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When the school year began, there were twenty six students in Will Graham’s Kindergarten class. That was one more than normal – class sizes were pretty well controlled, but one extra kid wasn’t worth complaining about, not even at the bimonthly ‘planning session’ his team had. There really was some planning, some review of the standards they needed to cover, some discussion of what was and wasn’t working. There was just more bitching about this or that new regulation or standard, this student’s parents or that student’s behaviour issues, the complete lack of support available from the SpecEd wing, etc. Margaritas were also a major player. No shame in that. Bev knew the owner of La Playa, the local Mexican place, and Monday was half-priced margaritas all night. Twice a month, Will, Bev, Alana, and Bella would meet up and get a booth in the very back corner of the restaurant. It wasn’t a rule, but there was an unspoken two-marg-minimum, and everyone took that very seriously. In the tumultuous world of elementary education, certain things must be held sacred.
Midway through October, Bedelia showed up in Will’s doorway during Music. Will was frantically searching for his copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, because he was in the middle of a (so far very successful) cross-curricular unit on ordinal numbers, Eric Carle, and sequential retelling.
“You know, Ms. Katz has a very good organization system for her classroom library. Perhaps she could help you reorganize.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I know it looks like a mess, but I know just where everything… Is,”
triumphantly, Will held up the book, grinning until he saw Bedelia’s face. Dr. Du Maurier, as she simply had to insist the students call her, had the look, the look every single teacher feared. The ‘bad news’ look.
“Come on, Bedelia, Jack already canceled the pumpkin patch field trip. We do it every year. The parents are gonna revolt. What could you possibly have to tell me that’s worse than that?”
“A new student will be starting in your class on Wednesday.”
“That’s not so…”
“He’s coming to us from a… Less than ideal situation.”
“Oh?”
Will couldn’t keep the apprehension from his voice. Gideon Elementary was composed of mostly well-to-do students from good backgrounds. The parents were doctors and professors from Johns Hopkins, big-name lawyers in Baltimore, architects and engineers, and plenty of housewives (and a handful of househusbands.) The kids had nannies or au pairs, horseback riding lessons on the weekends, music lessons and swim team during the week, and summer vacations in Europe. Some were adopted, of course, as that was highly fashionable recently, but there didn’t tend to be a lot of problems. IEPS, sure – kids on the spectrum, lots of ADD, you know the drill. Common elementary school stuff. None of that would bring guidance counselor extraordinaire Bedelia Du Maurier to your classroom with the look to tell you about a new student’s ‘less than ideal situation’.
“Alexander Lecter, six in March. Father is a well-known Johns Hopkins alum. Originally from Lithuania, I think. Mother is… Out of the picture.”
“Come on, Bedelia, you gotta give me more than that. Out of the picture how?”
Bedelia sighed heavily. She had explained once that, while she understood it was an integral part of her job, she often couldn’t help but feel as though she was spreading gossip. It didn’t help, of course, that some of the teachers treated the information she gave them as just that, sharing it amongst themselves as entertainment.
“From what I understand, Dr. Lecter is from a rather important family, and a marriage was set up for him at a young age. I understand he honoured the terms, but – and this is mostly speculation – did not particularly want to, for… Various reasons.”
That one took Will a moment – Bedelia was very good at being opaque and saying what she meant without really saying it.
“Oh. Oh! Ok.”
“It seems to me that Mrs. Lecter decided that, by providing Dr. Lecter with a son, she had fulfilled her end of the agreement. I understand she stayed – perhaps out of convenience, though it’s not my place to guess – but has recently absconded, leaving Alexander with his father.”
“But… Is he transferring here? Where was he til now?”
“Home with his father. He apparently started at a private school in September, but it did not go well. He’s been home for two weeks now, but Dr. Lecter feels it will be good for him to begin school again, that he needs to be in an appropriate social setting. That the structure will help him normalize.”
“So, a five year old who was abandoned by his mother, kicked out of a private school, and is coming in mid-October, when we’ve already learned the routines and formed friendships without him.”
“Essentially.”
“And you put him with me because…”
“He needs stability. You, more than anyone else, can understand that. You’ve been where he’s been. Jack suggested it.”
“Of course. Can Dr. Lecter come in tomorrow for a meeting?”
“I believe he will be more than willing to make time.”
“Great. Will you set it up? I’ve got a ton of stuff to do this evening, and…”
“I will take care of it. Thank you, Will.”
When Will opened the door at 3:15 the next day, there was a tall man in a plaid suit waiting in the hall. He barely glanced at him, though, preoccupied with James who still had not figured out carrying his book bag and his lunchbox. Will was considering having him referred for OT, just to start the paper trail. The poor kid couldn’t hold a pencil to save his damn life, and more worryingly, he couldn’t seem to coordinate his left and right hands in any meaningful way. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get the kid some services after the midterm, if things didn’t improve. Maybe.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten everyone but the afterschool kids out that he even really noticed the man, hovering outside his door.
“Oh, you must be Dr. Lecter! Hi, great. Um, two minutes, please.”
The man opened his mouth, but closed it as Will turned around, giving the signal for the six kids still on the carpet to line up. They did, and each one touched their head and said the first letter of their last name as they filed out the door, following close to each other as they headed down to the cafeteria. Will ran a hand through his hair and moved to clear a space at his ‘desk’ and pull a chair up to it before going out to bring Dr. Lecter in.
“Sorry about the mess. Magazines are always a catastrophe, but the kids love them. So. I’m Will Graham, and I’ll be Alexander’s teacher this year. Why don’t you come in, and we can talk. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
Dr. Lecter had an unbelievable number of questions. Will was used to nervous parents, but this man really set a new standard. He wanted to know everything, the schedule the kids would follow, when and how often extracurriculars were offered, how much time was devoted to each subject, what assistance was offered to struggling students, how lunch worked, what students would be expected to know and do by the end of the year, and so many other things that Will’s head was pounding by the time he finally managed to get the man out of his classroom. He hadn’t had a chance to ask any of the questions he wanted to ask, but he had a strict rule that, unless there was a crisis, parent meetings couldn’t last more than an hour. Hannibal Lecter filled seventy minutes with question after question, and finally Will had to cut him off. It was almost charming, this odd, overly formal man with his borderline-garish suit and his old fashioned, wide tie and his questions – so many questions – about what his son could expect tomorrow. Will felt for him, he really did. But he also felt the headache and the way his stomach was growling (he’d mostly skipped lunch in favour of setting up the magazine project,) and he just wanted to get home and take Winston out and finish up next week’s planning and get some dinner, and that’s exactly what he did within fifteen minutes of ushering Dr. Lecter out into the hallway.
