Work Text:
The cat came, presumably, because Hannibal decided to have his salmon sliders outside.
He decided to have his salmon sliders—marinated during the night and served with garlic aioli on homemade brioche—out on the patio in the hot afternoon sun because of Will. It was usually because of Will. Hannibal would prefer to have his meals in the dining room, but this was nice too.
Hannibal internally considered this to be Will’s hiding spot today, albeit not a very good one. Boundaries, Will would call it. Sometimes Will needed space. A lot of space.
Some days, like today, it seemed Will couldn’t find any place to feel comfortable in the vast manor Hannibal owned on the coast of Cuba. Hannibal heard Will’s socked footsteps pattering from room to room like he was trying to decide which door held the least terrifying nightmare behind it.
Hannibal wondered if being outside allowed Will more room to breathe amidst Hannibal’s apparently unbearable presence, and so far, Will had not run from his spot on the other side of the deck or entered the ocean itself to escape. It might have been that Will was too happy basking in his little spot of sun to give it up, and so Hannibal would take advantage and bask in all the comfortable companionship he could eke out of Will.
Hannibal liked to indulge in the Cuban weather as well. He went a long time without the sun on his skin and was very much enjoying swimming nude in the strip of the ocean they had on their property and letting his skin tan to the shade it used to be when he was a young man living in Italy.
He felt content as he watched Will consume the rest of his own lunch. Too often he left a dirty plate, food pushed around it as if to conceal the mound of food he just didn’t want to touch. Hannibal knew he was hungry. He could hear his stomach growling and see the craving in his eyes.
He was preoccupied watching the back of Will’s head, the spiralled cowlick that came when he hadn’t washed his hair for a couple of days, that he didn’t notice the cat until it was peering over the end of the deck. When Hannibal did notice it, the cat jerked backward, ready to run at a moment’s notice.
Hannibal held eye contact with it for a long moment, wondering if the cat was desperate enough for salmon to risk interaction with a potential predator. The cat was mostly skin and bone, grey with patches of fur missing.
Hannibal picked off a piece of salmon from his food and tossed it toward the end of the deck. The cat skittered away, before reconsidering and running to lick up the piece before finally sprinting off into the bushes.
“Helping a stray, really? Just how many of my habits have you picked up?” Will asked.
“Why, Will.” Hannibal grinned. “I’ve always been passionate about feeding others.”
Hannibal caught sight of the same cat out the window later that week, skirting through the bushes where it almost blended into the dry roots.
Curious, Hannibal crumbled a tiny piece of sharp cheddar cheese and a piece of ham on a plate and set it outside the patio doors.
The treats disappeared, as well as the treats the next day, and soon he was going on his tablet and looking up what exactly cats could consume and scavenging out little pieces of the ingredients in his fridge. In moderation, all of the websites wrote, so he cut up vegetables and meats into tiny pieces and displayed them in the middle of a porcelain dish.
He used it as an excuse to make Will a tuna melt, which he raised one eyebrow at, but took to whatever corner of the house or yard he made his cave that day to eat.
Hannibal set out a dish of tuna for the cat, left to do the dishes, and returned to find the cat sitting on the deck staring up at him.
Hannibal opened the sliding door as carefully as he could and the cat immediately ran away.
It would be a process.
“Time to put Humpty Dumpty back together again?” Will asked, poking at the leftover eggs on his plate. Hannibal halted Will’s destruction of his leftover food by snatching his plate across the table. Will dropped his fork down in the last second with a clatter.
Hannibal smiled amusedly at him. Hannibal accepted the dry humour because he knew it meant Will was trying. Hannibal much preferred Will choosing humour as his armour rather than isolation.
“Just about,” Hannibal said. Will sighed as he pushed out of his chair and assisted Hannibal in clearing the table and washing dishes, their work choreographed with now-familiar routine.
“Will I need to do it forever?” Will asked, his eyes glued to the cup he was handwashing. He propped up the glass against the side of the sink so he didn’t have to use much strength in his right arm.
“Is your shoulder up to your standards of ability already?” Hannibal asked, knowing he deserved the glare shot his way over his condescension.
