Casdeanlvr4lyf:
Oooh ooooh me me. I would like to put in a request. Can you please make a serious h/c fic, where Will gets shot while on a case and he thinks he's gonna die but he's not. Hannibal is there to comfort him, and they both have mutual feelings for eachother but neither one thinks the other has feelings for the other. And one of them tells the other how they feel and then something happens between them. ;) ;) But make sure they're not OOC. I'm sorry if it's too confusing and a bit too demanding. And if you don't make it, I guess I'll have to deal with it *sighs* :( but I would be soo happy if you did ^_^ and I'll love you forever!
Will's on the floor, hands pressed tightly over his abdomen and blood leaking out from between his fingers. Tears appear in the corner of his eyes.
Hannibal's pulling himself up by the kitchen counter. Blood plastered hair on one side of his head and ran to drip down his chin. Will's gun is in his hand. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air.
Jacobi, their suspect, lays dead on his kitchen floor with a well-placed bullet hole between the eyes. A wrench is clenched in one hand, a fillet knife in the other. Bits of brain matter scatter the floor. Just a few feet away, his victim, Maddox Cooper, sits at the table in a fresh shirt and trousers. He's a week dead at least and flies are landing on the corner of his mouth.
"Han…Hannibal." Will is gasping for breath. It hurts to breathe. Blood paints his lips from when he bit his tongue after the wrench connected with his rib cage to produce a muffled crack.
Hannibal takes an unsteady step towards Will and kneels. His eyes take in the deviated trachea, pale skin and blue lips. He doesn't mention it aloud.
Will's trembling all over, his head knocking repeatedly on the floor in a vain attempt to distract from the pain in his chest. His eyes catch Hannibal's. "Dying? Am I…?"
"No," Hannibal cuts him off.
Will presses his lips in a tight line, nostrils flare on the inhale and the exhale forces its way from between his lips in a wheeze. "I need…I need to tell you—"
"Your lung has collapsed." Hannibal got to his feet and swayed for only a second before he began tearing through drawers. He rather be named the devil before he lets Will go through a deathbed confession. "It has to re-expand."
They're deep in the woods of rural Virginia, a uncomfortable amount of time away from any ambulance. Will mouths a curse as realization dawns on him. "I'm interested….No, not right." Will breathed hard and fast. His vision was starting to go grey. "I wanted…to go out sometime?" And the pain is getting to him. He's actively crying now and his legs are jerking. There's no thought process, just words spewing sporadically from between trembling lips. "Make breakfast, lay in bed—Damn."
Hannibal's hand lights upon a pen which he hollows out. He forces it between the second and third rib just as Will's hands slip from the wound and he goes still. There's a rush of air through the tube of the pen and Hannibal moves on the check Will's stab wound. It's just another memento for the work he does. It's deep, but miraculously misses vital organs. Hannibal's stomach gives an involuntary growl even as he presses his pocket handkerchief over the gash with one hand. The other goes up to ghost fingertips over stubbled jaw.
It was a terrible idea, he knew that, but even still, Hannibal thought of having another breakfast with Will. They would talk again in the light that filtered in through thick curtains because Will hated too bright mornings. But they wouldn't talk about work. And maybe he'd make bacon because he knew of man whose thigh would work perfectly. Maybe the bicep. Or maybe sausages again, with a heart ground in.
