Chapter Text
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended—
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearnèd luck
Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long.
Else the Puck a liar call.
So good night unto you all.
Give me your hands if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
As the lights on stage dimmed and rose again for the actors to take their bow, Will Graham joined the crowd in a standing ovation. For a student performance the production was remarkable. Now in the light of the house, Will looked across the audience and found himself making eye contact with his last semester’s psychology professor, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who acknowledged him with a polite nod. Will returned the gesture with a smile.
He made his way to the bathroom and was just about to check his jacket out of the coat closet when he heard a familiar accent behind him.
“Mr. Graham,” the voice called.
Will took a deep breath in, preparing himself for his own performance of small talk and social interaction. He turned around to see Dr. Lecter approaching him, hand extended. Will was surprised the doctor had recognized him at all, let alone remembered his name, after the lecture hall last semester. Sure, he’d come into office hours a few times, but countless students must have passed through his doors over the years. Instinctively, Will reached out to meet Dr. Lecter’s hand.
“It’s good to see you,” said the doctor clasping his other hand over Will’s in a handshake that suggested more familiarity between the two than Will had ever interpreted. The professor had a reputation as intimidating and cold, and though Will had never seen him that way, he could understand why other students did. Will was intimidated by the professor only in that he was a respected expert in Will’s major, otherwise he’d found him approachable in office hours, but never quite this friendly- and that intimidated him.
“Oh, you too, Dr. Lecter,” Will replied, hoping his handshake had been firm enough to belie his nerves.
“Did you enjoy the performance?” Dr. Lecter asked.
“Oh, yes, I thought the actor playing Puck did a fantastic job.”
“Didn’t he? The part places much responsibility on an actor's shoulders, but he bore it well. Are you a frequent patron of Mr. Shakespeare’s work?”
“I mean I do love his stuff, I’ve read all his plays,” multiple times, in fact. Shakespeare had carved out a hole and buried himself in Will’s mind when his father first took him to see Romeo and Juliet as a child. He even had two tattoos inspired by Hamlet. “What about you?”
“I myself used to teach courses on his oeuvre, before psychology became my primary field of study.” Will was surprised, not that Dr. Lecter would be a man of many talents, but that he had the time in his life to cultivate more than one area of expertise. He was tenured, and only in his early 40s at most for Christ’s sake. Noting Will’s reaction, the doctor said “One man in his time plays many parts.”
“As you like it,” Will said, amused.
Dr. Lecter smiled, pleased that the young man understood the reference. “I certainly do.”
Will swallowed under the professor’s intense, but not unpleasant, gaze. A breath hung between them.
“Did you attend alone this evening?” Dr. Lecter asked with a cock of his head.
“Er yeah, there’s not many people in my life who share my interests.” There weren’t many people in Will’s life at all. His dad (though he was still back in Louisiana), his roommate Beverly, his dogs, and that was it. He wasn’t in the habit of making acquaintances beyond what was necessary for the dreaded group projects of college life. “And I like to take my own notes,” he continued, pulling a small spiral bound notebook out of his left pocket to demonstrate.
“May I?” Dr. Lecter asked, reaching for the notebook. Will held his breath and hesitantly handed the book to the man. He stuffed his fists in his pockets and studied his shoes, unable to look at Dr. Lecter while he skimmed the notes. Will was wearing his worn dress shoes, his only pair of dress shoes, that he got from jcpenney years ago, probably on clearance. They could have been shoes he got out of a thrift store dumpster compared to the ones less than a foot ahead of them on Dr. Lecter’s feet. Some kind of fancy Italian leather loafers, Will guessed, polished clean, well maintained, and probably $500 at least.
“Remind me,” said Dr. Lecter, breaking Will away from his thoughts, “are you working toward an English literature degree?”
“No, psychology, actually, funnily enough.”
“Yet you’ve only attended one of my courses,” Dr. Lecter mused with a furrowed brow.
“I transferred from Louisiana last year, and this is my last semester,” Will explained, nerves still prickling with anticipation of the professor’s response to his notes. He made an attempt at a joke; “So, did I pass, Doctor?”
“With flying colors, I should think,” Dr. Lecter beamed and handed the book back to Will. “You are very insightful, Mr. Graham.”
“Oh, um, thank you,” Will blushed, fidgeting his feet.
“Ahem,” came a noise from the coat closet. Suddenly Will noticed the empty lobby, all the other patrons having filed out, leaving Will and Dr. Lecter standing alone while the staff began to clean the venue for the night. How long had they been talking?
“I believe that’s our cue to leave. May I walk you to your car?” Asked Hannibal as they both collected their coats.
“I actually walked here from my house,” said Will.
