"Among the first instruments were flutes carved from human bone." Because, of course, Hannibal would know that. They were all back at the lab, the team studying their latest body.
"This murder was a performance." Will said, choosing to sit off to the side a bit. He could already relive every gory detail from where he sat, Tobias's victim being played on a loop. Hannibal joined the team for the dissection. Nothing like a front row seat, Will supposed.
"Played him like a fiddle." Zeller said, the team clearly impressed and intrigued by what they were finding.
"Along with rosin powder, we found sodium carbonate, sulphur dioxide, lye, and olive oil in the room." Beverly informed them.
"What's the deal with the olive oil?" Zeller asked, making an incredulous face.
"Sure wasn't making salad." Price said.
"Whatever sound he was trying to produce, it was an authentic one. Olive oil hasn't been used in the production of catgut for over a century." Hannibal ingratiated himself further into the team, "It was said to increase the life of the strings and create a sweeter, more melodic sound."
"No, he wasn't going for that." Will sighed, rubbing his temples. The meat music was filling his head to the point it was almost defeating.
"How do you know?" Zeller asked in disbelief.
"I can still hear it playing behind my eyes when I close them." Will informed them all, ignoring the subtle exchange of looks between them all. He really didn't have enough energy left to care.
"Every life is a piece of music." Hannibal said, "Like music, we are finite events, unique arrangements, sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant."
"Sometimes not worth hearing again." Will grumbled, seeing a migraine emerging on his mental horizon.
"Our killer is a poet and psychopath." Hannibal said.
"And a craftsman. He was shrinking and tanning the vocal chords." Will said.
"Like turning iron wire into musical steel string." Price said, "Well, that's clever."
"And he's a perfectionist. He took the time to whiten the chords before playing them." Zeller dared to add.
"It's not about whitening them." Will waved the notion off, much to Zeller's open annoyance. "It's about, um, increasing elasticity."
"He treated the vocal chords the same way you treat catgut strings." Beverly said before noticing Zeller and Price staring over at her in amusement. "Yes, I play the violin. Don't make it weird."
"Do you still play?" Hannibal asked, always determined to keep it weird.
"Yeah, it's a stress reliever for me." Beverly admitted, "I'm not on a professional level or anything like that. I just do it for fun."
"Musical hobbies are excellent in that regard. I compose and play the harpsichord and the theremin myself." Making the team look expectantly over at Will.
"I can neither confirm or deny." Will shrugged, "And I don't play any instruments."
"I will have to remedy that." Hannibal decided.
"Which part?" Beverly was definitely invested.
"Ahem, this takes a steady hand. A confidence. He's killed before." Will got back to the matter at hand before the entire team could put in their two cents about it.
"Like this?" Price asked.
"No, not like this." Will sighed, wondering just how many people's intestines were currently making music all over the city and beyond. Tobias's shop was a speciality shop for a dying traditional art so he would shipping his unique "products" all over the world.
"He removed anything non-muscular or fatty from around the vocal folds. The chords themselves were treated with a sulfur dioxide solution." Zeller said.
"The sulfur dioxide had the desired effect of hardening the vocal chords." Hannibal nodded, "It's ingenious work."
"Made them easier to play." Will said, the music in his head coming to a painful crescendo. "Had to open you up to get a decent sound out of you."
Will only realized he had said that last part aloud by the various looks from the team. It ranged from startled and amused to alarmed. Will rubbed his face with his hands in embarrassment.
"If you pick it up and can't play it, he'll put you down and play you." Beverly diffused the sudden tension, clearly in the amused category.
"I think we've gotten everything we need for right now." Hannibal intervened as well, going over to Will to study him intently.
Will did not look well, having gone suddenly pale. It seemed hard for him to keep his eyes open for too long, and his hands were shaking. "Time to go home, and replace that music in your head. Do you have a headache?"
