Mason Verger was a weasel of a man. His stooped gait and frivolous hand gestures, coupled with an air of haughty insouciance, added to his lack of appeal. Worst of all, he had terrible manners—or rather, an entire lack of courtesy. Hannibal inwardly frowned when Mason casually scraped beneath his fingernails to remove a bit of dirt. He watched in mute horror as Mason pointedly flicked bits of filth onto the seafoam-green office floor.
Hannibal's great displeasure reflected in his face. "Not having an heir might put you at a severe disadvantage," he said, reminding Mason of the subject at hand: Margot's pregnancy.
Mason peered at him. "How is that? I'm the only heir who counts right now."
"Indeed you are," Hannibal agreed. His eyes narrowed. "But what about the future, Mason? How does Margot factor into the vision you envision for yourself?"
It took Mason a moment to realize the implication behind Hannibal's question. He scowled. "Margot doesn't get her jollies from men very often, Doctor. At least, not as far as I know."
"In matters of biology, that fact matters little," Hannibal replied, his gaze steady. "As you're well aware, Margot needn't prefer man in order to successfully conceive."
Mason peered at him in that hideous owlish way of his. "My dear sister wouldn't know what to do with a child," he sniffed. "She'd probably end up killing it by neglecting to feed the brat."
Hannibal's nostrils flared in contempt. "Are you going to leave yourself in a position of vulnerability, Mason?"
The heir to the Verger fortune smirked. "Doctor, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
Hannibal shrugged. "It's all in a matter of interpretation."
"Papa always said the power of words was in their propositional abilities."
"Right your papa was," Hannibal mused.
"You know, Doctor," Mason laughed in his flamboyant way. "I think you see suggestion and coercion as two disparate concepts."
"How observant you think yourself, Mason," Hannibal couldn't stop himself from saying. Pursing his lips, he surveyed Mason's agitated, hyperactive state. "You seem to be under the influence. Which drug is it?"
Mason tittered. "Fear, Doctor. Margot has found a way to continue the Verger name without me. That revelation is enough to spin my head around on its axis."
"What are you going to do about it, then?" Hannibal asked. "Will you sit idly by and watch as your birthright is taken from you?"
"Margot's brat may not survive," Mason said. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "Accidents happen all the time."
"'From his high crest, headlong he plummets to the dust of hope,'" Hannibal quoted.
Mason's chin jutted forward. "Did you make that up?"
Hannibal smirked. "Perhaps in another lifetime, long ago."
A few hours later, he delicately sniffed the perfumed remnants of the silken hair-strands Alana had left behind on his clothes. Her company was usually enjoyable for short periods of time, but he didn't care for her growing doubt towards him. The questions she asked were becoming increasingly analytical. Earlier, when they were kissing, he had smelled the gunpowder on her hands. It troubled him, but not enough to reveal to her the side of him he kept hidden. Being trained in suspicion, her attitude didn't surprise him. Perhaps she finally saw past his person-suit, and glimpsed his monstrosity - the face only his victims saw, in their final, desperate moments of agony.
He had wondered now for some time whether or not Alana Bloom still served any useful purpose in his life. Her beauty and relative charms were not reason enough for Hannibal to keep from paying her a visit. She had served her purpose as a pawn in his strategy to separate her from Will. This new development, however, illustrated that she was a potential threat. Hannibal sighed. The psychiatrist buried within Alana's fool-in-love persona was finally starting to catch the subtle signs that he and Will were more than friends.
Amused, Hannibal chuckled to himself. He walked over to the desk and opened the top drawer, staring at the bullets he had pilfered only a few minutes ago; before Alana had slipped away, complaining of a migraine. He wished she would have been more original in making her excuse. It was an insult to his intelligence for her to be so obvious about her avoidance. Hannibal had always hoped Alana would not become involved in the inevitable fallout of The Ripper, but he would show no hesitation in making her a casualty of war if need be. He supposed he preferred the option of not killing her to the option of murder, but extreme measures were sometimes needed in order to achieve the desired result.
Hannibal decided to warn Will immediately—just in case Alana had voiced her concerns to him; or worse, to Jack. The dinner he had planned for the two of tonight would present the proper time for his broaching the sore subject of Alana's loyalty. Though he knew Will was on his side now, Hannibal swore not to delude himself about the depth of Will's feelings for his erstwhile love interest. The wounds of rejection were, after all, still fresh.
As moonlight filtered through the French doors of Hannibal's imposing dining room, it bathed Will's features with a gentle luminosity. Hannibal gazed at him, controlling his impulse to smooth the disheveled curls from his muse's forehead. Side by side, they stood by the French doors, watching the stars. Hannibal had planned a late meal for them tonight: mezethes, a collection of small, savory plates; accompanied by Ouzo Giannatsi. The fiery Greek apéritif would whet their appetites, and fuel their ruminations about men and gods; good, evil, and the grey in between.
Hannibal handed Will his first shot of Ouzo, and then poured his own. Their sharing of dinner and drinks had evolved from a habit to a ritual since the night of Will's initiation into his hidden lair of secrets. Breaking bread together on a regular basis only strengthened their irrefutable bond.
