Hi, guys! FlyingAlone here. I have a new story for you - I'm very excited to share this one with you! It's my first Hannibal-inspired fx, and I hope it's as good as I want it to be. Please enjoy this first chapter... Do not be shy: let me hear what you think of it. I have not stayed too cannon t how Will and Hanni met, but I hope you like my version. All will be explained in time. Enjoy...
Will stood up straight, feeling the callously-cool water pool down his back, drenching his thin, plaid shirt; so it stuck to his skin like a tight Lycra suit used for riding a bicycle. The rain had been falling heavily from the sky for the last fifteen minuets that Will had been stood at the crime scene. Another body found disfigured; its innards nothing more than a distant memory, organs removed with surgical precision. The head had been decapitated from the body, and simply, was no-longer present (despite there being a search around the wooded area). Yet again, the decapitation had been done with a surgical-like feel; it had taken one clean sweep of a sharp blade. Jack had thought it to be The Chesapeake Ripper's calling card; the claim of 'surgical trophies', as the spleen, the liver and the kidneys had been removed from the disfigured torso (what remained of the body). The rest of the innards were dismantled, and placed around the body as if they were garlands decorated a celebration.
Perhaps The Ripper's celebrating his re-announcement to the world, after keeping quiet for so many years? Thought Will. His hand stretching to his nose, and he pinched the bridge of it between his thumb and forefinger; his headaches were getting worse as of late. Jack had placed far too much strain on him - along with his teaching post - it was a juggling act of stress, strain and anxiety. He re-opened his eyes to gaze at the droplets falling onto the body; his pale blue orbs really honed in – much like a hawk's eyes would – on the body being coated in droplets. Will saw nothing but a lifeless figure being coating in a wash-away-the-evidence substance, and he sighed. The rain had also seeped onto Will further, dampened Will's hair so it stuck down onto his forehead, the simple curls had mellowed - but would become an uncontrollable frizz when it dried he knew that. The rain was very much making him feel uncomfortable and gazed back-up at the crime scene and switched his mind on.
He was aware he needed to get his mind in gear; so simply focused.
A flash of yellow light gleamed in Will's mind: a probe light reversing everything displayed in front of him.
One flash of yellow light, and everything began to reverse.
The second flash and he stood in front of a fully-fledged body; with everything in place and the body sitting up.
The third flash of light propped the body with its eyes wide-open and staring directly at him in fear – his eyes boring with utter fear…
Will's mind went blank. It faded to a bright white light. The stag graced forward with its head bowed, its footprints making impressions into the wet, sopping ground. The hooves marking right into the hardcore of the ground; the soil left the outline of the hooves as the feathered stag moved forward. It flared its nostrils and brushed its raven-coloured feathers against Will's back; it snorted in his ear, and the breath rose in thick steams through the cold air.
Will was drove from the fog of his mind by a dull shout awakening his conscious.
"Will," the voice repeated in a heavy-accented tone, "Mr. William Graham."
The fog finally cleared. The misty haze faded, and the stag disappeared, only to be replaced by rather elegantly dressed male, whom was tall – almost a good twelve inches on Will, as he was average height. Around 5 foot eight, or nine – and had his hair slicked away from his face, framing it perfectly. His dress sense, although clearly refined and expensive, was a little eccentric – a deep grey, almost black, shade of cotton, layered with crimson slashes of squares running over a three-piece suit. Under the matching waistcoat, lay a white silk shirt buttoned to the neck, framed with an ivory-white-and-red tie – but stylishly executed in a maverick manner. The man's cheekbones looked as if they had been chiseled from stone, by a God; the bone structure prominent, elegantly formed and beautiful. His eyes complemented his skin tone; a maroon shade surrounding dark irises, which intern, melted well with the slightly-paled-tanned tone of his skin.
Will took a long pause to simply drink in the man's physical appearance, from the garishly eccentric suit to the uniquely coloured eyes. His mind simply went on overdrive, and spilled the first thing it could think of.
