Chapter Text
“You know Hannibal for quite some time now, right?"
Will stared into the light brown liquid sloshed in his champagne glass as he was hypnotized by it. If he picked it up at the right angle, it threw harmless waves, hights covered with gold foam. He was fascinated by this little performance, at least so much he easily forgot to answer the question of the lady standing in front of him. Only when she sniped energetically (but of course no less elegant) with her manicured fingernails in front of his face, the metallic tinkling of her silvery bangles brought him back to reality. And to his own chagrin the reality expressed itself in being kidnapped by Hannibal Lecter to a three-hour lasting opera, and afterwards being dragged to the following reception (without Will’s personal consent).
That fine gentleman, however, had merged with the opaque mass of black suits, intricately knotted ties and outrageously expensive cocktail dresses one hour ago and seemed nowhere to be found, such as Will suggested sullenly. In his mind he called the crowd a gathered receipt of two-legged penguins and mockingbirds and felt the urgent need to solve the knot of his own ocean blue tie (The color suits your eyes. Dr. Lecter said), for it terribly pressed on his adam's apple now and he sincerely believed the supply of oxygen in the room would get thinner and thinner because it was swallowed hungrily by the aristocratic bigotry.
"Will, my dear, are you not well? You look a little pale."
Will blinked. Once, twice. Concentrate, he told himself silently.
"Sorry, I was ... in thought." he replied with a well-tempered mix of human, remorseful warmth and coolness, "How was your question again?"
He could have asked for her name as well for he had forgotten it too, but he didn't want to embarrass himself even more than he had already done. Despite he was usually afraid of the company of foreign people, at least he was willing to give the smallest impression of sympathy when it was needed.
Fortunately, the lady seemed to be of forgiving nature. She conjured up a benevolent (albeit superficial) smile on her generous red painted lips. Will estimated her age roughly in the range between forty and fifty, her surgically fixed nose almost six years old and her unnaturally plump breasts resting on her chest in the twenties, maybe.
“Oh that’s fine. You don't have to apologize." she said. "Monique Borelli’s singing shakes every visitor in a different way. Her seducing voice implies dreaming very often."
She patted Will’s arm in a good-natured way. For his taste this touch took a whole second too long to be only evaluated on the basis of politeness, but he omitted comments. Oh, the profiler’s burden. There was no breath, no look and no gesture he didn't try to analyze, whether intended or not. He just hoped she hadn't pushed somebody down the stairs or dipped a deadly pinch of cyanide into someone’s morning brunch, otherwise he would soon see much more than the corrections plastic surgery had made on her. Something he was definitely NOT looking for this evening.
"I was wondering how long you and Hannibal know each other." the lady earned him (Her name begins with P. P as penetrance. Will believed) into memory gently.
"Oh, we met a few months ago. I am one of his patients."
"Patient?"
The lady raised one of her russet, plucked eyebrows in surprise. The brows are dyed to veneer the grey Will recognized. She tries to hide her true age. Vanity.
"You seem surprised." he said, wondering, whether his honesty had been a mistake.
Meanwhile the delicate wave transitions in his champagne glass had transformed into a yellow swirling vortex, ate a black hole into the bottom of the glass. Whether this was one of his hallucinations or not he didn't know. He just wished to be able maintaining the outer facade of the quiet, slightly spaced-out gentleman, still overflown from the previous singing. At least until Hannibal decided to redeem him from this torment.
The lady (Her name is Penelope. Penelope.. Penelope, the penetrating) shook her head, smiling. Shoulder-length, straight hair flowed over her Malibu – tanned shoulders like a sparkling torrent in sunny June.
"Well, it's rare that Hannibal combines his profession with his private affairs. Eventually he follows the ethical principle to refrain from closer relationships with patients strictly." she said, eyes narrowed to calculating slits.
She seemed amused. Slobbering. Why, was a mystery to Will, but he felt no nice speculation hidden behind it. "I guess the exception proves the rule. And you seem to be a worthwhile exception to me... I can imagine you arousing one's interest in different ways."
