and alert. Will studied her silently. He hummed and turned from her, nodding at Hannibal when the latter held the car door open for him.

Just as the back of his head thumbed against the headrest, his phone rang. He sighed and searched for it in his pockets with his eyes closed, headache starting to pound behind his eyelids. Hannibal came around the car to the driver’s side with barely a glance to Freddie who still stood where they left her.

“I believe there is no need to talk to him.” Hannibal commented as he saw the caller. He started the car and as soon as he could removed one hand from the wheel in favour of holding Will’s.

“We should talk to him about Abigail. The house is a crime scene after all.” Will countered quietly and answered the call without waiting for a response. “Hello, Jack.”

“So, now you answer.” Jack’s voice came through the phone, accusing.

Will rolled his eyes at the annoyed tone and brought Hannibal’s hand to his lips for a kiss to calm himself. “Abigail wants to go home.” He told him quietly.

Silence followed the words, Jack’s thoughts felt heavy. “Noon, tomorrow, my office.” He ordered. “We need to talk anyway. I need you here. Not just on the Hobbs’ case.”

“I can’t.” Will argued, determined. Hannibal took a sharp turn and squeezed his hand in comfort.

“No. You can, you just won’t. People are dying.” The phrasing was pleading but his voice anything but. He was angry. At the lost opportunities, at the lives not yet gone and at Will for not listening. He was used to being listened to, respected.

“I made a promise.” Will countered. It wouldn’t mean much aloud, but it was everything.

A slap of skin to metal rang from Jack’s side of the line. He had probably hit his hand on the table. Though Will had not seen the gesture, it had its desired effect. “Your promise matters more than the lives of the people you could save? I’ve seen your work, I know the numbers. It’s a lot of lives you’re throwing away simply to keep your word.”

“I gave it to the one person that mattered.”

“And who exactly is that valuable in your book?” Jack asked through teeth gritted tightly together, every few movements making a screeching sound.

“You really want to know?” It was unusual. Inquiring. Most of the time, Jack just said to deal with their crap and get over it.

“I need to understand you.” He explained, trying to be friendly but it only made Will match him in anger. So that you can use it? “Have you been to see Doctor Lecter?”

“Why would I do that? Has Alana been to see you?” It didn’t seem like Alana told him anything. Sometimes, it was hard to measure just how much Jack knew or suspected. He had denied his mind many truths before.

“Doctor Bloom and I interact quite rarely. Now, answer.”

Will thumb stroked the back of Hannibal’s hand. His eyes were locked onto the small smile dancing so merrily on his husband’s lips. He decided not to open that particular door. Jack had no right to mess with the perfection of Will’s life. To taint his heaven or upset his cher. “My life is none of your business.”

“Want to try that again?” A low, dangerous, tone generally meant trouble. A wild boar let out of its cage and waiting for the opening to attack.

Will couldn’t care less for it. “Not really. I don’t think there anything else that needs to be said.” He almost hung up right then, but Jack’s next words called him back.

“Why this one?” He questioned, sounding genuinely stumped. “You could do so much more. You’re unwilling to. I get it. But you keep insisting on the Hobbs’ case. Why?”

Will swallowed with effort and turned from Hannibal yet kept contact with him, always. “It was my case. My responsibility.” My daughter.

“I don’t get you, Will.” He sighed, tiredly. It wasn’t often that Will could see the old man in him. “I hate to put you in such a position.” And he did sound regretful. But sure of himself. Convinced by his own mind that there was only the single choice. “But I need you in the saddle.” The call disconnected before any other word could pass between them.

“Typical.” Will murmured as he turned off his phone and lifted his and his husband’s connected hands to his cheek, revelling in the warmth. “There’ll be a meeting at noon tomorrow. He’ll probably call you for it soon.” He whispered with his eyes closed. Pretending it was all serene, just them.

“Jack Crawford is a problem.” Hannibal told him, inquiring and demanding at once.

Will snorted and corrected him without denying it. “He’s just doing his job. Besides, he isn’t an obstacle, just annoying.” So freaking annoying.

They stopped at a red light, no car before them. They had enough time for Hannibal to close his eyes in the kiss they shared. He brushed away wayward strands of hair from his husband’s forehead. “Speaking ill of you is a sin worthy of execution in itself.”

It made Will smile but worry. He wasn’t certain it was warranted. Hannibal wasn’t known to be the impulsive one between them. “It’s too risky. At the moment at least.”

The light turned green and their eyes lost contact for the following words. “Patient, I can be. I promised him pain, and I shall deliver.”

What should have been dread turned to excitement in the warmth of Will’s belly.

Chapter Text

The time until the meeting passed in periods of time craftily glued together by Will’s mind. He had been right about Jack calling Hannibal. When the phone rang minutes after he had hung up, he simply smirked and kept his gaze off his husband. He was glad not to be the one discussing with Jack.

It took a while for the sky to go dark. Though at home, at the warmest place for him to rest, heaviness took even longer to weigh on his eyelids. He welcomed it gladly. In his sleep his body curled around Hannibal and his nose buried in his chest, bashing in the familiar scent, the one he knew wouldn’t overwhelm and had undertones of metallic essence that blood carried. He was keenly aware of his own scent on his cher’s skin. There was much contact but decidedly less words between them that day. It was why Hannibal smelled bitter.

In the morning, they stayed still but swaying until they could no longer. They got ready in silence and Will drove them to the Academy. They spoke not a word of the daughter, but she was the sole weight on their mind. Pressuring, reassuring.

Will almost wished they’d walk hand in hand to Jack’s office. They settled simply for their shoulders brushing. They arrived at a minute until noon, Hannibal’s etiquette forcing their hand.

“Let’s get it over with, shall we, cher?” Will grumbled and was for once the one holding the door open.

Something they should have but didn’t think to expect was Alana joining the meeting. “Hello Will. Hannibal.” She greeted, sitting tensely furthest from the door. Hannibal returned her words while Will collapsed into the middle chair with an inaudible sigh.

Jack’s expression was strained, little doubt to it not being caused by Alana’s moral insistences. There was no time to greet. “She wants to go home. I say we let her.” He leaped straight for the point, foot itching to tap impatiently and professionalism holding it in place.

“What she wants and what she needs are two very different things.” Alana responded with fever.

“Not necessarily.” Hannibal expressed his doubt. She wouldn’t before but now Alana narrowed her eyes and gave him a slight glare. “Each individual knows themselves best. We can theorise and analyse all day and night, but it will always stand that therapy is a collaboration.”

Alana huffed in frustration. “I don’t want to see her hurt. Taking her back to the space, the moment where she almost died, the one where her parents did die, is reckless.”

“We can make a profile but there will always be possibilities caused by factors outside our knowledge. If we trust her, then we should trust her.” Will cut in. All heads snapped to him, equally surprised though hiding it differently. “And she isn’t a minor. If she wants it, there is really no way to stop her other than not telling her that we can’t. That would destroy any chance in her trusting any one of us. I am unwilling to lie to her.” His eyes were kept on Jack’s desk, his hands gripping the sides of his chair. Hannibal wished to hold them, caress his skin and soothe his mind.

“So, it’s settled.” Jack concluded, scooting forward in his chair to broach the next subject. He clapped his hands together and it was with too little force or distance for it to be as loud as it was in the tension.  

Alana interrupted his next words, leaping up from her chair and leaning her palms against the desk. “Nothing is settled! This could be really harmful to her psyche.” She shook her head, hair moving only slightly out of place.

“What we have is a difference of opinion. Therefore, I am choosing the one that best suits my agenda.” Jack disregarded her thoughts and moved on, despite Alana already walking out of the room. He turned to Will with a sigh. “I want you back. Doctor Lecter seems to think you’re completely stable. He has an unbiased perspective.”

Alana paused at the door, one hand on the frame, and turned to make sure she heard it correctly. So, Jack doesn’t know.

“No.” Will refused firmly. He took his glasses off and stared directly into Jack’s eyes. There had never before been a moment where they kept eye-contact. It was uncomfortable for them both. Will endured it for its effect.  

Jack leaned back a little but didn’t back off. “Why not?” He demanded, spitting and rude.

“It’s simple. I don’t want to.” From the corner of his eye Will could see Hannibal’s lips perk up subtly.

Alana’s left foot took initiative to step forward and tell Jack exactly what Will and Hannibal were to each other. Jack spoke before she could. “Those deaths will be on you.” On the other hand. Let the bastard figure it out himself. She left without a word, door closing soundlessly behind her.

“By that logic we’d share the fault.” Fault for a responsibility he neither wanted nor consented to.

Jack’s face twitched oddly and much uncomfortably. He gritted his teeth. “I won’t be able to do more. It’s you that doesn’t want to.” He pointed his finger at him accusingly. Angry and righteous. He was desperate.

Will scoffed and snapped. “It’s you that lives in the darkest pit of his own ass, not even willing to peak out long enough to see outside it.” Jack blinked in outrage and Hannibal’s eyes gained an undefinable shine. “The only reason you won’t be able to do more is because you yourself tie your perception back around into a blindfold.”

“Then unbind me!” Jack shouted, standing up slowly, the movements in contrast to his tone.

Will sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He put an obstacle between them, cutting the contact. “Jack, I know you enough to know that I don’t know you very well. I don’t want to know you. And I won’t help you. Abigail is my responsibility. Her father was a case. She isn’t.”

With that he stood, slow and deliberate, and walked from the room with a grumbled goodbye. Hannibal followed behind him with a clear and proud greeting. He wanted to step right up behind him, feel his back on his chest and whisper in his ear and lick his neck to taste sweat and everything else he could as long as it was Will. He could not. Their shoulders continued brushing.

“What you said before. It was wrong, you know?” Will said, focused on the road but mind with his cher as they drove to Abigail. Hannibal looked at him, attention captivated the moment a sound passed his darling’s lips. “There are times, quite many of them when you know me better than I know myself.”

