Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It was chilly, wherever he was. From the lack of sound and ever-so-faint musty smell, he figured he must be in a basement. He could tell that it was well-maintained and regularly cleaned space, but it was still a space where you put something until you needed it for later. It wasn’t as cold as it was outside so there had to be heat coming from somewhere, but it was still cold enough to give him goosebumps. Whoever had taken him had also taken his coat, scarf, and gloves, which sucked, but at least his feet were still in socks--thermal socks, thank goodness--and shoes.
Occasionally he would hear a creak or footsteps overhead, which meant that he wasn’t alone in the building. He could hear nothing else, except for a bird singing, at one point. Seeing was a non-issue, since he couldn’t see. He’d been blindfolded well and securely and he had yet to manage to get it off. He’d woken up that way and his first jolt of fear on waking had been that whomever had taken him had taken his eyes.
There was most likely no shortage of people ready and willing to do that. Thanks to Freddie Lounds, he’d become known as “Killer Catcher Will Graham--one look at a crime scene and he knows all their secrets!” He’d only been working with the BAU and Jack Crawford for six months, but the word was out. Two killers had recently staged crime scenes so out there and patently disturbed that Will had been able to classify them as cries for attention and/or help from deeply needy and twisted souls. The last man they’d caught had actually asked if he, Will, thought he’d done a good job of his last kill.
Will had been unable to eat or sleep for about two and a half days after that, and Jack had become so concerned that he’d driven Will to the hospital to see he was cared for. Will could tell the psychiatrist he’d talked to had found him fascinating, so after a week he’d checked out AMA. No, Dr. Wallace wasn’t going to be able to dig his fingers into Will’s brain anymore.
The most infuriating thing about the whole experience was that someone had forgotten to give Wallace and his staff the NDA’s that were supposed to be given out anytime someone from the Bureau was checked into a non-governmental facility. The paper on Will that had appeared a month after he’d left Dr. Wallace’s tender care had been upsetting, to say the least. What had really bugged him had been the public interest in it. If a psychology paper could be said to have gone viral, then that one certainly had. There was talk of adding a new diagnosis to the DSM because of that stupid paper, and Will was thankful that only a few people outside of the Bureau had been able to work out the subject of it. He’d been “John Smith” in the paper, but people at the Bureau who’d read it had been able to figure it out who “Mr. Smith” was. A few of them had been some of his students, and since then, all of his students had been treating him as if he were something fragile.
The guy who’d taken him hadn’t treated him that way. He’d been tackled from behind on an empty city street, wrestled to the ground, and injected with something. He’d woken up blindfolded, handcuffed, and secured to a chair in a basement. He’d not been gagged, so that argued that there was no one near enough to hear him if he yelled. That meant that it was unlikely that no one, aside from his murderer, who would hear his murder. It would be a long one, certainly, and bloody and painful, but at least he could look forward to being dead at the end of it. He was sure that all of Freddie Lounds’s articles and that damned paper had pushed his would-be murderer into action. He would need to stop the eyes that could see his secrets.
He only hoped that someone--Jack, Alana, someone from the Bureau--thought to check up on him and that they would take pity on his dogs and see they were taken care of. They didn’t deserve to starve to death just because he wasn’t there to feed them.
He should have been more careful. He knew the nature of his work was dangerous and that it could cause trouble for him, but he hadn’t been thinking of that--how long ago was it now? How long since he’d stopped for a cup of coffee at that little cafe? How long since he’d been kidnapped? No, he hadn’t been thinking of his safety. He’d been thinking of how tired and hungry he’d been all day and that he’d just have to get up and go through it all again tomorrow--and he’d been knocked out and kidnapped. What was it they’d said during police training? Without ensuring your safety, you were as good as dead, under threat or not.
The sound of a door opening snapped him out of his thoughts and he felt his body tense. Whoever it was was coming. Footsteps down wooden stairs. Footsteps on stone or concrete, coming closer. “Hello, Will.”
He hadn’t expected the friendly, affable voice. The man had an accent he couldn’t place and he could smell the guy’s cologne. Before, he’d doubted that anyone could say that something smelled expensive, but this cologne did. Will turned his head in the direction of the voice. “Where am I?”
“My home,” the voice told him. “The drug is still in your system so you’ll feel a little woozy for a while yet, but you’ll suffer no long-term effects. I know for certain you’re thirsty since you’ve been out for so long. Would you like some water?”
What...the...hell? “A kidnapper who offers water?”
“It would be remiss of me to allow you to suffer dehydration, Will,” the voice said as a cup was put to Will’s lips. “Just try a few sips. I promise that I’ve done nothing to it.”
