Chapter Text
Will loved the little steam train ride from beginning to end, though he was less certain about posing for the souvenir photograph.
The photographer had placed the two babies between the older boys and as soon as he realized he would be separated from Hannibal, Will began to whine.
"Say 'stinky feet'!"
"Stinky feet!" Eli and Steven roar gleefully while Malcolm stares, opened mouth. Sensing an opening, Will pulls himself up and over the back of the railway carriage. The adults watch in horror, as though in slow motion, the baby's upper half teeters over the seatback.
"Grab him!"
Hannibal and Francesca simultaneously run towards the train, arms outstretched.
"Got 'em!" Eli yells proudly wresting the wailing baby back to safety.
"Got' em!" Steven echoes, putting an arm around Will's back and getting head butted for his trouble. The older boy's cherubic face registers shock before he lets loose a banshee cry. Frightened, Malcolm adds his cries to the melee while Hannibal and Francesa hurriedly gather-up their brood and attempt to bring order to chaos. Hannibal takes Will into his arms, pacing and jiggling for dear life, while Francesca soothes their crying children.
"You're such a baby!" Eli observes with seven year old scorn.
"Am NOT!"
" Who wants popcorn?" Francesca asks before things escalate any further.
"Meee!" Eli yells. "Pink popcorn!"
Steve shoots his brother a sour look." Me!" He growls sullenly.
"Eeee!" Will squeals, safe in Hannibal's embrace. "Peee peee!"
The older boys look at one another before dissolving into giggles; their feud already forgotten.
Francesca makes a face. "Shoot! I forgot about little booger! Malci doesn't mind not eating it, but your little one looks like he's not going to take 'no' for an answer."
"Pink popcorn! Pink popcorn!" The older boys chant, running towards the popcorn kiosk like orcas zeroing-in on a pod of dolphins. The adults grab their things to follow.
"Can we each get one?"
"Nope, one to share," Francesca replies predictably holding out a five, but pulls it away before Eli can snatch it."How many ones should you get back?"
"Two! "
"Good job!" Francesca hands the boy the bill. "Don't open the package until you get back!" They call after the excited boys.
"We knoooooow," they chime in unison.
Hannibal and Francesca collapse onto a nearby bench, their babies on their laps, and monitor the boys in line. Within minutes, Malcolm has nursed himself to sleep, but Will, over-tired and over-stimulated whines unhappily, rubbing his face against Hannibal's chest. All offers of a bottle, Cheerios, and blueberries are rejected; Will is clearly holding out for pink popcorn and pink popcorn alone. Hannibal checks the older boys' status; still only halfway through the long line. "Let's go for a little stroll," he is about to suggest, when he notices Will's attention is absorbed elsewhere.
A family has come to sit on the next bench over; mother, father, and two young children. Hannibal smiles, watching his baby track their actions like a hawk. The boy is sloppily eating from a box of popcorn while his younger sister munches a churro. Hannibal studies Will. The baby's rosebud mouth quivers involuntarily, as though he's savoring bites of phantom food.
"Mooom! That baby is staring at me!"
"Aww! How cute! He likes you!"
Hannibal self-consciously turns Will to face the other direction, but the baby is having none of it. He twists and squirms until he is back in his previous position then nearly dives out of Hannibal's lap when the half-filled popcorn box falls to the ground. Hannibal leaps to his feet and strolls over to the boys in line.
"Hi Will!" Stevie smiles at the baby who glares down at him before burying his head in Hannibal's neck.
"Don't mind him, he's a little cranky."
"Mmmmm," the baby grumbles, alternatively chewing his fingers and sucking his thumb as Hannibal walks him around, pointing out tiny sparrows collecting bits of popcorn, pretzels, and Goldfish dropped by visitors.
"Look! See the birdies?"
"Eh, eh, eh!" The baby replies, shaking his head quickly back and forth.
Hannibal suppresses a sigh and rubs the boy's back as he consults his watch; they've been here nearly two hours, but it feels like ten. Time to go home.
