Hannibal sits for a minute before slowly limping back to Will's bathroom, the clothes still in his hands. He smiles slightly to see that Will laid out a fresh towel for him, and some more bandages. His dress shirt, blazer, shoes and jacket are gone; Will isn't as bad of a host as he thinks. He shuts the door, leaving the clothes on the lid of the toilet, and leans on the sink. He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before undoing his slacks; hooking his thumb through his briefs and sliding them both down. There's an ugly looking red mark at the top of his thigh, presumably a knee to the groin that missed. He touches it gently, he's in pretty bad shape. It would appear he lost the fight, Tobias may even have taken him down if it weren't for luck. His lips twitch slightly, it's better that he's the one who took the worst of it; it'll help make him seem innocent. He can easily say Tobias came to kill his patient, and then turned his aggression onto him simply because he knew too much. If he could convince Will he had nothing to do with it, play the part of a man in the wrong place at the wrong time, Will would be able to convince everyone else. He slips off his socks and turns on the water as hot as it goes. It heats up quickly, steaming enough to fog the mirror. He makes it a little cooler before stepping in, the heat of the water cause his skin to tingle and redden. It feels wonderful, and he stands there for a moment while the water soothes his tense muscles. Whatever blood is left on him turns the water red as it runs down the drain, and he's careful as he washes his hair to avoid the cuts. The shampoo smells like Will, and he closes his eyes and inhales it deeply. He peels off the bandages and washes all the cuts again; washing his knuckles where the skin had split open from the punches. Battle wounds weren't something he enjoyed looking at, and he knew he'd have some marks he wouldn't be able to cover. Signs of physicality was a turn off to him, he didn't need bruises and cuts to show his masculinity. His body is already starting the healing process, he can feel his lip and face swelling. He sighs when he shuts the water, drying himself best he can without causing more pain.

He slips his briefs back on after he bandages his leg again, wishing he had another pair, and the sweatpants follow. That's when he hears talking downstairs, followed by heavy feet on the stairs. It's certainly not Will, Will doesn't have the inner anger to produce such stomping. "Hannibal," and the door swings open, and there's Alana Bloom and she looks furious. He stands there, fresh bandage in hand, staring at her. Her eyes flicker over his bare chest, then back to his face. "I always worry about Will getting too close, I wasn't aware I had to worry about you too." She takes a few steps closer, and he looks away to redress his other cuts.

"Word travels quickly," he says simply, looking down at his hip. Alana takes the bandage from his hand and swats his away, moving the fabric down just enough that she can cover the entire wound. "Everyone's fussing over me, I never get to be pampered." He's grinning at her, but she doesn't smile back.

"It's not funny, Hannibal. You could've gotten yourself killed, look at you. What is with men and thinking they need to bring down all the bad guys on their own?" She reaches for more first aid tape and goes to cover a cut on his back he didn't know was there. He stands perfectly still, feeling her soft hands brush against his warm skin. Will had just kissed her, he shouldn't be letting himself enjoy her touch. He knew Alana was attracted to him, he felt it, yet he didn't need Will discovering this and being offended.

"I'm not laughing, merely stating I'm enjoying the attention," he replies, and she looks up to meet his eyes.

"Thank God he didn't break any bones in your face," her voice is down to a whisper and she's no longer angry, her fingers reach up and gently touch the darkening bruise under his eye. He stays perfectly still, letting her fingers brush his damp hair off his face and travel down his nose to his lips. He lets the breath he was holding out of his mouth when her thumb grazes his split lip. Her other hand clasps his the back of his neck and pulls, he lets her lower his head so she can reach; her lips are gentle as they brush his broken skin. It's hesitant at first, then her lips push more forcefully against his. It hurts slightly, but he tilts his head and moves his mouth against hers. He doesn't lift his hands to touch her, and it doesn't seem to bother her. He reaches up and pushes the door closed, and she reaches for his hands, bringing them up and holding them against her hips for a moment before letting hers travel gently up his back and tangle in his hair. She's gentle yet persistent, her fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

She's dominating the encounter, and he allows it; keeping his hands planted on her hips and letting he tongue explore his mouth until they both need air. His body is hot again, and he smiles at her slightly right before she pulls him down again and kisses him less gently. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispers against his lips, turning them to push him back against the sink, "Don't scare me like that again."

Her hands are so soft when they trail down his chest, he returns the gesture by letting his hands brush up and down her sides. He needs to breathe again and he breaks his mouth away, and her lips just settle on his neck instead. Flush against his, he can feel her warmth through her clothes as she presses him against the sink. Her soft kisses on his neck turn to slight nibbles, and he feels the wetness of her tongue tickle his ear. He makes a noise in his throat, turning his head back to kiss at her neck where it meets her collar bone. Her hands travel down to his hip, and across to feel the outline of his growing hardness. He flinches when he touches the tender spot on his thigh. "I'm sorry," she says, raising her head to kiss his lips again.