“Just looking for a doctor’s opinion to see what my life might look like. Do I join the senior citizen’s pool aerobics class now or later, you know?” Will cleaned the glass with more vigour.
“Physical therapy is more about maintenance than a cure, and more adaptive than prescriptive. If you don’t feel like you need it, you only need to say the word.”
“I can barely move. I need it.”
“Will.”
“Mm?”
“I believe that glass is clean by now.”
Will stopped abruptly, setting the glass down with a bit more force than necessary and sighing deeply. It was at times like this that Hannibal recognized the panic below Will’s skin, as well as he hid it most days. The danger of a man with pinprick skilled empathy skills was that he knew how to hide his own emotions when he wanted to.
Hannibal was practicing patience. For the time being, it felt safer to play along with all that was domestic and calm. Small talk and routine. Will expressed his need for it, and Hannibal could manage.
They moved to the living room where there was more space and a nice view of the rolling waves out the tall windows. Will faced the ocean with his still-healing shoulder angled toward Hannibal.
“Lift,” Hannibal said, and observed how far Will could raise his arm. Still not even horizontal. He cupped the bottom of his bicep and forearm and pushed further, holding it despite Will’s wincing. He lifted and lowered Will’s arm and then rolled his shoulder, guiding his movements to stretch the damaged rotator cuff.
Will was passive. He did not seem uncomfortable exactly, just clinically distant as Hannibal touched him, but there was something else there too, each time Will closed his eyes or breathed in for a beat too long.
Hannibal looked forward to this moment of excused tenderness with the enjoyment of a man who knew it wouldn't last forever as Will’s pain became easier to manage on his own. Will didn’t exactly make himself open to touch or affection otherwise.
“Ah, ah,” Will sucked in air between his teeth, scrunching up his face in pain when Hannibal pushed against his arm too hard. Hannibal loosened up a second later than he could have and then began to rub apologetically into Will’s shoulder. Will stood still as Hannibal did it, muttering, “It’s fine.”
“Is this another aspect that separates humans from other animals? You would know the answer to this better than me. You allow me to hurt you because you understand that I am helping you, but do animals know the difference?” Hannibal asked, digging into Will’s shoulder with his thumbs.
“Hard to say. They’ll put up with a great deal of discomfort for a reward, but I couldn’t tell you if there was any understanding beyond association. If I step on one of my dogs' tails I also don’t know if they understand that it was an accident and I didn’t want to hurt them, but thankfully they don’t seem to hold grudges.”
“Not like we do.”
Will’s voice turned suddenly impatient. “Let’s not start on that topic, philosophical or otherwise.”
Will started twitching and jerking away from the pain so Hannibal let up and rubbed the back of his neck instead. Will hesitated for only a moment before twisting out of his grip.
“Thanks,” Will said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly himself, before heading off to find a new hiding spot.
This routine of physical therapy was probably the most time that they spent together. It was strangely discordant that Will avoided him for the vast majority of each day but allowed Hannibal to touch him so much otherwise.
It was neither intimate enough to pursue nor tense enough to prod at. Hannibal tried not to be paranoid of deception or rejection. He hadn’t disregarded the possibility that he might die at Will’s hand or find himself abandoned one day, but he could at least enjoy this time of freedom with Will in the vicinity, following up the beautiful night they shared on the cliffside.
It was just that his own reassuring philosophy worked better on paper than in practice when it came to Will. Will, who made him feel something akin to physical pain in his chest, worse than the leftover ache of the bullet through his gut. He wanted Will—he wanted all of Will—with a need to consume and ravage that he’d never felt before even with his startling appetite.
He was desperate for something to do with his hands. He returned to the kitchen and began a marinade for the next day’s meal, taking his time to gather and chop each ingredient perfectly.
When he was ready to deliver a little dish for the cat, he found it sitting on the deck waiting for him. Hannibal opened the door and, predictably, the cat skittered off.
Hannibal set the little dish in its spot beside the door and then sat next to it.
It aggravated his gut to bend down but he did it anyway and stretched out his legs in the sun, head tilted up to the sky and eyes closed as he breathed in the salty fresh air with the hint of herbs and vegetables from next to him.
It felt a little pathetic after a lifetime of living in his comfortable solitude, jokes and pains shared only amongst himself, that he now craved company so badly. Even the company of a stray cat sounded nice.
