Darkness fell around the farmhouse. It brought with it the sounds of an uneasy night; bitter wind, the call of a lonely owl, the sharp yips of coyotes. The moon was taking her time ascending her black velvet throne as if knowing the journey was going to be a long one.

Dead trees clustered around the perimeter of the field where the house was nestled smack in the middle like a cottage out of a fairy tale. To add to the effect, warm yellow light was pouring from every window. The creatures that skittered around the edges of the wood didn't breach it, as they sensed the unease within.

Pheromone-laced scent was filling the master bedroom and getting stronger by the minute. It was already starting to seep through the walls. Carrying a signature unique to its host, its purpose was almost insidious...seek and draw out. By dawn its reach would be a good three miles.

The source of it was a pale form curled under a thick duvet, trying very hard and failing very well at disassociating himself from his body.

Cold, sweet pine was fanning from Will Graham's skin like birds taking flight and a constant trembling in his limbs made him feel as though Parkinson's had set up shop early. Despite the warmth of the covers, his bones clacked together and it took jaw-clenching effort to not fall apart completely and flop like a fish out of water. A mere hour had passed following the ordeal in the bathroom and his muscles were already aching from the exertion.

Being in heat was not fun.

In addition to the shakes, prickling warmth rolled through him in waves, with each crest more intense than the last. The ride up was a nauseating ascent as if he were strapped into a roller coaster that ticked its way along a steep track. Click, click, click…bringing with it building, burning heat that felt like fire pooling under his skin. Reaching the summit brought a gut-wrenching spear of horrible anticipation before the cart tipped over the edge and plummeted down.

The drop brought no relief but instead a piercing blast of cold that no amount of blankets could touch, along with a surge of prickling pain that started in his core and worked its way out. Sweat bloomed on his temples, under his arms, behind his knees. Groaning at the rush between his legs to match, he realized he was half-hard and wrapped the covers tighter around himself. Jack Crawford was standing a few feet away and had already seen enough.

Will wasn't sure if he had gotten an eyeful of his scars during the rescue, but as he was still shirtless he figured he probably had. If he wasn't so busy dealing with his insides that were happily tying themselves into knots, he might have felt embarrassed. Or ashamed. Or something. Gotta count your blessings though, right?

The Alpha was standing beside Will's bed with his arms crossed and his jaw set in a stern expression. He seemed unmoved by the pheromones dripping down the walls and looked as bullish as always. If it wasn't for the slightly disheveled suit and bags under his eyes, his presence could have been interpreted as a friend merely visiting a sick colleague, not someone who had just liberated an Omega from the floor of their bathroom.

"I'll ask you again, Will," he said in a tired voice that was somehow still commanding, "do you want me to call Dr. Lecter?"

Will shook his head hard enough to make dark curls fall into his face. It made the room spin like the aftermath of a long night of drinking but he was adamant. No one else needed to know what was happening with the inner workings of his body, much less Hannibal Lecter.

Between the shaking, sweating, aching, and migraine the size of Baltimore he managed a weak smile for his boss's benefit.

"Thanks for the offer Jack, but I don't need a doctor and I certainly don't need him."

He hated how weak his voice sounded, as if he didn't believe the words he was saying. His body seemed to disagree as well. At the mere thought of the Alpha another wave of warmth pulsed through him, lighting up his insides like a Christmas tree and giving his cock a vigorous twinge. Wincing, he pressed his head into the pillows and gritted his teeth. It passed quickly enough.

Okay, thinking of that particular man was not a good idea.

Luckily the first stages of the week-long cycle were mild and easily misconstrued as symptoms of the flu but it was going to get much worse, and fast. In just a few hours the cramping would start in earnest and until drugs or a very close friend became available, the pain would be debilitating.

With a flare of panic he realized he didn't know where his suppressants were. They were one of the only things coming between him and any Alpha that happened to get in the way and without them he might as well be a neon sign flashing EASY ACCESS. Suppressing his scent was a goddamn public service. Thank god for plan B.

A small bottle of morphine was kept in his bedside table on strict doctor's orders that he would use it only for heats, and he found comfort in knowing it was there. It was much stronger than the pills at stopping pheromone production and had the added bonus of knocking him out in the process. Only two shots were prescribed at a time and taking both during the same heat not recommended unless under the supervision of a trained practitioner. It had been a lifesaver in the past, though. When the worst of it came he was planning on simply shooting up and sleeping through it.

I could make the pain stop, Will. Be reasonable…a deep, accented voice whispered in his head. Another current of heat blasted through him and he crumpled into a ball, grimacing as his guts sizzled.

"Something tells me you're lying."

Thank you, Jack. Brilliant deduction.