The ride seemed shorter than it truly was. They were let in without a show of badges that were temporary and theoretically non-existent. Abigail sat up as soon as she saw who entered her room.

“ Hey.” She greeted, unsure as how to address them. She was in casual clothes, jeans and a sweater that looked fluffy and comfortable. There was a scarf made of thin fabric around her neck.

Hannibal glanced at her shoes she had on the bed. He ignored them. “Hello Abigail. How has your day been so far?” He put his coat on the chair beside the bed and reached out for Will’s, manoeuvring him so he hardly had a choice in it. Abigail cracked a smile at his eyeroll.

“Stuffy.” She responded with a rub of her neck. “I’m ready to get out of here.” She took a moment to consider herself. “I’m going whether you want me to or not.”

“Well. We are grateful that you haven’t left yet.” Hannibal told her with a neutral, amused even, tone. She looked down onto her hands.

“Got a coat?” Will asked her. She nodded with a frown. “Grab it. We’re taking you home.” She jumped from the bed and busied herself looking for her coat as to avoid the threat of hugging the man.

She faltered, smile slipping. “For good?” She asked turning to the men cautiously.

“Not likely. It’s still a crime scene. And… the families will likely be seeking retribution for the girls.” Will saw her swallow and stepped closer before continuing with a hand on her shoulder that they both feared would be awkward but turned comforting the moment Abigail’s shoulder jumped up in search of missing contact and Will’s fingers moved gently but firmly each in its small circle. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. We’ll help you, if you wish it.”

From the oddly messed up ball of feeling in her chest and stomach she both expected and wanted satisfaction, not happiness, but something close to it, enough for her to pretend it was, to return. Instead, it was anger. White-hot rage that bubbled while boiling, burning her veins and bursting through her skin.

She stumbled back, touch overbearing. Too familiar. “And if I don’t?” She demanded, chin high. “Will you back off? You aren’t my parents, you know.” She didn’t understand where the comparison originated in her mind, only that it hurt and it was unfair to them all.

She felt the hurt she saw in Will’s eyes. She felt Hannibal shift with displeasure. Unease and wrongness, she realised. But they’re not!

Her eyes watered. It felt deserved.

“We are well aware of that Abigail. We wish only to help. Not in any way replace.” Hannibal told her, fingers on Will’s side. His expression was reassuring, certain. The lines around his eyes spoke of pain.

Abigail cleared her throat and took in as much air as her compressed lungs let her. “Wouldn’t it be better? To have a… an ordinary family?” She wished to go back and just make her father only kill her. No other girl, still bathing in youth and dreams and opportunities. Only her, doomed by birth. She wondered what would have become of her mother then. Maybe she’d have a life, a chance at it anyway.

Hannibal sighed and his feet shifted like he was preparing to hold his ground. Or maybe hold her. Catch her before the fall. Even if it would be a jump. “Your parents did their best. They loved you. I don’t believe you were quite ordinary, but you were a family.”

“It wasn’t real! None of it.” Her voice grew quiet and from brave to shaky. “Not the image, not the actions, not the – the love!” She threw her hands in the air, defeated. The yet unhealed scar on her neck burned.

Will’s hand snapped to Hannibal’s sleave on the arm still pressing to his side. “Don’t. It was real. To all of you. Hell, it was real to the world. And no one can deny the love that was there. Something horrible happened to you. You were neither the cause nor the wrong occurring. Love can be so painfully destructive.”

She took in his words. His plea. “It was rotten.” She whispered.

“But not broken.” His voice was louder than hers.

They stared at each other, considering words and known unfamiliar voices long enough for Hannibal to find Abigail’s coat and bring it to her, holding it up. She let him put it on her without a word. They left in silence.

At the door, they passed a nurse that gave Abigail a soft smile and a loud goodbye. She got the stink eye in return to which Will raised an eyebrow and Hannibal responded verbally for all of them while already preparing a scolding he knew he won’t yet use.

On their flight, some two hours after they left the hospital, Abigail fell asleep leaning against the window. The move felt both like securing freedom and a prisoner transfer. She frowned and shifted some in slumber. Her hand slipped from her lap and the muscles of her shoulder pulled it back up then let it fall down. Most of it rested on her thigh, her index finger hooked itself into the pocket of Will’s jacket.

Will noticed immediately and sat stiffly until Hannibal grabbed the back of his neck and tilted his head until it was lying on his shoulder. He kissed his forehead and closed his eyes, prompting Will to do the same.

A nightmare she claimed not to remember shocked Abigail awake just before landing. Her finger fell from Will’s pocket only after gripping tighter and a tear slipping down her cheek.

They met with Alana in front of the house at around four when there was still light, but it looked dull. She looked impatient and covered it well with layer upon layer of concern and knowledge after a singular glance at Abigail. The latter’s attention though was completely off her and on the tasteless writing over all of her home’s garage. Cannibals.

“They don’t know what happened. Aren’t trying to understand.” Alana told her, following her gaze and sliding closer slowly. “Abigail…”

“I know.” Abigail interrupted her. “How could they? I’m sure I wouldn’t have.” Her lips trembled but she faced the woman with no weakness. “It’s what he was.” We were. Shut up.

“It’s quite cold. Why don’t we enter?” Hannibal suggested.

Alana turned to him slowly and even Abigail in her distress could see the tension snapping and tying into knots. “Yeah. Let’s go.” She agreed and ignored the staring, gripped Will’s elbow and dragged him with her. Alana and Hannibal stayed behind, stepping slowly, keeping their eyes on each other.

Abigail took a moment to mourn her mother and that night. She stared at the white outline and swallowed back tears and bile. She pulled Will inside with fast steps.

“Abigail?” He questioned and they both wanted for him to push away the hair that fell into her face.

I don’t want to see my mom. “I didn’t want to see the bitch fight between them.” Will huffed out a laugh and looked at her incredulously. “She seemed less angry with you than with him.” She squinted at him. “Does she like you?”

“Don’t think so. It wouldn’t matter either way. She thought I was too unstable, and that Hannibal couldn’t have maintained a relationship that draws a line between his profession and love. It was quite funny since we’ve been married for 9 years.”

Abigail smiled slightly but it never reached her eyes. Will tried for a comforting expression but only managed a knowing one. She wasn’t very sure what sprung the question. “Ever thought of kids?” Will’s eyebrows shot up again and it prompted her to lower her eyes, finding shame in impulsiveness. “Forget it. It’s not –“

“We have. A lot.” Will cut her off. “I wouldn’t be good for a kid.” Abigail went to speak further, and Will stopped her by passing through the hall and into the kitchen. She followed him with heaviness.

She took in the space where her blood had been spilled by her blood. The sight blurred and it wasn’t the place where she’d almost been killed, murdered, it was where her father had given up. “I wanted to say goodbye.” She mumbled, teary-eyed and wavering. “What did you want?”

“We wanted to help you.” She heard him take in a shaky breath. Hannibal was standing between them now, Alana forgotten somewhere in the background. “Jack wanted to see if you could find any evidence.” Alana inhaled sharply and turned her glare onto him.

“The way you do? Re-enact the crime?” Abigail spun to face him, hair flying around and eyes wide. “That’d work. Will, you be my dad.” Will flinched but she ignored it, turning to Hannibal. “You be my mom.” She pointed to Alana at last. “You be the one on the phone!”

“Abigial.” Hannibal called out to her, voice slightly louder than usually. “That’s not why we’re here. What Jack Crawford wants is none of your concern.”

“But it is yours?” She asked them all, eager to know at least something.

“No.” Was Will’s stern answer. He looked outraged that she’d even think it. That she could think a whimsey would thump her well-being. He wanted to hug her and yell at her and knew none of his words would matter for he didn’t yet know what they would have been.

Abigail gritted her teeth and trained her eyes onto his chest. “You work for him, don’t you?” She asked, insistent. She glanced around at the floor, the phone and nowhere at all, her eyes going glassy.

“I don’t.” He denied vehemently. She swayed first on her heels, then on her tippy toes. “There was only the one case. You’re… important. To us.” He begged her to understand with his eyes.

She understood and turned toward the living room, walking quick and with purpose. She heard someone call after her but didn’t care enough to look back.

It was a careful squeak of the front door that stopped her from doing whatever she was about to.

Hannibal was at her side in a second, Will stalking to the door and Alana once again merely observing. Will thought of everyone it could have been. Reporters, police officers. What now? A possibility he didn’t think to think of was a young girl, face pale, hair dark and eyes fierce.

“Yes?” He demanded more than asked. It might not have been his home but until it remained Abigail’s, he would protect it as if it were.

“Who the fuck are you?” The girl sneered, making Will’s eyebrows shoot up. Mon cher won’t like that.

Abigail felt Hannibal’s form tense and loom over her, posing as a threat to a threat. “Marrisa!” She yelped the moment the voice registered. She sagged in relief and nostalgia. What little time passed since they had seen each other felt like months upon months.

“Abigail?!” Marrisa returned her calling, shrieking and quick to anger. She pushed the door all the way open before being stopped by Will from barging in in fury. “Let me see her you pig!” She demanded, torn between raising a hand to hit or lifting a leg to kick.

“Will, it’s okay.” Abigail addressed him, pulling away from arms she hadn’t realised had wrapped around her. She missed it the moment she was more than a step away. “She’s my friend.”

Almost instantly, Abigail’s arms were the ones full of Marrisa. Her breath hitched once before she took back her own weight, fearing hurting her friend. She swallowed painfully down her suddenly dry throat. “We should talk.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a whisper.

“We can go outside.” Abigail told her and closed all the room for protest as she hurried out the door. Alana’s objections and Hannibal’s footsteps trailed behind her. Will remained still, when she passed him, his fingers brushed over her forearm and their eyes met. She was given trust and support.

They walked behind the house to the stream that passed it. They stood at the highest part with hands in their pockets and looked at their feet, staying quiet for some time. They stood side by side, the distance Abigail feared would appear nowhere to be felt.

