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Will stares out the office window, tall glass exposing the well-lit street outside. The window is somewhat frosted over, and Will can almost feel how frigid it is beyond it. He shivers, dreading the short walk back to his car after this session is over. No matter how many years he spends in New England, the harshness of winter always takes him by surprise. Still, the forgiving nature of a Northern summer makes the snowy nights feel like a fair exchange. He should invest in a scarf, though. He never seems to think about it until winter is already well underway.
"Something troubling you?" Hannibal asks, still seated in his desk chair. Will doesn't turn, but he can feel the other man's gaze as he contemplates the scenery.
He scowls around the bitter taste in his mouth, picturing blue lips, swollen hands pressed to unbeating hearts. Put fully on display, under inches of unforgiving ice.
"Something about the way he arranges the victims..." Will trails off, shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to erase the image.
"It's quite macabre, isn't it? A moment, frozen in time."
Will turns to arch an eyebrow at him, as if to say 'Really?'
Hannibal inclines his head. "A poor choice of words- unintentional, I assure you."
Will forces a smile, stalks back over to his usual chair. "You're right, either way. The photos don't do it justice, a part of me wishes you could've seen it in person so you'd understand."
Hannibal moves swiftly but silently to join him. "Explain it to me."
Will frowns, searching for the words. "There was something so...tranquil about it. The lake was so quiet, it was like if I stood still I could hear them breathing down there." He sighs. "The killer must have felt so at peace, when he put them under the ice. Once they stopped struggling- he could just stand over them, looking down through the ice and seeing them floating under his feet."
"Did you feel at peace, Will?"
"I felt blessed," he whispers. "Reverent, like I was-" He pauses, looks up at Hannibal in realization. "Like I was in worship with them."
A light flickers in Hannibal's eyes. "Their hands, you said they were crossed over their chests, correct?"
Will nods. "Face up, held under the water, just like-"
"Just like a baptism," Hannibal finishes, and Will feels a familiar energy buzz through the room.
"Yes," He says, standing to pace through the office. He loves this feeling- it's sickening feeling like a killer is evading him, but it's electric when he and Hannibal find an answer. And Hannibal is very skilled at helping Will see, their conversations lead him so naturally from one place to the next. "He's providing them with a rebirth."
"Many Protestant denominations maintain that if one is accepted into the faith, even just before death, that their souls will be saved. Could this killer be ensuring a place in the afterlife for his victims by force?"
"Are you still reborn if you're stillborn?" Will counters. It's an interesting place to start. "Maybe a pastor, or a former one- someone who would feel familiar with the act of baptizing someone."
"A Youth Group Leader, I'd wager," Hannibal says. "The victims were troubled youths."
Will nods along. "I'll have to tell Jack to look into churches in the area, ones who've just hired new Youth Group Leaders, or just let one go."
Hannibal looks pleased. "There's something so attractive about rebirth, isn't there?"
"We all have things we'd like to do differently."
"A fresh start."
Will scoffs. "As if such a thing exists. Even before we're born, we all carry things with us. Roots of influence."
Hannibal tilts his head. "I suppose so. It's curious that we long for a new beginning, when humans are usually so averse to uncertainty."
"There's an innocence in infancy that can't be replicated." Will shrugs. "To some people, that may be appealing."
"Not to you, though."
"I don't see the logic in feeling nostalgic for a time that I can't even remember."
Hannibal is quiet for a beat, considering. When he speaks, the words sound casual, as if just occurring to him.
"Your birthday is in a few weeks, is it not?"
Will freezes. "Who told you that?"
Hannibal makes a noncommittal gesture. "It must've come up in conversation during one of our sessions, who can say. But I keep a detailed calendar of all my friends' birthdays, lest I fall into the terrible faux pas of forgetting."
Will narrows his eyes, drawing nearer. "You definitely didn't hear it from me," he asserts. "I never tell anyone my birthday. You couldn't have gotten it from anyone else I know, either."
Hannibal chuckles, amused by Will's annoyance. "Why so guarded about such an inconsequential piece of information?"
"Hannibal..."
He sighs, all but rolling his eyes. "I still have your file, from when you were officially my patient. I was curious, and I didn't want to miss it, so I checked and made note of it."
