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The night life was loud, the streets painted in an orange glow with various passerby already half in the bag, as some would say. The noise seemed to create an endless buzz in the air, a frequency that reverberated through his bones until he was certain they would be permanently scarred with the evidence of the evening.
So he had to ask himself, what exactly was Will Graham of all people doing in this part of the city?
Beverly had invited him out for drinks, so sure of her ability to maintain a friendship that she apparently hadn’t thought that this could ruin it. Granted, it was after a particularly stressful case, one where Hannibal could distinctly recall the rather frantic pace Will took around his office, more on edge than usual. He hadn’t been able to calm down until his palm hit an office pillar once, twice, fifteen times. Once his sensory processing was sufficiently recalibrated, he had been rather embarrassed about the whole thing.
Hannibal did his best to reassure the man that it was perfectly normal to require such a thing, especially with nothing and nobody being harmed in the process (though he wouldn’t exactly have minded if that had happened), but Will seemed set in his opinion that he was behaving like a wall-punching teenager, and booked it out of his appointment early.
Perhaps Will being so on edge was why Hannibal didn’t even consider warning him about this man.
He was around their height, with a shaved head and a sneer that instantly earned him a place at Hannibal’s dinner table, first in the literal sense, but soon Hannibal was sure it would be in his preferable figurative sense.
He’d been rather upset about being asked not to smoke inside, taking a final huff before stomping out the embers on Hannibal’s porch.
The only reason the man survived the night was Hannibal’s curiosity.
“I thought the pillar of salt was pretty obvious,” the man muttered, mouth still full of the “steak” Hannibal had cooked that evening.
“Perhaps it was. But then again, there’s far more context, is there not? Lot’s wife was transformed because she turned around to look at destruction that she was not meant to see.”
The man laughed then, something low and raspy, swallowing and leaning back to give Hannibal a wry gaze. “Just say what you’re thinkin’, Doctor.”
Hannibal smiled politely. “Who saw your destruction?”
“Neighbor,” the man answered with a huff. “Probably sloppy, I don’t really care. I’ll be out of here soon enough. Just got one final bitch that needs taking care of.”
Hannibal swallowed his own portion, eyeing the man curiously. He usually spoke of his victims as though he truly didn’t give them much thought at all, many of them were in the wrong place at the wrong time, crossing his path when he needed a body to use as a tool.
“Last couple nights in Baltimore,” the man continued. “Need a bit of a grand finale, don’tcha think?”
“I agree,” Hannibal replied. “Though I’m curious who you have in mind, since you’re at last planning ahead.”
There it was again, that undeserved sneer.
“The dog that keeps barking at the FBI,” he said simply. “Bill, I think his name is.”
Hannibal paused, meeting the man’s eyes.
“...Will,” Hannibal corrected. To a third party, he could sound as pristinely polite as ever. But to the man across from him, to whom there was no point in masking a thing, his gaze and tone may as well have been sheets of ice.
The man shifted minutely.
“Will, then,” he chose to agree. “Either way, he’s causing a bit of a ruckus for me. Hell, I’m shocked you’re not sick of the bastard. Whatever it is you do, he’ll find you, next.”
Hannibal felt the frigid waters coursing through his veins, the closest thing to traces of his anger that there could be, until a thought occurred to him, and the waters steadied at last back to their typical warmth.
“Lilith,” Hannibal said. “You plan to base your next kill on Lilith.”
The man seemed satisfied. “How’d you guess?”
“Lilith does not exist in Biblical canon, though she is often pictured throughout tradition. Adam’s first wife, equating herself to him, refusing to submit. She intentionally damns herself by speaking the true name of God, choosing Hell over paradise, freedom over bondage.”
“They’d do better to have an Eve,” the man said. “Stays where she should.. Doesn’t run to damnation, but ends up there after being tempted. Safer for them than to have a Lilith who’ll say our names soon enough.”
Hannibal’s exterior remained thoroughly neutral, while the beast within him purred at visions of Will’s damnation.
“You choose an untraditional figure for an untraditional man,” Hannibal decided to say.
“Somehow you sound more judgmental about this one.”
Hannibal set his utensils down, rising with his guest as they both had finished their meals.
“I do not often offer advice to men such as yourself, but I can extend what I would consider to be a courtesy,” Hannibal said, chin lifted. “If you’re planning to go after Will Graham, I would strongly urge you to reconsider.”