Alexander Lecter was tall for five, with bright blonde hair and dark, intelligent eyes. He wore a crisp polo over pressed khakis and a pair of tiny loafers. He watched Will silently as he showed him around the room, and lingered against his father when he bent down to hug him goodbye. Dr. Lecter murmured something to him in another language, and Alexander nodded, running a hand back through his hair and pulling away.
“Will the other children be here soon?”
He had the barest hint of his father’s accent, as though perhaps English was not his first language but a close second. Will was glad the kids were used to Jiang’s accent and stilted speech, so that Alexander would not be more of an outsider than he already was.
“Yes, in about ten minutes. Would you like to read a book while you wait?”
“I can’t read.”
“Everyone can read.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You just don’t know how yet. But you can.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow, regarding him seriously before turning to his father and saying something in the other language. Dr. Lecter nodded, smoothing his son’s hair back and looking to Will.
“School lets out at 3:15?”
“Classes end at 3:15. The school doors open at 3:30, so that’s when you’ll be able to come in, just like we discussed yesterday.”
He knew, he knew, that Hannibal would be there by 3:15, waiting outside the door. He’d just have to wait, though.
By the end of the first day, Malcolm had asked to move seats on the carpet so he could sit next to Alexander. By Friday, Will had to sit on the bench at recess with Jenna and talk to her about personal space and how, even though she could kiss her little brother whenever she wanted to, because she loved him, she couldn’t kiss Alexander. He shot an email off to both parents once school was over, and almost immediately he had a response from Dr. Lecter, asking if this was a serious matter, if he needed to discuss this with Alexander or perhaps the girl’s parents or perhaps come in and meet with Will. Will did his best to reassure him, but he was in a hurry – he had to take Winston to the vet, and he didn’t go into as much detail as he might have about how incredibly normal the situation was. When he got home and checked his email again, he had a short message from Jenna’s mom – ‘this girl, sorry, I’ll talk to her,’ essentially – and two new emails from Dr. Lecter. Will read them, took several deep breaths, and decided against replying that evening.
The kids in Will’s class ranged from pre-literate to level E readers. About three-fourths of the class were pre-literate and automatically assigned A level books. Three students were on level B, two on level C, and one each on D and E. Will was not at all concerned – true, the goal was to have everyone on level D by the end of the year, but that really wasn’t as difficult as it sounded, and even if some of his kids only made it to B or C, they’d typically either catch up over the summer, pick it up once they started first grade, or be referred for services because of some underlying problem. Will was pretty sure there were no underlying problems, not this year.
Not even in Alexander Lecter, despite his father’s anxiety. Alexander was working away at his A level books, practicing with patterns and memorization, focusing on tracking text from left to right, and Will was sure he’d be ready to move up very soon – suspected, in fact, that he might already be ready, though something was holding him back. Dr. Lecter, however, was a wreck. Will spun Alexander’s progress just as positively as he spun every other child’s – Alexander is doing a great job tracking text. Alexander read three A level books aloud this week. Alexander is beginning to recognize some words in isolation. Every weekly progress report came back with detailed notes in Dr. Lecter’s careful hand, and always, always, a request to meet. If Dr. Lecter had his way, Will was certain he would be in class with Alexander every moment of every day. He had in fact had to ask Dr. Lecter to stop coming in every day for lunch. A lot of parents didn’t realize how important lunch time was in terms of socialization. Will didn’t bother the ones who came in every other month and let their kid sit on their lap, despite the issues it would eventually present. But Dr. Lecter spent almost a month showing up every. Single. Day. And Will had to put a stop to that because Alexander desperately needed that half hour to interact with his peers meaningfully in a way he couldn’t in class or on the playground and Dr. Lecter, for all his good intentions, was taking that away from him. So. He made sure to let Bedelia and Jack know before he sent out the email, though, just in case.
“Mr. Graham, I hope I’m not interrupting…”
“Dr. Lecter, hi. Actually, I’m kind of in the middle of this. Is there something…”
“I was hoping to discuss Alexander’s reading. I’m quite concerned.”
“Have you been keeping up with his progress reports?”
Will knew he had, he sent the damn things back with almost an entire page of notes in his undeniably beautiful handwriting each week.
“Yes, and I see that he is still not reading.”
“Well, Dr. Lecter, it’s a continuum. He’s making some really good progress.”
“Yes, but he is not reading.”
“He is, in a way.”
“No, he is not.”
“Dr. Lecter, Alexander is five.”
“I know. Almost six. I’m very worried.”
“It’s very common for children to be…”
“Mr. Graham, I would ask you, one professional to another, not to patronize me, please. The past year has been… Difficult. I, more than most, understand the effect this can have on a child’s development. But such a severe delay… Surely you can understand my concern.”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose, running his fingers up to card through his hair.
“Dr. Lecter,”
he began, with as much patience as he could muster at the end of a really fucking long day,
“I’m not sure what delay you mean.”
“The delay in his reading.”
“I haven’t seen any evidence of a delay…”
“He is five, Mr. Graham.”
Before he could stop himself, Will snapped,
“When do you think kids start reading?”
Dr. Lecter looked taken aback, and Will blushed. He hadn’t even meant to get into this discussion. Typically, unless there was a situation, he didn’t let parents just drop in like this. He’d fully intended to remind Dr. Lecter that parent-teacher conferences were in two weeks and he’d be more than happy to discuss his concerns then. But Dr. Lecter looked so damn distraught, and he had a way of drawing Will into a conversation he didn’t want to have, so Will had let him come fully into the classroom and begin his interrogation, and now he waited for the answer he suspected he already knew.
“I began reading when I was three.”
Will nodded, shuffling a few papers around.
“Dr. Lecter, children typically begin reading, as most adults recognize it, between the ages of six and eight. Decoding often begins by four or five, and memorization and recitation begins between two and five. Alexander can memorize and recite, and he’s working on decoding. I understand your concern, especially as you were so advanced. But I promise you, he’s right on track. He’s right where he’s supposed to be. He’s not delayed.”
Will had never seen Dr. Lecter look anything but in control – true, he often presented as concerned, even worried, but there was always an undercurrent of complete control. Now, that slipped away. He looked, to be honest, embarrassed. Will very carefully did not notice how it softened his features, moved him from the cold, regal handsomeness Will had also very carefully not noticed to a gentler, kinder sort of attractiveness. He looked somehow less, but not in a way that diminished him. He looked less in a way that made him more and Will was very glad that he was not noticing or thinking about it.