“It was true then. He did it.” Marrisa said, mumbling and angry and comforting. Normal. “I could hear the shots, you know? The screaming.” She glanced at her neck subconsciously. Your screaming. Her gaze returned to the wet grass when she became aware of just what she was looking at. Abigail noticed but didn’t acknowledge it. ”It was surreal.” Marrisa breathed, now brave, looking at her face.

“You’re telling me.” Abigail tried to snort with forced laughter but only managed to bring tears to her eyes and redness to her cheeks and neck. “It shouldn’t have been. True. It shouldn’t have happened. He – he should never have been like that.” I don’t want to be like that.

“I know. But you aren’t like that.” She kicked some of the rocks that lied directly under her feet.

“They’re saying I am.” Abigail reminded her.

“You saw?”

She blinked wet eyes and let a bitter smile twist her face. “No. They won’t let me online. It wasn’t hard to figure it out. It was my fault.” Her pointer and middle finger tangled in her hair. She pulled and pulled until she heard more than felt some hair tear.

Marrisa guided her hand away and let her shake it, hair falling to the floor, sad and broken. “Because your dad went nuts?” She questioned, her lips tightening when Abigail stayed quiet either in consideration or agreement. She could handle neither. “No. That’s bullshit!” Abigail didn’t respond. They heard leaves crunching behind them. Hannibal stood a slight distance away, ready to interfere at any moment. “You know, they interviewed everybody. The whole block was on the news. And then everybody at school. Whores.”

“Did you?” Abigail’s cheeks were cold as her tears fell, their tracks drying quickly behind them.

“Did I what?” Marrisa frowned in confusion. The conversation was wavering. “No.” She claimed as soon as she realised what Abigail was asking. “No!” She repeated once more, surer only in tone. She scoffed. “My mom doesn’t even want me talking to you, much less the news.”

Abigail’s lips turned upward. “Since when do you listen to her?”

“Evidently, I’m not. And I wouldn’t. Not on this. You’re my friend, Abby. I won’t let you down. Especially not now.” She stepped closer and squeezed her side gently. It was a movement they were both familiar with.

A small smile passed her lips again. “Even if I’m a monster?” She asked, truly wondering.

“I don’t think you are.” Marrisa insisted.

“I didn’t think my dad was.”

“Well, he was sick, wasn’t he? He didn’t just wake up and choose this, it wasn’t sadistic pleasure he got from it! But you’re not sick. It’s a choice. One I don’t think you’ll make.”

“I do.” A new voice cut in. Their heads snapped to the side to face a young man, some years older than them. He was slim and had curly light hair. He never stopped ranting. “I think you were bait, and you lured them, and they were friendly until they were helpless.”

“This is private property.” Abgail almost shouted at him. Her hands shook. Hannibal rushed forward from behind them. They heard someone exit the house.

The man paid no mind to new people or sounds. He stepped forward, to the edge of the trees on the other side of the stream. “Did you help your messed-up daddy take out my sister’s lungs?! While she was still using them! But I bet that did it for you. Seeing her in pain.” He sneered and his eyes were as red as his face.

“Piss. Off. Bitch.” Marrisa yelled at him and, acting on instinct alone, she picked up a rock and threw it. It hit its target spot on, hitting the man’s forehead and cutting a red line over it. He finally cowered, slouching his back and taking in the two angry men coming at him that had just passed the girls. He fled. Trees covered him and it took a while for Hannibal and Will to cross the stream. Too long. The man was already gone.

Abigail remained visibly shaken. She was grounded by hands gripping her biceps and turning her from where the men still searched for either evidence or a trance of him. “Come on, Abby.” Marrisa ushered her.

Alana walked towards them, kind expression on her face. She was passed by a middle-aged woman whose face was splitting with fear-induced anger. “Marrisa!” She barked. “Come home. Now!”

The girl in question muttered something along the lines of an overly frustrated ‘oh my god’. “Can you stop being such a bitch?!”

Hannibal paused, demeaner just freezing in place. He waited for Will’s protests that she was just a teenager, not yet knowing enough to mind her words. The latter was too preoccupied with making sure there was no threat to their girl. The corners of Hannibal’s lips jumped up.

Marrisa sighed and leaned down slightly to kiss Abigail’s cheek in a practised motion. “See you later.” She went with her mom as soon as her friend returned the goodbye.

Abigail’s body was more relaxed than it had been before. It seemed to be encouraged by the appearance of the other girl, used to the calming presence. At the same time her mind went from clustered to overrun.

Will approached her and without much thought that her head was already too full of, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder and gripped his jacket tightly in a fist. She felt his hand hover over her head, craving but unsure. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her. It was Hannibal that made the decision for him. He stepped as close as space would let him and wrapped his arms around them both. An arm was soon released to press against Will’s and guide it onto Abigail’s head.

“Hannibal –“ Alana began, uncomfortable but reluctant. She knew it was an action Abigail found soothing. But such bonding could be a huge risk. She was cut off by Abigail lifting her head.

She sniffed and scratched roughly at her puffy eyes. The men let go of her but stayed close in her space. She seemed quite content with it. Her hand stayed on Will’s chest. “It was somebody’s brother.” She mumbled to them.

“I think it’s been enough for one day. Perhaps, it is time to rest now?” Hannibal voiced, collected as always, though the dark shimmer in his eyes was more pronounced and without knowing why, Abigail shivered at it even knowing it wasn’t her it was directed to.

“Grief is one of the strongest emotions one can feel. It makes some reckless and not always sensible.” Alana took over. Her hands manipulated Will’s form gently, so he moved away from Abigail, and she could take his place, shielding her from Hannibal at the same time.

Abigail struggled to keep her hold on Will’s jacket. His hand came up and he gently untangled her fingers. He must have recognised the slight panic in her eyes as he kept their fingers intertwined, even as Alana took her other hand and led her to the car with her own other grounding on her back.

Though they drove there separately, Alana joined them for the ride to the motel they would be staying at. She moved to sit in the back but was surpassed by Will, sliding into the seat and efficiently pulling Abigail with him. She sat in the middle, forgoing a larger space for the ability to keep her head on Will’s shoulder and her thoughts in place.

Alana sat up front with Hannibal who seemed unaffected but glanced in the mirror every few moments, fondness and worry passing his gaze in equal measure. She tried talking a few times, starting a theme and finishing with no given responses, only hums of acknowledgement. She gave up twenty minutes into the drive and simply joined Hannibal in observing the pair behind them. They looked peaceful.

They split up at the motel, Will and Hannibal going to their room feeling a loss at the absence while Alana walked Abigail to her own.

“Nothing your father did was your fault.” Alana told her just before she could close the door in her face.

She opened it more and considered the compassionate woman before her. The one that thought she was still innocent. Still just a girl. She had never answered her before. She shouldn’t start now. “If… if he had just killed me. He wouldn’t have to kill those girls.” It felt like the only conversation she had been having in the past two days she had been awake. They all thought the same. None of them knew.

Alana looked like she wanted to say more but before she could, Abigail spun on her heels, marching into the room but leaving the door open just a bit. She got ready in the bathroom and returned to Alana siting on the bed, coat off but otherwise still uptight.

“I’m tired.” Abigail said hurriedly with each inhale shaking. She stood barefoot and with her neck exposed. “Everything that happened just feels like a night terror. I never used to have them when I was little. Slept right through the night, never once needed to be comforted back to bed. Maybe if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up.”

Alana leaned forward, observing Abigail as if that one sentence gave her all the excess she could ever gain. “There are no guidelines, no right reaction but if you need to hear it, fear would be the appropriate emotion to be feeling.”

“Well, it’s annoying.” She was getting fed up with tears. She let them fall for just short of a minute. She knew her doe-eyes looked pitiful when watering. Alana was a good ally to have in innocence.

She pointedly lifted the blanket on the bed, bored of the silence but truly exhausted, and with it made Alana stand up. The woman hesitated for only a second. “Goodnight Abigail.” She left without receiving a response. She didn’t expect it.

After being constantly monitored it felt too quiet to be by herself. Lonely, like something should happen. Abigail laid down carefully, pulling the blanket over her head. The light stayed on, no shadow to loom, no darkness to befall. She stayed still until it felt too hot and suffocating and it was hard to breathe. She stayed under until it felt like she was just barely getting air, just barely holding onto dizzying consciousness, then moved the blanket so it only came up to her chin. She snuggled into the warmth, her tense limps relaxing and the knots in her stomach becoming lose. Not long after she fell asleep, her face grew cold again.

When she would wake, she wouldn’t remember a girl so similar to her they could be sisters, she wouldn’t remember the man nor the lungs being taken out while still being used. She would remember only the feeling of breathing but losing air with each moment.

A frantic knocking sounded on Will and Hannibal’s door an hour after they had arrived at the motel. Neither of them had been able to fall asleep, Hannibal reading, back against the headboard, and Will,  with his head on Hannibal’s thigh, letting any and all emotions pass over him.

At the loud sound, Will hurried to the door, shooting up from his position and jostling Hannibal, who remained calm and still, sure something was happening and that it was bad, and what if –

He opened the door to an already spooked Abigail, making her jump up with his wild movements. He looked down at her with his head tilted and his eyes wide and searching. “Nightmare?” He concluded and pulled her against his chest when she nodded. They were both too tired to think not to.

“Can I sleep here?” She croaked into his chest. “I don’t want to be alone with them.”

Hannibal’s large hand landed on her bicep. She looked up with pleading eyes, not unlike Will’s. “You have to sleep in your own bed.” He told her in a whisper that still carried the meaning and sound. He brushed his fingers over her hair, fixing it perfectly in place. “We shall stay with you until you fall asleep.” He told them both, aware of both their oppositions to being without the other. Will send him an approving look. I would not let your daughter cry.

They walked to her room, heels hitting the floor with loud bangs, tiredness making everything seem wrong. Will’s arm was over her shoulders, not thrown but anchored there with safety and certainty. She had left the door to her room open but neither man commented on it.

