Jack Crawford's insistence that neither of them were in a fit state to drive had not been a surprise. Neither had the repeat appearance of suspicion been when it was announced that he was taking Hannibal home, it seemingly only intensifying when Will, a man renowned for his general dislike of touch, had extended his good hand to the older man, wrapping it firmly around his elbow and helping to ease him to his feet. When his bandaged hand had lightly lingered a fraction too long - by anyone's standards – on Hannibal's side as he'd steadied him once he was upright, Will was certain he had felt Jack's gaze burning holes into the back of his head. It was a near given that at some point suspicion would change to certainty, but the timescale for that change was as yet unclear and it was not a conversation that Will wanted to have let alone looked forward to. That reticence stemmed from several directions, but not least because he had yet to fully establish with Hannibal what they had become to each other, and that was in no small part due to being afraid of what the psychiatrist's answer to that question might be. Will knew what he wanted it to be, and there had been no indication from Hannibal that his feelings were running in anything other than parallel, but short of blurting out something completely inane like 'are we going steady?' over dinner, Will was unsure as to how best to raise the subject. It meant more to Hannibal than simply sleeping together, that much was obvious, but whether the older man shared the depth of feeling that threatened to completely consume Will he wasn't sure. And he wanted to be sure, needed to be sure. It was a conversation, like so many others, for which he simply didn't have the prerequisite social adroitness. It had never bothered him previously, but there had been occasions recently where he wished he had worked a little more at his own social inclusivity growing up, tried harder to blunt the sharp edges and biting sarcasm that now came habitually.
The journey to Hannibal's home had been made in complete silence, and whilst Will understood that the back of a squad car was not the best place to hold any sort of conversation that either of them needed to have, it didn't change that he wanted to talk to the older man if only to stop the unending cycle of thoughts trapped in his head. Budge, Franklyn, Crawford, his own mounting instability. Guilt, so much guilt. That said, the ride had been made infinitely more bearable when Hannibal's hand had purposefully come to rest beside where Will's was pressed into the back seat, bracing himself upright. Sat with closed eyes as he actively tried to combat the combination of pounding headache, vague vertigo and still present tinnitus brought on by his newly perforated ear drum, the side of their palms touched in an overt but still discreet gesture of affection. He hadn't opened his eyes, but sensing Hannibal's gaze alight on him briefly he had tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement and gratitude.
Feeling the car roll to a stop, Will finally prised his eyes open and turned his head to look out of the opposite passenger window, noting with a sense of relief that their journey was complete. So concerned with Hannibal's condition, there had been no nausea en route to his office but it had settled unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach five minutes into this ride, brought on by a combination of adrenaline, pain and stifling heat and not helped by the sedan's lower centre of gravity. Casting his gaze to Hannibal's profile as the officer got out of the car and went to let Will out, he noted that most of the other man's mask was back in place, at least for now, just a slight tenseness in his jaw and fatigue around his eyes betraying the day's events as he withdrew his hand and set about buttoning his suit jacket. Were it not for the blood and bruises, Will would have been hard pressed to tell that it had been anything other than a tiring day at the office. Granted, the younger man was more than familiar with Hannibal's veneer of calm and control, but had he not been privy to the subtle tells otherwise, the extent to which he could regulate his expression would have bordered on being frightening.
Having assured the officer that there was nothing else they required, Will hovered at Hannibal's side as the squad car departed, unsure for a moment quite what was needed of him or what action would be welcomed, at least until the older man glanced at the steps leading up to his front door. Without a second thought, Will slipped his right arm around Hannibal's trim waist and neatly ducked underneath the psychiatrist's left arm when it automatically came up to rest over his shoulders. If the way Hannibal steadfastly avoided putting any more weight on his leg than was absolutely necessary to stay upright was anything to go by, 'somewhat painful' was obviously some sort of Lithuanian code for excruciating agony. Progress up the steps was relatively slow but perfectly steady, the pair acutely aware that if one of them went down it would be a painful experience for both of them given their current, respective conditions. The fact that Will had to go fishing in Hannibal's pants pocket for his house keys once they reached the top would have been highly amusing and no doubt brought a smile to both their faces under different circumstances. Perhaps more of a smirk on Hannibal's face, Will amended as they finally, gratefully, stepped over the threshold.