“He speaks very highly of you. Alexander.”
“Oh? I’m glad. He’s a fantastic kid. Look, I really need to get back to this. Parent-teacher conferences are in two weeks, and I know you’ve already signed up. We can discuss any worries you have then.”
Dr. Lecter nodded, clearing his throat.
“Thank you, Mr. Graham.”
In the week leading up to winter break, Alexander Lecter began to cling. All week at recess, he stayed as close to Will as possible, resisting suggestions, requests, and even outright commands to go play. On Wednesday morning, he came in and wrapped his arms around Will’s hips, pressing his face into his stomach. That afternoon, he went to the bathroom as Will was calling the parent pick up kids, staying there until he was the last student and Will had to walk him down to the auditorium himself. He clung to Will’s hand as they walked, releasing him reluctantly only when his father called him. As they left, Alexander watched Will over his shoulder. On Thursday, he refused to go to Art, unwilling to be separated from Will.
“Alexander, you can’t do this buddy. You have to go.”
“I won’t. I want to stay with you. Please.”
They stood in the hallway outside the Art room, Will on one knee to look Alexander in the eyes.
“If I let you stay with me, other kids will want to.”
“I don’t care.”
“Do you think it’s fair?”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to leave you.”
“Alexander, what are you doing for Christmas?”
“Father and I are going to stay home and have a big tree. He’s going to make dinner. Santa is going to come and bring me gifts.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun.”
“I don’t care. Santa isn’t even real.”
Will looked appropriately shocked at this revelation, then leaned in conspiratorially.
“You can’t say that too loud, buddy.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
“Please don’t make me go.”
“Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You can come back to the room and work on your reading – you have to really work, ok? – but only if you promise you’ll never do this again. Think about how poor Mr. Zeller feels when you say you don’t want to go to his class. It can’t feel very good, huh?”
Alexander nodded, wiping his eyes roughly and throwing his arms around Will’s neck.
“I’ll be very good, I promise. Don’t make me go.”
“Hey. Hey,”
Will unwound his arms, pushing Alexander back just far enough to look at him.
“Winter break is two weeks. I bet that, if you work really hard that whole time, when you come back you’ll be ready to move up to B books, what do you think?”
Dr. Lecter, of course, attended the party. He arrived early with two large platters of cookies, and Alexander darted his eyes back and forth between Will and his father until Will nodded. He ran to his father, clambering up into his arms and instructing him over to the carpet. Will suppressed a laugh as Dr. Lecter adjusted his slacks so that he could sit in Alexander’s square, settling the boy in his lap – the pants alone probably cost more than the carpet itself – and then he suppressed ignored the way his heart skipped as Alexander tucked his head under Dr. Lecter’s chin and Dr. Lecter wrapped his arms around his son. As he finished the story he was reading, other parents arrived, joining their children on the carpet, but none of the subsequent joy and cuddling affected Will the way Alexander’s had.
Three students cried. Five dropped their plates and had to get new ones. Miranda insisted on being carried everywhere by her father. Luckily for Will, Miranda was not in his class, and James was the only one of his who dropped his plate. Dr. Lecter was there immediately, kneeling to clean up the mess, leading James back to the treat table and helping him restock, keeping a hand under his elbow as they went back to the table to steady the plate. Alexander watched all of this sharply from his seat, relaxing only when his father came back to sit next to him. Once Dr. Lecter was beside him again, he focused instead on Will, who was holding an impromptu conference with Jiang’s parents regarding his speech therapy. They were concerned because Jiang had told them his therapist was encouraging him not to speak Chinese at all, even at home, and that seemed unnecessary, didn’t it? Will agreed it did and promised to talk to Dr. Chilton about it. When he turned back around, he found two sets of dark eyes watching him, and he immediately retreated to stand next to Bev, seeking out the comfort he only found with her.
“The Lecter boys are certainly interested in you,”
she always seemed to know exactly what was on Will’s mind, and he groaned as his blush deepened.
“What am I gonna do? Bedelia says she thinks he might be… Otherwise inclined. And Alexander has been obsessed with me all week, you’ve seen.”
“I’d ask him out.”
“Alexander?”
Bev looked at him steadily, and he huffed.
“You would not. It’s unethical.”
“Why? You’re not his patient.”
“No, I’m his son’s teacher. That’s even worse.”
“Oh, grow a pair, Graham. You really think he’s in here every other day cause he’s worried Alex isn’t reading yet?”
“Actually, yeah, I do.”
“Jack would understand. Hell, Jack would probably approve.”
“It’s not Jack I’m worried about.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me know when the wedding is, you know I’m calling best man.”
Will rolled his eyes – Bev was clearly not going to be any help.
“Bella, what do I do.”
“The exact opposite of whatever Beverly told you to do.”
“Well, yeah, I know that.”
“My best advice? Keep it together for the next six months, then ask him out.”
“Why are you all so intent that I ask him out?”
“Because if he asks you out, you’ll say no. So beat him to it.”
As the party began to wind down, parents trickled in to collect their kids. Will got twenty six hugs and seven more presents to add to the growing pile on his desk. Finally, everyone but Dr. Lecter and Alexander was gone. When Will turned to look, they were steadily cleaning – Alexander had commandeered a comically too-large broom and was sweeping under the tables. Dr. Lecter was wiping them down with neat efficiency, brushing the crumbs to the floor for Alexander to catch. Silently, Will began tidying up the extra plates, nudging Beverly and trying to give her a meaningful look. Bev just grinned, catching Alana’s eye and nodding towards the hall.
“Oh, Bella, Jack wanted you to swing by his office when the party was over. I think Will’s pretty much got this.”
And with that, the three of them were alone. Will felt his shoulders tense up, and he focused his entire attention on the plates in his hands.
In the ten minutes it took them to finish, Will grew more and more tense. When Alexander came over and tugged on his sleeve, he almost jumped.
“Mr. Graham, Father has something for you.”
Will grinned tightly, wiping his hands on his jeans and looking up to see Dr. Lecter standing much closer than he’d thought. With a polite smile, he held out a maroon envelope – thick paper, with his name written on the front in Dr. Lecter’s beautiful script.
“Open it,”
Alexander clung to Will’s leg and bounced up on his toes as if to read over his elbow. Will slipped his finger along the closure, splitting the envelope open and pulling out a sheet of heavy, not-quite white paper.