Calling the Alpha he was interested in was definitely not a bright move. The man was probably pissed and Will couldn't blame him; at the first hint of close contact he had bolted without so much as a 'see ya later.' Talk about mixed signals. It wasn't that he didn't have a good reason to react the way he did, after all the past was a bitch at the best of times, but reflecting back on it he knew he should have left with at least some kind of explanation. Fuck, even a quick 'sorry!' thrown over his shoulder would have been better than what he had dished up…which was a hastily slammed door.

"No, Jack, I'm fine," he found himself replying through his haze of self-reproach. "I can handle this myself. N-nothing I haven't gone through before. "

Wasn't that the truth, even if his wavering voice suggested otherwise. He had gone through dozens of heats on his own without so much as a hiccup. When you were prepared, the event was relatively easy to control and he prided himself on always being ready.

The punch line was a bad one - he wasn't due for another three months.

Usually his body was like clockwork, cycling once every half annum with such regularity that he could time it down to the hour. Keeping the house stocked with the essentials was straightforward: plenty of easy-to-prepare food, drinks, a first aid kit under his bed, fresh towels (because hot showers were a godsend when you were actively trying to crawl out of your skin), and enough movies, music, and media to keep him distracted while his insides held a week-long WWE tournament.

Easy breezy.

Even after the incident, which to this day still had no name, his heat appeared as though nothing had happened like it wanted him to get on with his life and just, you know, forget about it. Like that could ever happen. So why was it appearing out of the blue now?

"When you didn't pick up your phone, I got a bad feeling," Jack ploughed on as though Will hadn't said anything. His voice sounded muffled around the edges. "Over the years I've come to trust those and if I hadn't followed up you would still be lying on your bathroom floor, probably with a concussion. I have no doubt you were able to get through your heats alone before, but I know seizures aren't part of the deal. I think he should come see you, even if it's just for peace of mind. I need my beauty sleep, Will."

The Alpha's words registered but it was a certain smell that made the Omega tilt his head up towards him and breathe deeply.

Jack's scent was beginning to respond to the pheromones in the air, reaching out through his skin as if to find the one responsible. Probably why he kept stalling. Peppery musk was beginning to blend with the sweet pine, fusing with it. This wasn't good - even the fully bonded male was being affected.

As if recognizing this, the Alpha took a few casual steps backwards and kept his arms crossed over his broad chest. Breaths came in short bursts through his nose as he faced Will squarely. The man was doing a great job of impersonating a blindfolded bull, one that was considering on whether to charge or just blow steam from its nostrils.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what Jack had done for him, peeling his sorry ass off the bathroom floor and depositing him safely into his bed and all that, but right now he did not need an Alpha getting riled up in his bedroom. Loyal mates were turned into panting predators around Omegas deep into their heats and Will had enough experience to know what would happen if he and Jack were left alone for too long. Things could turn dangerous in a heartbeat. He couldn't let that happen; soon not even a Special Agent of the FBI would be able to control himself.

Raising his head up off the pillows, he fixed Jack with a piercing blue gaze. "I know it probably looked bad back there," he nodded in the direction of the bathroom, "but honestly I don't remember much of it. I just want to be alone now, Jack. Please. I can call if anything happens."

Crawford was having a difficult time focusing on what the Omega was saying. There seemed to be a haze preventing him from thinking too swiftly, but he understood enough and nodded at the reply. He had practically carried the male to his bed after witnessing his episode on the bathroom floor. That had been after a few long minutes of calming him down – Will had awoken distressed and screaming at the top of his lungs, acting as if Jack was on the verge of committing murder. It had taken almost twenty minutes to convince him that he wasn't there to hurt him.

Those wild blue eyes still haunted his memory even though the fear had long departed from them. The man had looked positively terrified and for good reason. An Alpha had obviously given him those scars which explained his twitchy, introverted behavior. Living through it had certainly done a number on his mind, making it no surprise that he would reject any form of aid, especially from another Alpha. Trusting someone after that was probably near impossible.

His chest swelled with sorrow and pity for the man and the words protect, nurture, care for started bleeding through his head.

Will narrowed his eyes.

"I don't need your sympathy, Jack."

The Special Agent was momentarily stunned. Had Will just read his damned mind? From the swiftness in which he had replied it certainly seemed so. He knew Omegas was predisposed to empathy but this was something else entirely. Incredible, really.

Looking into Will's face, he allowed himself a moment to just stare. Wide and bright, those blue eyes held his gaze as if demanding a response. He truly was beautiful. A warm flush had risen in his cheeks and those pouty lips were tight with indignation. This was no helpless Omega pining for comfort from another; this was a man who had gone through some dark shit and wasn't allowing himself to be viewed as the victim.

He was strong, and wasn't that damned attractive.

Jack felt his own blood respond by pumping harder through his veins. The air he was breathing was cold and chilled the inside of his chest, making him numb to all else but the delicious smell. He was vaguely aware that he was moving towards the bed but all he focused on were those eyes that had adopted a wary edge. Rational thought left him as if it were never there, swept away by the sweet smell of pine and mint.