Will bristles. "Is it that impossible for you to respect someone's boundaries? You could have just asked me, instead of snooping through my records."
"Your file was freely given to me with your informed consent, Will. And evidently, you wouldn't have told me to begin with."
"No, I wouldn't have."
Hannibal gives him a curious look, not at all apologetic for infringing on Will's boundaries. "Why not?"
Will sighs sharply, falling back into his chair. "I don't celebrate my birthday, that's all. I don't want all the attention that comes with it."
"Surely your social battery could withstand one day of celebration."
"Maybe so, but I'm not keen on finding out."
Hannibal leans forward in his chair, still appraising him. "Did you celebrate your birthday as a child?"
Will shoots back a wry smile. "I think I've divulged enough about my upbringing for you to make an educated guess, Doctor."
An answering smile quirks at Hannibal's lips. "I'm assuming there were many pre-made white cakes purchased from grocery store bakeries."
Will chuckles. "If I was lucky," He says. "My 'gifts' were usually things I already needed. New shoes when the ones I had barely fit anymore, new backpack when I'd been carrying my books to school all semester, et cetera. It was all very...Dickensian."
Hannibal's expression has shifted into one of sympathy and Will fights his annoyance. Hannibal is just being a good friend, like always. He means nothing by it, Will knows this.
It bothers him, anyway.
"And yet you feel no desire to make better memories in your adulthood?"
"I can make memories the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year."
Hannibal looks at Will with that somber expression for another uncomfortably vulnerable moment before his dark eyes flick to the windows. "Were they all placed beneath the ice in a single night, or did he make multiple trips to the lake?"
It takes a second for Will to respond, reeling slightly from the subject change. He's grateful that Hannibal has released him from this topic, though.
For now.
He suspects that Hannibal won't be letting it lie forever. His suspicions prove to be correct three weeks later, as a session is drawing to a close. Hannibal offers Will his coat and Will zips it tight, shoving his hands deep into the pockets. The nights are getting colder still, somehow, and Will is once again wishing that his Volvo had a better heater. He's going to be shaking like a leaf by the time he can get home and bury himself under a mountain of blankets. Lips blue, like the bodies under the lake.
"Would you like to join me for dinner on Friday night?" Hannibal asks, once again feigning casualty.
Will tenses. "I was planning on going fishing Friday, actually," He says through gritted teeth.
"Fishing is best in the morning, is it not? You will have time for both."
"That's true," he begrudgingly admits.
"You don't have anything else pressing that evening, do you?"
Will huffs. Hannibal knows the answer to that. Winter break has left him without any classes to prepare for, and Jack hasn't asked him to consult on any cases after they'd caught The Baptist the week before.
"I'd just prefer to spend Friday alone," he says, because they both know exactly what day Friday is and exactly why Hannibal is proposing this.
"I assure you, I have no ulterior motives," He says, which is precisely what a man with an ulterior motive would say.
Will stares him down. There's a wicked eagerness in the other man's face. Will doesn't trust it for a moment. "You're planning something."
"Is it so unfathomable that I would want you to have a pleasant evening, on this of all days?" He asks, but his eyes betray everything.
Will starts to tell him to fuck off, that he'll be just fine celebrating yet another birthday with his dogs and a bottle of whiskey. He'll be perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much.
But Hannibal is smiling at him so warmly despite the obvious scheme in the works, like the idea of orchestrating some ghastly surprise for Will is his idea of a perfect evening. There's going to be a party, Will can feel it. Hannibal loves parties, almost as much as he loves showing off. Throwing one for Will's birthday was an unbeatable opportunity to make Hannibal look good, he wouldn't be able to resist.
And God, that sounds fucking awful. A big, loud party where he's thrust into the spotlight- Will can't think of anything worse.
"Alright," Will says with a sigh. "I guess I could come by."
Hannibal looks delighted. Will feels himself smile despite the mounting dread in his stomach. It's sweet, even if it's going to be absolute torture. Sweet that Hannibal wants to make Will feel special for a day.
"Excellent. I'll see you then. Say, seven o'clock?"
Will nods, resigning himself. "Sure. Seven, I'll be there."
