AUTHOR'S NOTE: I cross-post here (FFN), Archive Of Our Own (AO3), and Wattpad as alexanderavery998. If you find my fics anywhere else, please let me know, because that means they have been stolen and reposted without my permission.

This Christmas fic was inspired by a poorly-designed holiday mug (to see a picture of it, Google the Buzzfeed article, "18 Tragic Christmas Designs that Deserve to Be Loudly Booed" from 1 Dec. 2018 and scroll down to #4) that looks like it was found at the scene of a murder, because what screams Hannibal more than that? This fic was supposed to be a one-shot originally, but I'm seriously considering writing a continuation of this world in another fic, so if you would be interested in that, please let me know! As always, I love any and all reviews I get. Hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays :)

~ ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS ~

If anybody had told Will a year ago that he would soon share legal guardianship of a teenage daughter and be in a serious romantic relationship with his unofficial psychiatrist, he would have laughed them all the way to the nearest mental hospital.

And that was without the serial murder, encephalitis, and cannibalism.

Yet here he was in Hannibal's living room on Christmas Day, a fire crackling in the cavernous fireplace and a huge Christmas tree in the corner. He felt a little guilty about leaving his dogs, but he'd gotten Beverly to take care of them after Hannibal convinced him to stay the night. It made heat pool in his abdomen just thinking about it: the Christmas Eve dinner, Hannibal inviting him into bed, how difficult it was to fall asleep with his distracting body heat radiating against his back...

Going into the relationship, Will wasn't sure if he was sexually attracted to men. Now...well, he still wasn't sure, but he knew that he was attracted to Hannibal. That was increasingly obvious. Hannibal had never propositioned him, never expressed an explicit desire for a sexual component to their relationship, but Will had to wonder if it was on his mind. He was too awkward to bring it up to him, though. Besides, it seemed such a minor thing in comparison to the other aspects of their relationship...which was where the serial murder and cannibalism came in.

After Hannibal had discovered his encephalitis and Will had gotten treatment for it, he'd finally put the pieces together. He didn't know why it had taken him so long to realize that Hannibal fit the profile of the Chesapeake Ripper perfectly. Maybe it was the muddying effects of his illness; maybe it was how well-respected Hannibal was in his field, or the distraction of the other cases; maybe it was denial.

Will didn't want to admit that a not-insignificant part of it was denial.

The truth of the matter was that Will had never found a person who understood him so fully and accepted him for it until he'd met Hannibal. They shared legal guardianship of Abigail Hobbs far before their relationship moved out of platonic territory, and they both felt paternal towards her. Hannibal willingly took care of his dogs, made him chicken soup when he was sick, and kept his home open to Will at all hours of the day or night. He didn't see anything wrong with him, even after Will admitted to active murder fantasies (although that part made sense in retrospect, in several ways). Hannibal was his paddle. Hannibal was his friend. He didn't want to give that up.

But it wasn't just that. Hannibal understood him, but Will also understood Hannibal. He knew what made the Ripper tick, why he did what he did, and when the pieces fell together, Will had a moment of clarity unlike any he'd ever had. He understood him, he empathized with him, and, for the first time, he saw Hannibal fully. Will wanted to be repulsed by what he saw, but he wasn't. Just as he wasn't repulsed when he found out that Abigail had killed Nicholas Boyle, or that Hannibal had helped her hide the body, or that Hannibal had killed Tobias Budge. Just as Will wasn't repulsed, even as every fiber in his body screamed that he should be, when he found out that Abigail had helped her father kill those girls — he was upset that his two deepest connections in life were with killers (after all, what did that say about him?), frustrated that he had been so willfully blind to her darkness, and repulsed by the way that her father had manipulated her, but he was not repulsed by her actual actions.

So finding out that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper was just another discovery that Will should've been repulsed by and wasn't, albeit the hardest one to swallow. It's not every day that you discover that your unofficial psychiatrist, fellow legal guardian of a traumatized teenage daughter, colleague, friend, and closest confidante is actually the cannibalistic serial killer your boss has been trying to track down for the past several years.

Will knew it shouldn't have mattered what his connection to Hannibal was; he should have turned him in right away. He should have gone to Jack Crawford with his suspicions. He should have asked for a warrant to search Hannibal's property. He should have put both Hannibal and Abigail in jail.

There were a lot of things he should have done.

Instead, here he was, curled up on Hannibal's couch, wrapped in one of Hannibal's many soft robes, with a cup of spiced hot coffee in his hands.

