Chapter Text
Will found it was the little things that brought her to mind. He didn’t think about Molly in the aftermath of the fall, when they were battered and bleeding and limping between safe houses to keep ahead of the manhunt. Back then, Hannibal filled every space and disused corner of Will’s mind. Guilt, desire, fear, hope; Will cycled through all of these daily in those first months, as they watched each other with matching expressions of distrust and veiled longing. But eventually the chaos of their escape, and grueling recovery, gave way to something approximating peace. They made it to Canada and in the relative safety it provided, it was only a matter of time before the tension between them bubbled over into action.
One night, a few weeks after they’d settled into their new home on the outskirts of Halifax, Will followed Hannibal to his room and pressed him up against the bedroom door. They came together in an almost violent clash of lips, tongues, and teeth, clothes torn away by greedy fingers, neither patient enough to undress with care. Hannibal’s skilled hands gripping and caressing every newly revealed stretch of Will’s flesh, the desperation in his eyes, in every fevered touch, setting Will alight. And at long last there was the sobbing relief of finally finding completion in Hannibal’s arms, by Hannibal’s hand, sweaty heaving chests pressed together in their effort to be as close as possible, eyes inexorably locked on one another, as if neither could stand to look away for a second. It bore no resemblance to any sex Will had ever had before. It was a homecoming.
But as the dust settled and Will started to learn the shape of this new life with Hannibal, he couldn’t keep the memories of Molly from sneaking in at the strangest moments. Snatches of conversation over one of Hannibal’s elaborate breakfasts brought to mind memories of a different kind of morning with Molly, when Will would shove an eggo waffle in his mouth and grab one of the three identical foil wrapped ham sandwiches with too much mayo sitting on the counter, tossing it into his bag on the way out the door to work. The first time Will joined Hannibal at the opera, the whole evening, Will found his mind drifting to memories of Saturday nights in with Molly: family game nights, when Molly would cheat shamelessly at Monopoly; Molly shoving her freezing toes under Will’s thighs, laughing at his yelps of protest as they snuggled up on the couch in front of the fire with a finger of whiskey and a glass of red wine.
The social obligations of life with Hannibal were exactly as glamorous and exhausting as Will had expected them to be. As Hannibal reintroduced himself to society, now as Francis Erickson, Will’s life started to involve a fair amount of drinking in corners in a tuxedo. He got accustomed to hugging the sidelines at lavish cocktail parties, the symphony, or during intervals at the Toronto Opera. Will sensed that Hannibal would gladly have attended alone, but something in Will bristled at the thought of being excluded from something that would inevitably be such a huge part of Hannibal’s life. Besides, Will enjoyed watching Hannibal in his element, dazzling and bright and magnetic. But on occasion, when Will was securing his cufflinks with a level of proficiency that would have appalled him only a year earlier, Will thought of Friday pizza nights with Molly with a twinge of nostalgia. Will had laughed more during quiet evenings home with Molly than he’d ever laughed in his life. The kind of belly laughter that makes your ribs hurt. Molly had always been like comfort food, warming and familiar and reliably uncomplicated.
Nothing about Hannibal had ever been easy or uncomplicated. There had never been such a thing as a simple conversation with Hannibal. Even before Will knew what he really was, Will would leave their sessions feeling raw and exposed and exhilarated in a way he never had talking to anyone else. Will could hardly recall the specifics of any exchange he’d shared with Molly, but every word that had ever passed between him and Hannibal felt seared in his mind like a flashbulb memory. Conversations with Hannibal, like everything with Hannibal, were challenging in a way that made them incomparably fulfilling.
But for all that the man himself wasn’t easy or uncomplicated, the joy he roused in Will was. Will felt more pure contentment in those few moments after he first opened his eyes in the morning, when he turned to find Hannibal’s unmade side of the bed — or on rare occasions, the sleep tousled man himself — than he felt in all his years with Molly.
And Will had never experienced arousal like he did with Hannibal. Sex with Molly was easy, undemanding, and laughter-filled. Will had suspected sex with Hannibal would be nothing like that, and he was right, but not in the way he might have imagined. If he’d expected Hannibal’s violent proclivities to extend to the bedroom, he was dead wrong. Hannibal was achingly careful with Will, but there was no laughter, no smiling. He touched Will like the faithful might touch some holy relic: with reverence, wonder, and a hint of fear. Every twitch or groan was carefully observed, learned, and all too soon, Hannibal could play Will’s body like a fiddle, transforming him into a begging pathetic mess, verbal filter lost to his growing need. And in that state he admitted things, asked for things, that would have made him shove his face in the pillow in embarrassment if he’d said them to Molly. But he spouted filth to Hannibal without an ounce of shame, Hannibal’s eyes darkening as he held Will’s gaze in silent encouragement.
Will had slept with Molly a few times a week, which was fairly respectable for a married couple with a kid, but he was insatiable with Hannibal. Will wanted him constantly, inappropriately so. And once it became clear that Hannibal would happily indulge him no matter the time and place, Will didn’t bother holding back. Will would drop to his knees in the kitchen, sucking Hannibal off as he put the finishing touches on their dinner. He’d crawl into Hannibal’s lap while he worked in the library, nipping at his neck until Hannibal laid Will out on his desk and fucked him, sweeping his sketches and papers onto the floor with a carelessness that drove Will wild. And then there was one memorable night when Will was reading quietly by the fire and apropos of nothing, Hannibal tugged him out of his chair and across the room to bend Will over the harpsichord bench, then proceeded to rim him until Will was a screaming wreck. Sex with Hannibal was impossibly good, which just added to the surreality of it all.
