Chapter 16
In an effort to avoid hovering near Alana's bedroom door, Delilah sat silently on her bed and stared fixedly at Hannibal's sketchbook, but she couldn't bring herself to open it; she had mere minutes before he would arrive and he was, to her knowledge and in her personal experience, always on time — if not a few minutes early.
If she opened the damn thing now, she had a strong feeling she wouldn't be able to drag herself away from it easily.
After finally shoving the book under her pillows and readjusting the duvet until taut — the better to resist temptation — she moved to the vanity and messily swiped two thick coats of mascara on her lashes. If her suspicion was correct, Hannibal's plan would necessitate her to look as frumpy as possible, so she topped it all off with an oversized, threadbare sweater and raked her hair up into a particularly messy bun.
Stuffing her feet into a pair of scuffed-up running shoes, she paused just outside Alana's bedroom and held her breath, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing more than gentle snores could be heard, so she carefully grabbed her keys and cell phone, and quietly exited the apartment.
When she set foot on the path toward the parking lot, she spotted Hannibal's vehicle already idling silently in a visitor's spot. The endless sheets of rain prompted her to quicken her pace and she practically threw herself into the passenger's seat, tugging the door shut as she leaned over to give him a kiss.
"Good evening," he said, returning the kiss with a smile.
Delilah shivered slightly at the rumble of his voice and he kicked the heat up a couple notches at once; she thought to tell him it hadn't come from the cold, but opted instead to enjoy the coziness. "Evening," she replied, snapping her seatbelt into place and slipping her keys into he cupholder. "How was work?"
"Blissfully uneventful. And how was your day?"
"Maggie reluctantly let me come back, so it went by quick enough— oh, Alana didn't tell me what clinic she took him to," she suddenly realized, pulling up the browser on her phone to search. "Do you know Will's address?"
"I do," he said, "but I'm fairly certain I know which one it is. There's only so many medical facilities that far off the beaten path."
"Mm, fair enough." She darkened her phone's screen and settled back into her seat, lazily stretching her legs and arms out to better allow the heat to warm her extremities.
"So, do you have an idea of what we're doing tonight?"
"Hm, lemme think… Instigating a prison riot?"
"What?"
"I'dunno, it sounds like fun."
Hannibal gave her a sideways glance as they slowed to a halt at a red light. His lips parted and he inhaled as if about to reply, then stopped and merely stared at her, clearly unsure how to respond.
She laughed lightly and gave him a pat on the leg. "I'm just kidding. I'll admit, the prospect of pretending to be 'Delilah Graham' has me a little nervous."
His brow raised a fraction in comprehension and he continued down the road, heading toward the on-ramp to the freeway. "I will preface this by saying that I have full faith in you, but you should know — the worst that can happen is they refuse to release any information." He reached over to rest his hand on her thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You won't be arrested, if that's your concern," he added, sounding a touch amused.
"Oh, I know that." She laughed and slipped her hand under his, twining their fingers. "I just hope I'm convincing enough as Will's—" she raised her free hand to her forehead and let out an incredibly dramatic fake sob, "hopelessly distraught little sister."
Hannibal smiled a little and hummed in understanding.
"I just don't want to cause any trouble for him and stress Alana out even more. She's wound so tight these days, she's liable to snap any moment and I can't imagine it would be pretty."
"Are you not worried about Will, yourself? I was under the impression that you were friendly."
"Well, sure. Aren't you?"
Hannibal inhaled slowly and kept quiet for a long moment; he seemed to be debating something. "His disease is concerning, yes, but it's not life-threatening," he finally said. "Not at this stage, anyway."
"What stage of the flu would be considered life-threatening, then, if not the seizure stage?" She asked carefully, watching his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Will does not have the flu, Delilah."
Delilah's jaw fell slightly, but she couldn't pick out a particular question to ask from the many suddenly buzzing around in her head.
"You must understand that I had my reasons," he added, firmly but quietly.
"Alright," she muttered, her brow twisted in confusion. "So… what, exactly, does he have?"
"Will Graham is suffering from something called Anti-NMDA Receptor Encephalitis."
Leaning back against her seat, Delilah turned her head and stared blankly out the window. She knew of encephalitis, of course, but hadn't the foggiest idea what 'Anti-NMDA Receptor' meant — though she could swear she'd seen it somewhere before. She must have been silent for quite some time, because Hannibal suddenly gave her hand a firm squeeze and seemed almost worried when she finally looked at him again.
"Say something," he muttered tersely.
"What would you like me to say?"
"What ever is on your mind."
Delilah inhaled deeply and disentangled her hand from his to smooth back the mess of frizzy hair trying to creep onto her face. "Um, alright. Well, apart from the obvious questions, I'm currently trying to remember where I've heard of that before."
"Of what, encephalitis?"
"No, that particular type… I think I read a book about it, years ago."
"Brain on Fire?"
"Yes, that's the one."
Quiet threatened to engulf the cabin again, but Hannibal was having none of it. "Out with the obvious questions, then, please. I'd rather not go into this together with you feeling uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable? With what?"
"With me," he replied, sounding equally as puzzled as she felt.
"Oh stop." She laughed softly. "I don't believe you'd allow him to develop permanent brain damage, or something so ridiculous. I was just wondering how you even knew. Wouldn't he need to take a… CAT scan, I believe?"
Hannibal seemed rather startled by her response. She watched as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, finally collecting himself enough to respond. "Usually, yes… My nose is quite keen, however."
