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Will wonders if he looks the same, same sunken eyes, exhausted expression, thin lips and knowing smile. His hair isn't cropped quite so far, hasn't been in years, and the rims of Lee's glasses are a little thinner. Otherwise, it's almost like looking in a mirror. He even mimics the nervous shift until Will frowns and he grins, holding out a bottle of wine with a thin ribbon tied on top.
"Long time."
"Long enough." Will replies. He doesn't take the bottle, and after a moment Lee relents, lets it return to hanging by his side as he raises an eyebrow.
"You won't let me in?"
There's a significant pause, and Will considers closing the door. His jaw works, throat clicks just audibly on a swallow and then he shakes his head in resignation and pushes the door wider, turning to move back into the house and allow Lee to make his own way inside.
The dogs swarm, curious about the newcomer who looks so much like their owner but smells nothing like him. Lee makes a faintly pleased noise and Will hears the click of the bottle being set down before the shuffle of fabric indicating the other has knelt. He doesn't look back, just walks to his bedroom and grabs the first pair of jeans he can find and a shirt from the closet. By the time he's back in the main room, rubbing his eyes of sleep, Lee has settled with his back against the closed door with three of the dogs at his side.
Millie crawls over his lap and sets her paws against his chest and Lee's expression is one of such joy that Will can't bring himself to tell him to get out and take his wine bottle with him.
"She's like Esther." he tells him, and Lee blinks before catching the dog and turning her to rest down the length of his legs, a hand coming up to rub her belly until she goes completely pliant. He laughs, and Will turns away again to go to the kitchen.
It's early, just after dawn, and he can't see a car in the driveway so he assumes Lee caught a cab. Perhaps a ploy to get Will to let him stay, and despite his best efforts to remain detached and pull from years-old anger at his brother, Will's already figuring out if he can take the couch or just stay at Hannibal's.
He pulls down two chipped mugs and flicks the kettle on, resting with his arms wide over the counter and his head ducked between. From the other room, he hears Lee murmuring to the dogs quietly, can hear the comforting sounds of his animals shifting and sniffing the visitor, getting into his space and welcoming them into their own. Lee was always excellent with dogs.
He pushes back to open the pantry for the coffee, dumps a spoon of sugar into Lee's and an extra one of coffee into his own and catches the kettle to flick it off before it can do so on its own. It hardly matters, the water's hot enough, it's been boiled before. He stirs enough for the stuff to dissolve before taking both mugs to the front room and holding Lee's out to him, fingers steepled on top so he can take it by the handle.
"Where've you been?" he asks finally, taking a sip and burning his tongue on it. He settles for leaning back against the side of the couch rather than sitting on it. Lee untangles himself from the mass of dogs and sets the coffee by the bottle of wine to dust himself off. It's ineffective but gives his hands something to do. Will's eyes track the movement and he absently brings his cup back to his lips again.
"You didn't get the postcards?"
"Not for years."
"Well I stopped sending them when you never replied." Lee raises and eyebrow and Will can't help but snort. It's more exhausted than amused, but the tension has eased between them, enough for Lee to take up the mug and move to the couch to drop himself into it.
He'd left his bag by the door, full but not overly large, and Will meditates on it a while.
"Connecticut." Lee says finally, in answer to Will's question, and the other nods. The last time he'd heard from Lee at all, he wasn't even in America. Tibet, if he remembers correctly, something to do with yoga and meditation.
"Not too far."
Lee grins, draws a knee up to rest his foot on the edge of the couch cushion.
"Closest I've been to you since you packed up and I followed."
"You heard about dad?"
"I heard."
Will nods, and for a while longer neither speak.
He hasn't shared a space with his twin for a long time, but the sensation of somehow feeling complete again hangs over him. Will wonders if this is how it had always felt but he had just grown used to it, started to take it for granted. It's odd, now, almost as though he welcomes it and wants it gone at once. He'd grown used to not missing it, to not remembering it.
Lee's last words to him, actual spoken words, suddenly weigh a little heavier.
"So why now?" Will asks, eyes still on the bag by the door.
"Seventeen years is a long time."
Will considers. "So was ten," he offers, turning back, "And twelve."
Lee just holds his hands up in surrender, his smile genuine but tired now, no longer projecting joy neither of them truly feel. He returns his fingers to holding the mug when the flat of his palm gets burnt pressing against it.
"It felt right."
"And you brought wine."
"I didn't bring whiskey." Lee points out, head tilted in amusement. Will shakes his head but can't help but smile.
"You know I can't appreciate that stuff."
Lee just clicks his tongue. "You'd think after all these years you'd be cultured."
In a way, Lee makes Will think of Hannibal, with his impeccable taste in wine and good food, his ability to pass for absolutely anyone in any situation. Lee has always been much calmer than Will as well. The similarities amuse him, that instead of following the old adage and meeting someone like his mother - or father, perhaps, in Will's case with Will's preferences - he'd gone and found someone like his brother, his best friend.
