Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The casting call was not going well.

Will and Beverly, alongside a smattering of secondary producers and casting agents, had seen well over 200 people since sitting down at six am that morning. For what was going to be the third season of a Bachelor knockoff on a second tier network, there was what Will considered to be a disproportionately huge interest in being cast on the show. Granted, they did well for themselves; they had a dedicated fan base, viewership and online engagement were consistent, and so far all past winning couples were still together - a minor miracle if ever there was one - giving the show a reputation for actually working as a matchmaking endeavor. Will was happy to work on the show, truly, and his talent for reading people and situations made him a great producer on a show that relied entirely on interpersonal drama to move the plot forward. But today, sitting for the tenth hour in a metal folding chair looking at another blandly handsome 6 foot something man in his twenties, he wanted nothing more than to just cast the next beautiful idiot to walk in the door and go the hell home.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. West?” Beverly asked.

“Oh! Uh, well right now I’m working as an account manager for an ad agency here in Baltimore.”

“What are you looking for in an ideal partner?”

“Uhm, you know, just someone fun and nice who isn’t afraid of adventure.”

Will didn’t have the energy to suppress his eye roll. “Do you go on a lot of adventures as an account manager?”

“Uh, well, I mean ideally I would want to be with someone who can find adventure in anything.”

“Thank you, Mr. West. We will be in touch.” Beverly said, smiling and gesturing for someone to lead him out. She leaned over and elbowed Will sharply. “Be nice. We’re almost out of here.”

“If he had anything to say that wasn’t pulled from a lackluster Tinder profile I would be.”

He was elbowed again for that. She called for the next person, and Will steeled himself for another dull audition from another dull personality.

The man who was led in was older than nearly everyone they had seen this cycle, maybe in his late forties. He was dressed ostentatiously, but it was not without taste, and his highly polished shoes made hardly a sound as he stepped into place in front of the panel of producers and directors. He was handsome, but not the kind of handsome that was cast on reality television, and Will was ready to mentally cross him off the list as Beverly went down the line introducing everyone.

“... I am Beverly Katz, and next to me is Will Graham. Let’s see if we can get you on TV.”

“Good evening, Ms. Katz, and thank you. I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I was told to inform you that I am not on your list of auditions for the day, but a Ms. Lounds said I was to come and introduce myself.”

“Freddie pulled you in here? From where?” Will asked

“I was called as an emergency contact for a patient who was here to audition. He had some trepidation about the process, and had an episode in the lobby after his meeting with this panel. Ms. Lounds saw me speaking to him and then told me to come here once he was settled.”

“Oh no! Who?” Beverly said.

“Franklyn Froideveaux. Apparently he was not a suitable candidate and this upset him. He was also very distraught over some of the questions he was asked during the audition.”

Will managed to keep a straight face as Dr. Lecter spoke, but it was a close thing.

“Oh. Which questions specifically?” Bev asked, and her tone told Will she knew very well which.

“He said that Mr. Graham asked him why he struggled to make friends,” his gaze landed on Will, “and if he believed people did not like him because of his appearance or because of his personality.”

Will felt his face go red, and he heard another person sitting a few chairs down snicker.

Beverly sighed. “That is too bad. Not everyone can be on TV. I promise Will didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Dr. Lecter’s eyes flicked back and forth between Will and Beverly. “Of course. You would have no way of knowing, but that is more or less the exact thing Franklyn struggles with most in his sessions with me. He remains convinced that being on your show would give him the opportunity to find lasting friendships and perhaps romance. Being rejected was upsetting for him.”

“What made you want to come in here and put yourself through that, after seeing him?” Will asked, being mindful not to fidget as Dr. Lecter’s calmly appraising eyes landed on him again.

“I was curious to meet the person who sussed out his insecurities so quickly.” He smiled, or almost did - the expression so muted as to be almost missed. “Ms. Lounds was also very intent on my meeting with you.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Dr. Lecter tilted his head as he considered Will, taking a moment before answering. “Perhaps because I am quite different from the usual participants.”

“Yeah. You’re too old and too well spoken. This whole thing thrives on melodrama, screwball entertainment, and a certain level of fantasy fulfillment. I don’t see you bringing a whole lot of that to the table.”

“I am a practicing psychiatrist; I am confident I could weather any melodrama, as you put it. ‘Fantasy fulfillment’ is also an interesting choice of phrase. Do you not find me suitably attractive for your audience?”

“Who knows? I don’t think we have any stats on daddy issues within our viewership, but maybe we can get Freddie on that since she’s the one who pulled you.” Will said, giving the man a smile that was all teeth, even as he started to bounce his knee in irritation beneath the table.

Will’s sneering only seemed to delight Dr. Lecter more.“I wouldn’t consider it an issue. Someone with a little maturity could very well be a boon to the program. A relationship with an established individual would appeal to people who have instability in their own lives. The people auditioning for you today came here hoping to pass safely through your judgement and find a lasting partnership on the other side.”

“You believe people come here looking to fall in love?”

“Unless I am mistaken, that is the stated purpose of the program.”

“Have you ever seen the show?”

“Unfortunately no, but I am very well versed in it nonetheless. Franklyn has spoken of little else for weeks, even to the detriment of his own development.”

“What are you looking for in a romantic partner, Dr. Lecter?” Beverly cut in, bringing her booted foot down on Will’s toes as she did.

He paused again, seeming to really consider the question. “In the past, my personal relationships have been largely superficial. I would welcome the opportunity to meet potential partners who are also weary of mere affairs.”

“You think you can come onto a TV show and go beyond superficiality?” Will was equally entertained and spectacularly annoyed at the thought.

“I think it would be interesting for your audience to watch me try.” He said, and Will couldn’t decide if the humor in his voice was directed at him or not.

Beverly cut in again. “I also meant just your usual type. Blondes, brunettes, men, women, whatever floats your boat.”

“I have dated men and women, and usually find that my tastes run towards unique personalities before a standardized list of physical criteria.”

Will did laugh at that. “You struggle to connect with people on a deeper level, but you’re only attracted to ‘personalities’?”

“I did not say I struggle, Mr. Graham, and I did not say only. I am a connoisseur of beauty in all things, and I would never claim that physical appearance has no sway over my choice in partner. I have not found someone worth working towards a more meaningful connection with, beautiful or otherwise.”

“That sounds like a struggle to me.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed a bit at that, though the benign smile stayed in place. “Does it? Does it also sound familiar, perhaps?”

“Thank you for your time today, Dr. Lecter.” Beverly said, raising her voice over the beginning of Will’s sputtered rebuttal. “Please leave your contact information with Freddie if you haven’t already. We will be in touch.”

Will had the wherewithal to wait until Dr. Lecter had glided out out of the room with a production assistant at his elbow before turning to Bev.

“No.”

“No?”

“I can see that look on your face, Bev. He’s too old. He’s dressed like Christmas tree skirt. He’s a damn psychiatrist, and too self aware. I don’t even like him as a contestant, much less as the protagonist.”

She chewed on the end of her pen a bit before answering. “I think that could be interesting to watch. A bunch of pretty young things throwing themselves at an older man who is immune to their ‘superficial’ charms.”

“We are not casting him.”

“His accent is really nice. I could listen to him talk all day.” Someone piped in from down the table.

“He’s weird.” Will called back, “He doesn’t have any eyebrows that I could see.”

“He’s very handsome, Will. You’re looking for excuses.”

“I don’t like the evasive but flowery answers to every question.”

Bev scoffed. “That is the most you’ve talked to any one today. Don’t act like people wouldn’t go crazy trying to analyze everything that comes out of his mouth. I think it could be pretty compelling.”

Freddie Lounds chose that moment to walk in, and Will could tell from the suppressed smugness of her smile that she was pleased with herself.

“So, don’t keep me in suspense. Any standouts?”

“I don’t appreciate you pulling people off the street for auditions, Freddie.” Will said, shuffling his paperwork and starting to pack. “You know what we’re looking for and it’s not that last guy.”

“He was hardly off the street, and I completely disagree. You should have seen him with that guy that freaked out and started crying - he walked in and talked him down from the ledge like it was nothing.”

“We don’t want people who are calming, we want people who will create interesting television. One prevents the other.” Will said, shoving more head-shots and surveys into his bag.

“You don’t think the ability to talk people down from the ledge goes hand in hand with being able to push them towards it?”

Will paused at that. “Maybe. Probably, actually. But I don’t think the star of the show should be the guy that stirs the pot. He’d be a pain in the ass to cast contestants for - we’d get the same stories of gold diggers and sycophants over and over.”

"You've been able to find really compatible matches for everyone we've ever cast on this show. Throw in some gold diggers, I am all for it, but finding people this guy would be into-"

"Would be basically impossible." Will said, cutting her off. "You weren't in here for the audition. He went on about beautiful people with unique personalities. You get one or the other on shows like this. Again, one tends to supersede the other."

Freddie opened her mouth to reply, but Beverly beat her to it. “I think you’re focusing on the contestants too much. He is what would be compelling to watch - a wealthy, established, kind of exotic man looking for a meaningful connection in our appearance obsessed society. You could totally see him only looking for a trophy wife, but he’s not.”

“How are you already writing taglines?” Will groaned, shouldering his pack and heading towards the door. “I just don’t find him that interesting.”

Bev just grinned at him, and yelled over her shoulder as he stomped out of the room. “I think you will.”

Chapter Text

Hannibal Lecter was unfairly photogenic.

In the week and a half that had followed the initial casting call, Will had fought tooth and nail to keep the man off the show. He had gone over and over his many and varied objections with the director, Beverly, and two network executives and had been making close to zero headway, but he was so obstinate they had nearly given in just to avoid the headache.

Then Freddie Lounds had popped her head into a boardroom with photos pulled from the society pages of no less than three Baltimore newspapers that had Lecter’s face plastered all over them and Will knew he was beat.

Lecter, handsome and always with that smile that wasn't a smile, attending gallery openings, the opera, high profile weddings; there didn’t seem to be a black tie event in the whole city that the man wasn’t seen at. Once the network knew they had someone who could generously be called a minor celebrity in palm of their hands all of Will’s doubts had been resoundly ignored. Crooked teeth, crow’s feet, accent, age, general air of aloof superiority - none of it mattered. Another few days of interviews with the network and Dr. Lecter was the official star of their third season.

Today was the first official photoshoot for promotional images. Will had already been subjected over the last three days to Dr. Lecter’s studio funded headshots being pinned to seemingly every available surface, and having the man himself in front of him again was an exercise in expectations deferred. Dr. Lecter was friendly, impeccably well mannered, and looked very good on camera even in another windowpane suit. Angular, a little tan - and though his expressions remained minute he had a way of tilting his head just so and letting the light catch his eyes and suddenly you could tell he was…

Irritating.

“People are going to go nuts for this guy. At least admit he’ll be great for the show.” Beverly said, sliding up to Will and slipping a coffee into his hand. “And quit glaring at him.”

“I guess we’ll see once we start casting for contestants. And I am not glaring.” Will grumbled into his cup.

“You are so. He’s doing great. Better than great, really. Plus I’ll let you cast whoever you want for the contestants,” she said, cajoling. “Within reason, anyway.”

“He’s just hard to get a read on. Most guys like him would already be married. I can’t figure out why he isn’t.” Will said, looking up from his coffee back Dr. Lecter. “Did you see what the studio sent to pick him up? I saw him getting out of a Bentley.”

“Yeah, that’s his car.”

The coffee Will had in his mouth made an attempt to come out of his nose as he turned back to gape at her. “What? No it isn’t.”

“It sure is. He’s like, real money. A total catch.” Beverly said, obviously entertained by Will’s distress. “You’ve got coffee on your shirt.”

Will put on an expression of long suffering displeasure, and it was only more keenly felt as the photographer called for a 15 minute break and he watched Dr. Lecter head towards them.

“Ms. Katz, good afternoon.” He said, before turning to Will, giving him what felt like an up and down though his eyes stayed on his face. “And Mr. Graham, hello. I believe you have some coffee on your shirt.”

Will didn’t even deign to glance down, sipping from his cup. “Hazard of the job.”

Dr. Lecter’s expression tightened ever so slightly at that. “Indeed. I think I can be of service. Excuse us for one moment, Ms. Katz.”

Suddenly he had his hand on Will’s elbow and was dragging him along towards the craft services table.

“It’s fine! I don’t need you to -” Will started.

“I rather think you do, Mr. Graham.” He said, stopping his protests as they arrived, and suddenly his face was very close to Will’s. “That must be at least your second best shirt. It would be a real loss if it were to stain.”

Will had to take a moment to recalibrate his impressions of Lecter with how good he smelled this close before his words made sense. “How would you know where this shirt ranks?”

He momentarily ignored him, turning away to pluck a small bottle of club soda and a paper towel from the table. “It’s newer than the last one I saw you in, and is in a slightly more palatable color. It may even be made of a naturally occuring material.” He dabbed a bit of the soda onto the towel, and was pressing it into Will’s sternum before he could protest. “This will help, in any case.”

“Do you whip out the housewife routine for any accident you come across?”

“Do you often find yourself in need of a housewife?”

Will turned his head up and away from where his hands were still dabbing at his chest, fighting to either not laugh or not headbutt him. He suffered his cleansing for a few more moments before Dr. Lecter turned away, tossing the towel into a small trash can.

“Vinegar or alcohol would’ve been better on linen, but one must make due.” He said, giving will his little non-smile.

Will kept his mouth straight and affected a shrug. “I didn’t even know it was linen.”

Dr. Lecter reached out again, straightening Will’s collar and tugging a bit at the shoulders before letting his hands fall to his sides. “A blend, I believe.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Pure linen is often heavier, but would breathe better. It is particularly popular in warm climates.”

“I don’t know how much good it would do me while we’re Maryland then.”

“Indeed. It can also be a very expensive fabric if one cares to purchase from respected sources; well made things often are.”

“Could I not afford the real thing, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked, a little venomous at the idea.

“I’m sure you could, Mr. Graham. You may even enjoy the material. You could in all probability get it even more wrinkled than that garment already is.” His eyes practically glittered. “It’s quite notorious for it, you see.”

Will had a sharp impulse to grab whatever he could from the table beside them and smear it all over the waist coat Lecter was wearing. He went as far as to look at what was at hand - pastries, crudites with a dip (promising) - before turning back to find that his intention had been clearly read. He felt more than saw Beverly hovering across the room, and decided he was a professional who could play nice.

“Thank you for the tip. And the assistance,” he said. “I think they’re ready to start back up.”

They weren’t, but Dr. Lecter nodded anyway and stepped back, heading towards the set. Beverly swooped in just as he left and surveyed the damage to Will’s shirt.

“That looks a lot better, actually. It looked like you two got a long a lot better too.”

“Did it? He called me a poor schmuck with bad taste.”

Now it was Bev’s turn to nearly choke on coffee.“I seriously doubt that, Will.”

“Whatever, you didn’t hear him.”

 “I saw him help you out so you at least don’t look like a poor schmuck.”

Will huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have to like him, Bev. I just have to work with him for about 16 weeks.”

“Sure. But those are going to be some up close and personal weeks. In two days you’re going to be selecting people you think he could fall in love with. It would be a little tinsy bit easier if you did like him. A little bit.”

Will opened his mouth to argue but Beverly just arched her brows at him, ready to fight, so he huffed again and let it go. He’d been losing this battle for a week, after all.

Everything ran smoothly for the rest of the shoot. Dr. Lecter continued to be affably professional, and Will did his best to be begrudgingly so. He stood around with Bev and a few other production people while the shoot happened around them - taking phone calls while watching Lecter pose as heart confetti was tossed on him. They had managed to match it to the colors in his tie. It suddenly struck Will that he looked cute. Which was all wrong.

“Hey, guys! Yeah, you two - no more with the hearts.” He called out, pacing around to photographer. “Doesn’t this look a little grade school Valentine’s Day to you?”

The guy shrugged. “We did it last season and it worked.”

“Last season was a 25 year old former gymnast. She was cute. He -” Will gestured to Dr. Lecter, “is not that. Can we get darker colors? More red?”

“Sure thing. Give us a minute.”

Will purposefully looked anywhere but towards Lecter as they reset. The photographer called to clear the set, and Will looked up just as two assistants threw long bolts of red silk up and behind, creating a huge X behind him. It struck Will suddenly like a pair of great red wings.

“Good call, man. That’ll be great. Fuck those Bachelor roses, right?”

“Right.” Will said, giving him a tight lipped smile. He glanced up again at Lecter to find that he was already being watched.

“Does the red suit your purpose, Mr. Graham?”

“Better than little pink hearts, anyway.” He said, sighing again before adding,“You had better start calling me Will. We are going to be seeing a lot of each other for the next few months.”

“Will, then.” Dr. Lecter said, practically grinning as the crew started to wrap up cords and turn off lights around them. “You will have to call me Hannibal.”

He paused then, and Will got the impression the longer he paused that he was waiting for Will to give him his name. Repeat it back to him as he had Will’s. It was an easy thing to let his lips curl into a soft smile as he took a few steps closer, and he watched as Hannibal’s little grin grew even more.

“Thank you for today, everything went great. I’ll see you again soon.” He waited a beat. “Have a good evening.” He then turned on his heel and was out the door and into the parking lot in a matter of seconds. He got to his car and stood at the driver’s side door, fiddling with his keys for a minute. Then two.

Beverly burst through the same exit he had come through, and walked towards him with her arms thrown out.

“What did we talk about! What did you just say to him?”

Will fought to keep a straight face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s been a dream all day, you say ten words to him before running out, and now he’s basically biting heads off in there!”

“I told him thanks for the great day, and that I would see him soon.” He said, finally opening the door and ducking in to hide his grin. “We’re even on a first name basis.”

“Will. Come on! What did you do?”

Will closed the door in her face and started the car, giving a little wave as he pulled out onto the street.

Chapter Text

They ended up casting forty people - nearly a fifty fifty split, but it was skewed a little bit in the women’s favor. Not all would be staying past the first night, obviously, yet Will had struggled to even agree to that many. He had floated the idea to Beverly of only casting twenty five contestants and keeping them all for the first week and had been resoundingly refused.

There were some clear standouts despite their difficulties. Alana Bloom had been warm and friendly, and was also a psychiatrist in the city. Anthony Dimmond was a British expat who was witty, a published poet, and had worn paisley to the audition which struck Will as either a very good or very bad omen. Margot Verger was nearly as much of a socialite as Dr. Lecter but there was a depth to her that Will enjoyed. A few other standouts here and there - a few musicians, two restaurant owners. Bev and Freddie made sure to have a healthy dose of obvious social climbers and fame seekers that would fill time and create those little frissons of strife the show needed.

Freddie told him later that the patient Dr. Lecter had come to help at the initial casting call had shown up again, insisting to be allowed to vie for his own psychiatrist’s affections on the show. No one would let him into the audition room, but it had been a close thing; the man turning out to be capable of bursts of speed no one had anticipated.

The week that followed was spent booking venues and setting up activities and challenges for solo and group scenarios. Will had a particular affinity for designing them, though he struggled again to come up with things that Lecter would engage in and not simply tolerate. It wasn’t like the studio could afford to send them all to the symphony every week. He spent hours looking through the questionnaires the contestants had filled out. Over and over he would land on Lecter’s, puzzling through elegant, looping cursive as though answers about swimsuit preferences could tell him something worth knowing.

He did learn that Lecter had been a surgeon at Johns Hopkins, had attended school in Paris and Florence, was born in Lithuania, and had no living family. He learned that he spoke five languages, was an accomplished artist and musician, as well as being a self taught gourmet chef. Will learned all of this and by the end of it had to agree with the consensus that the man was fascinating.

So why would he ever agree to audition for a reality dating show? Freddie Lounds’ bullheadedness notwithstanding.

Will couldn’t figure it out. Dr. Lecter didn’t need this. He was obviously alone by choice; his wealth alone would go a long way in excusing any eccentricities in a relationship, and he was handsome, as much as Will had griped about his looks.

“I think he was telling the truth about not being able to connect to people when we first met him.” Beverly said, after listening to Will complain over the phone about him and his lack of motivation for the better part of ten minutes. “Sometimes money and talent makes that harder, not easier, you know?”

“I could believe that if he was divorced or something but he wrote that he hasn't been in a serious relationship since he was in college. In Italy, by the way. It doesn’t feel like he can’t connect, it feels like he’s never tried.”

“Then figure a way to coax him out of his very fancy shell and make the attempt. I don’t know why he has you so worked up. You’re good at this, Will. You know what people really want before they do. He may be more of a challenge, but he’s still human. Everyone wants that spark with someone and so far you’ve always made it happen.” She said, a smile in her voice.

“He’s going to make me work for it. I can guarantee that.”

“People are going to eat it up. Don’t stress Will, I really think it’s going to be great.”

He let her go after that, and spent the rest of the night enthusiastically dreading the next day when filming would officially start. He went to bed as early as he could, but woke up in the early morning hours drenched in sweat from a nightmare he couldn’t remember by the time he was fully aware.

     The drive to the contestant’s mansion was nearly two hours, and Will spent most of that time yelling into his phone that Freddie was in no way allowed to alter the order of appearance of the contestants Lecter was meeting that night.

“I have them in that order for a reason! Who he meets when will have an effect on his initial impressions.”

“I think that’s a bunch of behaviorist bullshit!”

Will took a deep breath. “It’s already been set. You can do whatever you think needs to happen in editing, that I don’t care about, but my sequence does not change.”

She hung up on him after that, and he pulled up to the estate 20 minutes later. It was a change of scenery from the last two seasons; those had been filmed in a very modern house, all glass and concrete with flat, contemporary furniture. This house was one of the most storied in the area with dark grey stone, high ceilings, leather and polished wood throughout. It was going to be a pain to film in, but when he had done the walk through something about it had reminded him of Dr. Lecter. Old money, maybe, or the way that every room seemed to lead to another that led to another. When he had walked into the huge formal dining room with plum colored drapery framing stained glass windows he could exactly picture Lecter there, handing out keys one by one to the contestants he chose to stay.

The rest of the morning was spent supervising lighting and potential camera angles, changing what wasn’t working and approving what was. Moving furniture around to force people to sit near one another instead of scattering to corners. Making sure they had some alcohol but nothing too strong on the first night - people would be nervous and likely to over indulge; some food available not so much that they wouldn’t feel the alcohol. As the day went on the house started to feel smaller than it was with so many people going in and out, and Will stepped out to the small formal garden under the pretense of looking for a place to shoot confessionals but in truth just to breathe for a moment.

It was a nice spot. None of the bustle from the house could be heard, and Will was further soothed by letting his hand run over the tops of the trimmed topiaries as he walked. The afternoon light was just starting to shift to evening, the windows catching amber light and his reflection as he slowly moved around the perimeter of the garden.

“Hello, Will.”

He all but jumped at the voice, turning to find Dr. Lecter standing at the other edge of the little garden, a few pots and raised beds between them. Though he stood where Will had just been, he hadn’t heard anyone come in and he had the thought that he may not have noticed at all if Lecter hadn’t spoken.

“Hello. No one told me you were here yet.”

“I am a bit early. I have attended an event in the ballroom here on a previous occasion, but I wanted to reacquaint myself before this evening.”

“You have been here before. Of course.” Will said, making a choice to not roll his eyes.

“It’s a remarkable old house. A little out of the way, perhaps, but worth the trip.” He said, starting to wind his way through the plant life. If he noticed Will’s suppressed ire he gave no indication. “The family that originally built it still lives in the area, though not in anything so grand.”

Will crossed his arms and looked up at the railings and windows above them. “I don’t think they could find something like this now if they tried. It seems like a shame to have given it up in the first place.”

“The way the story goes it couldn’t be avoided. Death in the family.” Dr. Lecter said, finally coming to a stop beside him. Will kept his gaze on the house, but he felt the other man’s eyes on him nonetheless.

They stood together quietly for a few moments, and Will had just opened his mouth to say - something, when the walkie on his hip beeped and a voice came through asking where he was. He grabbed at it and answered, saying he was heading back in momentarily. He paused, and looked at Dr. Lecter again.

“Do you want me to tell them you’re here, or do you still want a little time?” He asked.

Lecter looked nearly surprised at that, and seemed to evaluate Will. “Yes, if that won’t impact the schedule adversely. A few more moments would be welcome. Thank you, Will.”

“Sure. Take you time.” He headed back into the house, applauding himself on his own capacity for professionalism.

Back inside and through the maze of rooms he found his way to the lead camera and sound team. Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller had been with them last season and handshakes were passed around.

“Anyone good this season, Will?” Price asked.

He snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve been talking to Beverly.”

“More like she’s been talking to me. She’s convinced this is going to be our best season yet if you don’t drive off our main squeeze.”

“I’m just here to make sure this is halfway watchable.”

“Easier said than done.” Zeller said, unenthusiastically looking around the room. “Could you have picked a place with a more convoluted floor plan? Tracking shots are going to be basically impossible.”

“We can shoot next season on a cruise ship if you’d prefer.” Will deadpanned, and Price turned to laugh at Zeller directly.

The two of them were handed off to the director after that, and Will went to the second floor to break up a gaggle of production assistants and get one of them to grab Lecter from outside and get him into wardrobe. They probably couldn’t wash the man of all plaid, but he could certainly give them the chance to try.

All at once the lights were on and it was time to start. The director called for the first round of town cars to pull up on the walkies, and Will caught Dr. Lecter as he was coming down a secondary flight of stairs and started to walk with him to the main entrance.

He was in a practically subdued pinstripe three piece, though Will noted that the pocket square and tie from that morning had stayed. Something occurred to Will.

“That’s still one of your suits, isn’t it?” He said, tone halfway to accusatory.

“What makes you think it is?”

“It fits you well. We don’t normally have much room in the timeline for tailoring.”

“Would it add to the show if I appeared in something ill fitting?” Dr. Lecter said, and though Will kept his eyes forward as they arrived at the front doors, he could tell he was being laughed at.

“Maybe we’ll throw it in for sweeps week.”

He thought he heard him chuckle, but a voice chimed in from his hip again that the first car was waiting. He gestured for Lecter to proceed him out to the car, and then they were off. Will ducked behind the view of the cameras to watch as Dr. Lecter opened the door of the car to reveal Margot Verger in a copper colored cocktail dress. He assisted her as she stepped out, and they smiled at one another; Margot obviously a little nervous and overly aware they were being filmed.

“Good evening, and welcome.” Dr. Lecter said, with a warmth to his voice Will hadn’t heard before.

“Good evening, thank you. I’m Margot Verger. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Lecter.”

“I return the sentiment, Ms. Verger. Please,” he said, gesturing towards the front doors as he took her arm, “I believe you’ll find refreshments inside.”

“Great. That sounds perfect.” She said.

He opened the door for her and took her hand in his again, then said “How glad I am that you were the first, Margot. I do hope we speak again before the evening is over.”

Will heard someone whisper an emphatic “wow” beside him as Margot, looking a little flushed and flustered, said thank you again and went inside to be ushered to the next room. Will had a glowing internal moment of self congratulations. She had been one of his top picks and he was very pleased that had gone perfectly. Beyond perfect, really - that little exchange would make it into the show for sure, and he’d be happy to shove the tape in Freddie’s face the next time she argued about his process.

The next ten or so meetings all went smoothly; Dr. Lecter continued to effortlessly charm each contestant as they arrived, lifting them by the hand from the vehicle only to sweep them into the house with a perfectly timed little compliment or flirtatious comment. A few were a little handsy, running broad hands up his arm, or shining finger nails clicking down the buttons of his waistcoat. It made Will itch to watch but Lecter endured it all with aplomb and good humor.

Then one of the men showed up without a shirt on. Will didn’t know if someone let him get into the car that way or if he had taken the initiative on the drive up, but by the complete lack of expression on Lecter’s face he was neither amused nor enticed. He took long enough to greet the man that he started to fidget as Dr. Lecter let the silence inch into uncomfortable.

“Good evening. I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Please, right this way, before you catch a chill.” The poor fool was all but pushed through the double doors before he could even get his own name out of his mouth.

There was a beat of awkward silence as they waited for the next town car. Dr. Lecter seemed to reset, and had something like an embarrassed smile on his face as he turned to the crew at large. “I apologize. His entrance was probably meant to be humorous. I was advised to keep my reactions genuine,” he looked meaningfully at the doors behind him, then his eyes found Will in the back of the crowd, “and that was not at all to my taste.”

The crew laughed at that, and he gave a little bow in acknowledgement as another car pulled up.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The thirty eighth and thirty ninth contestants that Dr. Lecter welcomed to the mansion were Anthony Dimmond and Alana Bloom, respectively. Will had anticipated that he would be flagging as they went on and thought that bunching a few good eggs all at the end would hopefully get him reinvested in the process before heading into the party himself, but there was no noticeable change in his demeanor. He stayed gracious throughout, and thankfully no one else had tried to pull anything as drastic as showing up shirtless.

There was a lovely moment with Alana, especially; she turned back to look at Lecter right as the doors of the house closed between them, smiling shyly with her dark hair thrown over one shoulder. Will didn’t pretend to know Dr. Lecter’s feelings about anyone this early in the game, but he knew if that smile had been directed at him he would have easily fallen for it. Then the last person, a beautiful publicist from Annapolis, was through the doors and finally, finally, they were clear.

Someone called a wrap on the scene, and they broke in a wave - half heading into the house, the other starting to break down lights and cameras. Lecter was corralled off to do a short confessional before being presented back to the group. Will stayed were he was for a long moment, not relishing the idea of the rooms inside; packed with people, close and noisy. The first night was never his favorite.

He eventually went back in and set about making sure the props for the key ceremony were in place - 5 gold, 20 silver, all with red knotted tassels that tended to tangle together. The gold would be given to contestants Dr. Lecter wanted to have one on one dates with in the next week, the silver to those he wanted to remain in the house but only attend group activities with.

He heard a slight commotion in the next room, and didn’t have to look up to know that Hannibal Lecter had entered the fray. Will moved to stand just beyond a doorway, looking in past cameras to where he could see the man’s profile as he stood, by all appearances, holding court among them. One man offered a glass of champagne and he accepted with a smile before holding it up higher, addressing them all.

“A toast, to all of you here tonight, for trying something so strange and so new. May we all find what we came here looking for.”

Cheers rang out from them all, and while they drank and began to mingle again Dr. Lecter ran his gaze around the room. Will could feel the moments tick down as if on a metronome as his head turned towards the doorway. His smile sharpened slightly as he tipped the flute towards Will, holding his eyes before taking a drink. Then he blinked, or Will did, maybe, and his attention was on Anthony Dimmond - beside him in a dark blue suit.

Will watched them speak to one another, though he could not hear for the distance and the crowd. He watched the way Dimmond kept his weight in one hip and how Lecter turned his head but not his upper body towards him. Will moved slowly, suddenly wary to draw attention to himself, and moved towards a camera that was trained on them. He could hear them now, voices tinny as the microphones picked up their conversation.