"…Are you implying that you can smell encephalitis, or is this some obscure idiom that I am unaware of?"
"Implying? No, I am telling you. I've been able to detect many illnesses over the years, long before the patient has been diagnosed. Sometimes before they've even had the chance to — ah, here we are."
Delilah could only stare blankly at him as he pulled the vehicle into the small lot and parked in a space near the entrance. Though there had hardly been any traffic to speak of, the drive seemed to have gone by much more quickly than expected and now she was nervous again.
"Ready?" He asked, undoing his seatbelt and turning to face her.
She blinked distractedly and shook her head, trying to refocus on the task at hand. "Um, no. One moment," she muttered.
Flipping down the sun visor, she peered up into the lighted mirror and cringed at her reflection. Sighing heavily, she averted her eyes straight upward, so she could dab at the bottoms of her eyeballs with her fingertips. As her eyes began to sting, she sniffed loudly and forced herself to keep them open, scrubbing her fingertips on the same spots a few more times before the tears finally came. Blinking hard, she rubbed at her mascara a bit, which caused her eyes to truly burn. "Ow, shit," she whispered in between sniffles, as she actually began to cry.
She turned to find Hannibal staring over at her. "You should probably wipe that smirk off your face before we go in," she said before taking a few deep, shuddering breaths to work herself up.
"Oh, don't worry about me," he replied, still sounding thoroughly entertained. He leaned back to retrieve something from the backseat, but she was already grabbing her keys.
'Forgetting' her phone in the car, she stepped out into the rain and hurried toward the building. Hannibal was right behind her when she reached the entrance, swiping raindrops off his shoulders and muttering about the umbrella she hadn't given him a chance to grab, as he followed her through the automatic doors, into the clinic.
Being in a new place evidently allowed her to appear as disoriented as she thought she should be. The man behind the intake counter stood abruptly as she looked frantically about. "How can I help you, miss?" His concerned gaze shifted quickly to Hannibal. "Is- Is she okay?"
"She-"
"My brother was brought in h-here today," she exclaimed, scrambling to the desk. "W-Will Graham. I don't know what h-happened, exactly. She told me he had a seizure and was b-bleeding and-… and that he's here. Is he here?"
The man, still wide-eyed, hunched himself over the computer at once and began hastily clacking away at the keyboard. "Uh, yes, here he is! Will Graham. He's in room three but I— I'm not allowed to let anyone back there. He's still… He…"
"He hasn't come to?" Hannibal offered, and the man nodded apologetically.
"Well, I mean. Earlier he—"
"When can I see him? Can I talk to someone? Is he okay? Please, he's my o-only family. Please."
"Okay, okay. Miss, please try to calm down. I-I'll go get the doctor and see if she can help you." He paused briefly and his nervous, wide-eyed gaze darted between her and Hannibal. "He's stable," he hissed, as if he were revealing some protected government secret. "I can tell you that much. Please just take a seat over there, okay?"
Hannibal nodded and thanked the man as he folded an arm around Delilah, turning her away from the desk; a squeak of a sob escaped her and he tugged her near.
"Shhh, darling, it's going to be alright," he whispered, smoothing down her soggy hair as he guided her to the waiting area. She snugged against him and pressed her cheek to his chest, enjoying the closeness as she kept up the pathetic whimper-sniffles.
The two people waiting either to be seen or to collect someone seemed as alarmed by her behaviour as the receptionist. While one suddenly pretended to be very interested in the wallpaper, the other, an elderly woman, stepped tentatively near and clicked her tongue in sympathy.
"Oh, you poor dear," she whispered, offering a box of tissues, which Hannibal took. "Would you like me to get you a cup of tea?"
Delilah sniffed loudly and shook her head. "N-No thank you," she replied thickly.
"You're shaking like a leaf," Hannibal murmured, carefully prying Delilah off of him so he could remove his heavy overcoat and drape it over her shoulders. He pulled her close again and rubbed soothing circles on her back as he spoke to the elderly woman, "Thank you, very much, for the kind offer."
"Of course. You take good care of her, now," she told him. She then placed a hand very firmly on Delilah's shoulder, giving her a squeeze that surprisingly hurt a little. "I don't mean to pry, but I'm sure your… brother, did you say? I'm sure he will be just fine, sweetie. He's very lucky to have such a caring sibling. God bless you, child."
"Tha-ank you ma'am," she replied, taking a few tissues from the box and blowing her nose obnoxiously.
As the old lady hobbled back to her seat, sharp footsteps brought their attention back to the front of the room. "Miss…? Um- I-I'm sorry, what was your name?" The man called out, holding the door open for a doctor to step through.
"Deli-lah," she croaked, rushing over with Hannibal right by her side. The doctor offered her a sad little smile and held out a hand, which she shook.
"Hello, Delilah— oh! My goodness, your hands are like ice." She laughed gently. "I'm Doctor Morales, but I'd rather you just call me Lucy, okay sweetie?"
"O-Okay, Lucy," she said, attempting to smile as she scrubbed at her nose with the wad of tissues.
Lucy turned her kind face up to Hannibal and offered him her hand, as well. "And you are?"
"Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he replied, setting the tissue box on the counter and shaking her hand. "I'm her husband."
Delilah felt her breath catch, but she covered it with a sniffly hiccup.
"Oh! In that case, why don't the both of you come along into my office and let's have a chat, shall we?"
