Chapter Text
The thick wall of rain hid the sky from the view, dulling the colors to misty gray. Hannibal stifled a sigh and looked at the blonde in front of him, barely suppressing an impulse to drum his fingers against the arm of his chair.
“I’m confused,” the woman uttered, wringing her hands nervously. “I thought you would react differently to the fact that I have imprinted on you, Doctor. It’s such a rare thing to happen, aren’t you thrilled?”
“I apologize, Emily,” Hannibal tilted his head in respect, to balance out the coldness of his voice. “Even if that was true, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a suitable alpha for you. I care deeply about my patients, so much that I have no time for a family.”
“Oh,” Emily frowned, but then her body relaxed. “So you’re not planning on bonding with anyone?”
“Not at all,” Hannibal’s lips stretched in a semblance of smile. Seemingly mollified, Emily leaned against the back of the chair, showing off her lovely legs and the newest pair of her expensive shoes.
An insipid woman, but with a good taste. Pity she couldn’t mysteriously disappear — such a rare thing as an omega, and from a wealthy family, would be definitely missed.
Still, Hannibal let his mind wander.
He detested liars. While the concept of omegas and the idea of being imprinted fascinated him to some extent, he knew very well that Emily Sawyers had lied to him, and the thought of leaving her unpunished left a sour taste in his mouth.
Emily wasn’t the first to lie. In his life, Hannibal had encountered more than enough omegas and betas, patients and casual acquaintances who claimed to have imprinted on him. Some were attracted to his status in the society, some genuinely enamoured, and some were scared of losing their source of stability. Emily belonged to the latest category.
As a psychiatrist, Hannibal understood her.
As a man he was, he would have liked nothing better than to kill her, tearing out her tongue and turning it into something delicious.
“All right, then,” oblivious to his thoughts, Emily sent him a wide, flirtatious smile. “I admit I may have exaggerated a bit.”
“I know,” Hannibal pretended to lift an imaginary speck of dirt from his sleeve, glancing at the clock surreptitiously.
Seventeen more minutes.
“But how?” Emily leaned forward again, her eyes alight with excitement. “How could you know for sure? I could have easily imprinted on you without you feeling anything at first — you know how it works. It's different for every couple. Sometimes weeks or even months might pass before both people experience the effects of imprinting.”
“Yes, time might pass indeed,” Hannibal agreed. “However, it doesn’t change the fact that imprinting is a unique thing, Emily. It doesn’t happen often. And it can only happen between people who fit each other perfectly, which is not something that can be said about us.”
“I know,” Emily pouted, and Hannibal glanced at the clock again. Fifteen minutes. “As you said, you are too focused on your work to consider having a family.”
“What about your own family?” Hannibal asked. This same old topic always worked as a distraction with Emily, and fortunately, she fell for it now as well. Her face turned dejected. “The last time we spoke of them, you said your parents were disappointed with your decision to enter the university.”
“They are still disappointed. They probably always will be. The only thing they’re proud of is my being an omega,” hurt flickered in Emily’s eyes, and Hannibal suppressed another sigh.
Thirteen minutes left.
Emily was his last patient, so Hannibal was taken aback when he saw a stranger in his waiting room. Emily glanced at him, curious, and the man bowed to her slightly, as was appropriate in a company of omega.
“May I help you?” Hannibal inquired.
“Dr. Lecter, I presume?” At Hannibal’s nod the man relaxed and held out his hand. “My name is Jack Crawford, I’m with the FBI. I would like to discuss an important matter with you — can I come in?”
“Of course,” Hannibal kept a small smile on his face, but his eyes studied another alpha sharply, noting the width of his shoulders, the muscled arms and the gun at his waist.
An FBI agent. In his office. Was he here for him?
His instincts remained dormant, though, nothing screamed of danger, so Hannibal closed the door and slowly approached his table, where the recently sharpened scalpel was lying.
“How can I help you?” he asked aloud. Jack Crawford hummed in appreciation, looking around his office.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” he said finally. “Alana Bloom gave you a recommendation, she said you’re a brilliant psychiatrist with years of experience.”
“Is that so?” Hannibal uttered politely.
“Yeah, and we really need help with a case, maybe you’ve heard about it. The Chesapeake Ripper?”