"And, who are you?" Will stuttered out, rather awkwardly, and less elegantly than the man before him. All due to his mind being glazed over with the fog, and also his personal struggle with social interaction. Will dropped his gaze from the man – as he was never all that fond of eye contact.
The man's posture straightened to an uncomfortable tenseness. His eyes bore into Will for a moment, before they held a look that could be considered transfixed by the unique – yet rude? No, socially awkward – man in front of him. Nevertheless, he outstretched his hand and spoke to Will:
"Doctor Hannibal Lecter: I am a psychiatrist. It is lovely to meet you, Will." Hannibal mentioned in his European accent. Will had picked up on his accent and was curious to its origin – but wasn't about to ask the man, after he had just been so abrasive towards him.
Feeling rather guilty for his outburst, a moment ago, Will stretched his hand out to Hannibal and gave him the very rare luxury of holding eye-to-eye contact with the man.
"Not too fond of eye contact, are you, Will?" Mentioned Hannibal, as he shook Will's hand. Will found Hannibal Lecter's grip a lot stronger than he had first imagined it to be; despite Hannibal being physically taller, and more lean, his strength was surprising.
Will, himself, had always been the same: physically small (or classed as 'average' for a man); classified as 'skinny' by all his peers and family – yet also lean, toned and muscly. Will allowed his eyes to continue to flow into Hannibal's maroon-coloured orbs, as he next spoke: "well… It is hard to concentrate when looking into a person's eyes. It is hard to switch-off; otherwise my mind is asking a lot of questions: are those whites really that white? Or does he have Hepatitis C?" Will replied to the Doctor.
Increasingly slowly, Hannibal exposed a subtle smirk at the corners of his mouth to Will; he looked rather amused by what Will had just said.
"A very true point, Will. It was simply lovely to meet you, again."
Will responded by removing his hand away from the man's grasp and shifting his gaze to his pinstriped suit. Will stood completely up and shivered as the cold sheen of the rain sank into his skin finally. He could really use some coffee, a waterproof coat and a change of clothes – but he had none of that on him, so couldn't. Instead, his arms came around to wrap around his lithe body, they coiled around him like a snake would around its prey. His jaw clamped down and began to chatter, from the sheer cold.
Hannibal stood simply observing Will, as his teeth began to create a scraping sound against each other. Soon, he placed a warm hand on Will's shoulder and dropped his coat around his shoulders.
"If you aren't careful, Will, hypothermia will settle in for you. We should get you some coffee and a change of clothes – Jack, are there any spare clothes?" Hannibal turned to look at Jack's demanding presence.
Jack Crawford stood prominently, holding an umbrella up to shelter his suit from the down pour. His suit was a deep-navy blue shade; a cross between the midnight's sky and the ocean's dark shade. He was clearly smartly dressed, but not as well-dressed – or as expensive looking – as Hannibal did. He wore a white shirt and a blue tie to frame it. Jack was immaculately dressed, clean-shaven (minus a small cluster of dark hair in a shape of a triangle, which acted as a goaty on his face); and his eyes were deep pools of a dark shade, which highlighted his coffee-shaded skin tone. The way Jack held himself – upright and confident – screamed authority to anyone looking upon him.
"Yes, Dr. Lecter," Jack replied with a friendly smile. "We have Katz's yellow Mac, which will fit Will, and a spare striped shirt."
Will was aware Jack never seemed to be so forthcoming with individuals, it was clear to Will, that Hannibal Lecter had gained Jack's respect.
Will shrugged himself inside of Hannibal's cashmere-soft coat, that simply felt good and warm upon his freezing skin. Will buried his nose on the inside of the coat and could smell Hannibal's cologne on the coat; it smelt of a smoky-herb (one which Will could not place) and sandalwood. Will instantly took a liking to it. In some respect it felt familiar.
XXX
New Orleans, Louisiana, 1998
Will's shift had ended less than an hour ago, and already he had consumed four whiskey chasers. On to buying his fifth for the night; he had every intention of getting completely intoxicated, as he did not have work until Monday morning.