It wasn't that Will hadn't tried. With him aware of Hannibal's identity and Hannibal aware of his awareness, a lethal dance had sprung up between them. Will pushed his boundaries to convince Hannibal that he was on his side while planning to tell Jack, and then...he just didn't. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't want either of them gone, especially not Abigail, but not Hannibal, either.

A lot had happened since then (including killing someone with Hannibal for the first time, framing Chilton as the Chesapeake Ripper, and waffling the entire time on whether or not he should tell Jack what he was doing), but in the end, Will had chosen Hannibal.

Maybe he would always choose Hannibal. Though it was possible that in another world he hadn't, he couldn't imagine that now.

Will didn't want to imagine it. He was happy here. That was enough for him.

A gentle but firm hand on Will's shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. It was Hannibal, coming around the couch to sit next to him. His robe was open to reveal a red cashmere sweater and equally soft plaid pajama pants, while his hair was still slightly mussed from sleep. Abigail followed behind him. She was holding a cup of hot chocolate and looked a little apprehensive, but not unhappy. She sat down in the armchair closest to the fire and studied the giant, glittering evergreen tree.

"My family used to get a real tree," said Abigail softly, clutching her cup in her lap. "It was a tradition. My dad...he'd take me to pick it out." She chewed on her lip and smiled fleetingly. "When I was little, I always wanted to pick the least impressive ones because I didn't want them to feel left out."

Will's stomach clenched with sorrow. He sensed more than felt Hannibal's intake of breath before Hannibal said, "Next year, we will take you with us, and you can pick out whichever tree you like."

We. Us. Next year. Will's sorrow morphed into a painful sort of joy.

"C'mon, pick out a present," Will said as lightly as he could. "Kids first."

"I'm nineteen, I'm no longer a kid," said Abigail, but her smile broadened as she set her cup down on the side table and shuffled to the tree.

Will held his breath as Abigail picked up her present from him and looked for a tag. He had bought it for her ages ago, in a fit of distress over a case of young children murdering their families, but in the end, he'd chickened out. It sat on his desk for months, gathering dust. He had considered giving it to her and throwing it away in turns, but finally decided that this Christmas was the time to give it to her.

"That one's for you," he said gruffly.

Abigail looked up, made eye contact with him, and smiled faintly. "Okay."

Abigail sat down on the oriental rug by the tree and tore away the paper. Will watched her apprehensively as she unveiled the fly tying gear and magnifying glass, her brow furrowed slightly in thought. Abigail set the magnifying glass aside. Then she opened the wooden tool kit, skimming her fingers over the shining brass tools embedded in dark red velvet.

"It's fishing gear," Will said, unable to bear the silence. "I thought...I thought I could teach you how to fish. Like my dad taught me." Like your dad taught you how to hunt.

A genuine, albeit bittersweet, smile spread across her face. "Thank you."

Something in Will's chest expanded. He wasn't an overly emotional person, but watching Abigail look through the fly tying kit with open curiosity and gratitude touched a place of him that had long craved for acceptance and family. He found himself blinking suddenly to ward off the tears. As if reading his mind, Hannibal placed a hand on Will's knee and gently caressed it with his thumb. Will wanted to express his happiness, his gratitude, for the easy affection Hannibal showed for him, but he didn't have the words. The best he could do was not pull away and hope that Hannibal understood how big the non-gesture was.

"While you're at it," Hannibal said to Abigail, keeping his hand resting on Will's knee, "the blue present over there is also for you."

The smile that lingered on Abigail's face broadened. "You're spoiling me," she accused as she carefully set the fishing gear aside and picked up the blue present. As soon as it was in her hands, she shot Hannibal a sharper look. "What did you get me? It's really heavy."

Hannibal tsked. "Don't ask. Open it."

Abigail sat back down by the tree, cross-legged, and unwrapped the present more carefully than she had Will's — she must've picked up on the way Hannibal is looking at the mess on the rug, Will thought, equally fond and amused. The wrapping paper was beautiful, dark blue with elaborate gold filigree-like designs, and Hannibal had wrapped it all in a golden bow. When the wrappings fell away, Will glimpsed what was inside: a fine black satchel of some sort.

Abigail looked happy but disbelieving. "Is this...?"

Both of their suspicions were confirmed when Abigail unfolded the satchel, which held an entire collection of quality chef's knives.

"Oh." Her smile was again genuine but bittersweet.

Hannibal smiled back, but something about it made Will think he had been more nervous about the reception of the gift than he was letting on. "Will can teach you how to fish, and then I can teach you how to cook."