Hannibal pretended to think for a moment, barely hiding his amusement.
“Yes, I believe I’ve read something about it in the papers,” he confirmed. “Do you wish me to work on this killer’s profile?”
“Not exactly,” Crawford hesitated, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Doctor Bloom told me that you often treat omegas. Since I’ve just seen one leaving your office, I assume it’s true?”
“You assume correctly. I have met many omegas during my practice, with problems of different levels of difficulty.”
“That’s great!” Crawford’s eyes flashed enthusiastically. “Listen, Doctor, I understand that it’s asking a lot, but maybe you could take a look at one of my agents? He’s our only chance to catch the Chesapeake Ripper. He has a hyper empathy disorder, but the way he sees things, the minds of the most violent of killers — that’s amazing. You might find a lot of interesting things in his head, Will’s like a dream-patient.”
Hannibal's amusement faded slowly, replaced by hostility. Jack Crawford was a big, clueless pig who believed all people around him to be mere objects. If he had a male omega in his employ, and with an empathy disorder no less, it was no wonder he was about to break. Omegas were vulnerable to outside pressure, and Jack Crawford looked like a man who would sooner snap and bark and order everyone around instead of showing patience, even feigned one.
Still. A male omega empath, with disorder? Who could look into the minds of the killers and who worked specifically on the Chesapeake Ripper?
It was too good to be true. And definitely too interesting to refuse.
“I don’t need to be persuaded, agent Crawford,” Hannibal said pleasantly. “It’ll be an honor to help the Bureau with investigation, and to assist your omega in getting steadiness.”
“Thank God for that,” Crawford smiled widely. “May I sit? And call me Jack, please.”
“Of course,” Hannibal pointed at the patient-chair. “I must insist that you call me by name either, then. Now, tell me more about your omega, so I could get a clearer picture.”
“He’s not really my omega,” Jack wrinkled his nose almost in distaste. “Will Graham is… complicated. He had a difficult life and it affected him badly. He’s edgy, antisocial, rude, and when he is focused on a case, he forgets all about the world around him. He even forgets to eat or change clothes, things like that. Other agents dislike him, his behavior is atypical for omegas.”
“Do you also dislike him?”
For a moment, Jack looked embarrassed.
“It’s not that I dislike him,” he said carefully, “it’s that I don’t understand him. Will makes communication difficult. He has his reasons, I’m sure of it, but I don’t have time to be his babysitter. I need results, and Will brings me results, but his state deteriorates. Quickly. He needs some positive influence, but since he doesn’t let anyone near him, I decided to seek someone not from force.”
“How long have you been working together?” Hannibal asked. For now, Will Graham sounded like someone who could prove to be a curious distraction and who could eventually decorate his table in the most beautiful way. A rude, empathetic, male omega — it was definitely refreshing.
“Two years,” Jack sighed. “You need to know that Will is just twenty-three.”
Against his will, Hannibal’s eyebrows started to climb up his forehead.
“Twenty-three year old?” he repeated. “How can he be an FBI agent?”
“He’s not exactly an agent. I’ll share his story with you, but please don’t share it with anyone else.”
Hannibal nodded, adding another insult to the Jack Crawford’s file his mind had already conjured up.
“Will’s father was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper when he was thirteen.”
Shock ran through him in a quick wave, and Hannibal struggled to maintain a mask of polite interest.
This was… not what he had expected.
“Will was taken to an orphanage then,” Jack continued, unaware of Hannibal’s inner turmoil. “You can imagine how shitty the rest of his childhood was. He got obsessed with the Ripper and started profiling him back then. When he was twenty-one, Will came to us, insisting that we listen to him. We refused, of course. He seemed like a grief-struck teenager who didn’t let himself heal. We sent him on his way, and in the next twelve months, Will caught seven murderers just by reading the newspapers. Seven. He proved his skills and his abilities, so I welcomed him to my team — in an unofficial capacity, of course.”
“Of course,” Hannibal echoed.
“But now, see, he’s starting to get anxious. The Ripper hasn’t been active for months, and Will began to connect the crimes that have no obvious connection. Two days ago a male body has been found in the forest. Some animals have done a job on it, it’s all torn and messy, impossible to identify or to establish the cause of death, but Will insists the Ripper has killed him.”