She licked her lips as her gaze slid lengthwise over Wills body, constrained in a fine jacket revealing more of its original form, than Will would have cared for. He couldn't place whether the unmistakable hunger in her eyes happened consciously or unconsciously. In fact, he didn't want to find out, either.
What he wanted instead was to call a taxi and and leave this room with all those superficial people draped with their sparkling beaded necklaces and voices, playing with mocking politeness behind him (Hannibal had insisted to drive them to this event in his own car, which Will finally gave in, for he found no formative arguments against it). He wanted to go home to his stray-herd, wanted to go into the woods, even if he hadn't done this for weeks because he feared to encounter the deer out of his hallucinations. He had never suffered from claustrophobia, but he also wasn't used to be surrounded by so many people in a confined place for such a long time. The unusual had always been a double-edged sword in his life. He could almost see it swinging over his head.
He watched as the lady painted her lush lips into a narrow gap to set them to speak again, when all of a sudden Dr. Chilton showed up behind her. He had Will recognized first for he nodded as he joined them. Will had been conceivably little to do with Dr. Chilton before and he hadn't felt real sympathy for him either - but at this moment the psychiatrist could have arrived with a skull on his shoulders and galloping on a burning horse, Will hadn't minded. He was considered to be his proverbial savior in need.
"Will! What a surprise to see you here." Dr. Chilton greeted with a shallow smile, crowded to the side of Penelope with furious self-evidence, so that he moved directly into Will's immediate field of vision.
He had his hair slicked back and covered with a few drops of gel, so it held a dark shine in the warm light of the crystal chandelier. He wore a bespoke suit made of anthracite gray fabric. Ruby red brass buttons shone on his chest and matched the carbon black velvet bow tie perfectly, hooping his neck like a dog collar. His feet were put in mat black leather shoes and a silver Rolex flashed on his right wrist like a shining street sign. He looked more casually as Will had met him in his office, but this impression might be produced from wine consumption. Nevertheless, he seemed genuinely pleased to meet the profiler. Will straightened his shoulders, forcing himself alike to let his mouth curve into the vertical direction.
“Well, my presence seems to be incomprehensible to many people here." he said dryly, knowing all to well that he took a little verbal jab at the lady with her treacherous eyes, but in this second he couldn't care less. Penelope, however, scarcely reacted to it. Only the fact that her neatly curved mouth pressed into a clammy, implacable bar, betrayed her true emotional state. Perhaps this change was also given due Chilton himself, who stood like a statue between them and probably disabled Penelope’s own idea of progress this conversation should have taken before. Ultimately, it made her turn her head in the opposite direction and eject a contrived “Oh”.
"Oh, my dear sister seems to have arrived just now. Excuse me, please."
And even before the syllables were completely jumped down from her lips, she had already escaped the male domain and, almost headlong, plunged into a fringe group merged with the cheerful chatting participants and their informal posture . Will looked at Chilton. Chilton looked back. He raised an eyebrow.
"Penelope Hilton doesn't have a sister. She's a singleton." he said then, shrugging and telling exactly what Will thought.
He only nodded and allowed himself to breathe easier. Penelope-the-pushy-penetrance would probably not bother him for the rest of the evening. For this, the presence of a fairly familiar face made him feel more comfortable. He led his champagne glass as a dumb triumph to his lips.
"I assume you scared her with your appearance, Dr. Chilton."
Chilton looked genuinely affected.
"Oh my, I did not intend to. I'm Sorry."
"Don’t you dare." Will said and this time his grin was not forced but happy. He felt relieved. "You saved my life. Would I be the Little Red Riding Hood, I would have thrown my arms around your neck now to thank you."
Will spoke with such deadly seriousness that it seduced Chilton to laugh and the embarrassed expression vanished from his brightening eyes.
