The Finest Vintage
"Will?"
Will's head jerked up at the sound of Doctor Lecter's voice. He left the crime scene photos he had been poring over on his desk and made his way around to greet the doctor.
"Jack has found a way to keep you to himself I see," said Hannibal from the shadowed hallway of Will's classroom.
Will rubbed a hand under his glasses and smiled humorlessly.
"We've got a new case," he said, gesturing vaguely behind him at the photos. "Jack felt that this one deserves my, ahm, personal attention."
Hannibal arranged his overcoat carefully on a chair and brushed past Will to examine the photos piled on the desk. Will smelled of days cooped up in his classroom, of too little sleep, and of frustration.
"I was on my way home and thought I would check in," Hannibal said, turning back to face Will, "You seemed. . distracted yesterday and I became worried."
Will moved back to the far side of his desk and shuffled the pictures without purpose.
"I appreciate the concern," he said, avoiding Doctor Lecter's eyes, "But worrying about me generally isn't productive, I find that given enough time I always disappoint."
Hannibal smiled indulgently.
"You cannot disappoint me, Will, I am your friend."
Will raised his glance slightly and gave a strained smile.
"Thanks for that."
"Tell me about this case that Uncle Jack has you caged with."
Will sorted through the pictures and picked up one. The photograph showed a man's body. The top quarter of his skull had been cut cleanly away, leaving the brain exposed. The cut-away piece of scalp and skull had then been perched back on the head at a different angle.
"We're calling this one the King-Maker," Will said, "'Cause he gives them crowns. . ."
"The FBI's little joke," said Hannibal dryly.
"Yeah. Anyways Jack's got me-"
Will stopped.
"Will?"
Hannibal put down the photos he was holding and stepped closer to Will. Will continued to stare straight ahead, seemingly not conscious of Hannibal's presence. Hannibal watched Will's pupils, and while satisfied that Will was not having a seizure, realized that Will was losing time."
Will would be fine, they were in the FBI headquarters and beyond the door to Will's classroom there were dozens of people, even this late at night. Hannibal watched Will's face, fascinated. Will's eyes were vacant, his body relaxed.
Without warning, Will turned abruptly and shuffled over to sit at his desk. He mechanically began looking at photos again then turning each one aside without really processing it. Hannibal followed silently, soon standing behind Will's chair and watching over his shoulder. The semi-darkness of the room was very comfortable, Hannibal decided. Anyone passing the half-open door wouldn't even be able to tell that something was wrong. He experimentally placed a hand on Will's shoulder from behind. No response. Will continued shuffling through photos with his eyes half-open.
Hannibal noticed that, lying on the table, was a pair of silver scissors that Will had apparently been using to cut string for a map detailing all the locations that the King Maker had struck. Hannibal cocked his head slightly.
He picked up the scissors, a satisfying snick sounding against the wood as they were lifted up. Will continued to move photos around, unaware of his surroundings. Hannibal stood to his side. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his gray handkerchief. Carefully, Hannibal used the handkerchief to separate a small bit of Will's hair from the rest. He must be very careful not to spoil the scent. . .
The silver scissors gleamed sharply as Hannibal raised them and, taking a small strand of Will's hair between the blades, sliced it off soundlessly. His handkerchief caught the token, and Hannibal wrapped it carefully and slipped it inside his pocket. The scissors he returned to the table. Hannibal smiled to himself as he exited the classroom, off to find Jack Crawford and inform him that Will was sleep-working and needed their help.
Later that night, after insisting that Will stay the night at the local medical clinic where he wouldn't be alone, Hannibal arrived home.
He had stayed with Will until he awoke from his dream-like state and had explained to Will where he was. Will half-listened to Hannibal's voice and promptly fell into a deep, natural sleep. Satisfied that Will would be better looked-after here than at his isolated house, Hannibal smoothed his covers and left.
Now at his home, he opened the heavy door to his wine cellar and descended into the cool darkness. He paused briefly to admire the gleaming bottles, each one in its place. He went to the very back of the spacious cellar and, after a moment's hesitation, selected a Cabernet Sauvignon. It's contents glimmered redly in the low light, and Hannibal caught a shadow of his own pleased expression in the thick bottle.
Back in his kitchen, Hannibal carefully brought out his gray handkerchief and opened it slowly to reveal the strand of Will's hair. Setting it aside, he uncorked the wine bottle and prepared to decant it. A glass decanter stood ready, a white cloth draped over the mouth to strain the wine. Hannibal removed the cloth, and with a pair of tongs, dropped the strand of hair into the glass vessel. He set the tongs aside, glad that he hadn't gotten any of his own scent on the hair. This vintage had to taste like Will, and Will alone.
The curl of dark brown hair flattened and turned red as the Cabernet was poured over it. Hannibal decanted the whole bottle without rushing, the preliminary odors exciting him darkly. The smell was intoxicating now, but given a few hours time. . . it would be extraordinary.
Will awoke with a start in his hospital bed to find a concerned Alana Bloom leaning over him. Her brows had knitted together, and in his confused state murmured, "you look nice. . ."
Alana drew back, hiding the twitch in her mouth that meant she wanted to smile.
"Sorry," Will apologized immediately, "Was dreaming, didn't mean to startle you."
Alana's expression told him he had nothing to be sorry for.
"How long was I out?"
"About four hours."
Will was trying to remember something. . .
"I was with Hannibal?" he asked.
Alana nodded.
"He brought you here, made sure Jack and I knew what had happened."
Will looked away, trying awkwardly to hide the shame on his face.
"I'm surprised Doctor Lecter still even talks to me, considering how many times I've apparently gone nuts in front of him by now."
Alana took his hand, hesitantly.
"You gave us quite a scare," she murmured, her eyes not leaving Will's face. "But you'll be ok, I'm sure of it. And Hannibal would never retract his friendship, he cares about you."
Will sighed deeply. He scrubbed his free hand across his face, rubbing his tired eyes. He tried to offer Alana a smile, but what came out was a sort of pained grimace.
"You can sleep if you want." she said. "I'll stay right here."
Will nodded gratefully.
Alana leaned in to brush a soft kiss on Will's lips. He let her do it, relaxing his tense muscles and sinking back into his pillow. Alana's hand brushed his curly hair, both of them unaware of the one strand that was shorter than all the rest.
Miles away, Hannibal enters his kitchen.
He leaves the lights off and pads quietly to the counter where the decanter waits. Removing the white cloth, Hannibal swills the vintage around gently. It is ready.
His heart leaps in his chest for pleasure as he reaches for a long-stemmed wineglass and sets it on the counter.
Hannibal pours a half-glass of the vintage, careful that no stray hairs should make their way into his glass. They are collected in a sodden mass at the bottom of the decanter, and it is a simple matter to extract them with the tongs.
Hannibal lifts the glass to his lips and sniffs indulgently, savoring the rich and complicated scent. What was it he had told the doctor? A fevered heat, a sweetness . . . ahhhhh.
Finally, he tilts the glass and takes a sip, rolling the thick liquid around his mouth sensually.
It is better than he could ever have imagined. Everything is there, the exquisite taste of madness itself, the desperation of fear, the torment of empathy. . .
Hannibal is filled with a quiet joy as he tastes the brokenness of Will Graham.
Years later, in his cell at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Hannibal would recall the taste of that vintage perfectly, and he would swill the sensation around his mind for hours in the midst of that insanity and darkness.