Molly hadn’t been Will’s soulmate. Any chance of that was lost by the time he met her, Hannibal having laid claim to Will’s soul long ago. But Molly offered the kind of friendship that asks nothing of you. That lets you be without judgment. And sometimes, on sleep rumpled weekend mornings, when some compulsion to keep up with Hannibal had Will forcing himself out of bed, despite wanting nothing more than to stay buried under the covers, he missed the lack of expectation that life with Molly offered him.
Oddly enough, Hannibal never brought Molly up. Will had expected Hannibal’s unrestrained curiosity to extend to the woman Will had chosen for his wife, but Hannibal displayed a surprising willingness to let things lie when it came to their three years apart. Will was inexpressibly thankful for that. Until one day he came into the library to find Hannibal at his computer watching a tattlecrime video that claimed to have the first interview with Molly since their disappearance. Thus far, Molly had been avoidant, and in some cases, hostile with the press. They had bombarded her and Walter constantly for months after Dolarhyde. It seemed for a time like every day brought a new photo or clip of Molly shoving a camera away as she and Walter jockeyed to their car or rushed into the house. Walter had to change schools. Molly had to quit her job and move. And as Molly looked increasingly worn down in every new photo, Will had to stop watching. But Hannibal quietly continued to keep tabs, Will suspected, and now it seemed Freddie had finally accomplished the impossible.
Hannibal made no effort to hide what he was doing as Will walked in. He even pulled to the side to give Will a better view.
The clip opened, Will was alarmed to find, on Wally, shuffling his feet awkwardly as Freddie held out a microphone. The sight made Will feel’s stomach squirm uncomfortably.
“This is Freddie Lounds with Tattlecrime, and I’m joined by Walter, adopted son of fugitive and murderer, Will Graham. Walter, how does it feel knowing that your father ran away with the world’s most notorious serial killer?”
Walter’s discomfort was palpable as he adjusted his book bag on his shoulder. “Will wasn’t my dad,” he said quietly.
“Fair enough. But he was your mother’s husband for three years, were there any signs of his darker nature that you want to share with us?” Freddie’s voice was filled with the same false concern she had when she’d spoken with Abigail. It set Will’s teeth on edge.
“Um. I dunno,” Wally said, avoiding looking directly at either Freddie or the camera, “he was kind of quiet most of the time.”
“Did he ever hurt you or your mom?” Freddie pressed, clearly not pleased with Walter’s performance thus far.
“Jessus,” Will said, sliding his hand down his face.
“Huh? No, I mean, he yelled at me one time when I borrowed one of his fishing rods without asking and broke it. It’s the only time I ever saw him get mad really.”
“Hey!” Molly’s furious shout came from off screen, and Will felt a jolt at the sound. Then Freddie’s camera man swung the shot around and Molly was there, charging angrily towards Freddie and wrapping a protective arm around Walter, pulling him away. “Honey, go to the car,” she said, voice gentle as she spoke to her son, but her eyes sparked with rage as she kept them locked on Freddie Lounds.
“But mom I —“
“Now, kiddo,” she said, turning to Walter with a wink and an encouraging smile.
Will couldn’t quite sort through the knot of emotions he experienced seeing her again. The guilt was significant, as was the sense of loss, and surprisingly, he felt a hint of anticipatory pride at the idea of watching her go toe to toe with Freddie. Molly had an uncanny ability to put anyone around her at ease when she wanted to. But she also had a fierceness and sense of loyalty that ran deep. Will knew that her reluctance to say anything at all to the press, to not sell Will down the river and exonerate herself in the process, was a demonstration of that loyalty, little as Will deserved it. Her hair was different, he noted absently. She always claimed she hadn’t bothered to change the style since high school so the sight stirred a pang of guilt. To be caught up in all this shit must be a fucking nightmare for her and Will couldn’t help wishing, absurdly, that he was still there for her to vent to about it. She didn’t have any close friends. Her family was far away and didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle anything like this. She had gone out for drinks on occasion with a group of irritating parents from Walter’s little league team, but given what they just found out about her husband, Will doubted she was still getting those invites.
Molly turned on Freddie, her anger simmering as she kept her voice level, probably for Walter’s sake more than anything, “if I ever see you near my kid again, I’ll have the police at your doorstep in an hour.”
Freddie gave her trademark smarmy smile and Will clenched his fists as he pictured wrapping them around her throat, “first amendment, Mrs. Graham. Freedom of the press.”
Molly hadn’t used Will’s last name in months, but she didn’t react to the obvious baiting, “last time I checked, harassing kids at school wasn’t a constitutional right.”
“He wanted to speak to me,” Freddie said, eyes faux earnest, “everyone around him is talking about his dad running off into the sunset with a cannibalistic serial killer and you keeping silent on it isn’t helping him.”
“Will didn’t —“ and Molly caught herself, pinching the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration, but Freddie was already signaling the camera to come closer, scenting blood in the water.
“Will didn’t what? Did he talk about Lecter? How much did you know about their obsession with one another before you married Graham?”
Molly closed her eyes for a moment as if getting herself under control, and when they opened again, she was looking at Freddie with an expression so cold it gave Hannibal a run for his money. The spark of pride from earlier bloomed until Will’s chest felt warm with it.
