AN - So I had to step away from the story for a bit to really think about where I wanted to go with it and what I wanted it to do. I have a plot in mind, one I enjoy and that will honestly believe will be enjoyed by others.
The way I had been writing 'Adam' up to this point had been heavy driven by comments and reactions to the story, however, that said I still wanted to keep it to some closeness of who Will Graham is or in this case was.
Which is phenomenally hard given that Adam is the darkness of Will brought to life without his all consuming fear and hatred. He's the Will that doesn't remember he fears becoming the monsters because he has forgotten who he is. What he does remember are all the monster's he's been forced to look at over the years and nightmares that had haunted him for decades and those are crawling to the forefront to influence the darkness and feed it, growing the monster that already lived within Will but he was too ashamed of feared realizing lived within him.
Anyway, point is I went over a large portion of the story and re-wrote the second half of this about eight times before I finally settled on this.
Everett_Harte, thank you for helping me figure out where the hell I was gong with that and helping me realize there was nothing wrong with what I was doing with this chapter or the story. This fic, for all the help you've given me with it since chapter one, is yours~3 Thanks darling~3 3 3
I own nothing.
Re-written eight times.
Not Beta Read.
OoOoO
Chapter 05
If Hannibal were to describe the farm house for which Will Graham resided, he would have called it quaint.
The house, though large, only seemed to hold evidence of Will's existence within the three main rooms; living room, kitchen and bathroom, the reminder of the home appearing to be at the entire disposal of his pack.
And he did have a pack.
Even from where he stood at the foot of the bed located peculiarly in the living room along with his dresser, Hannibal could see the many shades and lengths of dog hair that saturated every surface of the house.
The numerous dog beds only confirmed this.
It was almost enough to have the killer returning to his car for one of his plastic murder suits, just so that he might spare the borrowed charcoal two-piece from dander and hair.
Though the newly acquired knowledge did offer further insight toward Adam's love for the four legged creatures and his rescue of the mongrel now resting at one of the local animal hospitals, it more importantly allowed Hannibal a clearer understanding to what extent Will Graham had resurfaced in that moment of rescue.
He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the profiler's moment of return.
It was a thought to be further explored another time at his leisure, though resting his Adam was waiting. He would only have so much time to explore the little farm house before he was forced to hurry home to his fevered darling.
Approaching the dresser next he opened the first drawer to reveal an abundance of night wear in the form of cotton pull over shirts and boxer briefs. A glance to the salt stained bed sheets made stale with sweat and the lingering scent of fear offending his olfactory offered more than enough explanation for that.
Will suffered from night terrors, enough so to warrant an entire drawer of fresh night clothes at the ready to prevent himself from getting a chill during the night.
Further exploration revealed a multitude of fresh thread bared sheets, all of them stained with rings of sweat from years of suffering.
Such a curious reveal, he wondered if perhaps his Adam would also suffer the sheet ripping nightmares his counterpart had endured or if perhaps he would find a remedy toward their horrors in the comfort of the blood that soaked his hands.
Only time would tell; but Hannibal hoped to have a front row seat.
Venturing further into the home Hannibal found himself exploring the profiler's small kitchen, opening cupboards to examine cans of beans, instant coffee and bags of soft overripe potatoes with distaste, his refrigerator containing little more than a carton of milk and bag of frozen vegetables. It reinforced his suspicions that Will's eating habits were near non-existent.
Stepping over one of the many dog beds as he returned to the living room he began to wonder the whereabouts of the profilers pack. Either someone had collected the dogs to care for the beasts during their master's absence or they had been carted off to a kennel until the time of Will's return.
He stopped before a hobby desk, the large wooden structure set before the largest window in the living room, providing the profiler with the most natural light for his hobby. He hummed his approval as he examined the beautiful pieces laid out and took a seat before the craft.
His Adam's other half made fishing lures. The desk littered in small organized piles of brightly colored feathers, bones and bits of string. A small case set to the side containing dozens of small sharp hooks. They were deadly lovely things that reminded him of the man who had made them, his darling Adam as beautiful, alluring and deadly as the small bits of craft which he designed.
Selecting a feather nearly the shade of blood he laid it to the neck of an incomplete lure, the delicate curl of feather bending the hide the deadly point of the hook amongst its beauty. "Lovely," he smiled to himself, winding a length of string around its stem to hold the plume secure. A knot and a cut and it was complete, a deadly piece of art created by his sleeping William and completed by his own hand, much as his Adam would be.
A creature crafted by the darkness lurking within the depths of Will's mind to be honed into a master and completed by Hannibal.
