Chapter Text
A body was laid out on a sheet of plastic over a sumptuous bed made up of black silk sheets. What had once been a human torso was made torn meat, the heart of the matter cracked wide open. White bones of ribs were spread out like ruined wings never meant for flight. Hollowed out of all its softer contents, the space of beats and breath was filled to brimming overflow with red roses in color saturated full bloom, the blossoms’ heady perfume mixing with the more metallic scents of clotted blood to make a strange perfume, coiling sweet and suffocating.
The pretending corpse woke up from strange dreams involving darkly feathered stags and winter’s fall. It was nothing new for him to experience though. He had this dream almost every night. It felt like he had been dreaming it forever. It was easy for him to remember it, it was so apart of him now.
Blinking blue grey eyes at the spectacle of himself, Will chuckled or at least attempted to, going through the motions of it at least the best he could without lungs to push air up and out his ruined throat. Apparently, Hannibal had had quite a bit of fun last night at his expense.
Sitting up slowly, Will watched in amusement as the flowers fell out of his chest cavity like strange bloody snow, petals sent fluttered down his legs and over his groin, the fragile covering brilliant against his pale nudity. Who knew under all the twisted sadism that Hannibal was a romantic at heart. He certainly had Will’s, literally and figuratively.
Amorous notions aside, Will got up carefully from the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, sticking his hands deep into the damp hollow of it, his fingers lacing between his ribs in bizarre prayer. Feeling strangely light weight, the unique kind of which that can only come from disembowelment, Will stumbled toward the bathroom where he fumbled for the shower. He stepped directly into the stream to clean out the rest of the petals, thorns, and vegetation, not wanting his flesh to heal over it. He would only have to dig it out later and he knew from long past experience that was a hassle, like trying to scratch a phantom itch under a cast.
Satisfied, Will punched and cracked his ribs back into place, liberally using the bathroom wall in this effort. Once the bones were roughly back where they should be, the curious nature of his existence took over for him, healing all the damage until he stood good as new. Leaning against the tile, Will wilted under a sudden and intense wave of dizziness. The ill sensation of his body filling back up with blood and organs was still disconcerting even after all this time as the immortal adjusted his balance to accommodate revived bodily functions, like breathing. Will doubled over, the abrupt expansion of his lungs like a punch in the guts, the rhythm of his return to full life vivid and burning as nerve ending flared all over. Getting back into the habit of the living, Will picked himself off of the shower floor and stretched under the steaming hot downpour.
“My name is Will Graham. I am in Baltimore, Maryland and I am alive.”
oOo
Because it amused him to do so, Will wove the best of the roses together, wearing them as a crown down to breakfast. His lover and his killer was found easily enough in the kitchen, cooking up what looked like his own kidney.
“Mmmm…..that smells good.” Will said softly, pressing a light kiss to Hannibal’s cheek before helping himself to some much needed coffee. He wasn’t about to mess with the contraption that Hannibal preferred to brew his coffee in but the good doctor had already set out his cup for him, the dark liquid still steaming and sweetened to perfection.
“Did you sleep well?” Hannibal asked as he plated the food, simple fare of poached eggs, kidneys flash fried with shitake mushrooms and sweet onions, and breakfast potatoes cooked in fresh herbs and cheddar cheese paired with the freshly squeezed fruit juice though Will couldn‘t put his finger on the origin of the flavor.
“Yes, thank you.” And wouldn’t this be the perfect scene for domestic bliss, Will observed, if he weren’t wearing a crown of bloody flowers and breaking his fast on his own innards.
Hannibal reached over to the adjust the bloom circlet, the petals still wet with the dew of Will’s blood. After leveling it out, he pressed down on it enough so that the thorns caught in Will’s flesh like hooks, painting bright stripes of crimson over his face and down his neck. Hannibal couldn’t help but sigh at the beauty of it all, Will’s eyes like star sapphires when framed with the ruby like qualities of his own spilled life. He wore pain and death so well, so effortlessly Hannibal noted as he committed this look of murder to his perfect memory. He would sketch it all out later at his leisure. It deserved to be immortalized on canvas even if he was the only one going to be appreciating it. To his pleasant surprise and satisfaction, Will let the blood dry where it meandered, both men knowing that they were not due anywhere today or wanting to see other people.
“Remind me to clean off if anyone calls. Don’t let me walk out of the house like this. I might finally get committed if your neighbors see me or Jack finds out.” Will said, still trying to figure out the mystery of the juice. He could just ask his host but where was the fun in that.
“I would never let that happen.” Hannibal sounded almost reproachful, though whether something of that nature would not occur outside of his control or that he took it that Will thought he was so unobservant to let a guest leave his house in clear disarray was never clarified.
