~ CHAPTER V ~

Their second kiss was just as gentle as the first. Hannibal cupped Will's face with his hand and brushed their lips together softly, as if Will were the most precious piece of art he had ever encountered and he wanted to express this through nothing but physical touch. Will leaned into him, chasing the ghost of his lips, but Hannibal pulled away. His hand felt dry and cool against Will's hot skin.

"Are you sick, mylimasis?" Hannibal said, moving his hand from Will's cheek to press the back of it against Will's forehead. "You're burning up."

"Yeah, I, uh." If it had been possible for Will to become more flushed than he already was, he would have flushed from embarrassment. "I...I had night sweats again."

Hannibal brushed Will's sweaty curls away from his face and cupped his forehead with a confident and steady hand. "You're running a higher fever than is advisable," Hannibal said, breath ghosting over Will's ear. After a moment's pause, he pulled back, as if contemplating something, but his face was hard to read. "Have you had more hallucinations? Sleepwalking? Any loss of time?"

Will opened his mouth to respond but paused halfway. The walls around them were melting like wax dripping down lighted candlesticks. Dark water sloshed around their ankles. He tried to say that yes, as a matter of fact he was having hallucinations right now, but nothing came out. The walls dripped and warped, a Jackson Pollock painting of bent lines and muddled colors. The lights above the bathroom vanity fizzed and crackled like sparklers, and the rising dark water smelled suspiciously of iron.

The water lapped at his waist now. Will stumbled backwards. If he could just climb onto something, he could get above water, but there was only endless sea and swirling, melted colors floating on the surface of the waves.

Distantly, Will heard Hannibal repeating his name. He tried to cry out in response, but the water carried it away. Hannibal's words reached him garbled, as if Will was underwater, and now Will was underwater, the dark iron-laden waves flooding over him and sweeping him away. He was falling, falling, falling…

Then nothing.

Gradually, Will became aware of his surroundings again, although he wasn't sure what he could trust to be real. Sometimes there were people talking, or chairs shuffling, and once he could've sworn that there was a massive argument taking place nearby, although he couldn't understand a bit of it. Underneath it all was a persistent beeping. But then Will would hear the rushing of waves in the middle of the ocean, and blood would permeate his mouth and eyes and nostrils, and he knew that part couldn't be real.

That was what he kept telling himself, anyway. It sure as hell felt real.

Eventually, Will realized that what he was sensing around him hadn't changed in a while. His limbs felt like lead, and his eyes refused to open no matter how hard he willed them to, but he felt solid. Alive. Not as though he were wavering on the border between reality and insanity — or at least as though he was closer to reality than he had been in months.

Beyond his closed eyelids, the world took shape. The beeping was back, a steady rhythmic presence that was almost reassuring. His head no longer pounded as badly as it had, though his throat was very dry. People's voices were becoming clearer, too.

It wasn't until later that Will could tell who the voices belonged to. The most common was Hannibal's, with its thick European accent and rumbling timbre, soothing in its regularity. Jack's showed up, too, a loud, boisterous thing that made Will's head throb. There was the quiet, concerned voice of Alana; the slightly louder but no less concerned voice of Beverly; and occasionally Zeller's grudging rumble and Jimmy's higher-pitched response, never heard without the other.

There was one other voice that he didn't recognize, but it hovered at the edge of his mind as familiar. It was higher-pitched, soft, probably feminine. When Will was finally able to open his eyes, he didn't know why he hadn't recognized the voice sooner.

It belonged to Abigail Hobbs.

Abigail sat in an uncomfortable-looking chair to the right of his bedside, reading a book. Her dark hair fell around her pale face, and she had a scarf wrapped delicately around her neck. Something clenched in Will's chest. He still had nightmares about Abigail's father, Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike, had been a serial killer who murdered, butchered, and ate girls who looked just like his daughter. Hobbs had been about to do the same to Abigail when Will put ten bullets in him, but not before Hobbs had sliced open her throat. Hannibal's presence and previous surgical experience were the only reasons why she was still alive.

Will shifted on the bed and croaked, "Abigail?"

Abigail's head snapped up. "Will."

She scooted her chair closer and reached for his hand. It was only after she had already placed her hand on his that she looked hesitant, but Will was glad that she didn't second guess herself and pull away.

Will squinted around him, the light coming through the window nearly blinding him after having his eyes closed for who knew how long. "Where am I?"

Abigail chewed on her lip. Her wide blue eyes looked even wider than usual. "John Hopkins Hospital. Hannibal said you had a mild seizure on New Year's and were unresponsive, so he drove you here at three o'clock in the morning and told them to give you a brain scan. Said he thought it might be encephalitis, since you had multiple symptoms." Abigail smiled, but it was a small, worried thing. "Don't think the doctors took too kindly to being told what to do, but Hannibal was right."

