AUTHOR'S NOTE: Obviously, I don't own anything from NBC's Hannibal (sadly). However, the rest of this work is my original writing and ideas, so please do not use or redistribute it in any way. You can find my works on AO3 and Wattpad under the same username (alexanderavery998). If you find my works somewhere other than these three websites, please let me know, because that means that they have been stolen and reposted without my permission.

A QUICK HEADS-UP: any dialogue that comes from the show will be marked by special quotation marks called guillemets (« »). All credit for that dialogue goes to Bryan Fuller and the rest of the creative crew, of course.

This is my first-ever Hannibal fanfic, so please leave feedback. I love to hear what my readers think. Feedback encourages me to keep going and makes my day! Thank you, and enjoy!


~ CHAPTER 01 ~

Au commencement in the beginning

Hannibal Lecter notices several things upon first glance of Will Graham.

The man is unusually tense. There is a nervous energy about him, jittery, agitated, that manifests itself in his hair and his sloppy attempt at professional clothes. Yet there is an intelligence and a keen sense of perception hidden underneath the outer layers that intrigues Hannibal. This is the same man of whom FBI agent Jack Crawford spoke so highly, so glowingly, although he knows that Jack is unaware of just how complex the inner workings of Will's mind are. Otherwise, he would not have asked Hannibal to profile him. But Jack had some preliminary ideas, the most important one being that Will has the ability to empathize with serial killers. He gets in their heads, retraces their steps, understands them.

Hannibal is a serial killer, and nothing intrigues him more than exceptional intellectual company. Even more so when he contemplates the possibility that a man who can empathize with killers could easily be one or become one himself.

Yes, Will is someone who he wants to get to know better.

Hannibal lets his eyes wander across Jack's bulletin board, tracing each abduction from its pin on the map to the photos of the victims. They look very similar: pale skin, brown hair, brown eyes. All abducted from college campuses across Minnesota. It's obvious that this kidnapper, whoever he is, has a type. The final body is the most telling: Hannibal recognizes a fellow cannibal's handiwork when he sees it, even if its elegance is marred by the man's inconvenient remorse over killing this particular girl.

Remorse will certainly be his downfall.

« Tell me, then, » he says, giving Jack a fleeting glance. « How many confessions? »

« Twelve dozen, last time I checked. None of them had any details — until this morning. And then they all had details. » Jack sits down, and Hannibal turns to face him. He looks decidedly frustrated, leaning back in his chair and fiddling with one of his pens. « Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols' body with his cell phone, shared it with his friends, and then Freddie Lounds posted it on Tattlecrime . com. »

Hannibal lets his eyes wander over to Will to catch his response. It's beautiful how expressive his face is. A muscle works in his jaw as he takes a breath, and the rise and fall of his shoulders is nearly imperceptible. « Tasteless. »

Hannibal works to keep the amusement off his face, unable to resist the pun that so easily presents itself. « Do you have trouble with taste? »

He is rewarded with the slightest glance from Will in his direction. After a long pause, in which Hannibal goes back to scrutinizing Jack's board, Will says, « My thoughts are often not tasty. »

So, he finds dwelling on other people's murders unappetizing. Interesting.

« Nor mine, » Hannibal says as he turns away from the board, thinking of how Will might see his killings. « No effective barriers, » he adds, in an attempt to spurn the conversation on.

« I build forts, » Will says, lifting his coffee to his lips.

« Associations come quickly, » Hannibal observes.

He is amused at Will's quip, « So do forts, » after Will has swallowed his mouthful of coffee.

Hannibal sits down in the chair next to Will and takes the coffee that Jack has prepared for him. He turns to Will and lifts the cup to his lips, but he doesn't even get halfway before he stops. Not only will Will not meet his eyes, but he hasn't even glanced in his direction since he sat down. It's rather rude, but more than that, Hannibal is miffed that Will doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in him.

« Not fond of eye contact, are you? » This time it's Hannibal's turn to take a convenient sip as he waits for a response. It's not good coffee.

Will lets out a sigh. Probably not used to being called out so blatantly, Hannibal thinks.

« Eyes are distracting. You see too much, you don't see enough...and — » Hannibal is delighted when Will turns toward him, even if he isn't looking him in the eyes, « — and it's hard to focus when you're thinking, um, 'Oh, those whites are really white,' or, 'He must have hepatitis,' or, 'Oh, is that a burst vein?' »

Hannibal chuckles at the last line, partially because it's a clever quip, but also because Will has finally met his eyes, and for several seconds, at that. His eyes are artful, though hard to classify. From the side, they looked bright blue. But from the front, in the shadow of his forehead and glasses, they look almost brown. Probably hazel, Hannibal decides; it's the eye color that can look blue, green, gray, and brown, all in the same day.

But Will isn't done talking. He's moved so quickly from joking to intensely serious — and almost dangerous — that Hannibal takes a moment to appreciate not only the depth of his feelings, but also his natural inclination toward layered façades and manipulation.

« So, yeah, » Will says with dismissive, almost arrogant, finality, « I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. » He immediately turns away, breaking their eye contact. « Jack? »

He's leaning on his support system, hoping to get away. Hannibal contemplates letting him escape, but there would be no fun in that. He isn't used to conversing with someone who can so readily keep up and who shows so much promise. Why not prod him a little further?

« I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. » Hannibal chooses his words carefully and is rewarded by Will stiffening up and meeting his eyes again. « Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. » I can help you acquire the taste for such dreams. « No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love. » Nor should there be. Let me help you, Will.

His words hit their mark. Will looks almost as if Hannibal has physically slapped him across the face, and his voice cracks with his next words.

« Whose profile are you working on? » Will turns to face Jack, his voice now becoming angry. « Whose profile is he working on? »

Hannibal shifts in his seat, satisfied with the garnered response. « I'm sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. » He reaches for his cup, readying another well-timed sip to hide his amusement. The coffee is still bad. « I can't shut mine off anymore than you can shut yours off. »

Will leans forward in his seat, eyes trained on Jack. « Please, don't psychoanalyze me, » he growls in the lowest voice Hannibal has heard from him yet. « You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed. » It's more of a threat than a request, Hannibal notices.

Jack looks particularly frustrated. « Will — »

But Will is already getting up out of his chair, speaking in a lighter tone, one laced with sarcasm. « Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture...on psychoanalyzing. »

Will gathers up his things and is out of the room before Jack can protest, but it seems carefully calculated to feel unrushed, to feel more like a mic drop than a retreat. Interesting. The gears in Hannibal's mind are already turning. Will Graham is clever. Exceedingly clever. He's perceptive, deceivingly reserved, and more than capable of maintaining eye contact when he chooses to. He makes connections almost faster than his own thoughts can follow them, and he has a natural penchant for manipulation and deceit.

Hannibal is hooked.

His mind is whirring so fast that he hardly registers that Jack has started talking until halfway through a sentence.

« — like that, Doctor. Perhaps, a less, uh, direct approach. »

Hannibal looks up to meet Jack's eyes as if he'd been listening the whole time. He takes a moment to choose the response that best gives Jack a psychological profile of Will without revealing the other things on his mind.

« What he has is pure empathy, » Hannibal says, letting that sink in a moment before continuing. « He can assume your point of view, or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare him. » He sees the gears in Jack's mind turning. Took him long enough. « It's an uncomfortable gift, Jack. » He leans away, his eyes roaming over the crime scene bulletin board. « Perception's a tool that's pointed on both ends, » he says, just as a brilliant idea unfurls its wings and showcases its beautiful colors in his mind. « This cannibal you have him getting to know... I think I can help good Will to see his face. »