...
When they arrived in Doctor Morales' office, Hannibal pulled out a chair and guided Delilah to sit; he swiftly unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat right beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and resting his free hand on her knee. She settled in and leaned her head against his shoulder, prompting him to give her a tender kiss atop her comically disastrous hair.
Doctor Morales smiled sadly at them as she rounded the desk to sit down. "Alright, well," she began with a heavy sigh, "I wasn't here when he arrived, but I have the other doctor's notes." She brandished a thin file at them before opening it. "Mr. Graham was brought to us by a co-worker of his at around two-thirty this afternoon."
"Alana," Delilah whispered.
"Yes, a Doctor Alana Bloom. He was unconscious and unresponsive at the time and had to be brought in via stretcher. She said he's recently been having bouts of insomnia and sleepwalking; visual and auditory hallucinations; and has had an on-and-off fever for at least two weeks. She stated that she was driving him home, so he could prepare to admit himself to the hospital for these concerns, when he had what she described as a 'violent' seizure in her vehicle and proceeded to bleed excessively from the mouth."
Delilah let out a strangled sob and Hannibal continued to play the doting husband, rubbing her arm and whispering consoling nothings in her ear.
"I know it sounds scary, but I just want you to know the details. Are you alright…? Shall I proceed?"
"Y-Yes, please," she stammered through her tears, snuffling so convincingly that Hannibal almost actually felt sorry for her.
"The bleeding was merely caused by him biting his tongue during the seizure. It was a very mild wound— just showy. The attending physician was able to stitch him up just fine and his sutures will dissolve over the next two to seven days.
"Since his vitals were good, they chose to wait for him to wake; he did briefly wake up around five o'clock, but he was very combative, so they had to sedate him—"
"Oh god," Delilah wailed softly, digging her palms into her eyes and putting on an impressive display of trying to hold herself together.
"They only gave him enough to calm him down, but he promptly fell back asleep. Which tells us that what he needs — more than anything, right now — is rest. The plan, for now, is to wait until he wakes again and hopefully have him transferred to a more suitable hospital, for further testing."
Delilah simply jerked her head in an approximation of a nod, then stopped and shook her head in confusion. "W-Wait. Alana told me they did tests? She said they told her to leave — that he was stable, but the tests didn't look good…?"
"Tests?" The doctor's forehead twisted in mirrored confusion and she peered down to scan over the notes again. "Mmm… No. The only 'tests' that were done were blood pressure, blood ox, and temp., which are all standard vitals we check when a patient is first brought in and are then re-checked at regular intervals. Perhaps his blood pressure was a little high at first but I can't imagine they'd tell her his tests didn't look good just because of that…
"Though, if I'm being honest, not all doctors are created equal, if you catch my drift."
Hannibal snorted lightly in agreement. "We were also under the impression that he was to be seen by a neurologist, here, tomorrow," he said calmly. "Is that also not the case?"
The doctor firmly shook her head. "Oh no, we don't have the necessary equipment. Judging by the symptoms she provided, he would definitely need a CT scan or an MRI. Since he is in no immediate danger, for the time-being, we prefer to wait for the patient to be able to give consent for transfer. Doctor Bloom was likely, understandably, very stressed — I'm sure she just misunderstood."
"I see."
Doctor Morales grabbed a box of tissues from her desk and held it out to Delilah, looking deeply sorry as she watched her take a few and blow her nose.
Before anyone had a chance to speak again, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
A nurse entered the office and leaned lazily against the door. "Room three is awake again," she announced in a monotone. "He's still a little miffed but he's not trying to rip out his IV and strangle me with it anymore, so that's progress."
"Jesus christ," Doctor Morales muttered under her breath, clearly embarrassed. "Okay, thanks Pam."
"Well… I'm gonna go on my break, then."
"That's fine, Pam."
They all watched as Pam sighed heavily and meandered her way out of the office, not bothering to shut the door behind her.
Doctor Morales sighed exasperatedly. "I am so sorry about her," she mumbled, moving to the door to scowl after the woman before snapping it closed, but keeping her hand on the knob. "What she lacks in tact she makes up for in… well, showing up."
There was a moment of awkward silence before Delilah spoke up. "Was she talking about Will?"
"Yes. You two sit tight while I go check on him, alright? If he's able to agree to visitors, I'm assuming you'd like to—"
"Do you even have to ask?" Delilah exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
The doctor chuckled softly and pulled the door open again. "Give me one moment."
Once she had gone and the door was shut tight, Delilah allowed herself to relax and took a few more tissues from the desk. "Fucking mascara," she grumbled, licking at a folded tissue and trying to swipe the offending product from under her eyes.
"I must say I am impressed," Hannibal said, canting his head as he peered up at her. "You haven't needed me here at all."
"I mean, thank you, but don't throw a party or anything. I think the combination of mascara searing my corneas and looking like a drowned rat has really sold the illusion."
Hannibal chuckled softly and reached up to wipe a bit of product from her cheek for her whilst he listened for footsteps. After a few minutes, he heard the dull clunking sounds of sensible shoes on linoleum. "She's coming," he warned quietly, rising from his chair and watching with fascination as her entire demeanor shifted. Her shoulders tensed, her brows knitted, and her eyes suddenly shimmered all over again.
"He seems very confused," the doctor announced, her lips tight with concern, "so I'm not sure just how long you'll be able to visit, but he says you can come in."