They sat with her, Hannibal on the bed at her knees, seeming detached if it were not for his hand on her ancle, pressing just too strong and caressing like she were something fragile, precious, and Will on the floor by her head with his legs as close to his chest as they could go. Abigail laid on her side, hair behind her and pressing her limbs to the edges of the blanket at all places they could reach, sealing it, hiding under an undestroyable shield she had believed in when monsters used to hide under her bed. The light had been turned off before her eyes had even closed halfway.

She heard clearly every one of Will’s words. “You’re alright. I’ll make sure they don’t come back.” He said at first. “No need to be afraid.” soon turned to “No use in fear.” It was Hannibal’s quiet humming she could only trust was there that lulled her to sleep.

“Sleep tight, Abigail.” She thought she caught with the last of her consciousness.

“Night dad.” She thought she said as the first words in her dream.

Will kept watch long passed the time he would have needed to. It was only when Hannibal pointedly mentioned his now certainly numb legs that he moved, acutely aware of the displeased frown and protesting shift it led Abigail to.

Now with the knowledge of Abigail’s slumber they fell asleep easily back in their own room. Will on his back, leg lifted to the side, so his shin pressed against the entirety of Hannibal’s thigh, while the latter’s body was turned completely to the left, eyes dropping closed in the peaceful action of observing his darling.

Like most nights, it was a dream that disturbed Will. In contrast to most, there was no blood, no body, no one but him as himself. He jumped to relief but realised quickly just how more gruesome it was than the others.

A gutted man, a butchered woman, even a magnificent sculpture that had once lived and interacted seemed like a scratch to the surface compared to the infected, gushing slash that came from the brightness instead of the dark or the red.

“I’m sorry, Abigail. Just hold still.” Will pleaded, tears falling from his eyes and running to his mouth, his pain to be consumed again to burn at the throat and stomach.

“Please.” Abigail whimpered, her own tear slowly slipping and hitting Will’s bare skin on the arm holding the knife to his girl’s neck, burning and eating away at it like acid. Destroying his flesh. He welcomed it. It was just another thing hurting her made him unworthy of.

It was her choking when her throat snapped open that brought him back. He bolted upright, sweat dripping from his face and wetting his shirt. He was so very cold. He turned to the right in search of his husband only to find the bed empty.

“Hannibal?” He called into the empty room, too loud for some time after two. He touched the bed and found it to still be warm. Without the man to keep pressure on his wound, Will let himself bleed out. His mind went to Abigail and every threat, everyone who could hurt her. He could hardly bear it.

He was still awake when Hannibal came back in, his hair perfectly combed and shoulders dropped. He stopped short at the sight of his husband sat up in bed, a T-shirt discarded on the floor beside the bed and his bare chest still glistering.

“My heart.” Hannibal spoke, arms slipping out his coat quickly and rushed steps carrying him to the bed in his worry and regret. He sat beside him, close but not yet touching. His hand reached up on its own accord to soothe his husband by running his fingers through his hair. “Nightmares will just not leave us alone tonight.” He commented with a shush at the end of his sentence.

Will leaned away from the contact and looked at him slowly, through him. “Where were you?” He asked, despising that his voice sounded quiet and harmed.

“What were you dreaming about?” Hannibal countered instead, needing to know and wondering of its effect.

Will huffed a tired half-laugh. He swallowed painfully, his saliva tasting of tears. “Abigail.” He wished to have missed the way Hannibal’s eyes darkened.

“She’s safe.” He assured, his words cautious. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Either one of you.” His lips searched Will’s skin from collarbone to neck and across his chin to find his lips.

“You’d do that for her.” Will noted, happy with it. He scooted closer, arm wrapping around Hannibal’s waist and his fingertips grazing his side, wishing with all his might for the clothes to come off at his command.

For you. She’s your daughter. “My every action is for you, my love. My art is for your tastes and my care for your ideal existence.” Hannibal said instead, reaching to unbutton his shirt but being stopped by Will from doing so. He let his darling undress him and let him kiss his body for as long as he wanted.

A betrayal, perhaps possessiveness, stained Will’s mind. He felt the need to establish once again as he had done many times before that Hannibal was his. He fell asleep with Hannibal’s arms around him, keeping warmth and affection and making him forget completely of his cher’s outing for a moment enough to close his eyes and drift off.

Getting up felt unfair. Too early to be efficient and too late to be productive. He let Hannibal pick out his clothes and disappeared before his coffee was even made to fetch Abigail. The three sat at the table, the two men with coffees and the girl with a water, having refused her own. Though it made him shift his weight, Hannibal forgone cooking and made each of them a sandwich. Homemade meat and bread, of course.

They hardly spoke. There had been an “Are you alright?” from Will to Abigail and a “What do you remember of your nightmare?” from Hannibal, though it remained unclear whether that particular question was presented to Will or Abigail.

To Will Abigail had responded with snark. “Great. I’m awesome. After everything that happened how could I not be.”

“That’s not very polite.” Hannibal returned with a mild tone. He sipped at his mug, eying Abigail, considering her.

She snorted and looked away before returning her gaze hurriedly to them. “I don’t strive to be polite. It’s the truth. It’s never polite.” Her brow was furrowed as if in pain.

“You’re angry.” Will said before Hannibal could scold her some more for her unseemly words. “It’s alright. But deal with it, don’t supress it, it will lead to no good. I’d know.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, sliding down in her chair and wrapping her arms around herself, defensive but not protective.

Alana knocked on their door soon after. Her jaw clenched tight enough for it to sting when she was let in by Hannibal and noticed Abigail at the table. She put on a smile, her main interest in helping the poor girl.

“I want to see the cabin.” Abigail told them. Her words were met with concerned frowns. “We spent a lot of time there. He taught me how to hunt. It was our place.” The others in the room all understood, sympathised. It made her feel no less wrong to be missing a killer.

They drove to the cabin instead of the house. This time, Will drove with Hannibal sitting upfront and Alana in the backseat. They gave space where it was needed. Abigail spent the whole ride looking out the window and imagining what she’d find. A man who killed so many, tried to heal one of his victims with antler velvet. You’d think his sanctuary would reflect his psyche.

It did in some way. It was meticulously clean. No blood, no dust, nothing. He was a perfectionist. It looked undisturbed. For a moment, when she blinked to keep something at bay, tears or anger she didn’t know, she felt herself slip back in time. Expected for him to come through the font door, a deer in his arms, all smiles and gentleness. She felt the brush of his lips on her forehead. He was always sentimental, affectionate. She had adored it.

She kept her mouth shut but felt her chin tremble. Her fingers grazed the table where she had gutted a deer, prepared it to be honoured. Where her father had likely done it to young girls so he wouldn’t do it to her.

Her eyes caught on the stairs and she practically ran up them. The top floor looked more like the obsessive collection it was when she looked at it now. Deer horns, she had never counted them but there must have been at least a dozen. It was all clean. Familiar.

She heard steps on the stairs and turned to see Will with a small sad smile on his lips, one hand on the wooden pillar beside the stairs. His kind eyes and soft expression reminded her too much of her dad. She swallowed painfully, her arms around herself once again, nostalgic of the feeling of his.

“You felt like you knew him.” She asked or maybe said, her voice was shaky and a whisper at best.

“Felt like I had to understand him.” He stepped closer to her, despite knowing she wanted to step away. She didn’t. It wasn’t him she feared. She didn’t think it was at least. “I think I do now. You’re awake and you’re…” My daughter. Perfect.

She wanted to listen but didn’t want to hear. She knew what he’d say anyway, she’d been told it before. “Do you ever hunt?” She asked instead, eyes jumping for just a second to the empty staircase, glad neither Hannibal nor Alana followed them up. It wasn’t their place.

“I fish.” He said and didn’t know if it made anything any different.

“That’s the same thing, isn’t it? One you stock, the other you lure.” Abigail told him, her voice cracking. She was having trouble distinguishing her feelings for her father and the man who could love her so eerily similarly. But he wasn’t her father. No matter how much she pretended to hate it in him or how much she felt like she enjoyed it.

Will wasn’t sure when he had inched so much closer but now, he was completely in her space, able to lift his hand and press his cold fingers to her cheek. “Which one are you?” He asked, fingers moving slowly and gently, barely brushing her flesh, decidingly treating it like it was sacred.

“I was the lure.” She whispered, ashamed and afraid, of herself and her own actions. His fingers stilled. “What now?” She asked and continued once he simply tilted his head. “You have to tell them, don’t you? There’s no protecting anything now. The bed has been made.” She bit the inside of her cheek and sucked at it momentarily.

“I don’t have to tell them.” He assured her slowly, waiting on her reaction.

She looked uncomprehending. “But… You’re FBI. You’re a cop. You have to!” Her voice was desperate, wanting to make sense of everything. Wanting to know that she knows him. Like she never knew her father. Always so open but never as a person, only as a parent.

“Do you want me to?” He asked her genuinely. She stayed quiet but her eyes lowered. “You crave justice. None of this was just. Not to you, nor those girls.” Her took in a deep breath and his hand dropped. “I’m a teacher, Abigail. Not a cop. We’ll protect you.”

His last words made her head snap back up. “We? You really think your husband will be on board with this? Helping some sick teenager?” A killer.

“You’re not sick.” He told her, certain. “You know who you are. You can decide what you do.”

She forgot her surroundings, herself, and spoke loudly. There was only the present and the truth. “They’re dead because I helped him. It should have been just me. If Hannibal knew –”

“He knows.” Will interrupted her, catching her gesturing hands in his to calm her.

“What?” She demanded, breathless. She felt her heart burst and burn. Her skin felt cold and her insides boiling. She was unsure of everything. The warmth and pressure he put on her freezing and numb hands grounded her. It was the only thing that seemed real.

“You remember at the hospital. Yesterday.” But you helped your father do it. “We knew. We don’t fear you nor do we hate you. We aren’t your fathers, but we’ll be your protectors.” His eyes met hers with meaning. He pleaded with her to say yes.