Will regarded the clear, silky fluid in his shot glass. "Bottoms up?"
Hannibal shook his head. "Consume with caution. Ouzo is a fiery Greek aperitif known for its deceptive qualities."
He eyed his drink. "Just when you think it hasn't affected you, the drink will reveal its unseen power to incapacitate. It's sometimes served with a small amount of cold, distilled water. Tonight, we're drinking it deeply chilled, as is customary in Greece. The experience will be more authentic as such."
A few crystals floated on the surface of the Ouzo. Will admired the drink for a moment longer before taking an experimental sip. Hannibal was pleased to observe from Will's expression that he might have a taste for it.
Licking his lips, Will said, "Licorice."
"Anise," Hannibal amended.
Will nodded, and took another thoughtful sip. "It's potent, but not overpowering."
Hannibal tasted his own drink. The anise flavor refreshed his palate. "Giannatsi is purportedly the finest Ouzo in the world."
Will nodded. "That's easy to believe."
Abruptly changing the subject, Hannibal said, "Alana is starting to suspect."
"Alana has proved herself to be an unreliable source," Will mildly replied. "She doesn't have any proof of our involvement in Freddie Lounds' murder."
"Of course not. Nevertheless, she may voice her suspicions to Jack."
Will shook his head in disagreement. "I don't think Jack gives much credit to Dr. Bloom's theories, especially since she was convinced I was the Chesapeake Ripper."
Hannibal noted Will's sarcastic delivery. "Do you give her any credit?"
"Perhaps you should be the one to judge her qualifications," Will said. He took a bigger sip of his drink. "You know her on a level far more intimate than I do."
Quickly, he drained the contents of his glass.
Hannibal frowned. "You do realize I'm not in love with her."
Will's laugh sounded painful. "It's a cold comfort to know that you're reveling in the spoils of your conquest without forming an emotional attachment."
"You've changed, Will," Hannibal mused. "I always sensed this day was coming, but I confess I did not discern its imminence."
"Now, that isn't true," Will said. He smiled without humor. "You have been waiting for my metamorphosis to quicken for ages now."
Hannibal looked at him in surprise. "Only because I knew it would ultimately benefit you."
Will's gaze darkened. "Sometimes I don't know who I am without the devil inside. I want him gone, but he's part of me."
"Then you should welcome him," Hannibal suggested. Leisurely, he took another swallow of Ouzo. "Don't be fearful of the side of you that seeks to hide."
"Sometimes, it seems the very air I breathe is tinged with blackness." Briefly, Will closed his eyes. "It's suffocating."
Hannibal's eyes shone with dark purpose. "Humanity goes most recklessly astray at night."
"Humanity can go astray in broad daylight." Will countered.
Hannibal scrutinized the full moon. "Superstition indicates that violent crimes occur more frequently after the sun sets."
Will folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't think you had much room in your mind for superstition."
Hannibal kept his smile unreadable. "Instead of withering at night, you flourish. Take your creative display of Randall's corpse as an example."
Will nodded his head in Hannibal's direction. "Under your careful instruction, perhaps. You're watching me all the time; leading me in the direction you that best suits your proclivities."
Hannibal intently regarded him. "Are my proclivities so dissimilar to yours?"
Distractedly, Will rubbed the sides of his nose, feeling the slight grooves the nosepiece of his glasses left behind. "Perhaps not."
"I'm assisting you in realizing your potential." Hannibal reminded him.
"You want me to embrace the monster I'm becoming."
"Not the monster, Will," he amended. "The man." Deliberately, Hannibal made eye contact. "My partner."
He found it deeply satisfactory to behold the newfound realization dawning in his apprentice's face.
"This is far beyond friendship." Will's tone of voice was cautious, but not alarmed.
Hannibal let his gaze linger on him a moment longer. "I shouldn't need to remind you that our bond reaches past the boundaries of patient and therapist."
He paused, and took a step in Will's direction. "If I told you I cared for you deeply, would it make me weak in your estimation?"
Will tightened his jaw. "Emotion itself can be a crippling weakness."
"It can also indicate strength of character."
Will took a step back. His body cast nebulous shadows on the wall. "Which is it for you?"
"I have watched countless patients succumb to the affliction of placing feelings above logic," Hannibal quietly said. "Still, emotion is a powerful human experience. It's what sets us apart from beasts."
"Beasts have emotion."
"When it serves a practical purpose, perhaps." He pointed a finger at Will. "Tell me, does the lion feel for his prey as he administers the kiss of death?"
"What purpose does our bond serve for you?"
"Our interactions remind me that my wish for inspiring companionship need not go answered."
"For the being, perhaps. Who knows how long this will last?"
Will's words made a distinct impression. Hannibal gently gripped his shoulder. "Do you think I could so easily let you go?"
"Nothing is easy with you. Except killing," Will responded.
Hannibal tightened his hold. "Were I to make an attempt on your life, would you resist?"
Will looked into Hannibal's eyes. "I would fight until the end."
