Life happened, this fic got lost in the process. But hey, here's another chapter! Hopefully more to come!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and blablabla.
As usual, Reviews and critiques (I've just now realized the typooooooo omg) are much much much appreciated :)
Enjoy :D
"You do know the coroner's job is exactly the opposite of this, right?"
Will snorted a that remark. He pulled himself up, his hands coming up to remove the oxygen mask and having some difficulties as his fingers were numb from the cold, despite the blanket he found covering him.
"Want to tell me what happened? You're being weird today" said Beverly, a little crease between her eyebrows betraying her worry in her otherwise stoic expression.
"Just today?"
"Well, weirder. You're so much in your own world that you don't hear the phone - don't give me that, we both know you always leave the vibration on - then it takes you an awful lot of time to do your connection thing and then you panic and pass out? Care to share with the class what's up with you today?"
Will had no answers. He scrubbed his eyes tiredly, sighing. Another one of those dreams.
"You're awake."
Both Will and Beverly looked up at the man standing at the entrance of the ambulance, his presence a weight in the crisp air of the small space.
"I'm ok."
"Mh." Crawford glanced briefly at Beverly before settling on Will again. She took the cue and stood up, leaving the two men to themselves.
"What happened there?"
"Nothing, I was just overwhelmed." Will lifted his gaze, meeting his stern stare. "It's him, Jack."
The Guru stayed quiet as he listened intently to the gruesome explanation of the gory exhibition.
"A shot through the heart, you say. And what was the bullet?"
"Something that affected him, which he wasn't expecting, but something he's rejoicing." He took a deep breath, the oxygen mask barely weighting in his hands. "There is almost pride there. This is a celebration."
Jack looked at him, the words visibly settling in. "What could he possibly be celebrating?"
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran through Will's spine.
"Hello Will."
"Hello Doctor Lecter."
Hannibal moved to the side as he kept the door open for Will to enter the study, his eyes following as the man pulled his scarf off and placed it on the sofa, along with his coat.
"Agent Crawford told me you haven't been well today" said the doctor, closing the door and providing intimacy to the conversation.
Will scoffed. "Nobody likes a tattler."
"He thought it would be wise to let me know in advance, given our appointment for tonight."
"Oh, then it's alright!" he replied, the sarcasm not slipping unnoticed.
Hannibal weighted the meaning of his words as he took a seat in his armchair, his eyes never leaving the hunched figure of the disheveled man now looking at the darkness outside of the window.
"Is it Agent Crawford you're angry with? Or is he simply providing a comfortable target for your emotions?"
Will stilled for a second. The truth was that the uneasiness he's been feeling since he had the first dream – vision?- had been running and growing under his skin like a current of static energy, prickling at his senses and not enabling him to be lucid in both his thoughts and work. The blackouts and panic attacks had just been the rotten cherries on top of an already messy cake.
He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and, after a second, slowly went to take a seat in the armchair, facing the doctor.
"I…I had an episode."
Hannibal nodded minutely, acknowledging this confession, his expression not revealing that he'd already guessed as much ever since Jack told him of the events of the morning.
"There was a battlefield. Savages whose skin was tinted with blue patterns, called Woads. A roman carriage with a Bishop. All the Knights, even Dagonet, whose death I have witnessed and already told you about, were there. I was there, and-" Will stopped abruptly, quickly glancing in Hannibal's direction before going back to his clasped hands.
A spark of curiosity glinted in the doctor's eyes.
"Please, continue." His voice gave nothing away, the tone calculated.
"You'll think I'm crazy" Will said in a whisper, barely containing a self-deprecating laugh.
"We've already established that you're not. Your episodes, as you call them, reveal pieces of a time supported by facts and historical proof."
"Still."
Will leaned forward, elbows resting on the knees, his hands coming up to shield his face from Hannibal's gaze. A terse silence settled between them.
Hannibal leaned forward too, eager for those chapped lips to spill the words he longed to hear.
"I can assure you, Will, that nothing you say will be met by derision or judgement." Just a bit more.
"I know that."
"Then what's keeping you from speaking your mind?"
He sighed. "I'm afraid that if I say it out loud, I'll be acknowledging the possibility that all of this is somewhat real, that it isn't only a birth of my messed-up mind, that there is a truth to it all."
He let his hands fall, his eyes slowly coming up to meet Hannibal's. They studied each other for a second that seemed to last a lifetime before Will looked away.
"I'm sorry, but I'm still a bit overwhelmed because of what happened today. It would be best if I went home to sleep it over."
The moment had passed.
Hannibal swallowed the pang of displeasure at seeing Will retreat again into his shell. With the hint of a smile grazing the corner of his lips, he leaned back into the armchair.
"I understand, you must be exhausted both physically and mentally. As a doctor, given today's emotions, I would certainly recommend a good night's sleep. But as a friend I'd rather recommend sharing the burden that's weighting on your mind before you try to rest. That said, I certainly won't pressure you into something you aren't comfortable with."
Will looked apologetic. "I'm sorry about that."
"You don't need to feel sorry, Will. I will be here any time you wish to talk."
"Thank you, Doctor Lecter."
The reassuring shadow of Hannibal's silhouette against the lit windows bid him goodbye as Will walked towards his rental. He hurried up climbing inside and closing the door, the dark sky and chilly air a promise of upcoming snow that he really didn't want to see while on the road. The engine coughed a bit before coming to life, and the steering wheel felt like ice underneath his warm palms as he pulled the car out and onto the road towards his home.
As the doctor's house disappeared in his review mirror, Will let out a long shuddering exhale, his teeth chattering a little.
He felt a bit sorry for cutting the appointment short, wasting the doctor's time, knowing very well what a busy man he was. But what was he supposed to do? Tell Hannibal what had been on the tip of his tongue since the man opened the door and greeted him? Tell him that in the short time of this appointment almost every time Will looked at him, the unmistakable image of Tristan overlapped his like static on a tv screen? That whenever that happened, he could feel the weight of his gaze full of unspoken words? The left-over feeling of his scratching beard against his lips and cheeks? The dull pain and longing like a weight dropping in his heart?
Will shook his head, trying to clear his mind with scarce success, his quickened heartbeat deafening him.
Let's be real, what were the odds that Hannibal too, in a past life, had been a Knight of King Arthur's? That they've fought along in a mystical time and came to find each other centuries later?
"That's impossible. Definitely impossible."
….But what if?