He touched his thumb to the hidden point, testing it's sharpness with a gentle press to feel the give of skin as the point pushed through the callous of his thump. The barest tilt of smile pulled his lips as he watched blood swell into a perfect ruby pearl around its tip, he took the bead of offering into his mouth and sucked the salty drop of copper to dance over his tongue, slipping the hook into his pocket just as the front door closed.
Cursing himself for the carelessness of losing himself in the serenity of his surroundings Hannibal turned to greet the new arrival with a curious look, slipping the desks crafting knife up his sleeve for a quick and easy kill.
"Hannibal?" A soft familiar voice questioned as the tall and beautiful Alana Bloom entered the dingy farm house, looking as out of place in its design as Hannibal. She was dressed in a beautiful dark grey jacket tapering at the waist to swell with her hips and offer a shape to her slender frame Hannibal could appreciate, bringing with her a certain light to fill the room even in her state of obvious distress.
"Alana," he pushed the blade farther up his sleeve, the implement of death not needed for this lamb, "what are you doing here?"
Dark brow furrowing she turned to meet his approach, "I was about to ask you the same thing." Not a quip, not a demand, a simply curious approach offered with the trust that came with meeting an old friend and colleague under peculiar circumstances. He had always liked Alana Bloom, her clever mind sharp and just as lovely as the form that held it, yet still so easy to mold just like all the other sheep had been.
"Agent Crawford of the FBI has requested my services for profiling until Will Graham's return. Since it's suspected that he was investigating the Angel Maker before his disappearance I thought it might be best if I were to start here." He explained away his presence in a lie of smoke and mirrors, watching like a beast hidden in the shadows as the lovely brunette stepped into world of his illusion and lose herself within, "Were you friends with Mr. Graham?"
He watched her eyes, beautiful blue orbs far truer to the oceans depths than his Adam's storm grey, as they began to water, taking on a shine that made them even more-lovely to behold. As the opening came he was quick to make his approach acting as a friend, feigning concern as he took her by the shoulders in an act of comfort he did not feel, "Alana?"
She closed her eyes to fight the tears, beautiful painted lips drawing into a tight line as the little crystals rolled to leave a line down her cheek, "I'm sorry," she took a breath, "we were, we are engaged." Swallowing with a throat made tight with sorrow, an effort to collect herself, she worked to blink away the tears.
Hannibal wondered what it was to harbour such emotions. He knew compared to the beautiful creature before him what he felt would be far closer to that of a desert. His oasis of emotion long since dried with the death of his darling Mischa. Though something had begun to stir within him with the unexpected arrival of Adam, another like himself; it was something he hadn't known he needed and now would never let go.
"I'm so sorry Alana." She took another shaky breath as Hannibal helped her to one of the many dog hair saturated chairs, taking a seat across from her in another act of comfort.
She truly was beautiful when she cried.
"Its fine," she swallowed again, clearing her throat as she turned still watery eyes toward the doctor, "You're here investigating? What is it that you're looking for?"
He watched her, the careful control she exuded as she worked to keep herself in check, to stop the tears and hold herself steady, "Are you sure this is something you wish to discuss Alana?" He took her hand into his own, circling his thumb almost intimately along over the fine bones of her hands as he met ocean blue eyes.
"I'm fine," the tremor of her voice said otherwise, "I want to help in any way I can." She smiled and it was with a strength she drew on to push forward, one he had admired in her since the day they'd met.
Nodding he conceded to her wishes, his own curiosity strong enough to have him yield. "I'm trying to discover who William Graham was. I believe a better understanding of the person may help me discern his motives and possible last movements before his disappearance."
She frowned, lovely full painted lips drawing down, "Why are you trying to track Will's motives? Should you be focusing on the killer?"
A moment of quiet passed between them, the dying wind of the storm outside their only break to the silence, as though Hannibal were trying to work toward the courage to tell her a hard truth. Truth or not, it was something he knew the woman wouldn't wish to hear. "The killer has been found." He explained, earning a look of utter confusion from Alana.
"If the killer's been found then…" So strong, Hannibal thought as he watched her swallow back her fear, force her tongue to form the question he so wished to hear, "then where's Will?"
"I'm sorry Alana, but that's why I'm here. William is still missing. Though we found the body of the killer, we have yet to discover William's." This time she did cry. Shoulders quaking in a silent sob as she was forced to work through the onslaught of information provided.
He took her into his arms, allowing the salt of her tears to wet his shoulder as she cried. "I will do everything in my power to find him for you Alana. We must hope for the best."