“Then may I offer you a ride home? I would not want you walking alone in the cold, especially this late at night,” offered Dr. Lecter.
“I’m really not that far, it’s only half an hour walk, and I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Will reasoned.
“I must insist, Mr. Graham. I would feel terrible if you caught a cold because I kept you so late,” Dr. Lecter said with a slight bow of his head.
“Okay,” Will gave in, “thank you, I really appreciate it.”
They reached the parking lot and Dr. Lecter pressed a button on his key. The lights on a black Bentley flashed as it unlocked. Will’s eyes widened. Of course Dr. Italian-leather-loafers had a Bentley , though there was no way a lecturer’s salary- Shakespeare or psychology, tenured or not- paid for these luxuries. Inheritance, Will thought, embezzlement, bank robbery, money laundering maybe.
Dr. Lecter, ever the gentleman, opened the passenger door and gestured for Will to sit. He got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Left,” Will instructed.
“Tell me, Mr. Graham, is there a work of the bard’s that is closest to your heart?” Asked Dr. Lecter, glancing toward Will.
“I know it’s cliche, but Hamlet,” Will admitted, a bit embarrassed he didn’t have some kind of obscure favorite to impress the professor with, “I actually have a quote tattooed over my heart.”
“And what would that be?”
“‘To thine own self,’”
“‘Be true,’” Dr. Lecter finished the quote for him, “This above all, indeed.”
“Yeah, I got it after top surgery,” Will said, testing the waters, studying the doctor intensely for his response. Unfazed, he nodded, his eyes still on the road. Will let go of a breath he had been holding too tight. They stopped at a red light.
“Well, are you?” Dr. Lecter asked, turning to face Will.
“What?”
“True to yourself.” He answered, as if it were the most obvious and casual thing in the world.
Will blinked. “I’d like to think so.” That wasn’t an answer. Will had always felt like something was missing or buried deep within him like the molten core of the earth, he just didn’t know what. Maybe it was a hangover from years of gender dysphoria, maybe it was the natural college experience of finding oneself, but maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, it itched.
Dr. Lecter only hummed in response. Will’s sweat felt cold, the professor’s gaze felt hot and omniscient. Will thanked god when the light turned green, forcing Dr. Lecter’s focus back on the road.
“I have a rare copy of Hamlet in my home library, 1676. I would love to have you for dinner and show it to you,” said Dr. Lecter, “and hear more of your thoughts on tonight’s production.”
Will parted his lips but found himself speechless. The book must have been expensive, a prized possession and Dr. Lecter was offering to show it to Will, some random ex-student, after just one conversation. And he was offering dinner. And a chance to pick his brain. Not to mention the ride home in the Bentley. Will couldn’t remember a time in his life when he experienced this much generosity all at once, especially from a virtual stranger and a harsh grader at that. How many other students got opportunities like this? Especially undergrads, not many, Will guessed. He audibly swallowed. “Wow, thank you, Dr. Lecter. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, Mr. Graham.” There was something sly about Dr. Lecter’s smile this time.
“Number 237, on the left,” Will pointed to the little house he shared with Beverly, “Will. Please. Call me Will, Doctor.”
“Then I insist you call me Hannibal, Will,” Dr. Lecter- Hannibal said as he parked in front of the house. He produced his wallet and a pen from his pocket and began writing on the back of a business card. “Here is my personal phone number, please do call me and let me know when you are available for dinner.” He handed Will the card and their fingers brushed. They lingered for a breath, though Will was holding his.
“Thank you, Doc- Hannibal. Thank you,” Will said, starting to get out of the car. The name tasted sweet on his tongue.
“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal called after him, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
Will silently prayed Hannibal hadn’t seen the deep blush on his face as he unlocked his front door.
“Good morning, Winston,” Will yawned and scratched behind the mutt’s ear. It had been about four days since Will saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream and became reacquainted with Hannibal Lecter. He hadn’t called Hannibal, though. Despite Hannibal’s clear invitation, Will was still in disbelief that the doctor would be interested in his presence, a sort of impostor syndrome kept him from picking up the phone. He certainly wasn’t procrastinating for lack of want to accept the invitation. Hannibal was charming, attractive, rich, intelligent, an expert in multiple fields of Will’s studies, and, for some reason, he was interested in what Will had to say. It had been hard that week to focus on his homework when the line “parting is such sweet sorrow” played over and over in his head.
Will had laid the business card on his bedside table that night. Now, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Eggshell white on high quality card stock, it read:
Johns Hopkins
Hannibal Lecter, M.D., Ph.D.