He spends the next week contemplating canceling. It feels like it's much too late for that, though. Hannibal likely has many things in motion for this, it would be rude to pull the rug out from under him now. It occurs to him that, in order to plan this, he's going to expose Will's well-guarded secret. Hopefully only to a few people, but the number of people who know Will's birthday will increase, and those people might tell others. And Hannibal might do this again, if they are still friends in a year's time. Or someone else will.
The smile on Hannibal's face rises to his mind, every time the dread becomes too thick. It thaws the ice and brings him back to the surface, warms his shivering bones and makes him feel a different ache in his chest.
Blue lips, kissed until they're red.
Maybe he could handle one day a year of unwanted attention, if it made Hannibal happy to put the spotlight on Will.
He spends the morning fishing, not brave enough to wade into the water in this weather but casting from the edge instead. It isn't long before the numbness in his fingers sends him back to the house, though. The afternoon belongs mainly to his dogs, walking briskly through the woods in an attempt to keep from shivering in the cold. His usual wardrobe was more than sufficient in the past, but this year is brutal.
Will finds himself anxiously looking at the clock. It isn't really early enough to start getting ready, unless he's planning on dressing up for this. Which, he probably should, now that he thinks about it. If Hannibal is making him into a spectacle, it would probably be better to appear in something nicer than a thick flannel. He tries on a few of the more formal outfits he owns, frowning at himself in the mirror each time. Would it be suspicious to show up in a tie? It's meant to be a surprise, right? He should act like it caught him off guard.
Oh God, he's going to have to act surprised. He rests his forehead against the glass of the mirror miserably, stares at himself pressed against the clear surface and envisions himself as one of The Baptist's victims. The juxtaposition is obvious- serenity and anxiety, death and birth, blue lips and flushed cheeks. He groans, why did he have to develop a crush on someone so nice? Someone so hellbent on making Will feel like he matters?
He pulls away from the mirror and checks the time. He actually does need to get going soon. He finds a nicer blue sweater in the back of his closet that was just barely too tight around the arms to be comfortable, throws it on over a dark grey button-down and runs a lint roller over it to make himself look more presentable. He takes a deep breath, staring at his reflection. It won't be that bad. It can't be that bad.
Will arrives early. Ordinarily he would just stroll up to the door anyway, but Hannibal had made a point to stress that he'd like Will to be on time tonight. Probably so that the guests would be ready for him at the appropriate moment. So Will sits in his car for about ten minutes, rubbing his hands together in the lukewarm air produced by his heater. It's starting to snow outside, little flakes sticking to his windshield. The weather pushes him indoors for the third time that day, and he moves to the house six minutes early.
Hannibal had texted him while Will was driving. 'Just let yourself in, dinner is taking a bit longer than anticipated and I'm predisposed.' Likely story.
Will sighs heavily, steeling his nerves, and opens the front door. The foyer is empty, dimly lit as always. He creeps nervously into the sitting room. The lights are off. He braces himself for someone to jump out at him. Nothing happens, the quiet is undisturbed.
"Hannibal?" He calls out, voice tinted with uncertainty.
"In the kitchen!" Hannibal calls back through the house.
Will makes his way slowly through the hall, still anticipating a surprise. The house seems empty, though, and he feels a hesitant relief creeping up his back.
Will holds his breath as he pushes open the kitchen door.
Hannibal is there, alone, worrying over something that smells garlicky and fucking incredible.
"Hey," Will says, the relief cresting over his head as he realizes that whatever Hannibal was planning didn't involve other people. Whatever the scheme actually was, he'd gladly take it. It's almost euphoric, the overwhelming feeling of thank God that's washing over him.
Hannibal turns to send a polite smile his way and seems to get distracted by Will's clothes. "Hello, Will. I'm just finishing some things off. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Will steps closer, craning his neck to try and look over Hannibal's shoulder. "What's for dinner? It smells amazing."
Hannibal's attention is back on a pot on the stove, but Will can hear the smile in his voice. "You know better than to ask that," he scolds playfully. "You'll spoil the surprise."
Will laughs. "I was prepared for a surprise, when I came in," he admits. "Though this isn't what I'd pictured."
"There are a few surprises in store tonight," Hannibal replies, covering the pot and turning to retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet. When he looks at Will again, he quirks a brow. "Did you think I'd thrown you a party?"
