~ CHAPTER XVI: FRIENDLY COMPETITION ~

"Most of the games are either rigged or more expensive than they're worth," Will said as he and Hannibal moved through the crowd together. "Some of them use optical illusions and other tricks of perception to make an impossible task look possible, like a ring toss or bucket game. Others just charge a ton of money for a game with cheap prizes. It's obscene, really."

Hannibal eyed the stand nearest to them, which was selling greasy funnel cakes, pizza, and hot dogs. "The world is full of obscenities."

Will noticed where Hannibal was looking and snorted. It was too soon after they'd eaten to eat more, but part of him wanted to wheedle Hannibal into trying some carnival food, just for the hell of it. He tucked that impulse away for later. In the meantime, they slowed to a stop to survey their surroundings.

Will shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do you want to try out a game?"

"Why would I, if the games are rigged?"

"Because it's a quintessential part of the American carnival experience. If you haven't been ripped off by one of these games, have you ever really been to the carnival?"

Will kept his expression innocent and unassuming until Hannibal turned to look at him, and then he cracked a grin. The responding smile he received from Hannibal was genuine and amused, the rare kind that reached his eyes and made them crinkle around the corners.

"With that kind of logic, how can I say no?"

The intensity of Hannibal's gaze was enough to make Will feel the need to look away and pretend to scope out the booths, instead. "Do you have a preference?"

He saw Hannibal shrug one shoulder in his peripheral. "A game or two of skill, then a game or two of chance, if I'm to receive the 'quintessential American carnival experience.'"

Will's mouth twitched. Pretentious bastard, he thought, only half-annoyed. He swept a hand towards the booths around them and said, "After you."

Hannibal looked at him for a moment, still with an air of faint amusement, then dipped his head in concession. They set off again at a slower pace. Hannibal seemed content to observe rather than immediately choose a game. That was okay with Will; he had an internal map of the carnival grounds laid out in his head from the ride on the Ferris wheel, but he had little interest in making a decision for him. They walked until they had returned to the Ferris wheel and moved beyond it. Then Hannibal spoke:

"Do you have a favorite carnival game, Will?"

"Uh, it's been ages since the last time I've been to a carnival. But I suppose the shooter games. I'm not half-bad at games of toss, though those tend to be rigged. And you can imagine that guessing games aren't out of my purview."

"Let's try a shooting game, then."

Will glanced at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, a little surprised, but he seemed to be totally serious, so he shrugged and acquiesced. They soon found a shooting gallery game to try. It had three barstool seats in front of three small mounted BB guns, which were used to shoot at the blood-red paper stars printed on white sheets of paper hanging near the back of the booth. A group of kids of various ages were cheering on three boys who were trying their hand at it. The object of the game was to destroy the stars; anyone who could get rid of every inch of theirs would win a prize, and the various colorful prizes hanging around the booth were big, indicating the difficulty of success.

They stepped closer. Will let his eyes roam over the booth, taking it all in. It was clear to him that aiming his first shots at the middle of the star would be counterintuitive to winning; shooting at the middle would make getting rid of the star as a whole harder. His best bet would be to shoot out a circle around the star, because then the whole star would be blown off by the time he completed the circle. His hypothesis seemed to have some weight, since all of the current players had aimed at the middle first and were having trouble getting rid of the star completely. The guns were loaded with an excess of pellets, but the trigger must have been oversensitive, because the boys ran out of ammunition almost immediately, and thus the line moved fast.

Will leaned closer to Hannibal as they approached the front of the line. "If I win anything," he joked, "what would you want?"

Hannibal let out a soft chuckle, as if caught off-guard. Then, with a tiny one-shoulder shrug, he said, "Surprise me."

It was Will's turn to let out a huff of air. As soon as one of the seats was free, he stepped forward and took it. The seat was harder than it looked and sat lopsided rather than level. The gun was about as heavy as a real one but bolted down to the booth, which limited the player's ability to adjust its aim. The middle-aged man running the booth went through the rules in a monotone voice and then told him he could go.

Will leaned up to the gun and focused. His first press on the trigger was too aggressive; the gun spat out nearly ten pellets at once and he almost missed his opportunity to test out the gun's accuracy. His next press was more tentative. Only two or three pellets shot out this time, and he could tell that the gun's guiding scope was off by several inches up and to the left. Okay, he could deal with that. Will aimed at the white space to the left of the star and then moved clockwise. Sure enough, by the time he had shot out three-quarters of a circle around the star, the star was barely hanging on to the rest of the paper. It took a few tries, but he finally finished the circle and the star fell off and out of view.

The man in charge of the booth looked a little impressed. "Play this game before?" he asked as Will sat back.

Will shook his head. "Just, uh, beginner's luck, I guess," he said, and then flashed the man a smile. It felt forced, but the man didn't seem to notice.

The man pointed him in the direction of the appropriate prizes. Will studied the options and then picked out a black-and-white plush dog, complete with a red ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. The concept of seeing Hannibal walk around the carnival with it was just too funny to pass up. Sure enough, when he returned to Hannibal who had been standing back and watching him shoot and held up the stuffed dog, the look on Hannibal's face was priceless.

"I won," Will said unnecessarily, and grinned as Hannibal took the plushie from him and studied it with hesitance. "So, what are you going to name it?"