Hannibal nodded thoughtfully, but his heart skipped a bit.
He had indeed put the body of an obnoxious beta in the forest several days ago. The man had struggled and annoyed him so much that killing him elegantly was not an option, though Hannibal had still managed to procure several delicious organs.
How could anyone connect that tasteless brutality to the Ripper’s artful murders? Was he somehow becoming sloppy?
Hannibal considered this idea for a short second and then discarded it.
No. He was as careful and meticulous as always.
It meant that Will Graham was much more interesting than he had originally assumed.
“You think he’s getting desperate to catch the Ripper,” Hannibal said out loud. “Too desperate, so he tries to find connections somewhere they don’t exist.”
“Yeah, exactly!” Jack stood up again. “Maybe Will needs some time for himself, you know, to do some omegian stuff. To have a few days off, to go shopping, to talk — anything at all, but he needs distraction.”
“I’m sure I can provide it to him,” a slow smile touched Hannibal’s lips.
Considering Jack Crawford’s relieved sigh, he didn’t see the predatory threat behind it.
***
They headed directly to the morgue, where the body of the man from the forest was being kept. Jack looked almost annoyed as they opened the door and saw a young man bent over the body, so closely that his face was practically at his torn stomach.
“Will!” Jack said sharply. The young man startled and recoiled, as if caught doing something illegal. Their eyes met, and Hannibal blinked when the smell hit him — bewildering, soft, floral, and strangely enticing. The fleeting notes of omegian sweetness interlaced with something else, something unrecognizable yet so intoxicating that he inhaled sharply, staring and unable to look away.
Omega’s eyes widened at his reaction, and then his pale skin flushed, a beautiful shade of light red that only intensified the fog in Hannibal’s mind.
Jack cleared his throat loudly and the magic was lost. Omega busied himself with pretending to look at the body, and Hannibal felt how his sense of self-control returned to him, sharp and steely as always.
Will Graham was beautiful, there was no denying it. His delicate features, his unruly, chocolate curls of hair, his eyes — green? blue? gray? — everything screamed of an exquisite omega, rare and unique.
Hannibal was usually immune to such beauty. Although he would probably find himself unable to avoid sketching this young man later, he wasn’t overly impressed.
The smell, though.
It was a well-known fact that the better alpha and omega smelled to each other, the more compatible they were. Will Graham did smell good, better than anything Hannibal could remember, but who in their right mind would decide that he and this badly-dressed creature truly complemented each other? It was absurd.
“Will, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” Jack said, his voice weary. “Before you introduce yourself, maybe you could go to the bathroom and clean up a bit? You have blood on your face.”
Still blushing miserably, Will rubbed his chin, but only smudged the drops of blood further.
Jack sighed again, louder this time, and looked at Hannibal apologetically.
“He’s always like that,” he said, disapproval heavy in his voice.
“I’m right here,” Will snapped suddenly, and Hannibal raised his eyebrows.
Interesting.
Ignoring this outburst, Jack continued, “I asked Doctor Lecter to help me with this case.”
“What?” Will straightened his back defensively. “With the Chesapeake Ripper?”
“Will, I told you, this man was not killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”
“So what, you decided to bring someone so they would confirm your opinion?” Will’s lips curled derisively and he stared at Hannibal. “Do you know anything about the Chesapeake Ripper?” he asked. “Anything at all worth mentioning?”
“Only things that I read in the newspapers,” Hannibal answered politely, and the omega scoffed.
“Exactly,” he declared. “And I have been working on him for years. He is mine. Why is he here?” Will turned to Jack again. “He knows nothing.”
“He’s not here to consult me on the Chesapeake Ripper, Will,” Jack snapped. “He’s here to help me with you.”
The flush finally faded from Will’s face, replaced by paleness. He looked as if he’d been hit, and Hannibal wondered how someone so young, vulnerable, and impulsive could stand being around Jack Crawford at all. Omegas rarely tolerated harshness and remained sane in the process.
“With me,” Will repeated quietly. “So, he is a psychiatrist? And you want him to do what — to study me, to prove that I can’t work?”
