***WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND GORE. IT WILL NOT AFFECT STORYLINE SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO SKIP IT FOR THAT REASON***
The end of lunch finds Will in the yard with his dogs. He sighs and stands on the patio while one of the larger pets does its business, then collects it with a plastic bag he dug out of the boxes. There's nowhere to put it, so Will leaves it atop a kennel to throw away later.
Winston trots happily at his side the entire time, panting and swishing his tail. The dog sits when Will takes a toy from the box and runs after the ball when it leaves the man's hand. He brings it back once, like any dog would, before losing interest in the game. Will sighs when Winston goes to find shade.
Having nothing left to do, Will returns to the patio and occupies one of the chairs that undoubtedly cost more than his entire month's paycheck. May as well stay cool while doing nothing. Will stares out at the dogs as they play, realizing that he could just go inside where there's air conditioning, but decides to remain outside so as not to hinder Doctor Lecter any more than he already is. He avoids thinking for as long as he can.
Lack of thinking, as most people know, encourages dozing off. Especially in Will's case. His eyes open to growing darkness and a dog snuffling at his hand. The sun is beginning its slow descent beneath the horizon, leaving the sky in an array of oranges. When did it get so late? Will rubs his eyes and stretches.
The sniffing of the dog becomes insistent, and Will is very relieved that it isn't the stag that plagues his dreams. Pleading eyes meet the man's hazy ones. One set of eyes turns into eight pairs of eyes within seconds. That's when Will realizes the time and groans.
"Hold on, hold on. I'll get it in a second." That second would go a lot faster if the dog food and bowls weren't currently in boxes, and his feet weren't boxed by eight hungry animals. Will unpacks and feeds his dogs as quickly as he can before he goes back to the patio to sit.
"I can remember the days when I had a pet," says a soft voice by Will's ear. Hannibal sounds wistful with the barely-there sigh at the end of his sentence.
"Doctor Lecter. I didn't hear you come out here." Will takes a deep breath to conceal the fact that he'd been startled.
"You were busy feeding your dogs. I didn't want to interrupt you." Hannibal pulls an empty chair next to Will's and sits.
"You never struck me as the type to have a pet." Will makes a clicking sound at the dogs and hopes his honesty doesn't come across as an insult.
"I used to have a cat named Freja when I was just a boy. The orphanage tried to keep me from having her because it was too much work. Then my uncle took me to France after my little sister died and he wouldn't let me keep her." Will detects the sorrow that Hannibal tries to keep out of his words. "Freja was such a good cat, too. But that was a long time ago. Tell me about your childhood pets, Will."
Will snorts a laugh. "It was pretty much like it is now. I collected strays. My house was full of the dogs I took in from the streets." He laughs at a memory of a white dog chasing the neighbor's cat from the garden. "My favorite was a little brown and grey one named Stella. She was a good dog. Then my parents accidentally ran her over." Will doesn't tell any more stories of his dogs.
The silence stretches between the two men for what feels like an eternity, though it's only a few minutes. Will squirms uncomfortably but he's not sure if it's from the silence or the less-than-pleasant memory.
"I'm going to go cook dinner," Hannibal announces as he stands. "You're welcome to join me now or when it's finished."
Will follows Hannibal into the house and locks the door behind him. The dogs will be fine for a few more hours, if not until morning. His food is just as important as theirs.
"What are we eating tonight?" Will asks.
"It will be a surprise," Hannibal says. "I never announce what I'm serving until it is served."
Surprises are fine, Will thinks. At least he doesn't have to cook. Instant noodles are only good for so long and so many times in a row. Fish is the same way. A home cooked meal is always a nice treat.
Will doesn't know whether to go into the kitchen with Doctor Lecter or not, so he waits for an invitation.
"Would you like something to drink while you wait?" Hannibal holds up a dark bottle of even darker liquid. "This is my favorite."
Eh, what can it hurt? "Yeah, I'll have a glass, I suppose."
Hannibal pours two glasses, asks about Will's most recent case. Will declines the topic as politely as he can manage, which is outright telling Doctor Lecter that the case isn't something he wants to even think about. And it's true. The case is particularly grotesque: four children were gutted and carved up, displayed like fine centerpieces, and they still haven't caught the killer.
"You k now, this case is really hard for me," Will says after a minute, even though he didn't want to talk. "I can't—I don't… This guy is too crazy. I can't stand watching myself killing those kids, even though I know I'm not the one doing it." He stands up and drains half of his glass in one gulp to calm his stupid nerves. "Crawford won't listen to me. This case is destroying me, Doctor Lecter. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take this one."
"Jack Crawford is a stubborn man," Hannibal says, and he puts down the bowl of whatever it is he's stirring. "He has the best intentions and you are the best man for the job."
