Chapter Text
"Hannibal, pick up your feet when you walk." Uncle Robert intoned crisply, his own shoes dragging through the Louisiana dirt. The rubbing against the debris had worn down his outer soles far more than it did to Hannibal's shoes. They taught him to walk in the orphanage, how to stand. Uncle Robert could take a lesson, Hannibal knew that the reason why he reprimanded him on it was because he couldn't place him when he walked out of sight, so he tried to err his gait so he would hear the distracted shuffle of steps.
"My apologies, Uncle."
There was no further discussion on the subject, nor was there any extra sound made. Robert Lecter's mouth pursed together tightly as he picked up pace.
"Is there a reason why we're going here to get Roxanne fixed? I'm sure any shop would have more qualified workers."
Roxanne was Uncle Robert's motor boat, he was trying to get her prepped for another vacation he had been conspiring to have in the summer with Lady Murasaki, (and conveniently) leave him alone to his devices.
"You know why." Uncle Robert drawled. "Because the rates they charge service is always too damn high."
Not with how deep your pockets go.
Tongue in cheek they walked on. Robert on occasion clearing his throat roughly, trying to catch Hannibal out of his mulling.
The area itself was soggy, the dirt wasn’t drenched, but it still clumped together from the passed rain. It was difficult to discern the rain from the usual wet smell of the city. At first it all smelled of overflowing sewage, but eventually his nose became more aware of differentiating odors.
“You know, we could probably get your car fixed for a decent price as well.”
Hannibal didn’t want anyone’s paws in his automobile. Especially someone who couldn’t get employment anywhere other than a boat yard. His uncle might have made his fortune with pinching pennies, but paying a professional to perform their trade was hardly a squalid investment.
Eventually the two reached the gates of the proprietorship, a gaunt individual stood at the mouth of the entrance, newspaper crinkled under his elbow.
“You Lecter?” He asked. Hannibal could smell his cigar ridden breath from where he stood; he fought off the instinct to pinch his nostrils together.
“I am.” Uncle Robert nodded, trying his best to give off the aura of a benefactor. Even this man’s underdeveloped olfactory receptors could probably smell the money roll off of him.
“This your kid?” He motioned to Hannibal, who neither shrunk nor hesitated to reply.
“Nephew.”
"You don't have to correct everyone Hannibal." Robert mentioned.
"Funny name." The walking nicotine addiction grunted, repositioning a folded copy of the Weekend Bugle under his armpit.
He had a number of retorts, one look at his uncle however told him to hold off.
"Who do you recommend for the job?" Robert asked, eyes wandering into the boat yard as if to pick out who would have their fingers jammed in the 'engine-that -couldn't'. Roxanne, as Hannibal had come to understand, had a tendency to pull off feats only spoken of in the bible. Where she would cease motion, then resurrect some three hours later only to sputter into silence once again.
"Pers'nally." The thin man confessed. "I'd go with Will. He gets his shit done, can fix up yer boat real nice."
Robert grimaced at the language, not because of its lack of purpose, but more on the side that he didn't understand what was said. He never did quite adjust to it.
The proprietor however didn't see it that way, worried that he was about to lose his side project he called inside the yard.
"Graham! Get yer rear over here!"
It didn't take long for the called worker to hobble over to the three. He was about Uncle Robert’s height, thinner, though to be fair, it was hard to make a fair assessment due to the amount of layers he had on. The most distinct feature were the pair of spectacles pinching the bridge of his nose, enlarging his moss colored eyes, making him look downright owlish.
However the eye contact that he kept briefly quickly became distant. He was watching the background as opposed to them. Anxiety?
Eventually his eyes dropped to his hands as he wiped the grease off with a matted handkerchief.
“Graham can fix anything, ‘ad him workin’ here for two months now – never ‘ad a better worker.” Howard (as it was embroidered hurriedly on his sleeve), the boss grunted, patting Graham solidly on the back, to his credit, Graham didn’t move an inch.
“So what do you think Mr. Graham? It seems your employer thinks you’d be cut out for the job of tending to my Roxanne.”
Graham’s face soured, for a pure second Hannibal thought the man would tell his uncle to ‘shove it’, as the Americans put it. But the bearded man bit his tongue and answered as honestly as he could muster: “Probably.”
“Probably?” Uncle Robert laughed. “There is uncertainty?”