“I just want you to talk to him, that’s all,” Jack said conciliatorily. “It’s not too much to ask, is it? Just talk and see if you feel better.”
“I feel good enough!” Will hissed. “I don’t need you to push every possible shrink on me when you just don’t want to agree with what I say! This man was killed by the Ripper, and this fact won’t change, whether you accept it or not!”
With that, Will stormed out, leaving both Hannibal and Jack behind. Jack shook his head in exasperation, cursing under his breath, and Hannibal approached the table, looking at the body displayed and trying to see what Will Graham had seen. What about this unfortunate beta had spoken of the Ripper to him? It was all blood and meat, no elegance, no beauty.
No organs, though, so there was that.
“I apologize, Hannibal,” Jack uttered. “Will can be a real pain sometimes, I don’t even know what to do with him.”
“It’s not a problem,” Hannibal replied. “If you excuse me, though, I would like to go and talk to him. Alone.”
“Good luck,” Jack waved his hand, obviously giving up on the idea.
An impatient man. Did the FBI honestly think someone like this could catch the Ripper? Someone who wasn’t interested in the mind and subtext, but only in the hard, visible evidence?
Well, at least Will Graham was going to provide some entertainment.
***
Will was the only person in the bathroom, but Hannibal still knocked and asked, "May I come in?"
He was immediately subjected to a narrowed-eyed, dangerous stare.
"It's a public place," Will said coldly, turning off the water. "I can't prohibit you from entering, but I can warn you right away — none of your shrink's tricks are going to work on me. I'm not interested in therapy and I can't be legally forced into it, so whatever deal you and Jack have struck— "
"There has clearly been a misunderstanding," Hannibal interrupted, making one small step toward Will. "When agent Crawford asked me to help you, he failed to mention the fact that you're against it. I assure you, all my patients come to me willingly, I'm not used to forcing my services on anyone. I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression."
Some of the fight seemed to leave Will, because his posture relaxed slightly.
"Okay," he said. "Apology accepted. Now excuse me, I have to go back to the lab."
Hannibal waited until the omega crossed the bathroom and approached the door, and said, "I believe you."
Will froze. His shoulders stiffened, and his voice sounded dull when he murmured, "I thought you said you weren't going to use any tricks on me. Is your approach always so crude, Doctor, or do you just think I'm that of an idiot?"
"On the contrary, I think you are a very bright young man. Agent Crawford shared the information about your accomplishments with me, and I can admit that I'm impressed." Hannibal was amused to see how his compliment had affected Will, making his face redden once again. "You clearly have a unique and effective way of thinking," he continued. "You've been studying the Chesapeake Ripper from your childhood, so who can offer better insight into his mind and his crimes than you?"
His amusement intensified when a tentative hope entered Will's eyes, slowly replacing his hostile expression.
Wishing to secure his success, Hannibal added, "If you think that man has been killed by the Ripper, then I trust your instincts. You must be right, although I'd love to hear your reasons."
"You want me to tell you the Ripper's story in a bathroom?" Will asked, but despite sarcastic words, his voice was quietly wondering.
"Actually, my office would be a much better place for this," taking out his card, Hannibal offered it to Will, who looked wary again.
"I'm not doing this because Jack Crawford asked me to," Hannibal said after a pause. "I'm genuinely interested in your theory and the profile of the Ripper you have devised, and conversations with me might save you from Jack's scrutiny and disapproval. Think about it. We might have a mutually beneficial arrangement."
After more hesitation, Will accepted the card and hid it in his pocket, carelessly and without looking.
Irritation tickled him from inside, more powerful than Hannibal had expected.
He resented seeing his things mistreated.
He resented feeling dismissed even more, which was somewhat surprising. Having an omega indifferent toward him was a relief, wasn't it?
Still, Will Graham could be a little less rude about it.
"You might come to my office tomorrow, at seven o'clock," Hannibal said evenly. "If it's inconvenient, please let me know in advance. My phone number and address are on the card."
Will studied him intently, as if unsure of whether or not to trust him, and then nodded.
"I'll be there," he uttered. "But if it's some kind of plot you and Jack have cooked up, I will know. Don't delude yourself, Doctor Lecter. I know when I'm being lied to."