“Why?” She asked instead.

His eyes moved quickly in their sockets, searching. His chest expended too little, short but slow breaths leaving him. “Because you didn’t want to and you shouldn’t have had to.” She barrelled into his arms, tucking her head under his collarbone so when she opened her eyes there was nothing but darkness and her.

“Will?” Hannibal’s soft inquiry shattered the silence. Abigail squeezed her eyes tightly and burrowed into her shelter, making effort to ignore the footsteps from outside it.

Will shushed her gently. And then again when she gave a choked whimper as a response to him pulling away the slightest bit. “Stay here. I’m with you.” He whispered, loud enough for Hannibal to have to have heard, but staging it just to soothe her. “We’re alright. I think it’s time to go home.” He told Hannibal.

“I don’t think she should go back there. It was wrong of us to have brought her here.” Alana’s voice cut in, worried and guilty and accusing. The fingers clutching Will’s jacket held on tighter.

“Our home.” Hannibal spoke for them all.

“Unhealthy attachment leads to dependency. We can not encourage it.” Alana protested, shaking her head. Against her own judgement she felt bad, like… taking a child from a family.

“Far too late now, I would say.” Hannibal told her, smug and regretting and – afraid. After a very long time for the first time, he was truly terrified. Will heard the undetectable tremor of his voice and let an arm release Abigail to reach for him.

Abigail felt the warmth snake away from her and opened an eye to find out why. After a moment’s hesitation, her own hand extended forwards to touch Hannibal’s own. She intertwined their fingers and pulled him towards them, letting him have her place in Will’s arms. It felt complete. Just. She smiled at them, satisfied. She became aware soon that it had been her first smile since coming home.

When Hannibal broke from Will’s protective hold, the latter sneaked an arm back over Abigail’s shoulder and kept it there the entire drive to the house. Alana sat in the back with them but gave them space. She tried to be a reassuring presence yet only ending up feeling unneeded. She got out the car and into her own with the only words passing her lips being a goodbye.

Abigail sat up from her slouched position at Will’s side to look at her house clearly. “Abigail?” Hannibal called to her, turning back in his seat and waiting for her to say the word before driving away.

She looked at the driveway where her mom had taught her how to ride a bike, cheering on for hours at a time just after getting off work because Abigail wanted to keep trying, the stairs to the house which she sat on, waiting for her dad to wrap her knee in a bandage after she had inevitably fallen off the bike, the house beside her own, where her best friend lived, the friend that never gave up on her and stood up for her and missed her even when others feared and mocked her.

She didn’t want to leave the past but couldn’t stay in the present. She turned to the men who had sworn to protect her like her parents once had. She saw true worry and though she hadn’t been inclined to trust herself, she trusted them. All the blood ran from her face and her eyes watered. “Let’s go home.” She said to them.

She fell asleep not halfway to the airport and they stayed quiet, despite the many words that should be and wanted to be said, unwilling to disturb her. She stayed half asleep as they walked through the large busy building and leaned against Will and then Hannibal when she was handed off to him.

They flew home on the same flight, only with Alana quite far away from them. Abigail sat by the window again, leaning against it and making no effort to hide the way she was gripping Hannibal’s hand or the way her leg stretched out to reach Will’s.

They took her back to the hospital, her things still being there and Alana being persistent influencing their decision. Abigail knew they’d be back. She had given them both a look but had forgone the hug she wanted to give them when they had dropped her off.

“Shouldn’t be leaving her here by herself.” Will mumbled, leaning against the hood of Hannibal’s Bentley. He bit his lower lip in concern.

Hannibal smiled softly at him. It was somewhat odd to see Will so affected by someone not himself. The man before him was now uncertain and though between the two of them Hannibal was the one with a bigger ego and better control, Will usually trusted himself. “She’ll be perfectly fine, my dear.” He assured him, running a hand through his hair and leaning close to kiss his cheek, then got into the driver’s seat.

“Better be.” Will grumbled under his breath as he got in the passenger seat.

At their house they were met with another car already parked and an annoyingly confident redhead beside it, checking a notebook. Will sighed loudly and jumped out the car first. “Freddie! To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Going home with your psychiatrist doesn’t scream stable to me, Mr. Graham.” She countered, following him up the steps to the door. Hannibal was just finishing parking the car, the task made difficult by Freddie’s oddly angled car. One would think done so on purpose. “Certainly not enough to work with the FBI and take Abigail Hobbs home on some unguided mission for who knows what.”

He paused with the door unlocked and hand on the doorhandle. “How did you know we took Abigail back home?” He questioned, protectiveness and rage building in his tone.

Her eyes widened but she gained her composure impressively quickly, grinning much like the cheshire cat. “I know a lot about a lot of things, Mr. Graham.”

Will inched closer and studied her. “Then you know Abigail’s back. And that her father didn’t kill Cassie Boyle.” He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open so he could continue conversing. Dogs ran up to him asking for pets and occasionally barking.

“Who did then?” Freddie snapped, interested and scared, but persistent on the one goal she had always held.

“There is a copycat. You say you report the truth, but you only ever do so if the story is interesting and aligned enough. If it gets confusing or complicated, you opt out. Why is that?” She looked at him offended and turned quickly on her heels. “And Freddie.” At his call, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Hannibal is a psychiatrist but not mine. What he is, is my husband.” He said, lifting his hand and wiggling his fingers to show off his ring.

“And I don’t appreciate anyone harassing my husband.” Hannibal said from beside her, attracting her gaze and making her breaths quicken simply with his eyes. They were fierce and seemed to shine red in the late afternoon light. She stumbled past him, unable to look away and hurriedly climbed into her car, not yet driving away.

Will closed the door behind his cher and stood still, listening for the start of an engine. Hannibal took off his coat and shoes and raised an eyebrow at Will remaining dressed. He went to speak but before he could Will held out a hand with a small sinister smile. “Give me your keys.”

Hannibal obliged automatically. “Where are you going?” He asked when Will didn’t immediately say.

“Where did you go last night?” He countered. Hannibal nodded and pecked Will’s lips before stepping back and giving his own greeting to their pack. Buster in particularly since the small dog threw himself on his back on Hannibal’s foot.

Will went back to the car and drove off rather fast. He followed Freddie at a safe distance, comfortable in the role. He was confident in his ability not to be seen. Freddie was smart, her problem were assumptions and underestimation. She drove some over the speed limit but knew what she was doing, her tricks sometimes causing outrage and even panic in other drivers. She stopped her car at a small café after some thirty minutes of driving.

Will parked at an alley, staying in the car and making sure he could always see her. She sat at an outside table and looked at her watch. She ordered a coffee and sat alone for approximately ten minutes before she was joined by a young man. He was slim and had curly light hair. Nicholas Boyle.

They only talked for a few minutes before Nick stormed out. Freddie stayed seated and sipped at her drink. The raging young man walked toward where Will was parked and though with a quickly constructed and somewhat reckless plan, he got out of the car and into the man’s way.

“Excuse me.” He said to him and pulled on his arm. It was still only the middle of the evening, but there were almost no people in the street, and the Sun went down some time ago, leaving only a dim echo of its light. That particular part of town wasn’t much populated nor was it popular. It was known for some petty crime and pettier residents. Police or other responsible person rarely passed through it. The air was tense and suffocating. Threatening with fear and fate.

“What!” Nick snapped, turning towards Will and in his distress and anger pushing at him, placing them just over the edge of the alley so they were completely hidden.

Will smiled excitedly, righteously. “Thanks.” He said and pushed a needle with a sedative into the man’s neck. He pushed him against the wall and held him by his flailing arms. Nick was struggling but not making any noise. He went still in under a minute and slumped down, slipping and almost falling from Will’s grasp.

He was howled to the car and put in the trunk. Will wiped the little drops of sweat that appeared on his forehead with his sleave and got back in the car. He checked on Freddie, who was exactly where she had been before, and drove back home, turning the radio to some or other rock station, taking advantage of Hannibal not driving with him, and nodding his head slightly to Alice Cooper’s Poison and then even drummed his fingers against the wheel to Black Sabbath’s Hand of Doom.

He turned the volume down when his phone started ringing. He closed his eyes for moment, wishing for it to just stop. “Yeah?” He answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Will. Nice to hear from you.” Beverly’s voice sounded over the line. It was tired and held a mild tone of frustration. “Now that we aren’t coworkers, I never see you, you never call. I get that you’re busy with the hubby, but I need to see if you really are a good drinking buddy.”

“Stalling isn’t your style. What’s wrong?” Will asked, taking a sharp right turn and lifting an uncaring eyebrow when he heard Nick be moved in the trunk. “And I’m sorry I haven’t called. We took Abigail to Minnesota, I’d have thought Jack would have told you.”

Beverly made a sound of realisation, and he heard her tell Zeller off. “That makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, suddenly tense.

She hesitated for a split second. “Jack is pissed off. Because there’s been another copycat murder. Marrisa Shore.” Will made a wounded sound. “Know her?”

“She was Abigail’s friend.” Beverly inhaled sharply. “She came to visit her, they talked, Marrisa’s mom wasn’t happy. How do you know it’s the copycat?”

“Well, without you it takes longer to be certain, but it’s exactly the same, in a field, lungs taken out while she was alive with a surgeon’s precision, hooked onto a deer’s antlers. And...”

“What? Beverly, what?” Will demanded, his hands tightening. He picked up his speed without even realising it.

“Jack thinks Abigail did it. Both of them. Cassie Boyle and Marrisa Shore.” Her words were now quieter, unsure.

“She didn’t.” Will wanted to scream it. His daughter was still as innocent as life would have her while surviving. She wouldn’t have chosen it. She wouldn’t have even considered it a choice.

“Will –“ Beverly sounded sorry she had said it.

“She didn’t! I know.” I know she didn’t because I know who did. He realised with burning anger.

“It’s not me you gotta convince, man.” She said through a sigh.