Pets offered companionship and a purpose. That particular drive to nurture and care for others came naturally to Hannibal if he let it.
Eventually, he heard the sound of tiny smacking lips beside him, but he kept his eyes closed. He smelt the fragrant musk of the stray cat, nutty and earthy, almost like Jasmine rice beneath the dirt and garbage it didn’t entirely clean away.
Soon, the sound of a rough tongue against an empty bowl, then nothing until Hannibal felt a light sensation on the side of his hand. The moistness of a cat’s nose, scenting Hannibal much like Hannibal might scent predators from afar.
Once the cat seemed to relax in his space, at least marginally, Hannibal opened his eyes and reached out to brush the fur on the cat's head, flattening his thumb over the W shape on its forehead. He stroked once, twice. The cat tensed up and then briskly walked off, but much less skittish than before.
It wasn’t that Will left him completely in the dark. It was early on, still at the peak of their pain when they were trying to help each other move like two halves of one body that fell apart, that Will had said, “I am going with you, I don’t even know where else I’d go at this point, but I need time. You need to give me time.”
“An elusive thing, time is. It will feel different to each of us,” Hannibal had said, gruff and clutching a kitchen counter until his pain subsided. Medication, even the morphine he was administering to the two of them, did not slow his brain, but Will’s presence sure did, so much so that Hannibal found himself struggling with eye contact.
“Then let’s hope time slows down for us. It may take more time than it takes for us to stay alive, I just don’t know.”
What the ‘it’ that Will referred to was exactly, Hannibal still wondered. They both worked best in the subtlety of human emotions and he reckoned Will wouldn’t even be able to spell out whatever he expected between them. If what Hannibal and Will had could easily be described in a word or two, then Hannibal wouldn’t want it anymore. Sometimes, though, Will pushed Hannibal’s patience and curiosity to an almost unbearable extent.
He found himself seeking out Will’s company day to day because even the rejection of his company was better than nothing.
“Would you like to dine with me tonight?” Hannibal asked from just beyond the doorway of the room Will used most.
Will winced almost imperceptibly. “Not tonight.”
Hannibal nodded once, holding his hands politely behind him as he lingered for another moment to assess Will’s things. He did not step inside, the silent barrier of this being Will’s space, even though Hannibal had looked through it all when Will was absent. The supplies from their boat, fishing gear, fly tying station, and a few things that Will must have found on the beach, like bits of crab skeletons, shells, a granite rock. His wedding ring sat amongst them, like another piece of trash in the pile that was playing as treasure.
“I can feed myself. You don’t need to be at my service when I don’t even sit with you half the time. I’m sure you consider it rude, but I never agreed to that debt. I only don’t make my own meals because I know there will be too much food around here.”
Perhaps Will had noticed Hannibal cooking more often, then. Three complicated, full meals a day, tea snacks in the afternoon and dessert in the evening, and sometimes other baking adventures in between, not to mention the tiny plates set out on the deck.
“I will cook for you. I’d like to know you are eating well.”
Will scoffed and turned away. “Believe it or not, I have managed to keep myself alive for many years, despite how it may have seemed. I’ve been feeding myself ever since I had enough balance to prop myself up on a chair to reach the kitchen counter. Didn’t have a mom to spoil me, you know.”
Hannibal turned to leave so as not to expose his fears that, despite his ability to take care of himself, Will might stop eating altogether one day and crawl under the deck to die somewhere he wouldn’t be bothered, too scared by this life to really live it.
“A nightcap,” Will called out before Hannibal could get too far. He walked back, but Will had turned his back to Hannibal. “I’ll join you for a nightcap later.”
“Very well. I look forward to it.”
He left Will alone and busied himself gathering treats for the cat, his mood raised. This time, he placed the little dish inside the house and left the sliding door open just a crack.
He returned to the kitchen but watched the door over the kitchen island. It didn’t take as long as he expected for the cat to enter his house and assess the space on the other side of the door, head bent low. Hannibal smiled, satisfied, and leaned closer with his elbows on the counter.
