Quick note and disclaimer: This is dedicated to a new friend of mine. I don't own any one of these peeps. Peace out and if you want more chapters or smex lemme know. Oh, btw there's mpreg. Don't like, don't read.
Will Graham felt every stare burn on his already perspiring skin; he wondered if he should even be at a crime scene.
His senses were heightened with fear, every rustle loud as thunderclap, every twitch distracting.
He distantly heard Jack Crawford shouting at everyone to leave, and the golden, almost flaming pendulum swung. All he could hear was his heartbeat, quick and consistent.
Time tumbled backwards; he, the killer, eyed his two victims as they stood from their crumpled positions to gaze back at him with pure innocence, stripped of the blood that had adorned them moments prior.
"I brought them here under the guise of telling them a secret. I smashed their skulls together -" in his mind's eye, he grasped the sides of the victims' heads and smacked them together with as much force as he could muster, "- and they went down. I stab Henry first, through the lung. He is alive long enough to watch me slit Luke's jugular, and I leave no prints or DNA on them during all this. Henry Greene drowns in his own blood, with Luke to follow soon after."
Will paused to vomit into a rubber sealable bag, the smell of blood having caused his insides tho somersault. Calmly, he popped a mint into his mouth and analyzed what he saw. "Jack," he called, and within the moment the agent presented himself. "There has to be another body somewhere," Will said urgently.
Crawford allowed the FBI to swarm the building once more, and together they trekked outside into the snow and lo and behold, a padlocked shed lay behind the house, almost hidden by the bare trees. Upon being bellowed at, an agent strode up to them and snapped the chains before retreating.
The odor of decaying flesh made bile rise in Will's throat, burning him. He took a split-second to gauge whether or not it'd come up or not.
He yanked another baggie from his pocket, and expelled the contents of his mostly empty stomach into it. His throat felt torn. Agent Graham thought it best if he didn't consume another mint; it'd be too suspicious.
"Why'd you bring a bag?" Jack inquired, eyes narrowing.
"One must come prepared," Will replied, smiling and chuckling with more than a little uncertainty.
"I guess," Crawford said reluctantly, eyeing him skeptically.
The men turned their undivided attention to the corpses, all in various stages of rot. Will's insides flipped and he hoped fervently he wouldn't puke again. "Good God, what was he doing to them?" Crawford asked, appearing slightly unwell, which was quite a significant statement from him.
"Can you see how they're arranged? It's a grown-up little boy who wanted to be a little girl. They're dolls." That was all Crawford needed and he went off, like a jousting white knight in for the kill. Will hoped Jack's inquisitive forefinger never pointed at him; it was bad enough what he got up to behind closed doors.
So, the scene secured, Crawford drove Will home. He was tired. He was always tired now.
A pack of rumpled dogs loped up to greet Special Agent Graham, and Jack Crawford left to go home to his ill wife.
Will entered his home, inhaling the pleasant aroma of home, plus an unfamiliar scent. On the table lay an arrangement of some form of meat, tantalizing yet simple. Hannibal had been there.
Heart beating quickly enough to rival a mouse's, Will rushed around his house, dogs at his heels. His eyes danced over every conceivable thing, coming to rest on the trash can. The package was still there, concealed by a carefully placed tissue.
Paranoid, Will snatched it and sniffed, a rather strange thing to do, but with purpose. He smelt expensive cologne. Will knew instantly that He knew.
The dogs whimpered and salivated all over his ankles, wide pink tongues wiping away the sweat in an effort to calm their master and wagging their tails. Will's hands went to rest on their heads, absentmindedly stroking, then one wandered to rest on the gentle slope 'twixt his ribs and pelvis.
No one had noticed, it being winter, which required some form of heavy clothing, and he'd made a conscious effort not to instinctually reach for it.
Awaiting judgement was tiresome, and Will didn't run on enough sleep as it was. He allowed his dogs onto his bed as he lay down. Will Graham dreamt of antlers.
He woke gradually. It was still dark out, and Will rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"Will?" A soft, accented, and warm baritone voice queried. Will covered his abdomen with his comforter. "Yes?" "Why did you hide it from me?" Will dared not touch his midriff now.
"Because I know what you've done to people close to me, like Abigail. I didn't want your curiosity to reach it. Lord knows what you did to me when curious." Will's words were frostbitten.
The voice ventured closer and Winston growled softly. Will's hand stroked Winston's head; Special Agent Graham believed he might die. "Hush," he whispered gently to the russet dog. Tears stung his eyes. He was exhausted and emotional. "Is it such fantasy that you owe me this one thing?" Graham accused.
"Crawford would be suspicious if you wore ill-fitting shirts and declared cravings for horseradish and Miracle Whip atop Twinkies." Will violently retched into the nearest trash can. "Apologies. However, I am right."
Will, chest heaving and perspiration dotting his forehead, popped a mint into his mouth. "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong -" the hope of living blossomed within Will, "- I'm only saying that I need you to allow me this one precious thing. Or things."
Moonlight glinted off sanguine irises speckled with maroon. "I realize this. Would you deny me the right to be there for you and them, as your mother wasn't?"
Tears pricked Graham's eyes and slid down his face. "You have no right to bring her up. She'd be rolling in her grave if she saw me now." Winston rested his head on Will's belly. "Will, this is the last time I'll ask you. Run away with me. When you'll want wild, rough intimacy later on, you'll need me."
Will grinned. "What if I want it now, Hannibal?" There was a low chocolatey rumble as Dr. Lecter chuckled. "Well, then. Who am I to deny you such?"