Two Hours Earlier
Mad Hatters, Red Queens and a little girl who fell down a rabbit hole.
Will contemplated. What would Lewis Carroll make of beehived brains and men who calmly serviced the world by consuming the rude. He was lost in thought and did not hear the soft footfalls approach, barely heard the quiet statement, "from behind he looks a little like you…", awareness of the man heightening in the intervening seconds between his arrival and the smooth, British accent invading his reverie.
"Alice took quite the trip, didn't she?"
Will didn't immediately turn to greet his contact. "Rabbit holes are a lot more prolific than one might think." Will turned his head to meet the gaze of his contact then. "Vigilance is a requirement in our line of work or we might find ourselves tripping and disappearing down them ourselves."
"Mr Graham. Your photograph doesn't do you justice." Charmer. Part of the job description undoubtedly.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Bond."
James gestured to a nearby bench. The library and exhibition was quiet this time of day. They could converse undisturbed.
Will took a seat beside him as he handed him the file. His body language open, confident, inviting. Will held his gaze as he took the file, loosening the reign on his empathy. The indicators were all there. Disarming. Deadly. A highly functional psychopath tamed by MI6.
He watched Bond from his peripheral vision as he opened the file. He recognised the look. Hannibal had sported it many times in their interactions. Curiosity, interest, attraction. But it was by proxy. Will felt the truth behind the gaze. He reminded the agent of someone else. Someone close to him.
"I'm told you're the best."
"The best? Relative to what exactly, Mr Bond?"
Bond gave a non-committed shrug. "At what you do."
"Well to give you a glimpse of what I do, rest assured, whoever he is, he is interested," Will said bluntly. He could disarm the best of them when the mood took him as well. Bond threw him an enquiring frown. "In you."
Bond raised an eyebrow and smiled, turning his attention inward for a moment. "Keep your pyjamas on, Q."
"Q?" Will said.
"My Quartermaster. He's currently monitoring our meeting, or rather spluttering all over his keyboard while monitoring our meeting."
"Ah." Will continued, unabated. "A few tweaks and he'll be eating out of your hand, Mr Bond. Maybe dial down the cologne a touch, corner him where he feels safe and don't take no for an answer."
James was trying not to laugh, despite the rather serious nature of the rendezvous. He could practically feel the blush from Q at the other end of the comms.
"I'll take your suggestions under advisement, Mr Graham. And please call me James. I rather like your style."
"Let's see what's at the bottom of this particular rabbit hole then, James." Will turned his attention to the file, focussed his mind on the images of the dead contained within and invited the veil.
Mystery solved.
Hannibal, unseen but close by in the shadows, observed the tall, lean, sandy-haired man exit the library, Will following moments later. They did not look at each other as they went their separate ways, but Hannibal instinctively knew they had been in contact. He wasn't fond of guesswork but concluded this was the reason for Will's detour. Hannibal felt the familiar pang of desire to claim as he watched Will head in the direction of his hotel. Time to make a detour of his own and refamiliarise himself with the territory of his empath.
Side by side again. Warm, naked and thoroughly sated. In body at least. Hannibal, like Will, could abstain from carnal relations for extended periods of time. It made moments like this all the more divine in their unearthly intangibility. Hannibal listened while Will recounted the contents of the file shared with him by Bond.
Three dead MI employees, tortured and shredded. One had been flayed. Interesting, if somewhat crude and lacking panache.
"Someone doesn't like civil servants. Who can blame them?" said Hannibal, stretching long and rolling onto his side to lay an arm across Will's waist. "The title is oxymoronic at best. It is difficult to be a servant and maintain the outer shell of civility. Resentment seeds eventually and becomes a natural offshoot."
Will mirrored Hannibal's move and turned on his side to face him, lifting his hand to absently, fondly run his fingers through his beard, a new and welcome addition to his own outer shell.
"I gave Mr Bond what I could. The killer is a woman, working at MI6 herself. Most likely a sleeper agent only recently activated."
"Was Mr Bond suitably awed by your gift?"
"I think it would take a lot to impress the man. He's a lot like you in fact. High expectations, deliberately removed from his own emotions, a demanding and I'm sure equally generous lover to compensate for that compartmentalisation of self…"
"You sound enthralled…" said Hannibal.
"I am," Will teased. "But he's taken. Or rather soon will be."
"I know exactly how he feels," murmured Hannibal, the implication hot against Will's ear, snaring it between his lips as he gently manoeuvred Will onto his back again with strong, seeking palms.
Will let his own hands seek each other to meet along Hannibal's spine. "Where to next, Doctor Lecter?"
Hannibal's affection gaze gave way to a predatory gleam. "We will be sojourning in Copenhagen for a while. There is a fellow psychiatrist residing there with whom I would like to reacquaint myself and for you to meet. I'm certain I can convince him to join us for dinner…"