“So, you have now crossed the threshold from the wild to the domestic. Here you will find the comforts of temperature control, insulation from the weather, a hearty supply of food, and comfortable cushions to lay. Of course, though, you venture in here tense and wary of predators. It is only fair to be paranoid that anyone who promises something so seemingly selfless may have sinister intentions. If only I could make you believe that I am merely a lonely man with food and company to give.”
The cat stared at him as he spoke, eyes dilated in anticipation and legs bent and ready to burst to safety at a moment’s notice. When the imagined threat didn’t pounce, the cat approached its meal.
Until another noise emerged from the house. The cat ran back outside, skirting past the crack in the door and leaving its food.
“Who are you talking to?” Will asked, stepping into the room a second too late.
“No one.”
Will looked at the bowl on the floor. “Are you feeding that cat still?”
“Are your preferences tuned only to canines and not to felines?”
“Cats are fine for my preferences. But cats might also pee in your expensive shoes if you let them get too close,” he said pointedly.
“Then we better keep the closets tightly shut. Come here. Try this sauce.”
Will stayed still, appraising the spoon that Hannibal lifted above his cupped palm as if assessing for danger. Seemingly coming up empty, he leaned down to have a taste. He straightened up and nodded in a slightly-restless, bobbing motion as he licked his lips clean. His eyes lifted only briefly to Hannibal’s before returning to a spot near Hannibal’s collar, and he said, “Yeah, it’s good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Hannibal said, turning away and allowing Will his clean getaway. “I will bring dinner to you later.”
After Will left the room, Hannibal tilted the spoon into his mouth to taste the rest of the sauce in the spot that Will’s mouth had been.
Will hadn’t promised much for their shared nightcap, and he didn’t deliver much either, as he sat quietly in a chair across from Hannibal. He seemed content, anyway, as he tilted his whisky in the light of the fire to catch the golden streaks through the crystal. He was curled up right by the heat of the flame and Hannibal once again wondered if it was only the warmth that kept Will close.
The night they fell into the sea, they experienced a kind of cold that most people would never experience. The adrenaline kept them going as they clutched hands below the surface and kicked free together, dragging themselves out of the foamy water and just barely avoiding being beaten to bits of flesh and bone against the sharp side of the cliff.
Hannibal paused on that ridge, allowing Will the decision as he looked between the cruel water they escaped and the sky above the cliff, probably thinking about heaven and hell and how much his sense of directions had gotten mixed up when they were turned around beneath the sea.
“I thought we were going to die,” Will had said. I tried to kill us, Hannibal heard.
“It seems we have been granted another life, birthed from the sea. Will you see how many lives it takes to get rid of us?”
Will looked back up the cliffside, and then finally at Hannibal, and his body sank just slightly, his eyes wide like he might cry.
“Maybe another day,” he said, so quiet underneath the crashing waves that Hannibal had to trust that he read his lips correctly.
Halfway up their climb to safety, the physiological signs of hypothermia could not be ignored. They tripped along the rocks and Hannibal’s pulse slowed to a low beat, dizziness exacerbated by the continuous blood loss. He kept going on because Will was ahead of him, and then at some point, he didn’t seem to be going anywhere, but he eventually found himself curled up in blankets in a heated car anyway. Chiyoh who had been close by watching them tended to their injuries and packed them into the boat Hannibal had bought long ago.
Hannibal wondered if Will ever lost that chill from his bones, with the way he drew in on himself and lingered near the heat like he couldn't get enough.
Hannibal allowed Will his peace. Perhaps after a while of cohabitating, Will would be ready to tell Hannibal if he ever made a decision about their fates.
The cat came inside for longer the next time without Will to scare it off. The cat sniffed every corner of the house, its feet pattering down the hallway in exploration before returning to the kitchen to smell everything that Hannibal put in front of its face. After a few nibbles of tenderloin, the cat was much more willing to let Hannibal touch it. The cat rubbed its head through Hannibal’s cupped palm over and over again, suddenly affectionate, before leaving again out the open door.
At night, though, just as he was about to turn off the golden lights, he saw the cat sitting patiently at the door. He opened it and the cat stepped inside like he owned the place.
Hannibal kept the door open for a few more minutes, turning off all of the lights so that the bugs didn’t come inside.