Will mustered up a wry chuckle. "That sounds about right."

Abigail looked down at their overlapped hands, fidgeting with the scarf around her neck with her free hand.

Will swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. "How long have I been here?"

"Two months." Abigail glanced up and gave him another awkward, fleeting smile, though this one dissipated as soon as it arrived and was replaced by an expression of worry that she fixed on a distant corner of the room. "We were…well, I'm glad you're awake." She brought her gaze back to him. "We were all worried. The doctors were hopeful for a quick recovery, but then there were a few complications."

Will raised an eyebrow at her, but his whole body ached, including his head, so he lowered his eyebrow as soon as she caught his expression.

"I don't remember the medical jargon. Hannibal will know." At the mention of Hannibal, Abigail smiled genuinely, and Will felt a stab of jealousy. Both men felt paternal towards her, and they were her legal guardians now that her parents were dead, but Abigail seemed to prefer Hannibal to himself. Probably because he saved her life by staunching her blood flow, while you saved her life by killing her dad, Will's inner voice mocked, but he shoved it away as Abigail continued. Her smile grew into something conspiratory as she spoke: "Hannibal has been really worried about you. I've never seen him so concerned."

Will grunted. Abigail glanced down at her book and closed it with a snap, pulling her hand away from Will's. But when she looked up again, her eyes were soft.

"You should have seen him when you had a bad reaction to one of the medications. He had a very tense conversation with a couple of the doctors and nurses. I wasn't there at the time, but Dr. Bloom told me that she'd never heard Hannibal so angry before. He hasn't really left the hospital except to change clothes and eat."

"Not even to sleep?"

Abigail shook her head. "Not until you got more stable."

Will glanced at the empty chair next to Abigail, which was closer to the head of the bed than hers. A leather satchel hung from its back. On a hook on the wall hung Hannibal's overcoat. Something warm and pleasurable stirred in his chest at the thought.

Hannibal Lecter, the fussy, high-maintenance doctor who was probably born with a silver spoon in his mouth, had slept on an uncomfortable hospital room couch for weeks because he hadn't wanted to leave Will's side.

"Is that even allowed?" Will asked as he processed that image.

"Yes. A partner or designated family member is allowed to stay overnight." Abigail's smile came back, mischievous this time. "Especially if that person is the patient's soulmate."

The warmth in Will's chest blossomed like the bloody bouquet on his chest. Not only were he and Hannibal soulmates, but it turned out that Hannibal wasn't ashamed of their bond and had already told people about it. Will felt strangely choked up.

Thankfully, Abigail didn't seem to expect a response. Instead, she placed her hand on Will's again and repeated, "I'm glad you're awake." Then she looked away and said so quietly that he almost missed it, "I didn't want to lose a second father."

Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. A second father. Abigail thought of him as her father. With difficulty, Will turned his hand under hers and threaded their fingers together. "I'm right here," he said fiercely. "Hannibal and I are right here."

Abigail's eyes were wet. "Good."

They lapsed into silence. Will's throat was incredibly scratchy, so eventually, he cleared it and said, "Can I have some water?"

"Oh, yeah, of course." Abigail let go of his hand and stood up, setting her book down where she had been sitting. "I'm sorry, I didn't think of that."

It was only when she moved away to fill up a cup of water for him did Will have a moment to process that she'd said that he had been unconscious for two months. As soon as Abigail returned, he blurted out the only thing on his mind:

"What happened to my dogs?"

Abigail stopped at the edge of his bed. "Dr. Bloom is taking care of them. She's teaching your classes this semester, too."

Will felt a weak stab of guilt that he had completely forgotten that he had classes to teach, but it was eclipsed by immense relief that his dogs were okay and in good hands. The dogs liked Alana. She was generous and doting with them. But he could only imagine how upset they had been when he had left for Hannibal's party and never came back.

As if she could read his mind, Abigail added, "The dogs miss you. I overheard Dr. Bloom tell Hannibal that Winston keeps running away and showing up on your doorstep."

His heart clenched. Poor, sweet, protective Winston. Abigail didn't let him dwell, however; she held out the cup of water expectantly and raised her eyebrow at him.

Will was too weak to lift his head or arm, so Abigail put the cup to his lips. He had never tasted something so delicious in his entire life. The water soothed his throat and parched mouth, and he had to hold back from gulping down the whole thing at once, lest he make himself sick. When the cup was empty, Will closed his eyes. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him. He should thank Abigail, or tell her that he was sleepy, or something, but his body had other plans, sinking him back into the abyss.

Then nothing.