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Never touch a Predator's Prey (Part 2) / (Hannigram & ChillyWilly)

¨ Place the left hand on my shoulder and your right one into mine. ¨ Chilton ordered good-natured, as they stood on the terrace and the night wind sailed through their clothes and moist cold tugged at their hair.

Besides these two there was no one outside, which on one hand was a lucky pledge, on the other hand it had to do with the prevailing weather conditions. Will vaguely remembered to have heard about a thunderstorm in the car radio that should roll over this night and instinctively blinked to the inky black sky. No clouds. Only stars that clung on the dark like sugar crystals above their heads. So he pushed the thought about coming disaster away quickly , dismembered it in unimportant scraps of paper, which dissolved dusty and got into the maelstrom of oblivion. For the meantime, at least.
Will took a deep breath. Then he did as Chilton had told him. Although his gaunt figure was shielding him from almost all environmental influences, a cool breeze managed to blow him right in the face, so that he had to cramp together his burning eyes. When he dared to open them again,Chilton's view networked seamlessly with his, holding him like a prisoner in his cage. Only then Will noticed Chilton had green eyes. Not really green eyes, but pale green, like jade, treated with little chips of blue topaz. However, what Will was more interested in the incredible peace that lay in the iris of the other person. Will's concerns about this dance, this childish Of Sneaking at night, faded with each heartbeat he did in Chilton's presence (Frederick. His name is Frederick).

He seemed to wear a truly strange expression on his face, because Chilton reflected his stare with suspicion.

¨ Will? Is everything all right? ¨

Will looked at him. He could hear no trace of the hustle and distant head of the madhouse in that voice. Only ... maybe a touch of humanity. Honest concern. Somehow this did not fit the man who had once told Gideon to be the Chesapeake Ripper. Somehow Will was touched by this other version of Chilton. The pressure and warmth of their entwined hands flowed through his entire body, pumped up haltingly through his veins like the blood that hammered inside.

¨ It's alright. I lack nothing. ¨ As he would try to proof his words, he put Chilton's free arm around his waist. Although the fabric of his suit separated their bare skin in several layers of it felt boiling hot. As forged magma skinned naked meat. Will cleared his throat.
¨ You have just asserted, Hannibal would be very possessive. ¨ he said in a husky voice. He swallowed to damp his dry throat with saliva, but it did not help much. ¨ And ... suspicious. ¨ he continued roughly, ¨ Do you think he would be anxious about losing me to a rival? Seem I to tend to infedelity in your opinion? ¨ He put the sarcasm deliberately spare.

Chilton sighed as he carefully got used the profiler to the first steps of a waltz. Back to the side. Left, Right. To the rear, to the front. Rotation. The sequence repeated itself. In the third run, Will was already capable of leading his partner in a self-selected direction. The profiler smiled at his ridiculous triumph and found himself incredibly stupid. Oddly enough, he didn't care about it in this moment. He blamed it on the champagne and the eardrum bursting performance of wonderful Monique Borelli.

The announcement of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' broke into hushed quality in the ghostly silent darkness. Will did not mind much. They did not move to the beat of this song anymore. The rhythm of their steps was based on a music without a name. A symphony without orchestra. The only sound similar to strings was the whistling tune of their breathing, the only bass was the wild beat of their delicate runaway pulse. Chilton led him, but where he led him and what he intended to do when they would arrive at their destination, remained a mystery. Will didn't know whether Chilton brought him to an the abyss or another plate of solid ground. He could even kill him right now, if he wanted to. A swift movement towards the balcony railing, an unexpected touch and a brutal fall, while the creme de la creme of the rich and famous inside the building ate their caviar and sipped their glasses. Here, hidden in the darkness, in a blind niche a murder, rape or other crimes could have been committed trouble-free .

Exactly when Will was fully aware of this possibility, Chilton pulled him into another rotation by surprise that ended with Will's face staying a few centimeters in front of the psychiatrist's and their chests gently collided with every taken breath. It happened quickly. They were so close that Will could smell Chilton's aftershave. A heavy, tart scent carried by pine needles and wet tree bark. Involuntarily Will opened his lips a crack and inhaled the bouqet. Chilton smelled like forest crowns after a hail storm. To be true, Will had expected a more classical note, but he welcomed this rustical flair eagerly. The forest had always been both shelter and horror in his life. He combined good and bad memories of this nature. He had often dreamed about falling into a bottomless depth and being devoured by the shadows which were thrown on the rock walls in jagged hatches, while the moon paved the ground with his waxen light.