The cat stayed. It sat on its hind legs and stared at Hannibal with wide, expectant eyes, and Hannibal stared back challengingly.
He wondered if, for all intents and purposes, he now owned a cat.
Will had perhaps made a good point. He didn’t have any place for the cat to go to the washroom here, and it wasn’t exactly an animal-friendly home with various art pieces of great value and cabinets of fine china. He couldn’t exactly leave the door open all night, either, unless he wanted his kitchen to be infested with all of the creatures native to this part of Cuba. There were only so many feral creatures he would take as his roommate, Will included.
Neither he nor Will would appreciate that mess, so he sighed and gently ushered the cat back out the door. The cat sat on the deck and stared at him with devastatingly accusatory eyes.
“You are an outdoors cat, and there is only so much I wish to put up with for your company,” Hannibal said, closing the door in its face.
The cat sat waiting until he left the room to get ready for bed, and he sighed, wondering if Will was wrong and if animals did hold grudges.
He woke early the next morning and headed a town over before the crowds would be out to buy ingredients to make cat food, treats, and catnip. He bought little food dishes that would somewhat match the kitchen decor, a cat bed, a litter box, and an excessive amount of litter. He decided that the cat toys were all far too ugly and the cat could make do without them. Then, he made a trip to the hardware store and made many educated guesses. Usually, he would just contract someone for banal construction work, but he needed to limit the interactions he had with people that might recognize him.
He returned home, lugging as much as he could under his arm as he unlocked the door, to find Will standing in the foyer with crossed arms. When he looked down at what Hannibal was carrying, his arms dropped to his sides.
“Seriously? What the hell is all this?”
“Well, if what the person at the pet shop told me is correct…”
“No, I mean why, what possible reason could you have for doing this?”
“Am I so suspicious that I must have a nefarious purpose for everything I do? Is it not believable that I just fed that cat too much and am now dealing with the consequences?”
Will shook his head in disbelief.
“Perhaps it is all the ways that you changed me, but I happen to find the cat rather endearing.”
“If we apparently now own a cat, you should at least give them a name.”
Hannibal paused midstep. It was nice to so much as hear Will refer to them as a collective with shared belongings. “Hm. Yes, I will think of one.”
He began to walk past Will when Will surprised him by raising his voice and calling his name.
“Yes?”
Will followed him. “If you’re going to disappear without warning, you could at least do me the common courtesy of leaving a note to tell me where you are, so I have some information to decide whether you’ve been scooped up by the police or gotten killed somewhere.”
Hannibal nodded bashfully, surprised at the anger on Will’s face. He hadn’t seen such intense frustration since Will was on the other side of his prison wall, steaming up the glass with his breath.
“Can you really tell me some cat is worth all that risk? Christ, it’s not just yourself you’re affecting with all this,” Will said.
Hannibal watched him carefully. “I understand. I will consult with you in the future.”
“And what’s with the wood? You building a house for it now?”
Hannibal looked at the plywood in his arms, “A cat door. I imagine the cat won’t appreciate being stuck inside after the life it has lived.”
“Are you planning to jackhammer a hole through the concrete walls, or cut through that glass in the sliding door? Maybe ruin the front door instead?”
Hannibal hesitated. By Will’s tone, it seemed that every option was the wrong one.
“You should have just asked me. I can build it for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, okay, go set it down, and I’ll start on it later.”
Hannibal smiled, satisfied in more ways than one now.
“Then sit down with me for breakfast, I will not put you to work on an empty stomach, and we mustn’t miss your stretches either if you’re going to engage in physical labour.”
Will didn’t say anything, but when Hannibal finished cooking up a quick breakfast and set the table with two placemats, Will sat across from him and ate his eggs dutifully. He managed to rope him into physiotherapy without a fight, too.
Will turned away from him as Hannibal helped roll his shoulder from behind.
He felt along the muscle and bones of Will’s shoulder feeling like a man who was just learning anatomy again, tempted to pull back the skin layer by layer to discover what was underneath. He was less inclined to enact death, though. He basked in every pained breath and sigh of relief that signified life and feeling coming from Will. He felt lucky to have Will here now, and he hoped that gratitude would never fade, for even a quiet house with Will’s presence was better than anywhere else he had ever lived.