Professor, Department of Psychological and Brain Sciences
It listed his office address, his office phone number, and his university email. Will turned it over to look at the number Hannibal wrote in fine black ink. It was not the typical unreadable doctor’s handwriting. Hannibal’s digits were calligraphic, precise. It would be impossible for Will to excuse himself for not calling because he misread the number. Maybe he could text? No, Dr. Lecter seemed like a man who would find that impolite and impersonal. Will sighed and set the card back down.
His morning coffee was bland and uneventful, but he drank it for the caffeine addiction, not the taste. It cleared his bleary eyedness and he checked his calendar on his phone. A dog walking gig for three dogs in the morning, a class at one p.m., and a class at three p.m. Typical thursday.
After his banal morning chores and a reluctant decision to put on jeans rather than live in his sweatpants, he grabbed his keys, clipped a leash on Buster (the smaller of his two dogs), and made his way to the car. First stop was to Mrs. Pearce’s house to pick up her two year old Labrador retriever Honey. Mrs. Pearce lived in a large house on top of a hill, probably with her husband, though Will had never seen him. She worked in some financial sector or other, hence the grandiosity of the house. Distantly Will wondered, thinking back to the shoes and the car and the antique book, if Dr. Lecter lived in a similar house. A lot of Will’s clientele were wealthy, actually. Baltimore was an expensive city to live in, so those who could afford a dedicated dog walker typically could afford other such luxuries. Will, on the other hand, could afford his rent and his bills, but beyond that money was tight. Most of his clients, even though they hired him and were polite in their demands, looked down on him, treated him a bit like he was also a dog. But Mrs. Pearce and Honey were his favorite clients. She actually greeted him every morning and asked how he was. He usually hated small talk, but she was pleasant and well-meaning.
“Morning, Mrs. Pearce, morning, Honey,” Will said when Mrs. Pearce opened her door, Honey peeking out from behind her legs.
“Good morning, Will, how are you?” She smiled.
“Fine, thank you, Ma’am, how are you?”
“Oh just fine, thank you. Go on, Honey,” she handed Will Honey’s leash, then presented a plastic sandwich bag with a few muffins inside, “and this is for you, Will, blueberry muffins, made them myself. They better all be gone by the time you get back, I know you don’t eat breakfast before you come here, and I won’t have you going hungry,” she said with a wag of her finger. Will opened his mouth to protest but knew it was futile. She’d given him this same lecture before, and she was right, too. He wasn’t particularly good at feeding himself, most of his diet consisted of spaghetti and leftover spaghetti.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pearce, you’re too kind,” Will smiled, “I’ll see you soon.”
He continued his route picking up Hawk and Princess, an Akita and a pit bull respectively, to drive them all to his favorite dog park on the edge of the city, Paw Point. He felt an easy peace there, he could feel hidden amongst the trees, or lay down in the open field, or dip his toes in the lake, all while the dogs roamed and played around him. Today he chose a bench to sit and eat his muffins and review some notes for class.
In the forensic psychology course Will took with Dr. Lecter last semester, the material had been harder but more interesting. Killers fascinated Will. Tired him, too, but the cases were like car crashes he couldn’t look away from. In class he struggled to look away from Dr. Lecter too, always in his sharp three piece suits and brightly patterned ties, and never in the same combination. The way he paced the lecture hall as he talked with easy swagger. The way he had approached Will at the play and smiled with a cat-like grin. The way he looked at Will when he bade him good night, as if his mouth were watering.
Will realized he’d read the same paragraph three times now, too distracted by his own thoughts to absorb any of it. Fuck it, he thought, and pulled out his phone.
He tensed and flexed his hand while the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dr. Lecter, this is Will Graham, we met at Midsummer and you gave me your number,” Will over-explained.
“How could I forget, Will. I’m pleased to hear from you. I hope this means you’ve decided to accept my invitation to dinner?” An insecure part of Will imagined Hannibal had forgotten all about the invitation.
“If the offer is still on the table.”
“I hope to place many things on the table. Are you available tomorrow night? Say, seven? Do you have any dietary restrictions?”
“Yes- er, no- I mean yes, seven works, and no I don’t have any restrictions, I’ll eat anything,” Will stumbled.
“Excellent, I’ll send you my address, or will you need another lift?”
“No I’ll have my car.”
“Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Unfortunately I have other business to attend to now, but I would rather catch up with you in person, anyway. Have a pleasant rest of your day, Will.”
“Thank you, you too Dr. Lecter.”
“Will,” he said firmly but gently.
“Sorry,” Will blushed and corrected himself, “Hannibal.”