Hannibal watched Delilah's bloodshot eyes light up and she grabbed his hand. Fingers laced, they followed close behind the doctor, down the short hallway and on to the third closed door on the right.
"I'm back, with company," Doctor Morales called, holding the door open for them.
Will was sitting, propped up by the adjustable bed and a small mountain of pillows, with a towel pressed to the corner of his mouth; he seemed just a little dazed and more than a little confused.
"Dewiwa?" He exclaimed as best he could.
Delilah let out a peal of laughter and pulled away from Hannibal to rush to Will's bedside. "I'm sorry, what was that?" She teased.
"Oh thut up," he grumbled.
Hannibal slowly stepped around to stand beside Delilah and smiled politely down at him.
It seemed to take Will a moment to really register Hannibal's presence, but once he did his eyes flickered between them in utter bewilderment. "Did he bing you?"
"Nobody uses Bing, Will. Get it together."
Doctor Morales snorted lightly. "As the sedative leaves his system, his speech should be less impeded… The swelling has already gone down. Anyway, you seem pretty alert right now, Mr. Graham. I guess family presence will do that, hm?"
Without giving Will a chance to verbally express just how presently lost he was, she continued, "I'd like to transfer you to Mercy Hospital. They have an excellent Neurology department over there. Give me a few minutes and I'll call for an ambulance to take you, alright?"
She paused for just the briefest of moments and it was clear to Hannibal that she was only giving him the impression that he had a choice; when he didn't immediately protest, she smiled, turning her attention to himself and Delilah. "If either of you would like any coffee or tea, just ask Todd out front and he'll take care of you, okay? I'll be right back."
"Thank you, Lucy," Delilah replied earnestly, slipping her arm around Hannibal's midsection and giving him a sideways squeeze as she smiled over at her. "For everything."
"You're welcome, of course, Mrs. Lecter."
Will let out a sudden noise that sounded like a cross between a goat's bleat and a honk, startling both Delilah and the doctor.
"Are you alright there, Mr. Graham?" Doctor Morales asked hesitantly.
Rubbing at his face, likely to hide his embarrassment, he simply nodded and grunted incoherently.
Once the doctor was gone, Delilah unlatched herself from Hannibal and he stepped closer to grin down at Will. "So, how are we feeling, little brother?"
Will stared blankly up at him, then looked to Delilah. "Thinth—" He stopped himself and rolled his eyes as he inhaled deeply through his nose. Swallowing carefully, he dabbed at his lips with the cloth, then gingerly repositioned his tongue inside his mouth and tried again, speaking much more slowly this time. "Since… when are we we-," he paused to swallow again, "related."
"Since I had to find some way to make sure you weren't about to kick the bucket," she replied at once. "Alana's an absolute mess over you, you know. So, I'm your sister and he's my husband — roll with it. I'm gonna find somewhere to wash my face." She glanced up at Hannibal. "Coffee?"
"Please," he replied, smiling proudly as he watched her leave.
Delilah re-entered the room with a fresh face, less of a rat's nest on her head, and two paper cups of what she was assured by Todd were coffee… but rather smelled like burnt rubbish and lighter fluid. She found Hannibal seated in a chair at Will's bedside, but neither were talking; it didn't seem like they'd exchanged a word, at all, since she'd left.
"Here's your hand warmer," she said, crinkling her nose as she passed Hannibal a cup and dragged a gaudily-upholstered chair over to join him. "That's all it's good for."
"Oh, so it is," he muttered, barely bringing the cup near his scrunched nose before setting it right down on the nearby table.
Delilah huffed in agreement but forced herself to take a swallow anyway, cringing as she did. "Ugh… has she come back yet?"
"Yep," Will grumbled as Hannibal pushed back his sleeve to check his watch.
"The ambulance should arrive in about an hour," he informed her. "Doctor Morales said you may ride along with him, if you'd like."
…
Well over two hours and one thoroughly horrendous cup of coffee later, the ambulance had finally arrived. Delilah ultimately took them up on their offer to ride with Will, and Hannibal followed along behind them — about ten minutes into the obnoxiously bumpy ride, she really wished she hadn't.
She realized much too late that she had left her phone in Hannibal's car and Will's conversational skills seemed to have regressed back to when they'd first met. He was studiously avoiding eye contact with her and was, unless prompted to speak, painfully silent. Even then, small grunts and one word responses were all anyone received from him.
The EMTs weren't much better, either. They all seemed, albeit understandably, tired and rather grumpy that they'd had to travel all this way to pick up a man who appeared relatively fine.
"Maybe Hannibal should have driven us instead," she thought out loud, watching the EMT to her left as he dozed in and out of alertness.
"Why is Hannibal even here?" Will suddenly asked, a harshness to his tone that surprised her.
Delilah quirked a brow at him. "Glad to hear you're done lithping," she attempted to tease, but he merely glared at her and she blinked in confusion. "Uh… He drove me to the clinic, obviously."
"But why?"
"Because I called him…"
"But why?"
Unsure where all this animosity was coming from, she ruffled a bit and shrugged. "Because I don't have a car?"
"Alana has a car."
"Right… She was busy having a conniption over your dumb ass. I wanted to be sure I could tell her with confidence that you were alright, rather than drag her all this way and risk her having a meltdown."
"So, why not a ride-share service? A taxi? Hell, you could have called that lady that owns the coffee shop. Why Hannibal?"