“Well, you’re not the big bad wolf they made you out to be. I find myself quite disappointed.” Anthony said.

“Is that what you were expecting? To be presented a monster for a potential match?”

“I’m afraid so. Though perhaps you’re a monster of a different sort.” Anthony said, his voice now layered in lascivious insinuation.

A pale brow went up at that. “I’m sure you could find all kinds. Any manner of beast may roam this house. I myself have been introduced to a few this evening.”

Anthony laughed at that, pleased to have the doctor play along.

Dr. Lecter gave Anthony a tolerantly amused smile, tapping their glasses together before allowing someone else to take his arm and move deeper into the room. Soon he had two women on one arm and a tall young man on the other. He didn’t dominate the conversation, listening more often than he spoke. Will watched and listened to them talk about the cities nearby, the house they were standing in, the cities and houses they had been to before. Nothing too personal. Not on this first night. Will disliked small talk generally, and listening to small talk he wasn’t even actively participating in was agonizing.

He moved to another camera, this one pointed at a smaller group seated near a fireplace, Margot and Alana among them.They seemed to be fast friends, and were discussing the seeming unreality of the evening and how they each came to be there. Will was appreciating the picture they made gathered around a hearth, when Dr. Lecter insinuated himself into the group. He looked like he belonged there, of course, but all of their attention shifted to him, and any discussion of their experiences as contestants stopped. Which was a bit of a loss; it was a great topic to splice in between confessional scenes. Will watched with that camera for a little longer, appreciating how well Alana and Lecter seemed to be getting along, although she was still visibly nervous to have even a fraction of his attention. Pleased too that his little promise to Margot had been fulfilled - Freddie could take just that and edit it into a whole love affair.

He slipped out of the room again, thinking to help with the remaining set up in the dining room if he was needed. The rooms separating the two busy sets were empty, a swath of no man’s land with no entertainment to offer and no cameras to capture it if there were. He slowed his pace, appreciating the house itself again for a moment. Following a beamed ceiling across the span of the room, he caught a shape out of the corner of his eye.

Standing at the very edge of the party, in the doorway where the view of the cameras would miss him, was Dr. Lecter. He still had a flute of champagne in his hand, but no courters on his arm. They looked at one another at length, Will wondering if Lecter needed something from him, but he did not call out or gesture for him. Simply watched him for a long moment across the span of empty rooms and Will felt again that sense of a metronome ticking down, and down, and down.

Then he tipped his drink to him once again, the movement very subtle from a distance, and turned back into the party, striding away as if he hadn’t just been about to prowl after Will across those quiet, ignored rooms.

Which, Will realized, was exactly what had been about to happen. Dr. Lecter hadn’t been standing there waiting to be noticed: he had been noticed, and so caught in the act of something else entirely.

Will huffed, exasperated and having less than no time to worry about why the man would choose to sneak around behind him when there was an entire room of people eagerly waiting to be at his beck and call. Beasts roaming the halls, indeed. What a high maintenance pain in the ass.

He made it, miraculously unmolested, to the dining room and didn’t do anything but stand in a corner and glower until Bev noticed him and called him over to ask how he wanted the ceremony to go.

“Same as last season, and the one before that, and the demo before that. All silver, then gold, then the losers file out and the rest of them toast. It’s not complicated.”

“Ouch, OK fine. I was just double checking. What’s wrong with you? Everything is going great.”

Will didn’t answer, straightening the tassels on the keys with agitated little movements.

“Will. William. Hey, you jerk - what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong, Beverly. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to wrap this up.”

Beverly watched him angrily paw at a clipboard he’d picked for a while. Then she groaned, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “You have to get over this, Will. He’s on the show. It’s done”

“HE -” Will started emphatically, nearly shouting, before clicking his teeth shut and glowering at her again.

“Were you about to say he started it? Oh my god you were, you absolute child.”

“Forget it, Bev. Nevermind. The keys are fine, the room is fine. Everything’s fine.” Will said, deliberately keeping his tone level.

“You’re damn right everything is fine. You -”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He said, deflating at her condemnation and not wanting to argue about Hannibal Lecter for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Don’t be sorry. Be a professional.” She crossed her arms, but her expression softened. “I thought you were going to try to learn to like him.”

“I did. I - I am. I’ll be better. He is doing everything we’re asking, you’re right.” Will said.

Beverly sighed at him, in what Will hoped was an exasperated but fond way. “He likes you well enough, you know. That incident at photoshoot, which I still don’t believe you about by the way, is the only time he’s said anything about you that wasn’t glowing.”

Will rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to lie for him, Bev.”

“I won’t. He’s asked what your input was on different aspects of the show. He’s seen at least some of last season. He brought up specific things he did and didn’t like in meetings with the network and if they let it slip that it was one of your ideas he wanted axed, he backed right off.”

Will didn’t have anything to say to that. He just stared at her, trying not to openly gape. She took a step closer, lowering her voice a bit.

“I even heard he wanted you to be on the team that goes overseas mid season, and they only said no because you’ve always refused before.”

“I hate being on a plane for more than 4 hours.” He said absently.

Before they could continue to bicker like siblings the director came trotting into the dining room, and close behind him was a herd of beautiful people who all looked more nervous than the last time Will had seen them. It was time for the key ceremony.

Will moved to his position behind a secondary camera, and could see another producer had held Lecter back, no doubt to go over the rules of the elimination process one last time. The contestants were lined up against the wall, and once Dr. Lecter had stepped into place with the curtains behind him and the table of keys at his side Will had another thrill of satisfaction at having his vision so completely realized.

Silver keys were passed out with few surprises and a lot of bashfully pleased smiles. A few managed to turn their acceptance of the keys into opportunities to touch Dr. Lecter again, Anthony in particular letting his hand linger as he mimed straightening an already perfectly straight tie.

The first gold key went to Alana. She was as charmingly nervous to be singled out here as she had been at the cocktail party. Next was a banker, then one of the restaurateurs, and second to last was a young widower who looked genuinely floored to have received a key at all.

The last gold key he had saved for Margot, and they looked at eachother knowingly as she stepped up to accept it.

“Do you always like to end where you began?” She teased, a quirk of a smile on her face.

“You are too lovely a woman to place in the middle. I would not have you be overlooked.”

Even some of the contestants went wide eyed at that, making room for her as she took her place with the others selected to stay.

Dr. Lecter clasped his hands behind him then, looking to the group that had not been judged worthy of a key.

“I thank you all for your time and your company this evening. Though your journey ends here, I sincerely hope each of you takes away positive impressions of not only tonight, but also yourselves. Finding a love worth having is something I have searched for many years to find, and I wish all of you nothing but the best as you continue to seek it. Good night.”

As the losers filed out to be whisked back to whence they came, Price appeared at Will’s side. “I thought you guys weren’t feeding him lines.”

Will shook his head, amused at the thought of somehow making Lecter read off cue cards. “We’re not. He just talks like that.”

Price made a face that let Will know how much he believed that before moving back to his place beside Zeller. The newly culled group before them now was scattering, a few being pulled away to begin confessionals and others staying to continue to drink and socialize. Will rolled his shoulders, ready to be home and away from cast and crew alike. He made sure everything that wasn’t going to be needed for shooting tomorrow was being removed from the first floor, and that the crew going to film the group date knew where to meet and when.

It was nearly three in the morning when he was at long last heading towards his car across the dark lawn of the house. He heard a side door open and close somewhere behind him and stopped, choosing to let the person come to him where he stood instead of following him all the way down the driveway. He turned to watch the figure approach, back lit by the lights still on inside. He knew it was Lecter long before he reached him.

“Will. I’m glad to have caught you before you left.”

“You haven’t. You caught me while in the process of leaving.” Will said, crossing his arms.

That made him pause, and Will relished getting him on the wrong foot for once. “Perhaps this can keep until tomorrow, then. I realize it’s quite late.”

“You knew that before you jimmied open a door to come after me.”

He considered Will for a time before replying, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as he did. “As I saw you leave it seemed urgent that I speak with you before you did.”

Will’s initial irritation was fading away again to exhaustion. He didn’t have all night to tease this out of him or they would both end up passed out on the lawn talking around one another.

“Hannibal,” he said, letting himself draw the name out a little bit, “what was so important you followed me out here?”

Hannibal gave no external signs that his name effected him, but his tone was warm again as he asked, “I wanted to ask which of the people I met tonight are here by your choice.”

“Some, not all. Everyone involved in the process was looking for people we thought would appeal to you, for any number of reasons. Profession, background, education were all factors. They told you all this when you were cast.”

“They did.”

“I’m not going to give you the list of the contestants I specifically cast this season.” Will laughed. “That would be contrary to the entire point of you doing this.”

“I disagree.” Hannibal said, though his tone was practically jovial. “I believe you have the aptitude to identify compatibility with incredible acuity, Will. Your talents are arguably waisted here.”

“My talents are mine to waste.” Will said, eyes narrowing. “And I would remind you that you’re right here with me, Dr. Lecter.”

He nodded at that, but continued. “Yet, no matter the ultimate outcome, I will return to my practice and my interests. Participating in this endeavor does not keep me from where my real expertise may lay.”

“What does your ‘expertise’ tell you I should be doing?”

“You had a great deal of success as a script writer in Louisiana. I understand you were able to pull from current events with such a shocking level of accuracy that the NOPD consulted you twice before you left and eventually found your way here.”

“Jesus, did you find my IMDB or my police record?”

“Both were readily available online.”

Will’s amusement dropped sharply at that. “I’m not discussing my history with you. It has no bearing on why either of us are here.”

“Again, I must disagree. I admit to a certain level of professional curiosity at what your process may look like, though it goes beyond that, Will. I hate to think of a talent like yours languishing on endeavors like this for the rest of your career.”

Will had a blinding moment of such intense desire to punch Hannibal that he actually took a step forward before catching himself. Hannibal obviously read his intention, but if anything seemed to lean in a little closer instead of back.

He pressed on. “Instead of spending your days as an, admittedly successful, television match maker you could be a lawman yourself. A profiler, maybe, or even a forensic psychiatrist.”

“Narcissistic, Dr. Lecter. If only I worked a little harder I could be just like you?” Will all but spat at him.

“Would you want to be?” Hannibal all but purred, and his every little movement telegraphed how pleased he was to have gotten a reaction. Even in the dark his eyes glittered at seeing Will so incensed against him.

Will turned away from him, taking a few deep breaths. He couldn’t get in a fist fight with the star of the show. They would never be able to put enough make up on him to cover up what Will wanted to inflict on him in that moment. He got as far as imagining if Hannibal would flinch as they dabbed concealer over a black eye before facing him again.

If Hannibal was surprised to see him compose himself again he didn’t show it. He merely waited, for all appearances content to let Will decide how they would proceed - be it with words or actions.

“Was this the reason you wanted to corner me at the party? Eager to discuss my employment history?” Will asked, hoping to catch Hannibal off guard again.

“I can think of a myriad of topics I wish to discuss with you, Will.”

That was a yes, then. “Another time, maybe. As you said, it is very late, and I have a drive ahead of me.”

Hannibal smiled at that. “I look forward to it. Have a good night, Will.”

“Good night, Hannibal.”

He knew the man stayed there, watching him as he went down to his car, though he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back like some moony eyed high schooler.

As Will made the long drive home he kept running his conversation with Hannibal over and over again in his head. He couldn’t decide if it was inappropriate or somehow flattering that he had bothered to look Will up. An attempt at fair play, maybe. Will did have all the information on Hannibal that the studio had gathered. Was that little skirmish between them meant to level the field or accomplish something else entirely?

He had two days to recover before he would accompany Hannibal and one of the gold key contestants on a solo date. Maybe he would find something else to fixate on by then.

Pulling into his own driveway, one thing was clear. Hannibal wasn’t the only one with a fixation.

Chapter Text

“I believe I specifically declined the offer to participate in events that could be categorized as ‘extreme sports,’ William. In fact, I am positive I had the entire clause describing them struck from my contract all together.”

“So that's a no to the mechanical bull riding?”

“It is.”

“It’s a big part of American culture. People love it.”

“I have lived in this country for nearly 20 years. In that time I have never seen one. Perhaps you are not as in touch with your own culture as you believe you are.”

Will had to duck his head down behind the top of his laptop to hide his smile at that little jab. He was sitting with Hannibal, a secondary director, and a few production assistants trying to get him to agree to one of the pre arranged solo dates for the day. He had come down from his room that morning dressed in a relaxed sweater and jacket, no waistcoat or pocket square in sight, and had easily agreed to take Alana when Will had suggested it. They had been foolish to take those things as signs of weakness; Will could admit that now.

“OK, I apologize. I certainly don't want to be in breach of your contract. I know how particular you were on the conditions of your participation in the show.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at that. “If that is the truth, then this should not come as a surprise.”

“You are always surprising, Dr. Lecter.” Will said, keeping his voice cheerful just to be contradictory to Hannibal’s venomous tone. “What about an orchard? Apple picking, a cider and preserve tasting. I don’t think there are any farm animals on the property.”

“And apples are so very American.”

“You would know.”

He gave him look so lacking in any identifiable human emotion that Will worried he had finally antagonized him too much, and Hannibal would refuse to do anything worth filming for the rest of the day. Then Hannibal seemed to remember they had an audience and sighed, his expression relaxing back into tolent annoyance.

“Indeed. The orchard is acceptable.” He finally said, and made a little gesture with one hand and a tilt of his head that somehow communicated the phrase c'est la vie without him having to open his mouth.
“Great.” He looked to the assistants, “Can you two grab Ms. Bloom and have her in a car by eleven?” They agreed and darted out of the room.The director shook both their hands and was out the door as well, leaving Will alone with Hannibal for the first time since the night of the welcome party.

“How are you liking the house?”

“The accommodations have been more than adequate. I am happy to have the opportunity to spend any length of time here. As I mentioned on our first day, the property is widely admired.”

“You’ll like the orchard too. They grow heritage apples and it’s all organic. Their products have even won national awards. Alana doesn’t drink wine, so the cider should be a hit. It seems like a good fit for you both.”

“Let us hope so.” Hannibal said. “Are you going to be chaperoning all of my ‘one on one’ dates?”

“Yes, until you go to Rome for the mid season finale and another producer takes over.” Will stood, starting to close down his laptop and pack up to meet the cars in a few more minutes. “But you knew that, Hannibal. They told you in the same pre production meetings where you signed the contract saying I can’t make you do anything too ‘extreme’.”

“They did.” He agreed, totally unmollified despite being caught fishing for - whatever it was he wanted to know. “You have not asked how the group outing went.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” Will asked.

“I imagine you will see footage of it eventually.”

“That bad? I thought you had done a pretty good job of weeding out any chaff with the first round of keys.”

“You may have put too much faith in my abilities.”

“Or you did in my ability to cast people for you.”

He finally smiled that that. “That man who looks rather like you sat in my lap and the reporter from Bel Air took offense. Did you cast them?”

“What?” Will nearly dropped his bag, looking at Hannibal, who looked more amused at the reaction, and Will suddenly couldn’t look at him at all. “None of them look like me, Hannibal. Which, who - who did that?”

“Anthony, I believe his name is. He’s been very forward. You don’t think there is some resemblance between you?”

Will sputtered, finally saying, “No, I don’t. He’s British.”

“He’s British.” Hannibal repeated, slowly enunciating each syllable.

“That’s not what I meant.” Will said, exasperated and oddly embarrassed. “What should it matter if a man you think looks like me sits on your lap?”

“I didn’t say it should. Just that it happened while we were out yesterday.” His tone making it clear how much he was relishing Will’s discomfort. “I thought it would be prudent to keep you apprised of any interpersonal developments before you accompany Alana and myself today.”

“Would you have me believe you consider that a development?”

Hannibal gave him another elegant little gesture, this one approximating a shrug, before standing up and straightening his jacket. “I wouldn’t presume to know if it was. I am at a disadvantage, having never done this before. I defer to your expertise.”

“Then by all means, let him sit in your lap if that’s something you enjoy.” Will said, trying to will himself to not blush and shouldering his bag. “I have found that a little bit of bad behavior goes a long way to entertain an audience, as well.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal asked idly. “I shall have to engage in more of it.”

“Planning to sit on some laps yourself?”

“Only if you can make one readily available.”

Will laughed, shaking his head as he proceeded Hannibal out of the little upstairs office they had sequestered themselves in for the meeting. “We’ll have to see how receptive Alana is feeling today.”

Hannibal didn’t answer, but Will heard him hum in something like amusement as they went down the stairs to the waiting cars.

An hour and a half later they were filming Hannibal and Alana as they strolled through a truly picturesque apple orchard while one of the owners talked them through the process of making cider, and the significance of the trees to the region. Alana looked beautiful in the dappled light, and Hannibal managed to be just as handsome beneath fruit and foliage as he did everywhere else. He’d been talking to Alana before they began the tour about temptations and original sins in a playful tone that had her laughing at him, completely charmed.

As the two of them were led inside to stomp on apples or however cider was made, Will’s phone buzzed, and he back pedaled to the cars to answer. It was Freddie, calling to complain that Will hadn’t been watching the dailies and to let him know the rough cut of the first episode was ready to view. They would be ready to turn it over to the studio to air it in two more days. He let her crow awhile about how good Hannibal looked on camera and remind him again that she had been the one to discover him, before finally talking over her and hanging up.

He caught up with the group in the keg room, arriving in time to watch Hannibal chop apples. He had removed his coat, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and someone had given him a knife. He was, of course, showing the crew of distillery and TV show alike the proper way to cleave apart apples for cooking versus fermentation. Will was a little loath to admit, even to himself, that he looked good doing it - apples going from whole to quartered at a dizzying pace under steady, practiced hands.

He stepped aside after a moment and gave the knife to Alana, directing her as she attempted to mimic the technique, and wrapping an arm behind her and putting his hands over hers as she faltered. It was another picture perfect moment between them and Hannibal was gentleman enough to not press the advantage. They laughed, joked, and Hannibal presented her with several cases of the cider as a gift to take back to the house as they wrapped up. Another little trick of Will’s - providing tangible proof of affection, demonstrating value - all that stuff people didn’t think would work on them until it did. Psychiatrist or not.

Hannibal saw to it that Alana and her cargo settled were into a car, and waved her off. He stood and watched the car drive away with his back to the cameras, providing another story building moment. Will heard them call cut, and he walked over to stand beside him.

“What is you verdict?”

“This is a fine facility. I may even purchase from them in the future.”

“Glad to hear it was up to your standards.” Will said, leaving the eye roll merely implied. “How was Alana?”

“Charming and intelligent. She reports to be getting along well with the other contestants in the house. We have a few colleagues in common in Baltimore.”

Will nodded along. “She is also caucasian, never married, and drives a hybrid car. Tell me about her in relation to you, Hannibal.”

He shot Will a needling little look. “I find Ms. Bloom to be a compatible match in many respects. Time will tell if she feels the same.”

“This will be easier if you just tell me how you’re feeling.” Will said and ran his hands through his hair. “I hope the irony of that statement is not lost on you, because you’re making this harder than pulling teeth.”

“Pulling teeth is not so hard. All one needs is a little practice.” Hannibal said, sounding wistful for some reason. Memories of med school, maybe.

“Then let’s practice together.” Will said sardonically. “They’re going to harp on it in your confessional. Might as well run through it with me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I find it easier to confess to a camera than to you?”

He had put a note of shy despondency in his voice that Will was pretty sure he didn’t buy, but found he was moved to mercy regardless. He sighed, “Fine. I do think she likes you, though.”

“Do you like me, Will?”

Will dared a glance towards him at that, but Hannibal wasn’t looking at him, gazing after where Alana’s town car had disappeared around a bend instead. He was struck again by how good he looked in sunlight, and the dramatic lines of his profile - the way his brow, then nose and lips pieced together. Hannibal had to feel Will’s eyes on him but must have been content to let him look; his own eyes staying on the scenery.

“I imagine most people you meet like you. You go to a lot of trouble to be charming and courteous. The european manners, the clothing. It’s all designed to draw people in.”

“What is your design? On the surface it seems to be quite the opposite of what you just described. Will Graham presents himself as uninterested in others, though I suspect you are capable of profound connections. You don’t look people in the eye, you dress in ill fitting outdoorsman’s clothes, and I believe that you have this job as a way to further obfuscate who you really are.”

“Why would either one of us do all that?”

“I am beginning to wonder the very same. Tell me, Will, why did you leave Louisiana?”

Will was not so amateurish that his blood ran cold; people had asked him that question before, of course, but it was a close thing when coupled with Hannibal’s deliberately insinuating intonation.

“Greener pastures, a change of scenery. You would probably give a similar answer to what brought you to this country.”

He finally turned and caught Will’s eyes with his. “More than merely similar, I would say. I suspect we would find much in common with one another in many respects.”

“I look at us and see more differences than commonalities.”

“Then I am not as well designed as you say.”

Will turned away, running a hand over his mouth to stifle a smile. “Why does it matter if I like you or not? You’re not doing all this for me.”

“We are nonetheless in this together. We could socialize like adults. God forbid we become friendly.” Hannibal said.

“You’re not the first to suggest that my life would be easier if you and I were friendly.” Will felt generous enough admitting that, but continued. “I do like you, Hannibal. I just do not understand why you’re here.”

“As I said, I think our motivations are very similar.”

Will didn’t try to hide his smile at that. “That’s the closest you’ve come to admitting you want to find romance since your little non-audition.”

He didn’t look to check, but he could feel Hannibal’s annoyed look. Before either of them could continue to bait the other, a crew member called out that they were packed up and ready to go. They turned to go as one, strangely synchronized, though the way Hannibal held himself made Will wonder if he had wanted to hold out his arm to walk them back to the waiting vehicles.

When they got back to the house, Will wasn’t even out of the car before Brian and Beverly both were pulling him aside and talking to him in urgent, lowered voices. He saw Hannibal shoot him a concerned glance, but then he too was ushered off by another producer. The police had been called, and they wanted to speak to Will. A contestant had been found on the outskirts of the property grounds. Not just found. Found dead, and not just dead. A contestant had been found murdered.

Well, then. What a terrible end to a first date.

Chapter Text

Cops did not like Will. They had not liked him when he was growing up poor and shoplifting shoes to wear to school. They had not liked him when he had applied to the academy at twenty two and been refused on grounds of ‘instability.’ They had not liked him when he went to film school instead, and sold a killer-of-the-week pilot to a small studio based in New Orleans who hired him to write episodes based on crimes happening in the city. They had really, really not liked him when he wrote about a crime on the show and his characterization of the murder scenes had included details that had never been released to the press. They had not been entertained by his explanations of an empathy disorder.

They had arrested him after he did it twice.

Nothing the police could prove in court, and they knew it, but they had wanted to scare him out of showing them up again. Then the studio had hired a lawyer and scared them right back with threats of their own. Will had been released and all charges dropped, but the studio had also let him go once all the dust had settled.

So here he was outside Baltimore, Maryland talking to yet another cop who really, really did not like Will.

“You’re the individual who decided to have the cast stay at this house? Why?”
“You’re the individual who was responsible for all final casting choices? No? I was told you were.”
“But you were the individual who selected the victim to be on the show, correct?”
“I understand you have not been on the premises for the past two days? Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts for that time?”
“Did you have any reason to hurt the victim? Do you know anyone who did?”
“I see that you have been arrested in relation to your TV career before? Care to tell me about that?”

The dead man was Arthur Holmwood; recent widower and now former partner at a small publishing house in Washington DC. As they reviewed the footage they had of the man from the past few days with detectives over their shoulders, all Will learned that he hadn’t known before he had cast the man was that he had made a passing reference to an opera at the party, and Hannibal had apparently thought that was enough to earn him a gold key.

It was a small blessing that it hadn’t been anyone involved in the show to discover the body. A wide eyed groundskeeper had found him just on the edge of a little copse of trees between one property line and the next. No attempt to hide the body. He had been left where he fell after two big hits to the back of the head - one as he stood, the final as he lay on his face in the dirt. A surprise attack, and a little impersonal. There was something to be said about looking a man in the eye as you killed him. An opportunity lost, Will thought.

The cops cleared out after about 36 hours, taking only copies of all their footage after a very loud confrontation with Freddie Lounds in which she had yelled the phrase ‘freedom of press’ no less than six times, regardless of its relevance to the matter at hand. Thanks to her they did still have a show to present to the studio. Concerns were raised about showing footage of a dead man that could very well end up as evidence in a murder trial to a national TV audience, but a newly united front between Freddie and Will was enough to convince the network to carry on as usual. They would edit out his entrance, confessionals, key acceptance - anything that would draw attention to a character that would appear in no future episodes. With more than thirty other people to muddy the water for the viewers, not many would even notice his abrupt disappearance from the house.

Will had been bullied out of a good thing once by unwanted police attention. He wasn’t going to let it happen here.

By some stroke of cold blooded hollywood genius, Beverly had moved all of the contestants to a day spa as soon each of them was finished being questioned by the police, and no one had walked off the show. With a little editing they turned it into a boys vs. girls gossip segment that played pretty well - everyone scantily dressed with a towel on their head and a drink in their hands. Freddie had, perhaps, made it seem that people who were suspected of being the killer were instead suspected of being Dr.Lecter’s favorite, but Will was willing to let that slide. Creative editing was the least of their problems. There was a consensus among crew and cast alike that the right thing to do was to stick it out in the face of tragedy.

All of them except for Dr. Lecter, actually. He had been adamant that it was in incredibly poor taste to continue filming after the violent death of a cast member. When Will pressed him on why he felt that way all he had gotten was some vague recitations of psychological trauma terms and condemning silences while Will plead his case. He had been on the verge of threatening him with his own contract when Hannibal had surprised him.

“Why is it so important to you that we continue, Will? After the initial shock of learning what had happened to Mr. Holmwood, I confess that one of my first thoughts was that the show would surely be forced to end here. That you would not be sorry to have the opportunity to cast someone you believed to be better suited than myself.”

“They’ve run promos and printed ads. It would be expensive to start over with a new love interest, and there is no way we could get it done before they show the first episode in a few days.” He moved to sit down next to Hannibal on one of the stiff antique settees scattered around the room. “Those are the practical things the studio will repeat to you if you decide you don’t want to continue. I personally believe that you came here to find something you said was missing from your life. It would be a shame to leave before you ever had a chance to find it.”

Hannibal looked stricken, searching Will’s face. He knew an advantage when he had one, and pressed on, “I am here until the end of this thing if you are. Some good ought to come out of all the work we’ve already put into it, and if we work together I believe it will.”

“Truly?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes. Truly.”

“Then you would be willing to accompany the show when we leave for Rome?”

He obviously wasn’t the only one capable of pressing an advantage. He ran his tongue over the seam of his lips, considering his options before answering, but ultimately knowing he’d been beat. “I’ve never been out of the country before.”

“That is a shame. This would be a chance to have it easily remedied.”

“I don’t speak Italian. Before you say it - yes, I know you do, and so does the producer scheduled to go with you.”

“I am confident that you would pick up the language quickly, and with more ease than you might imagine.” Hannibal said, starting to smile. He too could sense a victory at hand.

“I hate being on a plane for that long. I get antsy.”

“A first class seat would make the experience much more tolerable, if not pleasant.”

“The studio will not spring for first class anything. We could be going there via cargo ship and they would figure out a way to seat me in coach.”

Hannibal didn’t answer that, looking down to adjust a cuff. Will realized his slip too late and huffed, then slumped back into the upholstery. “The other producer will have a fit. I can’t promise the higher ups won’t side with him.”

“I am sure they will see it our way if I make my continued participation contingent on your being present in Italy. Do not worry, Will. We shall see this through to the end. Just as you said.”

Hannibal sat back as well, bringing them closer together as he wrapped an arm over the back of the settee. Will could feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt, smell the way his cologne curled off of him, see the stubble coming through on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he said, mouth suddenly dry. “All the way to the end.”

“What will we find once we are there?”

“Uhm.” Will had to swallow twice before answering. “Gelato and - and wine. Maybe some phrase books if you’re pushy about it.”

Hannibal chuckled at that. Will wasn’t sure if he was the one to relax further into the loveseat or if it was Hannibal, but their thighs were pressed together now and he was laughing along too. Had his jaw line always looked like that, or was his stubble making it more prominent?

“I have never been called ‘pushy.’ Perhaps persuasive.” Hannibal said with a smile.

“I think you are admirably managing both. I have remained safely on American shores for my whole life and here you come pushing me off of them.”

“I would characterize it as leading you into new experiences. It is not as if we leave tomorrow, in any case. It is weeks off yet. No need for undue anxiety.”

Will turned to face him fully, bringing his arm to the back of the sofa to trail just behind Hannibal’s. He meant to put some space between them, but was caught against a cushion behind him. Hannibal pressed closer again, crossing a leg and leaning in a bit, on the edge of looming. Will felt very warm. Had he sat like this with people at the party? Will couldn’t remember.

“Why do you think I need to be in Rome? Really? I know you asked for me to be there in negotiations with the network.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at that, but his smile stayed in place. “By all accounts you are a large part of the popularity and prosperity of the show. Why would I want the person who holds the key to my success an ocean away at such a pivotal moment?”

“You said I was a glorified matchmaker.”

“I believe I also admitted to you being a successful one.”

Will rolled his eyes at that. “And what match would you like me to make, out of your current options?”

His smile went a little smaller at that, but Will could still see it around his eyes. “Currently?”

Had his collar been open before? His top button was open above a loosened tie, and the line of his throat as it descended into his shirt was becoming unbearable to be so near to.

Will meant to look up again at Hannibal’s face but made it as far as his lips before stopping.

“Yes. Currently. Anyone you think you’d like to focus on moving forward? Anyone that’s caught your eye?”

He licked his lips as he considered his reply. All at once, Will had to be looking anywhere else, and chose a brass lamp across the room.

“I don’t think I can tell you anything for certain until we are a little further along. It’s been less than a week, and the death of Mr. Holmwood has not allowed for any of us to be at our best.”

“Right. Right. Of course.” Will said, nodding to the lamp.

“I do look forward to working more closely with you, Will, as we move on. As you said, if anything good is to come after such a tragedy, we will have to work together to achieve it.”

“Yes.” Will agreed. “I… I apologize if at any point I made you feel that I didn’t want you on the show. I am glad that you’re here, Hannibal. Not everyone would stay and see this through after everything that has happened.”

“I admit to having my own reservations about it. But you have persuaded me to stay. No need to thank me for falling prey to your persuasion.” He said, the little smile back to his tone.

“Is that what happened? I feel like I was talked into agreeing to a twelve hour flight.”

“Concessions were made on both sides.” Which wasn’t a no.

Hannibal stood, stretching a bit before turning and offering his hand to help Will to his feet as well. He did not step back as he did, and they were chest to chest for a long, breathless moment wherein Will could not focus on anything but the color of his eyes - amber, and trimmed with pale lashes - they stood there together, Hannibal still holding Will’s hand in his. Then there was a perfunctory knock on the door as it was opened and Will fell back gracelessly onto the settee again at the same moment Hannibal dropped his hand and took a large step back. If Beverly noticed anything out of the ordinary she did not mention it.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt. Will, they need you downstairs.”