Hannibal pushed against Will’s palm to test his strength, and for a moment it was like they were engaged in a different kind of war, and an intimate one at that.
After, Will left with the car to retrieve the right tools and materials. Hannibal set out the things that didn’t require any construction knowledge until Will returned, refusing to let Hannibal take the heavy load from his bad arm.
They sat outside on the deck in the hot sun so as not to make a mess with their materials. It turned out that building a cat door in the glass panes of the sliding door was the best decision, and Will just didn’t trust Hannibal to manage that handiwork. Hannibal felt mostly useless, lounging on a chair on the deck until Will called him to come hold something. Hannibal stayed mostly quiet to preserve his dignity.
Will looked deep in concentration, not offering any conversation either. Sweat poured down his forehead and he lifted up his shirt to wipe it away from his eyes. Hannibal leant to the side in his chair to catch a peek at the scar on his abdomen, just barely revealed by his lifting shirt, before Will quickly pulled it down.
“And what if the cat doesn’t return?” Will finally asked when the materials were beginning to resemble a small door.
It was true that there had been no sight of the cat since last night. Perhaps it moved on to attach itself to new owners that would feed and love it, mess and all.
“It may not. I can only hope that it will.”
Will shrugged with one shoulder. “You think of a name?”
“Not yet. I will wait for inspiration. Such a marker of identity shouldn’t be rushed.”
“Other people just google common pet names and choose the cutest one. How about Fluffy?”
Hannibal didn’t reward Will’s sarcasm with a laugh. “You had no stereotypical names. How did you choose the names of your dogs? ”
“I guess I went from inspiration too. Their names matched the ones of people I have met at some point, usually in passing, that were memorable in one way or another. In a positive way. People that stopped to check up on me when my shitty Honda broke down, the professors that actually tried, the ones that invited me for coffee and actually meant it. Et cetera. My dad did that too, which was probably just a lack of creativity on his part, but it seems like good luck somehow.”
“I see, no Spots in the mix for you, then.”
“Not unless some peculiarly-named humans come out of the woodwork to make an impression on me.”
Will paused briefly, and Hannibal knew that Will recognized the significance of his words, too. The idea of more dogs in the future, and more kind humans in his path to inspire their names. Would they belong to Hannibal, too?
“Or peculiar names like Hannibal, not that I’d find much of a positive impression there,” Will said.
Hannibal felt annoyed that Will was so fast to cover up the moment with another stupid quip, light as it was meant to be.
“I wonder how our Spot and Fluffy would get along. Will they dare to share company, or, God forbid, some intimacy?” Hannibal said.
Hannibal could feel Will drawing in on himself, hiding in his head, even without any outward change.
“Outdoor cats get into all sorts of trouble that can shorten their lifetime,” Will says. “You might be better off keeping this one inside if you’re looking to spoil and prune a creature.”
“And what kind of a life is that? I would not keep a feline from their instincts, and I’m sure the trouble they may find will make them more interesting. All the more beings to make an impression on them and whatnot.”
“Bit too obvious with these metaphors, don’t you think?”
“Is there use for subtlety on this side of the world, where the sun shines on it all anyway?”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like slaving over a dinner I’ll hardly appreciate as much as your previous companions?”
“You consume it all in the ways that I find satisfying,” Hannibal said, placing a light hand on the back of Will’s neck as he stood. He took the hint and left Will in peace.
The way that Will tasted was primal, consuming the food and everything that surrounded him, which was why it was so unfortunate that he refused to dine at Hannibal’s table most nights. It was probably also why he refused to dine with Hannibal. Far too much to make himself sick on.
Hannibal cooked at a slow pace and Will worked without any breaks, seemingly determined to finish the project in one afternoon. Hannibal wished he could stretch it out longer.
The cat didn’t return. It was possible that Hannibal’s cruelty last night meant he lost the cat forever, before he could even assign a name to the observant little face. Nonetheless, Hannibal was grateful for the excuse to drag Will out of his cave, even if he hadn’t meant for this little manipulation. He wondered what other projects he could put Will up to. If he smashed each item in this house one by one, would Will emerge to fix them?
