A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read this. :)
The hospital waiting room was too hot. Hannibal considered removing his jacket as he waited for Will. He felt impatient, irritable. He checked his watch, then felt anger that it had only been three minutes since the last time he had glanced at it.
He wasn't particularly concerned about what Will was telling the doctor. Hannibal had been sure to make some carefully worded threats about Alana Bloom before they arrived. They had agreed on a story in which Will had been sleepwalking outside and fallen.
Hannibal rather thought that Will might have kept quiet anyway. In a strange way, Will felt that he owed Hannibal for saving his life, however unconventional the way in which it had happened was. If Hannibal understood Will as well as he was sure he did, Will's next step would be to try to 'fix' Hannibal and persuade him to turn himself in.
The whole thing would be deliciously amusing.
He couldn't quite explain why he felt so irritated. The truth was, he wanted to be with Will. He wanted to comfort him when the doctors hurt him. He was used to his role as Will's source of support, and he enjoyed it.
Alana arrived in a cloud of perfume. She looked flushed, as though she had been rushing.
"Hannibal," she said briskly, removing her gloves, "how is he?"
"His ankle is badly broken," Hannibal replied. "It will take several weeks to heal."
"Jack's going to love that." She paused, then fixed him with a hard look. "How come you found him?"
"He called me when he managed to make his way back to his house."
She didn't ask the question, but he could see it lurking in her eyes. Why you?
The doctor pushed Will out in a wheelchair. It was quite an endearing sight. Will looked like an annoyed child, arms folded. Hannibal had retrieved some of Will's clothes during the night while Will had slept, so Will was bundled up in his usual ridiculous layers.
His face brightened slightly when he saw Alana. She squatted down beside the wheelchair. The moment that followed made Hannibal raise an eyebrow. Alana reached for Will's hand and took it gently. He squeezed her fingers, familiar and comfortable with the gesture. They looked at each other, and his eyes were warm behind his glasses.
"How is it?" she asked, looking up at the calm face of the doctor.
"It's a clean break," the doctor said.
"Almost suspiciously so," Will said cheerfully, flashing Hannibal a smile that didn't meet his eyes. Hannibal felt a chuckle rise in his throat. He had to force it back down.
Alana didn't notice. "How long will it take to heal?"
"He needs to be off his feet for several weeks," the doctor said.
"Will is going to stay with me," Hannibal said.
"Why don't you stay with me?" Alana offered, squeezing Will's hand again.
Will smiled grimly, covering her hand with his other hand for a moment. "Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn't want to complicate your life, Alana." His eyes darkened; his voice sounded bitter. He pulled his hand away and, bizarrely, looked at Hannibal. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Very much so," Hannibal said.
Will was quiet in the car on the way back. He was staring out the window, still and calm. Hannibal watched him stroke his chin thoughtfully.
Will was a constant source of wonder to Hannibal. He was utterly interesting. He adapted to situations both brilliantly and terribly. His reaction to this whole situation was both understandable and completely unusual. The total lack of fear he felt was very arresting.
"Would you like to talk about Alana?" Hannibal asked, keeping his voice gentle.
"Don't." The single word was uttered with more venom than Will had used since Hannibal had found him. Hannibal was tempted to keep pushing him, goading him. Part of him wanted Will's anger, his fury. His fear.
He resisted the urge, instead leaving a silence he knew Will would have to fill. He couldn't have explained why he chose to be kind.
"We kissed. She doesn't want to be involved with me. I'm too broken for her." Will rubbed at his face. "I guess this whole thing proves her right, doesn't it?"
"You are not broken, Will."
Will laughed, and it was an unnerving sound. "Forgive me, Doctor, but your good word doesn't mean much to me right now."
That was more like it. There was passion in the words. Hannibal felt himself smiling.
With very little difficulty, he wheeled Will into the kitchen when they arrived back. Will was lost in thought again, eyes glazed and distant. He looked so small sitting in the wheelchair; he looked fragile and helpless. Hannibal again thought of the moment Will had thrown himself at him when he had untied him. His hair had smelled of his own blood, coppery and warm.
"You need to eat some lunch," Hannibal said, tweaking his cuffs automatically.
Will looked at him, his lips turning up in that empty smile he wore so often. "Do you have salad?"
It was liberating, having someone know his secret. Someone clever like Will, who made jokes, who understood, at least on some basic level, was even better.
"If you insist," he replied.
They ate in the kitchen, at Will's request. Hannibal wondered if he was uncomfortable in the dining room now that he was starting to understand it. Hannibal never took his meals in here, and the whole affair felt vague and dreamlike.
Hannibal wondered how often life felt like that for Will.
Will finished first, and Hannibal felt his eyes watching him eat his own salad.
"What is it, Will?" he asked.
Will reached across and covered Hannibal's empty hand. The touch was unexpected, and Hannibal looked at Will before he could completely mask his surprise. Will's fingers were hard and calloused, but his hold was relaxed and gentle.
"Am I just another game to you?" Will asked.
Hannibal settled on honesty, because he thought honesty would disturb Will more than a lie. "You were never just another game."