Since his thirst was nearly painful, Will swallowed a few sips of water, but those few sips weren’t enough. He wondered if these few sips had been allowed just to torment him. “May I have some more water?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.
“Of course, Will. I’ll be just a moment.”
Footsteps retreated and went up the stairs, and a minute later they returned, with a full glass of water. Will finished off half of it before it was taken away. “You’re drinking too quickly and you may make yourself sick,” the voice cautioned him. “That’s enough for now. You can have some more later. Now, if you agree to not try to overpower me or attempt to escape, then I will release you from the chair and take you upstairs and give you dinner. Would that be acceptable?”
Will blinked behind the blindfold. It had finally happened; the strain of being kidnapped had been too much for his mind to handle: he was going crazy. “Dinner?”
“It’s almost ready, and I’m sure you’re hungry,” the voice told him. “I’m surprised the aroma of it hasn’t made its way down here. For dinner this evening, I’ve prepared something very simple, roast chicken with gravy, mashed potatoes, and peas and carrots in a sauce. Along with that I have some fresh rolls that have just come out of the oven, and for dessert I’ve made a simple chocolate mousse with fresh fruit. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
Will’s stomach was sure, too. It let out an almighty growl and wrapped itself around his backbone. When was the last time he’d eaten?
“I can tell that your stomach is urging you to make the right decision,” the voice chuckled. “Do I have your word, Will, that you’ll behave if I let you loose from the chair?”
Perhaps the food was poisoned. Maybe that was the way he’d go out. If that was true, then at least he’d die with a full stomach. “All right. You have my word.”
A pause. “I’ll hold you to it.”
The ropes holding Will to the chair were untied and hands helped him to his feet. He raised his hands to remove the blindfold, but two hands grasped his to stop him. “You’re not to remove the blindfold, Will. You’ll wear it for the rest of the evening and it will remain until you fall asleep tonight.”
“‘Sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning,’” Will quoted, his woozy brain unable to stop itself.
“I don’t intend to kill you, Will. Do you think all your hosts intend to kill you?”
“Hosts?” Will said, his voice tight. “Hosts don’t handcuff you or tie you to a chair in their basement or leave you blindfolded…”
“It’s unorthodox, but my method has ensured the needed outcome. Now, we can stand here all night debating the situation if you wish, but I, for one, am hungry, and I know you are, as well. We can talk over dinner.”
“How am I going to eat with handcuffs on?” Will wanted to know as his “host” turned him.
“We’ll manage. Let’s go. I’ll guide you.”
It was the most surreal experience of his life to have this man guide him toward and then up the steps. “You’re doing fine, Will. Step up. Step up. Yes, just like that. Almost there. Almost there. Two more stairs. Perfect. Well done, Will.”
There was nothing remarkable in walking up a flight of stairs, but Will didn’t trust himself to say anything. His captor turned him to the right and Will let himself be guided. Finally, at last, he was warm. It was lovely and toasty upstairs, and he hoped it would stay that way. If he were very, very careful, he might just survive this. Let the guy think that Will was always going to obey him--let him get complacent. As soon as there was an opportunity to get away, Will was going to take it.
Will could feel himself being maneuvered around furniture and past open doorways to other rooms and then the voice stopped him. “Here we are. There’s a chair right behind you, Will. Have a seat.”
Will sat, relieved to find that there was a chair under him. The guy could have been a cruel prankster and he could have ended up on the floor, but there was a chair. He could feel that it was a large, sturdy one, upholstered on the seat and back. Immediately he felt his body relax a bit. It was comfortable.
Will jumped as he felt the man’s arms go around him. “I apologize for startling you, Will,” he said as something tightened and fastened around his chest. “Just getting you secure for the moment while I fetch dinner.”
Will raised his hands to feel a leather belt, but he couldn’t feel the buckle. It was most likely behind him, where he couldn’t reach it. The chair was pushed in so that Will’s hands were under the table, and then Will could hear footsteps walking away from him. Immediately he began to try to push the chair back, to get himself loose, but the chair was heavy and he was still feeling tired from that darned drug. He hadn’t managed to move more than an inch before the man was back and a savory smell flooded the room.
Without a word, the chair was pushed back in to its original position and Will heard the sounds of food being served up and put on a plate. He heard the clink of china and then the aromas of the food became overwhelming. There must be a plate right in front of him. There was a sound then, one of a chair being moved to sit beside him, and then the sound of cutlery on a plate.
“Here we are, Will,” the voice said, and Will could smell something absolutely delicious right in front of his nose. “Open up.”
Shock made his mind stutter to a halt. “You’re going to...feed me?”