Securely closing the front door behind them, Will's breath caught in his throat as he turned and sure hands swiftly cupped his face, Hannibal's body crowding him backwards. Demanding lips pressed against his and the younger man readily welcomed them, parting his own slightly to allow Hannibal to lick his way into his mouth and taste him. The kiss was gentle, yet there was no denying the desperate emotions that coloured it, the older man's thumbs lightly stroking his cheeks as he pressed Will up against the door in search of as much contact as he could get.
I was worried you were dead.
The words rang in Will's mind as the kiss continued, his own actions mirroring Hannibal's palpable relief as he slid a hand up the other man's chest and took the fabric of his vest and shirt firmly in his fist to pull him as close as possible, taking his weight, letting it solidly pin him against the wood at his back. There was no lust, no physical need attached to the caress of Hannibal's tongue in his mouth or the hand migrating into his hair, but the embrace was perhaps more intense than any other they had shared as Will allowed the other man to vent the fear and desperation he had felt at the thought of losing him. It touched Will in ways that warmed him to the core despite the circumstances, the fact that the thought of his death had inspired such a deep emotional response in such a normally impassive man. Outwardly impassive man, Will corrected himself, under no illusions that just because Hannibal didn't wear his heart on his sleeve it did not mean that he felt less than anyone else.
Still lightly sliding his tongue against Hannibal's, Will covered the hand resting against his cheek with his own injured one and gave it a gentle squeeze. The action seemed to bring Hannibal back to himself, the older man's eyes opening from where they had been tightly shut. Will met his gaze, held it, communicating his understanding as best he could as he watched the shutters come up within maroon eyes and the emotions were locked away with practiced ease, kiss waning in the process. Hannibal pulled back just enough to speak, his breath warmly ghosting across Will's lips.
"Budge informed me that he had killed two men before coming to my office. I assumed you were one of them,"
Licking his lips and tasting blood, the profiler fleetingly glanced to the older man's mouth and noted that the kiss had reopened the split in his bottom lip.
"I'm alive," Will murmured softly, reaching up to gently swipe his thumb over the beads of red at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. The slightest hint of amusement crinkled the corners of Lecter's eyes at his response.
"So I see," he replied quietly, the micro-expression of amusement morphing into one of physical discomfort and he found himself forced to lean away from Will. "A fact for which I'm extremely grateful."
Will nodded his agreement, not trusting his voice not to break under the weight of the other man's sincerity. Given that he had almost gotten Hannibal killed, the emotions that sincerity evoked were completely dichotomous. Guilt at the consequences of his actions and contentment that Hannibal was glad that he had survived were warring factions that he currently had no idea how to appease without losing himself in the process, one way or another.
"You look like hell. I take it asking a former surgeon if he has a first aid kit is pretty redundant?"
The words were not the ones he wanted to say, but he hoped the softness of his tone compensated for it, this time the tips of his fingers alighting ever so gently on the wound at the other man's mouth. Hannibal's tongue delicately probed at the spot in response, finding the blood still sluggishly welling there.
"Despite my prowess in the kitchen, accidents do occasionally still happen," Hannibal confirmed a touch ruefully, taking a step back but tone matching Will's in a way that indicated to the younger man that he thankfully understood. "There are supplies in the downstairs bathroom,"
Will slipped his arm around Hannibal's waist again, encouraging him to turn as he did so and Hannibal obliged, once more resting his arm over the other man's shoulders but this time because he could more than because he needed to as they headed towards the back of the house and the bathroom.