Abigail's bittersweet smile morphed into something all the more affectionate and grateful. "Thank you."

She got up from the rug and hugged Hannibal, then Will. Both men held on to their foster daughter longer and tighter than absolutely necessary, as if letting go would lead to losing her. When they finally released her, she stepped back, her grin turning mischievous.

"I have presents for you guys, too."

Abigail made rare eye contact with Will, and they grinned at each other. Hannibal caught this exchange and raised an eyebrow at them but didn't comment, apparently content to let his curiosity be sated through the gifts themselves. Abigail went behind the Christmas tree and came back around with a neatly wrapped cube slightly bigger than a softball, which she handed to Hannibal.

"This one is a joint gift from me and Will," she said.

Hannibal looked between the two of them, warier now as their grins widened. He carefully tore away the wrapping paper and then opened the box, staring down at its contents before pulling it out. It was a ceramic mug, mostly white except for a red splatter design around the bottom half that partially overlapped with the word believe, which was carved into the mug in lowercase letters. When Abigail had sent Will a photo of it, his first impression was that it looked as if it had been found at a crime scene. Will had been calling it "the murder mug" ever since. It amused him to no end that Abigail had actually bought it, and that amusement strengthened tenfold as he watched Hannibal turn it over in his hands. It was immediately clear from the expression on Hannibal's face that he thought it was tacky and cheaply made, but was desperately trying not to look disappointed or ungrateful.

"I saw it and immediately thought of you," Abigail gushed, and Will tried not to laugh outright.

"The red matches your sweater," Will added, covering up his grin with a well-timed sip of hot chocolate.

"It does!" Abigail squealed. "We should get you some hot chocolate to drink with us and then you can use your new mug!"

The corner of Hannibal's eye twitched in disbelief. He looked at Abigail scrutinizingly, and then at Will, who couldn't keep the grin off his face. Hannibal looked as if he was trying to convince himself not to murder them on Christmas. It was just what Will had expected of him. He put a hand on Hannibal's knee. "Have you ever heard of a gag gift?"

"'Gag gift,'" Hannibal repeated, bemused. "No, I don't think I have."

"It's a joke gift." Will saw the lightbulb go off in Hannibal's head as soon as the words came out of his mouth. "Not meant to be taken seriously."

It was both amusing and amazing how visibly Hannibal relaxed, given how subtle his body language always was. He turned the mug over in his hands and smiled at it, looking relieved and still a little disgusted, though at least he likely wasn't contemplating a double murder of his boyfriend and daughter anymore. Will wondered idly if Hannibal was thinking about 'accidentally' breaking it. Neither he nor Abigail would be too upset about it if he did — after all, the mug had been pretty cheap, and it really was unfortunately designed.

"I wasn't lying when I said I saw it and immediately thought of you," said Abigail, grinning as she watched Hannibal's face flicker through the five stages of grief at that statement. "But it was, 'Oh my god, Hannibal would hate this' and not 'This is just what he would want!'"

Hannibal's lip quirked, and he glanced at Will. "Yet you said it was from both of you?"

"I may have encouraged her to get it. The faux blood splatter is what sold me. We've been referring to it as 'the murder mug.'"

The sound that Hannibal made was somewhere between a chuckle and a snort, though more refined than either of those usually were. Hannibal placed the mug back in the box. "What is the saying for this particular situation? 'It's the thought that counts'?"

Will snorted, while Abigail laughed outright.

"Don't worry, I have actual presents for you, as well." Abigail grabbed two more packages from under the tree and passed one each to Will and Hannibal.

While Abigail was standing up, she passed out the rest of the gifts, and they got to opening up everything. Abigail gave Hannibal a cookbook of traditional Indian cuisine, which Will found amusing because Hannibal had almost no tolerance for spicy food, though Hannibal seemed genuinely grateful. Abigail gave Will some new chew toys for his dogs, and he was genuinely grateful for those, perhaps even more so than if the gift had been explicitly for himself. Will had agonized over his gift to Hannibal for ages — after all, what do you get a man who has the money to buy whatever he could ever want? — but in the end, he bought him a bottle of white wine and some fancy sketchbooks. Hannibal smiled at the wine, but his smile grew much broader and fonder when he unwrapped the sketchbooks. Hannibal took Will's hand and kissed it, murmuring his thanks, while Abigail pretended not to see their display of affection. In return, Hannibal gave Will a complete set of new fishing gear. Not only must it have cost a pretty penny, but Will knew that Hannibal knew nothing about fishing and so must have had to ask a sales person for help in getting everything together. It was both amusing to think about and incredibly, endearingly sweet. The spreading warmth and gratitude Will felt because he had a family to spend the holidays with were back in full force. He squeezed Hannibal's hand and hoped that the gesture could convey what words could not. Thank you, he mouthed. Hannibal's smile was a response in itself.