Will took his meal elsewhere, probably itching for solitude. He left a completed cat door behind him, with no cat to paw at it.
The cat did return, just as Hannibal had begun to give up hope.
With it, it brought a small mouse, limp in its jaw after what Hannibal imagined was a very cruel, drawn-out kill, or so would be appropriate for a gift for Hannibal.
The cat stepped through the cat door when Hannibal held it up. It dropped the small corpse right at Hannibal’s feet and stared up at him, waiting for Hannibal’s pride.
Hannibal thought of that broken body left on his dining room table all that time ago.
He decided he rather liked this cat.
“I took inspiration from you to come up with a name,” Hannibal said. Both Will and the cat stood on the other side of the kitchen island, peering at him from drastically different heights but both with attentive, inscrutable, and expecting eyes. What could Hannibal give them that would meet their cravings?
“Oh?”
“Someone, or rather a character, who had a great impression on me as a young man. Faust. And the cat’s sex is male, I was finally able to get close enough to check.”
Will rubbed his forehead as if suddenly exhausted. “And what about a cat exactly is Faustian?”
“Quite a lot, don’t you think?”
“And that is really the great impression you thought of?”
“Though I was contemptuous of Faust, I have better hopes for this cat.”
“I can imagine. Say, is there a Cuban PETA? I might need to give them a call if you start to psychologically drive your cat.”
Hannibal set down some homemade cat food and Faust hurried over, eating with the hunger of a cat who had clearly never gotten a full meal so easily in his life.
“And he gets fed before me. I see I am kicked to the sidelines.”
“Perhaps if you offered me more affection,” Hannibal said.
Will yanked on his breakfast plate with just a bit too much force when Hannibal passed it over and then stalked off. Hannibal would say he regretted pushing Will away when they were finally interacting more, but he found it hard to care at the present time.
Hannibal sighed and looked down at his new furry friend.
“A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”
Faust meowed at him.
After breakfast when they were supposed to stretch, Hannibal began to suspect that Will was avoiding him on purpose.
The last place to check was Will’s bedroom so he knocked on the closed door.
“Yeah?”
Hannibal stepped inside. This was another room he usually did not dare enter if Will was home.
Will was laid flat over his covers with one arm holding his shoulder and a pained expression.
“Are you alright?”
Will winced. “I might need to skip stretches today. I think I overdid it yesterday.”
Hannibal tsk-ed at him and sat on the edge of his bed.
“I’ll also skip the lecture, if you don’t mind.”
Hannibal set his hands on Will’s shoulders and pressed down to gauge his reaction.
“May I check for swelling?” Hannibal pulled at Will’s collar.
“It was hard enough to get this shirt on. I don’t think I tore anything, just aches.”
“I’ll help, here.” Hannibal pulled up his shirt and stretched it over his good shoulder before gently pulling it off of his bad one. He watched with fascination at Will’s pink cheeks.
Will took the shirt and placed it over the scar on his stomach. Hannibal let his gaze linger over the shirt, wondering where this modesty came from that led Will to hide his scar rather than the rest of his skin.
“What, you want to look? Look, then! Who needs boundaries or shame?” Will tossed the shirt to the side and Hannibal sat up straight, surprised by the outburst.
He did look, though. The scar was jagged and messily sewn and he could have done better, but he didn’t necessarily mind because it made it more stark against Will’s skin. He pressed his thumb to the curve that looked the most textured. He vividly recalled the jerk of his hand needed to bypass his kidney. Will had, against reason, fallen into him afterward.
“What is your fear of me seeing it?” Hannibal asked.
“Perhaps that you’ll like it too much,” Will said, his voice icy.
“I see. You want me to feel ashamed and regretful? Sickened by my actions? Declaring that it never needed to happen?”
Will turned his head away.
“I can only declare with any authenticity that I wish things had gone differently but cannot, even with hindsight, pinpoint what exactly I would change. I’m sure you could point out a few things.”
Will shook his head. “Not really. God only knows where I’d be without you, and without all of this.”
“Somewhere with less chronic pain?” Hannibal suggested, gently starting to rub his palm against Will’s right shoulder.
“Going to tell me something about the necessity of pain?”
Hannibal dug his fingers deeper into Will’s shoulder until Will was sucking air through his teeth.