¨ Well, infidelity is such a nasty thing ... ¨ Chilton said at last, his eyes focused as ever on Will. His hot breath, commingled with tepid peppermint, tickled over Will's stubble and on the bare skin in between. ¨ Cheating in a relationship can have very different reasons. Higher voltages occur over time and are discharged in dispute and physical aggression. Or one begins to live by each other and surrender to indifference. Or one wants to consume the partner with such force that it comes close to the process of slow, painful suffocation. Unfortunately I am not an expert on such things. ¨ The expression in his eyes transformed, became warmer. ¨ Anyway, I would neither stuck Hannibal in the first nor the second category. As a layman, the third variant appears to me as the most plausible. Your are desirable, you do not need to deny it, because it's true. Hannibal has recognized that. I'm sure it fits well on the fact that he doesn't want you to slip away from him so easily. He takes good care of you. And with good I mean very good. ¨

Will smiled.

¨ You overestimate my worth. ¨ he said, sounding quite lax even in his own ears. Nearly exhausted. He spoke with indulgence, as if one was clarifying a child about the fantastic cascade of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. It was not honorable to hurl the truth in the people's face so relentlessly, even Justitia had no dagger hanging at her hip. But Will did not want to behave honorably. He did not fool himself, merely he protected his thoughts from disappointment that could have sprung his own imagination. Nor did he want that Chilton had misconceptions about him. The whole town had, thanks to Freddie Lounds' toxic nib, already misconceptions about him, so he would have been quite pleased if the headmaster of the asylum did not yet classify himself under the fingers, which indicated accusingly at him and whispered rumors. Rumors of murder, blood and organs. Rumors of manslaughter and cover-up. Rumors of mental illness. Yes, the rumors about mental illness hurt him the most.

Will had not even noticed that he put his head down. Only when two fingers appeared under his chin and gently pushed it up a bit, he realized the faux pas.

Understanding nested in Chilton's eyes. Painful great understanding. Dangerous Will thought to himself. You should remove, Will. Now. Get away before HE discovers you. How do you want him to explain all this, huh?
Despite the admonitions of his inner voice, he did not move from the spot. The fingers under his chin remained where they were and he relied on them on a trial basis, the silent question spelling out in his head whether he could trust them with the weight of his skull or not.

Apparently he could do that, because Chilton (Frederick. Frederick for god's sake!), held him. He felt his other hand on his back, rubbing circles in the smooth skin. When did these hands fall out of their common place? When did the profiler lose the control of the situation? Will did not know. He was fascinated by his own ignorance. At the same time his unease grew anew.

¨ It would be a mistake to underestimate you. ¨ Chilton whispered calmly. His fingertips felt kind of rough and soft at the same time. ¨ Your psyche is ... remarkable. Unique. The empathy that you incarnate to use your horrific visions is a personal burden. And how you deal with it is simply- ¨

"Do not entitle me as a saint, Chilton. " Will spoke softly but insistently. (If he had spoken louder, he probably hadn't been able to suppress the tremor in his voice). The hidden smile on his mouth was frozen. ¨ Although I sometimes don't know who I am, I always know what I am. ¨ An indifference swung in his voice, which would have cast a shower of ice shards on the backs of current passing pedestrians. Chilton shook his head vigorously.

¨ I would never do such thing. You are a madman after all, but - ¨ Will snorted. But before he could escape Chilton indignantly, the other man dug his fingers into his clothes, clinging to the fine fabric like iron. ¨ - But the world is full of madmen, which is nowadays a common profession ¨ he continued pragmatically. ¨ The world itself is an insane Queen giving birth and death and we dig like bloodhounds in her guts. Thus, there are no more saints who have died long ago and been regurgitated as plant fertilizer and pig feed. ¨ The psychiatrist frowned. ¨ I did not mean to offend you, Will. Really, I admire the resistance you maintain in spite of everything. ¨

Will lowered his gaze to the floor, still animated by frustration and volatile anger. He felt the force of the arm, which embraced him with a disciplined rigor that he had not expected. Felt foreign life flow through foreign veins. Felt the shaking pulse of a strange wrist on his right shoulder blade. The aroma of pine needles and hailstones intensified. If he concentrated, he could even taste it on his tongue. He did not like that. It reminded him of a dream in which he had been buried alive and woke up. The earth had surrounded him like wood brown lead, covered from head to toe. Maggots were crawling over his emaciated, bony body, insect larvae had spent the night in the holes of his shirt and the corridors of his tattered trousers. He had struggled gasping for breath, had tried to scream, but it was only a croak that came from his throat. A muffled, lifeless Help. And a name. A name.
It was horrible.