Hannibal watched him leave, and he couldn't say if he was more amused or offended.
Or intrigued.
Definitely intrigued.
***
The next evening, fifteen minutes after seven, Will Graham knocked on his door. Hannibal knew it was him even before he opened it — the scent was already recognizable yet no less intoxicating, clouding his mind and playing with his instincts.
Frowning, Hannibal let Will in, wondering how someone this messy and socially inept could smell in such almost irresistible way.
He was rude. He was disorderly. He was late.
But when Hannibal smelled him, the alpha in him wanted him.
It was a bewildering and utterly incomprehensible experience for him.
"Good evening, Will," he said, since omega was obviously not going to break the silence. "I'm glad you came here today."
"Did you mean what you said?" Will turned to him suddenly. "Do you really believe me?"
"Yes," Hannibal answered without missing a beat. "As far as I know, you have already proven how capable of understanding the minds of the criminals you are. I see no reason for Jack to doubt you now."
Will nodded slowly, and the relief and gratitude he felt were palpable, filling Hannibal's nose with herbal smell.
He took his place and pointed at the patient-chair, but to his annoyance, Will completely ignored him and proceeded to wander around his office, looking at the shelves, paintings, and everything around them.
"I met the Ripper when I was thirteen," he said, and Hannibal forgot about his irritation, focusing entirely on the sound of Will's voice. "He came at night, when my father and I were already sleeping. I don't know what woke me up. He was stealthy. Unnaturally, inhumanly silent, like a predator. It was like he didn't even breathe, but I still felt... something. I can't explain it, I just knew he was in the house."
"A foreign smell, maybe?" Hannibal suggested. He was grateful now that Will had refused to sit down and that they weren't facing each other. He wasn't sure he'd have managed to hide the extent of his fascination from someone with the supposed empathy disorder.
"No, he must have used suppressants because the house smelled as it always had, I remember that," Will tousled his hair in clear agitation and finally turned to him. His eyes were lost, and Hannibal reveled in the confusion that shone in them. "I felt something, so I went to my father's room. The Ripper was there. His fist was in Dad's mouth, and he kept pushing it inside. Dad tried to struggle, he was a fisherman, a strong beta, but it was like the Ripper didn't even notice. And then he saw me."
Hannibal knew how the story was going to end. He had checked the old articles yesterday, after returning home, and soon enough, he remembered Louisiana, Edgar Graham, and his young son, a wide-eyed omega that hadn't fully bloomed back then, making it almost impossible to feel his scent.
Hannibal didn't touch children, but he also didn't leave witnesses. He'd let the boy live only because darkness had sufficiently covered his face, and he knew he wouldn't be remembered.
Who would have thought that the boy would turn into Will Graham, obsessed with catching the Ripper, beautiful and tragic and so strangely desirable?
"What happened next?" Hannibal asked softly, and heard how Will took a deep breath.
"He told me to leave," he said. "I'm not sure why. I have no idea why I listened to him, I was never a coward and I loved my father more than anything. But he said it, and I just left. I went back to my room, hid under the blanket, and kept lying there until the morning."
"You don't have to be a coward to feel scared," Hannibal noted. "You saw something traumatic, something no child should see. There is nothing strange or reprehensible about you choosing to flee rather than to fight."
"No, you don't understand," Will stepped close enough for Hannibal to see the fervent glint in his eyes. "It was like he hypnotized me. I felt compelled to do what he said, I didn't even stop to think. And it's what kills me most, because I'm the only person who saw the Chesapeake Ripper and survived, yet I can't remember anything about him other than him being some magician who cursed me into silence and obedience. I keep going back to that night again and again, but I still don't understand how he did that to me. Why I let him murder my father and turn him into one of his grotesque masterpieces without even trying to ask for help."
"Interesting phrasing," Hannibal said, and was curious to see how Will immediately tensed. "'Masterpieces'. Do you consider the work of this murderer art?"
"It is art," Will snapped defensively. "He might be a sadist and a monster, but what he does cannot be compared to the crimes of other killers. There is elegance, beauty, history in his murders, and refusing to accept it won't help to catch him."
With every minute spent in his office, Will Graham was getting more and more interesting. Something within Hannibal shifted, as if waking up after a long nap, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the unfamiliar feeling.