“Stay the hell away from my kid, lady, or you won’t like the consequences,” she said, her sincerity impossible to miss.
“Are you threatening me?” Freddie asked, and she was still smiling, but Will could tell it was less confident than before.
Molly gave Freddie a sharp smile, “if you really think Will’s some psycho in love with a serial killer, maybe you should be a little more worried about antagonizing his wife. He could have a type.” Molly raised a wry eyebrow and shrugged as she turned towards her car and started walking away.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Freddie shouted after her.
Molly turned on her heel to face Freddie, still moving backwards to where Wally was waiting by the car, “Lady, I promise you this,” she shouted back, “if I see you around my kid’s school again, I’ll give you a reason to be scared,” Molly turned back around until she reached Walter, giving him a hug and helping him into the car. Then she drove away without a backwards glance.
“And there you have it,” Freddie said, facing the camera again with a slightly shaky smile, “Molly Graham née Foster, who up until now has largely avoided speaking to the press. Most outlets have opted to paint her as yet another victim of Lecter and Graham, but maybe she’s not as much of an innocent lamb as we’ve been led to believe.”
The fond smile on Will’s face was irrepressible, but it fell away as he turned to Hannibal whose face was now almost aggressively blank. Will knew the shades of his stoicism well enough to see the mask for what it was and the undercurrent of unease it was just barely veiling. Hannibal was still staring at the now black video screen, eyes unfocused as if lost in some thought. The sight made Will feel unaccountably guilty.
”Well I’ll give it to Freddie, she always manages to get her sound bite,” Will said, trying to shake off the tense silence that had settled between them.
“She may come to regret it. I doubt even Ms. Lounds’s usual audience will look favorably on her taking advantage of a child.” Hannibal hesitated for a long moment, as if weighing whether or not to continue, “and Ms. Graham’s response is likely to resonate with any parent. One must protect one’s own.” His voice dipped subtly on the word “Graham,” but the rest of the sentence was clipped, painstakingly devoid of inflection.
It occurred to Will that Hannibal had never met Molly and had probably never considered the possibility that he might begrudgingly respect her. Or worse, could even have liked her in other circumstances.
“Molly changed her name back to Foster.” Will corrected even though he was certain Hannibal, who followed their coverage far more scrupulously than Will did, already knew that. Will couldn’t quite figure out what game Hannibal was playing by using her married name anyway.
“My mistake,” he said absently, but his eyes were scouring Will, searching his face for a reaction. And Will realized that he was seeing Hannibal’s version of insecurity. Will’s initial incredulity at the concept gave way to sympathy when he considered how it must have been for Hannibal. Finding out that Will had committed himself to another person, after Hannibal had already sacrificed his freedom to remain in Will’s world. Will had been unforgivably cruel, but Hannibal had forgiven, immediately and without any need for recompense. Maybe it was too much to ask him to forget as well.
Will turned Hannibal’s chair away from the table and insinuated himself between his legs. Hannibal’s expression was inscrutable as Will gently took his face and leaned in, meeting his lips in a hungry kiss as his other hand ran through Hannibal’s hair in a way that always made the man shiver. When Will felt the expected tremor course through Hannibal, he cupped the back of his head more firmly, letting the kiss grow demanding as his tongue explored the contours of Hannibal’s mouth. Tentatively, Hannibal’s tongue met Will’s, twisting with it before eventually thrusting into Will’s mouth with intent, in a way that went straight to Will’s cock. Will groaned as he leaned forward, practically sitting in Hannibal’s lap at this point and the shift in proximity confirmed that neither of them were entirely soft anymore. It would have been easy to get lost in it, but the image of Hannibal looking uncharacteristically unsure had Will pulling back, not wanting to risk any misinterpretation. He pushed Hannibal away gently as he tried to chase Will’s mouth, forcing Hannibal to meet his eyes, “I don’t care what Molly calls herself, Hannibal. I don’t care if she kept the name Graham or changed it back or found some new guy and got hitched in Vegas. None of it matters because she was never really mine. And I’ve never been hers.” Will held Hannibal’s gaze, watching to make sure the message landed. Then he kissed him once more, like a seal on that promise. When Will pulled away, he was relieved to find Hannibal looked more like himself again.
*******
Their home had a wraparound porch that reminded Will strongly of his old house in Wolf Trap, so much so that Will often wondered if Hannibal had purchased the place with Will’s house in mind. He knew he’d never ask. Sitting there, looking out at the acres of land, Will always remembered his dogs with an aching kind of fondness. He never imagined he’d be able to bring them, but he still felt a pang thinking how happy they’d have been, bounding through the snow covered fields of their property here.
“The grounds are expansive, Will. You could consider a dog or two.” Will hadn’t noticed Hannibal arrive and he couldn’t even pretend to be surprised that Hannibal practically read his mind. But the sentiment was surprising. It had never occurred to Will that Hannibal would tolerate living with a dog. Anything as chaotic and unpredictable as a pet would clash miserably with Hannibal’s almost pathological fussiness. Dogs meant muddy paw prints on Hannibal’s kitchen tiles, stray hairs on his suits, nail indents ruining the upholstery of his custom made furniture. Will suspected he hated dogs actually, and probably only indulged Will in feeding them to gain unmonitored access to Will’s home. An image flashed through Will’s head then of the time Winston, Buster, and Hank chased a rabbit down by the pond and ended up falling in. They’d returned to the house, fur dripping with the muddy, stagnant water, and tore into the living room before Will could corral them outside. It took twenty minutes of wrangling by both Molly and Will to get the dogs off the furniture and into the yard so they could hose them down and by the end of it, Will and Molly both needed a shower and a new set of clothes. And the couch and rug carried the indelible scent of wet dog for months. Will would never invite that kind of chaos into Hannibal’s meticulously maintained home, and in reality, Hannibal would almost certainly never allow it. Will suspected it was a hollow offer, but it was sweet nonetheless. Will mercifully put him out of his misery.