Will feels himself blushing. "It occurred to me," he says reluctantly. "You are a shameless socialite, after all."
Hannibal nods in concession, pulling a bottle from where it's been chilling. Champagne, he notes with a skip of his heart. "You would have hated that," Hannibal says, a matter of fact rather than opinion.
"I was ready to grin and bear it."
He smiles, handing Will a glass. "That's generous of you."
Will stares at the bubbles in the champagne, tries to ignore the heat on his face. "I figured I could handle one night of celebrating, if you wanted to...celebrate me," he confesses, swallowing hard.
"I know you better than to think you'd enjoy such a thing, Will. Did that not occur to you?"
Will breathes out a nervous laugh, taking a sip of the champagne. It's good, though his basis for comparison leaves something to be desired. "Chalk it up to paranoia."
When Will braves a glance back up to Hannibal's face, he looks satisfied- as if the plan is going as he'd hoped, so far. "Have a seat in the dining room. I'll bring dinner out in just a moment."
Will obeys, bringing his glass with him.
He's only left at the table for a minute or two before Hannibal returns, setting a large pan at the head of the table.
"Forty-clove chicken," He says, already setting to carving it. "Not just a clever moniker, mind you. It will be some time before I feel up to the task of peeling garlic again."
Will laughs, feeling light from lingering relief coupled with the champagne. His mouth is watering. Damn, it smells amazing. "You didn't have to do that," he finds himself saying.
Hannibal merely focuses on carving, adding a portion of roasted potatoes and parsnips to Will's plate when he's finished.
"This is...different from what you usually serve to guests, Hannibal," Will says as the other man takes his seat. "It's rustic. One might even call it homey."
"And you are different from the guests I am usually serving," he replies easily. "I'm driven to use unfamiliar tools, when I aim to impress you."
Will feels a fresh blush leap to his face. Impress you, his mind echoes, reverberating as if his skull was empty save for that sentiment. I aim to impress you. He distracts himself by taking a bite of the chicken.
"Oh my god."
Hannibal preens as Will takes another bite of the potatoes, clearly enjoying the meal. It's delectable, the meat is warm and juicy and the garlic is certainly a star flavor but it isn't overpowering, and the vegetables are hearty and buttery and only one name for it comes to mind.
"You made comfort food for me."
Hannibal nods, starting on his own portion. "I thought it appropriate- given your background, and with winter in full swing. Do you like it?" He asks, although Will is certain he already knows the answer.
"Absolutely. It's delicious, though your cooking always is," He replies. Hannibal is practically beaming. "Thank you."
Hannibal holds up a hand. "Don't thank me yet."
Will chuckles. "Why, because there's still a chance that this night will go up in flames?"
He smirks and Will feels his stomach flip. "No, because there is more yet for you to look forward to."
Dinner passes easily, filled with the delights of spectacular food and lovely conversation. They spend quite a while just drinking and talking at the table, empty plates forgotten. Will feels happy, warm. It's definitely better than a lonely whiskey in his dark living room.
After a fashion, Hannibal stands to clear their dishes. Will offers to help, but he is waved away. He relents, allowing Hannibal to indulge him for tonight, and sits at the kitchen island. When he's satisfied with the cleanliness of his kitchen for the time being, he turns to Will with a self-satisfied grin.
"I believe I've made you wait long enough for dessert, don't you think?"
Will's eyes widen. "You made dessert, too?"
Hannibal plays at being offended, but his eyes are too amused for it to be convincing. "Naturally. Were you ready to believe that I'd forgone dessert, tonight of all nights?" He tuts in mock disapproval. "You truly had no faith in me, Will."
Of course. Hannibal was avoiding the 'B' word for now, but they were both well aware that this was, in fact, a birthday celebration. He'd been a fool to think there wouldn't be a cake waiting somewhere.
Will's mouth is watering again when Hannibal pulls it from the fridge. Much like dinner, it's pretty and it looks almost unfairly tasty, but it's lacking the usual pretense of Hannibal's cooking. It's a simple cake with pale yellow frosting, decorated only with some flaked almonds.
"Forgive me if this fails to meet expectations," Hannibal says as he begins to cut a slice. "It's been quite a few years since I've made Medaus Tortas."