Will had turned twenty-five a few months ago. He had joined the police service after finishing his university degree majoring in criminology. After that, he received police training in his hometown and then moved to New Orleans. He had been there for two years now; his last two years at New Orleans Police Department had been simply challenging - Will hated the work forced upon him. But unfortunately for him he was "good at detective work" - as his boss told him more than once. He disliked the social aspect of the job. It required more than Will could provide, his colleagues were a bunch of arseholes, in Will's opinion. They seemed to take pleasure in abusing Will's mental health disorder; they were relentless over it.
In memory of the day Will had endured, he held up the former molten glass to his lips and downed the amber content. It burned the back of his throat and filled him with a giddy warmth. A bittersweet feeling filling his innards.
"Single malt whiskey?" Said a man's voice, as he stood next to Will's side. Only displaying half of his profile; he seemed rather tall and had a muscular profile. Will couldn't see much as the dingy pub lighting had shadowed half of the man's face. The man's voice sounded exotic, and a lot older than Will's own voice - perhaps ten-years on him? - the man definitely did not have Will's Louisiana drawl... He didn't even sound American to Will.
"Yes..." Will managed to scoff out. The alcohol had removed his unsociable barrier and gave him more confidence. "It tastes like nat's piss, so don't try it - perhaps the house wine?" Will shrugged, unsure to why he was recommending drinks to the stranger.
The man simply stared transfixed on watching Will's movements: the slight drooping of his eyelids, his posture slightly hunched and hands clasped together; holding the contents of the glass safely.
"I shall try that then; will you come and join me at a table?" The man offered.
"Sure... Why not." Will slurred softly.
The man had leant against the solid, wooden frame of the bar, tapping his fingers as he waited to be served. It did not take long, and he was approaching the table that Will had stumbled towards with two wineglasses and a bottle of wine.
He took his seat close enough to Will, but remained a healthy distance to not make him uncomfortable. He poured the cheap-looking wine into the two glasses with a little distaste, before offering Will the glass.
"What's your name?" Will asked the man very lightly.
"Dr. Roman Fell. And yours is…Will Graham?"
"It is." Will paused, but did not ponder on the fact too much. "What is a well-dressed, evidently intelligent man - or doctor - doing in a shit bar like this one?" Will asked.
Roman leaned in a little, and shifted to place his mouth just behind Will's ear. All before he spoke, "well, Louisiana is a place for all, is it not?" He whispered seductively before shifting back. Will, despite the alcohol in his system, simply flushed at his tone of voice. It had stirred feelings Will simply did not wish to explore at present, so he tried to barricade his mind up. But, after a few seconds of trying; it failed. Will's senses caught on to a rather intoxicating smell; it was none other than Dr. Fell's cologne. It smelt of: smoky-herbs and sandalwood.
Doctor Fell did nothing more but observe Will as his cheeks flushed, as his eyes lit up with an unknown expression, as he shuffled back a little, as he seemed to lean his nose a little forward to smell his cologne. Every move Will made fascinated Doctor Fell: leaving him with a curious feeling. Will fascinated him, a way in which not many could. Once Will had calmed his mind down a little, he and Dr. Fell engaged in conversation once again. Despite Will being drunk, he and Doctor Fell discussed a wide-range of topics; and Doctor Fell found Mr Graham further intriguing. Topics varied from his work to the psychological process of catching a criminal. All in the meantime, Dr. Fell's eyes never left Will's body, face; allowing him to constantly delve further.
Will, by now, had consumed enough alcohol. They both knew this fact. Dr Fell had his fair share - but he had kept it controlled. The man knew his limits: when to stop, and when to drink more.
"I think it's time we both went home." Announced Dr. Fell.
Will gazed up as the incredibly tall man got up, his face was a bit distorted from all the alcohol consumption. Will stumbled to fall him out, but tripped onto the man's back, unbalancing him for a second.