‘Mr. Graham,’
it said, again in that beautiful script, written not in ballpoint but in some sort of real ink,
‘please come spend Christmas with us. We’re going to have a big dinner and you can help with the tree cause we didn’t finish decorating yet and I got you a present. Father said Principal Crawford said you could. You can bring your dog, too.
Sincerely,
Alexander Lecter’
The words were entirely Alexander’s, and Will imagined him hovering over his father’s elbow, dictating the invitation as his father transcribed dutifully. The signature was in Alexander’s childish scrawl, the ‘r’s turned backwards – he was having great difficulty with that. Will ran a hand over his face, scanning the invitation again.
“When Alexander asked, I took the liberty of speaking with Principal Crawford. He agreed that it was unconventional, but, in light of our earlier discussion, he was not opposed. Dr. Du Maurier agreed it might be… Beneficial.”
Will cursed internally – he’d already been preparing an excuse that centered on the fact that there was no fucking way Jack would approve of this. You just… You just didn’t. You didn’t go to your students’ homes, you didn’t meet with their parents outside of school. Same way you didn’t date them. You just didn’t do it. But with his excuse dragged out from under him, he drew a complete blank and realized he’d been quiet for too long.
“Alexander, are you sure it’s alright with your father for me to bring my dog? Having a dog in your home is…”
“Father said it was alright. He said we could make a special Christmas dinner for Winston, and I could walk him, if you said it was alright.”
Will turned desperate eyes to Dr. Lecter. If he said no, Alexander would see it as a personal rejection – that Will didn’t want him. You couldn’t explain to a five year old that this was crossing all kinds of lines, that it wasn’t fair to ask him to come into Dr. Lecter’s home and spend a day with him and be professional when… Well. But Dr. Lecter’s eyes were… Not blank, so much as open. Waiting. Curious. So Will did the only thing he could, because Dr. Lecter’s eyes offered no reprieve – he agreed.
“Jack, what the actual fuck.”
“Will, if you don’t close that door behind you I will have legal grounds to fire you.”
“Jack, come on!”
Will pushed the door harder than he needed to, running his hands back through his hair.
“I can’t spend Christmas with them! Why would you say it was ok? It’s… Jack, this is the opposite of ok!”
“Why?”
“Why? WHY? Because, Jack, Jesus! It’s unprofessional, it’s unethical, and have you seen him? He rolled his sleeves up today, Jack, and… Fuck, why am I telling you this. It’s not fair, Jack. It’s not a good idea.”
“You don’t think you can conduct yourself professionally around Dr. Lecter, is that what you’re telling me? Think very carefully about your answer, Will.”
“Of course I can conduct myself fucking professionally, Jack, that’s not the point!”
Jack grinned, leaning back.
“Good, because I was betting against all three of them and let me tell you, the stakes were very high for public school teachers.”
Will threw his hands up in exasperation, turning to face the door and collect himself. Jack sighed.
“Look, Will, I get it. Bella assures me that Dr. Lecter is a very attractive man. But I need you to look at this another way. Alexander needs this. Have you read the file, read what happened at his last school?”
“No, I… I didn’t want to go into it with any biases. I wanted to find out who he was, not who they said he was.”
“That’s admirable. But let me tell you, Will. I read it. And it’s not pleasant. It’s not something I’m willing to have happen in my school. And if that means I need to authorize a visit from his teacher over break, I am willing to do that. I know I’m asking a lot of you. But I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t know you could handle it. This kid needs you, Will. And I really don’t think it would hurt you to relax a little, have a nice evening with people who like you.”
“I don’t know if I’m physically capable of relaxing around Dr. Lecter.”
“Well, you better figure that out before June.”
Will turned back, raising an eyebrow.
“What happens in June?”
“Alexander Lecter is no longer your student, and I have it on good authority that if you don’t ask Dr. Lecter out, Beverly or Alana is going to do it for you.”
The string of words that poured from Will’s mouth had Jack doubled over in laughter.
Bella helped him pick out a bottle of wine – nice, but still (relatively) affordable. Alana bought a set of Eric Carle books, assuring Will that, since he hadn’t bought them himself, it was entirely ok for him to give them to Alexander (Will would be paying her back in margaritas, she informed him.) Bev came over and picked out an outfit for him over a few glasses of whiskey. Bedelia had given him a book on young children’s reaction to abandonment – it had been, as she’d promised, both a quick read and very informative. Jack hadn’t done a damn thing to help, had in fact sent Will an email the night before that – incredibly unprofessionally – simply said ‘Remember: June’ with a little winky emoticon. Will texted Bev a frantic reminder that she was under no circumstances to say anything to Dr. Lecter on his behalf ever. She responded with the same damned winky face, and Will fell into bed with a groan.
The Lecter house was enormous. Will had hoped to avoid entering for a few minutes, giving Winston a chance to sniff around and relieve himself, but as soon as he emerged from the car, the front door flew open and Alexander Lecter was running down the front steps. Will barely had time to set his feet before the boy was upon him, slamming into his legs hard enough to almost knock him over. Winston wasn’t entirely sure what to do, offering up a warning huff and nosing at Alexander’s stomach. At this, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Winston’s neck, nuzzling against his fur and sighing contentedly. In many ways, Alexander was a typical five year old – he loved the free play center, math lessons with manipulatives were more likely to hold his interest than those without, his attention span typically lasted around fifteen minutes, and he couldn’t wait for his birthday. In other ways, in other really meaningful ways, though, he was no more five than Will was. There was a tension in his shoulders, a constant bracing that Will was all too familiar with. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and dark with knowledge that five was far too young for. The way Alexander held himself, carried himself, the tone and pacing of his voice, all told Will far more than he truly wanted to know about the boy’s past, and for that reason, he had bought a stupidly expensive bottle of wine and struggled for twenty minutes to wrap a stack of differently-sized books and packed Winston into the car and driven almost an hour to stand in front of this house in the snow. The way the tension fell away from Alexander, the childish laugh he let out when Winston licked him, made all of that worth it.
Alexander held Winston’s leash and led them inside, slipping his shoes off in front of the door in a way that indicated Will should do the same.
“Father, Mr. Graham is here,”
he called, before leading Winston away, through a door, without waiting for Will to follow. Dr. Lecter emerged from another door a moment later, finding Will standing in his stocking feet in the front hall, a bottle of wine in one hand and a wrapped package in the other. Dr. Lecter had an apron around his waist, and his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Will absolutely did not find that at all attractive.