“Don’t worry. A new pack isn’t on my radar,” there was humor in his voice and smile, but Hannibal wasn’t amused. He was frowning now, expression distinctly troubled. Will frowned back in confusion.
“Dogs have been a constant in your life, Will.” And something about the way he said “constant” let Will know he was thinking of Will and Molly’s pack more than Will’s dogs in Wolf Trap.
Will gave Hannibal a gentle smile, “I have other constants now.”
But Hannibal clearly wasn’t satisfied with that answer, “we had dogs when I was growing up,” Hannibal put in.
In his castle, Will’s mind supplied, but he didn’t say. Hannibal had undoubtedly had staff to care for them too. Will wondered if Hannibal would even be able to name the breeds of whatever dogs they had in the kennel on his property. But Hannibal’s expression was serious as he said it, and he seemed to be treating the whole topic with a strange gravity that made Will feel unsure how to proceed.
“Ever had a pet as an adult, Hannibal?” He asked, smiling teasingly and letting fondness fill his voice, but Hannibal’s frown just deepened and his response was oddly defensive.
”It would have been impractical all things considered,” and that was an understatement. Suddenly the image sprang to mind of a blood splattered Hannibal walking his dog in his murder suit at 3 in the morning after getting back from a kill. But impracticality wasn’t the real reason and Will just kept looking at him expectantly until he continued, “and admittedly it was never something I had an interest in,” Will’s face broke into a softly triumphant smile, but it only seemed to make Hannibal more frustrated, “but circumstances can change,” he finished tightly.
Will stood, shaking his head and reaching for Hannibal’s shoulders in a gesture that was affectionate and hopefully grounding, “maybe someday, but not any day soon,” he said, meeting Hannibal’s eyes with a gentle tenderness. But Hannibal’s unhappy expression remained stubbornly unchanged. So Will upped the stakes, leaning in for a thorough, lingering kiss, making sure he poured all his gratitude and affection into it. When they broke apart, Hannibal looked a little dazed, Will was satisfied to see, but there was still something of the disquiet from earlier. It was starting to get irritating.
“What’s for dinner?” Will asked, and Hannibal frowned at the non sequitur, reluctant to change the topic, but he answered anyway, “a fish stew with fresh baked rustic bread and grilled asparagus”
“Sounds great. You have some time before you need to start?” Will knew one surefire way to wipe the concerned look from Hannibal’s face, and his cock was already showing interest at the prospect. Hannibal quickly caught his meaning and his eyes darkened in turn.
Dinner was later than usual that night.
********
They were out to drinks at a trendy wine bar, but in reality, they were stalking their next hunt who came here after work most days. The man they’d selected was a serial rapist who hid impressively well in plain sight. But he was thankfully oblivious, and confident enough in his own invincibility, not to realize when he was being hunted in turn. It was still novel watching how Hannibal worked. He didn’t bother trying to make himself invisible to the patrons of the restaurant or even their quarry himself, aware enough that he stood out no matter what he did. Instead he wore a perfectly calibrated mask of affability. The bartender, the waitress, the people at nearby tables would all remember him, could probably describe him in detail, but he’d be logged in their memory as some devastatingly charming and attractive foreigner. So much so that they’d be unlikely to even consider mentioning him to the police if they were questioned for some reason. Hannibal’s congeniality, and the fact that no one wanted to believe they were such a poor judge of character, would shield him from suspicion in the aftermath of what they planned to do more assuredly than anonymity.
And when Hannibal killed, it was a sight to behold. Hannibal moved like something otherworldly. With a cold brutality that was the stuff of nightmares. He was objectively frightening, but captivating, and when Will took his place by his side, the experience was transcendent. They had a few more days before they moved on this one and Will was already anticipating the night after. Their lovemaking always had a special edge to it in the aftermath of a kill, as though Hannibal’s monster was a bit more in control than usual. Hannibal was more reckless, less restrained, in a way that made Will desperate. Will’s skin was often littered with finger shaped bruises and bite marks just shy of breaking skin for a week afterwards. Will was reflecting on the bright red scratch marks down his back that Hannibal gave him last time as they turned down a path that took them near a temporary ice skating rink the city had set up for the holidays. And a memory assaulted Will out of nowhere.
Will hadn’t ever ice skated before, but it was something of a tradition for Molly and Walter, so he agreed to tag along. It was early days and Walter was still standoffish and distrustful of Will. Will had never had a knack for kids, and his stoicism and silence weren’t exactly strong selling points. Will had hoped it would be an easy way to help Wally get used to seeing Will as a father figure, but it had been a catastrophe from the start. The rink was crowded and smelled overwhelmingly of sweat. Lacing up the rental skates was diabolical, but the skating itself was worse. He’d assumed, for some irrational reason, that he’d have some kind of aptitude for it. When they first arrived, he’d watched judgmentally as full grown adults repeatedly flung themselves across the ice and slammed with force into the walls of the rink, unable to stop any other way. When a particularly burly guy with a beard face-planted a few feet away, he caught Molly’s eyes over Walter’s head as they sat on the bench getting ready, quirking a mocking eyebrow. But it turned out Will didn’t even have that man’s bravery. After slipping twice within his first ten seconds on the ice, Will clung to the wall like a crutch, shuffling along inches at a time as Molly and Walter skated literal circles around him. Every time she lapped him, Molly screwed her face up in an exaggerated frown that Will could only assume was a decent rendering of the scowl he was wearing.