The rest of Thursday had been unremarkable, and Friday morning started the same. For the first time all week Will’s head felt clear. Yes, he was giddy with anticipation for his dinner with Hannibal later, but the anxiety of the uncertainty had subsided. Hannibal wanted him to come to dinner, wanted to hear his thoughts on Shakespeare. He just hoped he didn’t stumble over his words when he got there. Just one more class today and then a clear schedule until the evening.
When class was over Will slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed down the block in downtown Baltimore to catch a bus back to his place. He wondered if Hannibal had ever taken a bus in his life- he couldn’t imagine the doctor fitting in amongst the rest of the downtown commute with his plaid suits. He could sooner imagine Hannibal getting robbed for looking like that.
SMACK
Then a scream.
The sound was so loud and so close Will felt like his ears might have popped. He whipped his head around to see a small gasping crowd gathering at the base of a high rise just behind him. Someone was on the phone, clearly talking to the police. Between the legs of the crowd, Will saw blood pooling on the sidewalk.
Magnetically, Will inserted himself in the crowd of spectators. At their feet lay a balding middle aged man in business attire, his limbs flung at awkward angles like a rag doll. The blood on the concrete was spilling from the man’s- the body’s- skull, ears, and messy puncture wounds scattered across his chest. The man had been stabbed, brutally. Something green caught Will’s eye. The body’s mouth lay slightly agape and Will could make out a twenty dollar bill peaking out past the lips, though there was clearly far more cash in the body than that.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’s love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
The line invaded Will’s mind like a dark tendril that penetrated his ear and wrapped around his brain. Will’s head span. The sunlight seemed to strobe. Time slowed like the earth stopped spinning with a low groan. His peripheral vision went dark and the crowd faded into obscurity. His hands felt heavy and he looked down.
Is this a dagger which I see before me?
He gripped the handle of the blade and looked up, locking eyes with the man he had just seen on the concrete. The man’s eyes widened and he looked down to the knife in Will’s hands as it sunk deep into his chest. Will snatched back the knife and watched as the man fell backwards into an abyss.
SMACK
Will blinked rapidly against the harsh light until he could open his eyes to see clouds. Something cradled the back of his head.
“Can you tell me your name?”
He looked to his left. An EMT crouched over him. Will started to sit up but the EMT placed a hand on his chest to stop him.
“Will Graham,” he groaned.
“Do you know where you are, Will?”
“Baltimore.”
“Good, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two.”
“And now?”
“One.”
“Good, Will, I don’t think you’re concussed, but we’re gonna stay here for a moment to check. Do you think you can sit up?”
Will grasped the EMT’s hand when they offered it and he pulled himself up. He was still on the sidewalk outside the same high rise- the headquarters of “Addertech,” according to the logo- but the crowd of spectators had been mostly dispersed by a growing group of police officers and EMTs.
“I must’ve fainted,” Will grumbled.
“I think so. Luckily for your head, your backpack took the brunt of the fall.” Ah. That’s why his back hurt, he’d landed into his laptop. He’d have to check that later. “You’re gonna be fine, but we can take you back to the hospital to keep an eye on you.”
“No, no I can’t afford that,” that and he wanted to avoid the invasive questions of ER doctors not trained in trans health.
“Ok, is there someone you can call to come get you?” Will nodded and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He dialed Beverly.
“What’s up?” Beverly said, cheerily.
“Hey, Bev, I need you to come get me, I passed out.”
“Oh, God, are you okay? Where are you? I’m getting my keys now.”
“Yeah I’m gonna be fine, I’m by the bus stop near that Addertech place.”
“Wait, isn’t that where they just found a body? I saw on twitter- sorry, I shouldn’t worry you right now.”
“It’s fine, yeah, I saw it.”
“Jesus, okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Bev.” He hung up.
“I’m gonna stay with you until your friend gets here,” the EMT said, “if you vomit, faint, or have any pain that doesn’t ease in the next few days, you need to go to the doctor, Will, okay?”
“Okay,” Will sighed.
When Beverly showed up, the EMT helped Will to his feet. He thanked them and blew out a long and steady breath as he sat down in the passenger seat.
“You okay, man?” Beverly asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just gonna have a bump on my head I think. D’you have any aspirin?” Beverly popped the glove box in front of Will and grabbed the bottle of pills. Will swallowed two capsules as Beverly pulled onto the road en route to their house.
“Did- did you see the body?” Beverly asked. Will closed his eyes and nodded. “Shit. People think it’s the CEO of that company.”
Will said nothing. They drove in silence, Will looking out the window at the passing cars. Beverly pulled into their driveway and parked the car. She looked over at Will.
“FBI still on your five year plan after seeing that?”
“Yeah, I think so,” said Will. He looked over at the clock on the dashboard. 5:43pm. He’d nearly forgotten about his dinner with Dr. Lecter. Nearly.