Graham took off his glasses and pretended to clean them to let him disconnect from the conversation further. This man disliked, or at least avoided social interactions as much as he could.
“I have not seen your boat. I can’t say much until I do.”
Uncle Robert smiled, so much so that his teeth peeked through his lips.
“Perhaps you should. Would you be willing to come tomorrow after your shift to take a look at her?”
Graham swallowed uncomfortably, throat clenching.
“That would be alright.” He intoned curtly, once again looking away. It was a far too often action to attribute to a lack of manners.
Uncle Robert nodded contently. “We shall expect you at 7:00, 2 Agincourt Avenue. It’s one of those corners.” He demonstrated, by slapping his hand against the other palm. Graham jolted a bit at the sound.
The worker nodded slowly.
* * *
Plans are meant to be so. Plans, once charted, followed through upon. But it seems that in terms of William Graham that wasn’t the case. Hannibal just trampled into his room after classes when the phone rang. Both his aunt and uncle were out, conflict arose whether or not to pick up the call. He didn’t have any colleagues, nor was expecting anything for himself.
Despite this he entered the office next to him at picked up the receiver. “Lecter residence.”
“Hello, this is William Graham” Hannibal recognized the name. “Hello Mr.Graham.” He acknowledged.
“Yes – it turns out I can’t make it tonight at seven. I can however come now – would it be reasonable?”
Hannibal measured his words. “Yes. I believe so.”
“Good.” Graham hung up, leaving Hannibal holding the dead end for a moment.
It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar gray pickup wheeled into the driveway. The teen went outside to meet the mechanic, only to be rushed half way there by a peach colored creature. Which he could only assume wanted a piece of his face with the tongue hanging out of its mouth. He still wasn’t used to people keeping their dogs off leash. Didn’t matter if this particular dog could barely reach his shin.
“Mason.” Called Graham, clicking his tongue against his teeth. The dog stopped and bee-lined for his master.
“Don’t mind him. He’s only a threat to pigeons and your choice of rodent.” He reassured, scratching the dog fondly behind the ear. Then pat his rear and the dog oddly enough obeyed without hesitation.
“Where’s the boat?”
Direct, to the point. There wasn’t any fuss, or small talk about the weather being pleasant. It’s probably what impeded on the man’s career success.
“In the garage.” He nodded to the large separate structure on the side. Walking forward he led him inside the containment, with a flick of the switch the lights spurred into use. Yellow light shining down on the vehicles, most covered with cloth to prevent dust accumulating on top of them.
“How much do you charge Mr. Graham?”
The mechanic made a dull noise at the back of his throat as he observed Roxanne in all her antiquated (as far as modern technology saw her) glory.
“Your uncle pays my boss a fee. I get two percent added to my salary. Call me Will.”
“Alright. Will.” Hannibal tested the name, it became less formal, but with man it didn’t bother him.
Looks like his Uncle Robert didn’t need to be present to pay. If you could even call two percent pay. Will leaned over the boat to get a look at her. Climbing inside he observed the engine, unbolting the top to look inside.
“It would be cheaper to buy a new boat.”
Hannibal joined the other man, sitting on the opposite side to peak at what he was analyzing.
“What’s wrong with it?”
Will smirked lightly and tilted his head communicating ‘what isn’t?’.
“These parts aren’t in circulation any more. You have a relic.”
Hannibal stopped himself before he scoffed. “My uncle is sentimental when it comes to the matter of his boat. He is unwilling to part with it at all costs.”
Will eyed Hannibal slightly below the face. “That won’t save it. The engine needs to be replaced soon.”
So he could fix it, temporarily at least.
“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Hannibal pointed out. Will’s eyes met his briefly, then fell straight back to the motor.
“See too much, don’t see enough. It’s hard to concentrate when all you can think is; are those whites really white? Or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So yeah, try to avoid eyes as much as possible.”
Hannibal wasn’t deterred by the response. Though this did rule out a portion of autism, or at least what he had read on it previous to this. If anything, he hadn’t met anyone who was this observant of others – his uncle could claim that his powers of deduction had helped him amass the fortune that he had, but really it lay with a good choice of broker and a hand of steel.
“How long have you been in this profession?” He ventured, it wasn’t often he was engaged with a conversation lately. Might as well take advantage of the moment given to him.
“All my life.” Will replied softly.