“Yeah! Sure. I’m right behind you.”

She nodded and was out the door again, but the moment was gone. Will took a second to be self pityingly embarrassed about how worked up he had gotten over a handsome man being polite to him for any length of time, then stood up to follow her out the door.

“Will.”

He stopped, one hand on the door jam as he turned back. “Yes?”

Hannibal’s expression was remote again - no doubt also embarrassed at how Will had gone dreamy eyed so fast.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me personally. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Anytime you need anything, just let me know. We’ll get through it.”

He gave him one of his little half bows. “As you say, Will.”

Will smiled, and hoped it didn’t look as manic as it felt.

Downstairs he hopped on a conference call, and could not remember a word he had said once they hung up.

“Hey, are you alright? Lecter didn’t give you a hard time?” Beverly asked, eyeing him sympathetically.

“No. He was fine. He’s not going to walk or anything.” Will assured her.

“Well that’s a relief. We’d be screwed for the whole season.”

He nodded at that, but Beverly couldn’t quite let it go yet. “Are you sure you’re alright? You repeated yourself like four times during the call.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I did agree to go to Rome. But that should be fine. I mean, I’ll hate it, but it will be fine.”

“He’d only stay if you agreed to go with them to Rome?” She said, aghast.

“Yes.”

“Will!”

“It’ll be fine!”

“It’s going to just be you, a few assistants, and an all Italian crew. Even the director is from Rome! You’ll be wrangling ten contestants and Lecter!”

“I know. I’ll start an online language course tonight.”

“You leave in less than a month. Oh my god, does the other producer know he’s been booted?”

Will did have his own doubts about that. “I mean, I’m not going to be the one to tell him. I’ll call the studio and let them handle it.”

She just sat there for a few minutes after that, staring at him while he pretended to work on a laptop that wasn’t his just to avoid continuing the conversation. Finally she said, “What do you get for agreeing to this?”

“He stays on the show. Like you said, we’d have been screwed.” He said with a shrug.

“Yeah. You’ll be alright, being with him so much? I know it hasn’t always been easy between the two of you.”

“It will be fine, Bev, I promise. I took your advice. Just keeping it professional.”

Chapter Text

Being friendly with Hannibal was more of a challenge than Will had anticipated. Hannibal now pulled him into every aspect of the process he was involved in; which, as the star of the show, was nearly all of them. Everything from wardrobe disagreements to when they should break for dinner was something Will had to hear about from not only from Hannibal, but from any other crew member Hannibal had asked to seek out Will for an answer - why he had thought Will would side with him in favor of houndstooth was beyond comprehension. Hannibal had also taken it upon himself to convince Will to change his aftershave, and Price and Zeller had similarly taken to mentioning something about Will’s ‘top notes’ whenever he walked past them.

“Zesty today, Will.”

“I’m getting a little sea salt. Maybe clove.”

“Very oak forward.”

Whatever that meant - as far as he was aware, oak wasn’t a smell. They delighted in not telling him and he eventually stopped asking.

Will would now find a cup of coffee pressed into his hands every morning when he arrived at the house - not as he took his coffee, but as Hannibal thought it was best taken, which annoyingly was, in fact, better. Hannibal would ride with Will to wherever they were filming for the day, and they would have long conversations about everything from their very different college experiences to their strangely similar taste in modern literature. Talking to Hannibal was as invigorating as it was entertaining, their conversations capturing all of their shared focus for as long as they spoke. Close together in the backseat of a town car, talking about the first time Hannibal saved a life, the first time Will saw snow, their hands would brush and Will could barely conceal the tight shiver the touch would elicit. Then, inevitably, they would arrive at their destination and Will would watch as Hannibal turned that focus towards another.

The stagnant, scummy fingers of jealousy were so slow to creep up in his belly that for nearly a week he did not recognize the emotion for what it was. He would watch Hannibal smile at someone else’s joke, or as he shared some anecdote Will hadn’t heard before, and immediately be convinced that the person was not at all who Hannibal should end up with. He questioned how they had ever been cast in the first place. He would leave the set for a few minutes, trying to gain some perspective and tamp down whatever it was that was causing him to feel that way, only to return and find he was angrier to have missed a single moment of the interaction.

It was better and worse when it was a contestant Will had cast. Watching one of them with Hannibal gave him a level of sour satisfaction that at least it was someone Will had selected for him. Hannibal, laughing with Alana. Hannibal, pulling Anthony into a demonstration of a waltz. Hannibal doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. No longer could he admire if they made a handsome couple or a shared a charming moment - in his growing resentment every second they held Hannibal’s attention was filtered through a lense of florid, infectious green.

Then, absolution. The date would end, the contestant would leave, and Hannibal would return to him asking what his thoughts were on the date, or the lighting, or sometimes picking back up on a topic from a previous conversation.

Freddie harassed him on a loop for not watching any of the dailes he was sent. He didn’t see the point of torturing himself by watching on film what was already playing nonstop in his head. Let her edit it how she wanted; Will would hate it no matter what.

One of the few people he didn’t have an ongoing fantasy of firing from the show in some spectacular fashion was Margot. She and Hannibal would have friendly, but ultimately not especially intimate conversations; usually about her life or the other people in the house. She was very stiff around him, formalities still in place, but never gave Will the sense that she was uncomfortable, exactly. Hannibal didn’t try to press, apparently content to let her maintain the distance.

Will was very nearly nauseous the morning of the second key ceremony. He was cruelly eager for Hannibal to send more of the contestants away, and made a deliberate effort to focus on only that aspect of the evening. He made a bargain with himself to allow only one more day of foolishness - his job was to make sure Hannibal ended up with one of the contestants by the end of this. He would do his best to just avoid Hannibal today and try to get his head screwed back on right over the weekend. This fascination, crush, whatever he called it, was not worth his career and reputation.

He took his time on the drive in, deliberately missing two phone calls, and he all but ran up the main staircase to the little second story sitting room that had been commandeered to serve as a workspace. He hid away up there for most of the late morning and afternoon, with the means to work surrounding him but no real work getting done. He could have been working on scheduling for Rome, or double checking vendors for the next round of dates, but all he did for the better part of four hours was scroll through shooting schedules and lament the circumstances of each item therein. Around four that afternoon Beverly found him.

“OK, so they’re all in wardrobe and I have the catering crew setting up. If you have a second, Dr. Lecter wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t actually. Can you see what he needs? I need to wrap up here before we start.”

She frowned at that. “I guess, but he asked for you.”

“If you could take care of whatever he needs I’d appreciate it.”

“Whatever you want.” She said, still frowning as she left, closing the door behind her. He had an idea that Hannibal himself would come looking for him after that, so he made a tactical retreat downstairs to supervise exterior lighting, or something to that effect. After a while that wrapped up as well, and he wandered around to the other wing of the house.

He came upon Margot and Alana, both already dressed for the party. Their dark, glossy heads were tilted towards one another, and he had a sense that he had accidentally interrupted something as they looked to him at his approach.

“Hello Alana, Margot. Getting a little air before the party?”

Alana smiled, but her tone was a touch forced. “Yes. It gets very stuffy with so many people in those rooms. We thought we would cool off a bit before we’re in front of the cameras again.”

“The lights don’t help either.” Will said, looking between them. Margot had turned back to Alana, looking at her with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Amusement, maybe.

“Did you need us for anything? If they’re ready to start -” Alana started.

“No, no. Take your time. I was out here doing the same thing as the two of you.”

Margot piped in, “I heard someone asking where you were. I think Dr. Lecter is looking for you.”

Oh, goddamnit. “Thanks. I’ll go find him. See you in there.” Will said, then took off back the way he had come at a very dignified, not at all accelerated pace.

If he spent the remaining forty minutes before the official start of the party sitting on the floor in a bathroom with the shower running so no one would knock, that was his business. Twice he heard someone come to the door and pause, listening, before walking away without knocking. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had; he knew enough to lock the door.

Once he was sure they had started filming, he crept down the main stairs and stood for a while listening to the music. One of the group dates that week had been ballroom dancing, and the contestants that had attended with Hannibal were teaching those less fortunate than themselves. It was going to be lovely once it was on film, but the filming process itself was somewhat arduous. Cameras and cords and microphones tangled up together in one room with too many moving feet. Maybe he could just stay here on the stairs and not have to actually participate, even in the peripheral way he was supposed to. That thought created a mental image of himself as a child sent to bed peeking down from a banister at the adults down below and he scolded his own mulishness.

He finally made his way to the ballroom, entering from a side door to avoid cameras and certain cast members alike.

It was truly stunning. The pairs moving together with the music created a sense that they had always been there, eternally dancing in that beautiful room in their beautiful clothes. He thought of Unseelie courts and fairy tales where mortals were drawn to dance and never saw the light of day again. There, in the middle of them all, was Hannibal, though Will wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction of looking directly at him. It was enough to know he was there, dancing. Dancing with someone he was supposed to be falling in love with.

Will focused on that thought to dispel the veil that had fallen over him. The pairs were charming, but many of them were new to the steps, and often faltered. One of the violins was sharp. The uplighting was causing shadows on the ceiling that emphasized that the plaster work was over one hundred years old and warped from water damage. This was no perfect evening. It was a construct created by a television studio crew, and it was Will’s job to make sure it ran smoothly.

He did the rounds, checking in with every camera team, confirming a change to the scheduled timeline, never looking directly at Hannibal even as he felt the man’s eyes on him like a spotlight.

He got angry the longer it went on. Did Dr. Lecter not have enough to hold his attention? He apparently had time to spare from romancing all the hand selected potential partners looking at him with stars in their eyes at the sight of him in a tuxedo. He looked like a villain on the Titanic in that get-up with his hair slicked back so severely; all of these idiots must be into that.

Will was pointedly endeavoring not to be.

He was pulled away to take a phone call, and made the mistake of turning his back to the door of the office he had entered. He realized he was no longer alone when he ended the call.

“Hello, Will.”

Will didn’t turn around, choosing to look very closely at the papers on the table in front of him.

“Good evening, Hannibal. You’d better get back in there. A lot more dancing to do before the end of the night”

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“Yes, I am aware. I thought it could wait until Monday. Today is pretty hectic.”

“You are aware.” It was not a question, and the hair on the back of Will’s neck stood up at something in Hannibal’s tone.

“Yes. Beverly told me. So did Margot.”

He didn’t immediately say anything to that. Will made an effort to flip though paperwork in a suitably convincing approximation of literacy.

Hannibal sighed from his position between Will and the door. “What have I done to earn your ire this time, Will?”

“No ire. I’m just busy. You should be too, out in the ballroom for another hour until you hand out the keys.”

“Did I insult someone, perhaps, and you are moved to defend their honor?” He asked, smooth voice gone acrid. “Is some manner or action of mine so offensive to you that you cannot bear to look at me directly?”

Will shook his head, wanting to laugh but worried at the reaction he might cause. “Very little about you offends me these days.”

“Yet you avoid me for nearly a whole day. Arriving after I had left the house this morning and purposefully keeping yourself from me for an entire afternoon.” His tone was still angry, but the dark tone of something other was seeping out. “I had begun to believe you thought of me as a friend and were past such things.”

“We’re not friends. We are coworkers; not even. You are the subject of a TV show I produce.”

Hannibal finally moved from where he was guarding the door, coming up next to him and picking up some of the papers strewn across it. His voice was calmer as he said, “I am your friend, Will. Whether or not you are mine is of course for you to decide.” He flipped through a pile of forms Will had just put down. “These are waivers granting permission to use the musician’s images on the show.”

“Yes.”

“Is this so pressing you can’t be at the party?”

“I had to take a phone call.” Will said. He could just sense Hannibal’s prompting nod to continue. “And I was avoiding the party.” He admitted, turning finally to look at Hannibal. As always, his eyes were on Will already.

“What has the party done to earn your avoidance?” He asked, more gently now.

Will just shook his head again. “Nothing. The party is great, but it should probably get back to the ballroom.”

Hannibal was doing that thing again where he inched closer without seeming to move at all. “Can they not spare me for a moment?”

“If you asked them, I’d bet they’d say so.” Will said, licking his lips. “What did you have to ask me that had you looking for me all day?”

“Why do you force me to chase after you when you suspect I have a question?”

“You’re the one forcing the issue. I would have happily talked to you Monday.”

“When you will be less busy.” Hannibal said, reaching to pluck the remaining forms out of his hands. “These are copies of receipts for extension cords from Home Depot.”

“These old houses don’t have many outlets.”

“I see.”

Will was glad someone did, because he was lost. Why was Hannibal standing so close again? He hated himself for reveling in it, for not putting distance between them when he knew he should.

“Do you know why you delight in me being the one to seek you out over and over again, Will?” He asked, moving closer still. He leaned in, bringing the tip of his nose to the tender skin below Will’s ear and inhaling, before continuing in the same tone. “You are not used to being the one who is chased.”

Will had planned for many possible outcomes for the evening; Hannibal being angry with Will for avoiding him, Hannibal not even noticing he was being avoided. This, whatever this was right now that was making his blood rush to many an inappropriate place, had not made it into the schematics.

“I would object to you characterizing it as ‘delight’.”

“Really? That is unfortunate. I was hoping one of us was getting some enjoyment out of it.” Hannibal said, and Will felt the warmth of his breath on his neck before he finally pulled away.

“What aspect should I be enjoying? The part where I have to babysit you or the part when you follow me around instead of participating in an event you are contractually obligated to attend?” As he spoke, Will tried to move away from the table and Hannibal alike, but found himself boxed in as soon as he gave any ground. With Hannibal’s hands flat on the table to each side of Will’s hips, they were face to face; and Will thoroughly outmaneuvered. He pressed on, even as Hannibal gave no indication he was even listening. “Maybe how you attempt to control every aspect of everything around you? You don’t know anything about camera angles, or union breaks, and still you try to tell me what to do and how I should do it.”

“You should let me tutor you in Italian.” Hannibal said, as if Will had not just been speaking and was not currently all but in his arms. “I heard you practicing with that horrible little bird application on your phone and your pronunciations need work.”

“Christ, is that what was so urgent for you to talk to me about? Get off me and get out of here!” Will said, embarrassed pleasure spilling over into anger at his seeming indifference to their position.

“I am very sorry, Will, but I do not find myself capable of either, currently.” He said in that enraging, conversational tone.

That drew Will up short. He leaned back a bit in an attempt to get a better look at Hannibal’s face before answering. “You are incapable.”

“I believe so, yes,” He answered. His expression stayed eerily stoic, but his eyes searched Will’s face.

“Well I am unwilling, so get off me.” Will said, not exactly angry anymore but none too pleased.

Hannibal let his arms drop from the table to his side, but did not move away any more than that.

“You would send me away after not having spoken all day?” He asked, tone slipping into something accusatory. There was a heat creeping into his eyes.

“Is that what this is? Punishment for avoiding you?”

“Strange of you to ask. I was certain you were the one seeking to punish me. Allow me to clarify.” With that he dipped his mouth back to the same spot on Will’s neck and was suddenly pressing a bruising, sucking kiss against the flesh there. Will gasped and clutched at Hannibal’s tuxedo jacket but he quickly pulled away, looking into Will’s face again. “What had you hiding yourself from me?”

Will took a few more shaky breaths before letting his hand drop from the front of Hannibal’s jacket. “This. I was trying to avoid this. I can’t lose another good job over a bad reputation, and that is exactly what you’ll give me.”

“I see such potential between you and I, Will.” Hannibal said, voice soft but insistent.

“Potential for catastrophe is all I can see.” Will said, trying to sound firm and hearing himself failing.

“Will you be content once you have paired me off with one of those people out there? After you have sent me off over the horizon to another happy ending you can add to your list of successes?” Hannibal asked, and Will knew by the flash of victory in his eyes that the truth of the jab must have shown on Will’s face.

“Will you be content having me refuse you?” Will said, challenging.

“I am not often refused.”

“And I admit I am rarely chased - let’s leave it at that and just enjoy the novelty.” Will said.

They stood there, still so close together that Will ached with it, for a long moment after he said that. He let Hannibal glean whatever truth he could from his face before slipping around him and heading for the door.

“You are more than a novelty, Will, but if you do not want me to approach you like this again, I will not. I did not mean to cause you distress.” Hannibal said.

Will didn’t look back, but paused before saying, “It would be better if you didn’t. I won’t play games again, but you have to know this can’t happen.” Will didn’t wait long enough before bursting out of the door into the hall to fully decode his own tone, much less wait for Hannibal’s reply.

He found the ballroom winding down, half of the cameras already moved to the dining room in preparation for the key ceremony.

He helped a little, but mostly found himself gazing off into the middle distance until someone called his name. Had Hannibal really just come on to him? Had he really just turned him down?

Oh, Christ. Had he really just turned him down?

“Hey, Will! I said, what’s that on your neck?” Zeller asked, loud enough that Will winced.

“What?”

“It looks like you have a hickey on your neck.” Zeller said.

“Uh, oh. I, uh, burned it.”

“What?”

“I said I burned it.” Will repeated.

“With what, a curling iron or something?”

“Yeah.” Will agreed absently as he walked away, looking to make sure someone had laid out the correct number of keys.

He heard from behind him as Zeller relayed their conversation to Price.

“I’d believe it. No one just wakes up with hair like that.”

Great, now he’d have to explain that to Beverly.

Everybody filed in, and Hannibal again took his position before the stained glass. Will couldn’t help but look at him, but for once Hannibal did not return his gaze. This is what he wanted, right? Will wanted Hannibal to look at them, not him.

No huge revelations with the keys; Anthony Dimmond moving up with a gold key for the next week, Alana and Margot both receiving silver - not a surprise. Doubling up on solo dates this early would’ve been a waste. Finally both restaurant owners were out, as well as one of the worst dancers of the bunch.

Then it was over, and the crew split again to do the final confessionals for winners and losers alike. Will hovered as he struggled to make a decision, abjectly in the way of everyone and everything but unable to move in any direction. He saw Hannibal come through the door from the garden and was decided after all.

“Hannibal. Wait a moment?” He called after him, jogging a bit to catch up to him.

“Do you need me somewhere?” He said, tone civil but aloof. Having that tone used on him was nearly unbearable, and made Will more resolute in his decision.

“You said, earlier, that you would be willing to help me with my Italian.”

Hannibal cocked his head a bit at that, suspicious no doubt. “I did. As I said, your accent could use some work.”

“Would you be willing to start tomorrow? I’m not scheduled to come in, but I could make time.”

He just looked at Will for a beat, before nodding once. “Of course.”

His face didn’t read as happy, exactly, but it was no longer the cool mask of civility either. If Will couldn’t let them have whatever had just happened in the office, maybe he could at least get them back towards friendly.

“I would be grateful. If you could help me. With that. Italian.” Will stammered, unsure of himself as Hannibal’s face remained impassive.

“If you would please be here at six tomorrow morning? I am an early riser, and always make my own breakfast. I would be happy to help you then.”

Will didn’t know if he wanted to laugh at how blatantly petty that was or cry over it, but he nodded anyway. Hannibal’s expression eased off a little more.

“I will feed you as well, of course.”

Will smiled, giving a little nod, “I appreciate it. All of it. I’ll be there.”

They said their goodbyes after that, and Will wrapped up a few things with the crew before getting into his car and starting the drive home. He barely paused to remove his shoes and pants before dropping into his unmade bed. He was going to have an early morning the next day, after all.

He would do well to sleep while he could.

Chapter Text

Making use of a concentrated power of will he had not previously considered within his capabilities, Will did in fact wake up, get dressed, and return to the contestants’ house by six AM the next morning. Hannibal was already dressed and making use of the lovely, if slightly outdated, kitchen as he prepared savory popovers and bacon. He had gifted Will with a cup of his excellent coffee, and though there was not enough sugar and no cream, Will liked it anyway.

He was also speaking in exclusively Italian, and Will hated him more and more with every round, lyrical word that he spoke. All of Will’s questions were answered in Italian.

“How are you this morning?”
“Are you really doing this? Really?”
“I can’t - you’re talking so fast. Can you at least slow down?”

All of his efforts to cajole and complement were answered in Italian.

“This is really good. I’ve never had these puffy bread things.”
“Have you been bringing in your own groceries? Catering never has bacon this good.”
“That tie is less hideous than usual.”

Finally, all of his efforts to reply in broken, poorly pronounced Italian were met with his own words being slowly repeated back to him for Will to regurgitate again, slightly less mangled for the effort. When he finally managed what must have been deemed an acceptable “Buongiorno,” Hannibal finally stopped, and gave Will one of those not-smiles he did.

“That is quite good, Will. Did you pick up some French in New Orleans? I can see it has helped with your comprehension to some extent, but it is hindering your pronunciation.”

“I picked up enough to pronounce the street names correctly and know when someone was insulting me, but not a lot beyond that. Are you going to actually help me now or was that all I’m going to get?”

“Immersion language instruction is widely used with great success.” Hannibal said, making Will another cup of coffee and sliding it across the counter to him.

“I am not a montessori student.” Will grumbled at him, though he picked up the new cup immediately.

“A shame. Your language skills may have been built up enough to allow for easier learning later in life if you had been enrolled in such a program.”

“Are you calling me dumb or poor again? I can’t tell. Or was that just a crack about me being over 30? Because you’ll lose every time with that one, Dr. Lecter.”

“I have found that my age has allowed me to learn many things I could not have attempted to understand as a young man. I will certainly not allow yours as an excuse, Will.” Hannibal said. Will was buoyed by the fact that he was responding to his teasing at all, but it was lacking the warmth that had been sparking between them before.

Which was perfect. Exactly what he had wanted. They were friendly professionals. Professionals being friendly. Hannibal was respecting the boundary Will had put up, and it was great.

Hannibal actually began to teach him some vocabulary he could use - microfono, telecamera, produttore - and patiently corrected his grammar. Will felt better as they went along. It was challenging but not impossible.

Then Anthony Dimmond came in to the kitchen and slid in next to Will like he owned the place, and it was suddenly not great at all.

“Good morning, Hannibal. Will. Did you make any of those yeasted pancakes? I haven’t been able to get them off my mind.”

Hannibal smiled and poured him a cup of coffee as well. “Good morning, Anthony. Unfortunately, no, but now that I know you have a taste for them I will have to make them again soon.”

“Please do.” He said with one of those suggestive smirks Will had a special affinity for hating. “What brings you here today, Will? You haven't previously graced us with your presence on the weekends.”

“Hannibal offered to help me learn some Italian before we leave in a few weeks.” Will said into his cup.

“Oh, yes! I am looking forward to seeing Italy again. Have you ever been?” Anthony asked, clearly expecting Will’s answer.

“No. This will be the first time.”

“Ah. Americans are so insular.” He made a foppish gesture with his coffee cup. “I forget so many never travel outside your own borders. Strange, isn’t Hannibal? Can you imagine only ever experiencing one culture?”

“How much of America have you seen, Anthony?” Hannibal asked, tone level.

“Much. I have been to New York, San Francisco. I lived in Boston for three months before settling in Baltimore.”

“Just skipped over that whole middle section then.” Will said, picking at the remains of his breakfast, suddenly not hungry.

“It is a wildly varied country. I would encourage you to see more of it, if it is to become a permanent home for you.” Hannibal added.

“Well. I always go where the muse takes me.” He took a sip of his drink, then said, obviously thinking himself coy, “I have not had a good reason to stay in one place for long.”

Hannibal could not be buying this. God, did Will hate poets? Had that never come up before?

His dislike must have been showing on his face; Hannibal shot him an amused look that conveyed very clearly that Will had done this to himself, and on several fronts no less.

“Tell me about your new book, Anthony. What is the premise, again?” Hannibal asked, all decorous interest.

Will then sat in the kitchen for twenty agonizing minutes while Dimmond described and partially recited his soon to be published book of poetry. Hannibal kept his eyes on Anthony the whole time, nodding and agreeing with every insipid thing that he said. It had been more enjoyable when the torture had been in Italian. Will wasn’t so proud as to deny it, but he did have his own limit of what could be borne.

With a small salute to Hannibal with his cup, which the man steadfastly ignored, he got up and went in search of something worthwhile to do. Will made it as far as the main staircase before he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“I’m done with my penance for today.” Will said, but turned around to see Alana, not Hannibal.

“What?” She asked, with a confused smile. She looked like she was only just out of bed, still dressed in pajamas and socks.

“Sorry, nothing. Bad joke. Good morning.” He started over.

“And good morning to you. Are you coming on the group date with all of us today?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just here to play a bit of catch up. Which date is today?”

“It’s a secret this time. The clue last night said something about fortunes being made and rumors dispelled. One of the other girls guessed maybe panning for gold.”

“That is a pretty bad guess.”

She laughed, her whole face lit up with it. “I thought so too. I don’t think anyone has ever struck gold in Maryland.”

“The last thing we need is to distribute more wealth to Hannibal, anyway.” She laughed again, and he leaned in, conspiratorially. “Do you want to know? I’ll tell if you promise to act surprised on camera.”

She looked perfectly scandalized. “Oh my god, can you do that?”

“It’s a fortune teller. Palm reading, tea leaves, maybe some aura colors interpreted.”

“I have never done any of that stuff! Someone did an acrostic of my name once at a fair and that has been the extent of my experience with the occult.” Alana said.

“Well, prepare to be amazed. Be sure to look towards the camera as you are.” Will said, mockingly serious.

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to pass it along to absolutely no one and use it exclusively to my advantage.” She said.

“Ruthless. Who would have guessed.”

“Alana is notoriously the most ruthless among us.” A voice cut in.

Will and Alana looked back, and there was Hannibal, watching them with a gleam of sharp interest.

“You would know, Hannibal. Spending all your time with that maneater in there.” Alana replied.

“Does he spend a lot of time with Mr. Dimmond?” Will asked, addressing his question to Alana but keeping his eyes on Hannibal.

“Anthony brags constantly that Hannibal makes him breakfast nearly every morning.”

“I cannot help it if Anthony comes in begging for scraps.” Hannibal answered.

Will raised a skeptical brow. “He seemed to be getting more than just scraps from where I was sitting.”

Hannibal held one hand out in a gesture that was not quite a shrug. “Yet you are the one who left without finishing your plate. Not to mention that I have just heard you giving away state secrets to Ms. Bloom. The day seems destined for scandal of all kinds.”

“Are you going to report me?” Will laughed.

“He wouldn’t dare.” Alana said. “I’ll tell them I beat it out of you, Will.”

“You see who you have aligned yourself with?” Hannibal asked, amused. “Ruthless.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket then, and she colored slightly as she read a text. “Thank you, gentleman, for the gossip. Will, enjoy your day. Hannibal, I will see you out there.” With that she was gone from the hall, back into the depths of the house.

They watched her go, silence leaking back in between them. Will opened his mouth to say something at the same moment Hannibal did, and they both paused, waiting for the other to speak.

Hannibal broke first. “I am sorry Anthony interrupted us. If you will still be on the premises later today, I would be willing to pick up the lesson then.”

“I feel like I should take some time to study a bit more before I practice with you again. You were talking circles around me and the best I could give was a poorly pronounced ‘good morning’.”

“Nonsense. You will do more harm than good practicing without feedback, especially when learning to speak a new language and not simply read it.”

“Does Anthony Dimmond speak Italian?” Will asked.

“I believe so. He is very confident that I will select him to accompany us.”

“Won’t you?”

“Won’t I?”

Will huffed. “You will. He strokes your ego without requiring any effort on your part to stoke his. He does it himself if you let him talk long enough.”

“How little you must think of me if you believe that is what I want in a partner.” Hannibal said, moving around him to examine a gilt clock on a side table.

“Maybe. I’m not totally decided, but I suspect you want me to think that of you more than it is actually true.” Will accused, turning to keep Hannibal in his line of sight.

“That I could be happy with a young, handsome fool?”

“You would eat him alive in no time at all. He is not unfeeling; eventually he would realize all you’re showing him is a mirror. An echo chamber he can fall in love with.”

“How cruel. Does he deserve all that, just for begging at my table?”

“Begging is a learned behavior.”

“Do you like dogs, Will?” Hannibal looked over to him, gauging the success of his prodding.

Will laughed. “Yes, I do actually. I would have a few if this job didn’t take up all my time. I travel too much. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Am I unfair to poor Mr. Dimmond?”

“I don’t think you’re ever really playing fair, but especially not with him. He thinks he’s more clever than he is. It makes him easily led.”

“And so we are back to dogs.”

“Do you like dogs, Hannibal?”

“I have never kept a pet.”

“Yet you’ve been spending every morning courting one.” Will said, unable to keep all of the disdain out of his voice. “You’ve already told me how eager he is to sit in your lap.”

To say that Hannibal looked elated at Will’s comment would be an overstatement of his expression, but his whole demeanor fairly shouted it if one knew how to look. He turned to face Will fully, shoulders straight and eyes glittering. A sense of dread suffused Will’s body.

“Do not tell me you are jealous, dear Will.”

“I didn’t say that I was.” Will answered too quickly, the endearment throwing him off balance even further.

“Of course. My mistake.” Hannibal said without an ounce of contrition.

“You’re supposed to like him. I want you to like him”

“Do you? Is he one of the people here for me by your choice, perhaps?”

Will groaned, not sure how he had fallen into this conversation again. “I am not telling you who cast him.”

“Why? Would it unfairly affect my treatment of him?”

“At this point I could not begin to guess.”

“So you will tell Alana where our outing is going to occur, but will not share this triviality with me?” Accusing again.

Will smiled, slow and sweet and not at all kind. “Now who’s jealous?”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed, and he began to slowly pace the foyer. “I thought we were making such great strides towards the professional relationship you desire, Will. What a shame it is to witness someone fail to perform.”

But the barb didn’t penetrate. “Hannibal.” Will said, voice low, “You followed me out here, stood behind a door and eavesdropped, before finally inserting yourself into my conversation. I don’t see how I am the one failing at anything.”

Will took two steps and interrupted Hannibal’s path. “Besides Italian, anyway. You did have to listen to me fail at that for most of the morning.”

His joking earned him another narrow look, but Hannibal’s posture eased off as he came to a stop at an arm’s length away from Will. They considered each other as silence built between them again.

It was not Hannibal who broke it this time, but a knock on the front door.

They turned to look towards the knocking, then back to each other. Will ultimately went to answer it, though it was no more his house than it was Hannibal’s. He opened the door to find who he took at first to be two plain clothes police officers. They were both in suits, but nothing flashy. Sensible haircuts. Most tellingly, the line of the woman’s jacket was being ruined by what was probably a concealed weapon.

“Good Morning. I am Agent Jack Crawford of the FBI, and this is Agent Lass. We are looking for Margot Verger. Is she home?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Will started, setting the tone for what was surely going to be another stellar interaction with law enforcement. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“May we come in?” Agent Crawford asked.

“Can you tell me what this is about?” Will asked again.