“Hello, Mr. Graham. Merry Christmas.”
Will nodded and blushed and almost dropped the wine as he tried to offer it to Dr. Lecter.
“Merry Christmas,”
he finally managed, as Dr. Lecter examined the bottle.
“This will go well with dessert,”
his smile was polite but warm, and Will nodded.
“Here, may I take your coat?”
Will set Alexander’s gift down to shrug his jacket off, offering it to Dr. Lecter along with his scarf.
“Your son seems to have absconded with my dog. I hope you thought it through before you said he could come, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Actually, I’m quite interested to see how he handles it. If all goes well, I would be amenable to getting a dog.”
“You’ll never have a fur-free piece of clothing again.”
“There are worse things.”
Alexander came back in, trailing Winston, to take Will’s hand.
“Let’s open presents now.”
“Alexander, you agreed that if Mr. Graham was to come over, we would wait until after dinner for presents.”
“But Father…”
Dr. Lecter cut him off with a single word in another language, and Alexander’s cheeks coloured. He squeezed Will’s hand, and Will squeezed back.
“Mr. Graham, I need to set the table. Is it alright if Winston comes with me?”
“Of course. Start walking, and say ‘heel’. He’ll follow.”
Will unclipped the dog’s leash, hanging it off the same hook Dr. Lecter had hung his jacket from. Alexander led the dog into another room, and Will was alone with Dr. Lecter again.
“I’m almost finished with dinner. Perhaps you’d like to assist me in the kitchen?”
“I’m not much use in kitchens, Dr. Lecter.”
“You can pour the wine, then. And please, Mr. Graham, call me Hannibal.”
Will managed a reciprocation, and then Dr. Lecter – Hannibal – was leading him into the kitchen.
“In Lithuania, the day before Christmas is called ‘Kūčios’, and there is a special meal. Alexander was very determined to have you here on Christmas, not Christmas Eve, so I decided we could postpone the meal until tonight. It is not a Kūčios that my ancestors would recognize, but I have tried to capture some of the essence.”
This was all the warning Will was given before he began to help Hannibal carry twelve separate dishes out to the long table. Hannibal explained the Lithuanian names of each dish and their symbolism, but Will couldn’t keep it all straight. He gathered that there was no meat involved – a stark deviation from Hannibal’s normal fare, he was assured – though he couldn’t recall why after Hannibal told him. The words flowed from Hannibal’s tongue but tasted strange when Will tried to repeat them (much to Alexander’s delight) – ‘silkė su grybais’, ‘ungurys su morkomis’, ‘spanguolių kisielius.’ Alexander tried to help, but all that amounted to was him repeating the words with the same ease as his father while Will continued to stumble over them.
“Is that the language you’re speaking, then, when you…”
In a desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from his apparently dismal Lithuanian, Will didn’t realize how rude his question was until it was halfway out. Hannibal, however, merely smiled, and Alexander gestured with his spoon as he explained,
“Not always. Usually, it’s French – Father is ‘appalled’ that my French is better than my Lithuanian. He says, ‘vos ancêtres pleuraient’ - my ancestors would cry. And he says…”
“Sasha, that’s quite enough.”
“Papa!”
Alexander’s face was a mask of horror, and he turned wide, hurt eyes to his father. They began a conversation in rapid-fire French (Will recognized it, now that it had been given a name,) which ended with Alexander looking sullenly at his plate and Hannibal rubbing his forehead.
“Will, I apologize. Alexander does not appreciate being called his nickname in front of others.”
Will nodded, adopting a serious, thoughtful expression.
“Do you know what my father used to call me?”
Alexander peeked up, curious.
“Willy,”
Will’s voice was grave, but a smile played around the corners of his lips.
“Willy?”
“Until I was twenty five. Can you imagine that?”
“Didn’t you tell him to stop?”
“All the time. But you know what? He called me that because, to him, I’d always be his little boy. He called me that because he loved me.”
Alexander sighed heavily, recognizing a moral when he saw one, and took his spoon up again.
“In America, Sasha is a girl’s name,”
he confided over his peas.
“That’s true. But your father isn’t American.”
“Neither am I. I was born in Germany.”
“There you go. Why should it matter what Sasha means here, if it means something special to you and your father?”
Alexander didn’t answer immediately, pushing his food about on his plate for a moment before turning to his father and saying something in French. Hannibal nodded, and Alexander turned to smile at Will.
“Papa says that you may call me Sasha, if you like. But not at school. Only when you’re here.”
“I didn’t…”
“Promise you won’t at school,”
Alexander didn’t wait for his father to finish, leveling a serious gaze at Will. Will was shocked to see a tinge of pink on Hannibal’s cheeks, and he made the requisite promises without really considering them.
In true five year old form, Alexander exhausted himself opening his presents and, after reciting ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ for his father and insisting he wasn’t ready for bed yet, he curled up with Winston in front of the fire and promptly fell asleep. Hannibal looked at the mess of wrapping paper that surrounded the base of the tree, and Will could see him considering cleaning. Instead, he stood only to refill their wine glasses, returning to settle on the sofa near Will.
“I truly appreciate you coming to spend this time with us. Sasha has been… Better, since he began in your class. It was very difficult to watch what he went through and be unable to help.”
“There’s no way he would be as alright as he is if you didn’t help, Hannibal.”
“This is true, of course. Still, there is such a feeling of helplessness, to watch your child go through this and not be able to protect him.”
“I can’t imagine,”
Will said honestly, and Hannibal turned dark eyes to him.
“I have spoken with Dr. Du Maurier about the situation at great length, but I wonder how much you have been made aware of.”
Will shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip of wine for lack of anything better to do.
“I know… Bits and pieces.”
Hannibal nodded, and it took every ounce of patience for Will to wait for him to continue.
“Margot and I did not meet until I was twenty eight, though we had been engaged since I was thirteen. I was allowed to finish my medical training before we were married. She had nothing but contempt for formal schooling, having attended finishing school and spent her time as a socialite before our wedding. Our marriage was… Perfunctory. We did our best to keep up appearances, but in truth, neither of us had any interest in the other. To be perfectly frank, I found her incredibly dull, and she found me insufferably pedantic. I despaired for intelligent conversation at home, and I stayed longer and longer at the hospital, if only to avoid her. I was not a good husband.”