“How else would you eat?”
Will could smell the food coming closer and he turned his head. “You could release my hands. I’m not a baby.”
“For tonight, you’re just going to have to trust me. Now, I know you’re hungry. It’s time you had something to eat.”
Something in the guy’s tone told Will he wasn’t messing around, so Will took his courage in both hands and opened his mouth. A spoon went in, full of peas coated in a buttery herb sauce. He couldn’t help the sound of appreciation that escaped him at the taste.
“Good, isn’t it?” his captor said, spooning up more with a quiet clink against the china. “Ready for more?”
It was the strangest meal he’d ever had in his whole life, blindfolded and fed like a little kid. It was also one of the best, in terms of taste. The potatoes were creamy and buttery, and the gravy was savory and good. When he had his first bite of chicken, roasted to perfection and dipped in gravy, he couldn’t stop the little moan of enjoyment from escaping him.
“I’m glad you like it,” his captor said as Will chewed and swallowed. “Ready for another bite?”
“Yes.” If he was going to get out of there, he needed the energy the food could give him.
So it continued, with Will being fed mouthfuls of chicken, potatoes, peas, and bites of buttered roll. Sometimes the bits of roll were dipped in the gravy and that made them taste even better. He could hear his captor feeding himself, as well, and every now and then a water glass would be put to his lips so he could take a sip of water. “Well done, Will,” the voice said after a short while. “You’ve finished everything on your plate. Feel up for some dessert?”
“Could we talk a bit before we have dessert?”
A chuckle. “No doubt you have questions. All right. Let me clear the table and we can talk.”
Will heard the dishes and serving dishes removed from the table and he turned his head as his captor walked away, trying to keep track of him. If he were lucky he’d be able to squirm his way out. He pushed back against the chair, shrugged his shoulders, trying to loosen the belt…
“Here we are,” he heard as his captor reappeared. “Chocolate mousse and a dish of fresh fruit. I think you’ll like it. Now, what was your first question?”
Will heard the dessert dishes placed on the table in front of him. “Why have you kidnapped me?”
“I read that paper on you,” his captor said as he took a seat after pushing Will’s chair back in. “I found myself agreeing with a few of Dr. Wallace’s conclusions and disagreeing with others. I disagreed with him that you would never have any close, meaningful connections and I disagreed with the fact that you would likely commit suicide after falling prey to the demons in your mind and becoming a killer yourself.”
Will felt himself cringe. He’d only read the abstract of the paper on Jack’s advice and he hadn’t read the rest. Now, he was glad he hadn’t.
“I think that if you learn how to make close, meaningful connections, then you can avoid such a fate,” his captor told him. “I brought you here to help you learn how to do that.”
“Close, meaningful connections and Stockholm Syndrome aren’t the same thing,” Will ground out, feeling his temper rise. Who the hell did this guy think he was?
“But they can be remarkably similar,” his captor said. “You will depend on me for your meals, your clothes, a safe place to sleep, and companionship and intellectual stimulation. The same conditions can be found in a close relationship with another person. These conditions will also address another disagreement I had with Dr. Wallace’s conclusions: that you would refuse the chance to form such a connection, should it be offered. I think that after some time, you’ll want the connection.”
Will thought about what he was saying. This was insane. “How did you know who I was?”
“Anyone who’s visited the BAU in the last month would know,” the man told him, patting his shoulder, and Will flinched away. “I was asked there to help with a case and an acquaintance there told me about what had happened when I inquired about some rumors I heard some cadets discussing.”
“Have we met?”
“No, but you and I have a mutual acquaintance,” the voice admitted. “They don’t know what I’ve done or what I’ve planned, and it will stay that way. You’ll stay here, I’ll care for you, and soon you’ll come to care for me.”
Will started to shake his head. “No. No, you’re not going to keep me here. You’re not going to try to get me to form a relationship with you in some twisted experiment to prove Wallace wrong. I’m going.”
“By all means, if you’re able to leave, then you deserve to,” the voice told him, its tone amused. “I’ll overlook this defiance since it’s still your first day here, but I’ll allow the same only up to a point, so be advised. I’ll be sure to warn you if you approach the ends of my patience. Now, since it is still your first day with me, I’m willing to grant you a request, as long as it’s not to release you or remove the blindfold. You may ask what you like, and I’ll do my best to grant it.”
This just kept getting weirder and weirder, but Will thought about it. “My dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“I’ve got seven of them,” Will said. “Would you let them out? They don’t deserve to be locked in a house to starve to death while they’re waiting on me to come home.”
“Seven dogs?”