The worst of it was when she convinced him to try skating away from the wall. She gripped both of his hands tightly, skating backwards with Wally by her side shouting encouragement. But then some hot shot who couldn’t have been more than twelve flew by at speed and Will lost his balance, collapsing gracelessly onto the ice like a baby colt. There was just silence for a stretch, then Molly and Walter were laughing. Molly was literally doubled over, tears running down her cheeks as she shook with it, while Walter was looking back and forth between them chuckling. It was the first time Will had managed to make Walter smile.
For an hour after that, they made their way around the rink together, Will setting their sluggish pace, Molly holding one hand, Walter holding the other. By the end, Will could slingshot himself across the ice and into the rink wall with the best of them.
“Tempted, Will?”
Hannibal’s voice broke through, lurching Will from his reverie. Reality returned slowly, but Will had the wherewithal to glance back at Hannibal with a smile and a huffed laugh, “yeah, sure.”
“If you would, I believe I could keep up.”
Will turned to him then, raising a questioning eyebrow, “the Chesapeake Ripper ice skates? Definitely would’ve complicated the profile if we’d known that before.”
Hannibal gave a small, indulgent smile at Will’s little joke, but continued pressing the point, “this sort of venue would be a novelty, but winters in Lithuania were frigid and brutal. In the heart of it, we would sometimes go out on the pond on our property for as long as we could stand the cold.”
The “we” in that statement made Will’s heart jump. Hannibal never mentioned his sister, but he couldn’t imagine who else it could be. “How old were you?”
“I would have been around eight the first time I tried it, but I kept it up until I left that place. I taught Mischa how as well. I’m sure this is different, but I believe I could make do,” he turned back to Will, eyes earnest, and it was so unexpected and touching for Hannibal to share this part of himself that Will seriously considered it.
He couldn’t deny that it would feel nice to glide across the ice with Hannibal, who despite his subtle deflection was probably unfairly good at it. It had been pleasant with Molly, but there hadn’t been any romance to it. When he pictured Hannibal’s strong arms around his waist, guiding Will, stopping him from falling in a way Molly never could, he could suddenly appreciate why the activity was a romcom favorite. His mind spun out an image of Hannibal turning Will on the ice before pulling him into a cold-lipped kiss, their frost tipped noses caressing one another, mouths flavored with hot chocolate from the nearby stand. And weirdly enough, that was what brought him back to earth. He couldn’t picture Hannibal choking down the processed sugar masquerading as hot chocolate that they sold at places like this, just like he couldn’t see Hannibal wearing rented skates, or huddling with the masses on the sidelines as the Zamboni came through every half an hour. Particularly not after an evening spent planning an elaborate murder. Will shook his head at the incongruence of it.
“Maybe another time,” Will said with a gentle smile. But strangely, Hannibal didn’t seem relieved by the reprieve. Instead he turned back to the rink with a frown, and Will thought for a moment he might actually argue.
But in the next breath the frown melted away and he looked up at Will placidly. “As you like, Will,” he said as he started back down the pathway to the car.
***********
They were arguing about wet towels on the floor, of all things. Hearing Hannibal Lecter complain snippily about laundry storage felt as incongruous as watching a tiger do its taxes. It was the most pedestrian moment they’d ever shared and distantly, Will couldn’t believe that it was even happening. Not so distantly, Will was annoyed to discover that Hannibal could be just as bitchy as anyone else when it came to roommate disagreements.
They were preparing dinner and the argument had Hannibal chopping onions with more aggression than usual. “Happily, we have laundry hampers in every bedroom in the house, Will. I would only ask that you do me the basic courtesy of leaving our shared spaces as you found them.”
Will was gritting his teeth to keep his voice level, taking some of his frustration out on the kale he was massaging, “and usually I do, Hannibal. It was one time. I came back from my run, took a shower, and got a call while I was getting dressed. I was coming back for it.”
”It wasn’t one time, Will. This has happened a number of times, which is why I felt it prudent to raise the issue.”
Will clenched his fist with special vigor around an unfortunate leaf of kale. When he released his grip, it fell limp and lifeless back into the collinder, “have you considered not being so damn type A about this? You’re not my keeper.”
”Indeed, I’m not. But I feel as though I am when I’m forced to clean up after you.”
”No one is forcing you to do anything, Hannibal.”
”My apologies if my cleanliness standard is slightly more exacting than that of a pack of dogs,” and that had Will rolling his eyes so hard it hurt.
He let out a groan of frustration as he transferred the rinsed and dried greens to the acacia salad bowl, “Come on Mol, give me a break ok? You just got home earlier than I expected. Anyway, speaking of shared spaces, maybe we could reconsider sorting the ingredients in the pantry by country of origin? Takes me an hour to find a jar of peanut butter in there.” Will looked up, hoping the gentle tease might defuse the situation a bit.
