~ CHAPTER VI ~

When Will resurfaced next, it was to the booming voice of his boss, Jack Crawford. There was no way in hell he was going to deal with Jack right now, so he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep. It was easy to do. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead and so did his limbs, as if he hadn't spent the last two-plus months unconscious.

"...need him out there," Jack was saying. He was using his I don't expect to be told no voice, and based on how loud he was getting, he was currently being told no. "We aren't going to catch this guy without him in the saddle."

"You aren't going to catch him with Will sick, either, Jack." Warmth washed over Will at the accented cadence of Hannibal's voice. "He isn't ready to be back in the field, and he won't be useful to you if you send him out there before he's ready."

"The Ripper doesn't care if we're ready," Jack retorted. "He's going to strike again soon, and then he'll disappear, and we'll be shit out of luck for months, possibly years."

"Are you that certain that these new murders are the Ripper's doing?"

"Certain enough that I need Will's eyes to confirm it. I've thought I had the Ripper before, only for it to be a different killer or a copycat. I can't make that mistake again."

There was a long pause. "You were convinced that the Ripper struck again several months ago, and yet it was the work of a clumsy organ donor."

"Some of the bodies were the work of a clumsy organ donor," Jack corrected. "Others were likely the Ripper's." He lowered his voice. "I can't let him slip through my fingers again. If these bodies are his doing, I need to know." Jack's voice was rising again, agitation clear. "He's messing with me, biding his time. And he picked damn well, because my best profiler is laying here unconscious!"

"Unconscious or no, you need to rest." Hannibal's voice was getting quieter; he must be leading Jack to the door. "Worrying is not going to help you catch your killer. Your team is working on the case as we speak, and Will needs time to heal. In the meantime" — here his voice softened around the edges — "spend some time with Bella. She needs you right now just as much as you need her."

Will could imagine the exhaustion that must have washed over Jack's face as he took in and accepted the advice, because his next words were, "You're right." A pause. "Keep an eye on Will for me, won't you?"

"I will do my utmost best to take care of him," Hannibal replied, and his tone was so sincere that it made Will's chest ache.

"I'm sure you will. Goodbye, Doctor."

The door closed behind him. After a few long moments, Will heard the chair to the right of his bed creak as Hannibal sat down, and then he felt Hannibal's warm, dry hand settle over his cold one.

"Good afternoon, Will," Hannibal murmured.

Will's eyelids fluttered as he turned his head in Hannibal's direction, but he didn't open them. "How'd you know I was awake?" His voice rasped painfully in his throat, and he swallowed down the urge to cough.

Hannibal brushed his thumb over Will's knuckles. "I didn't. But I'm very glad you are." He lifted Will's hand to his lips and then gently set his hand back down on the bed.

"Can I have some water?"

The chair shifted as Hannibal stood up and moved away. Will kept his eyes closed for as long as he could, but when Hannibal returned, he opened his eyes so that he could see the cup and drink without spilling it all over himself. The cool liquid was incredibly soothing, a balm for his dry mouth and throat. When he finished, Hannibal set the cup down on the bedside table and resumed holding his hand, thumb gently tracing circles across his skin. Will sighed and closed his eyes again.

"Thank you."

"Of course. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got run over by a steamroller."

There was a huff of breath from Hannibal reminiscent of a chuckle, but it was short-lived, like a cloud skidding over the face of the sun. "You were very sick. I…" Hannibal's thumb stilled on the back of Will's hand for a fraction of a second, so brief that Will might have imagined it. "I was worried you might not recover."

"What was wrong with me?"

"You had anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis."

Will cracked open his eyes and squinted at Hannibal. "Inflammation of the brain?"

"Yes. In your case, it was triggered by a rare autoimmune disorder. It was the cause of your fever, headaches, and psychosis, among other things." Hannibal squeezed Will's hand. "You had a mild seizure on New Year's, which is why you're here. You'll likely continue to have symptoms as you recover, but they will recede with time."

Will frowned. "Have I been unconscious this whole time?"