Once all of the presents around the tree had been unwrapped, Hannibal untangled his hand from Will's and said, "There are a few more presents. Two more, actually."

Hannibal stood up and left the room, coming back a minute later with a small pet carrier. He set it down in front of Abigail, and she gaped at him, looking disbelieving and excited in equal measure. "Are you serious?"

When Hannibal smiled and tipped his head in affirmation, Abigail laughed and opened the pet carrier. A brown and white American pit bull terrier puppy leapt out and covered her in sloppy kisses, its tail wagging so vigorously that its entire body wiggled.

"Oh my gosh, where did you get him?"

"Will rescued her from a puppy mill," Hannibal said, still smiling, as he sat down again.

Will smiled back and felt his stomach swoop as Hannibal intertwined his fingers with his. Killing the man who ran the puppy mill and feeding his meat to the dogs he'd abused was particularly satisfying, but even more so with Hannibal by his side, tracking his every move with a heated gaze that sent shivers down his spine and heat pooling in his lower abdomen. It was yet another one of those moments where Will should've felt a conscience telling him that what they were doing was wrong, that he was a terrible person who should have locked Hannibal (and himself) away forever. Instead, he'd laughed and nearly kissed Hannibal, but at the last moment hugged him tight instead and then laughed some more when their plastic suits squeaked at the contact.

Meanwhile, in the present, Abigail's gaze had softened considerably as she cradled the puppy to her chest. "What's her name?"

"That's up to you," said Will. "We've just been calling her 'girl.'"

"In English and Lithuanian," Hannibal added, giving a rare smile that included teeth.

"And occasionally French, because two can play that game," said Will playfully, bumping Hannibal with his shoulder. "Though of course you would know French, too."

Their flirtatious moment was lost on Abigail, who bit her lip and held the puppy close to her. Something very serious had settled in her expression. "I think I'll name her Marissa," she said softly.

Will's stomach clenched again, and Hannibal had the decency to look regretful.

"That is a lovely name," Hannibal said, and Will released a quiet breath when he heard how sincere he sounded. "I am sure she would find it a fitting tribute."

Abigail nodded, clearly blinking back tears, and ducked her head, not looking at either of them. "Thank you for the present." Her voice was choked and unsteady.

Quiet settled over them for several minutes. Abigail's new puppy curled up in her lap and yawned, showing tiny little sharp white teeth. Abigail petted her and scratched behind her ears as she regained her composure. Eventually, when her eyes were dry again and her voice was steady, she cleared her throat and looked up at them. "What's the second present?"

Hannibal smiled, gave Will a very soppy look, and put his hand on Will's knee again. "The second present is for Will."

Abigail pretended to gag. "Ew, gross."

Will raised an eyebrow at him. "What is it?"

"I can only tell you that I will give it to you tonight, when we're alone."

"Double gross!"

And with that, the atmosphere in the room felt lighter. Abigail and Will cleaned up the bits of wrapping paper and then played with the puppy, while Hannibal went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Will was able to keep Hannibal's "present" out of his mind with only a little bit of difficulty, but he was sure that he would obsess about it later as soon as he wasn't in front of Abigail. Indeed, after a perfect breakfast of homemade pancakes, eggs, and bacon (the cannibalism was yet another thing that should've freaked Will out but didn't — really, how could it be more than a passing disturbance on his conscience, when all of Hannibal's food tasted so good, and Hannibal was going to kill people regardless?), he began to wonder about it as soon Abigail left the room.

"So...I find myself curious about the nature of my present," Will said carefully as he dried the dishes that Hannibal washed and passed to him.

Hannibal smiled. "Not fond of surprises?"

"Depends on the surprise."

Hannibal turned partially from the sink, just enough to study Will's face. "I cannot promise you anything, but I hope that it will be a pleasant one and not disagreeable."

Will rubbed his eyes. "Please just tell me you didn't buy me a Lamborghini or something."

Hannibal chuckled. "I didn't buy you a Lamborghini."

"Good."