But when he caught sight of Hannibal, he looked as though he’d been slapped. His face was drained of color and he was wearing some watered-down version of his customary impassive mask, but it had clearly been slapped on hastily and wasn’t fully doing the job of covering up whatever tumult of emotion lay beneath. He was also as still as a statue. When Hannibal eventually returned to chopping, he was moving much more slowly and unsteadily. It took Will a half beat of bewilderment to understand what had happened, but when he did, he winced, his face instantly apologetic.
“I… shit, I’m sorry, Hannibal,” but Hannibal didn’t so much as acknowledge that Will had spoken. Will ran a hand down his face, frustrated with himself, “look, I never imagined in a million years that I’d be arguing with you about house upkeep. I think my subconscious couldn’t process the unreality of it and reached for a paradigm that made sense…Molly and I used to fight about stuff like this all the time.”
“Such things are the currency of a life shared with another, Will. Of course you spoke about them frequently with your wife.” He didn’t look up, but he didn’t need to for the accusation buried in his words to hit home. It wasn’t unfair to suggest that Will’s imaginings of a future with Hannibal lacked a certain realism. Will never pictured Hannibal actually concerning himself with the mundanities of everyday living. But Will could see that the consequence of that kind of exceptionalist thinking was to reduce a life spent with Hannibal to the stuff of fantasy or fiction. And Hannibal deserved better.
Hannibal’s eyes were still intent on his task, but his frame was so visibly tense it looked painful. And there was something distinctly vulnerable in how he dithered after he finished his chopping, resting the knife on the cutting board with undue care and brushing down his apron unnecessarily. Seeing Hannibal so unusually off kilter because of Will’s thoughtless slip of tongue had Will crossing to him and simply touching wherever he could. A reminder and reassurance for both of them. “I’ll keep my towels and clothes in the hamper. And I’m sorry, Hannibal, for being so careless,” he gave Hannibal a meaningful look, trying to catch his eyes.
But Hannibal simply nodded slightly, glancing up with a wan smile, before stubbornly looking away. Hannibal was never obvious on the rare occasion he avoided eye contact. He always managed to do it with an air of distraction, as if the task at hand were just too important to turn away from. But he had nothing to busy his hands with this time. Instead his eyes were fixed with excessive intensity on his idle fingers as they drummed on the counter. Hannibal’s upset was palpable and Will found the whole thing unbearable, so Will pulled him into a hug.
They didn’t really do this. Will used to hug Molly all the time and she’d hug him. For any reason or no reason at all. In passing in the kitchen or bathroom in the morning, when either got back home at the end of the day, after a fight, before sex. But with Hannibal it always felt too prosaic. Their connection had always been so fraught, that every brush or touch was imbued with significance, intense in its own way. When something as benign as their fingers meeting across the dinner table felt electrifying, it was hard for Will to picture enfolding Hannibal in his arms purely for comfort.
So when Hannibal stilled completely as Will pulled him close, Will thought for a second he’d misstepped. But then Hannibal melted into it, wrapping his arms around Will so tightly Will couldn’t catch his breath for a moment. It felt ridiculously nice to just hold Hannibal without agenda. Will wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but he suspected anyone other than them would have considered it awkwardly drawn out. They both seemed to feel when it came to a natural end and disentangled themselves, a faint smile on both of their faces. And Hannibal looked steady again as he went to find a skillet for the next stage of dinner. As Hannibal hummed, still smiling softly, as he heated oil in the pan, Will thought maybe he’d try hugging him more.
***********
After that, Will tried to stop responding to the construct of Hannibal that had lived in his mind for years and instead, be in the present with the man before him. And he found that the reality of Hannibal occasionally surprised him. The first time Will rolled over and went back to sleep instead of dragging himself out of bed on a weekend day, he’d expected to see some thinly veiled disapproval from Hannibal, for skipping breakfast if for nothing else. But when Will eventually resurfaced, later than he’d intended, around 11 a.m., not moments later, Hannibal was nudging open the bedroom door carrying a tray filled with warm breakfast and coffee, his smile indulgent and softly pleased as he served Will the best breakfast in bed he’d ever had.
A few days later, Will tentatively suggested a movie night. Movie nights had been a fixture of his life with Molly and while he’d never been the biggest film buff before her, he was surprised how much he missed them now. Hannibal seemed like someone who’d potentially seen an art house film once, but otherwise had no interest. And predictably, Hannibal was surprised when Will proposed it. But he was also unexpectedly enthusiastic, though he deferred to Will on the selection.
Hannibal prepared popcorn for the occasion and it wasn't the microwaveable kind that came in stiff bags that Molly used to favor. It was oil popped on the stove, flavored with some kind of specialty salt and butter that melted in the mouth and Will finished it embarrassingly quickly. Hannibal shot Will an amused, but judgment-free look, when he caught him cracking the kernels at the bottom of the bowl with his teeth and he retreated to the kitchen unprompted to make Will a fresh batch. Will had decided on Casablanca since he’d been right that Hannibal hadn’t seen much of anything. Hannibal was surprisingly captivated by it, even laughed out loud several times, much to Will’s astonished delight. As the movie faded to black, Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains ambling off together, Hannibal gave Will a satisfied smile and rose taking both of their bowls to the sink to be washed.
Will followed him, taking his place at Hannibal’s side, dish towel in hand for drying. “How’d you like it?”
”It was surprisingly clever, if a touch melodramatic.”
“Yeah, but the melodrama is what makes it romantic.”
”Ah, I didn’t realize melodrama was crucial to romance. I hope I haven’t been remiss,” Hannibal said with a slight smile.