"No. You have been conscious off and on, but nonverbal and agitated. You had another mild seizure, and then a bad allergic reaction to one of the immune suppressors." If Will hadn't been watching Hannibal's face, he would've missed the brief flash of anger in his eyes. Again, it was so brief that he might have imagined it, except for Abigail's previous confirmation of his worry and anger over the unexpected medical issues. As if Hannibal could read Will's mind, he said, "Abigail said you were briefly conscious and verbal when she was here, but that was a couple of weeks ago."

"Weeks?" Will closed his eyes. "God. What month is it?"

"March."

Christ, he had been in the hospital for almost three months now. That didn't even seem possible. He knew he was probably expected to give some kind of response to that, but the only thing that made it to his lips was, "I miss my dogs."

"I'm sure they miss you, too."

Comfortable silence followed. Will squeezed his eyes shut tighter and drifted in and out of consciousness. The next time he opened them, the hospital room was getting dark, shadows stretching across the linoleum floor. Hannibal was dozing at his side, hand still placed over his. When Will coughed and shifted, Hannibal opened his eyes and gave him a soft smile. Will didn't return it. There was something niggling at the back of his mind:

"There've been new Ripper murders?"

"Jack thinks so."

"When?"

"Several weeks ago."

Will grunted in response. No wonder Jack had been getting antsy. He thought to ask for more details, but the shadows creeping across the floor were making strange, grisly shapes and he wasn't in the mood to feed his nightmares or lingering psychosis, so he left it at that. Hannibal seemed content to leave it at that, too. Unfortunately for Will, when he drifted off again, his nightmares were drenched in dark blood, mangled corpses, and the slippery feel of a knife in his hand as he cut out someone's heart.

The recovery process was excruciatingly slow. A couple weeks passed before Will could stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. More weeks still before he could eat solid food instead of being fed through an IV, and more weeks beyond that before he could stand up and manage a lap around his hospital room on shaky legs.

Through it all, Hannibal was at his side. Of course, Hannibal had his psychiatric practice to attend to, and now that Will was improving, Hannibal slept in his own bed instead of on the lumpy couch at the hospital. But he visited once a day. Sometimes, he brought Will books to read or fishing lures to tie. More often than not, he brought food: the fanciest chicken soup Will had ever eaten, a breakfast scramble reminiscent of the first meal Hannibal had ever served him, miso soup, borsch, beef stroganoff, dumplings, Polish sausage, rye bread pudding, and many more dishes whose names Will had immediately forgotten.

Hannibal also brought news, something that Will appreciated more than he could say. It meant that he got regular updates on his dogs — they were doing well with Alana and her dog, Applesauce, although Winston kept running away to Will's house in Wolf Trap — and that he was briefed on the details of the ongoing murder cases without having to deal with a frustrated and overworked Jack.

Especially since the Ripper had struck a third time, as was custom, and hadn't been heard from since, as was custom.

Needless to say, Jack was fuming.

Characteristic of the Chesapeake Ripper, there was no easily identifiable evidence left at the scenes: no fingerprints, no hair, no bits of snagged clothing or blood other than the victims'. The bodies were missing organs and had been mutilated or dismembered while the victims were still alive. The presentation of the bodies was also characteristically theatrical: the first was an old Catholic priest, found by his unlucky congregation on Sunday morning. He was posed in front of the altar, kneeling, his hands held out in supplication, holding his own heart, and missing his liver and kidneys. The second was a teenage boy found in a vineyard, torn limb from limb and decapitated, with his heart missing. The third and final body was a young woman with a flower crown upon her head, her chest cavity emptied to make room for a collection of white flowers. Everything that would've been in her chest cavity, most notably the heart and lungs, was taken.