Will smiled into his juice, deciding it was pineapple blended with Clementine. “Of course not. It would deprive you of your favorite toy.”
oOo
“What would happen if I were to cut your hands off?” was the question that came after clean up, Hannibal washing the dishes while Will dried them, putting the varied pieces away when he was done. They had just gotten to the two last bits to clean, a cleaver and its chopping block, presumably what Hannibal had used to slice and dice his kidney up. Hannibal was regarding the implement thoughtfully, his sanguine eyes flickering over to Will’s wrists.
Not one to disappoint, Will move over to him, laying his hands out on the chopping block without hesitation. “Go for it” he offered, loving how he could still surprise Hannibal who was never stuck in that state for long. Shaking his head as if to clear it, Hannibal retrieved a mixing bowl, setting it beside the chopping block.
“Please bleed into that.” Hannibal told him, picking up the cleaver. The blade was a blur of silver, he was so fast with it. If he had blinked, Will knew he would have missed it. He would have applauded if he still had the facilities for it, deeply appreciative of his lover’s skill and quality of the steel. Remembering the request, Will moved his stumps over the empty mixing bowl though he wondered what Hannibal would be using his juice for. Probably a sauce or something. The good doctor was planning a dinner party soon, featuring Will as the founder of the feast and its sole source of meat, celebrating him.
If that wasn’t love, Will had no idea what else it could look like. Leaning against the counter as he bled out, Will watched Hannibal as he inspected his newly freed appendages, the immortal waiting until he was leaning in close to his hands. Springing into action, Will flicked his fingers up to lightly pinch the tip of Hannibal’s nose, the cannibal jerking back in surprise to glare at Will for his mischief.
“You still retain motor control.” Hannibal said in his way that made it more statement than question, his curiosity overcoming his irritation. Will could tell he was resisting the urge to touch his nose.
“To an extent.” Will shrugged. He focused enough to make his hands start crawling toward him, the movement steady but slow as Hannibal watched intently. “I’m not going to be doing any complex gestures like playing an instrument or untying knot work. Feet are even harder to control and call back to me, but mostly due to their shape. Anything below the knee is always awkward.”
“And if you are cut up into pieces?” Hannibal asked in that calm, inquisitive tone that made Will want to demonstrate for him right then and there.
“That can be time consuming, very much so actually.” Will admitted. “It can take weeks or even months before I can get myself back together. Of course it all depends on where and how I was scattered. I spent a good part of the 1400’s without my left leg because a damn shark ate it. Had to wait until the currents worked it back across the Atlantic and even then it was on the wrong continent.”
“That must have been uncomfortable.” Hannibal understated, Will smiling at the doctor’s knack for it. Shaking some excess blood off of his wrists, Will touched the severed end of his flesh together, the skin sealing itself as bones clicked back together. The clean cut nature of the wound helped with his recovery, Will wiggling the kinks out of his numb fingers. He hissed at the pin and needles sensation as the phalanges refilled with blood.
“Not as much as you would think. For a couple of decades, I mostly sat on my ass transcribing bibles for Franciscan monks. That or I begged. That’s a daily adventure of dodging refuse and hungry dogs, or being hanged when the locals got drunk and bored.” Will said, moving over to the sink to wash off his hands and wrist. For all his quirks toward cannibalism, torture, and murder, Hannibal had some very strict house rules about cleanliness and leaving behind bloody fingerprints everywhere. Not that Will could fault him for that. It was one of the reasons it made him so hard to catch.
“Fascinating. Is there any time period that you prefer?” Hannibal asked as he covered the bowl of blood, tucking it safely away in the refrigerator. He would make sugo all'arrabbiata with it later.
“Not really. I have always tended to live in the present and after a while, it all merges together.” Will said which was true. He saw no point worrying over pasts he could not change.
The more things change the more they stay the same.” Hannibal observed.
“"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way." Will countered back with his own quote. “And before you ask, no, I never met Charles Dickens. I was out West by then, well into the States. I did meet King Arthur though.”
That admission earned Will a narrow look from Hannibal. “I find that rather hard to believe.” the doctor remained unimpressed. Will didn’t know whether to be delighted or disappointed about Hannibal’s non-reaction to the name dropping.
“It’s true though I going by a much different name then. I was known as Galahad by the court.” Will defended himself, giving out one of his oldest names, something he rarely ever did.
“The knight renowned for his purity and gallantry? How fitting.” Hannibal smiled, the expression slight but genuinely amused. Will began to suspect that he was being mocked. “If memory serves, you were the last person to ever lay eye on the Holy Grail and upon a death of your choosing was supposively taken to heaven by angels.”
Teasing confirmed, Will made a sour face at Hannibal, waving him off. “The tales of my demise were greatly exaggerated and everyone was doing quests for the Holy Grail and Jerusalem. What can I say? It was a thing.”