Agent Crawford did not like that. “It’s a private matter related to an ongoing investigation. I need to speak to Ms. Verger before we talk to anyone else.”

“Uh. Sure.” Will said, stepping back and fully opening the door. He turned to address Hannibal, but he was gone.

Very considerate of him, Will thought sourly.

“Do you live with Ms. Verger, Mister …” Agent Crawford trailed off.

“What? No. No one lives here, it’s just where the contestants are staying.”

Now it was Crawford’s turn to be confused. “What? Contestants?” He glanced to Agent Lass, who shook her head.

“Yeah. On the show. Hold on a minute, I’ll get someone to see if she’s up yet.” Will began to start up the stairs, only to find that Margot was already descending, with Hannibal not far behind.

“Good Morning. I am Margot Verger. How can I help you?” She said, coming down the last few steps. Hannibal skirted round her, coming to stand beside Will.

Crawford took off his hat, setting his face into something like an apology. “Ms. Verger. I am Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI. Is there somewhere private we can speak?”

“What’s going on?” Margot asked.

“It would be better if we spoke in private.” Crawford said again.

For some reason, she looked to Hannibal, who stepped in to answer.

“In the library, perhaps? No one will disturb you there. This way.” Hannibal said, taking her by the elbow and leading her towards the hall, both agents trailing behind.

Will had to take several minutes to reconcile the fact that the FBI was here to interview a contestant. Did they know about the murder? Was this even about that? He felt like he ought to call someone, but didn’t know who.

Eventually Hannibal reappeared. He placed one warm hand on the small of his back and led him upstairs to Will’s unofficial office, the gesture lingering even as they entered the room.

“Do you know why they’re here?” Will asked, as Hannibal closed the door behind them.

“Margot’s brother, Mason Verger, was found dead this morning. He was murdered.” Hannibal said, tone steady but subdued.

“Christ.” Will whispered. “I didn’t know she had a brother.”

“Yes. From what I know of the man, he was no treasure, but he was Margot’s only family.”

“How do you know anything about him?”

Hannibal paused before answering. “Margot shared some things with me, of course. I do not know much beyond that, and what is general public knowledge of the Verger family.”

“Meat packing or something, right?”

“Correct.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That he was not kind to her, and that she auditioned for the show as an attempt to get away from him, even for a few weeks.”

Will felt a bit stunned. “I had no idea.”

“I imagine it is not something she has told many people.”

“But she told you.” Will said, trying to piece it together in his mind and coming up with nothing. Margot and Hannibal were cordial, but not especially friendly. When and why would she have told him all that? A bid for sympathy, maybe?

Hannibal hesitated again, moving to look out the window. “I apologize in advance if this is something she or I should have disclosed before now, but Margot was briefly my patient last year.”

“What?” Will asked, stunned.

“She of course did not know I was the subject of this season’s contest when she first auditioned, and I did not know she had been cast until the first night.”

“That should have absolutely come up before now, Dr. Lecter!”

“It did occur to me.” He said, nearly wincing at Will’s raised voice. “But she has not been my patient for more than ten months. Once she told me her reasons for being here, I could hardly turn her away.”

“You are going to get us in so much shit for this! There are FBI agents downstairs right now. They are going to find out that she was in therapy months before her brother’s death, and they’re going to find out it was with you!”

“Not if Margot does not tell them.” Hannibal said, as if it were very obvious. “She is not currently in therapy with anyone. It would not be pertinent to Mason’s death, in any case.”

“You don’t know that.” Will said. “Apart from purposely keeping this from me and the show, she could get in a lot of trouble for keeping anything from the FBI.”

Hannibal came away from the window and put a hand on Will’s shoulder, his thumb pressing slightly into his pulse. “I do not believe Margot was involved in her brother’s death, but if Agent Crawford has any questions for me I will of course answer them as honestly as I can. I simply wanted to tell you the truth before you heard it from someone else.”

Will sighed, deflating in the face of Hannibal’s calm demeanor. “This isn’t good Hannibal. None of this is. I feel like we’re jinxed.”

“Is that why you are sending us to a psychic? Are you hoping we will come back with preternatural solutions to our problems?”

“This is serious.” Will groused.

“Undoubtedly.” Hannibal said, but his expression made it clear he had thought it a very funny joke.

As Will was about to continue to scold Hannibal, there was a knock on the door. They again looked towards the door and back to each other. Hannibal dropped his hand from Will’s shoulder and went to answer.

It was Beverly this time. She looked from Hannibal to Will anxiously. “So, I don’t know if you know, but I just got here to go on the group date and -”

Will cut her off. “Yeah, I know, I let them in.”

“Well that’s good. Agent Lass, I guess, is standing guard while Margot is being interviewed. Are they going to need to talk to everyone again?”

“I don’t think so. It’s a family thing with Margot. They’re not here about Holmwood.”

“Oh thank god.” Beverly exhaled in a rush. “What is the plan then, Graham?”

“Business as usual. We don’t need to get everyone riled up again over a personal thing. I’d prefer to keep it quiet, if at all possible. Margot obviously has a lot to handle right now, and I want to talk to her before we tell any of the other contestants anything.”

Beverly looked a little stunned. “Wow. Ok. I’m going. We’re late anyway. Dr. Lecter, are you with me?”

“Lead away, Ms. Katz.” He said, turning to give Will a long look before following her down the hall.

Will sat in the office for nearly an hour before someone came and found him. It was apparently his turn with Agent Crawford. The man had situated himself at a large desk to one end of the room, and a chair had been pulled to sit in front of it. Will had the sensation of being called into the principal's office.

“Will Graham, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned at him, then looked down at his notes. “You are a producer on the reality TV show that Margot Verger is currently a contestant on.”

“That is correct. How can I help you?”

“Why is Ms. Verger on this program?”

“You would have to ask her that, but I cast her because she is beautiful and intelligent and that is who I like to put on TV.” Will said.

“OK, fine. How long has she been staying here?”

“As long as everyone else - this will be going into the third week.”

“I assume there is footage of her here. I will need access to that footage.”

“Of course. We can have copies made.”

“Tell me, Mr. Graham, are you familiar with the Chesapeake Ripper?”

That threw Will for a loop. “Uh. Yeah, I am. I mean, I’ve read about the murders, heard it on the news.”

“We have reason to believe that Mason Verger is the most recent victim of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will didn’t have an answer to that, but it didn’t seem like Crawford needed one.

“Mason Verger was found early this morning. His heart and sections of his breast bone and thoracic spine were carved out in a pattern we have yet to identify, and then cauterized and gilded. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

Will swallowed. “No, I do not.”

“Can you account for the whereabouts of everyone staying in this house for the past two nights?”

“Last night was the second elimination - big party, dancing, drinks - we were all here late and no one was missing at any point. The night before I was only here until maybe six, but I can get someone to verify and give you a list.”

“I will need to know where you were that night too, Mr. Graham.”

“I drove home to Wolf Trap, Virginia. I stopped to get gas five miles from my house on the way home. I can show a receipt if you want.”

“I will need to see that, yes.”

It went on and on like that. Will never seemed to give an answer Agent Crawford liked. Twice Agent Lass stepped in to whisper something into Crawford’s ear, and twice he nodded before turning back to questioning Will. Hannibal must have been right about Margot not telling them anything about being on a dating show with her former therapist. He didn’t ask, and Will certainly was not going to be the one to bring it up.

Will prayed the whole time they sat there that this man wouldn’t look into his past too closely. Will could see what a good suspect he would be if they cared enough to look. One show marred by murder was one thing. Two totally different shows with only him to connect them was another all together.

Goddamn. Maybe he needed to get out of show business.

When Agent Crawford finally let him go, handing Will his business card as he did, with a somewhat ominous ‘we’ll be in touch’, it was past noon and the contestants were due back any time.

He had an idea that he and Hannibal still had some things to discuss, so he returned to the little office. Then he made the mistake of idly typing ‘Mason Verger’ into his search bar.

The top items to come up were still articles and images from the business, but already on the first page were multiple articles about the murder, and how it was suspected of being the work of the Chesapeake Ripper. The first article he clicked on was fairly standard, statements from police and vague notes on the location and injuries to the body. The second was a completely different kind of news site.

There was a shocking clear and subsequently graphic image of the display that had been made of Mason Verger on the very top of the page. Will had seen some unsavory things for the sake of his old show, but this was one of the most obscene crime scene photos he could remember. Crawford had mentioned the excised sections of breast bone, heart, and spine, but not that they had been removed to the point that you could have held your eye up to the torso and looked through to the other side. The flesh around the opening had been removed as well, leaving layers of skin, fat, and muscle peeled back like the pages of a book that Mason was holding open for the viewer.

And that’s what he was doing; holding himself open. Vulnerable. Agent Crawford had said that they did not recognize the shape, but Will did.

Someone, leaving the opening dripping with gold and blood alike in a ribbon that ran all the way down his nude torso, had carved a keyhole straight through Mason’s heart and out to the other side. This heart was newly open, willing; looking for someone to come and unlock it.

Will just knew, in a way he couldn’t explain or stop if he had wanted to, that if he were to slip in one of the gold keys that had been handed out last night it would be a perfect fit.

Chapter Text

Will didn’t stick around after seeing the pictures of Mason Verger. His certainty that whoever had created that exhibition had done it with the full knowledge of the show was unsettling. Should they shut down? Was Margot in danger? Was Hannibal? He had been the one giving out the keys, after all.

Will went through the contestants that had been eliminated last night, but no one had seemed unduly upset. Besides, they had been stuck filming for hours afterwards, just like the contestants that had been chosen to stay.

He drove home, ignoring calls. He did pull over to answer a text from Beverly, just to confirm that he had not been arrested and he would be back on site early tomorrow morning.

He had coffee and microwaved pasta for dinner while he read article after article on the Chesapeake Ripper at his kitchen table. He was less certain that the murder had anything to do with the show after a while, even as his gut told him otherwise. Whoever this killer was, they seemed too caught up in gory allegorical punishment to worry about the type of pop culture runoff that Will peddled these days. A certain part of him did feel... not at home exactly, but welcomed - looking through true crime blogs again. He’d always had a taste for it, even before.

But nothing in Louisiana had been like this. Nothing Will had ever experienced had been like this. The Ripper was larger than life. Not all of the crime scene photos had been leaked, but what was available was awful in the biblical sense. They inspired fear and horror even as he was forced to admit that each was a greater artistic achievement than the last.

He hardly slept that night. When his alarm went off in the early morning he blearily dressed and got into his car to make the drive to the mansion. The sun was just risen as he parked and walked up the driveway, and the house was lit up in the soft pink light inside and out. He made his way to the kitchen and was surprised to find it empty, but suspected it would not stay that way for long. He pulled out sugar when he found it in the first cabinet he opened, and was looking for coffee when he heard the approach of leather soles.

“Good morning, Will.”

“Good morning.” Will said, glancing at Hannibal before returning to rummaging through the cabinets.

“Can I help you find something?” Hannibal asked, stepping closer as Will moved to the next one.

“Coffee?”

Hannibal opened the first cabinet Will had tried, and pulled a black bag off of the top shelf before setting it on the counter next to the sugar.

“That does not say coffee on the label.”

“Not in English, no.” He said, flippant.

“Why would it, right?” Will asked dryly.

“Sit down, Will. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Eggs and sausage. Maybe toast if the bread has not gone stale.”

“Sounds good to me. How was the date yesterday?” Will asked, moving to sit down.

“Not as illuminating as you may have intended. I was told that I am in possession of a very loving and generous aura, indicated by the color red, but I work to hide it to avoid being taken advantage of.” He paused to start the coffee machine, frowning at it as he did. “The woman operating some sort of camera obscura then told me that an amulet was for sale in the main shop that would make me more confident to show others my ‘true colors’.”

Will was smiling. “And how much was this amulet?”

“Eighty nine dollars and ninety nine cents.” Hannibal dead panned, as he brought out the sausage and eggs from the refrigerator.

“And a bargain at that.”

“Indeed. We also learned that no less than two of our party is haunted by a dead relative, and that a large percentage are destined to be with an older man from a far away land.”

“What a surprise.”

“It was shocking, yes.” He said. “What possessed you to send us there? You do not strike me as the type.”

Will watched him, considering. “A few reasons. One, women tend to believe in the paranormal at a significantly higher rate than men, and women are our main audience. Two, you are a worldly, educated man with both feet firmly in the realm of reality and science. I thought seeing you interact with something that may offend you in a personal and professional sense would be interesting.”

“You were setting me up for failure.” Hannibal said, disappointment coloring his tone.

“Not at all. You’re so composed I knew you wouldn’t storm out or make a scene if you were offended.” Will hesitated, wondering how the whole truth would be received, but pressed on. “I will admit I wanted to get you into a situation you wouldn't automatically have the upperhand in. We have hours and hours of that on film already.”

Hannibal didn’t answer right away, moving to pour the coffee. Will watched him for awhile, unsure of his mood.

“You don’t like that.” Will said finally.

Hannibal slid Will’s cup to him. “I am not sure how to feel about it, but generally no, I do not believe I do. I especially do not like that you set a challenge for me and then did not think it important enough to witness firsthand.”

“That’s not fair, Hannibal. I don’t ever go on the group dates, even the ones I organize.”

“But you will be attending the date tomorrow.” Hannibal said.

“Yes. And there were some extenuating circumstances yesterday, if you recall.”

Hannibal nodded, moving to plate the sausage. “There were. Have you spoken to Margot?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want to wake her up so early.”

“I briefly saw her last night. She said that she felt she needed to leave the show.”

“I can’t blame her. After what you told me yesterday, it would be a good idea all around.”

Hannibal hummed in what may have been agreement as he added eggs and then herbs to the plates. “I agree that whatever she may have been able to get out of this experience is no longer possible. She and her brother were not close, but it is still a tremendous loss. Her family’s wealth is caught up in a staggering amount of legalese now that he is dead. It will take time to sort it all out.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” Will asked, testing.

“I only heard that Mason was dead, and that it was murder.” Hannibal said as he placed the finished plate in front of Will. “Poached eggs on toasted brioche, with a homemade spiced sausage.”

“Thank you. It looks wonderful.” Will said, suddenly overly aware of where his elbows were supposed to go.

“Simpler than I usually start the day with, but this kitchen is not my own.” Hannibal said, coming around to sit next to Will with his own plate.

“Did you tell me that yesterday in Italian?”

Hannibal really smiled then, looking at Will with a touch of that familiar glint. “Yes, in fact I did.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Will tried to keep his concentration on his breakfast, and not on how close Hannibal’s knee was to his.

“Margot said that the FBI agent also wanted to speak to you.”

Will sighed noisily. “He did. He mostly wanted to know everyone’s whereabouts for the night before and after the murder. We’re going to have to send copies of all of our film again.”

“Of course.” Hannibal nodded.

“He also thinks that Mason is the most recent victim of a serial killer. I kinda fell down a rabbit hole looking the case up yesterday. They call him the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I am familiar.”

Will looked at him sideways, and managed to swallow before asking, “Really?”

“It is an ongoing investigation, as far as I am aware. Details are often on the local news.”

“Oh. Sure.” Will said, looking back down to his plate.

“What did you discover?” Hannibal asked.

“I actually saw pictures. Of Margot’s brother. Someone had them online already.”

“I wonder how they received pictures of an active crime scene so quickly. That would seem like a failing on the part of the FBI.”

“No kidding. It was pretty gruesome.”

Hannibal put down his fork, turning to face Will. “What did you see?”

“He had a hole in his chest, all the way through to the other side. Yesterday Agent Crawford said they hadn’t identified the shape, but I recognized it.”

“What was it?” Hannibal asked softly.

Will turned to Hannibal, almost not wanting to admit the idea out loud.“It looked like a keyhole. To me, anyway.” He hurried on when Hannibal’s expression went flat. “Made to fit one of the gold keys you handed out Friday night. It had been gilded to match.”

Hannibal’s pale brow went up at that. “You believe that Mason’s killer is a fan of the show.”

“I think it’s safe to say they’re more than a fan.”

“Closer to the fanatic, perhaps. A murder like that does speak to intense emotion.”

“The whole thing - tableau, scene, whatever you want to call it - was highly emotional. Creating not just a heart but a whole being that can be nearly literally opened with the right key is intensely symbolic. It would be even more so to the person who created it.”

Hannibal turned away, straightening his cutlery beside his plate. “One could nearly call it romantic.”

“If that’s what you’re into.”

“And who holds the key to this killer’s heart?” Hannibal asked.

Will swallowed, mouth dry all of a sudden, and looked back down into his cup. “I’m worried it may be Margot, or even you.”

Hannibal stood up, clearing away plates as he went. “As I said, Margot does not intend to continue on with the show, and will be safely at home soon.” He turned to Will again. “I am not concerned for myself, Will. Do not let it worry you.”

Will didn’t answer, continuing to idly swirl the dredges of his coffee. Hannibal must have taken it as answer enough.

“If I cannot convince you not to worry, perhaps I can persuade you to direct some of it towards your own safety.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt. You inspire every confidence.” Hannibal said, entirely too gracious.

Will looked up to scowl at him, unamused at his tone, to find that Hannibal was much closer than Will had realized.

“You’re looming again.”

“Forgive me.” Hannibal said. He did not back off even an inch. “What are your plans for the rest of the morning, Will?”

“I need to go over the viewer stats for the first episode.” Will grumbled, thrown by the sudden shift in the conversation and Hannibal’s nearness. “Freddie has been hounding me.”

“So you will remain on the premises?”

“Not all day, but for a few hours, yes.”

“Excellent.” His eyes ticked up in a small smile. “I would like to continue to go over your terminologia italiana.”

Will became aware of a trap about to be sprung around him. “Will it be more immersion theory, or will you actually being helping me?”

“That is entirely up to you.”

Will raised an disbelieving brow at that, and Hannibal’s grin only grew. Will pushed his coffee cup away and stood up to go, but Hannibal took a step around the counter and brought them face to face again.

Will narrowed his eyes, trying to guess the game. “Thank you for breakfast, Hannibal.”

“Of course.” He answered.

“It was delicious.” Will tried again.

“Thank you, it is kind of you to say so.”

“What are you going to do today?”

“The others are going to participate in a physical challenge of some sort. I am not supposed to know the details, but the clue was read aloud after dinner.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to know who will have won immunity; unless you try to send them home. It’s going to be a race up a rock climbing wall.”

“Ah. The first one to the top cannot be sent home?”

Will nodded. “Pretty standard game show fare.”

“As you say. For myself, I have some correspondence to attend to.” Hannibal said, still standing in front of Will as though he was waiting for something.

“I can come find you once I’m done reviewing everything.” Will said slowly. “Will that be alright?”

Hannibal nodded and finally seemed to collect himself and step back, moving to wash the few dishes in the sink. He slowly made his way to his little office, and sat down to read over the viewer stats they had received on their first aired episode of the season.

Their glowing, shockingly positive statistics with a thirty percent higher rating with adults aged eighteen to forty nine were better than predicted by the network. They were a bonafide hit, second tier network or not. Hannibal was a hit. The studio was ecstatic. Freddie Lounds would probably get promoted.

Oh, God. Freddie Lounds would probably get promoted and then Will would have to leave the industry and go live on a boat because he would never hear the end of it.

He had been at it for nearly an hour when there was a knock on the door, and Will called out “Come in,” without looking up. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“May I join you?”

“I thought you had ‘correspondence to attend to’?”

“I do, but find that the light in my room is poor.” Hannibal gestured vaguely with the paper in his hand.

Will bit the tip of his tongue to keep from smiling at this latest ploy. “This room is on the same side of the house, isn’t it?”

“The windows are north facing. It makes all the difference.”

Still not looking at him, Will nodded, and gestured for him to sit. It was a large desk; he and Beverly had shared it without any problems. Not that he could expect the same degree of good behavior with the way his mornings had been going lately.

But then, he and Beverly had sat on opposite ends of the desk. Hannibal pulled a chair around and sat down next to him, commenting again about making the best use of the morning light. Then he placed sheaves of paper and a fountain pen on the desk and spread them out in a manner than suggested he had not one letter to write, but two dozen.

“I know you have an email account.” Will said as he watched the ritual from his peripheral vision and had his left elbow nudged several times in succession. “You had to give one when you officially applied to be cast on the show.”

“Of course I do, Will. I merely enjoy the intimate quality of handwritten letters. There is a meditative quality to putting my thoughts to paper in my own hand that is lacking in electronic communication.”

“Who do you write to?” Will asked.

“I have friends and acquaintances all over the world. Before you ask, yes, many of them have email accounts as well.”

Will bit his tongue again to not laugh at his tone, and made a slew of purposely loud keystrokes on his laptop. Hannibal was too composed to do something like ask him to stop, but Will could feel his vexation.

“It is slower, of course, in both the composing and the receiving. I find the wait often leads to insights that may have been lost if the response had been immediate.”

Will hummed as if he was considering Hannibal’s words, but was really trying to read the introduction of his letter without looking directly at it. That eventually devolved into just watching his hands as he wrote. They worked side by side for nearly twenty minutes before Will spoke again.

“Are you telling them you’re writing from the set of a TV show?”

“No, though I did note the name of the property and a little history of the house itself.” Hannibal answered, amused.

“You’re not telling them what you’re currently doing?”

“I am. I have mentioned the house, the time of day, and the man I am sharing a desk with.”

That made Will smile, though he kept his eyes on his screen. “What could you have to say about him?”

Hannibal made a show of looking back through the letter. “Although the house does not belong to either of us, we have found a comfortable companionship at this desk, and his typing is distracting, even when he is not being purposefully loud.”

That was… unexpectedly affectionate. Mostly. Will didn’t know what to do about it, so he chose to ignore it. “Nothing about the dating show you’re starring in?”

“I do not think she would appreciate it. Most of her last letter was about an anatomy text from the sixteenth century. It would be an odd transition, to say the least.”

“I think that’s just a lack of imagination, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal chose to ignore that comment. “May I ask how your reviews are going?”

“Your reviews, really. And very well. The network is going to double the price of ad slots for the next six weeks.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He set his pen down and paused, waiting for the ink to dry, then folded the pages together and slid them into an envelope. Will wouldn’t have been surprised if he had sealed it with wax. Instead, Hannibal brought it up to his mouth and wet it with his tongue. Which would have been fine; Will could have dealt with that visual given enough time and distance, but Hannibal chose that same moment to finally catch Will looking at him and hold his gaze as he did it. The light caught in his pale lashes, and Will could see the silhouette of his tongue through the thin paper as it swept along the edge of the envelope.

The way Will shivered, he might as well have done it along an equally thin skinned part of Will’s body. Hannibal’s face curled into a little non smile.

“I think I see your point about the intimacy of the process.” Will said, breathless and cotton mouthed but trying to hide it.

Hannibal placed the envelope on the desk, and Will distantly noted that he didn’t move to seal it. “You are a clever man. I knew you could be brought around to my way of thinking.”

He reached for Will’s laptop and snapped it closed, then placed his hand on Will’s. He let it rest there, fingers light, before sliding his hand to Will’s wrist and tightening his grip; Hannibal’s thumb pressed against the vessels and tendons there - testing Will’s pulse.

Hannibal kept his grip on Will and tugged him out of his chair towards him, and continued to pull until he was standing between Hannibal’s knees.

“Hannibal.” Will reprimanded, gently pulling his hand away and letting it fall to his side.

Hannibal leaned back in his chair, looking up at Will. “You allow me so little. Even sitting beside you I can command only a portion of your attention.”

“I am here on my day off. Again. And I know the light in here cannot be better than in your room.”

Hannibal’s lips quirked. “It is worse, in fact.”

Will huffed, annoyed but endeared. “You can’t keep pinning me between you and a table every time we’re alone. You’re not going to wear me down.”

“I want just the opposite. I want to elevate you, Will. A part of me wants to raise you above me so I may worship at your feet.”

Will swallowed. “And the other part?”

He slowly leaned forward, and brought his hands up to skim along Will’s ribs. “Another part wants you kneeling at mine.”

Will let his head tip back with a groan. “I told you we couldn’t do this.”

“Tell me again.” Hannibal said, slipping a finger under Will’s belt and sharply tugging him closer, making Will scramble to grab the desk behind him to keep his balance. “Tell me now.”

“What can I say that would convince you?”

“What can you say that would not be a lie?” Hannibal ran his hands up Will’s sides again, pulling his shirt loose as he did. He slipped one hand underneath and slowly felt his way up Will’s stomach and chest, finally stopping at his heart. “Tell me.”

They were still for a moment. Will’s heart was pounding so hard he knew Hannibal could feel it beneath his palm. He heard Hannibal take a deep breath, then felt him clutch his hip with his other hand. That sent a jolt to Will’s cock, and he groaned again.

“You must be quiet in case anyone else is up.” Hannibal said, voice low.

Will swore under his breath as felt Hannibal begin to work his belt loose.

“It’s not even nine AM.”

“Is that relevant?” Hannibal asked, not pausing as he popped open Will’s fly.

“It makes this feel even more inappropriate, for one.” Will said, daring to look down as Hannibal pulled his boxers and pants halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock. Hannibal looked at him for a long moment, making Will want to squirm, before pressing his nose and lips into the junction of his groin and leg, inhaling deeply and pressing closer. He slowly brought his arms around to knead into the backs of Will’s thighs, just below the curve of his ass.

He skimmed his nose up and along Will’s hip, pausing to lightly suck at the bone there. Will shuddered, and he clutched at the desk behind him, not knowing if he wanted to press into the sensation or pull away from it.

“I don’t do this, Hannibal.” He tried again. “I haven’t done this in years.”

“I do not intend to let you do much of anything.” Hannibal said, and Will could feel the amusement in his voice as much as he could hear it.

Hannibal inhaled one more time, seemingly intent on filling his lungs with the scent of him, before looking up at Will. He held his gaze as he slowly took the head of Will’s cock between his lips, and Will was trembling with it before he fully registered the sensation. As he worked Will deeper into his mouth he slid his hands up to properly grope his ass, and used the leverage to pull him deeper still. The hot, slick slide of his tongue over the top of Will’s cock was teasing, light, even as it sent something like electric shocks into his gut with each careful little movement. Will could have stayed suspended in the space between his strong hands and gentle tongue for hours if Hannibal would let him.

Not that he would last that long. Will was desperately trying to remain quiet as Hannibal did nothing to help, repeating every little movement that made him moan with a calculated precision Will recognized even in his compromised state. The point was emphasized as Hannibal took Will fully into his mouth and let his cock down his throat, holding him there as he swallowed around him. When he felt Hannibal tighten his arms around him again, forcing him deeper still, he groaned, long and low, and came as he felt Hannibal moan around his cock.

Hannibal did not release him immediately, holding him in his mouth and kneading into his flesh again until Will was trembling with overstimulation. Then, finally, he released him, only to press his face again into the seam of Will’s thigh, scenting him.

Will took a few gulping breaths. “Do I smell different?”

“Better,” came the somewhat muffled reply. Hannibal looked up into Will’s flushed face again, his lips red and slick. “I would bottle you if I could.”

“Weird.” Will answered. Hannibal pinched him for the comment, but he looked so smugly satisfied Will didn’t take the reprimand at all seriously. “We’re doing this in the wrong order.”

Hannibal hummed, turning his face into Will’s stomach and running his nose under his belly button.

“We haven’t even kissed.”

He hummed again, unconcerned. “You have not kissed me, no.”

“You haven’t kissed me, you gave me a hickey.”

“That is a horrendous term.”

“You’re the one who did it.”

Hannibal finally leaned away from him and back into his chair, letting his hands trail over Will’s hips as he did. “I am.” He tugged Will’s clothing back into place, and only looked amused as Will, still a touch light headed, did nothing to assist. Once he was decent and his shirt buttons were straightened, he looked up at Will.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

“No. You’ve already gotten everything you wanted today.”

“I would be inclined to agree. You’re exquisite, Will.”

“And you’re dangerous in large doses.” He sighed, wrung out but relaxed for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“Will you find it harder now, watching me romance others?” Hannibal asked.

“Quit. I’m not kissing you.”

His eyes narrowed, but Will was still certain he was beyond pleased, no matter how he glared at him. Will slipped away from him, back to his own chair, but angled it to face him.

“Still up for teaching me some more Italian?”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering Will as he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Will wanted to bask in the feeling of having the upper hand for as long as he could have it.

“Of course, Will. Anything you like.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Will hated Anthony Dimmond. Will hated flannel sheets because they clung, but he wouldn’t take them away from people who liked them. So, he reasoned, he must not hate Anthony Dimmond, because as Will watched him kiss Hannibal he didn’t just want the man gone from the immediate area but evaporated from the surface of the earth. Will wanted the mineral hot spring the two of them were soaking in to come to a boil and melt the flesh off of his weird, spindly body.

Not that it was Dimmond who Will blamed, really. Hannibal had come out of a changing room in decidedly European style swimming trunks that, while not immodest exactly, were much tighter and shorter than what most men would wear in the United States. It was such an obvious strategy in this new phase of the game between them that at first, Will had been content to enjoy the view along with the rest of the crew. Hannibal had been playing it fairly close to the chest (broad, toned, surprisingly hairy) since their interlude the morning before. No crowding into Will’s space, no comments about how he smelled; just affably professional conduct for over twenty four hours. Will thought maybe that had been enough to get it out of both their systems. Perhaps they could both move forward as friends.

Friends that sometimes gave each other blowjobs. Maybe fucked, just once, just to make sure that the bulge one friend had seen in the other friend’s swim suit was worth all this trouble. Friends did that, right?

Or perhaps Will could jump in and hold Dimmond’s insipid, foppish head under water to get it away from Hannibal’s mouth.

He tried to be rational. First, this was exactly what he should have expected to happen. Hannibal had apparently been lulling him into a false sense of security since yesterday, but had used Dimmond as a tool to incite Will’s jealousy from the beginning. Why stop now, when he had experienced such success with the tactic?

Second, this was his own damn fault. Will was the one who went back to Hannibal after telling him off the night of the dance. He’d had an out and he balked at the last minute and didn’t take it. And what did he have to show for it? Italian phrases about cameras he could’ve learned online, and an office he’d never be able to concentrate in ever again.

Finally, as he watched them, intimately close to one another, talking about Anthony’s past relationships while the steam curled around them, he could recognize through his irritation this was a good segment for the show. Hannibal was especially compelling shirtless, and Dimmond’s florid speech suited the setting. Once they had peppered it with cuts to Anthony’s confessional - which would no doubt be full of gushing about the kiss - the studio would be elated. Then Will saw Hannibal's arm move, and all he could think about was what their hands were doing beneath the surface of the cloudy water.

Was he running his hand up Anthony’s thigh? Was he twining their fingers together? Had that been a good kiss? Had he thought of Will as -

He stopped himself.

Will stood there and focused on the lighting, the way they would have to dim the background sound with how they all echoed off the stone, how much he would like to smash in Dimmond’s nose with one of those stones, how his blood would look in the water, how he’d -

Stop.