”Please. You’re the most melodramatic person I know,” Will returned teasingly.
A comfortable silence fell, but Will could sense that there was more that Hannibal wanted to say. Eventually, he asked, “are movie nights like this something you’ve enjoyed in the past?”
Will could sense the potential danger of the question, but when he glanced at him, Will couldn’t read any jealousy or resentment in Hannibal’s face. He seemed, at least in part, to be genuinely curious.
“Yeah, not all the time, I didn’t even bother with a TV at my old place in Wolf Trap and we never had money or the stability for cable when I was growing up. But going to the movies was something I liked every now and then. It’s theoretically a way to be social without having to talk or make eye contact,” he shot Hannibal a sidelong smile.
And Hannibal smiled back as he took that in, attention apparently focused on wiping a spot from one of their wine glasses. After a stretch of silence Hannibal continued, tone purposefully casual, “maybe we could make this a standing activity then. Regular movie nights.” Hannibal dipped the glass back into the sudsy water, not so much as glancing in Will’s direction.
Will’s chest felt suddenly tight and warm and he had to take a moment before responding, “I think you’d like Citizen Kane.”
Hannibal did glance at him then, with a subtle, but soft smile. Then he handed the wine glass to Will to dry, “next time.”
***********
Then Freddie Lounds leaked Will’s wedding photos.
She probably got them from Molly’s asshole coworker, Jim, who volunteered to play photographer. Jim had a crush on Molly the size of Missouri and was probably only too pleased to witness Will’s swan dive from grace.
Will had seen the headline earlier that day and the first paragraph alone had him slamming his laptop closed with enough force he could have cracked the screen:
Can the Murder Husbands Go the Distance?
Exclusive photos, obtained by TattleCrime from an unnamed source, give readers a glimpse into the previous marital bliss of former FBI consultant Will Graham, who aided in the escape of notorious, cannibalistic serial killer, Hannibal Lecter. Will Graham’s sordid history with Lecter is well-documented by this publication. But images of a smitten-looking Graham sharing laughter and tears of joy with his former spouse beg the question how long the man who framed Graham for his crimes (link to article) and left him for dead in a massacre at his Baltimore home (link to article) can really keep the romance alive.
The only consolation was that they’d obviously managed to keep a low enough profile that Freddie had to resort to sensationalist bullshit. The whole thing was tacky and reckless with Molly’s life in a way that was unusually vindictive, even for Freddie. And Will was immediately up pacing, dreading the fallout from Hannibal.
Will approached Hannibal with wariness when he found him in the library that evening, iPad open to a picture of Will and Molly dancing on their wedding night. They were wearing matching smiles, Molly clearly shouting along to whatever song was playing, her heels long since kicked off. Hannibal seemed so consumed by the image he hadn’t registered Will’s arrival. And he continued staring at it for a long time. Too long, Will recognized worriedly.
“I thought of you constantly that day.”
Hannibal hadn’t been moving, but he somehow stilled impossibly more at the sound of Will’s voice, as though embarrassed at being caught out. “Saying your goodbyes in your mind?” His tone was deceptively casual, but there was a tremor of hurt in his voice that made Will hurt in turn.
“No. I kept thinking how much I wished you were there.”
That caught Hannibal’s attention enough that he glanced at Will, face completely unreadable.
“Basically everyone was there for Molly. Her friends. Her family. I invited a couple of guys from the docks so it wouldn’t be a total embarrassment and they were clearly shocked to be included. I couldn’t have cared less at first, but as everything started up on the day, I just kept thinking how nice it would’ve been to have one person there who knew me. And you were the only person I could think of who fit the bill.”
“Molly knew you.”
Will sighed, “she knew parts of me. I think neither of us wanted to acknowledge how little she really knew.”
Hannibal said nothing to that, turning back to the photo instead. So Will kept talking.
“You would have hated it though.”
Hannibal glanced up then with unexpected sharpness, but Will soldiered on, frowning slightly at the reaction, “store bought cake, finger food from Costco, we rented a local rec center and decorated it with streamers. The DJ was Molly’s phone and a pair of speakers. Weren’t even any flowers aside from Molly’s bouquet.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I… well, yeah. I did.”
“Then I see no reason why you’d assume that I would not have,” Hannibal responded hotly, and the anger in his voice was unnerving and confusing in equal measure. It softened as he went on, “I believe I would have liked to see you so carefree and joyful. I can’t say I’ve had the opportunity.”
And the wistfulness and sorrow in Hannibal’s voice was unbearable, “I wasn’t carefree, Hannibal. I was hiding the whole time she and I were together.”
”Well thank goodness your days of hiding parts of yourself are behind you then,” Hannibal said with a tight bitterness, meeting Will’s eyes with a pointed look.
Will frowned, unable to follow the leaps in Hannibal’s emotional state, “I felt…scraped empty after everything with us and Molly never came close to filling that space.”
Hannibal flashed him a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “did you share a first dance with your wife, Will?”
“Come on, Hannibal,” Will groaned, the panicky feeling in his chest stoking his irritation, “what does it matter?”
“Did you two have a song?” Hannibal returned levelly, ignoring Will’s attempt at redirection, and something in his eyes let Will know there would be no putting him off.
Will waited several seconds before nodding, “fine. Yeah we did.”
“What was it?”