Reconsider, as it turned out, he did not.
Hannibal hadn’t explained his reasoning to the man, just like he hadn’t explained his reasoning to Garrett Jacob Hobbs. He extended a courtesy to the men, and that had been generous enough. Whether or not they heeded said courtesy was not his decision to make.
But he was determined, if nothing else, to ruin the man’s plans. The last time there was a killer at his table who encountered Will shortly thereafter, Hannibal had put far too much faith into Will’s capacity to defend himself. The subsequent events had put a feeling in Hannibal’s soul that he was very determined to never allow himself to feel again.
He would not lose him. Not to an overzealous pig like this.
A couple more nights, the man had said. The previous night, tonight, and the following evening before he was to travel back out of state.
Dinner with Hannibal, a ruined murder attempt, and death.
Hannibal pulled his coat tighter around himself as he stepped soundlessly through the streets, tailing the two friends undetected. The man had caused Will enough grief. Normally, Hannibal could find pleasure in Will’s tortured mind, but there was no joy to be found in watching him on the brink of a meltdown. There was no joy found in Will’s insecurity at requiring an outlet.
And there was certainly no joy to be found at the risk of him being gone.
Of course, Hannibal could have killed the man and been done with it. That would not have been slow enough. He needed the pig to see , to watch his opportunity be taken from him, to know that it wouldn’t even be for the sake of another killer getting to his victim first, but a friend protecting a friend. He wanted to watch that man’s blood boil and taste the bitterness the following evening during the dinner he would invite Will to, having him unknowingly feast on the man that dared to try and force him to submit.
Adam, meet Lilith.
Perhaps he would try his hand at cooking ribs. Wouldn’t Will enjoy that?
Approaching the rather boisterous bar, he still could not risk his presence becoming known. He waited in the shadows beyond the door, his long, dark coat allowing him to blend in better. Nobody seemed to bat an eye, various people lingering in odd places as it was.
As time passed, the noise outside died down, people either entering buildings or leaving altogether, the bar remaining as loud as ever with the increased patrons.
Hannibal wondered how many drinks Will had.
There was most definitely whiskey in Will’s home, and he drank the wine that was offered, so he certainly could hold his alcohol fairly well if he drank an average amount. What would tonight bring, however? He was stressed, and he was drinking socially as opposed to at home or having a single drink with a friend.
Hannibal debated sparing a glance within the place plastered with neon lights, just to see if he could catch sight of a particularly worn flannel and see how much it was stumbling.
The sight of a familiar leather jacket brought him away from his thoughts. Agent Katz would have to do the supervising for the time being.
“Going somewhere?”
The man turned, eyes wide in surprise as he took sight of the looming figure in a coat that was far too expensive for him to be on this side of the city.
“You– What the hell are you doing here? Trying to get yourself mugged?”
Hannibal stepped closer then, his expression not shifting in the slightest from its learned neutrality.
“Visiting a friend.”
The man squinted, confused, before doing a double take between the inside of the bar and Hannibal’s unwavering look.
“You…”
“I do believe I made myself rather clear last night,” Hannibal said with all the nonchalance in the world. “If you’re planning to go after Will Graham, I would strongly urge you to reconsider.”
A flame danced in the man’s eyes, realizing the rather vital information that had been kept from him. His glare was potent, not that Hannibal really cared.
Considering his options, and evidently deciding that it wouldn’t do to cause a public situation with a man he didn’t know how to size up, he walked away, fists clenched.
Hannibal released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He himself didn’t want to cause a public mess either, but he was sure that he could make it seem necessary if he had to. The man had clearly been stalking Will in some way or another, otherwise he couldn’t have known that this was where he would be. He only–
“Dr. Lecter? Is that you?”
Merda.
He turned, seeing now that he’d placed himself right before the open entrance to the bar, and met Agent Katz’s eyes. She smiled, waving him inside.
It wasn’t a horrible outcome, not that there was any avoiding it regardless.
He stepped inside, heading in her direction while his eyes still searched around her for signs of flannel, or a head of curls. There was none to be found, and he inwardly cursed himself for not paying better attention.
“Come to pick up sleeping beauty?”
Hannibal blinked. “What do you mean?”
Beverly turned then, grinning amusedly, and plucked her jacket off of the chair she’d draped it over.