"Oh God, no, no it's worse than that Hannibal." She sniffed into his shirt, "he's sick."
And wasn't that interesting. "Sick?" He encouraged her to continue, soft circles smoothing into the rough wool of her jacket as he rubbed her back. "What do you mean?"
She was looking for the words, he could feel it beneath his hands in the softly shuttering breaths and calming of her tears, he was trying to find Will, trying to help her and she wanted him to succeed. "We don't know." She began, but didn't stop, "he's been running a fever for a couple of days, possibly weeks." She sounded bitter about it, a fight they had shared no doubt in regards to his health and personal disregard for it, "Jack was pushing him so hard on the Ripper case and more recently the Angel Maker. He pushed him on any serial killer whose case made it to his office with total disregarded to Will's health." Another breath and she pulled away again, angry at Jack and Will and herself for allowing it, she stayed within the confines of his arms while allowing enough space between them for composure.
"He was scheduled for a CT scan." She continued, voice steadying, "I caught him following something with his eyes more than once around the house, that was before he started hearing things in the walls. The cries of animals stuck in the chimney…I didn't discover the fever until he was so far gone…"
"You are not responsible for this Alana. Do not allow yourself to feel as though you need to take the blame." He wondered how long it would be before his Adam began revealing to Hannibal these signs, or if perhaps he already had…
He wondered what it was he had watched within his basement that night.
"I'm his fiancé! I'm supposed to be on top of this!" She berated herself, "He was working so many hours, I hardly saw him outside of work." She could have been making excuses for herself, she could have been explaining to Hannibal why it had taken her so long to see. Either way it had led to the loss of Will Graham and his gaining Adam. "I pushed him to make an appointment for a brain scan after finally convincing him after weeks to take one night off of work and stay over." She shook her head at the memory; it would have been the beginning of their fight. "He woke up to a night terror, that's when I finally noticed the fever." The hint of a scowl confirmed his suspicions of a disagreement between them. "We fought for almost an hour before I finally got the truth of how sick he really was out of him. We made an appointment the following day for the scan."
"May I ask how long ago this all happened? Did he make it to his scan?" For the look she had to answer he might as well have asked if she'd put a gun to his back.
"His scan was set for Monday. I made the appointment Friday morning." She turned her attention to the ring on her finger, modest but nice. He would have bought her a bigger diamond. "Our last conversation was a fight. I told him to call in sick and stay home. Jack said he needed him to work because people were dying." Silence fell, a sense of shame, "he went to work."
"And you offered him an ultimatum to protect him." She nodded, the movement barely there, "to stay home and get better or take a break from your relationship until he did."
"I should have been sterner. I should have forced it." She said with shaking breaths, "If I had put my foot down and told Jack no myself he would still be here." She blamed herself entirely, regretted her parting words and wishing for other endings, ones she would never see.
Alana truly was beautiful when she cried.
He wondered if Will would cry if he were to see her, or if Adam would laugh and drink her tears because she would never see William again.
OoOoO
Returning to an empty home had never been any reason for concern for Hannibal in the past; he welcomed his solitude, the killer having a deep enjoyment for his privacy. However when he returned home to find his bed cool and the body that should have been warming it during his absence missing he couldn't' help the touch of concern that shifted through him at the prospect of Will's return.
If this was simply another of Adam's wonderings, the man refusing to remain where Hannibal left him for any amount of time, then he was would be forced to buy a tracker and sew it under his skin. He wouldn't want to lose his stray because he decided to go wondering would he?
Leaving the bedroom he checked the bathroom, study, library and kitchen before moving toward the only room in the house his darling had shown any real interest. His worry dissipated when he opened the door to find the lights. A sense of excitement filled him when the thick scent of copper touched his olfactory.
He made the decent into the basement on silent feet, taking each step with quiet pursuit as he made his way to the bottom, walking the short distance from the stairs to the fridges. He found his Angel standing like a god at its center.
"What are you doing Adam?" He came to stand behind him, taking his Angel around the waist to examine the work that struggled before them, the still living corps of a man soon to be dead writhing in pain on the medical table as he was slowly taken apart.
"He hurt the dog," his Angel explained with a coolness Hannibal recognized from himself as he mimicked his kill of the Wound Man with an amateur hand. "I like dogs," he furrowed his brow, "it's one of the only things I know that comes from me." He selected another knife from a line of blades set neatly to one side, a serrated six inch blade from one of the many cardboard boxes from target piled by his freezer.
Adam had gone shopping.
And then he'd gone hunting.