Will relaxed a bit, but he was still a little apprehensive. Despite Abigail's jokes earlier, which Hannibal had subtly gone along with, he knew that Hannibal would not give him a present that was something as crude as sex; he was far too meticulous about giving thoughtful gifts to do anything except joke about that kind of thing, even if he would also gladly give or take sex. So that meant that he'd probably gotten Will something exorbitantly expensive, which he had already done with the full set of fishing gear, and Will didn't know how to respond to having so much money spent on him.

Thankfully, Will was able to take his mind off of it for most of the rest of the day. Most of it was taken up by puppy-proofing Abigail's room, the kitchen, the hallways, and the general living area with things that Will got from his house in Wolf Trap, and of course, he fed his dogs and let them out while he was there. The rest of the day was spent helping Hannibal cook dinner and then sitting around the fire with glasses of wine.

In the early evening, Abigail disappeared up to her room and left them alone in the living room. Will was relaxed enough that he was no longer concerned about what his present would be, even as they finished their wine and stood together by the window, watching as thick flakes of snow began to fall. Will made a mental note to ask Beverly if she could check on his dogs again whenever possible. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Hannibal turned to him and spoke.

"Do you believe in fate, Will?"

"I don't know if I'd call it 'fate.' But sometimes I think that everything that can happen will happen. That there are an infinite number of other worlds, where every possible outcome comes to fruition. So if that's true, you can't ever do the wrong thing. We're all just doing what we're supposed to do. I suppose some people would call that inevitability 'fate.'"

"That kind of mentality allows you to never take proper responsibility for your actions."

"So does fate, Doctor Lecter."

If anybody else had sassed Hannibal like Will did on a regular basis, they would've gone in his rolodex. But Hannibal just smiled and chuckled.

"I can never entirely predict you," Hannibal said fondly, "and more than that, it seems as if I can never entirely predict myself when I'm with you." He paused, then continued, softer this time, "I had planned to take you to Italy. Show you around Florence. Stroll down the quays of Venice and taste every local cuisine Italy has to offer. Then I would take you to the Norman chapel in Palermo and show you where my memory palace began."

Will frowned faintly, unsure of where Hannibal was going with this. "And now...?"

"Now...I cannot imagine a world in which I wait a moment longer." Hannibal got down on one knee and pulled out a ring box. "Will Graham...will you marry me?"

Will's legs felt weak, his breath punched from his lungs.

Oh.

OH.

This was the present that Hannibal had alluded to earlier, that had to wait until they were alone.

"Hannibal…" Will breathed, reaching out to grasp Hannibal's hands around the ring box. He didn't know if he could force any other words from his lips beyond his partner's name, but that was okay, because Hannibal seemed content to do all the talking, the words spilling from him almost anxiously even as his earnestness was evident:

"I know we have not been together for very long, but my life has been irrevocably different since you entered it, and I want you to continue to be a part of it for as long as I live. I want to be wherever you are. Whatever you are comfortable with giving, I will be content. We can stay exactly as we are, if you wish. As long as you are in my life—"

"Yes."

Hannibal stopped, mouth partway open, his eyes wet and shining in the lowlight. He looked as if he had finally seen the face of God through Will and could die happy.

"Yes," Will repeated, firmer now, Hannibal's earnestness loosening his tongue, and in the aftermath of his relief, he actually laughed, clutching Hannibal's hands tighter. "Yes, I will marry you. God, Hannibal, where else would I go?"

"You have everywhere to go," Hannibal said, his voice thick with emotion.

Will squeezed his hands. "I'm not going anywhere. In fact..." He felt an awkward flush creep up his cheeks, but he pushed through it. "May I kiss you?"

Hannibal was on his feet in a flash. Their lips met an instant later, and it was better than Will had let himself imagine it might be, even with Hannibal's hands occupied with the ring box so it wouldn't be dropped in their rush. Will clutched at Hannibal's hips, pulling him closer, and Hannibal responded in kind by kissing him harder. When they finally pulled apart, they were both a little out of breath. Hannibal's hand shook the tiniest bit as he slipped the smooth silver band on Will's ring finger and lifted his hand up to kiss it. Then Hannibal pressed their foreheads together, running his thumb lightly over Will's ring again and again. "Merry Christmas, Will," he whispered, sounding choked up.

Will felt as choked up as Hannibal sounded, and in that moment, he had never been more glad that he had chosen Hannibal over Jack or whatever else he was "supposed" to do. He squeezed Hannibal tightly to himself and tried not to cry. "Merry Christmas."

Will was where he was meant to be, here with Hannibal, and that...well, that was all he could've ever wanted for Christmas.