"I would not have thought that a dramaturg hides in you. And a German fairy tale expert, too. But let me say choosing Penelope as the bad wolf seems a little excessive to me. Her neckline offers no teeth." he teased.
Will took it in stride. Probably it was the absence of Penelope in combination with the champagne, already moving in his blood like outburning flames, but for the first time this evening he felt good. And this feeling he wanted to savor as long as possible. Secretly he hoped, Hannibal would not catch him here talking and smiling to another man. His reaction could be offensive, he could understand the fact that he was not responsible for the good mood Will developed, wrong. But checking with a quick glance around the room he found Hannibal nowhere to be in reach.
Not yet. Accordingly, he took the risk without hesitation. The risk of experiencing pleasure in the company of other people than the psychiatrist.
"Grimm's fairy tales were thrown into my hands a few years ago, and for a while I found taste in these little stories. I have seen enough of this life to be sure that anywhere bad wolves can be lurking in the dark as in the spotlight. Even if they are wrapped in a dress of Versage and wear red nail polish. And wouldn't you fit into the role of the hunter exquisitely? You're a collector of psychological game trophies after all ... " he said.
During his speaking he observed any reaction that he could catch from Chilton. A frown maybe, or a nervous biting on his lower lip, an impatient rockers of the right leg, a hasty look at the pretty flashing clock. Nothing of such sort happened. Chilton kept his eyes fixed on him , entirely focused on his face and voice. A circumstance which Will not necessarily displeased, as he admitted secretely.
"I and the hunter?" Chilton’s voice grew a little bitter. He took a sip of his champagne to gain some time. His lips were wearing a wet sheen. Will thought it suited him. "Hmm, that's actually a paradox, when I think about what the hunter does to the wolf after its dinner ..."
He pointed out a ghostly motion with his right hand. A twitch in the direction of the center of his body, as he would wish to ensure instinctively that the seam adorning his stomach had not become loose so that his intestines feared to tumble out like dominoes, proposing the sound of a damp lump while they hit floor. Will recognized the gesture and regretted to have led their conversation into this direction immediatly.
He had not considered that Little Red Riding Hood could include black, mocking humor in connection with Chilton's traumatic experience with Gideon.
"I'm sorry." he said. "That ... was idiotic of me. It wasn't my purpose to offend you."
Chilton gave him an indefinable look, leading Will to take a big gulp of golden water and let it wash down his throat slowly. At least he acted busy, not showing the embarrassment he felt. They were an awkward silent for a while. Maybe seconds. Maybe a minute. Two. Staring in different directions. Then, suddenly, Chilton cleared his throat.
"Oh, don’t you know the story of the Seven Little Goats? THIS story is far worse. In the end the wolf’s abdomen is filled with stones and then sewn up for punishment. When he wants to drink at the river, the weight of his subsequent fate and he falls into the water, drowning miserably, followed by the stereotypical If they are not dead they are still alive today. "he said in a quiet voice.
He beckoned to a waiter, who balanced crab tarts on his tray. Chilton took two of them, biting heartily into the soft crust.
"Fairy tales are often quite cruel, don’t you think?" he asked, chewing. Will believed the doctor sought to hide his nervousness with food. That was okay with him as long as Chilton didn't take one of his metaphors honestly bad. He couldn't bear any hostility this evening. Walking around a closed enclosure of greed forming carnivores, allies were far better than rivals.
"Life is cruel." yet he could not resist and said thus actually one of the basic attitudes, which he had discovered over the years, and most likely even in old age (if it should be for the privilege) bonds would. Because it was true. Because life was cruel indeed. Sometimes cruel and beautiful. And sometimes cruel only.
Chilton nodded, still chewing.
"True. Even in fairy tales people are confronted with murder. I mean, look at what Hansel and Gretel do with the poor old cannibal witch ... a nice role model for today's youth, "he said innocently and raised his arms in the air as if he had just proclaimed the end of the world.
He winked at Will openly. At that moment the profiler felt a tiny, minimal spark of sympathy blossoming in his chest. It was a shadowy feeling, the mere germ of a sensation, but it was there.