"Alana," he warns gently, reaching to take her hand away from between his legs, "Do remember we're in Will's bathroom, and after recent events, I sincerely doubt Will would appreciate us doing this in his bathroom." She clasps his hand, taking a slight step back.

"He told you, about the kiss," she looks away from his eyes.

"Yes, I think you hurt his pride a bit. He said you are very kissable, I can't say I disagree. Though this is unfair to him, "

She smirks slightly, "I adore Will, him and I just wouldn't be good for each other. Especially when my mind was on kissing someone else." Her voice is low and seductive, and her fingers brush the soft hair on his lower belly. He shudders slightly, catching her hands again.

"You're playing with fire, dear Alana. You aren't being very careful with a damaged man," she smiles shyly, and he steps away from her and pulls Will's shirt over his head.

"I've never seen you dressed so comfortably," she comments as he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it.

"I'm always comfortable, and I do prefer when women don't see me looking like a homeless man."

She laughs quietly, "This is a good look on you, too. I'm pleased I'm the woman who gets to see you like this."

"We best join Will, before he begins to worry. Perhaps we can resume this at a more appropriate time," he smiles at her and reaches up to brush his fingers against her cheek. He doesn't give her time to respond, and he opens the door and limps towards the stairs. He hears her close behind him, her arm wrapping tightly around his waist when he's at the top of the stairs. "I can certainly make it on my own," he says, yet he lets her hold onto him.

"I'm sure you can," she says simply, and when they reach the bottom of the stairs they both see Will's sleeping form on his couch. "I'm glad he's asleep, I've been worried about him."

They turn for the kitchen, finding two cups of slightly cooled tea sitting on the counter for them. "As was I, he really does need his rest." He sips the cooling tea black, and it's warm enough make his mouth tingle, and then he passes her the other mug. She sips it black too, holding it with both hands.

"Perhaps you should give Will a chance, he has feelings for you," He says conversationally.

"Do you?" She questions, neither of them looking at each other.

He chooses his words carefully, "You're beautiful, Alana. Beautiful, intelligent, and all around lovely. I'm not partial for dating officially, I do feel Will would be someone who is looking for a relationship you deserve."

She looks thoughtful, "I think a lot, Hannibal. I think way too much to just be with someone, I think way too much to just feel. I haven't had a date in so long, I'm certainly not looking for something serious. Do you date often?"

He looks up at her, sipping his tea again, "I suppose I don't often date, the people I come into contact with I'm forbidden by my oath as a psychiatrist to see outside of the office. I don't believe I'm a man for serious relationships anyway. Perhaps you shouldn't think, and just feel. You don't have to think about everything so thoroughly.

She smiles at him again, tilting her head, "I haven't learned how to do that yet."

"I've heard it takes some practice, perhaps we can work on that further." He's so smooth, she feels like she can melt under his gaze the way he's looking at her. She blushes slightly, sipping her tea and looking out Will's kitchen window. She feels him step towards her, and a noise in the living room distracts them both. Hannibal moves quicker than her, despite his condition. Will is having a nightmare, the light blanket tangled around him. Hannibal is surprisingly gentle, shaking Will's writhing form until the other man starts awake.

"You were having a nightmare, Will. It's alright," it's soothing, the way Hannibal sits on the edge of the couch, his hand resting on Will's shoulder. "What is it, Will? What frightens you so terribly in your sleep?"

Will reaches for the coffee table, grabbing his glasses and putting them in their place. "I just can't escape the death, it's everywhere. I cause it, it's my fault you were attacked."

Hannibal shakes his head, "It's most certainly not your fault, Will. And I'm alright, you cleaned me up and I'm going to be just fine."

"It very easily could have ended worse, Hannibal." Alana stands in the doorway of the kitchen, observing the two men interact on the couch. As much as she loves Will, as attracted as she is to him, she knows trying to be with him will do more damage than good. She doesn't want to damage him further, she enjoys their friendship. Besides, she can't shake the urges and desires she has towards Hannibal Lecter. The man entices her, lures her in, he appeals to every part of her being. He always has, since the day they met and he had kissed the back of her hand and said it was his pleasure to meet her. It made her skin tingle warmly, and her face flush, even the memory did. Her fingertips brush against her lips, wishing it was his again. She's sure she'll find another way to make it happen again, she needed it too.