“Really?” Hannibal took a look at Will’s hands. There were worn down, but there weren’t as much as the other mechanics he’d seen.
“The callouses on your hands say otherwise, it looks more like you’ve had a job that required writing more than holding a wrench.”
“I took off time for college.” Will excused. He didn’t seem offended, he was preoccupied with his work – head lost somewhere between the power head and the exhaust of the boat.
“Why the change of heart?” Hannibal pried, leaning in to look at what Will was doing, curiosity seeping in. He tilt his head so that he wouldn’t block the light.
Will looked at him, for the first time making eye contact. It ended just as quickly as it came.
“What do you mean?”
“To get an education and not act upon it.” The teenager supplied.
Will thought briefly before responding.
“Things change. You might find yourself wanting to deviate from your interest in medicine.”
Hannibal lifted his gaze from the engine to the man. “How can you tell I’m medically inclined?”
Will reached for a screw driver from the tool box he brought in with him.
“You volunteer at a hospital, your name tag was still on your coat yesterday.”
The answer had been so simple it almost disappointed him. His assertion had hit him when he didn’t expect it, he almost expected some sort of insight into his behavior. Psychology was a field he was curious in it. But this was just his own sloppiness making itself known.
He usually removed the coat room label when he got dressed. But with the vigor that Uncle Robert fetched him it escaped his mind.
“You enjoy it?” Will asked, placing the handle of the screw driver in his mouth as he lined up the cover, and reattached it.
“Yes. It’s an interesting profession.”
Will made a strange hum, causing Hannibal to furrow his brow.
“What?”
“Most people talk about much they want to help people. Something tells me that’s not why you like it.”
Hannibal let that slide, he knew better than chasing that thought. But he had to say, on a level he impressed him. Despite his position he could read others fairly well.
“Did you find out what’s wrong with it?”
Will nodded, putting away his tools.
“The spark plugs are damaged, wires too. How long has it been unable to start?”
Hannibal thought back, it hadn’t been in use his entire stay with his uncle.
“More than a year.” He answered truthfully.
“Waited a while to get it fixed.” Will concluded, picking up his tools he jumped out of the boat.
“Where are you going?” Hannibal queried, following suit himself. Both exited the garage, locking it for precautionary measures.
“Picking up replacements.” Will looked down at his wrist to look at the time that had elapsed since his arrival. “You’re welcome to join me so that your uncle knows what costs to cover.”
Hannibal looked at the pickup with distaste. “Don’t believe there’s any room left.”
“Could always stick you in the back. Or get rid of some limbs.” Will joked. Hannibal’s lips pressed tighter together, resisting to show his appreciation for the somewhat cruel humor.
Barks echoed as Mason ran to his master with as much vigor that Hannibal seen Franklin Froidevaux consume a block of cheese.
“I prefer the front if it’s all the same to you.”
Will nodded in agreement.
In retrospect, he should have been more prepared for the speech his aunt and uncle would give him about getting into cars with strangers, but if he was honest – he had no fear that he could probably dislocate the man’s jaw faster than he could draw a knife or gun. Besides, Will wasn’t an aggressive, or especially persuasive persona.
Jumping in the front seat, Mason followed suit – lounging on him. Hannibal petulantly tried to roll the dog off. Being in close quarters with an animal had never been on his list of favorite past times. Especially for his sense of smell.
“Just toss him. He won’t mind.” Will commented as he started the car.
Hannibal tried to do as was suggested, however the dog didn’t budge, it purposefully stayed put – the second attempt earned a squeaky growl. Will looked at the mutt with a waned glance, the dog scooted off his lap. But it did sit primly between the two, muzzle straight ahead.
Hannibal didn’t know what he had earned its distaste – especially with such limited interaction.
“Seatbelt.” Will directed as he stretched the gray strap over him and into the lock. Shuffling his hands to the wheel he waited until Hannibal complied.
“A bit cautious aren’t you?” Hannibal teased, he had every intention of following through, until Will said it. Now either it was teenage rebellion, or just his own nature peeking through that he didn’t want to do it.
“It’s the law.” Came the blunt reply, Will watched him steadily through his thick frame glasses.
“And because it’s the law, it must be carried out?” Hannibal asked, pulling the seat belt on, Will chuckled as he started the car.
“Ideally?” He looked at the teenager next to him. “Yes.”
