The grandeur of Hannibal Lecter's lifestyle has always lent itself to various indulgences. As a man who appreciates the finest that the world has to offer, he spares no expense in pursuing luxury and sensual experience. The pleasure he derives from the visual appeal of fine clothing and an immaculate appearance; the moving experience of listening to world-renowned performers of classical music; the heady scent of a finely aged wine; the exquisite taste of an artfully prepared meal using only the freshest and most delectable cuts of meat, he feels no need to justify or excuse. These things he indulges in freely, taking every chance to enjoy these opportunities while they remain, for he knows that one day he may not be so free.
Today Hannibal has adorned his body with a gray plaid suit, pants perfectly pressed and jacket shrugged on over a matching waistcoat and powder blue spread-collar shirt. The ensemble is accessorized with a tan paisley tie knotted in a double Windsor and a pocket square of the same color tucked into his left breast pocket. His hair is carefully slicked back, every strand kept in place as much with his air of unphasable perfection as with twenty-dollar-a-can hair product. Many hours into the day, his appearance is as polished as it was when he exited his house that morning.
All of his regular patients have come and gone, passing one by one through his office as he nods in all the right places and offers standard guidance for the mundane disorders. Trivial, boring cases. Only one appointment remains, the only one he looks forward to from week to week. Just as the minute hand reaches its apex on the clock face to mark the six o'clock hour, Hannibal is crossing his office to open the door to the waiting room. Exactly on time, he greets Will Graham with customary politeness, and they take their seats for Will's weekly session.
If Jack had tried to push any other therapist on him, Will probably would have said "screw you" and walked away. Hell, he almost did the first time he met Lecter. But in those first few days, something about the man had pulled him in, like a moth attracted to a dangerous flame. Despite the fact that Will was the one being analyzed, Will found himself just as intrigued by the ever-proper Dr. Lecter as the man was by Will. Lecter was the complete antithesis of Will Graham, the self-assured, elegant foil to Will's halting, awkward self. What was that thing people said about opposites?
Despite the number of times Will has had conversations with Dr. Lecter in this office, the grandness of the space still strikes him with its ordered opulence. To Will's mind, the space should be cluttered. The number of oriental rugs, statuettes, curio cabinets, paintings, and books that line the walls would be overwhelming if it wasn't for the careful order that commands the room. Everything has its place, all orchestrated to tell a carefully crafted story about its occupant. The room seems a natural extension of the man in front of him, flashy and ornate, a facade constructed with half-truths. If Will had looked close enough, he might have seen the whole truth hiding in plain sight.
"How are you, Will?" Hannibal asks, casually beginning their hour together.
Will drums his fingers on the arm of the chair and presses his lips tightly together, "I've been good," he says, nodding, "I haven't been losing time; I've been more alert. Probably because I've had a break from staring at dead bodies for a while."
"I'm glad to hear it," Hannibal replies, not mentioning that Will looks on-edge despite his answer. "Jack hasn't called you in on any cases recently?"
"Not until today." Will sighs. "This morning I had to drive up to DC with him to look at a crime scene a few blocks from the capitol."
"Political?" It wouldn't be the first time a politician had been punished by a disgruntled citizen with a gun.
Will shakes his head, "No, the victim was a tourist, there on a business-vacation type deal."
"Then why involve the FBI?"
"The guy was the third victim killed under similar circumstance in three days, and each murder has escalated. The local authorities aren't sure what to make of it." Will closes his eyes, recalling the scene from earlier that day, "The man, like the previous two victims, had been shot twice, once in the head and once in the navel."
The rhythm of Will's voice slows, "There were markings, lines drawn in his skin with a knife at very precise places around his body. The previous victim had the same etchings in their skin, and the first victim had only the two gun wounds. All of them were found naked. The most recent victim was lying stretched out over a pentagram drawn with his own blood."
Will's eyes open, though they are unfocused, staring past Hannibal. "That's when Jack got called in. They're afraid that it might be some sort of cult behind the killings, and with one happening every night so far, they don't want to waste time."
Hannibal nods. "How did you feel, looking at the crime scene?"
A pause. "It's getting easier to make myself look, but it's harder to keep staring once I do." Will glances at Hannibal, "I feel like every time Jack bring me to a crime scene, he makes me look longer than the time before."
Hannibal sighs, crossing his legs, "I think Jack, like most people in his line of work, initially felt the same horror you feel at seeing such things but upon continued exposure found even the most atrocious crime easier to digest. It just became another part of his job. This could be his way of trying to desensitize you to these things as well, to get you used to looking."
Will's barks out a laugh and stares up at the ceiling, "Believe me, Dr. Lecter, no one gets used to the way I see things. Especially me."
Hannibal's foot begins moving up and down in thought, and Will's eyes are drawn to the movement. The light reflects off the shined patent leather, and Will follows the movement of the limb upwards along the pressed pant leg and up Hannibal's torso. Hannibal is watching him,
"Perhaps you will learn."
Though Will snorts at the remark, there's something determined in Hannibal's posture that makes Will wonder what precisely the other man had meant. But Hannibal moves on without further comment,
"Were you able to get inside the mind of this particular killer?"
"I was able to access . . . bits and pieces of their mind, but I feel like I'm missing something, like there's a clue in the crime scene that I'm not getting." Will leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, "It's not what the locals think; it's not a cult. There's only one person doing this. They leave their victims in the middle of the sidewalk or the street, so they want them to be found. And the repetitive, escalating style of the murders makes me think they're trying to communicate something. It's as if they have a message for us, but we haven't deciphered it yet." Will's hands knot themselves together in front of him.
"I'm certain you will, eventually. Your abilities haven't failed you yet."
"And what happens when they finally do?" Will's voice is small.
"Then you will go back to teaching, and Jack Crawford will no longer haunt your footsteps." Hannibal straightens in his seat, and Will watches the muscles stretch beneath his suit jacket, Hannibal's broad shoulders flexing, "but I don't think you're on the brink of such a thing quite yet."
Will looks away, suddenly conscious and oddly bothered by his own gaze. The rest of the hour passes quickly, and soon Hannibal is rising from his chair, all lithe movements, to lead him out. Hannibal extends his courteous good-bye, and they schedule another session for the following week. Will exits quickly through the foyer.
After the hunched, curly-headed figure has disappeared from sight, Hannibal lingers briefly in the doorway of his office. He loosens his tie before turning and walking with meditative slowness to his desk. Seated, he opens his appointment book and pens Will in for his next visit. The name Will Graham is written with careful delicacy on the ivory page. He closes the book and leans back thoughtfully in his chair.
Yes, Hannibal Lecter takes every opportunity to indulge himself, considering it wasteful to let such opportunities slip by. And the enigmatic Will Graham, Hannibal thinks, is one opportunity that should certainly not be wasted.
A/N: This is to be a five-chapter fic. Subsequent chapters to be much longer.