Disgusted by his own memory Will's face screwed up to a horrified grimace. An image that Chilton recorded as reflection of his careless remark and the casual expression made his eyes completely blunt . Will realized that the atmosphere between them had cooled noticeably within a few breaths.

¨ We dig like bloodhounds in her guts - Very poetic ¨ he said disparagingly, referred to the Queen of the World. ¨ From which author you have stolen this phrase? Georg Büchner? Voltaire? Shakespeare? ¨.

He wanted to squirt no poison, really. But the fact that Chilton had called him a madman, was like a glowing arrow in his groin. It hurt him and the knowledge that this pain was even sort of a confidant to him, depressed him further. Again clarity burned into his brain that everyone he knew and did not know him viewed him as crazy. Not believed to be mentally healthy. He felt back to the time when Alana had rejected him because he had an unstable personality so she preferred distance between them. He had actually wished for a short, defining moment to be dead. Not buried within the meaning of alive, but dead in the purest of all the senses. No longer present. Disappeared. Gone. Lost. Not that he had seriously considered suicide ... okay, maybe for the duration of the blink of an eye, yes, he had. Now this memory and the associated wound crashed through Chilton's words (actually, only because one of his words) cheated on the thin-skinned fabric of his soul. He felt like a house of cards that collapsed by a careless breath of air. Again and again and again ... and again. He only knew one person who was allowed to sit next to him in such situations, helping him to rearrange the cards in rickety bridges. The man, whose name had been on his lips as he fantasized himself buried under two meters of rammed earth.

Will took a deep breath, let it out hissing between his teeth again. He looked at the broad front door, watching the flickering figures in the enlightened hall behind the milky glass squares. Some were so far away that he could only imagine the colorful outline of their bodies. The hard contours of their faces melted with increasing distance to unprincipled schemes, giving them a blurred appearance. Will let his alert eyes restlessly wander through the sections of the room he was able to see. But Hannibal was nowhere to be found.

What if he forgot me? Maybe he drove home alone and has just left me here facing my fate a disgusting nasty voice snarled in his head, but he pushed her aside rudely, banished her into a gloomy chamber of his paper-thin heart.

But the need to see him, talk to him, to hear his voice, to be near him, remained. Was almost overpowering. Crumbled like fever in every pore and every fiber of his simmering body. He could free himself from Chilton's arms and wordlessly go back into the building. He could squeeze through the crowd and scan the whole hall after the psychiatrist. He could have even called after him.
Well, he did nothing. He was afraid. He felt dependence. Will was subordinate to be dependent, yet he refused to divulge it in public. It was unpleasant to him, reminded him of a fawn that had been separated from the herd and now cried for his mother. Hannibal was not his mother, and certainly not a father-substitute, but Will neededhim as the fawn needed his mother. He began to feel incomplete when the psychiatrist was not with him. Kind of lost. This certainty scared him, at the same time it struck him that another person had quickly gained such an influence on him. Or interest.

Also Chilton seemed to have developed a special interest in him since the unpleasant incident with Gideon. At least the constant contact of his hands, although the dance had ended long ago, revealed this fact. They remained in their position as dislocated showmen, set in a frame from mosaic fragments of the night.

Chilton waited for Will to continue. When he did not, remaining several minutes as a notched marble statue in silence, he gave him an almost reproachful look.

¨ It's mine. My view of the world. ¨ he said pointedly, seemed to be honestly offended . ¨ I never need to steal to express myself verbally. I abhor plagiarism. ¨

Will popped out of his thoughts how a whale swam to the water surface collecting oxygen in his truck – pumping fresh air unto his big lungs. He probed the situation with a view research before he turned back to the psychiatrist.

¨ Would you ever steal? ¨ he snapped suddenly. His cheeks had adopted a slightly reddish tinge. Individual strands of his hair stuck to his heated temples. Chilton raised an eyebrow.

¨ What? ¨ he asked perplexed. Will's mouth thinned.