Well, the chair and Will, who had his head down on the table, nestled in his arms.
“He chugs like a madman,” Beverly said, as though it were a brag. “Whiskey wasn’t doing it, I guess. Went for vodka after a while.”
Ah.
“I’d imagined he might drink in excess tonight,” Hannibal said, following the convenient excuse that Agent Katz kindly provided him with.
Beverly nodded, brows raised in exasperation. “After the week he’s had? I thought he might have fun here, but he went straight for not wanting to think about anything anymore. Really can’t blame him, though. I’m just glad he has someone to take him home.”
Hannibal tilted his head then. “Could you not take him?”
Bev shook her head. “I didn’t drink anything heavy like he did, but it’ll kick in soon enough. Not about to have this be his last week on Earth.”
He nodded. “Appreciated, in that case.”
He stepped around her at last, making his way to the other chair at the table. Will looked oddly peaceful where he was resting, his shoulders gently rising and falling with each breath. His dark lashes gave the tiniest flutter every now and then, his eyes just barely twitching as he slept, before he would return to stillness.
Amongst the neon lights, he looked beautiful.
Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. “Will?”
He startled for a moment, successfully jostled awake. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Hannibal would have to ensure he had plenty of water soon, lest he wake up with a worse headache than usual.
At long last, Will turned, his eyes squinting against the light until they met Hannibal’s face.
He broke into a grin almost immediately.
“Dr. Lecter!” he drawled out, alcohol slurring his syllables together.
Hannibal couldn’t help smiling back. Alcohol induced or not, the notion of Will being so happy to see him spread warmth throughout his chest.
“Hello, Will,” he greeted. “You’ve had quite a night.”
“Yeah,” Will said, laughing and rubbing his eyes. “Had a…Had some drinks .”
Hannibal eyed the various empty glasses on the table. “I could tell.”
Will tried to stand then, visibly stumbling to the point where Hannibal’s hands came out almost automatically to try and steady him. Will, in his drunken processing of the situation, didn’t seem to realize that it was meant to keep him from falling over, and leaned into Hannibal’s hold, smushing his cheek against Hannibal’s shoulder.
“Is goo’ to see you…” he slurred out, still smiling wide.
Hannibal hesitated momentarily, in which time Will’s arms came around his shoulders, loosely holding him in return. Hannibal chose to ignore Beverly’s snickering, deciding to indulge in Will’s rare friendliness.
“It’s good to see you as well,” he agreed. “We should get you home, Will.”
Will pulled away, groaning. “Why? You jus’ got here!”
“I’m not leaving you, I assure you,” Hannibal said, unable to contain his own grin at the sentiment, “but I would like to ensure your hangover is as minor as possible.”
“Y’think I can’ hold whiskey?”
“You’ve had a bit more than simple whiskey, Will.”
Will turned to Beverly, stumbling as he did so. “Fuckin’ snitch .”
“Will,” Hannibal tried again, placing an arm around his back and easing him away from a very amused Beverly, “you should get to bed.”
Will huffed. “M’not tired.”
“You will be,” Hannibal argued, “and I would prefer your rest to be in a bed than on top of a hastily wiped down bar table.”
Will grumbled something that couldn’t quite be made out, but he leaned into Hannibal once more.
“Y’won’t leave…?”
“I won’t leave,” he assured.
Will, smiling again, accepted Hannibal’s lead.
They stepped through the bar, the violet lights illuminating various glasses and flashy outfits, people who got ready for a night on the town across from people who came in their work clothes.
Will’s head leaned against Hannibal’s shoulder, his gaze intently resting on Hannibal’s face. “Yer real pretty in these lights…”
It took everything Hannibal had not to outwardly react. Will was very much a friendly drunk, it would seem, but besides that, he was simply drunk . He couldn’t be meaning everything that came out of his mouth, having several glasses of whiskey and vodka in his system.
“Y’should come out more often…Y’look like one uh those…one uh those marble statues…”
Do not react. Do not turn. Do not draw attention to it.
Will frowned. “You don’ think yer pretty?”
Hannibal was rather grateful for the violet lights then, feeling heat rising quickly to his face.
Well, he did for a moment.
Some vague sounds of dulled laughter could be heard beside them, one particular table deciding that the drunken one-sided conversation was very entertaining indeed. One specific man rose from his seat, the liquid courage in his glass granting him undeserved confidence.