The way he'd spat Hannibal's name made her ears warm with anger. "H-He's my—"
"Psychiatrist," he snapped. "He's your psychiatrist, Delilah. Don't you think driving you, his patient, to an entirely different state is a little—… A little… above and beyond the call of duty?"
"That game is shit."
"Stop trying to change the subject, damn it!" he hollered at her, attracting the EMTs' attention.
"Whoa, dude," one muttered around a yawn, "calm down, alright?"
She watched as Will swallowed carefully and grumbled an apology, wincing a bit as he'd clearly agitated the wound on his tongue.
"Yeah, chill out, bro," she hissed, "you might pop a stitch."
After a beat of silence, he made a point to look her dead in the eye and asked, very calmly and quietly, "Do you trust Hannibal?"
"Yes, of course," she replied, bewildered though certain, and she watched as a flurry of emotions flickered across his face — surprise, hesitation, concern and, in the end, unmistakeable disappointment.
"I thought you were more…" He struggled for a word, then settled on, "intelligent than this."
"We came all this way just for you to treat Hannibal like a leper and call me stupid? Really?"
"I-I I didn't mean you're stupid. I just… I don't know." Will frowned at his legs for a moment, then looked back up at her with fresh concern in his eyes. "Has he—… I mean… Has he done anything to you?"
"…What the fuck are you on?"
"Delilah. Why would a psychiatrist answer a patient's phone call, after business hours, then drop everything and drive her out to the middle of nowhere—"
"Because I called him," she repeated through gritted teeth. "Because I needed his help. I called and he was there for me — isn't that the definition of a good psychiatrist? He's there when his patient needs him?"
"No, no, no. This is well past professional caring, Delilah. How can you not see that?"
Delilah took a deep breath and fidgeted in her seat. "Was it not unprofessional when you were eating dinner in his home over the weekend, then?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Jack was there. And I've known him longer than you. Why would he be so quick to help you? Furthermore, why the hell were you even at that dinner?"
"Because he invited me! He's my… f-friend. And he's Alana's friend."
"She's known him for years. You, however, have not…"
"I don't want to have this conversation anymore."
"Why you, Delilah? Why are you always around him? What patient has dinner at her psychiatrist's house?"
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and took a deep breath in through her nose, then slowly out through her mouth. "Listen. Whatever you're trying to insinuate… It's really starting to piss me off, so I suggest you shut your mouth and give your stupid tongue a chance to heal."
"… Delilah, are you sleeping w—"
"Don't. Don't go there."
"I just don't understand how you're so… There is something off about him, Delilah!"
"I SAID," she shouted, acknowledging the immediate shushing from the EMTs mid-sentence and straining to lower her voice again, "I said, I am done talking to you."
...
By the time Hannibal had pulled into a visitor's spot near the back of the hospital, Will's stretcher was already being wheeled through the automatic doors, with Delilah stalking in after them. The rain had since ebbed over Baltimore so, foregoing his umbrella, he slipped his keys into one pocket and Delilah's phone into the other, then set off across the parking lot.
After a brief conversation with a refreshingly helpful nurse, Hannibal was given a name tag to clip onto his lapel and was swiftly escorted to the appropriate room. She pushed the door open for him and promptly bustled off, but not before wishing him well. He smiled and returned the sentiment, then let himself in and gently tugged the door shut behind himself.
Noting how very silent the room was, save for the gentle beeps of various machinery, he spotted Delilah first, seated cross-legged in the corner with her narrowed eyes fixed on what he figured must be Will; he stepped further into the room and wasn't too surprised to find that Will was scowling right back at her.
The pair of them looked decidedly like irritated cats, with Delilah looking exceptionally precious, still swimming in his overcoat as she was.
Hannibal glanced between them for a long moment before clearing his throat; Delilah pried her daggers from Will long enough to offer him a half-hearted smiled. "Hey hubby. Missed you," she said, a faux saccharinity in her tone that disturbed him.
"Might I ask… what, exactly, is going on here?"
"Nothing," Will muttered at once — just as Delilah snapped, "He's an idiot."
Pursing his lips, he stared at Delilah with confused annoyance and she huffed softly. "Well, he is," she grumbled childishly.
There was a sudden rap at the door before it was yanked open and a doctor entered the room.
"Evening all," he announced warmly, smiling and darting from person to person, shaking his and Delilah's hands before moving to introduce himself to Will. "I'm Doctor Bennett. You must be Mr. Graham."
"Just Will," he replied, evidently exerting a lot of effort to make eye-contact as he shook the doctor's hand.
"Noted. Well, Will, I'm told you were seen at a clinic out in Wolf Trap, Virginia earlier today and you've been referred to us because you had a seizure?"
"Mhm."
"Oof, not fun," he muttered, clearly stalling as he took a moment to skim over the paperwork in his hands. "So, you had this episode while… driving?"
"What? No. Alana was driving. She dropped me off."
"Oh, I see! Who is Alana?"
"She's a co-worker of his," Delilah piped up, as she moved to stand nearer to Hannibal, ignoring Will's immediate death glare. "They both work for the FBI."
"I can speak for myself, sis," he snapped at her.
The doctor cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and flipped his papers around a bit. "Ah, yes, okay. So, uh, evidently your co-worker claimed a laundry list of symptoms for you; would you mind just confirming them for me?"
"Sure."