The shock in this man’s voice was almost comical. “Yes, seven. Please? I know you’ve searched my pockets; my wallet’s gone, so you know where my house is. Please, I’m ready to beg you.”
Another pat on his shoulder. “No begging is necessary, Will. I will make sure that your pets are taken care of--I’ll make arrangements for them so they are healthy, happy, and comfortable. You have my word on it.”
What else could Will do but take him at his word? “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, Will. Are you ready for dessert?”
Will nodded, trying not to fret. His dogs would be all right, wouldn’t they? He ate the fruit--mandarin oranges, kiwi, strawberries, and star fruit--and then the chocolate mousse and he had to pause for a moment after the first bite of that. “Oh, that’s so good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” his captor said, sounding pleased. “It’s one of my favorite recipes. Tell me, what do you like to read?”
“You’re going for polite conversation now?” Will asked, swallowing his present mouthful.
“Just for planning purposes. Any favorite music?”
Will managed to deflect any answers until dessert was finished by asking what was in the mousse. His captor had chuckled, clearly knowing what he was doing, but he answered all of Will’s questions. Finally the last bit of dessert was a memory and will leaned back in his chair, replete.
“You look like a man who’s just had a very good meal.”
Will snapped out of his momentary reverie. “It’s the best I’ve had for a while,” he said honestly. “Do you cook like this all the time?”
“Oh, yes. I have a passion for the culinary arts. Now, it’s getting late, and you must be tired. I’ll take you to your room.”
Will thought about one case of Stockholm Syndrome where the captor had forced the captive to share a bed with him and decided to count his blessings in this instance. At least he was getting his own room. He was released from the chair and helped to his feet and a hand under his elbow turned him in the right direction. Soon he was being led up some stairs, down what felt like a hallway, and through a doorway.
“Here we are,” the captor said brightly. “You’ll see it when you get up in the morning, but I’ve done my best to make it comfortable for you. I think you’ll like it. Now, would you like a bath this evening to help you relax, or would you prefer to shower on your own in the morning?”
Will’s brain put the words together, realized what they meant, and started screeching in alarm. This guy was planning on helping him bathe if he chose a bath! “I usually shower in the morning.”
“All right. Let’s get you settled for bed.”
Will wanted to die from embarrassment. His kidnapper was going to put him to bed. He was supervised while he brushed his teeth, he was given a hot, damp washcloth to clean his face with (although the blindfold made that a challenge), and his hands were released at last so he could change into some pajamas. He was pointed in the right direction so he could use the toilet and given his privacy, for which he thanked his lucky stars. He thought briefly of removing the blindfold and trying to run for it, but he knew that his kidnapper was just outside the door, waiting for such a move. He managed to fumble through washing his hands and located a towel with little trouble, and before his hands were dry the kidnapper was back, helping him.
“This way, Will,” the man said, leading him out of the bathroom.
“This would be a lot simpler if I could just take off this stupid blindfold,” he muttered.
“You need to trust me tonight, Will,” his captor returned. “Having you rely on me to be your eyes is the best way to do that. Now, turn to face me, and sit down.”
Will did as he was told and found himself sinking into something soft and warm. A bed.
“Go ahead and lay down, Will,” his captor coaxed. “I’m sure you’re tired.”
He wasn’t tired; he was exhausted. “Is whatever you used to drug me still in my system?”
“Some remnants, yes,” his captor said as Will dropped into the pillows behind his head and he smoothed the comforter over Will. “That and all the upheaval you’ve experienced today has worn you out. Make yourself comfortable.”
Will was already shifting about, trying to settle himself. He froze when he heard a noise. “What are you doing?”
“Bringing a chair over to your bed. I’m going to sit with you until you drop off. Why don’t I read to you?”
Will couldn’t believe his ears. “A kidnapper who tucks you into bed and reads you a bedtime story. This situation is one for the textbooks, and then some.”
A chuckle. “Perhaps. Just relax, and listen.”
“May I know your name?”
“How remiss of me not to tell you before,” his captor said, sounding truly surprised. “It’s Hannibal.”
“Hannibal?”
“Yes.”
“Were your parents fans of ancient Rome or something?”
“It’s an old family name.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Now listen. Villette, chapter one: Bretton. My godmother lived in an ancient house in the clean and ancient town of Bretton. Her husband’s family had been residents there for generations, and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace--Bretton of Bretton: whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a personage of sufficient importance to leave his name to his neighbourhood, I know not.”
Will let his thoughts drift while his captor’s--while Hannibal’s voice rose and fell in the background. He could feel himself falling asleep already. In the morning, he would have to figure out where he was and how he could get way, but for the moment, he was content to lie there and relax. The morning would come soon enough.