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.