Pushing open the door and reaching for the light, Will released Hannibal but watched carefully as he moved towards a padded, black wicker chair positioned near the roll-top tub, stiffly removing his jacket as he went before lowering himself in to it with a sigh. There wasn't much in the way of storage and it didn't take a genius to work out that the supplies Hannibal spoke of would have to be kept in the unit underneath the pristine sink. Surprisingly, Will had never used this particular room having instead been directed to the upstairs master bathroom in the early days of their friendship, and now having the run of Hannibal's en-suite. With a monochromatic theme, it was decorated in the same tastefully striking manner as the rest of the house, careful lighting softening the glare that would be otherwise associated with so many white accents and highlights - something for which Will was grateful for as crouching to inspect the contents of the cupboard further aggravated his head. When nothing else appeared to fit the bill, he pulled out a nondescript, compartmentalised black bag.
"What sort of accidents do you occasionally have?" Will queried with raised eyebrows as he took stock of the assorted items his search revealed. He had thought his own first aid provisions to be reasonably extensive, a by-product of his hobbies, but they were nothing when compared to the contents of the bag: dressings; bandages; gauzes; sports strapping; surgical tapes of differing widths and materials; antiseptics in a variety of topical preparations; latex gloves; sterile suture kits. And a number of other things that Will didn't immediately recognise. There were no drugs as such, but Hannibal was too fastidious to leave even over the counter medication in a bathroom that was used by any and all visitors to his home. Assuming, of course, that he ever took anything given how careful he was, by his own admission, about what he put into his body. Will dismissed that thought as quickly as it came; Hannibal might be careful, but he was a doctor and knew the value of appropriate pharmaceutical treatment better than most. There would be painkillers tonight.
"You'd be surprised to learn of the injuries one can sustain in pursuit of the culinary arts," Hannibal offered in response. Glancing towards where he was sat, Will noticed the humour touching his features.
"So it would seem," Will agreed, a faint smile upturning the corners of his own mouth as he carried the bag over and deposited it at Hannibal's feet, pulling out an already opened packet of gauze before leaning over the edge of the bathtub.
"On the odd occasion, I've even known dinner to bite back."
Turning from where he'd been busy with the taps, Will squeezed out the excess water from a square of gauze and folded it into a small triangle, before perching himself on the lip of the bath close enough to where Hannibal was sat that one of his legs was planted between the other man's knees.
"In that case, I'd consider changing your diet," Will mused absently, the smile still present as he reached out to gently tip Hannibal's chin, the older man pliant to his directions to angle his head just so.
Hannibal hummed in thought as Will began his ministrations by lightly dabbing at the cut across the bridge of his nose and the dried blood surrounding it. There was little point in using antiseptic given that the wounds, with the exception of the one on his lip, had already scabbed over, but Hannibal's eyes still fell closed with the mild discomfort his actions elicited.
"Sore?" Will asked, wincing in empathy as his talent processed and internalised the tiny indicators of pain. In his head he heard the impact of Hannibal's nose against Budge's forehead, felt a corresponding sharp spike of pain and an ache that blossomed under both eyes. Hannibal was going to have at least one, if not two, good shiners by the morning. The other man quietly grunted an affirmation, inhaling a little sharply through his mouth when Will used slightly more pressure. "Sorry,"
Satisfied that it was clean, Will moved to his forehead, using his injured hand to gently push Hannibal's bangs out of the way and, finding a small cut underneath, repeating the tender care he had given his nose. The movement unexpectedly caused his hand to throb, an ache spreading up his arm, and for a split second there was a decidedly unpleasant tearing sensation across the side of his palm. He caught the edge of his lip with his teeth to hold back a curse and hoped that Hannibal hadn't noticed.
The only sound in the small room was their breathing as Will ignored his own pain and carefully continued, turning the gauze in his hand to find a clean patch and pressing it to the corner of Hannibal's mouth. He was pleased when it came away without fresh blood. Feeling Hannibal's eyes on him, the phantom sensation of his own teeth piercing his lip as someone impacted with his mouth made him feel faintly nauseous. The older man's nostrils flared slightly.