"Hannibal is trying, certainly." Will allows, taking a longer drink of his coffee now that it's cooled some, "Though he has the patience of a saint, I have yet to learn anything of value."
Lee turns to him, eyebrow raised, and draws his leg up closer, to lean his chin against it.
"Of all the things you took from me, you went with orientation."
"Statistically likely," Will replies, smiling now, "For twins."
Again they're quiet, and Winston noses his way under Lee's hand for attention. Cameo comes to Will, perhaps to show he's not been forgotten now that his clone is paying everyone else attention. And it's the dogs, really, that settle them enough to share a space. When they finish coffee, Will walks over to take up Lee's bag and offers him the bedroom.
He says he won't stay long, but he rarely had since they'd both left home. Lee is far too impulsive to stay anywhere longer than a few weeks, a month at most unless something tethers him there. Will finds it surprising enough he'd stayed in Connecticut for as long as he had - three months - before coming here.
He waves him off when Will asks why, so he doesn't ask again.
There is no call from the FBI today, as Will had been promised. Jack had guaranteed him at least a week to breathe before he returned to lectures again; the last case had set Will into a tailspin. It was lucky Lee had even caught him at home, considering how much time Will spent at Hannibal's house usually as he recovered. But the dogs needed feeding and the weather had cleared enough to allow for Will to take the boat out if he wanted.
Lee wrinkles his nose and shakes his head with a laugh when he brings it up, so Will invites him to dinner with him and Hannibal instead.
-
It's a casual affair, by Hannibal's standards, but Will can't help but smile when Lee's eyes settle on the table settings, on the room itself, and he whistles quietly, impressed. Will leaves them both to decide on which wine to treat him with - Lee had brought an offering that was graciously accepted, but he agreed it wouldn't go with the meal planned - and finds himself in Hannibal's study, leaning against his desk heavily and meditating on the dust motes by the window.
He had not seen Lee since the other had packed his bags to go. Since they had both left home, Will to college and Lee following just to get away. They had stayed in touch for years throughout, until Will had gotten a call at 3am telling him that Lee had been diagnosed with cancer and that he was starting treatment.
After that, Will's time was divided between his books and his brother. He changed schools, studied out of state so Lee would have someone to live with, a support. And for a year, they had settled into a tentative routine. The chemo had rendered Lee's cropped hair even shorter, and then it was just gone. Will had cut his own in solidarity. His eyes had grown darker, sunken, sad, and Will's had followed suit, from lack of sleep and inability to help.
After ten months, Lee stood in front of Will's door with his bags packed. He'd dropped out of the center, stopped all treatment. When Will had asked why, he'd simply said 'I refuse to watch you deteriorate with me'. And then he'd gone.
And Will had had nothing but postcards for years.
The door to the study opens and Hannibal steps in, one hand curled around the door itself, the other at his side. He tilts his head and Will nods, goes to him with a small smile.
"Your brother has quite the taste for wine."
"Something he has never been able to instill in me." Will responds, and finds Hannibal's answering smile suggesting he was about to say the same himself. He rests his weight briefly against Hannibal's shoulder, and they both make their way to the dining room.
Dinner is strangely comfortable, with Lee completely not intimidated by Hannibal's grandeur. He talks, he manages to get them both to reply, and the atmosphere warms by the time dessert is served. Will allows the two of them to enjoy the wine, supposing he'll be the designated driver for Lee until Hannibal suggests the other take the spare room for the night, always the perfect host.
There's the expected argument, the amused rebuttal, and eventual agreement. When Will suggests he do the dishes, there is no protest. When he suggests Lee helps, the other tosses a napkin at him.
It's late by the time they all retire, Will and Hannibal to their room, Lee to the spare. He takes his time getting ready for bed, folding back the covers, running his hands over the sheets with a thread count so high it was laughable.
He thinks of the conversation he and Hannibal had had when Will had left them.
"You haven't told him," Hannibal had said, opening the wine to let it breathe as Lee had rested back against the kitchen island.
"No,"
When Hannibal had looked up, Lee's eyes were unfocused and directed away. The silence drew thin before he added, "He knows."
He climbs under the covers and buries himself under them with a sigh, letting his muscles relax, his lips stretch in a smile of contentment.
"I have about a month left." he'd said, as Hannibal had passed him the glass. The other had not said anything more, just allowed the smell of the wine to waft under his nose before taking a sip. Lee had watched him enjoy wine as it was meant to be enjoyed, had felt himself smile at the fact that Will had found himself someone like Hannibal, that he was happy. That he wasn't deteriorating.
"I'll go before then."
"Don't." had come the gentle request, and Hannibal had looked up. "You will destroy him faster if you let him imagine what happens to you. Allow him to see."
Lee hadn't said anything, and Hannibal had set his glass down before leaving the room.
And now he rests, the cool sheets warming to his skin and wonders - how much happier would Will have been had Lee never started treatment? If he had allowed Will to just let him go.