"I don't care what Jack's intentions are!" Will shouts. "I just want to be off his team and back in my classroom." He wipes a shaking hand across his forehead and exhales. "I'm sorry for shouting, Doctor. This is all just too much for me to handle."
"There is no need to apologize, Will. Have you ever thought about quitting Jack Crawford's team?" Hannibal pours a bowl of liquid into another bowl of liquid.
Will scoffs, begins pacing. "Do you think he'll listen to me? I've already quit twice, and look where it got me!" He gestures wildly with his hands and arms, waving them at nothing in particular.
Hannibal catches the flailing appendages from behind. He crosses Will's arms like he's in a straitjacket and pulls the man against his chest as tightly as he can without cutting off airflow. "I need you to breathe for me, Will. Can you do that? Focus on breathing." Will fights the restraint at first, but he forces himself to breathe. "Good. You need to calm down. Repeat after me. It is eight twenty-three pm. You are in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Will Graham."
Will repeats and falls lax in Hannibal's grip. He takes a few more deep breaths before he's released. "I'm sorry, Doctor Lecter," he mutters.
"No need to apologize, Will. Please sit so you don't hurt yourself." Hannibal returns to his meal.
The rest of dinner is quiet. Too quiet, Will thinks, but he doesn't want to talk about anything else. The only sound is the clink of silverware and crystal.
"I'm afraid I have to ask, did you see Garrett Jacob Hobbs during your brief episode?" Hannibal asks when they're finished.
"No," Will says, and it's a relief he didn't.
"Good. I'll start some tea as soon as the dishes are finished and put away."
It seems awful early to be going to bed, even though Will usually lies down around 8:30. There's just nothing about Hannibal that says 'goes to bed at a decent and human hour.' Then Will glances at the kitchen clock and it isn't as early as he thought it was.
The hour draws upon 11 when Hannibal returns with a steaming mug full of dark liquid. "Drink up," he instructs and Will does. They don't speak again until the mug is emptied, washed, and set to dry.
"Go ahead to the bedroom," Hannibal says. "I'll be there shortly."
Will undresses himself in the psychiatrist's bedroom, his brain hazy from the tea. He barely remembers to fold his jeans nicely and put them on the chair. A bed never looked so comfortable…
Hannibal closes the bedroom door when he arrives. His hand lingers on the light switch. "Get yourself comfortable and I'll turn off the lights."
"You don't have to tell me twice." Will shoots Hannibal a thumbs-up once he's situated, then can't tell if it's dark because his eyes are closed or if it's just because the lights went out. He barely feels Hannibal against him, but still mumbles "Good night, Doctor Lecter" into the other man's chest.
Will drives to Quantico after breakfast because he'd promised Crawford he'd be there. He gets some weird looks from the detective but ignores them. Jack drives the rest of the way to the newest crime scene.
"Is what we're hearing true?" is the first question Will's presence is graced with.
He tries to keep his annoyed huff to himself. "And what is it that you're hearing?"
Zeller's grin is almost predatory. "Well, for starters, we hear that you and your dogs have shacked up with Hannibal Lecter."
"Is that so? I choose not to grace that with an answer." Will snaps on a pair of gloves offered by a nameless officer at his side. "It's none of your business."
Jimmy Price and Beverly Katz exchange a look before Beverly sighs and takes out her wallet. That's less than enlightening, Will groans to himself. They took freaking bets. Unbelievable. He forces himself to focus on the gruesome scene before him. Crawford's voice in the background means nothing.
I grab the girl from behind. Her friends are too busy to notice I've taken her. They'll think she got up to go use the bathroom or something. She screams and tries to fight, but I'm bigger. I knock her out with a blow to the back of the head.
Her small body is relatively easy to carry to my van. She won't wake up for a while, so I drive to an abandoned warehouse to wait. It's far enough from the town that nobody will hear her screams.
When she wakes up, I take her eyes out with a spoon. She screams the entire time I work, and it's really infuriating, so I slice out her tongue and watch as she bleeds out from her mouth.
I slice her open, starting at the vee of her collarbones and working down to her pelvis. Then I remove all of her organs so they don't end up damaged. I place them in a bowl and crack her rips open with a neat split to create a basket. I return the organs to that basket, saving the heart, tongue, and eyeballs for last. The tongue and eyeballs go back in her mouth to create the image of a Christmas pig.
This is my design.
Will shudders and exhales a shaky breath. He doesn't want to say this one is the worst, even though he knows it is. All he does is shake his head and walk away. He'll answer questions later, when he isn't looking at the mutilated corpse of a seven-year-old girl. Cases involving children are the worst. Will lets Crawford know his discomfort by going to the car and staying there until the body is removed from the scene.
"You don't have to talk until you're ready," Crawford says once he joins Will in the FBI's car.