“I know. Thank you. For the warning and for being – well, you.” His lips jumped into a half-smile.

“Don’t mention it.” She paused for a moment, waiting for any more words. None came to either of them. “Bye, Will.” She said, softly, like she usually didn’t, and hung up.

“Bye.” He said into the disconnected phone.

He got home with the music loud but not so much it would disturb either the neighbours or Hannibal. Before exiting, he switched the radio back onto Hannibal’s favourite classical station. He opened the trunk, hidden in the darkness that had just fallen, and carefully pulled Nick out, holding him under his arms, making his feet drag. The process was one Hannibal usually did. Not because Will couldn’t but because he found it fun to see Hannibal huff and puff and show the strength Will didn’t doubt he had.

As he entered the kitchen with an unconscious man in his arms Hannibal tsked his tongue and looked at him somewhat accusingly. “I could have gone with you.”

“Jealous I got to have all the fun?” He asked, bitter. “Get him to the basement, will you?” He demanded more than asked. Hannibal paused, eyes trailing behind every one of Will’s movements. “Please?” He added with his head tilted, eyes wide and certainly in his voice. He lifted one eyebrow as if to say, ‘I know you will’.

Hannibal pulled the man from his husband and lifted him into a fireman carry. He was careful down the stairs and let Will lead the way. He got the man situated onto a metal table and, after undressing him, strapped him in securely. Binds around his wrist, ancles, neck and three over his torso and arms and three over his legs. He observed the young man before him for awhile then added a bind over his forehead.

“Regretful I didn’t get to see you in your element.” He finally countered Will’s previous question. “Why this man? Why without me?” He wanted to sound as he always did, calm and indifferent but he was never indifferent when Will was involved. He too was bitter to be left out.

“Now we’re even.” Will told him with a smirk. He pulled over a table on wheels that held all his favourite instruments.

Hannibal studied him, not stumped but uncomprehending for a moment. “You don’t want her to be a killer.” His eyes narrowed as hid mind came to a realisation. “You don’t want her to be like you.”

“Delaying the inevitable.” Will shook his head, sad and wanting.

Hannibal stepped with one foot between Will’s and wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing their middles together. They looked like they were cuddling for warmth but what was freezing them was their own bitterness they let get between them. “Is there any worth to it?”

Will swallowed painfully down his dry throat. “She’ll make it count.” He took in a shaky breath. “Nick Boyle was a danger to Abigail.” He stopped leaning away from his cher. “Marrisa… not so much. So, tell me. Why?” His parted lips were on Hannibal’s, but his teeth gritted together.

Hannibal’s tongue poked out, licking along. “She was rude. She should not have lungs to take breath simply for such vile words. I felt compelled to.” He had to remove himself from his darling’s space to speak such unseemly words.

“To kill Abigail’s friend? Her entire outside support? I though you liked her.” He sounded weak to his own ears, betrayed.

“I have entertained the potential of having a child but –“ He kissed him deeply then, tongue intruding his mouth and noises leaving his own. It was loving but more so, it was possessive. They broke apart after minutes, out of breath and much affected by it. “I do not wish to share you.”

“She’s a kid.” Will spoke but without energy, eyes on Hannibal’s now red-ish lips. His tone remained firm, yet his eyes were soft, open. Almost pleading.

Hannibal huffed, his breath hot on Will’s cheek, making the hair on his arms stand up and his biceps tense. “No. She might be someone’s kid and that someone might be you, but she is not a kid. Certainly not ours.”

“If you let her, she could be.” He wasn’t sure whether he was asking or demanding. He craved it. He had felt it. They had protected her. He had held her in his arms and she had been perfect.

“Do you believe she wants to be?” Hannibal’s inquiry was quiet, he sounded regretful, more than Will had ever heard him be.

“What would you have me do?” He asked, burrowing into Hannibal’s neck, wetting it some with tears that reflected in Hannibal’s own eyes at his darling’s pain.

“Give her a choice. Just like you want to.” Hannibal whispered, leaning down close to his ear. The doorbell rang, snapping them from their own world. They went up to the door hand in hand and opened it to be greeted by Abigail.

“What are you doing here? It’s late. Certainly passed curfew.” Will scolded immediately but already letting go of Hannibal to wrap himself around Abigail and walk her inside.

“I needed to see you.” She told them, defensive but calmer inside their home. Zoe, Winston and Max came snuffling up to her. She cooed at them and knelt to pet each one. The others soon joined the happy pile. “I didn’t take you as a dog or pet in general person, Hannibal.”

“They’re Will’s.” Hannibal excused himself with a sniff and a snobby look at the dogs that soon turned affectionate. He was well aware of it but didn’t attempt to conceal it. Nothing good had ever come from lying to Will.

“He adores them.” Will told Abigail unnecessarily. She stood and smiled at him conspiratorially.  

“Tolerate them because I adore you, my sweet boy.” Hannibal corrected him, voice soft and one arm coming up behind his husband, the other hesitating before settling on the back of Abigail’s neck.

The girl feigned a disgusted sound at the nickname but laughed at his words. She felt like she did when she heard her parents flirt for the first time. Her smile slipped some at the thought.

“Abigail…” Will managed to sound out, regretting and sudden. His hesitation was obvious, but Hannibal made no attempt to save him from the words. “There’s something you need to see. To know.”

He pulled her by the hand and led her through the house and pantry to the basement, Hannibal following right behind them. He walked fast and didn’t stop. If he stopped, he wouldn’t start again. He’d turn and run and never tell her. He’d make the choice for her. He led her right up to the unconscious body of Nicholas Boyle. Her breath hitched.

“What – what is this?” She asked them, tears in her eyes and nails tearing the skin on her palms.

“Nicholas Boyle. Cassie Boyle’s brother.” Will told her, his gaze on the man not the girl. He couldn’t look at her when he felt like he had disappointed, betrayed, her.

“A victim?” She breathed, sniffing, her face now wet. Not her father’s victim. A victim. Because she was hers too. She looked at Will desperate for him to just wake her up. Shake her and wake her and hold her tight and comfort her because she had such a gruesome nightmare.

“No. The copycat’s.” Hannibal told her. She looked at him, begging now. Stop this. Stop this. Stop. Stop. Stop, stop, STOP! “Mine.” She closed her eyes, letting a sob escape her.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you? You’re sick.” She said through a laugh. She breathed through her mouth, her nose running. She felt disgusting but it had nothing to do with crying. “Why tell me? Do you want to kill me too?” She kept her eyes on Nick, trying to force herself to feel sorry for him.

“No.” Will told her, his own eyes red, looking at her and needing no empathy to know what she was feeling for he saw himself. “I want you to choose. You couldn’t before. This is your chance. I am giving you what he never did. You will not die. There is no ultimatum. Whatever happens now is of your own making.”

The doorbell sounded again, scaring drops from Will’s eyes and making Hannibal’s heart beat fast enough for him to put his hand over it. He should be the one to open it, leave his husband and his daughter to this. But he couldn’t. He looked to his darling boy and saw terror and love and bitterness and desperation. It felt like a knife cutting him open and bare hands ripping his heart apart.

The doorbell rang again, multiple times in quick succession, aggressive and persistent. He stepped up behind his husband. “Go.” He whispered and with the image of Abigail unable to look at him, Will left.

Hannibal stepped beside Abigail then, picking up a knife from the metal table Will had previously wheeled closer. He held it up as if to show it to her, then turned it so the tip was to him and offered her the handle. “You must take control.”

Abigail shook her head and licked her lips. Her feet stayed planted. She wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. She knew neither man would bear it. “You’re offering to do it for me.” She denied.

“I’m offering to help you take it. To no longer be at the mercy of others.” He sounded so persuasive, completely sure he wanted to help her and that he could.

She didn’t want to be in control. She feared what she would do. “I wouldn’t be merciful to them. I’d be worse.” She wrapped her arms around herself, safe from taking up the knife.

“That is your choice.” He told her firmly.

Finally, she asked the question she wondered from the very beginning when she’d first met them but didn’t know how to word or force out until now. “Why would you give it?”

“I like you.” He told her and she looked at him uncomprehending. He continued with purpose. “I thought it was how innocent you had been. But it’s because you aren’t anymore. Your milk teeth were forced out and in their place grew canines. Whether they get covered in blood or stay stainless is on you.”

She shook her head, frantic. “I’ll never be clean. I’m tainted already. If I have them, I have to use them.” It was something she had survived by. Ever since the first girl. Maybe ever since the love her father had for her turned to something obsessive and destructive.

“We don’t lose the ability to be good by doing something bad.” He inclined his head to the knife, his hand inching closer to her.

“I don’t want to do bad.” She took the knife, its weight grounding. “But I want it to be over.”

It wasn’t self-defence, desperate and uncontrolled. It wasn’t an execution either, efficient and emotionless.

She butchered him, it was passionate.

Chapter Text

Will walked up the stairs in a trance, Hannibal’s voice resonating in his head in a remind to close the door, to hide him and his daughter. Its shutting sounded with a quiet click that itched at Will’s brain. He leaned his forehead against the door and listened though he knew no sound would pass it.

He forced out a breath, vaguely aware it slipped out as a whimper. He scrunched up his face until his eyes and cheeks hurt when he simply wanted to bang his head on the door but could not for he might be heard by his beloveds.

The doorbell rang again, followed by an aggressive pounding, and Will pushed himself off the wall, almost throwing himself off balance. His feet were dragging more than stepping and his head hung low.

He opened the door with the intent of closing it almost immediately after. “Will!” The angry and put-out face of Jack Crawford thundered at him. He stormed in passed Will and turned sharply to face him again. His nostrils widened with his heavy breathing like an angry bull.

“Jack.” Will said back, suddenly drained. His eyelids were lowered almost halfway. He looked around the room as if an answer would jump at him and danse to get his attention. “What did you need?”

“Where’s Doctor Lecter, Will?” Jack asked, ignoring him and everything about him. His rumpled shirt, the slouched shoulder and the absolute lack of interest or will to humour him.