“It doesn’t sound like she was a very good wife,”
Will mumbled into his wine glass, his cheeks colouring at his own words.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”
“You’re entirely correct. We were neither of us good spouses. I was as surprised as she when she became pregnant – I am ashamed to admit that I demanded a paternity test. But when Sasha came along… She was changed. We agreed it was prudent to have a nanny for the first year or so, but she seemed so in love with him. She would spend hours simply holding him, murmuring softly, singing… I was not shattered, as he was, when she left – disappeared into the night, like a trashy novel – but I was shocked. Self-impressed scholar that I am – she was often correct in her accusations – I could not help but compare it to Anna Karenina. Have you read it?”
“Yes. It never sat right with me, the way she just left. She spent so long saying she couldn’t leave Seryozha.”
“Precisely. Sasha was Margot’s Seryozha, and while I was not surprised that she would leave me, I could not understand her leaving him.”
Will was surprised to find his wine glass near empty. Hannibal took it from him, filling them once again. Will resolved not to finish this one – his fourth, he realized, despairingly. He refused to even consider how he was going to get home.
“Alexander – Sasha – has done very well in my class. He’s engaged, and he’s clearly very intelligent – not pedantic yet, but I’m sure there’s hope for that as he gets older.”
Hannibal blushed – blushed – at the gentle teasing, and Will grinned.
“He’s a sweet kid. He loves you more than life itself – that’s pretty damn clear. It’s certainly flattering, the way he’s latched onto me, but you’re still number one.”
And at that, Hannibal chuckled. Will definitely did not find that attractive.
“I know he had… Problems, at his last school. But he hasn’t shown any sign of repeating that here.”
“And for that, I credit you.”
“It’s not just me.”
“It is more you than anything else. You are the single greatest factor behind his change of attitude. He feels safe with you.”
“You certainly know how to charm a girl, Dr. Lecter. There’s nothing a teacher wants to hear more than that a student feels safe with them. No, I mean it – everything we do, we do it for them. It’s one of the highest compliments we can get.”
They were sitting too close, Will knew that, and Hannibal was smiling gently, and Will had had almost four glasses of wine, and Jack had said…
“Papa? If I’m very good, can I have a dog for my birthday?”
Alexander sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Winston licked his hand as he set it to the floor to support himself, drawing a giggle from the boy.
“We shall see, Sasha.”
“I think I’m ready for bed now.”
“I should say you are.”
“Can Mr. Graham tuck me in?”
Hannibal turned to look at Will, who blushed and nodded.
“I’d be honoured.”
In a complete violation of every regulation he’d ever learned, Will bent down and picked Alexander up, sighing when the boy wrapped his arms around Will’s neck and rested his head against Will’s shoulder.
“Good night, Papa,”
he yawned, snuggling closer against Will as he took him from the room. He paused in the hall, and Hannibal called out,
“All the way up the stairs, third door on the left.”
Alexander dozed in his arms as he carried him up the stairs, doing his best to ignore the aching in his chest. Will had always wanted kids, but it just didn’t seem likely – at thirty, he hadn’t had a stable relationship in years, if ever, and without a partner (male or female, Will wasn’t particular either way,) adoption wasn’t really viable. The kids he worked with were fantastic and Will loved each and every one, but in a school setting, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for this, just holding a child, feeling their weight in your arms, their complete trust and love.
“Alright, in bed with you,”
Alexander slipped from his arms into the sheets, reaching blindly for a stuffed rabbit and pulling it to his chest as Will drew the blankets up over him.
“Good night, Sasha.”
“Good night, Mr. Graham. I love you.”
Will grinned, feeling his heart swell, and smoothed Alexander’s hair away from his face.
He followed the scent of coffee back into the kitchen to find Winston patiently watching Hannibal prepare a plate of cookies and check on the incredibly fancy-looking coffee maker – a far cry from Will’s Mr. Coffee.
“From a medical standpoint, I am fully aware that coffee does not, in fact, sober one up. It’s as good a way as any to end an evening, however, especially when you have a drive ahead of you.”
“Coffee is my greatest weakness,”
Will took a seat at the island, turning serious eyes on Hannibal.
“If I never drank again, it wouldn’t bother me – I’d miss whiskey, but I’d get over it. Try to take my coffee from me, though… That’s a fight that won’t end well for anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,”
Hannibal assured him, offering him the cookies. Will took one, palming a piece and offering it to Winston – he’d been very good all evening. The coffee maker released a familiar hiss, and Hannibal turned to fix a cup of coffee.
“It is a special Italian roast. I’m glad to have someone who appreciates coffee to share it with. Sasha is quite an adventurous eater, but even if I were to allow him to drink coffee, I doubt he’d enjoy it.”
Will accepted the cup gratefully, ignoring the brush of fingers in favour of tasting the coffee – still too hot, but delicious.
“Ow. This is fantastic.”
Hannibal smiled, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.
“Would you accept a pound of it, if I offered?”
Will blushed, beginning to shake his head.
“I have expensive coffee rarely enough to recognize it, Hannibal.”
“What you have done for me – for my son – is beyond any monetary value. It is the least I could do, and I ask you to allow me this gratitude. Consider it a Christmas gift.”
Twenty minutes and two large glasses of water later, Will put Winston in the car, tucking the bag of coffee and the hand-painted mug Alexander had given him into the centre console to keep them safe.
“Let’s go home, buddy, huh?”
Winston whined agreeably, curling up on the back seat and beginning to snore.
“Lucky you,”
Will muttered, pulling out onto the empty street. Despite the wine and the late hour, he was wide awake. He considered calling Bev, but decided to wait – he felt perfectly sober after the coffee and the water, but he knew the last thing he needed was another distraction. Unfortunately, that left him alone with his thoughts on the drive home.
He had a lot of thoughts, and it was a very long drive.
There was something off about the way Alexander ‘failed’ his reading level test after the break, but Will could not exactly say what it was. He seemed to be trying, and he assured Will he had practiced every day. But when presented with the leveled reader, he struggled to decode each word individually, recognizing only about half of the sight words, and he didn’t use the pictures at all, even after Will reminded him that it wasn’t cheating – unfortunately, a lot of parents felt it was and discouraged their kids from using them. Will explained its importance as a pre-reading strategy at every single conference, and mentioned it in his newsletters and notes home, but he still ended up with kids who insisted they couldn’t use the pictures to try to figure out the words. Will doubted Hannibal was going against his suggestion, though, which meant Alexander was doing it himself. It all added up to something, but Will wasn’t sure what.