Hannibal furrowed his brows, but not in displeasure. Will always managed to stir him whenever he rose to the occasion of a good verbal sparring.
"Will, you are very dear to me. I never want to see you suffer."
"You watched me suffer for months and did nothing about it. You encouraged my disease," Will said quietly. Hannibal detected an undercurrent of anger in his tone.
"I knew you would pull through eventually." He let go of Will's shoulder. "You're stronger than you think."
"As strong as you are?"
Hannibal's half-smile spoke words that needed no voice to convey their meaning. Grasping Will's chin, he tilted his head to the side, admiring the beautiful structure of his face. "You are my equal, Will. I've never met anyone else quite like you. Truly, you have exceeded my wildest expectations."
Without thinking, he stroked Will's cheek. The stubbled skin was warm beneath his fingertips. Bending down, he silently inhaled near the nape of Will's neck. The irritating mixture of cheap ship-bottle cologne hovered heavy on the surface, but the piquancy of Will's Ouzo-scented sweat was intoxicating.
Will took a sharp, audible breath. "I can't trust myself around you," he said through gritted teeth. "But you're the only one I can trust."
Lingering a moment longer, Hannibal removed his hand from Will's face and placed it on his shoulder instead.
"I'm very fond of you," he said in a low voice. "Let's keep it that way."
For a moment longer, his hand rested pleasantly on Will's shoulder. He could feel Will's quickening pulse, and the heat of his lightly perspiring skin; the slight elevation of his pulse.
Will stared at him. "What else do you want from me?"
"Only what you want for yourself."
Shifting his gaze to the window, Will said, "What if I told you I had nothing left to give?"
Hannibal gave him a wry smile.
"I wouldn't want to believe you," he murmured close to Will's ear; briefly stroking his chestnut curls. "I look forward to witnessing the continuous evolution of your transformation."
When Hannibal took his hand away from Will's hair, he was delighted to find that the conflicted expression on Will's face implied that he might have regretted the loss.
"Hannibal," Will began. He looked at the moon again. "I want—"
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. For a moment, he made no move to answer it.
Though he was curious to know what Will was going to say, Hannibal's keen intuition told him that the phone call was more important.
"Better take that," Hannibal suggested.
Will blinked. "Right."
Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and looked at the caller ID. With a frown, he took the call.
"Margot? I was—what?" His voice grew in volume. "When? Are you—is the baby—?" Will fell silent. His shoulders sagged. His hands balled into fists. "I'll be there soon."
When Will looked at Hannibal again, his eyes were black with rage. "That son-of-a-bitch."
Hannibal raised his eyebrows. Mason hadn't wasted any time ensuring that he had no competition to the Verger throne. His fast action was clever, yet despicable. Though Hannibal loathed him, he couldn't help feeling a mixture of satisfaction and relief that Mason had done his bidding, and promptly severed Will's ties to Margot.
Still shaking with rage, Will stalked away from Muskrat Farm. How close he had come to dropping Mason into the pit of bloodthirsty pigs so they could devour him…but no, that was not a viable option. Jack needed solid proof of Hannibal's guilt in order to arrest him, and Mason Verger was the perfect prey. Hannibal detested the vile Verger - no doubt he harbored homicidal urges towards him. Mason was the epitome of Hannibal's perception of rudeness. Once merely an annoyance, the spoiled daddy's boy had ultimately proved his expendability. As Will approached his car, he allowed himself a brief imagining about how Hannibal would make Mason meet his end.
Perhaps Dr. Lecter would roast Mason on a spit until he was all rosy and brown; a beautiful green apple stuffed into his mouth. Green was, after all, the color of avarice. Will buckled his seat belt. He leaned against the headrest, unaware of the vicious smile on his face. Mason Verger would serve as the perfect main course in the next impeccably prepared supper for two. Front and center on the stage of Hannibal's design, Mason would meet a violent end; paying the ultimate price for his dirty deeds. It was a comforting thought. Will smiled in scandalous enjoyment of the scene his mind's eye created. His veins pounded with the thrill of the power that encompassed him.
But it's Hannibal you want, the part of his brain that wasn't infected by the doctor's influence muttered. Mason may have mutilated Margot, and ripped away Will's chance at becoming a father in the near future, but Will was certain that Hannibal had used his influence to tip the scales toward his preferred reality. Curiously, the rage he ought to feel towards his former trusted mentor was transmuting into murderous fantasies about ending Mason. Even though Hannibal was equally – perhaps more - guilty than the brother Verger, Will couldn't find it within himself to hate him completely. At this point, his thoughts were too enmeshed within the elaborate personality he had constructed to keep Hannibal's suspicions at bay. He had meant to stay on track with Jack and the FBI, but the more he allowed himself to become like Hannibal, the further away from legal justice he had strayed. Now, he couldn't trust any of his motivations.
Will started the engine and sighed. He had grown weary of resisting his impulses.
"What have I become?" he murmured.
In the passenger seat, the hybrid's grotesque profile flashed into his thoughts. Come stand beside me, its phantom voice whispered. Immerse yourself in the darkness.
For the new Will Graham, it was a beckoning too powerful to ignore.