"Uh, J-Jack?"

XXX

The morning sun shone through the heavy crimson drapes of the doctor's office windows, splitting the room into sections of crisp light. It framed the two occupants sitting across from each other in the middle of the open space, happening to cast one in light and one in shadow.

The smaller of the men was slightly overweight and bathed in soft yellow. He was hunched over and snuffling into a tissue, looking like a giant baby stuffed into a suit. If it wasn't for his head of tight black curls and matching beard he would have pulled it off entirely. His breathy sobs were certainly helping.

The other figure was a tall, elegant male reclining gracefully in his seat. He was situated just beyond the block of sunlight as if lurking behind it but his size and presence commanded the scene.

Hannibal considered Franklyn Froideveaux with quiet distaste. He had never liked the Beta, which really wasn't saying much as there were very few individuals whom the Alpha could classify as interesting enough to 'like', but at ten thirty in the morning the man's usual eccentricities were proving to be particularly irritating.

He was dressed in a cheap three-piece that seemed a size too small and smelled of equally inexpensive cologne. It was obvious he was trying to enhance his scent, which as a Beta was naturally faint. The effect merely came off as desperate and made him seem very out of place in the lavish office, where the fountain pens that sat atop the oak desk were Ancoras and roughly two grand apiece.

With a twinge that felt very much like possessiveness, Hannibal realized Franklyn was sitting in Will's seat, contaminating it. That certainly wouldn't do.

Franklyn gave one last hearty honk into his tissue before his pudgy fingers crumpled, folded, and eventually shredded the thing. He deposited the sad remains onto the small table beside his chair, unaware of Hannibal's sharp eyes that tracked his movements like a hawk.

"I hate being this neurotic," he said miserably, his voice thick. With his own gaze stuck to the floor, he clasped his hands between stout knees in an attempt to pull himself together. A dramatic exhale followed.

The Alpha carefully concealed his displeasure at the performance. Only the smallest gesture of his brows coming together showed any regard, along with a slight narrowing of his dark eyes. Foppish Froideveaux simply had no consideration for others or enough common sense to put his own waste in his pocket. Hannibal could have snarled; it was rudeness borne out of ignorance and he did not tolerate either. Others had been eaten for far less.

The idea made him pause.

His dining room table, splendidly set under dim candlelight, shimmered to life in his mind's eye. Everything else was swathed in shadow and the smell of roasting meat and herbs filled the air. A beautiful aria complemented it. Will was sitting at the place of honor, cutting into Franklyn's freshly braised kidneys with a knowing smile. In this fantasy the Omega was well aware of what he was eating and found it exciting, stimulating; just as Hannibal did. Those icy eyes would flick up to meet his host's red ones…

A ripple of pleasure ran through the Alpha as if their gazes actually met.

The antlered shadow inside him reared its head at the whisper of blood and opened wide, white eyes. Feeding the Omega would be darkly, intensely satisfying.

Perhaps this patient's usefulness had run its course…time to try a new recipe.

"Your neurosis wears at you like the foaming lather of constant waves on the shore," he replied lightly with practiced indifference, which in this case wasn't difficult. "That is why you always feel as though you're being dragged under."

As he listened to Franklyn's self-pitying response he decided that he couldn't have made a better choice on who to feed to his Will.

Even after six months of treatment the Beta was showing little progress. Controlling his anxious emotions was why Franklyn had sought help in the first place, but every psychiatrist he had met with had referred him to another. Unable to make the distinction between strangers and close, personal acquaintances, he had tried to befriend each of his doctors instead of working on his therapy. This inevitably led to the conclusion that these people weren't really his pals, only professionals trying to help, which shot his nervous condition through the roof. Like a stubborn cold he had passed through a dozen therapists before falling into the hands of Hannibal Lecter.

This doctor was different. This one wasn't trying to help; quite the opposite. Months of therapy gave ample opportunity to exploit each sliver of weakness, every tiny little crack in Franklyn's psyche until the man was reduced to a weeping, blithering mess. The reaction was then blamed on his inability to cope with his own feelings which drove the spike in deeper. It really was too easy. Turning the man's insecurities on himself was effortless manipulation; hardly a challenge.

What better way to solve his boredom and apologize for his behavior than over an exquisitely prepared dinner? The rewarding process would be a salve for the bruises on his pride and hopefully his Omega would be more receptive after a day or so.

'I killed it myself,' he would say with a twinkle in his eye.

Anticipatory pleasure rose in him like a snake ready to strike. It always did before the promise of a very satisfying meal. With a secret smile the doctor adjusted in his seat and tuned in to the tense ramblings of his clueless client, fully expecting another break down and ready to encourage one. Or two.

Just like a cat, Hannibal liked to play with his food.