¨ Stealing. ¨ he repeated impatiently. ¨ Would you steal if there was something that you could not get in any other way? ¨

¨ I ... Um, when the insert would be worth it, then yes, probably. ¨

¨ What would be worth enough in your opinion? ¨ asked Will. He wanted to explore the basis of Chilton's interest. And a little interrogation had never harmed anyone.

To his mild surprise Chilton's shoulders sunk in result, did not resist. Similar to a boy, who had been caught by doing something forbidden.

¨ The question here is not what, but who, as you've already guessed. ¨ he said. His reply sounded strangely monotonous.

Will snorted.

¨ Guessing would be the wrong word. Fearing is more like it. ¨ he said.

The psychiatrist examined his view, but Will stubbornly focused on one of these ruby red jacket buttons. Red Red Little Red Riding Hood. Red like blood. Of course, red.

¨ You have asked me if you were prone to infidelity. ¨ it mumbled shortly afterwards so close to his ear that he automatically jumped backwards. ¨ What if I could teach you infidelity, just how I taught you this waltz? Hannibal is a talented man, but I don't hink he is capable of being a trustful partner and a reliable therapist at the same time. ¨ Chilton licked his lips, unconsciously probably. Will watched it from the corner of his eye. A shiver raced across his upper arms.

At this moment raging thunder roared over the city. The windows of heaven opened. Pattering rain dived down and courted the two men in vibrant wetness. Will hardly noticed it, although the fabric of his suit soon slapped against his body hard and soaked. ¨ You know, Will, I would advise you to look for a new psychiatrist. ¨ he said casually. ¨ One who maintains a more platonic relationship with you. ¨

The last sentence elicited Will to a humorless laugh.

¨ With you there is no platonic solution possible. ¨ he said. He was tired of the charade and Chilton recognized it.

¨ Not? ¨ he asked, seemed hardly surprised.

¨ You keep me in your arms for almost a hour. ¨ Will countered immediately, ignoring studiously that he estimated that hug more than he should. Extemporaneous sensations sought him home. An arbitrary longing for closeness.

¨ Then you've learned waltz AND smoochy dance. What's the matter? ¨ Chilton plucked a few beads of water from Will's rain-soaked mop as it would be the most natural thing in the world. ¨ Have you not speculated about what this situation could amount? ¨ he asked. Wills throat was suddenly dry.

¨ I ... yes, but - ¨ he stuttered, paused himself, quarreled with his own words.

Chilton bent lower over him. His breath no longer smelled of peppermint, but after the bittersweet scent of withered roses.

¨ But? ¨ he breathed. Will swallowed. His heart was beating in his throat, accompanying a familiar dizziness in his senses. Please don't faint. Everything else, but now please don't faint, for heaven's sake! his brain prayed manically to him and maybe there was a God somewhere, because for a change, his silent plea was heard. He did not know why his condition deteriorated so rapidly, thought of emotional stress because of the medication he ingested about four hours ag- wait. Will blinked with his inner eye that saw more than was good for him. No, he had not taken his medication. Hannibal had advised him against it. You do not need them. he had said, and presented this thin-lipped smile Will had loved in time and learned to associate with relaxation. Now you got me …
So what? Are you my new drug now? Will had asked him then. He remembered this scene surprisingly well, which had happened mainly in the last half hour before they were driving to the opera house. Hannibal had widened his smile to at least an inch and born a twinkle in his eyes. I'm whatever you need. He approached to will with calm, balanced, confident steps and had let his large, strong hands and wrists floating in elevation to his face. First, Will had believed that the psychiatrist would stroke his fingers over his stubbled cheeks and kiss him. But Hannibal had only addressed the shirt collar of the profiler and pulled the knot of the tie tighter. Like a Jewish mother who had come to her pubescent teenage son for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah. Will had felt strangely helpless at that moment. Immature. He had added not a single word about this caring action. But when Hannibal wanted to remove his finger after his finished work, he had taken them and leaned the knuckles against his chest,watching them with cautious curiosity.

Hannibal had let him go, even after his eyes had been puzzled. Finally, Dr. Lecter is merely human Will's inner voice commented and Will himself had abdicated it with an equally inner nod. Hannibal's hands were disastrous cold as restructured with snow. He had learned many things about these hands thoroughly in the past few months, seen and paid attention to the surgical precision, they were capable of, how hard they could grab under given circumstances and how crazy this idea of heaven and hell really was, if the bedroom was in their reach. These hands were fatal. They were spotted by blood, skin and intestines. They were murder weapons, mechanized knives with a blunt blade. For Will, they were just beautiful. He would never have said it out loud, because many things sound stupid when they are not pronounced in the head, but he felt it. And he felt the expectant look of Hannibal, who focused on their clasped hands.