Backing out of the moon shaped drive way, they got on the road. Will didn’t turn on the radio, nor did he do anything significant to relax within the vehicle. There weren’t any personal effects in the car either. Some people kept photos or hanging effects off the mirror. The only thing that Hannibal noticed that was misplaced was the map book hazardously tossed underneath the glove compartment when he got into the car.
“So why do you hold to the law? Surely someone of your profession is grayer on the matter.”
Will judged what he said, and after a deliberately sharp turn responded. “Wouldn’t you be? Say a patient needs a transplant, do you let him die because he’s on a waiting list? Or do you go through other means?”
“Redirecting the question towards me isn’t going to earn you a tip.” Hannibal joked, it was a bit childish, but one could hardly blame him for that.
“I don’t need anything from your piggy bank.” The corners of Will’s mouth twitched upwards as he said this. That action alone inspired a laugh to bubble out Hannibal’s chest. Mason moved away on instinct.
“There is no boar bank.” Hannibal said through his snickering.
“Boar bank?” Will’s question thickened Hannibal’s laughter. Whatever the reference was to, it flew over Will’s head with ease. He had a teenager crumbled in the front seat and he had no way of knowing how to see if he’d burst into another array of merriment.
“Which field do you want to specialize in?” Will asked, in attempt to change the subject.
“I aim to be a surgeon.” Hannibal replied, composing himself. It was rare that he should laugh in the presence of others. William was easier to communicate with, nor was he excessively intrusive, he stayed at a distance, personally speaking. Most people he knew tried to introduce themselves as much as possible. Will sat back, let the silence lay where incessant gibbering on the weather would have taken place.
The ride to the shop was fairly uneventful. Mason did try to take a finger of his when he undid his seat belt when the parked. The dog was a nuisance. It was then when he learned that he wasn’t Will’s only dog. There was also Tiberius, Winston, Gable, Curie and Sodium. The small army of canines waited for him every day, while helping themselves to the remains of his home. Hannibal’s mental image of Will’s residence all worked up to be a massive tumble of scraps and hair.
Though he should have guessed that he had more than one, considering the way his clothes smelt.
“How do you feed them?”
Will shrugged as if uncaring to the implication. “I manage to.”
There wasn’t anything left for him so it seemed, Will Graham was hungry. Hannibal could relate to the feeling.
The search for spark plugs turned out to be a much more troublesome effort than Hannibal theorized. First it involved in confirming, re confirming, if the part was in stock with the clerk in the front. Hannibal was impressed with Will’s patience with the teen, who was at most a year younger than Hannibal himself.
“Look man, I don’t know. I mean we used to, but that was a few months ago!” He couldn’t quite meet Graham’s eyes, keeping his own downcast. Wasn’t this a turn around?
Will cheeks caved in. Trying to keep calm Mr.Graham?
Hannibal leaned against the counter trying to look like he could be doing ten other more important things. It wasn’t far from the truth.
“You have them. You keep glancing below the counter whenever you mention them. It’s a pain to do paperwork for parts that are at least five years out of circulation, lets get this over with.”
The boy’s mouth hung open, trying to form a justification. Hannibal’s reaction was one of sheer satisfaction, after having the pest jerking them off for about fifteen minutes be left with no out was justified. Though this was yet another correct assumption that Will seemed to pull out of thin air. Picking up the parts, sliding them on the counter, and went to the back to get the necessary forms.
“How did you know?”
Will spun the package in his hands to get a look at it in his hands. “I used to come by this shop a lot. I know what they have on a usual basis. But even if I didn’t, it was pretty simple to tell he was lying.”
It was simple. However Hannibal knew that his uncle would never catch on. Neither would anyone else he knew. They’d take it at face value.
“You are wasted as a mechanic Mr.Graham.” Hannibal uttered as he looked at the condiments offered. Many synthetic flavors of gum, along with about thirteen different assortments of candy bars.
“Who in your mind would I be if I wasn’t?” Will scoffed.
Hannibal turned to him. Observing how the older man seemed to steel himself off, trying to seem unreadable, as if not curious as to what he had to say.
“Something other than.” He replied, he knew it wasn’t an answer, wasn’t meant to be.
* * *
They arrived at the house soon after. Parts in hand, and Mason locked in the car. Hannibal was still running over the question, what would Will be? He could take quite a few guesses on the subject, all could easily fall flat on their figurative faces. In a way the answer that he wanted to give was, ‘like me’.