Will turned and tried watching through of the camera feeds, which helped make it feel less like it was happening right behind him. He suffered through the rest of the date that way; watching Hannibal through cameras and sound equipment instead of facing him directly. He fled to his car as soon as the director called cut, ignoring any questions called after him. Will could not handle his own churning emotions; the last thing he needed was to be exposed to Hannibal’s, or worse, Anthony’s.

He drove home and spent the late afternoon and evening trying to work but mostly grinding his teeth or pacing his kitchen. Will imagined what had been happening under the water, what would have happened if he had kissed Hannibal when he asked, reliving their morning the day before; round and around until he was sick with it and finally collapsed in bed.

Some time before dawn, he woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing.

“What.” He growled into the phone.

“Will? Hey, it’s Freddie. Wake up. I need you to look at something.”

“Freddie, dammit, it's not even five.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you need to see this. I just emailed it to you.”

Will groaned, but levered himself out of bed and opened his laptop. “What. Can possibly. Be so important?”

“I don’t know, OK? But you need to look at it.” Her voice was sharp. Urgent.

He woke up a bit more at that. “Ok, fine, fine. I’m downloading it.”

She was silent as they waited for the video file to download. It opened, and Will saw the ballroom from three nights ago, empty but decorated, before anyone had started to dance.

He hit play. “Ok, I have it. What am I looking for?”

“So I’ve had to pull all this footage for both of the murders, right? The FBI wanted every single second of Friday night, with or without Margot Verger.”

“Yeah. The guy told me. Crawford.”

“Right. So, if you go all the way to the end of the night, some idiot left a main camera running way past when this room was cleared, and everyone moved to the dining room.”

“Ah. Yeah, the TV guys don’t like these stationary cameras.” He clicked through the last half of the video, finding when the lights were turned off. Ambient light from two open doors kept the room from going totally black, and the trees and lawn beyond the windows became visible.

“Go to minute two hundred forty eight.” She said, tense again.

Will did. He let it play, watching a shadow move across a wall, then it was still. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but then he saw it.

Outside, through the windows, the figure of a man was crossing the lawn towards the main road. It was dark, and the camera was unfocused, but it was clear enough to tell the man was in a tuxedo. Will couldn’t make out his face, and there was no way to see any other identifying features but something about the way the figure moved reminded Will of the first night at the mansion, when someone had followed him across the dark lawn.

“Freddie,” He started slowly. “Who have you shown this to?”

“No one, yet. I cut it off after an hour of the room being empty and sent that to the FBI. I didn’t see this until just before I called you while I was running through it before deleting it.”

Will made a split second decision to take a calculated risk. “I am going to tell you something, and you’re not going to repeat it.”

She was quiet for long enough that Will almost asked if she was still there, then said, slowly, “OK. I am not going to repeat it.”

“Really, Freddie. I could get in a lot of trouble.” He put just a touch of pleading in his voice. Enough to convince, not enough to annoy. Desperate, but not that kind of desperate.

“OK. What’s going on?” She asked.

Will took a deep breath, letting it rattle the phone. “I think that’s Han - Dr. Lecter. Going to meet me in my car.”

“Why would he meet you in your car?” She asked.

Will didn’t say anything, letting her make the jump he knew she would at his silence.

“Will! Oh my god!”

He groaned again. “I know, OK! I know. I could lose my job.”

“You didn’t even want him on the show!” She was really scandalized now, and she sounded like she was loving every second of it. “You said he was too old!”

“It’s not like that now, he’s - whatever. Just please don’t tell anyone.”

“Did you fuck? In your shitty little car?”

“Freddie -”

“Way to get it, Graham. I didn’t know you had it in you.” She was completely smug now.

“Just don’t -”

“Is it a daddy issue thing?”

“Freddie! Shut up!”

“You are so lucky this didn’t get sent. You both would have been in deep shit.”

“I know, I get it. The timing is bad. Obviously we didn’t know just how bad.”

She sobered a little. “Shit, Will. I thought maybe -”

“I get it.” Will said, cutting off the thought before she could voice it. Now for the big gamble. “If you feel like you should still send it in, maybe you should. I want to stay above board.”

“Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” Her tone was still smug as she added, “This is the best blackmail I am ever going to get.”

Will finally got off the phone with her a few minutes later, after begging off having to disclose any details of his invented vehicular rendezvous with the good Dr. Lecter. He was confident she wouldn’t tell anyone; not for awhile anyway. He did know her well enough to know it wouldn’t stay buried indefinitely, and there would be hell to pay the next time he tried to refuse something she wanted, but hopefully the FBI wouldn’t be hanging over them by then.

Speaking of which...

Where exactly had Hannibal been going, heading into the dark on the night of Mason Verger’s murder?

Will flopped back down on his bed, but was too wired to sleep again. Why would Hannibal have left? Had he been that upset over Will turning him down? Even after he agreed to meet Hannibal the next morning?

Had he been so upset he had gone out and done something like that?

Almost against his own volition, he pulled up the images of the crime scene on his phone and lay in bed scrolling through them again. It would explain why Hannibal was so interested in Will’s career. A posh, wealthy doctor pursuing a scruffy television producer made no sense. But if he had a history of violence, it followed he would be keen to learn what he could about Will’s. Will knew Hannibal had done what digging he could about Louisiana, but there was no way he could actually confirm anything he may suspect. He wondered if Hannibal had laid in bed some night and watched his show, looking for clues through a bright screen in a dark room like Will was now.

He wondered if Hannibal had found some clarity Will hadn’t.

He looked for a long time at the image bored through skin, muscle, bone. He sharply regretted not being able to see it in person, not being able to stand before it and truly know. He fell into a fitful sleep once his phone died and the sky outside was fully lit, still not sure what he would do once he was face to face with the man again.

Will finally got out of bed for good around eleven, showered, then sat at his kitchen table half dressed, and decided on a course of action while his coffee got cold.

Hannibal was frustrating, arrogant, and likely much more dangerous than Will realized. He also had a way of getting under Will’s skin that was quickly escalating to the point of no return. This jealousy was so tightly wrapped around the two of them that he knew it would not untangle easily, but it did relax somewhat. Will felt like he could at least think rationally again. He had been doubting all along why someone like Hannibal would bother to pursue someone like him; maybe that few seconds of film had provided an answer.

His mind made up, he finished getting ready and headed to the contestant’s house. Since he was getting there so late he and Hannibal only caught a glimpse of one another as Hannibal was getting into a car to take him to the location of the group date, but it was enough to let him know Will was there. He would be waiting for him when he returned.

He didn’t go to his office, but to the sitting room where he had gotten Hannibal to agree to stay on the show in exchange for Will accompanying them to Rome. He sat down on that same stiff settee and tried to get some work done. He’d be smart to actually start watching the dailies; apparently he had things to watch out for. So he made notes on the footage from yesterday, approved two new promos, and then started on Hannibal’s confessional.

It was strange, watching him talk about how he had interpreted the date with Anthony. A few times his comments were almost verbatim what Will had written in his notes to the editors. Most interesting of all, he did not mention the kiss. Not even in passing. If he hadn’t just rewatched it, Will could have almost believed it had been an envy fueled hallucination.

It was late in the day by the time the contestants returned to the mansion, with Hannibal not far behind. Will could make out his accented voice as he said good night to the group that had lingered in the foyer, listened to them disperse, then to the quiet once the first floor was mostly empty again. Will imagined Hannibal going straight to the office, finding it empty, then detouring to his room to change clothes. He was fastidious that way, rarely staying in clothing he had sweat in for longer than absolutely necessary. Will figured he had about 10 minutes before Hannibal found him.

He set the scene a little bit. Will undid the first two buttons of his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, then adjusted his position so his back was to the door - his laptop screen clearly visible. He pulled up the moment just before the kiss and waited maybe another 2 minutes before pressing play. He watched again as Dimmond ran a hand through Hannibal’s wet hair, then down his neck and over one pectoral. Watched him lean in, lips parted and -

“Good evening, Will.”

Will slammed his laptop shut and twisted to face the door. “Hannibal. Hi. I didn’t know you were back.”

“Did I startle you? I apologize, that was not my intention.” He said, a poor parody of contrition if Will had ever seen one.

“No. It’s fine. I was just working. How was today?”

“Fine. Lovely weather for a horse race, but I could have done without the two separate performances of the American national anthem.”

Will gave him a tight smile. “Sorry about that. One of the horses is partially owned by a studio exec, so we have to go every year.”

He frowned. “Which horse?”

“Uh. I think his name is Buckin’ in Stylz.”

“Charming.” He said dryly.

“I’ll tell him you said so. How was it besides the entertainment?”

“I found the day dragged. I did not see you after the date yesterday.” Hannibal said, finally moving into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Will slowly swallowed, watched as Hannibal tracked the movement. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see you.”

“Because of Mr. Dimmond.” Hannibal's tone all but dripped with regret.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed the two of you were on a first name basis, Dr. Lecter.” There was more venom in his voice than he had intended. His understanding of Hannibal was becoming clearer, but his jealousy was still very real.

He prowled closer. “Are you angry with me, Will?”

“I’m not anything with you.” Will turned away, looking to the opposite wall. “Obviously.”

“Dear Will.” Hannibal all but sighed his name. Will felt Hannibal sit beside him on the settee. “Would it not look odd if I refused him?”

Will grit his teeth. “I care less and less how it looks.”

“Shall I go find him right now? Bring him in here and tell him how I really felt when he kissed me?”

Will clenched and unclenched his right fist. He reached over and pulled Hannibal to him, one hand at the base of his neck, fingers curled into his fine hair. He ran his lips along Hannibal’s jawline, felt him smile at yet another easy victory.

Will was gracious enough to let him enjoy it, for the moment.

He took a breath, letting Hannibal feel him press against his chest. “Are you going to keep tormenting me with him?”

“It’s for the show. You know that.”

“You and I both know that’s not the only reason.” Will muttered, letting the blunt edge of his teeth drag against the hinge of Hannibal’s jaw.

“You were the one insisting we could not have this.” One of Hannibal’s hands was making its way up Will’s thigh. “I feel that I am the one left to hoard what little regard you do show me.” He dug his thumb into Will’s leg, making him wince away and part his thighs. Hannibal was quick to press the advantage, insinuating himself between them. Somehow he had managed to get them horizontal and Hannibal was nearly on top of him now, one hand holding his legs apart, the other pressing into the cushions to hold him above Will.

“But this jealousy is not healthy. I am not your possession.” The words were scolding, but his tone was subtly delighted.

Will pulled away and looked him in the face again. He must have been just as flushed as he felt; Hannibal’s pupils dilated even further as they looked at one another, only inches apart.

“Not my possession.” Will mused, tightening his grip on Hannibal’s neck. He brought his other hand between them and palmed against Hannibal’s growing erection. “Tell me what you are, then.”

Hannibal closed his eyes, perhaps gathering himself as Will continued to run his hand up and down the length of him through his slacks. “I am whatever you want me to be.”

“I want us to be equals, Hannibal.” He squeezed, feeling Hannibal rock down against his hand. “I think that may be a new concept for you, so I’m not going to ask you to answer right now.” Will brought his lips up to Hannibal’s, barely letting them brush together. “The other day you said a lot of pretty things, but I don’t want to be an acolyte, and you don't have the temperament.”

“Is there nothing I can do to get you on your knees?”

Will smiled, allowing the joke. “You’re the one who received benediction.”

“And how blessed I was to have it granted.” He was smiling too.

It was too much. Will finally pressed their lips together and relished the little moan from Hannibal as he opened to him. He learned he liked crooked teeth when they caught his bottom lip and deepened the kiss. He also learned he shouldn’t have let his attention wander, because somewhere between his tongue in Hannibal’s mouth and realizing he was so hard it was making him dizzy, Hannibal had snaked one hand into his hair. He pulled, sharply forcing Will’s head back, and angled his jaw so Hannibal could press his face into Will’s open collar. He laved his tongue along one collar bone, then pressed another sucking kiss against it.

“You called me possessive?” Will gasped.

Hannibal only hummed, more interested in opening the rest of Will’s shirt buttons than answering his teasing. Soon he had it open, and sat up on his knees on the cushions, pulling Will’s hips up and into his lap and leaving him stretched out below him. He tugged the shirt half way off his shoulders, then leaned into Will again. He was effectively pinned - his own weight and shirt trapped his elbows beneath him, holding his shoulders and upper arms in place, and with his hips in Hannibal’s lap he had no leverage to lift himself up.

This was about to get very good or very, very bad.

“Tell me why you left yesterday.” Hannibal said, running his hands over Will’s chest and stomach. His tone was still gental, but there was a look in his face Will couldn’t quite fathom.

Will very purposefully did not squirm. Something told him it would be a bad time to act like prey. “I don’t like seeing you with any of them, but him especially. Him kissing you when I hadn’t was unbearable. I felt like I had missed my chance.” He exhaled and relaxed all at once, let his eyes close, the picture of the relief after confession. “I was convinced you were touching him under the water, where I couldn’t see.”

“That I was keeping secrets with him too.”

Will kept his eyes closed, but nodded. He pressed into Hannibal’s roving hands as much as he could. “I wanted to hold his head underwater. I wanted to bash his teeth in so there wouldn’t be anything left for you to kiss.” He managed to hook one leg around Hannibal’s hips, and pulled them flush together. “I wanted him to look at you and know that you’re not meant for him.”

“Who are you meant for, Will?”

Will opened his eyes then, catching Hannibal staring at him. “If you had asked me before last week, I would have said no one. That I was supposed to be alone.”

Something cracked in Hannibal’s expression, but it was quickly shuttered. “And now?”

Will didn’t answer right away, and Hannibal was apparently not in the mood to be patient. He ran his hands down Will’s chest again, then over his hips, before making short work of his belt and fly. Hannibal slipped his hand into Will’s boxers and ran his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing.

“And now, Will?” He repeated.

“What do you want me to say?” Will asked, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt as Hannibal’s hand moved even lower to cup him. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”

“I cannot tell you.” He said, trailing his hand back up to Will’s hip. “But I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

He rocked against Will then, and even through layers of clothing the friction made Will’s eyes roll back in his head. Then Hannibal’s hands were everywhere, releasing him from his shirt, running through his hair; soon enough he was half naked with Hannibal on top of him again. Will tugged Hannibal’s shirt out of his pants, desperate to feel his skin against him.

He fumbled with Hannibal’s belt and zipper, but was temporarily waylaid as Hannibal kissed him again. His own moan surprised him as Hannibal’s tongue touched his. This, the two of them together, was better than Will had thought it would be. It overwhelmed him. Hannibal kissed him like he had to earn every second, like each slide of his lips against Will’s had to pay the way for the next.

Finally Will had Hannibal’s cock in his hand, and feeling the hot length of him made him moan all over again. Hannibal broke the kiss, reached down to pull Will free as well and wrapped his hand around both their cocks. Will couldn’t help but thrust against him. It was too much, too tight, too rough. Hannibal growled, nipping at his throat again.

They did not last long like that. Hannibal seemed intent on it, not giving an inch as Will tried to slow down and draw it out a little longer. He worked his hand and his cock against Will’s until he came between them, and even then did not release him from his grasp until he too had come, hot and sudden, over Will’s stomach.

Hannibal didn’t move off him in the aftermath, didn’t act like he had any intention to, and kept nosing along his jaw and hairline. Will felt wrecked, defenseless against Hannibal’s continued ministrations. He started to get cold all at once; his own sweat and the mess coating his pants and stomach seeming to chill suddenly against his skin. One leg was still hitched over Hannibal’s hips, but the other was bent at an awkward angle and had gone beyond pins and needles to total loss of sensation. The antique settee was almost certainly ruined. They’d probably owe a cleaning fee, and who knows how he would explain that. What was this? Silk?

“Will.” Hannibal said, his breath warm and ticklish against Will’s ear. “I can feel you thinking. If you would follow me to my room, I think we can return you to a more decent state.”

“That is up a flight of stairs and on the other side of the house.” He grumbled. “Someone will see us.”

“Perhaps next time we could consider it an option from the beginning.”

“Ugh. You’d love that. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d already removed all the interior door knobs and nailed the windows shut.”

He felt Hannibal chuckle against him. “An interesting thought. I had not had the idea to lock you in my bedroom and ravish you.”

Wil made a show of looking himself over. “Is that not what just happened?”

He smiled at the teasing, but sobered as he asked “Are you truly so wary of me?”

Will turned to briefly catch Hannibal’s lips with his. “You put thoughts in my head I’ve never had before. I’d say I’m probably right to be wary.”

Hannibal slowly ran a hand through Will’s curls, holding his gaze. “Believe me, Will. I share the sentiment completely.”

Chapter Text

Will was running late.

He had made the mistake the week before of finally giving Hannibal his personal cell phone number, and had been kept up all night with reminders on what to pack, how best to pack, and that he should send pictures of how he was packing because Hannibal was sure he wasn’t doing it correctly. Will had then accused him of just wanting to see what his underwear looked like, Hannibal had answered that it was most likely more of what he had already seen, Will replied that if that was how he felt then he wouldn’t be seeing Will’s underwear ever again, and then Hannibal had started in on how going without proper undergarments would ruin the line of his pants and Will had silenced his phone and gone to sleep, which led to Will’s alarm not going off.

So, Will was running late.

He managed to make it to the airport and through security in time to hear his name being called over the public address system as he jogged to the gate to join the last few people still in line to board the plane. A little out of breath and aggravated by the whole situation, he hardly registered the attendant's words as she mentioned something about his seat changing, and that she hoped he enjoyed his flight.

He made it through the door and onto the plane, luggage bumping behind him, and looked down at his assigned seat number. It was in first class.

It had certainly not been first class an hour ago.

With a prickly, suspicious feeling in his stomach, he looked over the people already seated in the first class section of the plane. There, last row on the left, aisle seat, was Hannibal. Will didn’t even bother to check that the empty seat beside him matched the number on Will’s ticket. He stomped down the aisle. Hannibal all but beamed up at him as he approached.

“Good Morning, Will. I was concerned you would miss the flight.”

“Did you switch my ticket?”

He blinked. “What makes you ask?”

Will clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I could’ve sworn when I looked at the ticket online this morning, it said I was somewhere south of the starboard wing. But here I am looking at my seatmate in row five.”

“How fortunate for us both.”

They looked at one another, Will glaring, Hannibal benignly pleased, until a host came up behind Will and asked if he needed help finding his seat.

“Oh, I’ve found it.” Will said shortly, hefting his luggage into the overhead bin in jerky, quick motions.

Hannibal stood and let Will sit, then resumed his own seat. Will slumped down, arms crossed, then uncrossed.

“How much did this cost you?”

“Did what cost me?” Hannibal asked, picking up his tablet again.

Will tapped a finger against his thigh. “Having me all to yourself for nearly fifteen hours.”

“I would suggest you sleep for a portion of the flight, Will. It does help with the time difference.”

“You really can’t just admit that you were so desperate that you paid hundreds if not thousands of dollars to upgrade my ticket.”

“You do have a tendency to run off after any length of time longer than approximately three hours.”

Will shifted in his seat. “I do not.”

“I am afraid you do.”

“I’m busy. I am a busy person. I can’t wait for hours as you build up to foreplay. ”

“You are trying to avoid a deeper level of intimacy by limiting our interactions to short bursts of physicality.”

He may have had a point. In the two weeks that had passed since their dalliance on the settee, Will had not ceded much ground to Hannibal’s relationship machinations.

Hannibal had said all the appropriate, gentlemanly things he was supposed to when Will had expressed his desire to go slow; although he in no way actually ceased his attempts to get into Will’s clothing whenever possible.

Hannibal managed to be equal parts mesmerizing and aggravating. He could be devastatingly charming, and then between one breath and the next be back to pushing all of Will’s buttons with just a few words. Will could not decide how much of a threat he was, and was even further from knowing how much of a threat Will wanted him to be.

Hannibal could ruin his whole life, if only Will would let him.

But Will didn’t say any of that to Hannibal.

“This is pretty big reach, even for you. I feel like I shouldn’t reward it.”

“I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, Will. If you like, I can ask an attendant to move you to coach.”

Will didn’t even bother acknowledge his bluff being called. “I’m not sharing a room with you in Rome.”

“Of course not. It would look odd to the rest of the crew.”

Will drummed his fingers against his leg again. “I’m not going to any restaurants that aren’t on the shooting list.”

Hannibal finally put down his tablet and looked at Will. “I do not believe I have invited you to any restaurants.”

“No? You’ve just been mentioning the same place for four days because you’re eager to see the interior design?”

“Imago, yes. The space does have spectacular views of the skyline.”

“I’ll never know, because I’m not going.”

“I believe you would enjoy the experience, as well as get a taste of the culinary culture in the city.”

“We’re going to be too busy shooting to go to fancy dinners.”

“We shall see.” Hannibal said, ominous as he picked up his tablet again and ignored Will as he started to fidget.

Will was too late boarding to be offered a drink. The pilot came over the speaker in English, then Italian, and Will watched Hannibal not watch the safety demonstration video. They were taxiing and then in the air, and after nearly an hour had passed he still could not think up a suitable rebuttal against this newest stunt of Hannibal’s.

“How did you get them to change my seat? You have none of my identification. None of my confirmation numbers.”

“If I had done something like that, I am sure it could be accomplished easily enough by saying my partner and I wished to sit next to one another, but that one party had been unable to secure a first class ticket in time.” He said, nonchalant as he flicked one finger up the side of the screen.

“How much was it?”

“I could not possibly tell you.”

Will huffed. “I could look it up if I wanted.”

“You are a very capable man, Will. You could do many things.”

Will drummed his fingers again. “Did you really call me your partner?”

Hannibal smiled, but did not look at him. “Is that not what you are?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He admitted. “I’ve mostly been playing this by ear.”

“I have thought the same thing. You are often reacting to me when we are together, not necessarily acting on your own desires.”

“Does that bother you?” Will asked.

Hannibal looked at him again, assessing. Will thought that he had maybe been expecting him to deny it. “Not if it is because we are still getting to know one another.”

Once again, he was closer to the mark than he probably realized, Will thought.

Will again chose the coward’s way out, and pulled his laptop from his bag and started to run through promos.

Episodes two and three had been aired to similar numbers as episode one, and episode four and five would air while they filmed in Rome. The season was still running well, all things considered.

Will looked up from his computer after watching all of the promotional shorts and taking notes to send off once he was at the hotel. It had taken all of forty five minutes.

Maybe he should have brought a book.

He opened the most recently aired episode and watched it through again. Hannibal was charming, the contestants were catty, someone fell into mud at a botanical garden, Hannibal sent two people home, one of them managed to cry, roll credits.

Another thirty five minutes gone.

Hannibal was still reading and Will didn’t want to bother him, so he started to look through the inflight entertainment offerings. He watched ten minutes of two different TV dramas before giving up on the idea. He slumped down in his seat again and pulled his headphones off, then started to bounce one knee.

“We’ve spent longer than three hours at a time together.” Will blurted.

“Not alone.” Hannibal answered levelly, though Will could tell he was amused.

“We’re not alone now.”

“Nor do we have anyone or anything seeking to interrupt our conversation. No camera crews, no phone calls, no easy distractions.” He leaned over and said lowly, “What shall we do now that you cannot run from me?”

Will held his gaze. “I could take four antihistamines and wake up when we land.”

Hannibal hummed. “I suppose you could. Then I would get the no doubt enchanting experience of watching you sleep.”

“Weird, Hannibal.”

“Would you like something to read? I brought several books with me.”

Will shook his head. “What are you reading?”

“Excerpts from the journal of a sixteenth century French abbess, who chronicled her journey to and within the Vatican City.”

That made Will smile. “Why?”

“Is it not enough to read her words to keep them alive? Reading them here, I am perhaps closer to her god than she ever was. I can grant her some sliver of the promised heavenly reward.”

“I can’t talk religion with you again. You make my southern catholic roots twist up on themselves in ways I don’t necessarily enjoy.”

“I have found many enjoyable ways to twist you up.”

“And so we’ll work towards achieving our reward?”

Hannibal leaned in close again, voice deep and vowels rolling. “I believe there are many roads that could lead you there; surely more than our abbess could conceive of.”

“People can hear you.”

“They cannot, though you are blushing anyway.” He smiled and leaned back into his own seat.

“This is what I meant by taking hours to even get to the foreplay. I’m a sure thing at this point. You don’t have to sweet talk me.” Will teased.

“Are you? I am not so sure.” Hannibal watched Will, his expression falling more serious. “Though perhaps it is myself I doubt.”

Will gave him a tight smile and looked away out the window. “You keep alluding to a question you haven’t asked.”

Hannibal was still beside him. “Shall I ask it?”

Will took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You want to know why I’m resisting you. You think it’s for some other reason than the ones I’ve already given.”

“I believe you have already intuited that I am drawn into the chase you orchestrate.”

“And there goes my easy answer.” Will said, still looking out at the clouds. “What else?”

Hannibal shifted in his seat, bringing one hand up to graze Will’s on the arm rest between them. “What else should I know?”

“You worked pretty hard to pin me down and have a discussion about this.” When Hannibal said nothing, Will continued. “I think you probably have some ideas.”

“I have many. Some more likely than others.”

“Undoubtedly.”

He paused again, and Will could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him. They let the silence hang between them.

“This could simply be time we spend together, Will. We do not have to discuss it now.” Hannibal finally said.

“You want to.”

“Yes, but I believe you will come to me when you are ready. This was simply a convenient opportunity to test the waters, so to speak.”

“Sorry I was a bad investment.”

“Very much to the contrary, dear Will. I have spent three thousand dollars on much worse.”

Will whipped his head around so fast he hit his nose on the headrest. “What?”

Hannibal was back to reading on his tablet.

“Hannibal. What did you just say?”

“I believe it was something to the effect of you being a worthy investment.” He said.

That drew Will up short. He looked at Hannibal for a long time before the man finally met his eyes with a challenging look. Will gave it up and went back to looking out the window. Let him waste his money. The airline probably needed it more. He grinned at his own joke.

Will bumped his foot against Hannibal’s. “That was nice. A nice thing to say.”

Hannibal shot him an odd glance. “You will thank me for kind words but not for the upgraded seat?”

“Yeah. Both things scare me, but for different reasons. Right now I like the words more.”

As Hannibal opened his mouth to answer, Will grabbed his hand and briefly held it. “I would also like to try to sleep. Wake me up when they come around with food.”

He let go of Hannibal’s hand, and adjusted his seat back far enough that he could watch Hannibal read without being noticed. He watched him for what felt like a long time, before falling asleep between one breath and the next.

He woke up what felt like moments later, Hannibal’s hand on his knee as he said Will’s name. Will pulled off a blanket that had been tucked in around him and sat up as a surprisingly tempting plate of food was placed in front of him. He ate, feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him but not paying him any attention. Then he wrapped himself up in the blanket again and fell quickly back to sleep.

When he woke up again, Hannibal was reclined and resting beside him, and the lights in the cabin were low. Will looked at his profile for a long time, trying to listen to him breathe beneath the ambient drone of the engines.

The lights went back up as they approached the last two hours of the flight. Hannibal and Will exchanged a few pleasantries, but mostly tried to fully wake up and gather their scattered belongings. Then they were descending, landing, and finally they were on the ground again. Hannibal waited as Will followed him off the plane.

“If I remember correctly, baggage claim is down two floors.”

“OK. I can help you grab your stuff.”

Hannibal paused. “I prefer to travel with relatively little hand luggage; much of what I will need has been sent ahead to the hotel.”

“That does sound better than lugging suitcases through an airport.”

“You brought only the bags you have with you?” He asked, angling for something.

“Yes, Hannibal. I don’t need a lot of clothing, and I also don’t enjoy lugging bags around. My solution is less bags.”

“I wish you had mentioned it. I would have been happy to facilitate sending yours along with mine.”

“I didn’t know it was an option.” Will shrugged.

“Next time, perhaps.”

Will raised a brow at that. “Is there another destination I don’t know about?”

Hannibal’s pause was so brief Will almost didn’t catch it. “I meant only that you may utilize such a service the next time you travel.”

They both knew that had not been what he meant, but Will let it go. He followed Hannibal through the airport, and then into a waiting towncar with the studio’s name taped to the window.

Will pulled out his phone and started to email all pertinent parties that they landed, were en route to the hotel, and still on schedule to start tomorrow morning.

“Will?”

“Hm?” He hummed, not looking up.

“Will, we are passing the Circus Maximus.”

“Chariot racing, right?” He asked, still typing.

“Correct, though not for several centuries.” Hannibal said, ice creeping into his voice.

Will bit his tongue at Hannibal’s tone, decidedly not laughing before looking up obediently out the window. “I heard the Rolling Stones played there once.”

“Among other noteworthy events, yes.”

“Which dome is the Vatican?” Will asked.

Hannibal perked up at that, and spent the rest of the drive pointing out not only the Vatican dome, but about twelve others Will had never heard of.

It was fully dark as they pulled up to the hotel, and again Will followed Hannibal through the lobby and listened to him check them both in, just pulling out his identification when prompted. He watched the other people milling around, trying to catch what phrases he could.

Then he was handed two key cards, and Hannibal preceded him to the elevators. Will wanted to be surprised when Hannibal only pressed one floor, but he didn’t have it in him. The whole crew was probably staying in the same block of rooms anyway.

They got off on the fourth floor. Hannibal was in 405, Will in 408. Hannibal said a short goodbye, offering to arrange for a late dinner. Will hummed noncommittally as he closed the door.

The room was nice. Not huge, but clean and bright. The windows offered a view of another hotel across a small plaza; little traffic now around the fountain. Will laid down on the bed, expecting to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He laid there awhile before deciding he had better get undressed and stripped down to his boxers and got under the sheets. It didn’t seem to help - he was exhausted, but somehow too buzzed to sleep. He picked up his phone and called Hannibal.

“Hello, Will.”

“Why can’t I sleep? I hate this. I told you I don’t travel well.”

“It will pass. A meal and some wine would help.”

“Can I order room service in English? I can’t even remember any pasta names right now.”

“That sounds rather heavy for so late in the evening. Let me order us something lighter.”

A trap. “Do I have to go to your room to eat it?”

“Yes.” Hannibal didn’t even pause.

Will groaned into the phone. “I am not playing sleepover with you. I’m too tired.”

“Of course. I merely want to see you fed, then I will send you back to your own room.”

Will grumbled into the phone some more before hanging up and getting dressed again. He knocked on Hannibal’s door, and then Hannibal was waving Will in.

Hannibal was in a dark red robe, and freshly showered; his hair damp and combed back. His room was larger than Will’s, but that was to be expected. The corner room had a sitting and dining area, and a small balcony just steps away from the biggest bed Will had maybe ever seen.

“That’s too many pillows. It’s like you’re a rich divorcee and I’m the pool boy you’ve lured up here.”

“That is a fairly elaborate fantasy, Will. I do not believe I am up for it tonight, but perhaps once we are both more rested.”