"Yes, I /know/ that." Will doesn't intend for his answer to be as short and snappy as it is, but doesn't apologize for his tone. He shakes out two aspirin from the bottle that's always in his pocket and swallows them dry. "The fact is that I still have to talk about it, and I don't like that this case involves children. It's far too disturbing to stand to the side as I watch myself desecrate their bodies. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to the lab." He doesn't speak again until they're back at Quantico.
"I've matched fibers from her clothing to fibers on the clothing of the others," Beverly says. "It's the same kind as the carpeting used in commercial vans. We're looking for somebody who probably works for a school district and has access to something of the sort."
"Somebody like a janitor or a district worker," Will says, breaking his silence. "They sometimes need vans to transport larger cleaning supplies or things like desks." He ignores what will be a huge headache, taking another aspirin like it's a candy. "Jack, I'm sure my brain will be of no further use at the moment. Can I please go now?"
"Fine." Crawford crosses his arms, unamused. "We'll call you if something else comes up."
Will all but bolts from the lab and drives an hour to Baltimore. The silence isn't as comforting as it should be, and the noise inside Will's head doesn't help a damn thing. He turns the stereo on, puts it on a classical station. It helps some.
Hannibal's front door is unlocked when he arrives even though the man is probably with a patient. Will enters anyway and goes directly to his guest room, stopping only to drop his car keys in the bowl by the front door. The faint sound of classical music works to calm the threatening migraine.
Closing the bedroom door would stifle the already quiet music, so Will opts to leave it open and goes to lie on the bed. He clasps his hands over his eyes. Stupid Crawford, dragging him back into the field. Stupid Crawford for not listening. Stupid Crawford for being Crawford, really.
A soft knock on the door announces Hannibal's presence. Will groans and forces himself to sit up. Is it so late already?
"I'm going to start preparing dinner shortly," the doctor says. "You're welcome to join me now if you would like."
Will reluctantly follows Hannibal downstairs to the kitchen. At first glance, the flight of stairs is dark and daunting, the little bit of light pulsing in time with Will's heart. He shakes his head and continues.
"Would you like to talk about the case?" Hannibal asks once they reach the kitchen.
"No, Doctor Lecter. I most certainly do not want to talk about this case." Will slumps down in the first chair he can get to and puts his pounding head in his hands. "Dealing with it and talking to Jack Crawford about it are enough for one day."
"Will, you need to understand that repressing these violent memories can only do harm to your mental stability." Hannibal puts something sweet-smelling in a pan.
"I'm already unstable as it is," Will snaps. "Talking about it isn't going to help anything. Not talking about it won't make my condition any worse.
Hannibal adds something that smells like licorice to the pan. "That may be true. However, I think it best to not risk further deterioration of your already crumbling mental state. Should you change your mind, I will listen."
Will refuses to say another word on the matter. He changes the subject to Abigail, who is still in the psych ward of the hospital.
"I have not spoken with Abigail recently," Hannibal says. "I assume she is doing well considering there have been no calls about her climbing the walls."
A laugh disguised as a cough from Will. "That's something, I guess."
After dinner and tea, Will still refuses to say anything about the case. Hannibal's attempts at helping Will are futile. The man outright ignores anything involving the phrases 'talking about it' and 'mental health.'
"I truly fear for the invalid state of your brain, Will." It's Hannibal's last try at putting any sort of sense into the other's head.
"The invalid state of my brain? Is that just your polite way of calling me an invalid?" Will cuts Hannibal off before he can even say a word in his defense. "I am not an invalid, Doctor Lecter. Good night." With that, he storms off to the guest bedroom.
Will wakes up sometime around two in the morning to a heavy weight on his chest. He half-expects it to be Hannibal, forcing him into an unwanted cuddle-therapy session. It isn't. Unless Hannibal now looks like Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Which Will highly doubts, even in his altered state.
"See?" Hobbs hisses.
Will thrashes to get out of the dead-weight grip holding him to the bed. "No! Please no," he cries out. His fight becomes a mantra of 'please no please no.'
A flash like lightning and Garrett Jacob Hobbs disappears. A new weight takes his place.
"Will? Will. You need to wake up." The gentle voice drags Hannibal from his nightmare. Hannibal moves back quickly to avoid being struck by the thrashing man on the bed.
"Doctor Lecter." Will sits up, covered in sweat. "I think I ruined your bed. I'm sorry for waking you up. Hobbs…" he trails off into incoherence.
"You saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs? Don't worry about my bed. It can be replaced. Come along. It does no good to sleep in sweat-soaked sheets. Hannibal holds out a hand to Will, who stares at it confused. "Come with me, Will."
Will finally takes the hand and allows Hannibal to lead him out of the guest room. He follows the psychiatrist to the other bedroom, mumbling apologies for nearly everything.
"There is no need to apologize, Will," Hannibal says once again. "Just get comfortable and go to sleep.
Will curls himself into the smallest ball he possibly can. "Good night, Doctor Lecter."