There was something further off about the change in Alexander’s behaviour in February, and Will explained as much when he called Hannibal in to talk about how Alexander had shoved Malcolm down at recess. Twice. Malcolm no longer wanted to sit next to Alexander on the carpet, though Will was sure that would change within a week. But in the four months Alexander had been in Will’s class, he had never once gotten physical with anyone. His typical response in a disagreement was to shut down, refuse to speak to the other student, but never to get aggressive. It just… It wasn’t like him. Hannibal agreed, though he looked very troubled at the revelation. Bedelia came in later in the week to explain to Will that Dr. Lecter had finally confessed to her that, in the months before Alexander’s mother left, she had taken to mistreating Alexander, particularly when his father worked late. And Will didn’t say it, but he’d known, and he ached for Sasha even as he had to make Alexander sit out at recess, even as he wrote another note home to tell Hannibal that Alexander had thrown a book during quiet reading and said (what turned out to be) a rather rude word when Will asked him to pick it up and go sit at his desk. Hannibal apologized profusely, and offered to come in for a meeting immediately. Will accepted, figuring this fell under the heading of a situation.
“Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“There is no matter I find more pressing than my son.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll be honest, Dr. Lecter. I’m worried. He was making such good progress, and he seems to have just shut down. I told you at Christmas that he wasn’t showing any signs of repeating his behaviour from, you know… But I’m worried that this is the prologue to that.”
“I share your concerns, Mr. Graham.”
Will felt it was important to keep a professional distance that had fallen away at Christmas, and he was relieved that Hannibal – Dr. Lecter – seemed to respect that.
“For now, I’d like to suggest that Alexander meet with Dr. Du Maurier twice a week – she suggested lunch on Mondays and Fridays, and I’m inclined to agree. That will let him start and end the week with her, and I’m hoping that will help. Do you have any other suggestions?”
Dr. Lecter took a breath, then – in a stunning display of vulnerability – dropped his head into his hands. Will gave him a moment, looking down at the papers on his desk instead, and Dr. Lecter collected himself.
“I must be honest with you, Will. He has been… Frustrated. He keeps asking when you will come back to visit again, and he is not satisfied with my answer. I worry that, as good as our intentions were, you coming for Christmas may have done more harm than good, at least for him. He has grown so attached to you, and I worry he feels rejected when you – as you should – treat him as you treat all your students. I believe he may be acting out in a bid for your attention. I am terribly worried how he will handle the transition to first grade, though I believe that is a problem for another day.”
“Well, shit.”
Will slapped a hand to his mouth, turning bright red, and took a breath only when Dr. Lecter – Hannibal – chuckled. (Still not at all attractive, especially given the circumstances.)
“I’m sorry. I just… I think you’re right. I’m sure you are. And I have no idea what to do about it. I mean, ok, we’ve got three months to work on that. But right now – he can’t think abstractly enough to understand the situation. I think that, even more than most kids, love and acceptance are very concrete – they’re either there the way he understands them, or he’s being rejected. And I’ll tell you, I took two child psych classes in university, but that doesn’t in any way prepare me for this. I can’t have him acting this way in my classroom. But I can’t treat him differently, either. Part of me wants to bite the bullet and put him in another class, because it’s not good for him to be this attached to me. But I know that’ll only make things worse for him – I’ll just be another adult who doesn’t want him, and he’ll either act out more or he’ll shut down. I’m at a loss.”
Dr. Lecter reached out, suddenly, placing a large, warm hand over Will’s. He withdrew it almost immediately, blushing and apologizing.
“I’m so sorry. I… That’s an appropriate reaction to distress at the hospital, but it clearly is not appropriate here.”
Will laughed and immediately regretted saying,
“You’re not the first man to hold my hand, Hannibal.”
Both mortified, Will finally broke the silence by rising.
“I’m going to call Dr. Du Maurier, if that’s alright with you. I think she’s much better equipped to handle a situation like this.”
Hannibal nodded, running a hand back through his hair.
“All things considered, I believe that would be the best course of action.”
Bedelia suggested that Alexander begin meeting with her immediately, rather than waiting til next week. She told Will that perhaps he could give Alexander a special job in the classroom, to make him feel needed. She told Hannibal that he ought to begin to talk about first grade, gently stressing that he would not be staying with Will after the summer, but that he would still be able to see him occasionally. She pointed out that Alexander might be underperforming deliberately in order to hold Will’s attention – children, she said, often don’t discriminate between positive and negative attention, and are willing to accept whatever they can get; the root of most behaviour problems is a desire for attention. She told Will to try to learn the warning signs and give Alexander a bit of inconspicuous attention when he saw them – a pat on the shoulder, a smile, a compliment on work or behaviour. She suggested Will and Hannibal stay in close contact and keep one another up to date on any developments. She agreed that, for the moment, weekly conferences seemed excessive – email and phone calls should suffice, and she would meet with Will for a few minutes each Friday. She pointed out that it might get worse before it got better. She told Will he could always send Alexander to her office if he felt it necessary, but to do so sparingly, so he didn’t feel sent away. She reassured Hannibal that this behaviour was incredibly common in children who had lost a parent.
Throughout March, Alexander was sullen and borderline disrespectful. The other students began to avoid playing with him, and Nicole’s parents apologized profusely but asked that their daughter be moved away from him, as he made her uncomfortable. Will asked him to be in charge of passing out and collecting pencils, and Alexander seemed happy with the job for a few days. Within a week, however, he began throwing pencils at the other students, and Will had to ‘fire’ him. That conversation ended in tears, and Will had to let him stay back from Music. Alexander rocked himself in the rocking chair and cried silently for fifteen minutes, then sulked for another fifteen. As Will was getting ready to go collect the class, Alexander came running over to wrap his arms around Will’s waist and apologize, and Will had to breathe through his nose to avoid crying himself. He waited to write Dr. Lecter about it until he was safely home and had Winston cuddled in his lap. Luckily for Will, none of the other students were presenting with any serious issues, because it was taking all his emotional resources to deal with Alexander.
Two weeks before Spring Break, Hannibal dropped by in the afternoon.
“Dr. Lecter, hi. What’s up?”
Will found himself more and more often breaking his rule about drop-ins for Hannibal. He still turned him away occasionally, but it was half-hearted and typically came with promises to email later. Today, he simply let him in.
“Alexander has asked when to expect you during break. He has suggested you spend Easter with us.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“Nor do I. I told him as much, and he called me a name I’d rather not repeat here. He seems entirely unimpressed by his punishment, and I fear this will become a problem here. I wanted to let you know. I expect he will invite you himself. I hoped to give you a chance to prepare yourself.”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Lecter. I’ll talk to Bedelia, maybe she has some ideas. Thanks for the heads up.”