Will watches him as he gently separates the slice from the rest of the cake, and ah, there's the wow factor. There's got to be at least a dozen thin layers, each clean and precisely even. Between each layer of cake is more of the frosting, and if Hannibal's goal was to impress Will then he's definitely succeeded.
"Medaus Tortas? I've never heard of it."
Hannibal nods, setting the slice in front of Will. "No, I don't imagine you have. It's a traditional honey cake, very popular for special occasions in Lithuania."
Will's chest tightens. Lithuania, where Hannibal called home. A traditional dessert from his childhood. "Oh?"
Hannibal serves himself a slice and joins Will at the island. "I usually throw a dinner party on my own birthday, so the offerings are a bit more sophisticated," He explains. "But my mother made Medaus Tortas for my sister and I, every year until her passing."
Oh, fuck. Will feels his heart stop. This is more than just impressive, or traditional- this is meaningful. Heartfelt, sentimental and vulnerable in all the ways that make Will feel like Hannibal really cares about him, really wants him to feel wanted. He swallows around the growing lump in his throat, tries to think of an adequate response.
"Hannibal," he begins, voice wavering. "You didn't have to-"
"I did this because I wanted to, Will," He says softly. "Try it, please, don't leave me in suspense."
Will smiles, chest fit to burst. He takes a bite and sighs around the flavor. The sweetness of the honey is cut by a sharp tang of lemon in the frosting and something...herbal? Almost like...
"Is there tea in this?"
"Yes. The cakes are each infused with Earl Grey overnight. What do you think?"
He sounds more nervous than he had when he asked about dinner. Will understands, and answers quickly.
"It's amazing. I love it." He looks up to Hannibal, and even though he'd been warned to spare his gratitude, he can't possibly let this moment pass without it. "Thank you, really."
Hannibal looks completely overjoyed, and even a little relieved, which is not an emotion Will is used to seeing in him. Was he really that nervous about this?
Will is overcome with a familiar desire to cup his cheeks and kiss him. To tell him everything his mind is too stubborn to let his mouth say.
"I'm glad to hear it," Hannibal says after a moment."I was hoping you would."
Will tries to breathe around the warmth flooding his body. "So you throw yourself a birthday party every year?" He prods.
"I don't think of it like that, but technically, yes."
"And how do you think of it?"
Hannibal's face is soft, something almost frighteningly tender in his eyes. "I think of it as an excuse to bring people together, and make sure that none of them go hungry."
Will breathes out a small laugh, taking another bite of the Medaus Tortas. "You are extraordinary, you know that?"
It doesn't fully dawn on him until Hannibal falls silent. Oh, shit, did he really just say that?
"Um- I mean, I don't know where you come up with this stuff. It's baffling," He elaborates, forcing another weak chuckle. "You're unlike anyone I've ever met."
His face is scorching, he must be bright red right now. He opens his mouth to backpedal more, but Hannibal beats him to it.
"Stay here, Will. I have one more surprise for you."
Will raises his eyebrows at that, turns to question him, but Hannibal is already striding from the kitchen. Will fidgets, tries to calm his racing heart.
When he sees the other man return, Will freezes.
"Hannibal," He says, too stunned to say much more.
Hannibal has a large box, topped with a simple bow. The tag just reads 'Will' in his signature swirly script, giving him no clues.
"Y-you...I couldn't possibly-" He flounders. It's been years since he's gotten a birthday present, by his own design. This whole evening is starting to feel like an unrealistically pleasant dream he's having, like any minute he'll wake and find that he fell asleep on his couch.
"I tried to bridge the gap between what you've been accustomed to and my own impulses, and I believe I've landed on something satisfactory."
Will eyes the box and then Hannibal, lifting a brow as he takes it.
"I wanted to give you something practical. Something that one could say you needed, even if it isn't...strictly necessary. Hopefully more pragmatic than Dickensian, though."
Will opens the box with shaking hands, and chokes on his breath when he looks at the contents.