Will snorted and shook his head. “Have you ordered? I remembered spaghetti on the way over.”

“I have. Please, sit. I’ll just be a moment.”

He went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Will felt like he wouldn’t be able to get back up if he sat down, so he wandered to the balcony doors and went out, looking down to the entrance of the hotel below where a few people waited for cars. It was nice. Peaceful, even. The sounds of the city were a pleasant background noise, broken as several church bells chimed the hour, starting and stopping out of sync with one another.

There was a knock at the door, and Will listened as Hannibal accepted the cart and briefly set out the food.

“How do you find it?” Hannibal asked from behind him.

Will sighed. “It’s beautiful like this. I don’t enjoy big cities generally, but being able to appreciate it from a slight distance isn’t so bad.”

“Feel free to come here and take in the view whenever you like. I am sure it will be just as enjoyable in daylight.” Hannibal said, coming out to stand beside Will at the railing. “Though I find again and again that I prefer you by moonlight. Darkness suits you.”

Will bit his lip to stop a smile. “I’m sure you say that to all the pool boys.”

Hannibal was smiling too as he tilted his head and leaned in, kissing Will softly before pulling away. “Come. Eat something. You will feel better for it.”

Will followed him back inside and sat down at the table, looking over the sliced meat and fruit and dark red wine. Hannibal took his seat across from him and held the wine up to his nose for a long moment, looking Will over as he started to eat with his hands.

“Figs, olives stuffed with lemon and herbs, prosciutto, sopressata, and those are almonds dressed with honey and sesame.” He listed, watching as Will devoured each in turn. As Will picked up his glass he added, “This is a Nero d’Avola; fruity but not too sweet.”

“I like it, thank you.” Will said, licking his lips. “Was all this on the menu or did you have to make a special request?”

“Slight modifications to an existing option.”

“Uh huh.” Will said, hiding his smile in his glass. “Are you just going to watch me eat?”

Hannibal seemed to reanimate, finally looking away from Will’s mouth, and taking a sip of his wine before setting it down and picking up a few almonds. “I regret not being able to cook more often in the past few weeks. I find I miss the ritual, as well as my own food.”

Will nodded around a fig, not giving Hannibal the opening to invite him to dinner once they were back in the states. He had a lot to figure out between now and then, and he felt like Hannibal would hold him to any dates he agreed to now; no matter if, or how, their circumstances may change.

They finished off the cold plates, and Hannibal stood to reveal another course - soup and bread and more wine. Hannibal again spent more time watching Will then he did eating anything himself. They talked about the history of the hotel, the lack of high rise buildings in the city, and the way light pollution hid constellations named for men who had lived and died on the streets below them.

Another glass of wine coupled with their philosophical conversation and Will was really fading. Hannibal had been right; with food and a little alcohol in his belly, Will felt like he would sleep well now. When Hannibal suggested Will lay down for moment while he located his shoes to walk him to his room, he knew it was the trap being sprung. But it was a huge, lofty trap covered in crisp, white sheets and a down comforter lighter than air. His own bed was so far away. He let himself be caught, grumbling when Hannibal commented on how comfortable he looked, and would he like some help getting out of his jeans. Will let himself be shucked back down to his boxers and tucked into Hannibal’s bed, and could only muster up more muttered promises of retribution as he was pulled into Hannibal’s side and situated so their limbs fit comfortably together.

Then the lights were out and Will fell asleep with Hannibal’s nose pressed below his ear, listening to him take deep, slow breaths just above his pulse.

Chapter Text

Hannibal Lecter was an odd man to wake up next to. Will knew he must have slept, as all living things were required to sleep, and Hannibal was a living being. But his hair was just barely mussed. His side of the duvet was flat and serene as newly fallen snow around him. And from the instant Will opened his eyes, Hannibal’s were already open; sharp, calculating, and obviously fully cognizant of Will’s early morning imperfections.

“Is your hair often like this?”

“Ugh.” Will said, closing his eyes again and attempting to roll away. Hannibal caught him easily, and drew him back against him, chuckling as Will locked his joints in resistance.

“It is entirely charming, Will. I regret not having the opportunity to see it sooner.”

“Leave me alone. You’re mean in the morning.” Will said, muffled between Hannibal’s shoulder and a pillow.

“I believe I am being very accommodating. Do you always start the day this way? Immediately difficult?”

“No.” Will said, entirely scornful of Hannibal’s mood and handling of him.

“Do not tell me it is the company.” Hannibal said, low and hot into Will’s ear.

He squirmed, trying to lean away. “I need to shower.”

“You do. We are due to start filming in an hour, and we will need to meet the director beforehand.”

“Ugh.” He said again, finally rolling away from Hannibal and managing to heft himself off the bed. “Where are my clothes?”

“Hanging in the closet.” Hannibal answered, and Will made the mistake of glancing back at him over his shoulder.

He was gorgeous. The perfect white of the bed sheets in the morning light made him look even tanner than he was, and with both arms spread along the pillows on either side of him, his chest and shoulders looked impossibly broad. If he could have conceivably orchestrated such a thing, Will would have believed he had designed and installed the bed just to tempt Will by laying in it. Though, that may have been the less upsetting scenario - the idea that any bed, anywhere, could be made that decadently inviting by just Hannibal’s presence in it was jarring.

He was momentarily so caught up in how Hannibal looked, he didn’t catch how Hannibal was looking at him.

“I am tempted to withdraw my comment from last night. You are breathtaking in this light, Will.” His voice was hushed.

Will knew his own expression must have been hopelessly soft, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to school it into something else. He turned back and opened the closet.

It was already full of clothes. And shoes. And ties.

Will slowly closed the door of the closet, and ignoring Hannibal’s questioning look, went to the dresser and opened the top drawer to find it full of socks. The next was full of cufflinks and shirt stays. On and on it went until Will was shaking with silent laughter.

“When did you even have time to unpack all of this?”

“Last night, when we arrived.” Hannibal answered slowly, obviously waiting for the joke.

“Is this how it’s set up in your house?”

“You will have to see for yourself. As I have previously mentioned, I would be happy to have you visit my home in Baltimore.”

“So you can make me dinner.” Will said, his back still to Hannibal as he ran his hand over a polished cotton shirt.

“Yes.”

“Would you really let me rifle through your closets?”

“It is not the first thing that comes to mind when I imagine you in my bedroom.”

“I think it is for me. Touching your things; moving them around so you can’t forget I was there. I might carve my name into a door frame.”

“Vandalism feels drastic.” Hannibal said, amused.

“In some ways, so does dinner.”

“Perhaps moreso. Your name carved into my bedroom door is something you can inflict on me and then walk away from.”

Will was caught off guard. “But the meal is something I would carry home with me.” He turned to face Hannibal again. “Do you think I am unafflicted by you?”

Hannibal just watched him, eyes slightly hooded. Will took the few steps to the foot of the bed and stopped, taking him in again.

“I feel afflicted, brought to my knees by some terrible illness. A black humor you’ve introduced to my system.” Will put one knee on the bed, watching Hannibal track the movement.

“Something unwelcome, then.”

“Welcome or not, it’s in there now.” Will dropped both hands to the bed, and pulled himself slowly towards Hannibal. “If I like the idea of disrupting your environment, it’s only because you’re disrupting my whole life.”

“How can I? You refuse to let me anywhere near it.” The moment Will was within arms reach, Hannibal tangled a hand into his hair and pulled him close again, looking up at Will. “This is the first time I have had you in a bed.”

“It is first bed you’ve presented that wasn’t surrounded by people who could get me fired if they caught us.”

Hannibal brought both hands up to Will’s face, seeming to examine him. “Shower here, with me. Before they surround us again.”

They both noticed when Will’s breath hitched. “OK. But we’re only showering.”

Hannibal released him, and Will retreated to the bathroom. A glass monolith of a shower stall waited for him, and he leaned in to fiddle with the knobs. Three different spouts of water started, but they were all warm so he figured that was supposed to happen. He stripped off his boxers and stepped in, leaving the door partially open behind him.

Hot water was a revelation after yesterday’s flight. He felt the brush of cool air against him and turned to watch Hannibal undress through the glass wall of the shower. He pulled out towels, then took off and folded his pajama bottoms. Will was the one already naked, but it felt voyeuristic seeing him do small domestic things. The feeling quickly flipped when Hannibal finally stepped into the shower with him, and Will had the sudden, giddy urge to try to cover himself.

Hannibal looked hungry.

He moved, slow but sure, into Will’s space, letting the water soak not just his head but his chest and arms as he gathered Will against him. He ran both hands over Will’s back and down to the swell of his ass, tightening his fingers and rocking against him.

Will brought his hands up to Hannibal’s hips, letting his thumbs catch there. “Easy. I do need to actually wash.”

Hannibal ever so slowly started to press Will into the corner of the shower. “I promise you will leave in a better state than you entered.”

“That doesn’t mean clean.”

He ignored him, and Will had to take a step back with him or actually be pushed over. The chill of the tile was unpleasant, and Will hissed as his back and shoulders were pressed against them.

“We are not fucking in this shower.”

“So crass, Will.”

“You’re going to make us late.”

“I can think of nothing I want more.” Hannibal said, leaning in for a kiss.

Will quickly brought his hand up to the base of Hannibal’s throat, and he paused. “You can slather me up in whatever soap you brought. I’ll smell how you want me to.”

A slight smile started around his eyes as he pulled away to look down between their bodies. He slowly, purposefully pressed his cock against Will. “What else.”

Will was suddenly light headed. “I’ll come back tonight. I won’t make you chase me.”

A full smile now, though he still wouldn’t look away from where they were pressed against one another. He slid even closer, forcing Will flat against the wall. “What else.”

Will swallowed, very aware of the minutes ticking down towards them showing up late, together, to the first day of filming and very, very turned on. “Room key.” He gasped, as Hannibal really rocked them together. “I’ll give you my room key. Or take yours. Whichever.”

“Both, I think.” Hannibal said, finally relenting and stepping back, pulling Will back into the spray with him. He reached behind Will and plucked a bottle of amber gel from a shelf. He squeezed a small amount into his hands, and then slid his fingers into Will’s curls. “You are impossible to predict, dear Will. I had thought it would take several days to acquire your room key.”

Will scowled at him as the lightly scented shampoo was worked into his hair. “I didn’t feel like having my pockets picked.”

“It would not happen if you wore properly fitted clothing.”

“Strangely, it never happened at all before I met you.”

“I am poorly equipped to resist the temptations you present.”

Will batted his hands away and leaned back to rinse the soap out. “Is that your way of saying you only rob people you like?”

“How do you show affection, Will?” They switched positions, though Hannibal lathered his own hair as Will idly ran his fingers though the hair on his chest. “Perhaps I can learn from your example.”

Will shook his head, smiling. “You don’t care how I show affection. You just care that I show you any at all.” He wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s waist.

“Cruel thing, to see how much I desire you and to deny me all the more.”

“We’ll be in that bed again later tonight. Tell me about what I deny you then.”

They finished showering, still talking circles around one another. Hannibal graciously allowed Will to return to his own room to dress, and he took the time to make a phone call and double check the address where they were meeting the film crew. He met Hannibal in the lobby, and together they waited for the car to pull around.

They were filming today with all ten of the remaining contestants. Hannibal would have the singular pleasure of judging them as they were instructed in mock gladiatorial combat by a professional stunt crew and historical reenactment specialist. Which, in Will’s experience, was a perfect of example of any idea mutating when introduced to a group of television executives; all he’d asked for was permission to film at the Colosseum and here was where they had ended up.

The car pulled up to a low stone building and Will could see the courtyard inside, beyond open iron doors, already set up with landing pads and racks of weaponry. He caught Hannibal giving him a look and raised a brow, questioning.

“I do not often regret that you are not a participant on the show, Will, instead of a producer.”

Will laughed as they got out of the car and started towards the courtyard. “Is that so? You like the idea of me swinging a trident around?”

“The image does have its merits.”

Will just shook his head, and led the way to where the camera crew was still setting up. He managed a few words of an introduction in Italian, but before he could give up or Hannibal could take over, one of the sound guys took pity on him and answered in English, then called for someone to find the director.

He appeared from a side room, and introduced himself as Matteo Scola. He began to walk them through the shooting schedule for the morning, but Will was distracted - the man’s gestures and tone were off. Tall but fairly thin, he kept correcting his own posture to stand up straighter than was comfortable, and though all of his comments and questions were directed to Will, he kept looking at Hannibal with every third word he spoke. The longer he talked, the more the impression of him being somehow nervous or distracted grew.

If Hannibal noticed anything, he didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. He had adopted an expression of pleasant boredom and merely watched Scola as the crew continued to set up around them.

The contestants arrived in a large van, and Will handed Hannibal off to a set assistant and went to greet the group with Scola. More introductions, Will went over the rules of the game again, and one of the stunt crew made sure everyone had closed toe shoes on. Prop swords were passed out, with the promise that other weapons would be available later.

Then the cameras were rolling as the instructor got started on how to hold their swords, and where to keep their feet. For a while, it looked more like a pilates class than gladiatorial training, and Will started to worry that this whole segment would be a waste of time. He was enjoying seeing Dimmond hold his sword like a deranged scarecrow, but he wasn’t sure it would make riveting television. Then the instructor had them pair off and start mock sparring. The flip from bad role-playing to combat was subtle, but there; their expressions and movements more purposeful now that they were fighting each other. Grimacing at the weight of the weapons turned to determination against a foe; poorly placed feet on uneven stone were now struggles against the strength of the opponent.

Across the courtyard, another set of iron doors were slowly pulled open, and through them strode Hannibal. They had let him keep his suit, but someone had the bright idea of putting an actual laurel wreath on him. It may have looked silly on another man, and should have at least looked helplessly anachronistic, but all it really did was make Will question whether every caesar had not worn a three piece suit.

The group at large seemed to have more or less the same reaction; their calls of ‘Hello’ and ‘Hi Hannibal’ even more syrupy than usual, though a few did throw in the flair of raising their weaponry to him.

They were paired off again, and the contest started - first person to drop their weapon or fall down was out, Hannibal would call out the winner’s name, and they would move forward to fight the next winner, so on and so on. There was a good mix of nearly impressive moves, which would look very impressive with a little editing - speed it up, two quick cuts, pump up the music - and less graceful attempts that would be funny with the right musical cues.

The final match was something of a disappointment. It was down to the rare book seller and the news anchor. Both were slower, tired after nearly two hours of mock battle, and the news anchor won it unimpressively with a clumsy sweep to the legs. She perked up as Hannibal declared her the winner, and took the laurels from his own head and placed it on hers. Her prize was a private tour of the Colosseum with Hannibal that evening.

That settled, they passed out water bottles and broke for two hours. The contestants were rounded up into the van and sent back to the hotel with Hannibal in his own car behind them. Will made sure the set was struck down, then headed back with the primary camera team to start setting up for confessionals at the hotel.

It was slow, repetitive work. One by one listening to each of their experiences with very little nuance between them. Such a fun experience; but it had been so hot in the armor; but such a great first day. He had to tell Alana twice to quit texting while on camera, then threatened to make her read them aloud after she did it again, and all her blushing did nothing but aggravate him further. It was nearly six by the time they were done, and Will released the crew for an hour before the next shoot

He met the tour guide at the Colosseum after a cold dinner in his room, and made sure he had a microphone while confirming that his company would receive a promotional graphic at the end of the episode. The director seemed less jumpy, if still a little high strung, and Will hoped he would keep it together for the rest of the evening.

Then the limo was arriving, the lights were set, and Hannibal and his date were making their entrance.

As ever, he didn't disappoint.

The sun was nearly below the horizon, and the arena was bathed in the last long golden beams of light coming through the columns and across the top of the arena walls. They had a long, wide shot of the two of them hand in hand, walking down stairs to look over the ruined passages below. It was the promo, the billboard, the absolute perfect shot. A beautiful couple in a timeless place. Will loathed them for it. Loathed her long red dress and matching lipstick as much as he did Hannibal’s hand holding her’s as they took in the scene together.

The tour guide took over, and Will kept his distance as they circled lower towards the floor of the arena. Once the last of the light had faded, different parts of the Colosseum lit up as the guide spoke - where emperors once sat, where gladiators made their entrance, where the walls had been repaired or torn down.They all spun together to play a sort of light show over the rows of columns and half walls. It was dazzling.

The pair looked suitably dazzled by it. She made a joke about being happy she hadn't had to fight for Hannibal here. He answered she would have been a sure win anywhere. They laughed, and Will hated them as the lights continued to whirl around them. She was angling for a kiss, and Hannibal was gracious enough to give the cameras something just as good. He pulled her close and whispered something into her ear, making sure to balance her against him, letting her head fall back as she laughed and exposed the long line of her neck. Hannibal smiled, for all appearances thoroughly charmed by the display, and they headed back up the stairs together.

Will followed, still at a distance. He watched Hannibal tuck her away into the limousine with a kiss to her hand, then stand with his hands clasped behind his back as it drove away. He turned and nodded to the secondary crew and accommodatingly held out his arms as his microphone was removed. Then, at the edge of his vision, Will noticed someone else watching Hannibal.

The director, Scola, stood a dozen feet off from the rest of the crew as they broke down equipment, his eyes on Hannibal. He looked anxious and fidgety all over again. Will took pity on him and walked over.

“Matteo, hey. Everything looked great. I think we got some great shots.”

Scola nodded, but only glanced at Will before looking at Hannibal again. “Yes. A little tricky here but it will turn out.”

“You were working in film before this, right?” Will tried again, grasping at conversational straws.

“Yes, documentaries. Most had only small releases. I don’t think you would have seen them in America.” He said, tone stiff.

“No, probably not, but I reviewed your filmography before we hired you. A lot of crime stuff, right? I used to have a show that covered the same sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Scola finally turned and fully looked at him then. “I did not know.”

“Yeah. Funny we both ended up here.”

“Strange, yes.”

Just as Will was ready to congratulate himself on his small talk skills, someone called for the director and he walked off, not waiting for Will’s reply. Will watched him go, wondering again what, if anything, was bothering him. Maybe it didn’t matter. Will had worked with weirder directors and Scola was clearly talented enough for the job.

The bustle was winding down around him as the set lights went out, and they were left with only the ambient light of the city. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, but Will figured he couldn’t have gone far.

He slunk away from the people still milling around, and headed west. He kept to the brightly lit areas for a while where a few other tourists lingered, but a deeply shadowed area at the base of several decapitated columns drew his attention. He paused at a low chain barrier, considering the legality of trespassing into ancient ruins at nearly ten o’clock at night, before glancing around and stepping over it. No one was paying him any attention, and it would serve Hannibal right if he had to bail Will out of an Italian jail anyway.

Will slowly picked his way across a narrow field crisscrossed with low stone walls and another chain barrier before coming to a stop at the base of the facade. There were fewer lights this far into the forum, and the city around him suddenly felt distant.

He heard the dull sound of footsteps on grass, and had only a few breaths to wait before Hannibal was standing beside him. They were both quiet for a time, looking up together at the ruined marble.

“A remarkable feat, to stay standing for so long, even in this state. Would you give credit to the men who built it or the men who came after and thought it worth saving?”

“Why not both? It would not be here if either had not trusted in the other.”

“Do you trust me, Will?”

“It makes me nervous that you’re asking.”

Hannibal hummed, amused. “Follow me.”

He led them around the dark facade into even deeper shadows. There, in what must have once been the foundation of the building, was a half collapsed staircase leading underground.

“You’re joking.” Will said.

“Do not tell me you are afraid of the dark?”

“I am afraid of falling to my death, or being deported for desecration.” Will hissed. But it was no use; Hannibal was already halfway down the steps. Will looked around again for a security guard - to help him or stop him he wasn’t sure - before starting down after him.

The stone was slick under his hands as he steadied himself on the stairs. Hannibal was dimly visible as he waited for him at the bottom. His teeth were brighter than his eyes in the darkness as he smiled up at Will.

“This way.” Hannibal said, and though his voice was low, he was as eager as Will had ever heard him. “There is something I think you will want to see.”

Chapter Text

Will reached the bottom of the crumbling stairs, but once they were five steps in it was too dark to see one another. He pulled out his phone, grumbling as he stubbed his toe, and flicked on the screen. Somewhat illuminated, they rounded a corner and came to a low, arched chamber that was long enough that the light didn’t reach the far wall.

Set at an odd angle in the center of the room was a life sized statue of a young man and a bull. Carved from marble, the figures were made ghostly in low light, but would have been gruesome even in the sterile fluorescents of a museum. The man had one hand on the bull’s horn, and the other was drawing a knife across the animal’s throat. The bull was fearsome; kinetically animated even as stone - struggling against the grip of the man taking its life. The man’s expression was serene in comparison. He looked up and away from the viewer and the animal in his grasp, face set but calm as he gazed at the moldering ceiling just inches above him.

“Did you know this was here?” Will asked, voice hushed.

“Not before tonight. I found them quite by accident. Mithras sacrificing the bull, I believe. Incredible to find it here below a temple used by the cult of Hathor, an Egyptian deity often depicted with the head of a cow. It appears nearly purposefully sacrilegious.”

“How did it get down here?”

“Another mystery. A passage that has since been destroyed, perhaps.”

Will took a step forward, wanting to reach out and run his hand over the marble and feel the bunched muscles of the bull, test the sharpness of its horns, but somehow felt it wasn’t allowed.

“What a waste, to have it where no one can see it.” Will said finally.

“Eternally tormenting a goddess that has not seen worship in more than a thousand years.”

Will looked at Hannibal, eyes narrowed at his lamenting tone. “And what would you know about torment? I think you have done more than enough to ensure I have more to say on the subject, between the two of us.”

“We both aim to wound in an attempt to draw the other closer. I may have caused the most recent injury, but I am hardly unbloodied.”

Will let them both sit in the irony of that statement for a good long while as his anger slowly bubbled up his throat.

“By all means, tell me what blood I have on my hands, Hannibal.”

“Besides my own?”

“If we can cast aside metaphor.”

Hannibal’s attention sharpened further, the set of his shoulders and eyes tightening. “Is that meant to be a confession?”

“Only as much as that is an accusation.”

“What would you have me accuse you of, Will?” He asked.

Will faced him fully, and made a concentrated effort to keep his expression level. If this was the moment - not that he had imagined it exactly like this, and certainly not here - there was no getting around it now.

“Dark things. Maybe I could even shock you, if I said them out loud.” He stepped closer, the light narrowing between them. “But you knew that, or we wouldn’t be here.”

“I knew nothing. I could only imagine.” Hannibal’s voice was as placid as cold water. “Tell me what happened in Louisiana.”

Will looked at him for a long time, undecided until he parted his lips to speak. “The first I really did profile. Something about it spoke to me, and I just… I just put it together. The cops didn’t believe me, but that’s really what happened.”

“And the second?”

Will turned away, the light in his hand swinging erratically as he moved. “They may have been onto something with the second.”

Hannibal waited.

“I watched him follow a woman out of a bar. The way he moved, the way he looked at her, I knew what he was going to do. I had spent months by that point immersed in all these killers I was writing into the show and I knew what he wanted.”

“Like you knew where to find me tonight.”

“Now who’s confessing?”

“How did you kill him?”

Will turned and stepped closer. “You know how. It was in the episode.”

“You strangled him. It would have taken a long time. His breath in your face, his pulse under your palms until it was not.” When Will didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Why did you string him up the mast of the ship?”

“To make an example of him. The rope helped hide the impressions from my hands, and the birds did a good deal of work on him once the sun was up.”

“You could have dropped the body into the water. No one would have found it.”

“I wanted him found. People needed to know what he was.” Will shoved a hand through his hair. “Then I couldn’t get it out of my head. It was reckless to put it in the show, but that seemed like the only way to let it go. I had to show what I had done. What I was.”

“What are you, Will?”

All at once it was too much, and Will wheeled on him. “What are you? What does Dr. Lecter do when no one is watching? Or when you think no one is watching?” Will took another step closer, lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I saw you leave the house the night they found Margot’s brother. I have it on film.”

Hannibal had been so still for so long, Will had been lulled into something of a false sense of security. Standing so close, he was defenseless when Hannibal reached for him.

Before Will could get his hands up, he was spun and his back slammed into the stone wall of the chamber. He managed to get one knee between their bodies, but both his hands were caught in Hannibal’s. His phone clattered to the floor at the base of the statue, the bizarre angle making all of their features look half rendered and monstrous.

“Do not make threats you do not intend to keep. I will hold you to them.” His voice was still cold, dead steady, but his eyes searched Will’s face.

“It’s not a threat. It’s a fact. I saw you, Hannibal.”

“Is that so?”

“I know what that makes you. I know what it means.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“You’re him.” Will swallowed. “You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“A serious accusation. What do you intend to do about your suspicion, Will?”

Will felt his face crack into a smile. “The same thing I’ve been doing all along, I guess. Try not to let it get to me that you couldn’t just tell me yourself.”

That finally sparked a flash of emotion on Hannibal’s face, and Will seized his chance.

He head butted Hannibal, missing his nose and instead connecting with his left eyebrow. It was enough to throw off his balance, and Will shoved his knee into Hannibal’s gut. He staggered back, and Will swung hard, connecting with his jaw. That finally put him on the ground, and Will leapt on top of him. There was a brief struggle, and another punch before Will had Hannibal’s hands pinned to either side of his head.

He snarled up at him, lip and eye bloodied. “Impressive, but foolish, Will.”

Will adjusted his posture, getting comfortable on top of Hannibal’s legs. “You know what else I know, Hannibal? I know you took those pictures of Mason and sent them to someone to post online. You must have been beside yourself when I looked them up on my own, without you having to suggest anything.”

Hannibal stilled beneath him. Will carried on with his full attention.

“You may as well have left him on my front lawn.”

“An impossible feat, given the time constraint.” He said slowly.

“Did you even sleep that night? You made me wake up at five so you could torture me with immersive language.”

“I had been back to the house for less than an hour when you arrived. It was a very long day.”

“No shit, you maniac.” Will looked down at him, barely illuminated by Will’s dropped phone. “I saw you. I had the key to your heart but I wouldn’t use it. I kept trying to make you give it to others, especially that night. Once I knew it was you that had done it, I saw.” He leaned down further to bring their faces closer together, trying to gauge something of Hannibal’s expression in the dark. “Then it didn’t matter. By the time I realized it was you all along, you already had me.”

Hannibal’s voice was low, but earnest. “When did you know?”

“When do you think?”

Hannibal looked up at him, brows drawn together; then realization came, sharply satisfied.

“After Anthony kissed me.”

Will’s hands tightened slightly around Hannibal’s wrists. “I wanted to kill him for that.”

Something low and pleased curled into Hannibal’s voice. “I had hoped to inspire you to greater heights than stringing up criminals in a New Orleans back water.”

Will froze. “You wanted me to kill him.”

“It would have made a convenient end to an inconvenient man.” He rolled his shoulders, testing Will’s grip. “I imagined all manner of deaths you may yet bestow.”

Before Will could respond, Hannibal had his legs up around Will’s waist and his hands free. Will let himself be rolled and pinned, meeting Hannibal’s eyes as soon as they were face to face again. If the submission pleased him, it certainly did not move him to mercy.

“What end do you imagine now, Will? Would you have us leave this place together, or is one of us destined to remain?”

Will took a few breaths, considering his words. “I thought you might kill me. That has to be in your nature, to have survived for so long undiscovered.”

“You have managed to place me in a newly precarious position.”

“I feel precariously placed myself.”

“Which way shall we fall?”

“I think I already have.” Will said, and he didn’t know if the tremor in his voice came from nearly laughing or nearly crying. “You said I have your blood on my hands, but it’s more than that. I wake up now with the taste of you already in my mouth.”

A dark emotion Will could not identify came into his eyes. “What a great cruelty then, to keep it from you.”

Hannibal kissed him like this was the death he had designed for Will after all; smothered by love at the feet of blasphemous sacrifice. Any breath he was allowed was shallow and brief and filtered through Hannibal’s own lungs. He realized his hands were free and shakily raised them to Hannibal’s shoulders, either to push him away or pull him closer he did not know and it did not matter; the result would be the same. Hannibal had his fingers running through Will’s hair, almost as if to soothe. Again, which of them he wished to reassure was irrelevant.

Will didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but he was shivering from being pressed into the damp stone before Hannibal pulled away. He cupped Will’s face in his hands and looked down at him.

“We have more to discuss.”

“I know.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hannibal asked, running his thumb along Will’s lower lip.

“I said I would, this morning.”

“Say it again.”

Will felt his lips quirk. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

Hannibal ran his thumb over his lip once more before leaning back and getting to his feet. He reached down and hauled up Will, then brushed the two of them off as best he could, but between the dirty clothing and bloodied face, Hannibal still looked like he’d been mugged. Will knew he was grinning, but couldn’t quite put into words how seeing Hannibal less than perfectly coiffed made him feel. Guilty, maybe, for having caused it, but mostly gleefully satisfied at the sight.

Hannibal retrieved Will’s phone, taking a moment to run his hand over the head of the bull - Will was struck again how their thoughts had been aligned. Hannibal led them out the door and through the short passage to the staircase. Getting out proved to be trickier than getting in, but they managed with only a bit more damage to their clothing.

The walk out of the forum was, by necessity, quicker than the walk in - if they were caught now, explanations of being lost tourists would not fool anyone. Will managed to hail a cab while Hannibal stood behind him with his face angled down.

The hotel lobby was empty when they pulled up. Will watched Hannibal take the elevator, and he lingered a few minutes before starting up the stairs.

He opened the door to their floor, voices filtering down the hall.

“As I said, Anthony, I cannot invite you in. Your concern is appreciated but I am capable of tending to my own injuries.”

“Have you seen yourself? I feel I must insist. Let me call the police, or at least the taxi company.”

Wil rounded the corner before Hannibal could respond. He put on the best impression of shock he could manage. Eyes wide, brow furrowed, tension in his voice.

“Hannibal! What happened?”

They both looked to him and Hannibal opened his mouth to answer, but Dimmond was quick to jump in. “He was robbed by a taxi driver! Can you imagine?”

“Why didn’t you come straight back here after the date? Jesus, you won’t be able to film looking like that. This is going to screw up our whole schedule!” Will pulled his phone out and dialed his own voicemail, gesturing to Hannibal as he did. Hannibal handed him the room key.

“Hey, yeah sorry to wake you up. Lecter was mugged. He’s fine, just roughed up.” Will opened the door and pushed Hannibal in. “I’m looking at him now, it’s going to delay us a few days.” He turned to Dimmond and mouthed ‘thank you’ before shutting the door in his pitifully disappointed face.

Will ended the call, then looked up to where Hannibal was standing at the foot of the bed, carefully removing his cuff links and tie.

“Would you lock the door please, Will?”

“Afraid I’ll run?” Will asked, clicking the lock behind him.

“After that performance? No.”

“Worried that Dimmond may try to force the issue, then.”

“He does continue to find new ways to ingratiate himself to me.”