To his surprise, Hannibal's expression slowly softened and took on a quality that Will couldn't quite place. "Mischa. I'll name her Mischa." Then he held the plushie out to Will, his expression back to familiar neutrality. "I think it is my turn to attempt the game, no?"

It turned out that Hannibal was terrible at shooting a gun, even a shoddy non-lethal version, and while he was a quick learner, it wasn't enough to save him from utterly failing. Will hid his smile behind the plushie as Hannibal stood up, looking a little disgruntled. He handed the dog back when Hannibal returned to his side and asked, "Where do you want to go next?"

Both men failed spectacularly at the next few games they tried, including ring the bottle, a bean bag toss, and bowling. Hannibal suggested darts next. Will didn't think anything of it, until Hannibal went first and landed all three of his darts within the bullseye.

"Christ," said Will before he could stop himself. "You've played this a bit before, huh?"

Hannibal looked entirely too pleased with himself, even as he shrugged and hedged, "In another life."

Will wasn't terrible at darts — he had played it with people at bars before, whether during college or with colleagues when he couldn't weasel his way out of socializing — but he still had his ass handed to him by Hannibal. It was Hannibal's turn to ask him what prize he should pick, so Will chose the coupon for free carnival food and silently vowed to get him to try the funnel cake by the end of the day. Hannibal also got a fake gold pin announcing him a "darts champion," which he let Will pin to his suit lapel even though it was clear he found it gaudy. Then they took off through the carnival again at a leisurely pace, Hannibal carrying the stuffed dog, pin on his suit lapel, and Will with the food coupon folded in half in his jean pocket.

Eventually, they came across a version of the infamous high striker game. Will slowed as they approached, and Hannibal matched his pace.

"Do you want to give this one a try?"

"Are you challenging me to a pissing contest, Will?"

The question startled a full body laugh out of Will, who had never expected to hear those words come out of Hannibal's mouth. Will was learning a lot about him today, it seemed. "Are you interested in a 'pissing contest' with me, Doctor Lecter?"

"The idiom implies an endeavor that is futile and overly aggressive, but friendly competition is not out of the question."

Will snorted. "Alright. You're on."

The high striker game had a small crowd around it, with a carnival employee standing by it and shouting at everyone who passed by, "Step right up! Step right up! Test your strength!" The crowd was a hodge-podge of people: a group of teenagers, all snickering and shoving each other as they egged someone on to go first; a couple of men with their girlfriends or love interests looking to show off, as well as some dock workers looking to impress each other; and some stragglers here or there who didn't belong to any group but were curious about the hubbub. Will and Hannibal fit themselves into a gap in the crowd and observed.

The dock workers must have been waiting the longest, because they went first. They took turns hitting the pad with a mallet to see if they could ring the bell at the top. A short but stocky woman got the closest to ringing the bell out of all of them, and the rest of the dock workers clapped her on the back in congratulations and promised to buy her drinks later. Eventually, Will and Hannibal reached the front of the crowd. The employee running the game gestured at them, more aimed at Will than Hannibal, so Will shrugged and stepped forward. He didn't mind going first. It was understandable, really, given the appearance of Hannibal in his three-piece suit.

Will rolled up his shirt sleeves, picked up the mallet, and stood next to the striker. He really couldn't tell from the people who had gone before him whether or not the game was rigged, so it was a toss-up. His best bet was to hit the pad as squarely in the middle as possible. He took in a deep breath, imagined that he was chopping wood, and swung. Then he stepped back to see where the bell-ringer landed. It went two marks above halfway, which honestly was better than he'd been expecting.

Will handed the mallet back and returned to Hannibal, who had a faint smile on his face.

"May you hold this, please?" Hannibal asked, holding out his plushie, and Will took it. But Hannibal didn't step away immediately. Instead, he shucked off his suit jacket and handed that to Will as well. Then he turned away and approached the high striker, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt neatly as he went.

Will was struck, not for the first time, by the grace of Hannibal's movements. He moved a bit like a dancer, as if every movement was calculated to be both efficient and effortless, and this was especially obvious as Hannibal took the mallet and positioned himself next to the high striker. He almost never bared his arms, so it was unusual to be able to see his muscles flex and move under the skin as he tested the weight of the mallet in his hand. Hannibal's biceps were more obvious without the suit jacket obscuring them. He tipped his head back as if to gauge the height of the bell, and Will's eyes were drawn to the sharp angle of his jaw and the slope of his neck, interrupted only by his Adam's apple. When Hannibal dropped his head, Will realized he'd been staring and tore his gaze away.

Then Hannibal swung, and to Will's surprise, the bell-ringer went past where it had stopped for Will's swing and reached only two marks below the bell itself. Shit, Hannibal was strong. Will's mouth went dry. What on Earth was a middle-aged psychiatrist doing with that much grace and upper body strength? He had known that Hannibal was not un-fit necessarily, but Christ, he was fit. Will realized he was staring again and wrenched his gaze from Hannibal's arms.

Hannibal returned to Will's side, and Will handed him back his suit jacket. He resolutely did not watch him roll down his shirt sleeves and put his jacket back on. When Hannibal had resituated himself, Will let his eyes come back to settle on him and held out the plush dog for him to take, which he did.

After a long pause, Hannibal said lightly, "I would say that I 'pissed' farther, wouldn't you?"

Will burst out laughing, and just like that, any lingering discomfort of his disintegrated. "Come on," he said. "There's some food I want you to try."