Hannibal mercifully removed any price tags from the black coat before wrapping it. Will is grateful because he can tell just by looking at it that it cost more than Will would ever consider spending on clothes. He tries not to think about that, though. Instead he reaches out and gently feels the fabric, as if it might turn into a puff of smoke at his touch. It's soft but thick and durable, it'll last more than a few winters for sure. He mentally commits to lint rolling it every time he wears it, and keeping it away from the dogs. It'll keep him warm, on the long drive from Baltimore or Quantico back to Wolf Trap. No more blue lips, he'll look plenty alive when he's wrapped in it.
"Will?"
Will takes a slow breath. He's just been staring at the coat for longer than would be appropriate, now. He needs to say something. The words are caught somewhere in his throat. What could he possibly say? This wasn't something he needed, not really. Will wasn't in any danger of freezing, he was just uncomfortable at night or in the mornings. No, this would only serve to make Will feel happier. Nothing else. Just happy, and comfortable, and safe.
"Will? Is everything alright?"
"It's perfect."
Hannibal falters. "I can take it back, if it doesn't suit you," he offers.
"No," Will says, and his voice feels far away. "No, I said it's perfect. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."
"You did mention a readiness to grin and bear it, so to speak," Hannibal points out.
Without another word, Will lifts the coat from the box and pulls it on. It's flattering on him in addition to being comfortable, he realizes. It comes to mind that Hannibal might've been picturing how Will would look in this coat when he picked it out, and Will feels like he might just short circuit at the idea.
"Well?" He asks, smiling brightly as he fastens the buttons. "What do you think?"
Hannibal is blushing, christ almighty Hannibal Lecter is blushing. "It's quite fetching, Will," He says, sounding a bit off-balance.
Will looks to the windows. It's still snowing. It's pretty. Romantic. The coat is warm, a bit too warm to be comfortable indoors.
"Do you wanna take it for a test drive with me?"
Hannibal looks thoroughly pleased with the idea. "Of course."
They set out along Hannibal's street, the sidewalk illuminated by the warm yellow of streetlights that catch the snow on the ground and make it glitter. The light flurries dance on the air, landing on their clothes and testing the resilience of Will's new coat. His face still stings in the frigid air, doubtlessly turning the tip of his nose pink, but his body is warm. He makes plans to wear this when taking the dogs for walks through the woods, ecstatic that he'll be able to enjoy the outdoors again.
"So when is your birthday?" Will asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
"August," He replies, casting a smirk at Will. "You have quite some time to plan, if you're thinking of retaliating."
Will laughs. "We'll see. Although I'll be keeping my eyes open for the dinner party invite."
"I wouldn't subject you to that."
Will shrugs. "I'd be willing to endure a night of celebrating, if you were the thing being celebrated."
Hannibal stops in his tracks and Will mirrors him. They're under a streetlight, completely alone on the empty street. The snow is picking up a bit, the ambience softening Hannibal's usually hard features. "I'll be certain to extend an invitation, then," Hannibal says at last, sentiment quiet in the peaceful winter air.
Will swallows, hesitant to keep walking. Hannibal had worked really hard for this night- not just slaving away in his kitchen and finding the perfect gift, but putting a dizzying amount of thought and care into every element. He'd been planning, Will had been right, but he'd tailored every piece of the plan to suit Will. There was never an ulterior motive, he just wanted to give Will something he'd never really had- just a good birthday.
Will pulls his hands from the safety of his coat pockets and cups Hannibal's face, gently pulling him close. His cheeks are freezing under Will's palms, but it doesn't faze him. He brings their lips together, kissing him softly. Hannibal's arms come to wrap around Will's waist and he kisses back, melting into the moment. After a moment, Will pulls away, pressing their foreheads together. Hannibal still holds him close.
"Thank you, Hannibal. For everything. Tonight was..." There's something about the phrase 'Best birthday ever' that feels disgustingly cliche, so he bites his tongue. "Nobody's ever done something like this for me before," he says instead.
Hannibal smiles down at Will, his expression nothing short of adoring. "Have you made a good memory, then?"
Will laughs, happiness radiating from him in every direction until he feels like he must be glowing. Hannibal is certainly looking at him like he is. "You made it more than I did," He says. "But...yes. Yes, this will be a very good memory."
Hannibal closes the space between them for another lingering kiss, one that sends sparks cascading down Will's spine.
"Happy Birthday, Will," Hannibal says when they part.