"Your hand is bleeding," Hannibal stated, gaze narrowing as he picked up on the familiar metallic scent. "How many sutures do you have? You may have pulled one."
Will glanced at his hand, saw only the slightest trace of blood seeping through to the white material encasing it, frowned slightly.
"It's not that bad - " he began quietly, aiming for nonchalance and fooling neither of them as he delicately tended to the blood that had run down the other man's chin.
"William," Hannibal interrupted, tone equally as quiet but uncompromising as he reached out and his hand settled around Will's wrist just below where the dressing stopped, long fingers almost meeting around the circumference and holding it firmly. "Please tell me you've been to the Emergency Room,"
"I'll go once we're done here," Will offered, a promise, lifting his eyes to the older man's and finding hints of concern. "I needed to know you were ok,"
"Jack should have passed that information on and insisted on taking you to be treated,"
"He tried," Will offered, a wry, unintentional smile twisting his lips as his gaze skittered away and he returned his attention to wiping the last of the blood from his face. Hannibal's eyes narrowed further as he processed the other man's words and pulled Will's unoccupied hand towards himself, fingers moving to the edge of the dressing and beginning to carefully insinuate themselves underneath. Forced to stop his ministrations, the younger man sat back more firmly on the edge of the tub, winced slightly as the sticky material pulled at his skin when Hannibal continued to slowly remove it. "I, uh, might have been slightly difficult about it,"
"Then he should have tried harder," Hannibal's tone was low, an undercurrent of something almost dangerous making Will's skin prickle just slightly. It wasn't the first time he had picked up on the as yet unidentified emotion coming from the older man and he was no closer to placing it now than he had been on previous occasions, simply glad that it wasn't aimed at him.
Dressing removed, Hannibal quickly assessed the four unnatural, red grooves marring the side of Will's hand and wrist where the cello strings had bitten through flesh, lightly manipulating the edges of the wounds with his thumbs to gauge depth and severity. The younger man bit his lip again as the throbbing ache blossomed into sharper pain, made a noncommittal noise. Several thin rivulets of fresh blood snaked their way down the side of his hand and the older man's face darkened perceptibly.
The buzzing in Will's ears increased tenfold, the guilt at seeing Hannibal's anger inescapable as he watched the other man's still careful fingers and forced himself to breathe through the sudden rush of self-loathing and shame that threatened to prostrate him on the polished bathroom floor. His nose filled with the fetid yet chemical smell of Budge's basement for a second time, his vision began to shift and his breath came faster, a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck ; as his senses revolted and a full-blown flashback to the struggle in the killer's lair loomed large at the edges of his mind - one that came with the promise of his own particular brand of creative embellishment - the older man's voice somehow managed to drift to him through the noise in his head and a lightly calloused palm cupped his cheek.
"I'm not angry with you, Will," Hannibal stressed the 'you' as he spoke, sentiments honest and true.
The tightness gripping Will's chest lessened just slightly, closing his eyes and turning his face into the caress as he simply tried to breathe for a moment, the threatening internal chaos receding almost as swiftly as it had come. Hannibal's scent permeated his nose once more, chasing away the remains of the music shop, and the ringing in his ears decreased although not to what he would have described as safe levels: a threat or a promise Will wasn't sure, but experience suggested it would be the latter.
"Although," Hannibal continued softly after a moment, "I would prefer it if you would at least attempt to take better care of yourself. If not for your own sake, then for mine."
The tightness intensified again, but this time the cause was the feeling carried in Hannibal's voice, the carefully guarded emotions in the set of his mouth and dark eyes. Unable to reciprocate with words, he pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of the other man's wrist and nodded his understanding instead, well aware that Hannibal was not just alluding to his hand.