Will squinted at him and shook his head in consideration. His socked feet tapped at the floor in a rhythm he knew Hannibal favoured. “Depends. Why do you need him?”

Jack’s arms flopped at his sides. He leaned closer and spoke carefully, emphasising every word, as if talking to an annoyingly unruly child that would just not follow simple rules. “Another body dropped. I need someone reliable. And I obviously can’t trust you with responsibility.”

Will shrugged and nodded. “Oh, well, in that case. He’s gone out.” He heard something along the line of either a squeak or growl leave Jack’s throat and his lips quirked slightly.

“Don’t you dare mock me Will! Not while I’m out there doing your job!” He shouted, gesturing widely, a sneer on his face. Winston barked at him but quieted the moment Will gave him the signal. Jack narrowed his eyes at the out-of-place dog.

“My job? I thought we had already cleared that up.” Will said calmly. His words were almost too quiet. Serene. Jack’s mouth opened but Will couldn’t care less for the sounds leaving it. “My job – my responsibility was to Abigail. And now that Abigail is –“ aware “– safe, my sole responsibility, my every thought and action lays with my husband.” A door opened and closed. Will wanted desperately to look, but he would not see his daughter yet. If she wasn’t, it would hurt.

Jack choked on a thought, his mind faltering and rearranging without his consent. “Your what?” He questioned in a shocked tone. The word hadn’t written itself in his head, letters shifting and never seeming to fit in place.

“Husband, Jack. You are aware of the meaning of the word?” Will drifted closer to the man, head tilted in a curious and mocking way. The way Hannibal’s always seemed to position itself as.

“Who?” Jack demanded as if it were not their house they were standing in.

“My darling?” Hannibal called to him as he stepped forward, shadows releasing their grip and letting him come to his light. His words were ones of adoration and there was feigned obliviousness letting itself show to those who knew to listen for it.

His steps were quick, feet carrying weightlessly across the floor to the only one he could stand beside, stand behind. His eyes were focused, the tightness around them real but, making no difference to the clear intent.

His hands lifted, not touching just yet, simply hovering, unbelieving of his beauty. His fingers took their time to trail over Will’s cheek, too light, beware of tainting.

Lips pressed against lips, fitting together perfectly. The kiss was firm, needed. There was nothing but contact and devotion to it.

Will’s body leaned forward, pressing every inch to a part of Hannibal’s. Wanting for the clothes, the skin, to blur, grow together and make it impossible to separate. Hannibal acted as a wall of support, never wavering, aware in body, not in mind, to fall would be to shatter. To move away would be to rip himself apart. Slowly, by every cell, each with its own painful nerve to tear.

The kiss ended, the pressure staying, they breathed into each other’s mouths, sharing air and thought.

“It appears I have been very foolish.” Jack’s voice sounded, rough and quieter than usual. He too seemed breathless. His eyes stayed on the men, measuring, judging. Fearing of what else he could be blind to.

“Yes.” Will told him. His eyes were closed and for the barest of seconds, he thought Jack was just a figure of smoke, ready to be blown over by another kiss or a simple word. “Mon cher.” He greeted Hannibal, head down to press into Hannibal’s neck. Not in cowardness but instead in exasperation. He licked his lips and waited for them to dry before pressing them to Hannibal’s jaw.

“You must have known, Agent Crawford. Marriage does require a certificate.” Hannibal’s fingers never stopped gripping, now braver, slipping all the way to Will’s wrist, and lifting his arm, leading Will’s hand into his own, fingers straightening before intertwining, showing off the shining stones of a ring.

He whispered to Will with his eyes closed, inhaling deeply the scent of everything. “I do love when you wear your ring where it was meant to go.”

“If you two are done!” Jack’s booming came back suddenly and undesirably. “There are important things we must go over.” They leaned back, though their feet stayed planted, close and touching. “Why hide this?” Jack questioned, genuinely stumped, seeing for himself, eyes fresh and wet the way they were when he was seeing for the very first time.

Though they stayed on his beloved, Hannibal’s eyes were blazing, angry and wild and he had always looked so beautiful. “We hid nothing. Your eyes closed on their own conditions. We have no shame to be discovered, no lies between that break and scrape.”

“We exist in no another form but us.” Will took over the word when Hannibal offered it. He would gladly take and give every last bit of himself and of him if only just between them. He swallowed dryly, happily. “This.” Something beautiful and bloody. Whatever it is. It is Love.

“Abigail Hobbs –“ Jack started to say, red-faced and seemingly mad in every sense of the word.

Will cut him off, head snapping violently to the side. “Is an innocent girl.” The room was lit brightly but the little shadows that passed through it settled on the open pantry door.

“She –“ Jack’s foot stomped once, disguised as a step forward.

Will cut him off, sharp and unperceivably dangerous. His fists curled around the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt. It made a sound, warning of a ripping. “Was asleep when Marrisa Shore was killed. I know. You can check.”

Jack shook his head, the other leg joining in his step. He stood in the centre of the room, imposing in a way he was undeserving of. “She could have –“

“She wouldn’t have.” It was Hannibal’s firm disregard that shut him up for a moment. He felt betrayed by the words of someone he had thought a colleague. An equal. The poor man never even considered the truth. “Goodbye now, Jack.” Hannibal concluded, voice calm and suggesting rather than chasing him from the room. In the way he craved, though an option he would have preferred would be to never let any part of Jack leave.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, his face scrunched up, surprise and incomprehension clear. “Doctor Lecter, don’t you want justice for that girl?” It wasn’t about that. It was about catching a killer. Proving his smarts. Once you see enough destruction, you might stop caring for it and only feel bitterness towards its cause.

But destruction was his choice, and care would only be given to one. “I want for my husband to be healthy and happy.”

“She was an innocent girl!” She was a pig. Worthy of a meal, at least.

“But he is mine.” And in the end, that was the single one thing that had ever mattered.

Jack waited a moment in silence. Studying the men. He was offered nothing, and for once he took nothing. He left.

Hannibal’s hand glazed over Will’s torso, up from where it had been resting on his hip, over his stomach, his shirt riding up a little, faltering at the shoulder for a moment, then lifting from there to his ear. His body tilted forward, lips pressing just beside his fingers to Will’s ear. His palm covered Will’s cheek, and his eyes fell closed once Will turned, feeling a tender kiss to his palm.

They took in air at once. Needing to feel, to savour and never to stop.

Blood. It wasn’t an unusual scent between them, one of the most frequent in fact. The metallic smell Jack would not have detected if just returning from a grotesque crime scene, entering Will’s nostrils, worming itself into his brain. Taking over his every sense. Then, the only death Will could image was Abigail’s. The girl’s voice ripped from her throat, her eyes begging and her blood spilled by her father. Once again.

Will shoved at Hannibal, momentarily shaking. A dull thud sounded, in place of an avalanche crashing down like it felt it would, as Hannibal’s back hit the wall.

“Beloved?” He questioned, excited yet out of place.

“Abigail.” Will hissed, whispered, prayed – he wasn’t sure, it didn’t matter. His hands gripped at Hannibal’s neck, thumbs never separating from other fingers, pressing too far back to ever hurt. The pressure was laid with the fingertips of his two tallest fingers, against Hannibal’s spine. Feeling the bone, the skin so desirable. His thumbs lifted, stroking at Hannibal’s jaw.

He only then felt the cool tip of a dagger pressed to his belly, a whole torn in his shirt, warning and shock. But no blood spilled, quite yet.

Hannibal smiled, amusement in the huff of air that left him and no less fond. His lips stayed parted, his upper teeth showing. “Will.” He said. “You do not want to kill me.”

“Yes.” Will responded, sure. Calm. His hands were unshaking, his voice warm. “I do.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Dearest incorrigible boy.”

Then, there was no more coldness on his belly, no hesitation in the throw as Hannibal discarded uncaringly of the knife. No blood to see, no trace to tell. Will’s thumbs travelled slowly to the front of Hannibal’s neck. His eyes moved downward, fixing themselves on the little hole the blade had left behind in the rich dark blue fabric. Silk of Hannibal’s choice.

His gaze returned upward, and a breath left him. His thumbs pressed.

And moved back to join the other fingers. He pulled Hannibal to himself, into a kiss. A deep and powerful touch. Hannibal’s head was tilted back some, Will’s chin lifted, his heels just barely off the floor. He may not have taken his life, but his control was absolute. Something shared but used to being passed over, played with.

“If you could, how would you do it?” Hannibal asked, curious and wanting and, smitten. Juvenile word for something so possessive and so cruel but true, nevertheless.

“With my hands.” The whisper was said with longing and disorientation, but no regret. Only after it had already rung out, heard, the anger came. A punch to the wall, knuckles cracking. “I want to avenge her! She was – mine!” His head laid on Hannibal’s shoulder.

Hannibal’s hand came to rest on the back of it. “And she’s just fine.” He said. What?

“It’s alright Will.” His Abigail’s voice entered, the door to the pantry finally fully opening, the young girl stepping out, careful. Somehow, not wary. “He did what you wanted. I’ll make my own future from now on.”

Her clothes were bloody, some drops on her face, one in particular on her lips. She licked it off and shut her eyes in memory and despair. When they opened again, they were just as clear as before. Her legs took her forward before her mind could think on it. Will followed them with his own.

Hannibal’s hand stayed in his, but the man himself remained rooted in place.

Abigail kissed Will’s cheek. She ignored Hannibal, avoided his gaze, the whispered ‘Marrisa Shore is dead.’ ringing in her head, bouncing off her skull and creating cracks where it landed. It was for the better.

“You’ll be alright?” Will asked hoarsely, his eyes tainted red and glassy, afraid to meet Abigail’s own. His forehead wrinkled as he frowned with worry and loss. Grief.

“Yeah, Will.” She assured him, taking his hand in hers. Will took in the blood on it. Shining, fresh.