Will,is everything alright? Do you havemigraine again? the psychiatrist inquired. His voice was dark velvet, fed with objectivity and concern and subliminal, seething heat. Will shook his head in response.

It's nothing. I just ... these hands have people struck down like cattle, slaughtered, eviscerated and then served them as a dinner with wine and brittle. And now… they adjust my tie.

Somehow Will found this paradox hilarious. Histerically funny, to say at least. What a laugh.

Hannibal's eyes were fixed on him. He seemed highly concentrated.

Is that a problem? he had asked. (And oh, how carefully he had asked). Will had lifted his head and met him head-on. Deep, abysmal brown hypnotized him. Corrupted him. Ate him alive. Brought him down. But he fell for so long that he had forgotten it and mistook it with flying.

Sometimes the mind wants to warn us, but we stop it, because we cannot bear the understanding.

No. he said No, quite the contrary ... I am grateful.

Then he had led these (UGLY. Deadly. Disgraceful. Dangerous.) hands led to his mouth without resistance and pressed his lips to their back. Only on one side, then on the other. They were powerful hands, indeed. Maybe they were even godlike hands. For as God, they killed for pleasure and will, as God they were capable of healing and tearing wounds, to destroy and to save lives. Despite all this, an imperceptible tremor shook him, possibly an electrical nerve impulse, as he balanced these oh-so-powerful hands for the duration of a wing beat, sharing a motion, a sign of weakness, of emotion, of sheer overpowering. After Will parted his lips from the strange, smooth skin he looked up to Hannibal and how his true-hearted dogs would have looked up to him. Hannibal's striking profile was devoid of any emotion. Except for the eyes. Will looked at him. The expression in them was probably the only thing that had changed, but Will could not say in which category he should classify this expression with the best intentions. Although he sensed something familiar in it ...

Silently, he watched as Hannibal swallowed, focusing on the contraction of his Adam's apple, the creeping lifting his chest. He would have put his cheek t at this chest and listened happily to the drumming heartbeat under the cloak of cloth, flesh and bone. But that was a pipe dream for the later night, because Hannibal continued to talk.

We have to go now, or we'll miss the beginning of the opera. It would be rude to be late. the psychiatrist announced (unusually stiff) and Will almost automatically breathed out an inarticulate sound, which could be called a grumbling murmur easily. But he finally nodded. He admitted defeat. His behavior was childish and he knew it, but somehow it didn't seem to matter much, as soon as he thought of the opera and the three fucking hours he would have to spend on his fucking ass on a goddamn seat cushion. He called something like this torture. Hannibal called something like this the higher echelons. Then Will called him a bourgeois and Hannibal dubbed him simply as philistine. Thus, the balance between the two had been restored. In most cases, anyway.

When satisfied Hannibal turned his back and went down the hallway, Will had suddenly realized what it had been at that expression and why it had seemed so familiar to him.

The expression in Hannibal's eyes had been hungry. Unfolded, driven wild, hardly matched control hunger.

Will, are you coming? Hannibal called.

Will let out a small, secret sigh. Then he pursued Hannibal, with the knowledge that this hunger was not touched by sexual, but animal origin.

¨ You will only see a research object in me. ¨ he finally brought out in a husky voice. His mind reached the present again, found himself back on the balcony terrace and the rain with the psychiatrist who was not his psychiatrist. And suddenly he wondered how he had got into this scene. Why had he agreed to Chilton's proposal and embarked on the dance (he usually hated dancing)? What had led him to follow this man to a place off from the rest of the crowd? A place which would have been perfect for murder, rape, manslaughter and other obscenities?
When he saw Chilton's face, he knew it. The eyes. He had seen Chilton's eyes. Had been lulled in by all these feelings that swirled in them. Had forgotten why he avoided eye contact strictly. And that had been a big mistake.

¨ I am a guinea pig. At most, a… pet. That's all I'll ever be for you. ¨ Even by his standards, his voice sounded broken.