Prior to going out into the field, Will had re-established a fairly good grasp on tending to basic human needs, one that had started to slip during his time as a cop. He'd begun to eat regularly again, he willingly slept despite his dreams and generally paid attention to and acted on the signs his body gave him with regards to what it required. Since Jack Crawford had entered his life, what his body required had once again taken a back seat to the scenes that had been burnt into his brain with unforgiving clarity and the alien emotions invading his soul. The experience of killing Hobbs had been the catalyst for so much in his life, not least the resurgence of increased and intensified nightmares and an accompanying pervasive loss of appetite. Whilst breakfast had generally never been more than a couple of slices of toast or a bowl of cereal, more often than not it was a mug of black coffee that lined his stomach of a morning now, and left to his own devices, food had steadily dropped to the bottom of the list of priorities. Truth be told, Will rarely felt hungry anymore, too consumed, too sickened by the visions in his head. His associations. That wasn't to say he didn't eat, just that the inclination to do so was sorely lacking these days, something that Hannibal had rapidly picked up on if the way the other man now supplied him with food was anything to go by. Whenever Will left the other man's home it was always with lunch or dinner neatly stored in a Tupperware box in his bag, the meals perfectly cooked and beautifully seasoned. The inclination didn't improve with the action, but Will had gone hungry enough as a child that the thought of disposing of good food was simply unfathomable, coupled with the fact that Hannibal often went out of his way to prepare it for him and just for him. It would have been rude to do anything other than eat it as expected. As for sleep, well, Hannibal knew first-hand the issues the younger man contended with in pursuit of restful slumber but had carefully pointed out, as Will had restlessly lain in his arms several nights previously, that fighting it benefitted no one and 4 hours disrupted sleep was better than an hour caught simply because he could no longer force his eyes to remain open.
Since finding himself in Hannibal's bed, Will was trying to look after himself a little better, but it was hard, incredibly hard at times. Most days he felt like his brain was consumed by wildfire, like his mind was being incinerated from the inside out, and the nights were like wading through molten treacle, feelings that even Hannibal's company failed to eradicate. Sometimes the other man's presence eased them somewhat, but they never left completely and the headaches that plagued him had reached epic proportions of late. Combined with the nightmares and the sleepwalking and the otherthings, the ones that Will steadfastly refused to call hallucinations even within the safety of his own mind, he was beginning to consider that perhaps they were looking in the wrong direction, perhaps there was something physically wrong with him. He knew he could ask Hannibal for a referral and that the psychiatrist would willingly give it to him if he did so, however that would mean admitting something that he had outright avoided telling the older man for fear of…what? Ridicule? Recrimination?
Abandonment…
Blinking rapidly to clear his head, Will looked to his injured hand again and wriggled his fingers a little as a distraction, watching as blood welled within the deepest wound.
"H-how bad is it?"
Moment broken, Hannibal withdrew his hand from Will's cheek and stretched a long arm down to the medical supplies at their feet before pulling out some of the gauze Will had used. The younger man watched with perverse fascination as Hannibal attentively cleaned his palm, the white fabric staining red.
"Two are quite superficial," Hannibal offered, as careful in his ministrations as Will had been with him. "The other two do not require internal sutures, however they will need some assistance to heal. I believe I have sufficient supplies to clean and close them properly,"
"I'm supposed to be looking after you," Will mused, hissing slightly as Hannibal dipped the gauze inside the deepest laceration. The older man sought out his elusive gaze for a split second before dropping his eyes back to his task.
"You are," Hannibal informed him quietly, "In more ways than one,"
The other man disposed of the gauze and reached for a light dressing to stem the flow of blood and possible infection in the short term, the even quieter confession thickening the air. A moment later, with Will's hand safely dressed again, the younger man reached for the buttons of Hannibal's vest and carefully began to undress him. Hannibal frowned.
"Humour me," Will stated, sensing Hannibal's confusion as he eased the fabric from his shoulders and down his arms before reaching for the small fastenings of his shirt. "I need to know,"
I need to know what I've done to you.