“You’ll be good?” He asked again, voice now shaking. His fingers gripped and the blood soaked into the sleave of his shirt. He looked at his daughter and found her looking back. With hesitance. With want and childish hope for a moment before she buried it forever.

“Yeah… Dad.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. She let him, lowered her head and savoured it. When the trembling of his lips became too violent, he pulled back and embraced her tighter, chin on her head and eyes looking up, grateful.

She let him wash her hands. Scrub at them. She watched the water with a pink tint landing in the sink, let him talk sweet nothings and when silence fell let him stand in it.

She let him wash her hands, not her mind, she’d need it, not her soul, it was far too late.

She went to shower afterward, washing off everything she chose to. Because she could. She dressed in fresh clothing, Will’s pants and Hannibal’s sweater. It was protection.

After she had left, the men stood in the place from where they had watched her leave. Not abandon.

Will turned to Hannibal, hand grabbing violently at his head, laying their foreheads together. He sighed quietly. “I love you, mon cher.”

Hannibal gripped back, fingers in hair, just as strong. Relieved. “And I worship you, my darling. You are the one beautiful thing in this… distasteful world. My love for you is everlasting and unchanging.”

“All-consuming.” Will spoke for both. He smiled and their lips came together. “Worth – everything.”

It was two days later, two blissfully calm and silent days later, that Jack Crawford showed his face again.

Will was finishing up a lecture when the door to the classroom clicked open. Interrupting a class was quite rude. Well, nothing out of the ordinary for Jack Crawford. He finished his prepared speech and started packing up.

“Will!” The barking voice came as expected as Jack stomped up to his teaching station. In his hands was a file with many pictures, some falling slightly out of the light brown paper and revealing a distorted sight for any straying eyes. His teeth were gritted and in clear view. He was pissed.

“Hello, Jack. I assume you want my help again?” Will questioned, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“The Chesapeake Ripper is killing again.” Jack paused at the name, emphasis clear. He knew the effect it would have. He was not disappointed as Will froze at those words and swallowed dryly. He showed just as much as Jack would have to see. “You want to catch him, don’t you? They’re killers, but he is a monster, and you want to stop him just as much as I do, do you not?”

His looming became more obvious by each word. He threw the pictures onto the table beside the teaching station.

The picture of footprints in the mud, clear and small, fell to the ground. To the far left of the table, fishing lines tied tightly, expertly, around a metal pole, straining, clearly holding something up. The picture that landed in the dead centre, however, was the one Jack cared for. He breathed heavily as his eyes escaped to it, reddening and painful.

The body of Miriam Lass, the fishing line coming up under her arms, wrapping around her upper arms dozens of times, seeming to stop at the elbow, as if the end, it continued down to her wrists and over her fingers, broken and distorted, covered in blood from the cutting string.

The line of each hand tied around a brain. One clearly her own, as on her body, the delicate skin and light hair had been pulled back and the top of her skull nowhere to be found, her head empty. The other looked to be foreign and yet both were in the same position, seemingly controlled by her. A puppet that learned and lost the game. The tissue seemed to be moving, the blood and spinal fluid still dripping, shining the reflection of the sun, inviting.

Her eyes were sewn shut, a shame, they had been so expressive. They had been clear instead of glossy or disoriented. They had seen. She had understood, for the barest, bravest of moments, she truly had. It hadn’t been enough. They were sewn by the same material that was wrapped around her, controlling, killing, her.

It was hard to see how, with so many turns and ways, but the line didn’t end at the brains. It travelled down to her waist and wrapped around it too, twice at the stomach, once at the chest and three times around her neck. It had strangled her, tight enough for blood to come bustling up. A single drop trailed down to the neckline of the dress she had died in. Pristine white and stainless if not for the one drop. Not able to see what comes next and still bursting into not the lair but the heart of the beast. One’s own weapon used by themselves to doom.

“Miriam Lass was a trainee. I took her out in the field. This is my fault.” Jack said, looking to the side. Away from her. “She found him and now she’s dead.” His voice cracked almost imperceivably. Will frowned at it.

“How dare he!” Jack yelled, sudden. His arms swung through the air and the pictures whirled around before dropping to the floor. “How dare he mock her?” He leaned against his palms on the table, breathless or maybe heaving.

Will scoffed at him. “I can’t help you, Jack. And he’s not mocking her. There are no parts of her missing. He didn’t eat any of her. It would be cannibalism. She wasn’t a pig. She could have almost been his equal.”

Jack pushed of the table, his fists clenching in an effort not to punch. He turned his back on Will and stalked through the room, steps quick and burdened. “He’s taunting us! Making us into a joke.” So insulting and so very righteous. So very rude.

“You.” Will corrected him carelessly and continued with his task of putting his things away.

“What?” Jack asked, lungs burning, face hurting and ears ringing.

Will paused his movements and straightened to look him in the eye, no glasses to offer protection to either of them. “He’s taunting you, not us. You’re the joke, Jack.”

He left the classroom, leaving Jack gaping and helpless, his mind collapsing onto the floor in a distorted heap.

Beverly met him by her car, her long hair flowing freely in the slight wind. A small smile rested on her lips. She wasn’t sure when, but she had grown fond. “Everything alright? Or will Jack come bursting out the building any moment now?”

He smiled in reassurance, pleased words were not needed with her. He wondered if she would have conveyed such understanding had she known. It’s for the better that Jack knows his place, now.

“The hubby finally let you get out then?” Beverly joked, relaxed and cheerful, opening the driver’s door and slouching into the seat with a sigh. She too had to deal with Jack today.

Will followed her movements and sat in the passenger seat. “We aren’t very fond of separation. But for the right people, I can be convinced.” He dropped his things between his legs and regretted not having Hannibal’s hand to hold and caress and kiss.

“But not Hannibal?” Beverly pulled out of the parking lot rather quickly. Her fingers drummed against the wheel as she turned on the radio to a rock station. It was on rather quieter than one would imagine but perhaps only because of their conversation. Her eyes were curious, glancing to the side somewhat unsafely multiple times a second.

Will offered her a blank stare and a nonchalant answer. “Very rarely can Hannibal be persuaded.” At least not by usual means. He smiled to himself. “He either wants something, or he doesn’t.”

“And when his and your wants clash?” She stopped at a red light and gave him his full attention.

Will tilted his head, unsure of the questioning. “We either declare one a whimsey and the other necessary or we fight.” Her eyebrows lifted in response. “You seem surprised.” He declared as they continued driving.

“It’s hard to imagine Doctor Lecter fighting with anyone.” She snorted to herself and made a sharp right turn. “You know, yelling or I guess just speaking loudly while being convinced that he’s the only one right about anything.”

The first of the fights had been the most brutal. No knowledge of a boundary, only desire for each other and lust for the others blood, flesh. It left both limping and some unsalvageable pieces of clothing had to be thrown away, after washing away every last stain. Because of evidence, Hannibal had said. Truly it had only been because no other deserved the sweetness of his beloved’s blood.

Will’s mouth ran dry as he remembered it. His eyes slipped closed for a moment, revelling. He wasn’t very aware of just how much time the image took.

They stopped at a bar and Beverly turned the car off. “He usually is. But when not, he admits it. Well. To me he does.” Beverly paused at his words, surprised the conversation hadn’t been finished with the silence. “As much as I like talking about Hannibal, I’m pretty sure that this much strokes his ego by long distance. Now, tell me about your boyfriend. Or, is it girlfriend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?” She responded as they exited the car and entered the bar. A loud song was playing, one Will didn’t immediately recognise. They forwent sitting at a table and joined some younger men at the bar.

“I very much would.” Will told her after they ordered their drinks, a whiskey for him and a Cuba Libre for her. “I need to know they treat you well.”

She huffed out a laugh, and they talked and drank until Beverly stood up and announced to the whole bar and possibly its whole surrounding area that they were official drinking buddies. The young men at the bar cheered with her.

They stumbled out the bar some minutes after ten, only slightly tipsy but more dizzied by intense laughter and looseness of the shoulders. Will took over driving to the Academy, first making sure Beverly would get home safe and only then taking his own car home.

On the drive he was impatient and hungry. The view of their house could hardly come into sight soon enough. He intended to be quiet and slick as he slid off his shoes and coat. His cher didn’t need to be woken up so rudely.

The effort was in vain, as Hannibal was waiting for him on the couch in the sitting room, a book open on his lap and a glass of wine on the small glass table. Dogs were littering the floor, Buster noticeably close to him.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal spoke softly and Will’s legs drifted closed on their own, carrying his body with them.

“Hello, mon cher.” He leaned down and kissed his husband’s forehead and then his lips.

Hannibal’s book fell closed as both his hands went to rest on the sides of Will’s face. Will’s bag dropped to the floor, forgotten in its unimportance. As their kiss deepened, Will’s body lowered itself to its knees. The floor was cold enough to shiver at the contact, but the one thing he felt was warm. Hannibal’s lips on his, Hannibal’s hands on his face, Hannibal’s knee at his stomach. Hannibal. And what else could he want?

Will arms travelled to around Hannibal’s waist, fingers sneaking under his shirt, trailing along his spine with barely any pressure. He felt his form shiver and his own body tremble with it.

Hannibal lifted his face, angling it for the tiniest angle upwards, breaking the kiss. He pulled back to gaze at the most beautiful art he had ever seen. The sight he could observe for eternity and not be deprived of anything. He swept some stray curls to the side of Will’s face.

“Abigail called.” He informed, warm and intentional. Will’s eyes dulled but shimmered with renewed interest and worry. “She arrived safely at the college. It’s quite splendid that they let her start a semester late.” He himself had taken care of it.

Will nodded and smiled, letting his eyelids drop. He allowed Hannibal to guide him up onto the couch and laid his head on his husband’s shoulder. He felt a kiss in his hair and a hand, comforting and warm, in his own.

It had been Abigail’s choice. And they would respect it.

It wasn’t so bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. It was blissfully simple. They had everything they had ever needed. Understanding and entertainment.

Each other.