“Just some song she loved when we first started dating,” and Will remembered how Molly had serenaded him with it in the car that first time, unabashedly off key, as Will chuckled and rolled his eyes. She’d mouthed along when they danced to it at the wedding too. Holding Will’s eyes as though every line were a sweet promise.
“You definitely wouldn’t know it. Wouldn’t like it,” Will finished.
Hannibal's expression was stony as he said, “once again, perhaps you should let me determine my own preferences. What’s the song called?”
“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal, seriously?”
But Hannibal just looked at him steadily, awaiting Will’s answer.
“The way I am, by Ingrid Michaelson.”
Hannibal was navigating to Spotify immediately and as the opening strain began, Will felt a flood of sadness that he ruthlessly kept from his face. It was acutely painful watching Hannibal listen to the song, even though Hannibal’s expression never shifted. Every line felt like a betrayal. To Hannibal and Molly both. Hannibal listened without comment and the silence lingered after the final note.
Eventually Hannibal spoke. “Take me the way I am. Some might say unconditional acceptance of all facets of one’s partner is the truest expression of love.” There was a challenge in his eyes that confounded Will.
“Well that’s certainly been true for us,” Will retorted, meeting Hannibal’s gaze with a challenge of his own. But Will hadn’t expected Hannibal’s expression to turn suddenly furious.
“And what of the rest of the lyrics? Would you expect me to help you bear the indignities of aging, to tend to your needs no matter how tiresome?”
That brought Will up short. In truth he’d never considered it, but now that he was, he couldn’t easily picture Hannibal in that role. And Hannibal obviously read Will’s answer in his expression because Hannibal’s face flashed with something uncomfortably like grief for an instant before the hurt was stubbornly wiped away, and an iciness grew in its place.
“And did you believe those vows of constancy when they came from Ms. Foster?” Hannibal asked, tone dangerous.
Will tried to control his reaction, but something must have shown because Hannibal’s expression was suddenly, chillingly, blank. Will felt completely out of control of the conversation and it was starting to make him angry.
“Is it easier for me to imagine Molly teasing me about going gray, or asking her to run to Target to pick up the shitty soap I’ve been using since I was twenty-one? Yes, Hannibal, that can’t be much of a surprise. That kind of stuff just” Will flapped his hand between them, searching for the right words, “has never been what we are,” he finished, and Hannibal actually flinched at that before he mastered himself, his eyes flinty now. Will felt a spike of panic at the reaction and rushed to complete his thought, “but she wouldn’t kill for me. She wouldn’t die for me, and I clearly wouldn’t have done either for her. I left her and I didn’t think twice about it because what you and I have is fundamental and irrevocable. Everything with Molly was…” Will rubbed his forehead in frustration, “this is like comparing an epic poem to a kid’s book.”
Hannibal paused for a moment, and when he next spoke, it was with excessive precision, as if it took effort to control his voice, “an interesting analogy as many consider epic poetry ponderous and inaccessible. Whereas I’ve always appreciated children’s stories. They’re guilelessly honest and tend to expose the truths of human nature plainly, without needless ornamentation. They’re timeless for that reason.”
Will nearly rolled his eyes, “don’t exhaust the damn metaphor, Hannibal. I love you more than I ever could have loved her, is that plain enough for you?” It still gave Will a thrill to say those words out loud. And it was usually a guaranteed way of softening Hannibal too, but this time, his face didn’t change at all. Will’s heart rate picked up, “you know this,” and Will couldn’t help how that came out as a question, “you can’t actually be worried about her after everything we’ve been through.”
Hannibal just looked at Will for a moment before turning back to the photo. “Our bond has always flourished in extremis. Our devotion to one another is written in blood and sacrifice, sanctified by the forgiveness we’ve found in our union,” he looked up at Will then, “but such is our nature. It’s a simple thing to follow one’s nature; the moth will invariably drift toward the flame, happily meeting its ruin for the sake of instinct. One could query if we’re capable of more than that. It’s a far more fitting tribute to resist your nature for one you love.”
Will wasn’t sure exactly where Hannibal was going with this, but the melancholy in his voice made Will ache. Will crossed to Hannibal and despite his earlier irritation at the direction of the conversation, he was gentle as he took Hannibal’s face in his hands and physically pulled it away from the screen, crouching down to meet his eyes. “I don’t need any more sacrifices from you, Hannibal,” and oddly, that had Hannibal stiffening further, “my time with Molly was a season. I was always coming back to you.” Will was attuned enough to Hannibal’s microexpressions to catch the infinitesimal softening in his eyes, the slight release of tension in his shoulders. He pressed his advantage, “come to bed and let me show you who I belong to?”
Will was still unpracticed enough at dirty talk that he couldn’t quite look at Hannibal as he spoke the words, and he could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. But Hannibal’s response was always worth the discomfort. It drove him wild in a way nothing else did to see Will pushing through his reticence to put his desires into words. And this time was no exception, Hannibal’s eyes darkened immediately, and his hand came up to grip Will’s face with a firmness that was just this side of painful. Will was just starting to smile, when suddenly the desire fell away from Hannibal’s eyes and his face grew thoughtful and solemn once more as he pulled out of Will’s hold and glanced back at the screen.
“Another time,” he said distractedly, lost in thought again. The rejection stung enough to breathe new life into Will’s irritation.
He rose from his crouch stiffly and turned away, “do what you like,” he threw over his shoulder as he left the room without a backwards glance.
Will climbed into bed still restless with frustration. It was over an hour before Hannibal crept softly into the room to join him, but it was much longer still before Will found sleep.