Will hummed. “I doubt that’s what he’d call it.” He pushed himself away from the door and ambled over, watching Hannibal inspect the damage in the mirror. “I got blood on your shirt.”

“I believe it can be saved.” He said. ‘This would not be the first time’ went unsaid, but not unacknowledged between them. “Would you please call for room service? They should only require the room number, the menu has been prearranged.”

Will did, asking that they bring a tub of ice for good measure. Hannibal vanished into the bathroom, and Will sat down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and socks. He looked at his hands then, noticing that he had blood caught on the knuckles of his right hand. Will flexed his fingers a few times, watching bloodied skin move across bone.

“You may want to wash up as well, before we dine.” Hannibal said, coming back into the bedroom. His eye was definitely trying to purple, but it wasn’t as bad as it had first appeared.

“Don’t want me smudging the furniture?”

They switched, and Will washed his hands and face, letting Hannibal’s blood run off into the sink. He stayed in the bathroom examining his own face as the room service was delivered. He grabbed a hand towel as he went back out.

Again, Hannibal seemed to have ordered multiple courses; two carts, both with two levels, laden with covered dishes. The ice bucket had come artfully arranged on a little stand, poised to receive champagne. Will filled the towel with ice and tied it up into a bundle as best he could before turning and holding it out for Hannibal. He hoped the apology was implied.

“Thank you. I doubt it will truly render me unfit for television for more than a day before cosmetics can be safely applied.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Will said. He turned to the carts. “What do you want first?”

They ate, Hannibal directing Will on what to serve when, and which wine was meant to go with what. He talked about each course as Will chewed and watched Hannibal talk. He held the towel up to his eye more often than not, but Will had the distinct impression he was only doing it for Will’s benefit.

“Should I apologize?” Will said, somewhere in the middle of the salad course.

“For punching me to the ground?” Hannibal asked, amused.

“I feel like I should. If you were anyone else, I would’ve already.”

“Do not apologize for something you do not regret. I would hate to see us move back to standing on ceremony.”

“What constitutes ceremony?”

Hannibal took a bite off his fork, considering the tines before answering. “Between us? I would always prefer to know what you truly want, Will, not what you believe society would deem acceptable.”

Will looked at him through the distortion of his wine glass. “It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to hit you.”

Hannibal gave one of his not smiles. “No. I do not believe it was. Would you be shocked to learn that I too have thought of violence between us before this evening?”

“Both of us will have to try harder to surprise each other after tonight.” Will said, amused.

Something flickered behind Hannibal’s expression then, and he went back to idly examining his fork before Will could parse it.

They finished their meal, and Hannibal pushed the carts into the hall. Will stayed in his chair and emailed the pertinent parties about Hannibal being unavailable the next day due to an injury. Purposefully vague, but blandly worded so as to not invite questions. They could shoot some filler, and reschedule the rest.

Somehow Hannibal had gotten behind him without Will noticing, and a pair of large, finely shaped hands came to rest around the base of his throat before moving down to pluck open his shirt buttons.

“I thought we had more to discuss?” Will asked through a smile.

“We do.”

Will glanced down his chest, where Hannibal’s hands were now pulling his shirt tails out of his pants. “Nothing too important, clearly.”

“I am not so sure. I am very interested in this footage you have, and how exactly you came across it.” Will felt teeth set ever so gently over the tendon in his neck, before they were quickly pulled away and Hannibal continued. “It can wait until tomorrow. This cannot.”

“This?”

Hannibal’s voice, hot and low in his ear. “I would have had you beneath that temple, if circumstances had allowed.”

A sharp shiver went through Will. “We’d have been caught.”

Hannibal didn’t answer immediately, more concerned with slowly raking his blunt nails up Will’s belly and chest. “It is perhaps best left as fantasy. The practicalities would have undoubtedly detracted from the experience as a whole.”

Will chuckled, arching slightly into his hands. “Are you often practical, Hannibal?”

“I certainly find myself disinclined to the practice when in your presence.”

Will leaned back, angling his head to look up at Hannibal. “Is that a compliment or are you trying to say I’m the bad influence between us?”

Hannibal leaned down to meet him, lips just above his. “I believe you know as well as I.”

“You’re supposed to say nice things to people you want to sleep with.”

“I say many flattering things about you, dear Will. It is you who never has anything complimentary to say about me.” Hannibal tightened his grip, testing the space between each of Will’s ribs.

Will grinned, flicking his tongue out to just catch Hannibal’s upper lip. “Then give me something to compliment you on.”

That did it. Hannibal had one hand holding Will’s jaw where he wanted it while the other held him fast to the chair as he kissed him. When they parted for breath Will stood, wiggling out from Hannibal’s grip and moving towards the bed, shedding his shirt as he went. Hands appeared around him again, tugging at his belt and fly before turning him and pushing him onto the bed.

“Are you going to take that shirt off?” Will asked archly, watching as Hannibal removed his own belt. “Or are you dedicated to wearing the evidence of my violence?”

He paused, eyes narrowed. “Where do you divine these ideas from, I wonder?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you keep a dirty shirt on this long. Certainly never through a meal.” Will reached for him, pawing at buttons and tugging the shirt off before throwing it to the floor with his. He pressed his thumb to Hannibal’s split lip, just enough to make him feel it. “There is evidence enough on your face. Let me see you.”

They were both on the bed then, Hannibal’s thigh between Will’s legs and his hands tangled in Will’s hair. Will had both hands down Hannibal’s slacks, doing his best between the heady kissing and remaining clothing to keep them on task.

Eventually Hannibal relented, pulling back to watch Will toss his slacks and briefs off the bed as well, before more elegantly removing the last of his clothing. Will felt another sharp pang of lust over Hannibal looking like that - bruised, hair disheveled, and naked at the foot of the bed.

“You better have lube, or something, or I’m going to make you go sleep in my room and Dimmond can think what he wants.” Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment, and a touch too pleased. Will quickly backpedaled. “None of that. I’m not letting you go through all my stuff.”

“How inconstant you are.” Hannibal mused as he sauntered over to the bedside table and made a show of pulling out a small glass bottle.

Will had something snappy to say to that, he knew he did, but the thought was cut off when Hannibal grabbed him by the legs and hauled him to the far side of the bed.

“If you have any further demands for the evening, it would be best to voice them now.” Hannibal said, voice low and teasing as he spread Will’s thighs again before kneeling on the bed and grasping his hips. “I doubt you will have the opportunity later.”

With that last warning Hannibal was on him, mouth hot along the underside of Will’s cock. He was deliberate, as always, making sure Will’s hips were flexing up towards him before finally taking him fully into his mouth. Then slick fingers were teasing around his rim, and Will groaned at the promise of it. One long finger finally breached him, then two, and he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that he could concentrate on the sensation as Hannibal stopped blowing him to watch as Will started to stretch around the intrusion.

Hannibal twisted his wrist, and Will felt lips against his femoral artery as Hannibal curled his fingers, making Will nearly buck off the bed. Again, then again, and Will was trembling with it before Hannibal finally relented, pumping his fingers a few more times before sitting back on his heels and looking down at Will.

He leaned over, grabbing the lubricant off the nightstand and pulling Will’s hand into his lap. He poured a generous amount into Will’s palm, saying, “If this is something you want, dear Will, you must show me.”

Half grinning, half snarling at the taunt, Will curled his hand around Hannibal’s cock, letting the palm of his hand curl around the head until it was slick and Hannibal’s breathing was less than even. He pulled at Hannibal’s arm, then his hip until he was positioned over him, and angled his hips until he could feel the press of his cock where Will wanted him.

Hannibal relented, snatching Will’s wrists and tugging them over his head as he finally started to push inside.

“Tell me, Will. All those nights you ran home to keep yourself safe from me; alone in your bed, is this what you thought of?”

Will was panting, more concentrated on breathing through the feeling of Hannibal’s cock than cognizant speech. “I would try to remember the feel of you in my mouth. Suck on my fingers and imagine it was you. I wouldn’t - fuck, I couldn’t think of anything more than what we’d already done. I wasn’t - I didn’t think…”

“You were not sure you would ever allow me to have you like this.”

“I was pretty sure you were going to kill me, before. Before I was ready for…” Will trailed off again, still trying to catch his breath.

“Me.” Hannibal said.

“Us.” Will answered. “Us together like this.”

Hannibal barely waited for the words to be out of Will’s mouth before kissing him again, long and drugging as he finally began to move them together. Again, he was more interested in being meticulously thorough than paying any attention to Will’s mumbled pleading, his movements steady as he thrust into his body.

Will pulled one hand free and reached down between them, but Hannibal bared his teeth and snatched it back.

“You will come like this, or not at all.” He punctuated his point with a quick, hard thrust.

Will nearly growled up at him, twisting in his grip as he wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s hips and rocking back against him as best he could. Soon every movement had him crying out. It felt good, nearly too good, but Will was convinced he couldn’t come like this and that Hannibal would still be fucking him into the floorboards by morning. Then it really was too good and Will didn’t know if he wanted more or wanted it to stop, and with one final shudder he was coming between them, gasping into Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal seemed to break, his movements began to falter as he watched Will. He brought their lips together again, a moan caught between them as he finally came.

He wouldn’t release Will’s hands for a long time, curling their fingers together and keeping his nose pressed into Will’s throat, murmuring something about hormones that neither one of them paid attention to.

Eventually Will was begrudgingly released, but only after much pleading and negotiating of terms in which Will lost more bargaining chips than he had that morning. He’d never been drawn nude before - maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

“There is nothing else for you now, Will.” Hannibal said, after they had cleaned up and fallen back into bed together. “Nothing else but me.”

“I know.” Will said through a yawn, clicking off the light and tugging the duvet over them. “There never was.”

Chapter Text

The next morning passed in much the same way as the one before, and Will had the terrible, aching feeling that this was something he could get used to. Having Hannibal close enough to touch, in a bed that could have fit two more of both of them, with the sun coming through the windows, all conspired together to whisper what if - what if - what if -

“What are you not getting about ‘no, I cannot stay here with you all day?’”

“I was assured many times by the network and your fellow producers that I am the main character and protagonist of the program. You have made it clear I am in no condition to be on camera.”

Will squinted at him. “We’re not filming you so I don’t have to go?”

“That is a very succinct way of putting it, Will. How often we are of a like mind.”

“Get off me. You’re about twice as dense as lead and you’re going to make me late.”

Hannibal shot him a sour look from where he was laid out over Will’s legs and stomach, his head pillowed just above Will’s belly button.

“Muscle is denser than adipose tissue, and although I do indulge in rich foods, I have it on very good authority that I am in excellent physical shape for a man of my age and height.”

“Maybe it’s just your head then.” Will said with a grin.

“It is more likely that you do not spend enough time practicing core strengthening exercises.”

“If you’re not enjoying my stomach you can get your head off of it.”

Hannibal ignored him, though Will did notice how he turned his cheek more fully against him. Which was not endearing in any way and did not contribute at all to the overall mood of languidly pleasant domesticity.

But the day would not wait for them, and there was still the challenge of Will getting back to his own room. Will made his departure while Hannibal was in the shower, sliding out of the room and easing the door closed behind him, decidedly not feeling guilty about not saying goodbye. He showered, changed, and went down to the lobby to catch a ride with the contestants. They were all aflutter about Hannibal’s ‘serious’ injuries as it had been relayed to them by Dimmond over breakfast. Will was quick to put it to rest.

They arrived at a glass blowing studio and got to work. Everyone got to try their hand at it, and the crew got shot after shot of puffed up cheeks and laughing faces as they made molten bubbles of various sizes, which were quickly clipped off and spun into bowls or vases by more practiced hands.

They broke for lunch, and Will headed towards the crew vans hoping to catch a ride back to the hotel.

“Will - a moment?”

Will turned to see Scola jogging up behind him.

“Hey, great work again today.”

“Yes, thank you. We had to reschedule?”

Will gave an apologetic shrug. “Yeah, sorry about that. Couldn’t be avoided. Dr. Lecter was injured last night after he left the set. He should be back tomorrow.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Injured how?”

“A taxi driver tried to rob him. He’s got a little bit of a black eye, but really, nothing serious.”

“Did he report it to the police?” Scola asked.

Will inwardly grinned thinking of how that phone call might have gone. “I’m not sure. You’d have to ask him.”

“This is a large city. It can be dangerous. Was he very late getting back?”

“Uh.” Will started, considering. “Sort of. Look, Matteo, thanks again, but I have got to get back. Phone call with the studio. Time difference and all that.”

He nodded, expression grim. “No problem. I will see you tomorrow.”

Will made his way to the van, and sat with the passenger door open as he waited for the crew to finish loading up. A few of the contestants had gathered around Scola, do doubt asking the same questions Will had already answered on the ride over. Off to the side, Alana was standing alone, smiling into her phone.

“Alana!”

She looked up, eyes wide as Will gestured for her to come over.

“Hi, Will. This was pretty fun.”

“Yeah, I do my best.” He paused for a moment, torn. “Hey, I’m not saying this to be an ass, but if you’re texting someone about being on the show and it leaks, we’d all get in -”

“Oh! No, no.” Alana jumped in, cutting him off. “I’m not. Well, I am, but not like that. It’s just Margot.”

“Margot?”

“We became pretty good friends. She likes it when I keep her updated on all the contestant drama.” She said with a smile.

“How is she doing?” Will asked.

Alana deflated a bit. “I think it’s worse than she lets on. Sometimes all she talks about is the estate and the business, and then she talks about wanting to just walk away from it all.”

“Everyone has days like that. It’s good of you to keep in touch.”

Alana glanced down to her phone again, “She’s easy to talk to, and I promise she’s not selling state secrets online.”

“If she does, I’m coming after you.” Will pointed at her in mock seriousness, and they laughed.

“Anything you feel like leaking to me, since I have you alone? Any guess as to who Hannibal is leaning towards?”

The question hit Will like a punch to the gut, even through her joking tone.

“Uh, not really. He plays it pretty close to the chest.”

“Tell me about it. Everyone claims to have had these amazing dates, but he more or less treats us all the same.”

One of the crew members hopped into the driver’s side, and Will gave Alana an apologetic smile. “Guess you’re on your own. See you tomorrow.”

She waved as the van pulled away, already looking at her phone again.

The ride back to the hotel was long and slow, traffic seeming to have no cause and no end, and consisted of more vespas than seemed reasonable. Will berated himself the whole way. His show was going to be ruined. He’d let them cast a serial killer as the star (not that it would be the first time someone less than upstanding had been cast on television, but the point still stands) and then he had the even worse idea of letting himself be seduced by that same serial killer.

The easiest thing for the show would be if Hannibal picked someone for the finale, did the press tour and two hour special afterwards, and then quietly broke up with them a few months later. Not unusual, and certainly not suspicious. All that plan needed was for Will to keep it together long enough for Hannibal to actually break up with the person instead of Will murdering them in a jealous rage.

What if Hannibal didn’t pick anybody, and the season ended with him sadly but bravely vowing to continue looking for love? Their audience would hate it, and so would the studio, but no one would get their heart broken or neck snapped.

The issue with both of these plans was that either way he and Hannibal publicly dating afterward would look very, very bad. Career ruining bad.

Then there was the FBI. Hannibal was obviously good at what he did, and even thinking it sent little sparks of envious excitement through Will’s limbs, but there was a limit to everything. Crawford had known a lot about the Ripper’s repertoire; who knew how close he really was to catching Hannibal. Was Will setting himself up to be prosecuted as an accessory? Though, if he were honest, accomplice was starting to look more and more likely; that footage hadn’t exactly been turned over to the proper authorities.

That feeling he’d had as they laid in bed together that morning seemed like even more of an impossibility. Will was bad at normal relationships with normal people, and that was before you added in sex and murder and sneaking around. He was fairly confident now that it wasn’t going to end with Hannibal killing him, but that still left them with a lot of ground to cover.

He was still undecided about the fate of the relationship as they finally pulled up to the hotel. Will went to his own room, purposefully not looking toward Hannibal's door as he did. He showered, trimmed his beard, and as he came out of the bathroom noticed that clothes had been laid out on the bed. Clothes that had certainly not been there before.

A dark blue suit and cream dress shirt, acting for all the world as if they were his clothing. Suspicious, he went round to the other side of the bed and found a pair of dark, polished brogues that were even less likely to be his than the suit.

Entertained by the intrusion, but also indignantly annoyed, Will threw on some of his own shabby clothing and went to knock on Hannibal’s door, intent on tell him exactly what he thought about being treated like the country cousin.

Hannibal did not answer.

Incensed into deeper annoyance, he went back to his room and tried to call Hannibal. He didn’t pick up the room phone or his cell. Will lay beside the suit for a while, tapping his phone as he thought. After a few silent minutes, he pulled up the website for that ludicrous restaurant Hannibal had been carefully not mentioning since the flight over. He was relieved when the hostess replied to him in English, and completely unsurprised when she confirmed that there was a table reserved under Dr. Lecter’s name for eight o’clock that evening.

That gave Will about five hours to kill before he was apparently expected for dinner.

He ended up turning on the TV and flipping to something that looked like a game show, and crawling under the duvet. He let himself drift in and out, half learning the rules of L'eredità, half dreaming up ways to get back at Hannibal for the suit.

He got up and started getting dressed around seven, and hoped that Hannibal wasn’t expecting him to show up with a tie because he did not have one. Maybe didn’t even own one, once he was thinking about it, and certainly hadn’t packed it if he did.

He caught a cab and muddled his way through the directions to the restaurant. The ride was quick and scenic, the roads less crowded as the day wound down and dusk took hold. They pulled up to a valet, and Will was left alone before great glass doors set in a somewhat medieval stone facade.

Will made his way through the lobby slowly, more than half convinced Hannibal would have preferred to stay at this hotel just for the sheer amount of red silk brocade, if not for the restaurant attached to it. The host stand was easy enough to find, and the name Lecter was enough to gain him entry to the dining room.

Hannibal had not been exaggerating about the view. The whole city seemed to be laid out below their feet, clock towers and domes lit up against the darkening sky. Compared to the old world opulence of the lobby the furniture here was a modern understatement, and in the center of it sat Hannibal; alone at a table set for two.

He was in one of his more offensive suits; Will had no idea how he did it, but with every step towards him another pattern came into focus. His hair was slicked back, his legs crossed at the knee, and he was so goddamn overwhelming to look at that it somehow spilled over to pleasurable. Will wanted to punch him again. Will wanted to have his tongue between his teeth.

“Good evening, Will.” He said, standing as Will approached the table.

“Hello, Hannibal.” Will said, sitting down quickly before Hannibal could do something mortifying like pull out his chair for him.

Hannibal seemed amused but did not acknowledge it, merely taking in Will’s suit as he resumed his seat. His eye looked better, no longer swollen and hardly discolored. It only served to give him something of a rakish air. “I am glad you found the suit to your liking.”

“Do you often buy clothes for your dates?”

“I usually would not presume another’s taste.”

“But I’m uncultured enough to need the help.”

Hannibal was unmoved by Will’s spiteful tone. “I did not want you to feel out of place. If the clothing does not please you, you need not have worn it.”

Which was the flaw in Will’s argument. He did like it. He’d liked it enough to put it on, at least.

“It’s not as busy as yours. I guess I should just be thankful for that.” He grumbled, looking out on the city again.

Now Hannibal really was amused, teeth just starting to peek out of his smile. “Do you not like the way I dress?”

Will wasn’t meant to answer that question, and he didn’t. “Have you ordered?”

“I have, though we may ask for a menu if you would like.”

“No. I’ll like whatever you order.”

Wine was brought out, and something a shocking shade of green on a little china spoon that turned out to taste like impossibly concentrated tomatoes.

“How was the filming today?”

“Uneventful, which is for the best around molten glass. I did get a chance to talk to Alana.”

“How is the lovely Alana?”

“Texting incessantly with Margot Verger, apparently.”

Hannibal nodded. “They were fast friends before Margot’s departure from the house. I would not be surprised if she took measures to make sure they kept in touch.”

Something flickered at the back of Will’s mind, just out of reach. “Did Margot know she would be leaving the house prematurely?”

Hannibal kept his eyes on his wine, waiting as the next course was delivered before looking at Will again. “I propose a game, dear Will. Quid pro quo. I will answer your question, if you answer one of mine.”

Will looked down at his plate, covered in a web of crisp, lacy cheese that had been moulded over several jellies and a mousse. He watched Hannibal crush it under his fork before following suit.

“You first?”

“If you prefer. How did you come across the footage of me that night?”

“A camera was accidentally left running in the ballroom after filming had ended. Reviewing the dailies is a part of my job, and I happened across it.” Will kept his eyes on his plate as he spoke, taking a bite and looking up to Hannibal before continuing. “I have it on my laptop. You can see it and delete it tonight, if you want.”

Hannibal was quiet for a beat too long. “If you cannot be honest with me, Will, I cannot be honest with you.”

Will barely managed not to freeze like a deer in headlights at his tone. “I am concerned that you will kill the person who found the footage and showed it to me.”

“Do you not find it necessary, considering the circumstances?”

“No. I told them that you were leaving to see me.” Will paused, having to swallow a little pride to say the rest. “I may or may not have let them believe you were meeting me at my car to… be intimate.”

Whatever answer Hannibal had been expecting, that had obviously not been it.

“I see. You trust this individual to keep your secrets?”

“I trust them to sit on good blackmail material until they have an excellent reason to use it.”

“An altogether satisfactory situation then, for the time being.”

Their plates were whisked away, and new ones placed before them. Two quails suspended on skewers above a shallow dish of fragrant amber broth.

“Why did you kill Mason Verger that night?”

“I rarely do anything for only one reason. Mason was a cruel, contemptible man. I found him unworthy of his wealth, his status, and ultimately his life.”

“I’m not asking if he will be mourned. I am asking why him. Margot was a contestant on the show. The two of you had a history you kept hidden. You knew it would stir up a lot of suspicion about everyone involved.”

Hannibal settled in his chair, one hand on his glass. “What if I were to say that I owed Margot a favor?”

“I would have to wonder what kind of favor earned her that return.” Will said slowly.

Hannibal didn’t answer, lifting his wine to his lips and taking a sip, eyes glittering as he watched Will.

Understanding, syrupy and fetid mixed with something like self-disgusted envy. “Who did Margot kill for you, Hannibal?”

“I believe it is my turn.” He smiled benignly at the waiter as new plates were presented. Some kind of dumpling this time, and as Will cut into one with his fork he discovered they were filled with herbed ricotta and lemon.

“Have you spoken to Agent Crawford since his visit to the house?”

“No. He said he would call me and never did. I assumed that he had everything he needed but he could be waiting on a warrant before he comes back.”

“Unfortunately the second option is more likely.”

“This is the first time he’s been so close.”

“I was perhaps distracted from the severity of the situation. I found it weighed heavily on my mind after your departure this morning.”

Will swallowed his last dumpling, trying to tease out Hannibal’s mood. “Sorry about that. I think you paid me back by breaking into my room.”

“You did give me a key. I would be thankful I didn’t deem it necessary to replace everything you brought with you.”

Will kicked one of Hannibal’s shoes under the table, then had to make a quick retreat before it turned into footsie between two grown men in a public venue. “Nevermind, I am not sorry. Now answer my question.”

Hannibal looked out towards the skyline, though Will noticed his eyes stayed on their reflection in the dark glass. “I did not tell Margot who to kill. I suggested it as a solution to both of our problems. The situation in her own home had become dire. She needed her brother dead by a hand other than her own, and I needed filming to stop. My understanding is that she led the late Mr. Holmwood out of the house under the pretext of oral sex and improvised from there.”

Will’s head spun with that answer as yet another plate was set down. A trio of cakes, each layered with fruit and buttercream. Hannibal asked for a specific cognac to accompany them, and it was quickly brought out in two bulbous snifters.

“Does Margot know?” Will’s voice was hushed, even to his own ears.

“She knows I helped her. Beyond that I do not believe she cares to know.” Hannibal said, letting the pretense of the game drop.

“Why did you need filming to stop?”

“Surely you do not need me to tell you.”

Will’s stomach lurched, and he took an overly large bite of cake, trying to convince himself to look at Hannibal again. “We’d had a handful of conversations. I don’t think I was even pleasant throughout most of them up to that point.”

“I had hoped that you would be more receptive to my friendship if the mechanics of the show were no longer a factor. I had an idea to find you at your home a week or so later. Claim that I wanted to make peace and bring you a meal to prove it.”

Will smiled in spite of himself. “That might have worked.”

“I thought so. I am, however, not unhappy with how it ultimately played out.”

Still unable to meet Hannibal’s eyes, Will demolished one of the cakes, letting buttercream ooze out of the layers as he slowly pressed down. “You knew that soon?”

“When I set Margot to the task I desired only to know more of you.”

“Did you kill Mason that night because I refused you?” Will asked.

“He was, uncharacteristically, traveling alone and it proved to be an opportune time.” He rolled the snifter between his hands, watching as the liquor hung along the curves of the glass. “Although what you said last night is true. My thoughts were on you, even as I carved a hole through his heart. How you had felt in my arms. How your request for lessons felt like a consolation prize.”

The tone of his voice - soft, confessional - made Will’s breath catch in his chest. That shouldn’t be romantic, and he knew it, but he was in too deep to start quibbling about what abjectly terrible thing did or did not make him want to kiss Hannibal over their dessert.

After another fortifying bite of cake, Will was able to look at him again. “I came here tonight half convinced we have to break up.” Hannibal stiffened, but allowed Will to continue. “I can’t figure a way to end this that isn’t me being black listed for sleeping with a contestant or ruining the ratings of my own show by letting you end it by picking no one.”

“I could select someone and then end the relationship after the end of the show.”

“I considered that.”

“It seems simple enough.” A satisfied, glittering look came over his face. “Unless seeing me act out a relationship with another would be unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable.” Will parroted the word. “Did you ever watch the previous seasons, Hannibal?”

“I did. One of your fellow producers recommended it would be helpful.”

“So you know that the final three contestants get to spend a night with the star in a private suite.”

“I am aware, yes.” Hannibal’s voice was low, curling against the vowels.

“What would be your plan, if we let it go that far? I wait outside a locked door as you fuck each of them?”

“It need not progress to full intercourse.”

“But it would need some kind of progress.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “I could drug them. They would wake up the next morning with no memory of how their evening ended. Easy enough to blame the wine and allow me to fill in the blanks.”

“That is horrifying, and would not work with a camera crew following you around.” Will took a sip of his cognac. “Not three times, anyway.”

“What would you have me do, Will?” That tone of voice was back. “Tell me what course of action allows me to have you, and you to have your show.”

“I don’t know. The longer I think about it, the less likely it seems.”

“Then you have a choice to make.”

“Don’t -”

Hannibal held up his hand, placating. “But you do not have to make it tonight.”

The bill was settled without Will ever seeing it, and as they came out of the lobby into the warm night, they let the tips of their fingers just catch. Hannibal had one of the valets hail a cab for them, and Will was feeling indulgent enough after all the food and wine to let him open the door once it pulled up. Will tried very hard not to let the whole thing feel bittersweet.

“Would you let me choose anything other than you?” He asked, a few minutes before the end of the ride.

“I was prepared, before, if you decided you did not desire me in the same way I desired you.” Hannibal’s face was thrown in and out of shadow as they drove; an oscillation Will could not put to any one mood. “To consider it now is somehow unspeakable. I suppose we shall find out together, should it come to that.”

There was a kind of comfort in that, morbid as it was. Will kept his voice low, aware of their audience. “I can’t say I was OK with it when I thought you would kill me, but I can think of worse things.”

They arrived at their hotel, the lobby again all but abandoned. Will didn’t feel the need to go through the motions of not taking the elevator together, and if Hannibal did he didn’t say anything. Will kept one hand on Hannibal’s back as he led them to his suite, the door opening with a soft click. The lights were out and the curtains drawn, and the little ambient light leaking through made the room strange again despite how much time they had spent in it.

Will grabbed Hannibal’s suit jacket and pulled him close, angling their bodies together. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Even in the dark, Will could see Hannibal’s composure start to crack. “Every night, if you would only ask.”

Will wanted to be kissed like this would be the last time, kissed until he was bruised with it, but Hannibal wouldn’t cooperate. He was intent instead on mapping every inch of Will’s face with his lips, murmuring promises of worse to come as he did.

Neither of them noticed the figure under the bed until it was half way out and moving towards them.

Will had the misfortune of being the last to realize their situation, having taken Hannibal’s sudden stillness as an opportunity to move his hands several inches lower, only looking up and noticing their audience when Hannibal did not react.

They leapt apart as an arm came down towards them, and Will’s one coherent thought as the knife went into his shoulder was that whoever this bastard was, he had just the worst goddamn timing.

Chapter Text

Will, having never been stabbed before, would have figured that the worst part would be the actual stabbing. It hurt, and he didn’t think anyone would try to argue otherwise, but the real, blinding pain of the whole experience came when the knife was pulled back out. The sharp tug and twist as it was pulled free, the hot line of muscle being sliced open across his chest, the way his whole arm felt freezing cold and blisteringly hot at once was shockingly, unbelievably painful.

Will stumbled back as the knife was pulled out, catching himself on the wall and taking a painting down with him as he went. The man was spun away from Will as Hannibal grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the opposite wall.

The suite was too dark to make out more than silhouettes, but Will saw the man take a swing at Hannibal’s head with the knife. Hannibal moved farther into the room, saying something that had the intonation of a question, and his cordial tone only seemed to incense the man more. He struck out at Hannibal’s chest with a grunt; Hannibal easily sidestepped the swipe but ceded more ground.

“Will, you did not tell me that Signore Scola had an interest in cold cases.”

“Didn’t feel relevant.” Will grit out between clenched teeth.

“He certainly thinks so, do you not, Matteo?”

Will managed to get his feet under him and slowly stand back up. He distantly registered that his shirt was sticking to his chest, and he pressed his hand against the wound with a hiss. He took a few steps towards the balcony doors and fumbled the curtains open, letting in the yellow light from the piazza. He was trying to think in four directions at once and ignore how his fingers were tingling.

Scola kept his attention on Hannibal, knife still held level with the other man’s throat. “Il mostro di Firenze. An inspector there kept your picture for all of these years. No one could forget a face like that.”

Hannibal gave every impression of genuine interest. “How is Inspector Pazzi? I understood that his career was finally over.”

Scola lashed out again, and again Hannibal dodged him. “I found you. I found you and no one will blame me for killing you. They were all so worried for you, coming back bloodied last night, but I know. I know you, monster.”

“Hannibal, what is he talking about?” Will let his voice tremble; easier than he’d have thought through the pain in his shoulder.

Hannibal’s expression did not change, his eyes only flicking to Will for a moment. “I do not know. It was just as I said, a robbery, nothing more sinister than that.”

“He is lying!” Scola looked wildly between them before he struck hard, levering his whole body as he brought the knife down. Hannibal avoided him again, smashing a dining chair into his legs and forcing Scola to the ground, giving himself the opportunity to move towards the bed. Scola was on his feet again quickly, if a bit unsteady.