“Didn’t know this was a gay bar!”
Hannibal turned.
He knew he most likely shouldn’t, taking the words of some drunken pig at face value. But this was not about him, at the end of the day. This was about Will. Will was the one the man heard speaking, the one that the man could see leaning on his shoulder. Hannibal would not have him go undefended in this state.
The man laughed, seeing that he caught their attention. “Fuckin’ sissies should go back to New York! Fuck some twink ass in–”
Faster than even Hannibal could process, the man was interrupted by a swift right hook, and the weight on Hannibal’s shoulder was gone.
Will was still stumbling slightly, but had enough balance to stay on his feet between Hannibal and the man slinging words at them.
“Don’ fuckin’ talk ‘bout him like that!” Will snapped at the man, who was still holding his face, a bit of blood dribbling out from his lip.
Hannibal watched in awe. Surely, he should step in to prevent such a commotion, but in all honesty…
Why would he ever do that?
The man suddenly came to his senses, glaring daggers at Will and standing upright, the two almost chest to chest.
“What, you his pimp ?” the man spat, flecks of blood landing on Will’s face.
That did it.
Within half a second the man was shoved onto his back on the nearest table, his face contorting with every punch, until he finally managed to grapple enough to throw Will off of him, the two stumbling to their feet. The man spat on the ground, two teeth following the red saliva.
Hannibal’s gaze locked on the small mess on the bar floor, at last processing what just happened. What was still happening, judging by the swings he looked up to see.
Will, in his drunken state, wanted to defend him .
Oh, dear…
It was a clash of fists, at least until Will grabbed the man by his hair and slammed his face off of the table three times in a row. Patrons were staring, not wanting to get involved in the mess, but some were clearly entertained. Hannibal “accidentally” collided with a patron in his attempt to “get out of the way” of the fight, knocking their phone to the ground and ruining their recording.
The final blow before Hannibal could see someone behind the bar counter reaching for a phone was courtesy of Will, who grabbed a chair and used it to slam the other man to the ground. Or, at least Hannibal thought it was going to be the final blow, until Will delivered a finishing kick directly to the man’s mouth, causing him to sputter and spit out several more teeth.
Then, and only then, did Hannibal finally take hold of Will again, guiding him away from the disaster before police could show up, and before Agent Katz could approach with what was sure to be a flurry of questions.
Will didn’t fight it, leaning against him once more, grumbling under his breath. Most of it couldn’t be made out, except for–
“Tha’s m’ wife .”
Oh, how Hannibal longed to know what was going through that drunken mind.
--------
Will woke, squinting against the harsh light coming in through the curtains. He rolled over slightly, keeping his eyes closed and relaxing against the soft blankets.
…That were very much not his own.
His eyes snapped open, which he immediately regretted. He sat up, groaning at the pounding in his head. He felt like he got in a car crash the night before.
Which was to say, he could barely remember the night before at all.
He remembered going out with Beverly, the neon lights of the bar, the constant noise. He remembered ordering some drinks…
He remembered seeing Hannibal.
He managed to look around the room, it at last dawning on him why it felt so unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar. It definitely felt like the interior of Hannibal’s house, though the room was definitely too small to be a master bedroom of a house this size. His guest room, then. Even so, the bed was one of the most comfortable things he’d ever slept on. Maybe that was why he felt less hangover-y and more achy. He put a hand to his forehead, expecting to feel heated skin, but instead felt the exterior of a bandage.
What the fuck?
Just then, the door opened.
Hannibal stepped in, seeming as casual as ever despite everything. He held a mug of coffee, the aroma almost immediately hitting Will’s nose and causing his stomach to growl. Hannibal gave a small smile, approaching the opposite side of the bed and sitting on the edge, handing the mug over.
“Good morning,” he greeted. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby, all things considered,” Will said, taking the mug. “What, uh…What happened last night?”
Hannibal smiled, looking very much amused. “Would you like the short version or the long version?”
“Short version, I just woke up.”
Hannibal tilted his head then, his smile never fading.
“You knocked a man’s teeth out for insinuating that I’m your whore.”
Will choked on his first sip of coffee. Hannibal laughed.
“Shall I go on with the longer version, then?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Will got out, still trying to clear his lungs.
“Very well,” Hannibal agreed, sitting somehow taller. Proud, almost. “There’s plenty I’d like to discuss.”