It's three in the morning. Hannibal wakes, pulled from a dreamless sleep, not really knowing why until his hand drifts to the other side of the bed to find it uncomfortably cold. He sits up, ears registering the steady pounding of rain against the window, drumming on the roof. And he walks through the upper level of Will's house on bare feet and dressed in only a pair of cotton pajama bottoms. Dogs get up from their sleep to follow at his heels, a few are already whining and pacing near the top of the stairs to show their distress.
Hannibal can hear the rain beat loud and clear on the porch and the grating squeak of the door swinging slowly on its hinges. The doctor feels the pull of curiosity but refrains from calling Will's name. He's already certain his partner is not in the house, but any struggle would have easily woken him sooner. Another bout of sleepwalking then.
Lips pressed together in a vague display of apprehension, Hannibal grabs the closest shirt he can see. It's one of Will's college shirts that is well worn and permanently stained with oil. As he pulls it over his head, his eyes flick toward the window just as lightning cuts across the sky and Hannibal can just make out the blurred distant silhouette of Will wandering on the other side of the field. It looks like he's making his way into the surrounding woods, and Hannibal knows that in this weather and time of night he may not find Will until morning. So, he takes long strides toward the door after grabbing his coat and Will's and slipping on six hundred dollar loafers to run across the waterlogged field in a torrential downpour.
Magnus and Winston follow close by, barking and making a beeline toward Will. Lightning illuminate the sky again with a deafening clap of thunder that makes Hannibal think he's sat too close to the brass section of the orchestra. But he can see Will drenched in his undershirt and boxers. And the doctor jogs toward him to cut him off, a hand on the profiler's chest to stop him.
Will tries to keep pushing forward for a second before his mind seems to realize there's an outside force. His brain can't quite keep up the pretense of a dream and Will blinks rapidly as he shakes his head. Suddenly, he begins shivering and Hannibal drapes the coat over Will's shoulders and grabs his hand to lead him back to the house, but Will digs his heels in and roots himself to the spot.
"I did it again." Will has to yell because the rain is hammering the ground and the wind is shrieking louder than any banshee.
Hannibal still has Will's hand in his, and he doesn't reply but tries to pull him along. But Will's still half asleep and angry at himself and he won't admit it but the wind-driven rain lashing his skin feels purifying in a melancholy sort of way.
"You shouldn't be here," Will is saying though his words are being swallowed by the wind. "What if you were right? What if I made my own totem pole? I could hurt you—"
"Or yourself." Hannibal leans close to make sure his words are heard. "I'm less worried for my safety than yours."
He manages to get Will back to the house, near blinded by curtains of rain and using the dogs as guidance. The profiler collapses in the foyer, trembling violently and teeth chattering like a children's toy. Hannibal peels off own his coat before he removes Will's. He counts the dogs to make sure they're all there, just in case.
"I'm unstable," Will says as he looks up from his seat on the floor at the doctor. "You know that."
"I do," Hannibal replies easily as he removes both their shirts and makes a temporary pile of the floor.
"I feel like…like an atom about to be split."
"You're nothing so cataclysmic."
"Aren't I?" Will asked, brow furrowed and eyes narrowing. "I have the potential to do something catastrophic. Even you suggested I might."
Hannibal kneels. "I spoke in worry when I said you might hurt someone else. I believe that you are the greatest risk to yourself."
"I don't want you here," Will says with a hint of exasperation. "Not if you're only here to make sure I don't hurt myself."
Hannibal clasps his hands to either side of Will's face and kisses his forehead. "I'm not your babysitter, Will, but your partner. I assure you, any reason for my being here is partly selfish."
"This isn't any good…for either of us."
"Our definitions of 'good' vary."