A strong hand reached out to steady Will, ensuring he wouldn't topple other. It coiled around to support Will's back, and drew him in side-by-side.
"Steady now, Will." Roman cautioned. "I will see to it that you get home safely."
Will didn't react, but nodded his head in agreement. He leant against Roman and buried his face in his muscular shoulder.
A prominent hand struck up high in the dark of the night, a flash of soft colour, standing abnormally out of the abyss of darkness that nightfall had created. It stood tall and begged passing yellow taxis to stop, and collect the owner of the hand and the slouching drunk leant against his strong shoulder.
XXX
Baltimore, a small diner, present day
The yellow mac had been a little bit too tight around Will's biceps - clearly the bright yellow plastic had been strained with a soft crease - but, despite this, Will still wore it for its warmth. Hannibal had taken his coat back as soon as the fresh set of clothes arrive for him, including the loathed mac, and since that moment: Will felt an absenteeism of warmth. The coat had been cashmere-soft against his skin... And so warm!
Pull yourself together, Graham! Will thought, as he dragged his mind to the present: Hannibal was staring at him with unreadable eyes, which seem to pick metaphorical holes into his skin with a searing blaze. The man he barely knew, sat vaguely across from him, alluding a mysterious, unknown air about him - everything about him made Will feel a cocktail of emotions. Distracted, relaxed, calm, emotional, as if he was under intense scrutiny, as if he was all alone - yet, that he was accompanied.
Hannibal cupped the rather cheap-looking mug in-between both of his slightly tanned hands. His ultimate goal: to seek out the heat from the contents of it. The heat spread from the mug's insides, to the porcelain outer, to his hands. Hannibal then flicked his head back with the elegant grace, of which a swan had when swimming across a lake, and gazed fully on Will. He finally spoke: "I guessed you like your coffee back? With two sugars, of course, Will."
"You psychiatrists really do read into people's minds, don't you?" Will replied, in good humour; despite being chilled to the bone and exceedingly uncomfortable in the constraining, plastic Mac.
The corners of Hannibal's eyes crinkled with amusement, before he produced a baritone-sounding, deep chuckle. "Well, you clearly have figured me – and all my ilk – out. Our dirty secrets." Hannibal teased, with a voice that held much more meaning than what he had said.
Will, not sure on how to respond, gave Hannibal a soft smile and downed the hot liquid within his mug; he felt the warmth spreading through his throat, and then dripping throughout his whole body. The cold seemed to vanquish from his body, and he felt the need to not wear the Mac any longer. Standing-up from his seat, he removed the plastic from his shoulders and sighed with relief, before re-sitting on his seat.
"Did that coat make you feel uncomfortable, Will?" Hannibal queried, as he had been watching Will as he had been wrestling with the Mac, belonging to Miss Beverly Katz, and was a bright sunny yellow shade.
Will simply gazed at the white porcelain cup in his hand and chose not to respond to Hannibal.
"Don't psychoanalyse me. You won't like me when I am psychoanalysed." Will cautioned, demonstrating his passive-aggressive side by pouting.
Hannibal and he spoke little after that, simply sat in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, more a comfortable, soft one. Will avoided Hannibal's eyes and stayed gazing at his cup. Whilst Hannibal had his gaze firmly fixed on Will; taking in every part of him, focusing on all the details he could.
The quiet allowed Will to completely zone out of the now. To feel as though his mind began to feel hazy; Will's mind went hazy and fuzzy. It flickered and suddenly, he was dragged off to another part of his mind. Completely zoned out. His eyes simply glazed over, whilst Hannibal began to try and communicate with him.
When Will zoned back in, he had Hannibal sat next to him, no longer opposite him, and he had a look of concern on his face. Hannibal spoke softly to him, "I think it's time we took you home, Will." Will nodded to that, and an arm came out to help him from his seat and to Hannibal's vehicle; Hannibal had agreed to drive Will back to Wolf Trap. Will slid inside the Bentley - not really taking much in, a part from his need to be in his home. His seatbelt was buckled in by Hannibal, and next they were off.