He examined the blade in hand, turning it to inspecting the gleam of steal in the yellow artificial lights overhead before touching it to the man's thigh, "This isn't me," He pushed it through muscle with a slow firm press, watching the man strain against the five point restraints that held him to the surgical table, "but it's in my head, clearer than anything else hidden in the fog of my mind, I can see this man easier than I can see myself." Another knife, another point to flesh, Hannibal took his hand to re-direct to a better angle, an easier cut through the tough muscle.
It made his pulse race to watch this beautiful creature kill in such a way.
"You mentioned before that you felt as though you had a swarm living within you, making up your insides like a mosaic. Is what you are doing now from one of those pieces?" He knew it was. So many interesting facts were coming to light. Though he had known Will to be pursuing the Ripper, he had not known to what extent that pursuit had been. It was becoming clearer now, to see the depth in which his empathy had taken him in trying to understand Hannibal as the Ripper, to profile, hunt and catch him as he sought his prey.
Adam drove another knife home. Hannibal's hand still set gently atop his own to feel the breach of skin around steel and watch the man twist as he was flooded by pain.
He opened the drawer on the tables side and selected a scalpel, "Not a piece, no. This one is more consuming. When I was fighting for my life I had become the Angel Maker, mimicking as much of his murders without knowing that was what I was doing until I had seen the photos from that folder. He was a shadow to the vastness of the night sky. This darkness is consuming me."
A galaxy without stars.
When Will Graham had lost sight of himself he had been so tightly wound around the Ripper that the monster had stayed, crouching in the darkness to crawl into the forefront of his mind and spread like a disease.
His empathy wasn't only working against him, it was exacerbating the killer living in his head, pushing him away from the fear and anxiety he had seen so clearly in the photo depicting Will Graham's life and toward the chaos of the ripper.
A puzzle missing all the right pieces and being remade with the cut outs Hannibal pushed in their place.
Adam slid the scalpel in a near perfect line to replica Hannibal's own; the incision was shallow, needing to be run along by the blade a second time to breach the flesh with the delicate cut. "It's you isn't it?" he rolled up his sleeve, pushing the flesh apart with blood soaked hands and reached inside the warm body to take the organ of choice in hand and dragged it from the cavity. "You know who I was before this, don't you?" Jerking the liver clear he severed it from the flesh. "That's where you went, isn't it? To look at the life I left behind?"
He dropped the liver on his chest to watch him scream around the gage.
Hannibal wanted to bend the clever boy over the table and take him from behind.
"Why makes you think that?" He wouldn't deny it, there was no use in lying to his Angel, he had already come to accept him; furthermore, he needed him to survive. Still lost wondering the forest of his own mind.
A laugh, airy light from the man dripping blood within his arms, "There's no way you went grocery shopping for four hours just to pick up a piece of chicken, especially when I know you prefer soylent green." The screaming, if possible, became more frantic from Adam's captive.
He couldn't help the smile that pulled thin lips as he was ousted, kissing a tender path against the smooth skin of neck, "Clever boy."
"You give me too much praise."
"I don't believe I give you enough." He tugged the scalpel from bloody fingers, laying the medical equipment aside to instead press another serrated knife into his hand, guiding him to touch the blade above the man's heart.
He wanted to see him kill, to watch the light vanish completely from his victims eyes by Adam's – Will's – hands entirely. "Tell me Adam, how does this make you feel?"
His stormy eyes did not stray away from those of the pig who was about to be slaughtered, did not avert from the pain he read so deeply within the open windows of his soul. This thing who hurt puppies for the pleasure of it, the power that it gave him, who he had found disposing of another small furry body, too far gone to save, he would watch the life be snuffed from him as he had stolen it from so many before him. "Righteous." He slid the blade home, felt the scrape of metal against bone and the tremor of life disappearing beneath his fingers.
Hannibal felt longing and pride.
"You feel righteous because the world will be a better place without him in it." He turned his Adam away from the table, bringing the slightly smaller man to face him in his arms. "You enjoy it because there is a seed deep inside you that my enjoyment feeds, the beginning of your own darkness fed by mine and you fertilize it with the recreations of art." He pulled him closer for a kiss, pressing their bodies together as one, the blood spray to have ruined Adam's still new clothes now soaking into Hannibal's borrowed own. "I look forward to the day when you finish your re-creation of self and make your own design."
The day of Adam's rising would come, the terror and art of his killings painting history as Hannibal's own had left a mark on the world. He would see him to completion if it meant keeping him strapped to a bed and sedated for years as he slowly worked the profiler free from his Adam's mind.
Will Graham would never see the light of day again.
OoOoO
TBC