Doctor Bennett simply smiled and stared at Will until he sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows. "Well, there was the seizure…"
"Don't forget the sleepwalking," Delilah cut in, rather waspishly. "And hallucinations. The sporadic fever…"
"I was getting to it!"
"Not to mention, a bad fucking attitude!"
Hannibal bit back a laugh and put his arm around her, giving her a squeeze. "Now now, dear," he chided tenderly, watching Will's eyes tighten with sudden, clear concern; Hannibal knew exactly what his problem was, now. "Your brother is unwell," he continued, sweetly pressing a kiss to the top of her head and watching Will swallow an obvious lump in his throat.
She sighed and leaned into him heavily, clearly exhausted by the entire ordeal, and he canted his head as he watched her scrub her hands over her face — effectively pushing the personal frustrations aside to reapply the mask of a stressed, loving sister.
"Do you have any idea what's wrong with him, Doctor Bennett?" She asked desperately.
"Ah, well, I can't say with any certainty until we've done a scan, of course, but… Y'know, if it weren't for the mention of a fever, I might have leaned heavily toward schizophrenia, honestly." He flipped a page over and stared at the symptoms provided. "Those with schizophrenia are more commonly prone to seizures, actually. With the addition of hallucinations, insomnia, hostility…"
Will groaned and sat up, slamming his fists onto the mattress and causing the doctor to lean back a bit. "I am not being hostile!"
"Okay, sir," the doctor muttered, clearing his throat. "Anyway, there's a note here from the clinic saying that your temperature did spike a couple times while you were resting. I highly doubt it's schizophrenia, given your age. Can you tell me more about these hallucinations you've been experiencing?"
Will stared directly at Hannibal for a long moment. Long enough for Doctor Bennett to glance between them a few times before offering to send him and Delilah out of the room.
"No, no. They can stay," Will muttered, keeping his narrowed eyes fixed on Hannibal as he spoke to the doctor. "A couple weeks after I k- uh… S-Stopped a man from killing his daughter, I-… I started to see him. Everywhere. In the faces of people passing by… In the darker corners of rooms… I just figured it was stress. I was tired. But it kept getting worse. Then he started talking to me."
"And what did Garrett Jacob Hobbs have to say?" Hannibal asked quietly, tossing a politely apologetic smile toward Doctor Bennett, as he had begun to open his mouth to likely ask a similar question.
"Nothing of consequence. He just annoys me."
"I see," muttered Doctor Bennett. "Is this man the only hallucination you've had?"
"No."
He stayed quiet, waiting patiently for Will to continue. Will glanced at him briefly before looking back to Hannibal; he took a deep breath and redirected his eye contact to Delilah, staring pointedly at her as he spoke. "I saw a… thing in Doctor Lecter's house."
"A thing?" Doctor Bennett parroted, brow quirked in confusion.
"A large, jet black creature. But it was blacker than black. An entire absence of light. It was thin, and tall—"
Delilah, evidently unable to contain herself, blurted out, "I'm sorry, are you describing Slenderman?"
While Doctor Bennett choked on a highly unprofessional snort of laughter, Will merely shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "It was so thin, it looked like it was made of nothing but skin and protruding bone… with blood red eyes and… And it had antlers."
"Alright, well—" The doctor started, but Will held up a hand and kept going, still speaking directly to Delilah.
"I tried to protect you from it. I saw it coming for you. Its fingers were long, sharp claws, reaching for you…" Will's gaze shifted to Hannibal as his voice quavered a fraction. "It became larger, the nearer you were. It was right above, behind you. As if it came from you."
"I do recall you had a particularly nasty fever that night," Hannibal remarked quietly, staring Will dead in the eyes.
After a tense moment of silence, Doctor Bennett cleared his throat. "Right, so… I can't say for sure, but I'm going to guess you've been suffering from encephalitis. Most likely anti-NMDA, but don't quote me on that."
Hannibal felt Delilah tense at that and he looked down just in time to catch her shocked glance up at him. Feeling rather self-satisfied, he rubbed her arm and gave her another kiss atop her head.
"You live in Wolf Trap… " The doctor muttered thoughtfully. "That's a pretty woodsy location, isn't it?"
Finally prying his suspicious glare away from Hannibal, Will blinked at the doctor. "Yeah, it's… woodsy."
"And would you consider yourself outdoorsy? I mean, I would assume you are, but I don't like to do that too much."
"I guess. I like to fish and take my dogs on walks."
Doctor Bennett nodded knowingly and fluttered all of his papers back together. "Ever find a tick on yourself, Will?"
He snorted and shifted a little on the hospital bed. "Of course."
"I'd bet you a million bucks that's what it is. Likely from a tick bite. Damn, I feel like House right now."
Delilah was the only one to laugh and Doctor Bennett shot her an appreciative smile. "Well, I suggest you get some sleep now. We'll schedule a CT scan for first thing tomorrow and we'll see what we see. Sound good?"
"Sure," Will grumbled, slumping back against his pillows.
"Just a head's up — if I'm right, you're gonna want to get comfortable here. Recovery isn't too invasive but it certainly takes time. We're looking at a few weeks to a couple months, even, of you hanging around. Just depends on how far it's spread."
Will let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, muttering something that sounded very much like, 'oh joy,' under his breath.
"Look at it this way," Hannibal said with a smile, "now Jack will have no excuses not to let you rest."
He had expected a snarky reply, but Will merely ignored him; the doctor, however, chuckled lightly. "I take it Jack is his boss?"