They return to Francesca who is gently swaying as they pat their sleeping baby. "You might not want to be here when they get back."
"No...I think it's important that children learn that they can't always get what they want."
Francesca snorts and looks meaningfully at the child in Hannibal's arms. Will's bottom lip is pushed out and he's squirming to be released, bent on investigating the nearby bounty of spilled popcorn. "Okay Mick Jaeger...but don't say I didn't warn you."
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Where the hell are we?!
Hannibal is practically jogging as he pushes Will's stroller down the crowded pathway, searching for an exit. Another dead end?! Damn!
Strapped in his stroller, Will is giving new meaning to the term meltdown.
Okay...turn here...shit! This place is set-up like a casino!
"Almost there sweetheart!" He calls in a sing song voice, more for the benefit of the families they're whipping past than for Will; Will is far beyond the reach of comfort or reason by this time.
So this is what a panic attack feels like...good to know!
"Leaving?" A uniformed worker calls as they whirl past.
"Trying!" Hannibal stops, and laughs mirthlessly, he knows he must look psychotic.
The woman grins." Keep on this path, turn left...when you see the flamingos keep right and you'll see the exit."
"Thank you!"
Hannibal thinks he hears a faint "you're welcome" but he can't waste time with niceties; Will is apoplectic.
"Almost there, almost there!" Hannibal self soothes, trying not to mow down distracted toddlers who stray across his path. "Sorry! Excuse me! Sorry!" He knows families are shooting him dirty looks, but right now, his whole focus is on the red-faced baby in his stroller. Pink popcorn! The devil's instrument!
Will gasps, and chocks as he screams, his little vocal chords sore and swollen from so much crying. Hannibal pauses briefly to un-strap the baby and pull him into his arms; it's a bit tricky to cradle Will while pushing the stroller, but he can't bear the thought of not trying everything to soothe the child.
"Hold on sweetheart...almost there..." Hannibal realizes he's been speaking in Lithuanian and forces himself to switch to English. "Such a good boy! Sweet baby! Let's get you home!" Where the fuck are those flamingos!
Hannibal turns a corner and could sob with relief, he's never seen a more beautiful sign in his life.
EXIT
He sprints over, rudely pushing past a line of people exiting through the turnstile and rams the stroller through the handicap gate. "Pardon me!" He yelps, hoping no patients or colleagues are here to witness this debacle.
Hannibal reaches his car and opens the back passenger door, but Will resists being placed into his car seat, he grips Hannibal like a baby sloth.
"Okay, okay little one, " the man murmurs, hoping Will will calm down in the confines of the car. "Papa will hold you... I'm not going anywhere."
Taking the insulated bag with him, Hannibal settles onto the backseat with Will on his lap.
As Will's cries quiet, Hannibal is shocked at how swollen the baby's eyes and face are. Could he have been stung by a bee? Hannibal kisses the top of Will's sweat drenched head while he looks for any signs of a insect bite. None...just a temper tantrum. Just...Ha! What a joke!
Will's damp hair stands-up in tiny spikes and tight, wooly curls; it tickles Hannibal's lips as they caressingly touch the baby's head. "Oh....baby boy...it's alright...it's alright."
Clasping the child to his chest, Hannibal pulls the top off the lukewarm bottle and shakes it, before gently pulling Will down and into the crook of his arm. "How about some milk? Hmm?" The man waggles the bottle enticingly.
Will whines and shakes his head, but his movements are sluggish and he isn't resisting his supine position. He looks up into Hannibal's face, his eyes squinty with displeasure but he's whining rather than screeching. Progress!
"Yes, yes, yes...that's better...it's alright, " Hannibal strokes Will's damp hair and presses kiss after kiss to the baby's hot, wet cheeks. Will stares into Hannibal's face for a moment before opening his rosy mouth. "Mak!"
Hannibal's smile broadens as he brings the nipple to the boy's lips, feeling a tug when Will latches on. "That's right...have a drink...papa will hold you, he's not going anywhere."
Will stares into Hannibal's eyes as he drinks and finally, the little body begins to relax.