"Then…" Will swallowed. "Why me?"
"Why not you?" Hannibal didn't mean the question to be flippant. If he was brutally honest with himself, the moment Will had drifted into his life, he had become important. He was the most fascinating creature.
Will laughed, bitterly. He moved his hand away. "Because I'm broken. Because people don't like me. I never say the right thing. I'm creepy."
Hannibal inhaled through his nose, facing Will squarely. Will had such a bleak view of himself. At times, it had been fun to bait him using it. However, seeing him sat with his broken ankle and sad eyes, Hannibal's instinct was to soothe him. He was unused to this feeling, and he wore it uncomfortably. He pushed his salad away and took Will's hands again.
"There is nothing wrong with you."
"I suppose you would think that."
"You are important to me, Will."
Will blinked. "I know that. I know that's why you broke my ankle instead of killing me. I know that, in your mind, that's because I'm important to you. I empathise with that. I just don't understand why I'm important."
"Sometimes it is hard to express why somebody becomes important to us."
Will's face softened for a moment. Was he thinking of Alana? Another emotion flooded Hannibal, and with surprise he realised it was jealousy.
Carefully, but firmly, he gripped Will's jaw. "Am I not important to you?" he breathed.
He watched Will swallow. "You know you are."
"I apologise for breaking your ankle."
"You're not sorry."
"I am sorry you are in pain."
Will leaned forward, closing the space between their faces for the second time that day. He hissed his next words. "You're not. My discomfort fascinates you."
It wasn't just fascinating. It was beautiful. Everything about Will was beautiful, but the way he reacted to pain and suffering was breathtaking.
Hannibal was tempted to tell Will this, to see how he would react.
"You were my closest friend." Will pulled away suddenly, the words choked out.
Hannibal pushed Will towards the guest bedroom. Will didn't argue, didn't resist. "I am still your closest friend, Will."
Will hopped inelegantly out of the wheelchair and onto the bed, looking at his cast with some distaste before looking back at Hannibal.
"Then let me help you," he said.
How predictable. Hannibal shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of the chair, before facing Will. He kept his face impassive. "How would you help me?"
Will reclined against the pillows. His eyes were sad. His eyes were always sad. He took his glasses off and tucked them into his pocket. The gesture seemed absent-minded. He held out a hand to Hannibal.
Hannibal could have resisted the urge to take those fingers and go to Will, but it would have been difficult. Too difficult. Instead, he stepped forward and allowed Will to take his hand. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, their hands clasped delicately. It made Hannibal think of another life, of what might have been.
Will tugged him down onto the bed so they were lying side-by-side. Hannibal wasn't quite comfortable wearing his shoes in bed, but any thoughts he had of mentioning this vanished as Will placed his head on Hannibal's chest.
Hannibal swallowed, looking down at him. There was a great deal of trust in the gesture, trust he knew he didn't deserve. Will was trembling faintly.
"You are afraid of me."
Will shook his head, his curls tickling Hannibal's chin. They were silky, softer than hair had any right to be. "No," he said, pressing his face into Hannibal's waistcoat, the words vibrating pleasantly against his chest. "No. Well. I'm not afraid that you'll kill me and eat me."
"Considering the situation, that is perhaps unwise." Hannibal's hand moved to Will's hair and he ran his fingers through them gently, trying to calm Will down.
"I'm important to you, remember?" Will was trailing the edge of Hannibal's waistcoat with fidgeting, nervous fingers. Hannibal could feel his breath through the material of his shirt; it was hot against his chest.
Rubbing Will's hair with one hand, he tipped his face up with the other hand, holding his chin firmly. Will's gaze was wide-eyed. This was his plan to 'help' Hannibal, then; to show that he trusted him, despite everything. To show Hannibal that there was good in him after all. Hannibal's brow creased. There was no good inside him.
His face must have changed, because Will's did, too- Will's eyes were suddenly dark with what Hannibal could identify as desire.
This was interesting. Although he had always been fascinated by Will, he had never hoped for anything beyond friendship with him. Will didn't let people get close to him in any way, usually; the thought of him allowing more than friendship was hard to understand. But then Hannibal remembered the moment Will had shared with Alana in the hospital, the kiss they had apparently shared.
His hand tightened in Will's hair instinctively, coiling around what he saw as his own.
"Hannibal…" There was fear in Will's eyes now, uncertainty. It aroused Hannibal.
He was going to lose control. This creature in his arms had more power over him than he wanted to admit. The moment he had identified desire in Will Graham's face, Will had become more beautiful than anything he had seen before.
There was something very appealing about being desired by somebody who knew what he was; somebody who knew he should be afraid and repulsed but couldn't resist anyway.
Hannibal stood up, forcing himself to put distance between them. He desired Will, too; he could not deny that. The feelings he had for the boy were complicated, deep. He couldn't lose control. He needed time to plan, to think, before he proceeded further in this.
Will didn't say anything, merely watched from the bed as Hannibal retrieved his jacket and left. His expression was relieved, but he was disappointed, too. Will Graham was proving difficult to predict.