He can see it now, in his mind's eye, as he always can. Hannibal has always been an easy, if unnerving, man to view the world from. To Will, that is. To the mere mortals of elsewhere, Hannibal Lecter will remain a charming mask, if only with curious undercurrents.
Will can see it, but that doesn't mean he wants to.
Alana has always been defensive of the psychiatrist, and Will can't exactly blame her. In her mind, Hannibal is clever, good-humoured, and always courteous. Never has she seen the side that Will was presented with. No matter what Will might say, Dr Bloom will never concur. Not without solid evidence – and when has Hannibal ever left any of that behind?
He can't witness the careful seduction behind closed doors, but his mind unwillingly strays into it, paints the scene for him, ignoring his disgust. The smiling couple, Hannibal's lips curving and Alana laughing, glancing down as she might. Drop earrings glisten at her ears; a soft blue dress adorns her figure. Elegant, as she usually is – as if she would ever be anything otherwise. And Hannibal's own attire will undoubtedly complement her. Waistcoat, windsor-knot tie, pressed shirt and trousers. Not a suit jacket, not in her presence. Will can imagine him relaxed with her. Long fingers might brush hers, just a momentary touch. Calculated, of course – Hannibal rarely leaves anything to chance, Will Graham knows.
His mind turns to more dangerous territory now, and it fills this hospital patient with such revulsion that he wants to retch – and if he does, will another ear emerge? It won't, of course, but he still cannot get that revelation out of his mind. The coughing, the hard splat, and the resulting horror.
Oh, Abigail.
Will's mind won't allow sympathy now, too caught up in its construction of a false love affair between spider and prey.
Hannibal offering Alana a beer – would it be the perfect blended brew? A beverage so different to the spider's preference for fine wine, but it doesn't discourage the mentor. Alana's slender fingers wrapping around the glass – always a glass, never a bottle. Lecter would never be so uncouth.
A conversation, a smile, a tease. Will feels sickened. Hannibal placing a stray lock of richly coloured hair behind his protégé's ear, eyes searching hers as they search all things, but with something… else.
Will wants desperately to pull away from the nightmare, but Hannibal's lips suddenly brush Alana's, and it is too late, too late. He sees everything, and wishes he hasn't.
"No," he gasps, straining to get free. "Alana… no."
He watches, and suddenly Hannibal's eyes flick to him. He smiles, imperceptibly, that micro-expression, and then the scene shifts.
The wendigo takes Alana in its arms. Alana only looks at it, unaware of the figure's change, seeing only the good doctor before her,and she sighs as lips meet once more.
Will wakes up in a chilled sweat.