The car is quiet now except for the steady sound of the baby sucking and his labored breathing. Every so often, Will pops his milky lips off the nipple to breathe through his mouth.
"Poor little stuffed-up nose," Hannibal coos. "You'll have a nice bath when he get home, and then we'll phone auntie...I'm sure they're worried about you, even though they'll probably tell your papa 'I told you so.'"
Will blinks and then slowly, cautiously, brings a small pink hand up to Hannibal's face.
Unaccountably, the man feels tears prick his eyes as the boy lightly touches first his cheek, then his chin, then the tip of his nose. When Will touches his lips, Hannibal kisses the diminutive fingers. Will's smile curls briefly around the nipple before he resumes suckling while exploring his foster father's face. It's an intimate experience, feeling the feather-light touches of a baby's hand, knowing that they've placing their trust in you.
"Who could ever give you up sweetheart? I know I never could. I want to be your papa for the rest of my life."
Will smiles again, as though he understands every word Hannibal is saying and the man feels his heart clench. If he's not placed with me permanently what is going to happen to him...to me?
The baby's hand drops away; the bottle is nearly empty, and his eyes are heavy. Hannibal pulls Will into his arms and goes around the other side to place him into his car seat. Will awakens and whines, already missing the warmth of the man's embrace but soon settles when a fleecy blanket is tucked around him. Hannibal kisses the baby's cheek one last time, and quietly shuts the door.
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Will is still out cold when they return home so Hannibal carries the car seat into the nursey. Five o'clock. Nearly time to start dinner. Hannibal closes the nursery door. He can nap like this for now. The man goes into the kitchen. What was I thinking?! Going on this outing the day before our first in-home visit?
Luckily there is still plenty of food left from his friends' visit so Hannibal, still in his shoes and overcoat, stands in front of the open frig and grazes. If he has a bad night tonight...no...don't think like that! Think positive!
Hannibal wanders over to the living room and flops onto the couch, too tired to even move. Listlessly, he rolls his head and looks around the room. Pretty clean, but I need to do some laundry before...before...
Hannibal is asleep before he can even finish the thought.
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A thousand miles away a young woman is calling her sister's cell; a strange man answers.
"Is Lacey there?"
"Sorry, you got the wrong number."
"You don't know Lacey? Lacey Graham?"
"Never heard of her, sorry," the man replies and hangs-up.
Discouraged, the woman shivers in the damp night air and gazes up into the sky; a full moon's round face peers out through a wispy bank of clouds.
Rumpelstiltskin moon... that's what Lace always called a moon like that.
The woman pulls hard on her glowing cigarette, a chill darting down her spine. She tries not to think about how a drink would help take the edge off. Jesus, she was always such a bitch to me...telling me Rumpelstiltskin would hunt little girls on nights like this...was probably outside our window this very minute licking his fangs.
The woman shivers again and tosses her half-smoked cigarette onto the gravel. Rubbing her gooseflesh, she walks back into the comforting warmth and bustle of the cafe. That was just a story...I'm not that helpless little girl anymore. One day at a time...like it says in the Big Book.
"Any luck?"
"No...but it's probably an old number. Shit! Now I'm gonna have to call my mom."
The other waitress grimaces sympathetically. "Gotta do what you gotta do to see your baby boy!"
"Yeah," the young woman's raises stormy eyes, whose blues and grays kaleidoscope with her thoughts. "I need to see my baby...haven't seen him in...well it's been a long time." She's ashamed to admit to the other woman she's not certain how long it's been.
"I'm sure you will! Oh, honey? Can you grab table three? I gotta go start another pot of decaf. "
"Sure," the young woman smiles; keeping busy is good. Keeping busy pushes the hurt away just that little bit longer; long enough to hopefully keep the inner voices and a drink at bay.
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That night, one thousand miles away, a baby opens the stormy blue eyes he's inherited from his mother, turns his head on soft jersey sheets, sighs, and falls back asleep, instinctively knowing he is finally in a place where it is safe for him to do so.