Will doesn't know why, but whenever he's around Doctor Hannibal, his worries seem to fade into the darkness.
Rated M: slash, Hannigram, mature content. Don't like, don't read.
Note: This takes place somewhere during the first season, but not specifically before or after one episode.
Cold as Fire
Will rolled to his side, the mattress succumbing to his weight. When comfort didn't come, he changed positions again, the alarm clock coming into view. 3:03 AM, it read, the green numbers like a blaring siren in his head.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep. Go to sleep.
He peeked at the clock.
3:04 AM.
"Dammit," he cured beneath his breath, pulling himself up to a sitting position in his bed. From the side of the bed he could hear the snores of half a dozen dogs, all curled within their own sweet dreams. If only I was a dog, life would be so much simpler.
He laid back once more and closed his eyes.
Suddenly, sleep washed over him like a black cloud.
In his dream, he was back on the beach, staring at the totem pole of twisted bodies. They were beautiful in their own way, a piece of art made of the dead. The artist had taken such time, such precision with his work, that it was a shame it couldn't be placed in a museum instead of torn down.
Steps of the beast bombarded his mind, the creature approaching from behind him. Will turned to stare at the black stag, his back arched proud and dangerous. It's mouth opened, as if to speak, but instead blood gushed from its jaws. The stag's mouth opened wider and wider until suddenly he was staring at a hole that he could walk through if blood was not pouring out by the gallon.
Will stepped back, his eyes wide, as the blood rushed towards him. As he stepped, his feet stirred in the blood that materialized from nowhere. His back was against the totem pole. The stag was charging, coming closer and closer. Pain tore his body as he was impaled on the antlers of the creature. Will screamed, gripping stag's head, his eyes wide.
He sat straight up, breathing hard, sweat drenching his body.
Just a dream. Just a dream, he soothed himself.
7:31 AM, the alarm clock read.
He pushed out of bed and into the bathroom. He was greeted with the mirror reflection of his tired face; dark shadows under his eyes, stubble dancing along his face and neck. He rubbed at his eyes and looked away from the glass.
After a short shower, Will found himself in his kitchen, browsing the food he severely lacked. There was never time to go shopping for anything except dog food and perhaps a quick microwave meal. Closing his fridge, he fetched the paper and sat, looking over the events in the world that he cared nothing about. Outside, there came the quiet pit pat of rain against the window. One of the dogs howled.
There came a knock to the door.
Will stood and answered the door to find a very dry Jack Crawford. Blinking, Will peered at the sky while saying, "Hello Jack, I didn't expect company so early this morning."
"What are you looking for?" Jack asked, glancing at the bright blue sky.
"Was it not raining just a moment ago?" Will murmured, looking back at the man in front of him.
"May I come in?"
"Please."
Inside the house, the dogs surrounded Jack in excitement, begging for something to eat.
"So, why are you here, Jack?"
"There's been another murder," Crawford said, pushing the dogs away.
Will whistled at them to get down and, after a minute of silence offered Jack coffee that he didn't have.
"We need you to take a look at it, Will."
Will stared at him, his eyes unblinking, as if in deep thought over the matter.
"Will?"
There was no response. Jack looked behind him at the wall where nothing stood.
"Will?"
"Sorry, what were you here for?"
Crawford eyed him suspiciously, taking a mental note to speak to Doctor Lecter about this. "Another murder, Will."
"Right. Let me just..." he glanced down at his boxers, "...get dressed."
~o~o~o~
In the lonely woods of Georgia, a woman's head hung from a tree, her arms, her legs, and torso all strung up in a circle around the giant oak.
"And her organs?"
"Intact," Agent Katz reported, standing beside Will with a clipboard.
Will turned and nodded to Crawford.
"Everybody clear the crime scene," Jack called.
As every person filtered out of the woods, Will took three small steps backwards and removed his glasses.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he pictured the silent forest in his mind, an unconscious woman on the ground. When he opened them, there she lay, across the forest ground, naked.
He moved to climb on top of her, hands encasing her throat. Her eyes suddenly opened and her hands gripped his wrists, her mouth opened in a choked sob. He pressed harder. "I squeezed the life out of her, slowly and painfully. She could see my face. She knew me-"
Something screamed in front of me, low pitched and angry.
Will's head snapped up, staring at the stag who stood not but several yards off. The animal's mouth was open slightly and Will feared the blood that could come rushing out.
He fell off of the girl, who had become limp, and scrambled backwards.
The first drop of blood dripped from the stag's mouth.
"No," Will breathed.
There was a loud crack from beneath him and Will's mind came to him.
The stag was gone.
The girl was back in the tree.
He pulled the broken frame of his glasses from his back pocket and let out a shaky breath.
~o~o~o~
"I don't know what's happening to me," Will said, his voice quivering.
Hannibal sat across from him, his legs crossed and his face passive.
"I think I'm going crazy - hell, I've always been crazy. I'm just getting-" his shoulders slumped in defeat, "-more crazy."