Chilton just stared at him. Not accusing, not malignant, not judgmental. His features were smoothed, his mouth a line, parted with a steady ruler. Will saw the pearly lips overrun by a bluish environment. For a split second he wondered if he should warm up those lips with a kiss and did nothing. Instead, he fell into the pool of blue-green irises and looked at his own reflection in the shiny black pupils. It was this nothing, this absolute, Will took, were held as it could have done no material cage with iron bars and chained doors. But those eyes offered so much more. They offered openness, light and perhaps a place, which was related to an arc-shaped clearing in the center of deciduous trees. Or a still lake, where he could enjoy fishing and life in its purest form.

¨ Let's say, I would actually consider you to be a pet – which isn't true after all. ¨ Chilton admitted, each syllable cold as frog spawn, ¨ What does Hannibal see in you then?

The question caught Will with the force of a wrecking ball swinging in his stomach. His eyes widened. Nausea surged in his gut and his brain.

¨ I ¨ ... he got out, but shocked he realized that he did not know how he should go on. He fumbled for words like a castaway on the country. Splashing in the large swimming pool for adults, which complained to the sea, and found nothing, found nothing. A whiff of panic spread through him. Why was this so incredibly difficult? Why took it so long for him to find a decent answer? The blood roared in his ears.

What sees Hannibal in you then?

The hunger. He had seen hunger in Hannibal's eyes. This insatiable appetite for life. The desire to devour him. To bite in his flesh and to drink his blood. Will's breathing quickened, noticed it only in passing.
What was this trembling that he had felt when he covered the back of his hand with his mouth? Was that imagination in the end? A hallucination?

But eyes did not lie. Eyes never lied.

Chilton's hands wandered into deeper regions now including Will's hips carefully. Like heated leather straps they joined around Will's veiled skin. He almost choked.
Chilton smiled.

¨ Yes? ¨ he asked encouragingly. Will guessed that he feigned helpfulness. He considered. Deliberate feverishly. Meanwhile, the rain had gained strength, drop by drop was more like a flock of icy spears as a harmless water showers. Will was completely soaked down to the bare skin. He was shaking, but he did not care.

¨ He ... he sees me. How I really am. ¨

Chilton's smile died a little.

¨ Does that mean you wear a mask? A protection against us mere mortals? ¨ he asked. He did not mock. He spoke softly and somehow compassionate. Will wanted to believe this gentleness and compassion to be true. He really wanted to trust. But how could he, after all, what had happened before?

Will's look hardened. He also removed Chilton's hands from his hips, stepped back a precautionary step, so that distance between them was formed. He stood there, cold, clammy, trembling and very, very quiet. Externally. He crossed his arms over his chest, digging his short cut fingernails in his upper arms and forgot to feel the pain.

¨ You don't want to know what lies beyond. ¨ he said, and he meant it. Hannibal had brought him to reason that a beast lay in him. A beast with razor claws and ivory teeth and red red red eyes with no pupils. He had shown him the shelter and from time to time the psychatrist tried to lure it out of its burrow.

Chilton was catastrophatically unmoved.

¨ To know what I want and what I don't want should remain my decision. ¨

¨ What do you want? ¨ Will snapped brusquely. His trained habits of social politeness got holes and Chilton stabbed through them with a lousy, nasty pin. He hated this feeling. And at that moment he hated Chilton that he typed him this feeling. That he typed his feelings in general.

¨ A patient named Will Graham. ¨ his opponent replied, hands sticking in the pockets of his pants. ¨ And later ... a friend named Will Graham, maybe. ¨ he added thoughtfully.

Wills anger at the psychiatrist behaved consistently, but his spontaneous hate subsided as quickly as it had come. Only the migraine didn't stop. These hideous, ugly migraine.

¨ A friend? ¨ he repeated warily. Chilton nodded.

¨ Depending on what is more pleasant for you. ¨

¨ Or for you. ¨

This comment brought Will a shrug. He groaned and pressed two fingers on his right temple. ('Knock knock' - Who is there? Pain, baby, beautiful, fat headache. Say hello and give a kiss!)

¨ You are aware of your suicidal impulses, right? ¨ the profiler said.

Chilton clucked his tongue. ¨ In what way? ¨ he asked innocently. The rain had washed the gel out of his hair, now a few strains towered like hedgehog spines in the air. If Will was not in such bad mood by now, he might have laughed about it.