Dr. Lecter nodded, turning to leave.
“Mr. Graham?”
He paused at the door, and Will looked up to find him looking almost sad.
“I believe that, despite all of this, he still trusts you. Perhaps more than he trusts me, at this point. I truly appreciate all you have done for him.”
Will blushed and tried to think of something to say, but Hannibal just smiled and left, closing the door gently behind himself.
Bedelia offered to talk to Alexander during lunch. Will nodded, relieved, and sent him down with Malcolm on Friday – Malcolm had stubbornly stayed friends with Alexander, despite everything, and had volunteered to be his hallway buddy when he went to Dr. Du Maurier’s office for his session. Once he came back, the class lined up, and Will led them to the cafeteria. Ten minutes into lunch, the loudspeaker crackled and Will Graham was called to the office. He and Bev exchanged a look, and Alana offered to take his class out to recess for him.
In the office, he was immediately greeted by Jack.
“If you can’t calm him down, Will, I’m going to have to expel him. I won’t have a choice. He’s already exhausted all our other options. I can’t get to him, Bedelia can’t – I had the Spec Ed teacher in, and he just screamed louder. I’m already pushing it as it is – he tried to bite Bedelia. That alone is enough. But I need to give you a chance. I called Dr. Lecter – he’s in the OR, but the nurse said she’ll send him along within the hour. Get him together, Will. Please.”
Bedelia’s office was a wreck. Alexander had knocked papers off her desk, books off her shelf, and pictures off her wall. He was sitting in the middle of it all, screaming and crying, and when Will shut the door behind himself, Alexander began banging his head back against the desk. Without thinking, Will scooped him up, running gentle fingers across his scalp even as Alexander fought against him.
“Let me go,”
he screamed, pressing against Will’s chest and throwing his weight backwards. Will caught him, pulling him close again, tucking his little head under his chin.
“Sh, Sasha, sh. Stop this. I know you’re mad, buddy, but you’ve gotta stop.”
“I don’t love you,”
he sobbed, banging his fists against Will’s collarbone.
“I don’t love you because you’re going to leave. Good. I want you to leave! Batârd. Malin petit cochon!”
Will had no idea what names he’d just been called, but he recognized the way Alexander said them – these were things Alexander had been called. Things he had internalized, things that hurt him so badly they were all he knew to use to hurt someone else.
“It’s ok if you don’t love me, Sasha. It’s ok. I still love you, and I’m not going to leave you, ok? I’m going to stay right here with you. I’m going to stay right here.”
Will wasn’t sure how long Alexander fought and cried, scratching and hitting and kicking, but eventually he tired, his sobs turning to hiccups, his arms winding around Will’s neck, his head resting heavy against his shoulder. Will stood, swaying gently back and forth, scared to break the calm by going out to get Jack. He noticed, distractedly, that his glasses had come off in the struggle, and he wondered if they were broken. He winced when the door flew open, because if they weren’t before, they certainly were after Hannibal stepped on them.
Hannibal, always in control Hannibal, looked panicked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, his hair sticking wildly out from under the scrub cap he’d forgotten to take off. He froze in the doorway, chest heaving, and simply stared at Will. Will did his best to grin, but in his exhaustion, he wasn’t sure how it came across. His cheek stung, and he almost winced as Hannibal reached up and fingered the shallow scratch.
“I… I am at a loss for words.”
“Jack doesn’t want to expel him.”
“That is a relief, but…”
“It’s ok, Hannibal.”
He offered up a smile that felt more like a smile, and Hannibal stepped closer.
“Will, I…”
Alexander shifted, and Will turned his face away, grateful for the distraction. The intent in Hannibal’s eyes was clear, and this was neither the time nor the place.
“You should take him home. I need to write up an incident report and talk to Jack. I need… I’m still his teacher, Hannibal.”
Hannibal nodded, and if he noticed how Will shivered when the doctor’s fingers grazed his stomach as they passed Alexander over, he didn’t say anything.
Alexander was suspended for the week before Spring Break – it was decided that three weeks out of school was plenty. In his best Kindergarten spelling, he wrote letters of apology to Bedelia, Jack, and Will – Will came and translated them at Jack’s request. He seemed sincerely contrite, and he was quiet and well-behaved when he came back to school. He passed his next reading level test with flying colours and was moved up to level C (he probably could’ve gone to D, but Will wanted to make sure the progress stuck.) The rest of April and May passed without incident. He backslid in June, refusing to participate in Art or Music, but three meetings with Bedelia and an after-school tour of the first grade hall with Will set him back on track. Will heard less and less from Hannibal, and Beverly listened mostly-sympathetically over whiskey as he bemoaned ‘fucking ethics’.
“I should’ve let him kiss me, Bev. Damnit. No I shouldn’t have, but I fucking want to have. This is bullshit. I’m thirty, Bev, and he’s perfect and I love Alexander and… It’s not fucking fair, you know?”
She nodded along, making him drink two glasses of water and putting him in bed before she went home. He slept poorly and woke at 3 a.m., deciding once and for all that as soon as school let out for the summer, he was going to ask Hannibal Lecter on a date.
The last day of school, the Kindergarten hall was full of noise and laughter as the students ate cupcakes and cookies, recited poems and stories, and, finally, said tearful goodbyes to their teachers. More than half the parents in Will’s class came to help, and three stayed behind to help clean up. Not surprisingly, Hannibal was one of them. Will chatted with the moms, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hannibal and Alexander once again worked in tandem, cleaning efficiently. Nicole and her mother left at one, having to go pick her younger brother up from daycare. James and his mother stayed until quarter to two, then left to meet Daddy at the airport. And just like that, Will was alone with Hannibal and Alexander, and he knew that it was now or never – and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he chose never (neither would Bev or Alana.)
“Dr. Lecter?”
Hannibal put down the broom he’d been using, turning as Will approached him.
“There’s something I wanted to…”
As if on cue, Alexander scampered from the room when Hannibal caught Will’s chin and pressed their lips together. Will let out an undignified squeak, but quickly recovered and caught one of Hannibal’s lapels to pull him close again when he began to retreat. They parted reluctantly, and Hannibal looked steadily down into Will’s eyes.
“I hope you know that I have been waiting to do that for two months. Longer.”
“I hope you know that I was going to ask you to dinner, before I was interrupted. Terribly rude, Hannibal.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”