"Forgive me if I sounded skeptical," he said. "I'm in no way diminishing the complexity of the Chesapeake Ripper's crimes. I've seen the pictures, and what they depicted was fascinating."
Will looked shocked.
"Do you really think so?" he asked quietly. "You don't think it makes me crazy, or twisted, or a sympathizer?"
"Not at all. It makes you brave enough to admit that even the most horrendous deeds might have beauty in them. As for sympathy... do you sympathize with the Ripper?"
"Never," Will said, and even though his voice remained quiet, the venom in it was biting. "He took everything from me, and I won't rest until I make sure he pays for it. But I do empathize with him. Sometimes too much."
"How is it displayed?" Hannibal was content to realize that his voice sounded only mildly curious.
Will sent him another tormented glance, and the force of his longing to be understood and accepted suddenly hit Hannibal, practically throwing him into the ocean of sadness, grief, and hurt.
He blinked, and emotions that weren't his dissipated, leaving only a shadowy taste behind.
"I feel him," Will whispered, and a shiver ran through Hannibal's spine, paralyzing him with something he didn't understand. "I feel him all the time. It's like we are connected, because every time he's experiencing intense emotions, every time he's getting ready to strike, I know it. I can't stop him, but I know what he's doing, and it scares me. Sometimes I doubt he's even human."
"Why?" Hannibal asked, so hoarsely that he barely recognized himself.
Something was happening to him. His head was swimming, his heart jumping erratically in his chest, and his vision kept clouding, as if he'd been injected with some drug.
Will seemed oblivious.
"Because I know why he kills," he murmured. "I know what people he targets. I never told anyone about it, not even Jack, because I know they won't believe me. They'll ask me to prove it, and when I can't, they'll just think I'm crazy, crazier than they believed me to be. I don't know if I could survive it if they decided I cannot help them with the Ripper and send me away."
"And what people does the Ripper target?" His voice was coming from some other, distant place. Everything within Hannibal had gone numb, and only a strange fluttery sensation kept warming his chest, gaining strength with every passing second.
"Rude," Will breathed out, terrified, and there was a small yet powerful explosion that shattered the stillness of the air. Hannibal felt like he was falling, could almost feel the wind whipping at his hair, the stomach-clenching sensation of rapidly approaching the end of something, whether it was a precipice or the boundaries of his freedom.
The world around him reformed. For a moment, it centered on the omega standing in front of him, and all Hannibal's instincts came to life, snarling and raging and desperate for possession, for unity, for a claiming bite.
And then his mind rebelled, forcefully pushing the primitive, mindless wants to the back of his brain. Rationality returned together with self-control, and Hannibal stared at Will Graham with new eyes but without feeling a maddening impulse to jump on him and mate him.
Imprinting.
He had just imprinted on omega, on someone who lived for the opportunity to catch him. The phenomenon he'd been so interested in for years had finally paid him a visit, and Hannibal had never felt less prepared.
Will clearly interpreted his silence as rejection of his ideas. His shoulders slumped, and Hannibal was fascinated to watch how the hopefulness in his eyes died.
"Right," Will said sharply. "Sorry, I have no idea why I talked so much. I never do it, I don't know what the hell is wrong with me today. Thank you for your time, Doctor Lecter, and feel free to share everything with Jack. I'm sure he'll be grateful."
Will stormed out without bothering to close the door after himself, and Hannibal stood up slowly, watching him go through the window.
There was no doubt he'd imprinted on Will, just as there was no doubt that Will himself felt nothing.
Yet.
It would happen sooner or later. Will was already feeling connection to the Ripper, enhanced by his extreme empathy, so what would happen when he went through imprinting?
The aftershocks of this new revelation were still echoing through his mind and body, but Hannibal could already think critically again.
The fact that he was imprinted now didn't change anything. While there was a part of him that longed to sink its teeth into Will's neck and claim him, Hannibal knew he would be able to control it. It was a mild drawback when compared to the power he would have once Will imprinted on him as well. With his empathy and his loneliness, his yearning to belong, he would be easily manipulated, and Hannibal would use it to his advantage.
What a unique experience it was going to be.