“Hannibal, stop! This is crazy! You can explain, Matteo stop and he can tell you!” Will said, letting his voice pitch towards panic as he stepped fully in between the two men. He pulled his hand away from the wound, letting the light catch the blood, letting his hands shake as he held them open in a gesture of surrender. “No one else has to get hurt, Matteo. Just stop.”

Scola paused and took his eyes off Hannibal, looking down at Will’s hands. “I - I am sorry. I know what he is, you have to believe me.”

“I only know what he’s told me. What’s going on?” Will kept is voice level but watery - a man fighting for composure despite pain. Nonthreatening.

“He is a killer, a murderer. Years ago he slew more than a dozen people in Florence. He removed organs; posed the bodies. Last night he started again. It was not some thief that bloodied his face. His victim fought back.”

Oh, Matteo, Will thought. If only he knew.

He hurried on, eyes darting between Hannibal by the bedside and Will between them. “I saw his picture there while conducting interviews about the case. It is him. You must believe me.”

Will let his knees go soft, making sure Scola was watching as he started to sway. Will turned his head towards Hannibal, taking two shaking steps back and leaving an opening between Scola and Hannibal.

“Hannibal, what is he -”

As if Will had choreographed it, Scola rushed Hannibal, pushing past Will as he did. Will turned with him and shoved him with his uninjured shoulder, sending him flying forward into Hannibal’s waiting arms.

Hannibal brought down something wickedly sharp into Scola’s torso once, twice, then the third came away with the telltale wet, sucking sound of a punctured lung before the man caught his balance and reeled back from Hannibal.

Will was ready for him, wrapping his arms around Scola, knocking the breath out of him as they both went down.Will scrambled with him for the knife, and he rolled off and towards the balcony as soon as he had it between his bloodied fingers.

Hannibal was quick to take his place. Scola only managed to get himself partially up, gasping like a man drowning, before Hannibal was on him once more. Another two lightning fast strikes between his collar bones.

Scola took a clumsy swing at Hannibal’s head, and as he leaned away from the blow, Will got to his knees and swung hard with the knife.

The blade caught just below Scola’s right ear. He jerked violently, one hand making a movement towards the handle before he slowly slumped over at the foot of the bed. Hannibal looked down at him dispassionately, tilting his head slightly as he crouched down. He said something quietly in Italian, then reached down and pulled the knife out again. Scola gurgled as blood poured out, and then he didn’t make any sound at all.

Will was panting, adrenaline and pain working in tandem to make him feel like he either wanted to keep fighting or let the blood loss have him. Hannibal appeared to be as collected as he ever was, sparing a glance at the knife before tossing it down next to the body and leaning down to haul Will up.

“How bad is it?”

“I have no idea. It hurts, if that’s helpful.” Will grunted as Hannibal steered him towards the bathroom and flicked on the light above the mirror. Will was about as bloody and pale as he thought he would be. “This is why I don’t donate blood. The nurses always say I look like Snow White afterwards.”

“There is something about your coloring that lends itself to the idea.” Hannibal said, washing his hands before rummaging through a case on the counter. “How is your sensation? Can you move your fingers? Show me.”

Will watched Hannibal’s face as he curled his fingers one by one, then made a fist, though the tension made him grind his teeth in pain. “They tingle.”

“He may have nicked a nerve.” Hannibal helped Will out of his jacket and shirt as he spoke, hands brisk and light.

“Are you going to give me stitches?” Will asked, the woozy feeling from the blood loss making him pitch the question as a flirtatious overture and not an emergency medical inquiry.

“If you will sit down and keep still.” He pushed Will down onto the toilet lid, and leaned over to grab something else from his bag. Will noticed a red blotch against his side.

“Are you alright?” Will reached out, but Hannibal gently caught his hand and pressed it down to his side. “I didn’t even realize he got you.”

“I do not believe he did either. It is superficial, I will be fine.” Will looked at his face for a long time, trying to map each line around his eyes, the unlikely slopes of his cheeks. Will reached out again, hoping to feel how soft he knew Hannibal’s hair was.

Hannibal caught his hand again, more firmly placing it back at his side. “Will, if you will not keep still you may very well bleed out in this hotel room.”

“Then start the stitches.”

“I have. You have four already and approximately seven more to go.”

“What? When? I didn’t feel anything.”

“I have administered a local anesthetic. We are lucky, the blade did not make it all the way through. Judging by the angle, it was likely stopped by your left scapula.”

Will squinted at him. “That's for making pancakes.”

Hannibal liked that for some reason, his expression fond. “Of course, Will.”

Will did try to keep still then, or maybe he was tired enough that he was having an easier time with it. Finally the tugging at his shoulder stopped, and he didn’t quite realize that he had even been aware of the sensation until it was gone.

“Now you. Let me see you.”

“I promise I am in no danger. You, however, are going to drink this whole bottle and then lay down on the bed until I tell you otherwise.”

Will focused, looking down at the bottle Hannibal was trying to hand him. “I’ll drink it when I see how hurt you are.”

Hannibal shook his head but acquiesced, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off to reveal a long, shallow cut running along his ribs and up to his armpit. “Nothing serious, as I said.”

“Does it need to be cleaned?”

“Eventually.” He knelt, taking the bottle from Will’s slack fingers. “Drink this, please.”

Will did, swallowing down the sweet, powdery fluid slowly as Hannibal tipped the bottle for him. He handed Will another of just plain water, and he drank that one by himself. Hannibal was eventually able to persuade him to move to the bed, and as Will stood up he realized he was much dizzier than he realized.

“Hannibal. I think I need to go to the hospital. I feel really weird.”

“That would be the opioid I crushed up and mixed in with your fluid replacement.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine then.” Will said, reaching out again to touch Hannibal’s hair as he was steered onto the bed.

“Will. Your arm is injured. Please stop trying to use it.”

Will hummed, then jerked his chin towards the foot of the bed. “What are we going to do with him?”

“For now, I am going to find a laundry cart and put Signore Scola in the closet.”

“If I sent an email right now I could delay the shoot tomorrow for a few hours, maybe another day. Give us some more time.”

“Right now, you are going to lay quietly and not answer the door if someone knocks. I will return shortly.”

Will watched Hannibal pull on a new shirt, and thought seriously about the consequences of getting up and following him to see exactly how he thought he was going to get a laundry cart back to the room, but decided against it. His limbs felt heavy but warm, and the dizziness was more enjoyable when he closed his eyes.

Will woke up what could have been five minutes or an hour later as Hannibal came back with not a laundry cart, but a whole maid’s cart.

“He won’t fit in there.”

“He will if I break his legs.” Hannibal said, coming to sit down next to Will on the bed. Will half expected him to feel his forehead for fever. “How are you feeling? May I turn on a light?”

Will nodded, and Hannibal clicked on a bedside lamp. “I’m thirsty.”

“I can get you more water. Do you think you could cut in a straight line?”

“Well, not very straight. In one direction, probably.”

“That will have to do.”

Under Hannibal’s direction, they managed to move Scola to the bathroom, and move the bed three feet over. Will worked on cutting out the blood stained carpeting, and then cutting out a replacement piece from the area that would be unseen under the bed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better than it had been. As he surveyed his handiwork, he heard two sickening snaps from the bathroom, and Hannibal came out to see his progress, a scalpel held nonchalantly in his right hand.

“Much better. You did very well, Will.”

“Well enough that we should be able to order breakfast, anyway.” Will rolled the bloodied carpeting into a plastic trash bag and put it in the cart. “What’s the plan with the body?”

“If you would assist me?”

Will followed him back into the bathroom. What remained of Scola was in the bathtub, and Hannibal hadn’t just broken his legs, he had amputated them at each knee. He had also taken the liberty of decapitating him - the man’s head sat on his chest, eyes half closed and already losing their shine. Will looked at Hannibal, eyebrows raised.

“You had such spectacular aim. I was interested to see exactly how well you had done.” He all but sighed with sentiment.

Will shot him a dryly unamused look, and then helped move the body into the waiting cart as best he could one handed. Hannibal had lined the laundry hamper with trash bags, and each leg and the head went into one as well. The jumbled body was then covered with towels, and the entire cart put into place in the closet. Hannibal cleaned up the blood in the bathroom, and then the towels, his clothes, and Will’s suit jacket and shirt went into a separate trash bag. All said, it had taken not quite two hours and the suite was back in order.

Will sat at the dining table, legs sprawled in front of him, feeling better and worse than he had been when they started their clean up project. Still vaguely dizzy, thirsty again, but he could mostly ignore the blunt pain in his shoulder. He watched Hannibal as he sat on the bed and cleaned the slice up his side. Something about the way his ribs rolled under his skin as he moved made Will want to slip is fingers into the wound and feel them.

“What did you say to him? Before you pulled the knife out.”

Hannibal was still for a few seconds, licking his lips before he answered. “I told him that he would have fared better if he had stabbed me.”

“He almost certainly thought he was.”

“And he has paid for that mistake.” Hannibal said, applying one final strip of medical tape to the bandage before turning to face Will fully.

“He paid as much as I care to make him pay, though your tone makes me think you don’t agree.” Will leaned forward, one elbow on his knee. “We’re going to talk about that, by the way. I may be dosed with whatever you consider emergency vacation painkillers, but I’m not going to forget that he apparently knew a lot about you that I don’t.”

“Yet he mistakenly assumed even more.” He said, eyes down as he put away bandages. “No one has ever known me as you do, Will.”

“Well enough to know that you’re more than just pleased that I killed him.”

Hannibal took a deep breath, chest rising quickly and falling slowly. “You defended us both against a man seeking to do us harm. You feigned distress and nearly had him on your side before you struck the blow that ultimately lead to his end. Not an unremarkable feat, considering the circumstances.”

Will bristled at having it laid out like that. “Is this what you go around doing? Making people kill for you? Am I another pet project like Margot?”

Hannibal’s eyes glittered at Will’s tone. He stood, still in just his boxers as he prowled closer to where Will sat. “Even as you say it you know that rings hollow, dear Will.”

“Do I? What else could have you so pleased? You’ve been practically glowing for the past hour, and we’re in a pretty fucked situation.”

“Scola’s attempt here tonight has forced your hand in more ways than one.” Will watched as Hannibal slowly came to a stop in front of him, then knelt down between his splayed knees. “We cannot stay here. I cannot be sure that he has not voiced his suspicions to others, and your injury is too severe to hide and too suspicious to be explained away.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“A few hours ago you meant to end things between us, but any justifications have been rendered inconsequential. In fact your actions tonight have done little but assure me of your continued devotion, in spite of what you said at dinner.”

Will swallowed, looking down at his intent expression as he felt his own start to crack. “Hannibal.”

He continued on, sliding his hands up and over Will’s knees. “We must leave Rome, then this country entirely once new identities can be procured. By rail, we can get anywhere in Europe you wish to go. I have funds and property not tied to US accounts that can be accessed if and when my assets are frozen.”

“Hannibal, stop.”

“If we leave tonight, we have an excellent chance to preempt any security that will be looking for us later. With three men missing, your crew and the police will be looking in all directions at once.” He leaned in closer, bringing one hand up to cradle Will’s neck. “Signore Scola has gifted us an opportunity. I believe we should take it.”

“That’s your solution?” Will asked with a wavering smile. “Run off together and hope that we don’t kill each other in a month?”

“Minutes ago you murdered a man alongside me, and now you think to doubt my affection for you.”

“I doubt your motivations. I see you, Hannibal.” Will hesitantly brought his hand up to cover Hannibal’s against him. “I know there are still things you haven’t told me.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, there and gone before Will could guess its meaning. Hannibal’s hands tightened around him. “I said before that you did not have to choose tonight between your life and career and me, but I am afraid that may no longer be true.”

A neat avoidance of the question that Will noted but allowed. “And you? Are you so ready to leave behind your life, your career? That house you want me to see?”

He softened again, running his thumb along the shell of Will’s ear. “Trivialities. Trappings to a disguise I no longer need with you beside me. I may have time before word of our disappearance makes it to American authorities to arrange for some of my belongings to be moved for later retrieval, but once they search my home the entire property will be forfeit.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Historically I have not been impressed with the Baltimore police department, but the level of incompetence required to overlook the evidence present in my home would be truly staggering, and not worth counting on. The house and its contents will be seized.”

“Lamp shades made of skin? That sort of thing?”

Hannibal’s lips quirked. “You wound me.”

Will kissed him then, twining his uninjured arm around his neck and pulling him closer. Hannibal wrapped his arm around Will’s waist and drew him to the edge of the chair, letting his hand trail up Will’s bare back before pulling away slightly.

“I do regret your suit.”

Will curled one leg over Hannibal’s hip. “I do not regret yours.”

He huffed a small laugh and kissed him once more before bringing both hands to his face, examining him. Hannibal’s expression shifted.

“Come with me, Will. You were only ever meant for me. You feel it as I do.”

Will knew, in the quieter and quieter part of his brain that wasn’t addled by painkillers and Hannibal’s proximity, that this was a bad decision to make late at night in a foreign country, far away from the reality that would no doubt come crashing in all too soon. This wasn’t exactly sneaking away from a work trip to galavant around Europe with his boyfriend for a few days. His house in Wolf Trap, his friends, his show - all of them gone and replaced with nights like this one. Dinner at some pretentious restaurant, someone dead and dismembered, and all the while Hannibal looking at him like nothing else mattered.

Was that not answer enough?

Will looked away out the open balcony doors, letting a smile curl over his face even as he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. If I’m going to get stabbed every time we go out, you’re going to have to cook us a lot of dinners.”

Hannibal surged up, trying to catch Will’s lips with his own but Will dodged him, leaning back into the chair.

“I want to be able to fish, so figure out where to take us that I can rent a boat.”

Hannibal followed him, putting one knee between Will’s as he pressed closer, his hands on either side of Will’s head, fingers curling over the top of the chair back. Absently, he said, “I will buy you a boat.”

Will ignored him. “You’re going to have to let me shower alone sometimes.”

“We can discuss it.” Hannibal’s lips were running along Will’s cheek.

Will rolled his eyes, finally turning back to face him. “God, you are such an ass-”

Hannibal’s lips on his stopped that train of thought, legitimate as it may have been.

He was finally released when the dining chair started to groan under the weight of the two of them and Will was panting through reddened lips. Hannibal stood up and pulled Will up after him.

“It would be best if we left quickly.”

“OK.”

“Leaving our luggage here would further confuse the search, buying us more time before they start looking for us outside the city.”

“OK.”

“I had thought to push the cart off the loading dock and into the dumpster behind the building.”

“Great. Should we get dressed?”

Hannibal reached for him again, cradling Will’s head in his hands. He looked at him for a while longer. Will took pity on him, smiling as he said, “I said yes, Hannibal. I’m coming with you.”

He was on him, fingers in Will’s hair and angling his jaw where Hannibal wanted it for another round of searing kisses. Will let his hand trail down Hannibal’s stomach, pausing to slip two fingers past the band of his boxers. He felt Hannibal shudder, then he pulled away to press his mouth into the column of Will’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“Do I smell different?”

“No.” His voice was rough. “In this moment you are more familiar to me than myself.”

It clicked, and Will tipped his head back for easier access, smiling at the ceiling. “Wanting someone isn’t all bad, Hannibal. Maybe you’re just not as inhuman as you thought.”

A brief, sharp clench of teeth. “I think it is more likely you are my match in ways that you have yet to realize. Cruel, marvelous thing that you are, I could devour the marrow of you and not be satisfied. You would keep secrets from me even then.”

Will gasped as Hannibal tugged his head back farther, laving his tongue across the hollow of his throat. “I thought earlier that I could slip my hand under your skin and feel the curve of your ribs. Reach deeper, between them, and touch the center of you.”

Groaning, Hannibal grabbed Will’s wandering hand and pressed it over the bandages at his side. Will tipped his head forward to watch his face as he slowly pressed harder still, curling his fingers until Hannibal hissed with pain.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? If it meant keeping me where you want me?” Will smiled softly as he walked them towards the bed. He kept up the litany of gently spoken questions. “Aren’t I already there, Hannibal? Do you need more proof?”

They stopped when Hannibal’s legs hit the bed, and Will gently pushed him until he sat down. Will stood looking down at him, taking in his darkly worshipful expression before slowly kneeling. Will started to tug at Hannibal’s boxers and he was quick to help, lifting his hips and spreading his thighs, letting Will look his fill. Will reached out to push on his chest until he lay back, and Will hooked one of Hannibal’s legs over his uninjured shoulder, watching his hands grip the duvet as he was positioned how Will wanted him.

He was happy at first with simply running his nose and lips along the inside of Hannibal’s thigh, but was quickly tempted to taste the base of his cock. Hannibal’s hips flexed towards Will as he tried to encourage Will to take all of him in his mouth without lowering himself to begging. Will decided to tarry a bit longer, inching higher as he went, until he was planting hot kisses to the tip of Hannibal’s cock.

“How close do you need me to be, Hannibal?” He murmured, making sure Hannibal felt every vowel and syllable.

His breaths were coming fast and shallow, though he managed to keep his voice fairly level. “There is no limit. No line I can draw between us.”

That was all the invitation Will needed. He hiked up Hannibal’s leg higher, and quickly ducked his head down to lick a long line from the head of his cock to the hot, humid skin behind his testicles. Will lingered for a moment, letting Hannibal guess his purpose before letting the flat of his tongue brush across the tight opening there. He heard Hannibal groan, felt his thighs shake as Will lapped at him.

Will loved him like this. He could’ve kept them both on the edge all night - drawing sounds from Hannibal’s throat he knew no one else had ever heard. But the throbbing of his own cock wouldn’t be ignored much longer, and Will had the nagging feeling that one of them should be keeping an eye on the time. Hannibal was, perhaps, not currently up to the task.
He thrust his tongue against the slick ring of muscle as Hannibal’s heel dug into his back, urging him even closer. Will wrapped his fingers around Hannibal’s neglected cock, slowly pumping before he leaned back to look at his face.

“Should I torture you as you did me? See if I can make you come on my tongue while I ignore the rest of you?”

“Will -” Whatever he had been about to say came out a strangled cry as Will finally took him fully into his mouth. Hannibal curled his leg again, pressing Will as close as he could.

Will fumbled his belt open, fingers clumsy as he worked himself free. He felt desperate; overheated and oxygen starved even as he worked his lips over Hannibal’s cock faster, let him press even deeper into his throat. They were always spectacular together but this was new - the lingering adrenaline from the attack and the passion between them twisting together to create something new that Will couldn’t get enough of.

Hannibal was straining against him, every muscle in his body held tight. Will was close now, his own hand too rough, but it didn’t matter against the onslaught of the two of them.

Will moved the hand that had been wrapped around the base of Hannibal’s cock and ran it up his side, lightly letting it rest again over the bandages. He felt Hannibal tense even further, and took that as his cue to press down again, imagining he could feel the blood rushing under his palm. Hannibal came, eyes closed and head thrown back as Will swallowed around him. Will was quick to follow, gasping against Hannibal’s thigh as he spilled into his hand.

Will recovered first, lazily lifting his head to survey the temporarily conquered man laid out before him. Hannibal’s breathing had evened out, and he lay with his eyes closed and one arm flug over his head. Will stood, running his hand up and over Hannibal’s chest.

“Come on. You said we have to get going.”

His voice was low. “I believe I could spend every night of my life with you, Will.”

What he didn’t say hung between them, and Will was too overwhelmed or too much of a coward or too much of both to hear him say it.

“Tell me again once we’re on a train.”

Hannibal slowly opened his eyes at that, looking up at Will. His tone was something between accusing and entertained. “I am telling you now.”

“While you’re high off sex and murder.”

“You are extraordinary in both arenas. I find it fitting to have come to the realization after the experience we have had this evening.”

Will ducked his head, hiding a smile as he said, “Get some pants on, Dr. Lecter.”

They dressed. Will made a brief, doomed attempt to go back to his room to grab fresh clothing, only to be completely unsurprised when Hannibal produced another pair of pants and two shirts miraculously in his size; only one an offensive color. Hannibal took cash and a few cards, as well as Will’s wallet, before tucking his into the top drawer of a bedside table.

They made it out of the suite with the maid’s cart easily enough. The tricky bit was getting through the kitchen to the loading dock and dumpsters without being seen, but Hannibal timed it perfectly, sweeping through as Will followed without anyone the wiser. They ended up lowering the entire cart hamper together into the dumpster as best they could - a loud sound late at night would be remembered by guests. A few bags on top and it was hidden enough to at least last until morning. Will left the cart just inside the kitchen door; hopefully a cook would find it and assume a housekeeper was shirking their duties.

They left from the loading dock, walking a few blocks before hailing a cab. They didn’t speak, and Will kept his eyes on Hannibal’s profile as he watched the dark city roll by.

Soon they were at the station, and Will noted as Hannibal tipped the driver well, but not so well as to be memorable. He led them to a bay of ticket machines, and purchased two second class tickets for the next train heading out of the city at five AM. Will’s wallet was deposited into a small trash can nearby.

They had an hour to kill, and Will spent it pacing as Hannibal watched him with his legs primly crossed and expression sedate. He could’ve been a business man up especially early. Perhaps an urbanite out especially late. Anything but what Will knew he really was. Eventually his stillness lured Will to sit down next to him and knock their knees together.

“Not long now, Will.”

It still felt like a small eternity before Will could hear the train, and another one before they could see it, but once they stood and started towards it time moved too fast. Will could hardly recall from one moment to the next entering the car and Hannibal guiding him to the back of the car to take their seats.

Will took a few deep breaths, examining his reflection in the window as the train started to pull away from the platform.

“Tell me again.”

Will heard Hannibal huff a laugh, and he grinned at the image himself in the dark glass before turning back to Hannibal beside him.

Chapter Text

“Hurry up! It’s on.”

“Are you so intent on watching? I promise you there will be no new information.”

“It’s about us, and my show. Which I would still be getting royalty checks for if I wasn’t missing and suspected dead, by the way. The way it’s blown up, I think I’d be richer than you.”

“I doubt that, Will.” Hannibal finally came into the room and sat down stiffly on the edge of the sofa, ignoring Will’s toes inching under his thigh until he finally sat back and took Will’s feet into his lap. “That they were permitted to produce such a program with the investigation still ongoing is a marvel.”

“It’s supposed to be a two hour special, but I bet it’s going to be mostly footage the network already had. Once Lounds ratted me out everything was fair game.”

“I did tell you she needed to be dealt with.”

“Don’t start. She thinks you seduced and murdered me. I would’ve given the feds the film too.”

“And now she is the one getting rich.”

Will kicked his stomach gently, “Hush, it’s starting.”

The opening graphic faded out and the narration started over footage of Hannibal the first night of the show; standing in the middle of all the contestants with a glass of champagne in his hand while headlines from the Ripper murders flashed, superimposed over his handsome face.

Something beeped in the kitchen, and Hannibal maneuvered himself out from under Will’s legs. He returned shortly with a platter of vol-au-vent; golden, paper thin pastry filled with a fragrant, savory stuffing.

“Didn’t want to watch with me, huh?”

Hannibal ignored him, settling back and and obligingly holding his arms aloft as Will put his feet back in his lap before offering a pastry.

Will ate it in one bite, moaning in appreciation. He reached for another. “These are delicious, Hannibal. What’s in them?”

“Caramelized shallots, chive and parsley, and ground lamb in a burgundy reduction.”

Will frowned at him. “When did we buy lamb?”

Hannibal took a precise bite and swallowed before answering, eyes on the screen. “A few weeks ago. I had it in the freezer but thawed and ground it this afternoon.”

Will hummed, attention back on the show.
____________________________________________________________________________

Franklyn Froideveaux had been in something of a rough patch for the past year. After he had failed to be accepted as a contestant on his favorite reality dating show while his psychiatrist had been cast as the main love interest, he had watched the first five episodes of the season religiously. He knew that if only he had been cast as well, Dr. Lecter would have at least realized how great of friends they could’ve been, if not more.

When the news broke that Dr. Lecter was missing in Italy, Franklyn had been beside himself with worry. He had applied for a passport to go over and search for Dr. Lecter himself, but within a week the story changed: Dr. Lecter was accused of killing a director on the show, and kidnapping a producer. The director had been discovered in a trash compactor in Rome, and his and the producer’s blood had been found in Dr. Lecter’s hotel suite.

Franklyn had at first refused to believe it. He started a Facebook page determined to prove Dr. Lecter’s innocence, making several impassioned posts laying out point by point how he was not only being falsely accused, but was temperamentally incapable of the gruesome things the FBI was trying to pin on him.

Then, interview requests started to come in. At first, Franklyn had remained resolute that Dr. Lecter was a good man, dedicated to bettering the lives of others through his psychiatric practice, but no one had wanted to talk about that. They interviewed him for longer, asking more questions, if he talked about other things.

Like how Dr. Lecter had refused his friendship. How he had dismissed Franklyn’s concerns about his well being. How - once Franklyn had started to really think about it - he was often cold, calculating even, in their sessions together. Franklyn had been afraid of him sometimes, thinking back. Perhaps he had noticed a frightful light in his eyes. Maybe once or twice a sharp movement had hinted at danger lurking below the surface.

He had been invited on a quite a few more shows after that.
___________________________________________________________________________

“I cannot believe they let the weird cheese guy talk so much. There is no way he ever noticed a ‘suspicious, dark energy about you’.”

“I sincerely doubt it, though his comments about his interview with you are truthful enough.”

Will sputtered, outraged. “I never said he was ‘hideous’ and ‘unworthy of my time’!”

Hannibal pet his shin soothingly. “Of course, my mistake.”

Will muttered under his breath that Hannibal was a hideous waste of time but was resolutely ignored as Margot appeared on the screen.
____________________________________________________________________________

Margot Verger had been having the best year of her life. Although much of her family fortune was still inaccessible, her lawyers had been systematically dismantling the ridiculous stipulations set against Margot by her late family members. Slowly but surely she was able to access more and more of her rightful assets. More than enough to be comfortable for a very long time. Certainly enough to send a few gifts to a certain Dr. Bloom. Enough, too, to keep her out of the public eye unless she absolutely wanted to be there.

When the producers had called to interview her for the special on Dr. Lecter, she had at first refused them as she had every other request for an interview. Whoever or whatever Lecter was, she preferred to remain in the man’s good graces.

After she hung up, she had started to think that perhaps it would be wise to play along with whatever narrative they were going to portray. Things would deteriorate quickly if it came out that she had been his patient and failed to disclose it when she should have. She wouldn’t have to lie to portray a fair picture of him, but keep herself above suspicion - not too much, anyway. A short, succinct interview would be more than adequate.

So, she let them say what they wanted to say, agreeing with whatever they presented. Had he been charming? Devastatingly. Had she suspected him when her brother was found? Not for a moment. Had the experience put her off of the idea of finding love? Why, not at all.
____________________________________________________________________________

“I always liked Margot.”

“She is a singular woman. I enjoyed our time together.”

Will eyed Hannibal’s profile. “You’re pleased she didn’t play up the melodrama.”

“She managed to answer every question while revealing nothing of herself.”

“I wonder where she could’ve picked up that habit.”

Hannibal flicked the arch of Will’s foot. “Margot has her own secrets to keep. She required very little from me in comparison to other patients, though her circumstances were undoubtedly some of the worst. I never doubted she would maintain a clear head, no matter the ultimate outcome of our arrangement.”

Will looked at him blankly. “She ‘required very little’? You killed her brother for her, Hannibal. Who do you consider high matinence?” He opened his mouth to answer, even as Will rushed to interrupt him. “Don’t answer that.”

“I would never refer to you in those terms.” He started, slowly. “Though I do recall an incident last week - ”

“It’s not high maintenance to ask that you not turn all of the fish I catch into a weird jello cake.”

“I will prepare whatever you bring me next in any way you like, Will.”

“What if I want it fried? The whole house will smell like fish for a week.”

“It is a short term lease. Breaking it would not be a hardship, though I doubt we would get back much of our deposit if the drapery smells of haddock.”
__________________________________________________________________________

Jack Crawford had been having the weirdest year of his goddamn life.

The Chesapeak Ripper, it turned out, was an eccentric psychiatrist who moonlighted as a reality TV dating show hunk who had managed to abscond from his Italian hotel suite after killing a director and kidnapping an American producer that Jack had previously interviewed in connection to the confirmed murder of Mason Verger by the Ripper but not, it was important to note, the now suspected Ripper murder that had taken place only days before, that no one on that goddamn show had thought to mention to him until after Lecter was already gone.

The search of the house had been… complicated. They had found evidence connecting Dr. Lecter with at least four known Ripper victims, but it had been clear the moment Jack had stepped foot in the house that someone had gotten there first. Items were missing from the house, and the kitchen and a hidden basement room had been immaculately clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere, even though the good doctor hadn’t been home in weeks.

Now, he was being forced to watch the two hours special about the whole damn thing by his own staff, who had apparently all been fans of the show before any of this had ever happened. Miriam Lass was the ringleader of the whole operation, he was sure of it, though all of the techs and students gathered around the wheeled-in TV were too cowardly to admit it when questioned.

The silver lining, if it could even be called that, was that they knew Lecter was out of the country, and would have a hell of a time getting back in without Jack knowing about it.

He grudgingly accepted a paper cup full of microwave popcorn when it was offered. Maybe they’d all learn something from watching the Ripper go on group dates.

Maybe.
____________________________________________________________________________

Later that evening, when the city was quiet around them and they could walk blocks without seeing anyone else, they made their way down to a small park bisected by a canal that Will had come to favor.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I enjoy the chill while walking. I find it invigorating.”

“Then why do I have to have a scarf and a hat?”

“You are accustomed to a warmer climate.”

“We lived an hour away from each other when we met. I experienced all the same weather you did.”

Hannibal started in on the same speech about Nordic climate extremes that he had prepared since they decided on spending a few weeks in Oslo. Will listened more to the cadence of his voice than the words, paying particular attention to the way it dipped and slowed to a stop when he pulled his hand out of his pocket and wrapped his warm fingers around Hannibal’s chilled hand.

“You liked it.”

“It was as tastefully done as could be expected.”

Will bit back a smile. Hannibal had a lot more to say while the show had been on, but most of it had been about unflattering camera angles.

“Do you think they’re any closer to finding us?”

“If the program we just saw was an accurate account of the state of the investigation, I see no reason for undue concern.”

He let Will lead them to a bench on the edge of the canal. They sat down, nearly synchronized, and Will watched as Hannibal took in the light reflected on the dark water.

“Then we’re still going to Dublin for Christmas?”

“I see no reason why not.”

“Good. It’ll be nice to speak the language again.”

Hannibal turned to him, expression half hidden in the dark. “This period of constant movement will settle. I believe we share the desire for a more permanent home base.” He twisted Will’s palm against his, pressing their hands tightly together. “There are things I mean to show you that will require safer walls around us.”

Will could still taste lamb on his tongue as he answered, “I can’t wait.”