"Yes. As head of the FBI's behavioral sciences department, his intentions are good, of course, but his methods often lack… empathy."
A snort of derision escaped Will, but he didn't bother to comment.
"Fun, fun," Doctor Bennett muttered. "Well, I think it's time to say your goodbyes and you can all get some much needed rest. I'm gonna go schedule these tests, then I'll be back to give you something to help you conk out—"
"Oh, wait," Delilah interrupted, stepping nearer to Will's bedside. "Don't you want to put Alana on your visitor's list?"
Hannibal watched as Will slowly turned his head and stared up at her. He seemed to want to say something entirely unrelated, but instead rolled his eyes and looked to the doctor. "Let the record show," he began sarcastically, "that Doctor Alana Bloom can visit me whenever she'd like." After a beat of silence, he raised an arm and pointed directly at Hannibal. "He, however, is not welcome back."
...
The majority of the drive back to Alana's apartment was a quiet, thoughtful affair. Neither of them spoke a word to each other, but their hands stayed entwined the entire time. When Hannibal suddenly offered her her phone while paused at a stop light, she noticed there were several missed calls from Alana and she groaned, taking a deep breath before pressing the most recent notification.
"Where the HELL are you?!" Alana's panicked voice shouted at once and she vehemently regretted not leaving a note of some kind.
"Ow, the yelling." Delilah winced, quickly lowering the volume. "Not unexpected but, still, ow."
"Why would you— How could you just leave and not tell me? Now, of all the times for you to—"
"Alana, please, just listen." She waited a moment to make sure Alana was done screeching, then cleared her throat. "We can explain everything when we get back, which should be in another ten minutes, or less, but you just need to know that Will is okay. He's in good hands at Mercy Hospital."
"We? Who's we?"
"I called Doctor Lecter for help."
"You called?… Oh…"
There was a long bout of silence and Delilah nearly drifted off before she finally continued. "Okay. Alright, but… he's okay, though?"
"Yes, Alana, he's okay. But I'm very tired and I'd like to just rest for a few minutes."
"A-Alright… Well, tell Hannibal I said thank you."
"Will do," she replied, watching the screen for her to hang up before dropping her phone into the cup holder. "Wow she has it bad," she mumbled, shivering a bit as she snuggled down. She smiled as she watched Hannibal casually switch her seat warmer on high. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied softly. "Close your eyes."
She happily obliged and had almost begun to fully drift off, when Hannibal was already urging her back to the land of the living.
"We're here," he announced, smiling as she pouted up at the apartment complex.
"Oh. No, thank you, I'm quite comfortable just living here for the foreseeable future," she muttered, though she forced herself to stretch out and sit up straight.
"Mm, something tells me you wouldn't particularly enjoy confinement."
"Depends," she replied casually, tossing him a sly sideways glance before gathering her belongings and groping for the door handle.
Hannibal reached across to place a hand on hers, stopping her from leaving just yet. "Would you like me to come with you?"
"You can always come with me. In fact, I prefer it."
"Delilah," he chided half-heartedly, his lips twisted in an amused grin.
"Ooh, I love it when you say my name like that."
"Like what?" He murmured, leaning nearer.
"Like you're gonna bend me over your—"
"Delilah."
"Yeah, just like that," she teased, catching his lower lip between her teeth and giving it a little tug. Hannibal smiled in return and briefly fitted his lips to hers, then pulled away and they stepped out of the vehicle.
They walked side-by-side in silence back up to the apartment, but once they'd made it to the door and Delilah was in the midst of fishing out her keys, Hannibal asked very softly, "Did you enjoy being my wife tonight?"
Feeling her ears tingle and her face warm, she paused with her hand still stuffed in a pocket and looked up into his eyes, to gauge whether or not he was teasing. He seemed to be asking in all seriousness as he stared rather intensely down at her, neither a smirk nor a grin to be found upon his face.
Delilah took a moment to breathe as she mentally scrambled for a response that wouldn't come off as either too clingy or outright dismissive. "I-It… I—"
Whatever she was about to say — she still wasn't sure, herself — it didn't matter because the front door was unceremoniously ripped open before either of them had a chance to find out. Delilah jumped, startled, and felt Hannibal's arm immediately hook around her waist, catching her before she could lose her balance.
"Jesus, Alana," she hissed, pressing a hand to her chest to calm herself.
"Sorry," Alana mumbled, stepping aside to let them in. "I heard noises… why's your face so red?"
"Too warm," she replied casually, retrieving her phone and keys before shrugging out of Hannibal's overcoat, which he took and folded neatly over his arm.
Without waiting for Alana to bombard them with questions, Delilah dove headfirst into summarizing the night's events. As she spoke, the three eventually drifted into the kitchen and she began absentmindedly preparing a pot of coffee.
"Encephalitis? Really?" Alana muttered, her face twisted in bewilderment as she looked to Hannibal, as if she thought Delilah was only pulling her leg and he would actually tell her the truth. He simply nodded.
"How?"
Hannibal shrugged. "It's believed to have been caused by a tick bite."
"Oh."
"They won't know for sure until he's had a scan, but it's their best guess right now," Delilah explained as she stared at the coffee maker and watched the carafe gradually fill. "But, with everything the doctor was saying, it sounds like he hit the nail on the head."
"I'm kind of surprised you managed to convince them you're his sister," Alana mused. "You look nothing alike."
"Neither do we," Delilah reminded her with a snort.