Hannibal and Alana both insisted that Will avoid looking at the crime scene photos until he was well again, so he couldn't say for sure whether they were the Ripper's doing. What he found unusual was how far apart the murders were. The last three times the Ripper had struck, all three bodies had dropped within nine days. This time, the total length between kills was forty-five days. If it truly was the Ripper's work, it didn't make sense.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't make sense until Will was back at work and able to study the crime scene photos. In a twisted way, the longer he was stuck in the hospital, the more he missed his job and all the struggles that came with it. By the time May rolled around, he was going near stir-crazy. He was well enough to sit up in bed during the day and hobble around the hospital with a walker, but not well enough to be released. He was so tired of staring at the same four damn walls that when he heard that Beverly Katz was coming to visit, he actually looked forward to it. Granted, Beverly was the nearest he had to a true friend besides Hannibal. But looking forward to a situation where he would have to be sociable…well, he couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

When Beverly arrived, she stopped outside Will's room and rapped on the doorway, giving him a genuine smile when he looked up and saw her. A member of the FBI's forensics team, Beverly specialized in fiber analysis, as well as avoiding Jack's wrath and translating the spats between fellow team members Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price into fluent English. What Will appreciated the most about her was that she didn't treat him like a fragile little teacup or a petulant child. Her interactions with him gave him a sense of normalcy, no matter how delusional that sense might be.

Beverly leaned against the door frame. "Hey, Graham. Looking good. Or I should say, looking better, because last time I was here, you looked like death."

The corners of Will's mouth twitched up into a faint smile despite himself. "Good to see you too, Katz."

Beverly entered and stopped by the age of his bed, her arms crossed casually over her chest. "I just wanted to drop by and see how you're doing. Jack and Hannibal are fine and all, but I'd go crazy if they were my only human contact."

"They're not my only contact. Abigail and Alana visit sometimes, too."

Will knew that wasn't the point of what she'd said, and Beverly knew that he knew, so she merely raised an eyebrow and moved on.

"Brian and Jimmy send their love. They'd come to visit, but Jack has us running around like chickens with our heads cut off." Beverly bobbed her head at him. "How much you know about the case?"

Will sighed. "Not as much I'd like." He looked up and almost made eye contact with her, but settled on the bridge of the nose between her eyes, instead. "They won't let me see the crime scene photos."

Beverly whistled. "Bummer. The most recent one, with the flowers? It was pretty sick."

Will huffed, almost a laugh.

A sudden smirk spread across Beverly's face. "Speaking of flowers...I hear you and Dr. Lecter are soulmates."

Will flushed and immediately looked away. "Uh, yeah."

"Dude. You got hella lucky. Sure, he's not everyone's type, and he's a little eccentric, but a hot, rich, older doctor?" Beverly grinned at him. "Damn, Graham, you've got game."

Will was sure that every visible inch of his skin was red. "Bev—"

"I didn't come up with that last bit, by the way. Can't take credit. That was all Jimmy. Ooo, I bet Lecter's house is ostentatious as hell. Just look at his suits. Are you going to move in together?"

"I…" Will frowned. "Uh, we haven't really discussed it?" Were they supposed to have discussed things like that? He hadn't really thought about the logistics of their soulmate bond before, nor could he remember Hannibal bringing it up. Sure, Will had been in the hospital, but he had no idea what regular soulmate protocol was — maybe they should have discussed it already. God, was Hannibal waiting for him to bring it up? Or was Hannibal's silence on the matter evidence that he didn't expect either of their lives to change? The thought made Will feel oddly empty.

"Will!" Beverly waved a hand in front of his face, and he jolted backwards, away from her intrusion upon his personal space. "Earth to Will. Did you hear any of what I just said?"

He considered lying for a split second before he shook his head no. "I, uh...might've missed most of it. Or all of it."

Beverly snorted, but she didn't look genuinely annoyed. "I said, it's okay if you don't have a response to any of my questions yet or if you don't want to answer them. You looked like you were going to have another stroke at the thought. Look, soulmate bonds take time to work out, okay? It's not as if they come with an instruction manual. I'm just being nosy. Besides, there's no question that Dr. Lecter is absolutely infatuated with you, so there's no need to worry."

Will blinked several times in quick succession. "What?"

A disbelieving grin spread over Beverly's face. "Oh my god. You really haven't noticed? And here I thought you were supposed to be our best profiler." She chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, and this time he didn't flinch away. "Don't worry about it, dude. He definitely likes you. But if you're really that concerned, just talk to him about it, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Um, thanks."

"Don't mention it." Beverly winked at him. "I do, however, reserve the right to ask for details in the near future." Upon his half-hearted glare, she said, "What? Too soon?"