Or at least share similar perspective.
“Is your door usually open?” Will enquired, catching Hannibal successfully out of his thoughts, his eyes shooting for the heavy wooden door should be. In its place was a hall of light, contrasting to the diming light of the outside. He moved quickly, running towards it. The small car that belonged to his aunt was parked, so she was home. It didn’t matter if she just came home, or was in the process – she wouldn’t leave the front open for any reason.
“I told you, you can have anything in the house- there’s nothing”
“I want the codes to the safe in the living room.”
“I don’t know those!”
The hair on Hannibal’s neck rose at the distress in her voice. He quickly, and as quietly as possible removed his shoes to catch the intruder off his game.
“You. What are you doing?” Raising up his gaze he saw the disguised wonder pointing pistol in his direction. So much for his cat like grace. Could rush him, with how much the gun shook he’d never connect the first bullet to anything vital. Still the distaste for the idea that he could get damaged with a pea shooter such as this brought up all sorts of resenting moods.
He slid across the stone floor to his aunt, who immediately welcomed him into her arms. She was safe, that much he was content with.
“You have no idea who you are dealing with.” Hannibal warned. He could get out of this, all he needed to do is find the burglar’s weak side. Then he could strike upwards, and disarm the man with a single blow below his hold of the firearm.
“I’d be careful with how you mouth off. You know, I see punks like you every day. Rich, and so goddamn arrogant.” Hannibal’s eyes caught the movement of gray at the doorway, using his peripheral vision he could discern what he was sure was Will’s coat moving by the entrance.
He refocused his eyes on the invader, who was still going on about the values of the avaricious american adolescents. In all honesty, if Hannibal wasn’t going to end his life, a burst vein might. If anything he would be doing a service.
“I’d be careful and consider your next move.” Will ground out. Hannibal could hear his own tone be played back at him, his eyes rounded. Will stood behind the masked figure, a steel pipe in hand, pressing against the back of the man’s head. It could very easily be mistaken for a gun. It also gave Will the distance he needed if it didn’t work out.
“Who is this?”
“Does it matter?” Will drawled a little. His words slow, lazy as if he had decided on his elimination from the start. A shiver ran through Hannibal as he watched it unfold. He saw the reality of Will Graham against the delusion that he crafted before their interactions. It was safe to say he favored this version far more.
The burglar tried to turn his head to get a look at his attacker, Will responded by pressing the pipe harder against the skull.
“Drop you weapon.”
There was hesitation at first, but he followed through, bending down he placed the pistol to the ground and straightened his back, hands held in the air. There was something professional about this. Usually people when confronted with this situation panicked, or got their orders out of place. But Will kept himself under control, neither his movements nor his voice wavered. He had an experienced hand in this, Hannibal could tell. Quite a bit more than he did. A coil started to wind in Hannibal’s chest, he wanted to explore what Will could do. What he did.
“What kind of gun has a diamet-“ He never got to finish before Will smacked him with the edge of the tube, making it whistle as he brought it down. The thief never had a chance, he crumpled to the ground in a mass.
The pipe made connection with the floor, letting Will lean on it.
“Are you two fine?”
The teen was the first to speak up. “Yes.” Lady Murasaki stroked the side of his head, nodding. She was shaking, trembling against him, trying to find balance to restore her center.
“Listen, you’ll need to call the police.” He pushed the gun away further from the burglar as if expecting him to wake up and reach for it. Odds are by the sound of the way that the pipe connected with his cranium he wouldn’t be getting up. If he was lucky. If not, then his fate rested with Hannibal, and his curiosity. Medically speaking.
“Of course.” His aunt hastily agreed. Tears welling up in her eyes, the reaction that she was holding back had finally started to appear. And inversely, Will Graham looked like he was ready to dissipate into the evening. Not staying for the police looked a lot like avoidance. Hannibal’s own theories started to materialize, on a possible criminal record, on a possible problem with the law. That itself fueled his own reaction.
Standing up he stretched out his hand, and expectantly waited to the tube. Will looked between him and the weapon he was grasping. It took a moment, but he slowly reached out and handed it to him. As if uncertain if he could trust him with it. The transference of power was enough to draw an internal satisfaction so great Hannibal had to physically suppress so it wouldn’t appear on his face.
“It’s probably best if you weren’t here when we do.”