¨ I don't think Hannibal would agree to this arrangement. He doesn't like to share. ¨ he said wearily. ¨ He still feels responsible for me, more than ever to be honest. You are his colleague. Do you really want to be the one who stabs his back? ¨

Chilton looked at him stoically. Then sudden anger flared in his eyes and planted like a freshly lit fuse over his face away, turned it into a painting of rage.

¨ Pardon my language, but I basically give a shit if I hurt the complex minds of some colleagues with my actions. Honestly, I don't even give a fuck about it if thus the well of an interesting patient is at stake. Yourwell in that case, Will. It would be tragic if your recovery would be affected by someone who stands to you in such an intimate way.¨

¨ For a recovery first a disease is needed. ¨ Will said. He almost shouted. ¨ I'm not crazy, Frederick. I'm not! ¨ He did not even notice that he had called him by his first name for the first time this evening. He was too upset to notice.
That Frederick took with enthusiastic, mocking applause. A slow clapping, echoing from all corners and niches, filled the air and was accompanied by the wet smacking of rain.

¨ Excellent, Will, ¨ he said, ¨ then for God's sake, let me worry about that it stays that way. Let me help you! ¨

Will hesitated. He felt water running across his forehead in narrow streams, draped on his cheeks and clambered from his chin. The terrace bathed in bone-white glow when lightning heaved a crack in the concrete gray sky. Will heard the thunder five seconds before it and in the same moment his skull seemed to explode. He cried out; a choppy, feeble sound which sank in the rumble of thunder. Something grabbed him from behind. He stepped away from it instinctively, but it was not shaken off. It was warm and firm. And strong. Powerful. Godlike.

¨ Will. ¨

Immediately Will's thoughts to fight back to get away petrified in looked closer. A tall figure stood before him, holding his wrist tightly while he put his free hand on his shoulder. Another flash of lightning revealed Will his true face.

¨ Hannibal. ¨ he whispered, swallowing. Named stared at him with dark brown eyes. His gaze was indefinable, his face cleared of every emotion. The rain left wet rivulets on his skin, sticking a few strands of his hair neatly to the side parting them molded to his temple and forehead. His hands were massy as anvils on Will's body, but Will did not mind, not even speculated about freeing himself anymore. Finally, Hannibal broke their eye contact and turned to Chilton, who was still standing about a meter away from them.

¨ Dr. Chilton, what a coincidence to discover you with dear Will here. ¨ he said. His voice seemed neutral, but underneath the silhouette it was cold as ice. Colder than the rain. ¨ You're not going to poach my patients, are you? ¨

Chilton laughed. It was a contrived, rehearsed laugh Will realized without even having to turn around.

¨ How could I? ¨ he heard him ask. ¨ By such a conscientious guard? ¨

Hannibal ignored this jibe rigorously and gave Will his full attention again.

¨ Will, it's after midnight already. ¨ he said, his tone almost cheerful, his intention imploringly. ¨ I think it's time to go home, don't you think so too? ¨
He seemed to leave Will's miserable state willfully unmentioned. Maybe he would bother about an accusation for later, who knew. Only Hannibal himself.
Will found neither the strength nor the want to disagree with him on this point.

¨ Yes, you're right. ¨ he murmured as if he was in trance. The migraine was still there, but vanished after their recent bust - a rather dull throbbing, it shows bearable. ¨ It's time ... ¨

Hannibal nodded. Would he have tolerated a different answer? Maybe yes. Maybe no.

¨ Good. ¨ he said sympathetically. The smile that he presented was warm, but turned into a flowing contrary, as he viewed the head of prison psychiatry.

¨ Dr. Chilton? ¨

¨ Dr. Lecter. ¨ the other one replied mechanically. That was the only farewell, that was possible between them this time. Nevertheless Chilton still spoke to Will as if Hannibal was not there.

¨ Thank you for the dance, Will. You could work at your… pace. ¨

¨ I'd rather jump from the Niagara Falls - with a triple somersault. ¨ Will replied, but it was less quick-witted as it should be. Chilton remained silent. There was nothing more to talk about.
Without another word Hannibal went with Will to the glass door, directly into the hall. A hand keeping his backbone in a supportive manner.

When Will peeped fleetingly over his shoulder one last time, he saw Chilton motionless in the rain, hands shoved in his pockets and an unconcerned grin stretching his face.

The profiler turned his head back so fast that his wet hair clapped around his neck.

TBC...