And because it was there, Will couldn't help but reply by infusing the look in his eyes with a little hint of human warmth despite how his introverted mind usually prevented it. Warmth, he otherwise reserved for special people. People whom he trusted. Persons who wouldn't be called Frederick Chilton in general.
Chilton seemed to notice the small change in Will's nature. He automatically leaned closer to him as he spoke. Bridged an invisible barrier, leaving a crack in the phantom skin. Will let him have his way and asked himself quietly Why do I do this? in thought.
"Listen, Will, I don't want to be rude by asking personal questions..." said Chilton then, drank the golden liquor in a single sip and placed it down con a table in their vicinity. "But may I assume that you and Dr. Lecter have a ... well, more intimate relationship, as it is common among clinicians and their patients?"
The question was unexpected. Which in turn meant that Will would have expected it from a caliber like Penelope, but not from Chilton. He rested his forehead in first, suspicious wrinkles. Approaching his mental shield folded back on like sunshades on a brazilian morning in May.
"What makes you say that?"
Chilton leaned his eyelids down. His mouth was expressed as pastel white crescent in his skin.
"Well, I'm a little bit familiar with Dr. Lecter – Hannibal’s ... behavioral patterns. He chose you as his accompany for this public presentation, so he probably wants you to be seen with him - The rumor mill is likely to boost about you two. A provocative step, considering the many photographers and the associated press. He must consider you as a very special personality. Did you know that Hannibal enjoys the company of other individuals rarely for some months? Especially the participation of such events, he seems to have become weary of them. He barely attended."
Oh, Will knew. He knew Hannibal private visits were only reserved to very few people. People from whom he suspected either that they still might be useful to him later or those with whom he wanted to share their acquaintance for far simpler reasons. People like Jack Crawford or Alana Bloom. People like Abigail. People like him.
Nevertheless, he bowed his head gently to one side and squinted a smile to Chilton.
"Except for opera." he said kindly.
Chilton nodded mechanically.
"Yes, he has never been able to resist operas." An amused twinkle showed in his eyes. "Hm, do you have a nice singing voice, Will? I'd never offend you, but the motif of a bird singing in its golden cage flatters you."
Will laughed. In fact, this comparison kept an ominous truth as he admitted silently. He waved his hand as if he would shoo an annoying fly.
"No wrong conclusions, doctor." He said. "I'm a terrible singer. I can’t hold a single note."
"But you certainly have other irritant gifts."
Chilton's eyes darted to the location of the orchestra, which started a new piece. A breath later, the air was engaged in a heavy breeze of classical music. The heartbreaking sound of sweet violins filled the room, biting into the ears of the visitors softly, leaving pale pink love marks. Will realized the change in the atmosphere even more, for he was captured by it himself.
He wasn't versed in the musical impulses of earlier centuries, but he gradually began to understand why they were so appreciated and used as tribal traditions, distributed with devotion.
"From whom is this?" Will asked quietly. Too soft.
"Vivaldi." it shot back and Will was secretly terrified to death. He hadn't cared if anyone heard him. But Chilton seemed to have good ears. "From his work Four Seasons." the man continued without batting an eyelash. "I'm a little rusty in musical terms, but I could swear they play the part of Spring. Personally, I prefer the Winter, but you should be satisfied with what you get, right?"
Will didn't answer.
"In terms of seasons, autumn is my clear favorite." he said after careful consideration. He felt like his heart throbbed against his chest while the music around him hummed through his bones with every passing second. "Of course it’s still nice. The music, I mean." he added hastily, as if he were afraid to leave the wrong impression. For the sake of truth he did that often, but it happened less often than he knew.
Chilton plucked an invisible fluff from his right sleeve. "As a matter of fact." he muttered.