"You are not crazy, Will," Hannibal assured him. "Your head is wired wrong. We will fix that."
"How could you know that? How could you guarantee that?"
Hannibal sat forward. "I promise you."
Will reluctantly nodded.
"Now what happened today, Will? What scared you?"
"The stag," he said quietly. "That one stag that I keep seeing."
"The black one?"
"Yes, that one. Last night-" his voice cracked. "Last night I had this dream, that the stag impaled me while blood was coming out of it's unnaturally large mouth. There was blood everywhere, coming up to my knees. At the crime scene, while I was..." he trailed off.
"While you were what, Will?"
He sighed angrily. "While I was choking the life out of the victim, the stag was there, in front of me. It opened its mouth and when blood started dripping out my glasses-" he put a hand to his face. He hadn't had his spare on him and couldn't find them in his home. He had, begrudgingly, left for his appointment without them. "-broke. That's what pulled me out of that nightmare."
Hannibal nodded, his eyes narrowed. He suddenly stood and walked around his chair as he spoke, "Is it safe, Will? For you to be going about without your glasses on?"
Will shrugged in confusion. "I don't know. Probably not?"
"Why don't you stay for dinner, then? While we talk?"
Will blinked at the suddenness of the offer. "Of course, Doctor Lecter."
"I think, Will, that your nightmares, your own dark fantasies, are beginning to leak over into the world where you work. I almost believe that it is unwise of you to be alone."
Will pursed his lips as he watched Hannibal walk to his desk.
"But of course, there is nothing to do about that. Perhaps, though, we could lessen your burden at night."
Hannibal scribbled on a piece of paper and ripped it off.
"Here is a prescription for Eszopiclone. It is known to put it's users into a deep, almost coma like, sleep. These nightmares may lead you to more sleep walking. I do not want to hear that you walked in front of a car or off of your roof from Jack Crawford one morning."
"Would you mourn me, Doctor Lecter?" Will asked, rising from his chair to take the prescription.
Doctor Lecter smiled and, as he handed it to Will, their fingers brushed. Hannibal stared at the tiny slip of paper as he spoke. "I would be most sorrowful of your loss." He reached over his desk and flicked off the light. "As would be your dogs."
Will chuckled as he looked down at the prescription.
Doctor Lecter's writing was so clean, so scriptural. "I'm sure they would be."
~o~o~o~
Hannibal would only let Will prepare the rice as he chopped away at the "lamb's" stomach. As they sat down to eat, they discussed petty things; the weather, the economy. Will felt at ease in Hannibal's apartment, as if he belonged there. He didn't have to worry about any thought sneaking in on him and pulling him farther away from reality.
After dinner, Hannibal and Will sat by the fire place, sipping wine.
"Doctor Lecter-"
"Hannibal," Hannibal corrected for the umpteenth time. "In my apartment, I am Hannibal."
Will shook his head with a small smile. It was a hard habit to adapt to, calling him by his first name. It seemed...so personal.
"Hannibal," Will corrected himself. "Why work in psychology? You seem like you could compose novels, or be a world class surgeon. I've seen you under pressure-" he thought back to that ambulance, as Doctor Hannibal put his hand inside that person to stop the bleeding; working so well under those circumstances. Will had be in a trance by the beauty of the practice, watching as the doctor's steady hand wrapped around the person's life and took control of it, "-you could do so much more - make so much more."
As Will spoke, he stared into the fire. Hannibal watched the light dance off of Will's face, contemplating his answer. "I like to extract the human mind," he finally responded, taking a sip of his wine. Will had already polished off his second glass and Hannibal poured him a third. "Experience and isolate the traits of a person that makes them who they are. It interests me to no end, the way one person can feel something completely different from the next in the same situation."
Will glanced at Hannibal as he spoke, their eyes meeting.
"It is almost like I am experiencing a symphony and, during therapy, I'm taking each note and examining it until there is nothing left to extract. Then, I watch it all come together in the sweetest of sounds."
"That's an interesting way to look at it, Hannibal," Will murmured, emptying his third glass of wine. He didn't even notice Hannibal had just barely touched his first. "But how do you do that and not blend it into your own personality?"
"Training," Hannibal said automatically. "Impeccable training and the ability to take a step back. It is why I go to my own therapist. It keeps me, me."
Will bit the inside of his cheek and looked back at the fire.
"You've had quite a bit of wine, Will," Hannibal said, standing. "Why don't you stay the night?"
Will looked up at Hannibal, his forehead creased. "I haven't had-"
"You've had four separate glasses."
"That many?" he questioned, standing. As if on cue, he stumbled forward.
Hannibal reached out and gripped his forearm, Will falling into his chest
Will chuckled and pulled away from the other man, though Hannibal's hand still gripped him. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt now, would it?"
Hannibal's smile was warm.
"Of course not."
The next chapter is when, obviously, you'll understand the rating. Critiques are quite welcome.