"Yes." Will said quietly, his cheek reddening from the sudden shift in attention. The scarlet deepened when Hannibal removed his pocket square to make it into a blindfold, placing it gently around Will's head and over his eyes. Will realized that he hadn't noticed how the stark light of the lab was making the sharp ache in his head and neck worse, or how nauseous he suddenly felt.
Hannibal led Will to a much quieter corner of the lab where no one was around them and there was only the ambient noises of coolers keeping the dead fresh. It shouldn't have been as soothing as it was as Hannibal directed him to sit in a chair.
"Hold still. Listen to the sound of my voice." Hannibal's voice came from out the dark, softer that usual, his tone and accent curling smoothly like smoke and shadows.
Hannibal gently took Will's hands into his own, taking turns between massaging them, and holding down certain pressure points within them. When he was satisfied, Hannibal moved onto the back of Will's neck, focusing on the base of his skull, lingering over what felt like more pressure points again. Lastly, very gently, he massaged under Will's eyes, and around his nose and mouth.
All the while, Hannibal sang something low and soothing in a language that Will was beginning to recognize as Lithuanian. He might not have been able to understand the words of it, but it held all the qualities of something you would sing to night frightened children within its notes.
The Chesapeake Ripper was singing a lullaby to him.
It was absurd enough to make Will laugh, but the noise that came of his throat sounded broken. The strangled noise of it set off something tumultuous in Will, tears beginning to stain the borrowed pocket square. Soaking through the buttery soft silk, twin streams coursed down his cheeks. Even worse, once started, Will found he was unable to stop himself. It was in the moment, the precipice moment where he should have gotten up and left, Will relieved the music in his head had stopped. His budding migraine was completely gone, Will deeply sighing out surprised relief.
Giving up and giving in, Will sagged forward so that his forehead rested on Hannibal's shoulder. He loosely wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, and let go.
Hannibal held him back as Will silently cried and trembled, all the while still crooning softly into his ear. They held onto each other as Will emptied his teacup.
Will's body held a desired hollowness to it now, like all the nooks and crannies in his mind had been wiped out clean. He was empty and yet felt ready and ripe with potential as newly made honeycomb. What began to fill those newly freed up spaces was clarity and a rage Will had never experienced before. It wasn't directed at himself, or even Hannibal, Will realized. He was a very certain type of anger at Tobias. How long had he been killing like he had? How many lives had his terrible talented hands taken? The remembered arrogance of Tobias made all the sense in the world now to Will, and it sparked something deep within him.
"What are you so angry about?" Hannibal's question drew Will back to reality, suddenly remembering who was holding him.
"I must be a bouquet of scents right now." Will chuckled roughly, exhausted but not in a way that hurt.
"You always are, though I would like to know if that anger is being directed at me." Hannibal sounded more amused than overly concerned. Will noticed that he was still using Hannibal's shoulder as a pillow and the rest of him as a weighted blanket. "What are you thinking about?"
"Tobias," Will said, "I'm thinking if he wants to meet the Ripper so badly, he probably should."
"That would be most unfortunate for Tobias."
"Yeah, tragic." Will snorted, coming more back to himself in a more physical sense. It held good to feel Hannibal's silent laugh vibrate through him. Will also noticed he had made a real moist mess out of Hannibal's coat and pocket square.
"Sorry." Will said as he finally drew away indicating the glistening patch of tears and snot now on Hannibal's coat. The pocket square was a wet silk rag being clutched to ruin in his own hands. At some point in time, it had come off, though Will had no memory of it.
"No need to apologize, but I would like that back." Hannibal said, nodding down to the pocket square still in Will's hands where it remained.
"Like this? Don't you want me to wash it…dry clean it?" Will wasn't exactly sure what one was suppose to do with pocket squares of Hannibal's caliber. "Buy you a new one? This one has seen better days."
"Not at all." Hannibal said as he retrieved as evidence bag for Will to place it in.
"You're gonna do something weird with it, aren't you?"
"Define weird."
"Never mind. I don't want to know."