He seemed thoughtful. Then he turned his head abruptly at Will, grinning like a maniac. Will was already beginning to occur taking a step backwards for his own safety as the therapist swung to a slight bow and held out an open palm. Will stared at it as passers-by would have been staring at a grenade, camouflaged as plug-rose. He was confused. Chilton took it calmly, with almost uncanny patience.
"So, can I have this dance? The music is too enchanting to endure it standing on one spot." he helped the profiler along. But it left Will just more confused. Irritated.
"Dancing? With me? But we..." He looked around as if he feared the chatting crowd would realize their conversation and establish cross-connections that shouldn't be linked. "We're both men."
Chilton shrugged.
"This is the 21st century, so it wouldn’t be a scandal anymore." he replied. "However, if the audience makes you uncomfortable, we are free to use the balcony terrace."
He pointed with a look to the adjacent balcony, which was located on the other side of the room and could be reached through a wall-sized glass door. Will hesitated. Suddenly he heard his blood pumping faster through his veins. His hands began to sweat. He wiped them on his jacket as unobtrusive as possible.
"I cannot dance." he said dismissively. That wasn't a lie, but not the main reason why he refused. Chilton didn't seem convinced.
"I can teach you." he said unimpressed, his hand still reserved invitingly in Will’s direction. The profiler feverishly searched for a better excuse.
"I don't know if Hannibal would be pleased ..." he began, but bit his tongue in the midst of the sentence. Too late unfortunately. Chilton snorted in amusement.
"Oh, the rumors are true then." he said with a benevolent tone (it didn't need to be necessarily annoyed but for Will it sounded wrong anyway). "Despite this I wouldn't have thought to be THAT serious already."
Will’s body stiffened.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
The mocking timbre in Chilton's baritone fueled his suspicions. The psychiatrist had, however, given up levitating his arm useless in the air and finally folded his hands behind his back. Now he was serious again and the light-hearted twinkle in his eyes had been replaced by a faint glow. A dark glow.
"Well, every partnership records a dominant and a passive carrier to maintain the equilibrium." He said in his professional manner. "It isn't difficult to guess that Hannibal isn't willing to give you a long leash in these points."
No long leash. This metaphor gave Will tweaking gripes, making him uncomfortable. In his home a pack of barking stray dogs loitered through the hallways, but he had never referred to himself being a dog too, never saw his person in such a subjugated role. He didn't like this idea. Probably because it contained more reality than he was able to admit now.
"So you say, Hannibal is uncertain?" he asked, the question echoing in his own ears to raise hollow humor. Chilton responded quite gently on the failed counterattack.
"Not uncertainty." he said with a soothing voice. "I type him more as the… possessive one. He may be a brilliant psychiatrist, but love makes the darkest sides in our minds raise their ugly heads. Feelings aren't easy to calculate neither to control."
He spoke the last words like an old man who endured too much experience and too much disappointment to sound more cheerful. Will thought Dr. Chilton didn't fit into the role of a happy family man. Also he could hardly imagine him as a husband or even a passionate lover. He was probably someone who they called married to his work. Suddenly, Will thought Chilton had to be very lonely when the prison psychiatric made his coarse in life and always circled around him like a sun in its own universe.
Realizing that Chilton spent days and nights in his office because there was no one who was waiting for him at him. Realizing, that the man before him, who used every available minute for studying his patients even when there were fresh threads woven on his abdomen, would surely not ask ANY man for a dance. Or to share closer body contact than usual.
Will didn't know why, but this fact gave him a strange form of security.
And this in turn gave him a jolt. His decision was as clear as it could get.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake. Come." he grumbled and grabbed Chilton on the wrist.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the terrace pulling Chilton with him.
"You've changed your mind?" the mild surprised man asked behind him. The right corner of Will’s mouth lifted timidly.
"Let's say I'm my own master." he answered, but didn't look over his shoulder to encounter the penetrating gaze of the psychiatrist. Although he looked forward, he could practically paint Chilton’s cheeky grin in the air.
"That's good to hear." he heard him reverberating in his back. "But just so that no misunderstandings occur - I lead.”