"Fair. The pair of you bicker enough to be related, anyway."
"Delilah was very convincing as Will's distressed sibling," Hannibal cut in with a small smile. "It was quite impressive."
Alana stared at him for a moment, then crossed her arms and squinted curiously. "So, did they just let you tag along since you're technically his psychiatrist, then? Because, I'm sure you know, that's a major HIPPA violation."
"No. I was Delilah's husband for the night."
The brief, remarkably loud silence that followed his words made Delilah's stomach creep toward her toes but, to her immense relief, Alana laughed.
"Clever," she said, clearly amused.
They laughed quietly, as well, before Delilah cleared her throat and stepped toward Alana. "Yes, but… listen," she began seriously, "Will didn't exactly seem to take our little act nearly as well as you are."
Alana gave her a searching look before a disappointed sort of comprehension dawned on her face. "I'm not surprised," she muttered with a sigh.
"Oh?"
"He's been questioning Doctor Lecter since the dinner party."
"Oh…" Delilah looked nervously to Hannibal, who offered an unbothered little shrug.
"His mind has been playing tricks on him for quite a while, now," he said simply. "If it wasn't me, he would have eventually had misgivings about Jack, perhaps; if not Jack, it would have likely fallen to one of you."
She hummed thoughtfully, pouring herself a cup of coffee and gesturing at it in silent question, but both politely declined. "Suit yourselves," she muttered. "Anyway, it seems his misgivings have devolved into full-blown paranoia," she continued with a derisive huff. "When you visit, don't be surprised if he flips out and tries to tell you that the evil Doctor Lecter is just trying to get into my knickers, or something."
"Wait, what?" Alana suddenly laughed, much more loudly than Delilah really thought necessary in the moment, but she waved a dismissive hand at her resultant scowl. "Don't get offended," she insisted, still reining in her amusement. "I'm sorry, I'm not suggesting it's unfathomable because of you. But I think I know Hannibal better than that." She glanced over at him and snorted loudly. "I mean, to think that you would risk your entire career and reputation… just to have sex with a patient? It's absurd."
Rather than feeling insulted, Delilah instead found herself fighting a sudden urge to apologize profusely to Hannibal and just run away. Alana was right, she knew that. She'd known even before she and Hannibal had become so enmeshed, both metaphorically and physically. Though it pained her to admit, it was remarkably absurd — downright stupid, even — for him to risk so much… and for what, exactly?
A wholly unpleasant and consuming self-doubt began to worm its way into her mind and she set her mug down with a loud clink, before abruptly excusing herself to the restroom.
...
Hannibal suppressed a sigh of annoyance as he watched Delilah duck out of the kitchen, knowing precisely why she'd gone.
Alana shot him a concerned look and made a move to follow her sister, but Hannibal quickly stopped her with the only question he could think best to completely redirect her attention, "Did you remember to check on Abigail before collecting Will today?"
"I—" Her words died in her throat as she whipped back around, instantly crestfallen. "No," she admitted, her voice rather small and her tone quite guilty.
"I see." Hannibal offered a sympathetic smile and canted his head. "Would you like me to visit her tomorrow, then?"
"N-No, I can— I should…"
"I think what you should do — what you need to do — is see Will for yourself, so you may know for certain that he will recover."
For a moment, Alana appeared as though she might very well cry and Hannibal tensed slightly; in all honesty, this really wasn't what he wanted to deal with right now.
"Are you sure?" She asked tentatively, peering up at him through glossy eyes.
"You don't need anyone's approval to check in on someone you care about," he assured her firmly.
"But I care about Abigail, too…"
"Of course you do," he replied matter-of-factly. "We all have our own personal hierarchies of friends and loved ones — it's okay to be selfish sometimes, Alana."
"Personal hierarchy sounds so… clinical."
Hannibal merely quirked a brow at her and she snorted lightly.
"Right. Forgot who I was talking to."
"What's funny?" Delilah inquired, reentering the kitchen and stopping beside Alana.
"Oh, I was just being stupid," Alana muttered dismissively. She then wrapped an arm around her sister and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you, for what you did tonight — both of you," she added with a nod to Hannibal.
"Anytime," he replied warmly. "Well, I'd better get going. We all deserve a good night's sleep, now that we needn't worry so much." He shot a brief but pointed look at Delilah, who offered a sheepish little half-smile, then moved past them to leave.
...
Shutting the door and locking it, Delilah slumped back heavily and let an obnoxious yawn escape her lips. She glanced over at Alana and frowned at just how deeply exhausted she looked, too. "You gonna be okay?"
"Mm? Yeah, I'll be fine," Alana assured her with a sleepy smile. "C'mon, let's get some rest." She gestured for her to follow and Delilah trudged after.
Once they'd said their goodnights and slipped into their respective rooms, Delilah felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she retrieved it to find a text message from an unknown number.
— 'As I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, I strongly advise you not to punish yourself for problems that don't exist.'
Delilah let out an unamused huff and yanked her sweater off over her head, tossing it into the laundry basket. Stepping out of her shoes and pulling back the duvet, she flopped down and plugged her phone in before adding the number to her contact list as Hannibal's cell. She was tempted to send a mountainous text detailing her concerns, but chose instead to send a sassy little, 'Yes, Sir,' and left it at that. Groaning at the headache that threatened to implode behind her left eyeball, she dropped her phone onto the nightstand, pulled the covers snugly up to her chin, and promptly fell asleep.