“Perhaps in this case it’s not about necessity, just that how it happened was so beautiful that you’ll be carrying that ache forever.”
“Do you ache?” Will asked, glancing down at his stomach.
“Yes,” Hannibal said. “Very much.”
Will nodded in acknowledgment. There seemed to be more he wanted to say, but Hannibal didn’t push.
“Being so tense all of the time doesn’t help either. Indulge me and turn over.” Hannibal said.
Will did, with some difficulty. Hannibal would prefer to use lotion or oil to make this process nicer but he worried that if he stepped away, Will would run away and hide. He began rubbing his hands into the back of his neck and down to dig under his shoulder blades.
Will tensed with every bit of increasing pressure until Hannibal finally started to feel him loosen up to the touch, sinking into the sheets and letting Hannibal mould and fix him. His skin grew warm with rising blood and the scent of him grew even more potent. Warm, pure Will Graham under the compulsory hygiene products that stocked his ensuite.
It was a rare moment of peace to be able to give Will pleasure and it felt like a win.
He focused so intensely on keeping his movements careful and conservative to keep Will comfortable that he didn’t even notice his breathing level out. Will grew even more passive, and Hannibal lessened the pressure until he was merely running his hands around his upper back. A few moles spotted the centre of his back and Hannibal ran his fingers over top to feel their texture.
Will was asleep.
He hadn’t expected Will to relax so much in his company. It felt like a small gift, a wondrous potential, to exist looking down at the other man so willingly unaware.
His instinct was to take advantage of the moment, but he was learning the true importance of patience and the gift of letting others come to you.
He quietly left the room.
Faust fit seamlessly into their routine and, even better, offered them something to talk about. The cat was an entirely safe topic to fall back on and fewer and fewer conversations ended in Will storming off.
They spoke about his progress in potty training and the close calls when Faust tried to hit their coffee cups off the counter and the silly moments when he would get suddenly hyper and run from room to room or jump at the leaves hanging down from Hannibal’s houseplants.
Hannibal enjoyed having someone else to talk to, even though it felt silly to open his mind to someone who couldn’t talk back, there was a freedom in knowing his secrets were safe. Even from Will, as long as he spoke in another language so that Will couldn’t listen in.
It brought back bad memories to speak in Lithuanian, though he tried it a few times to see how it felt on his tongue. He switched between German, Italian, and Japanese to confuse Will.
Sometimes he just needed to complain about Will’s attitude and habits. Sometimes he needed to enthuse about how startlingly beautiful Will looked being kissed by the golden sun. It hurt to keep it all in. Besides, it was amusing to see how annoyed Will got at Hannibal making inside jokes with their cat.
In hindsight, despite how well it was going, it was kind of lucky that it took Faust as long as it did to scratch the stuffing out of Hannibal’s hand-crafted Raffaello sofa.
He should have seen it coming, the shredded toilet paper rolls from the last day merely a threat of Faust’s ruthlessness. Not to mention that he had a clear motive. Hannibal was almost certain that it was revenge for skimping on Faust’s lobster leftover.
“Your tastes are too rich for the species that you are. Do you expect me to buy an extra lobster for you?”
The cat meowed, sitting pretty in front of his shredded art piece so that Hannibal could not mistake his effort. Apparently having made enough of a point, he walked away as Hannibal spoke again.
He followed at the cat's heels, noting the attitude in his twitching tail.
“Lobster is an unknown rarity in Cuba, only seeming plentiful because of the dedication of the black market. If one man gets caught smuggling a single lobster he will be fined more than a year’s wages. Do you consider yourself worth the risk of a man’s livelihood? You would be mistaken,” he said to the cat.
“And how many yearly Cuban wages would that sofa cover at its current market value?” Will inquired, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
Hannibal breathed in to calm himself.
“I believe I should be able to conduct a declawing procedure by myself.”
“Leave the damn cat alone, Hannibal.”
“And let him destroy all the furniture?”
“You brought him in here!”
Hannibal huffed. “A matter of interpretation. Some come because they cannot stay away, entwined for unfathomable reasons.”
“He’s your pet now, take care of him.”
“I might take him ‘out back’ instead.”
“Christ, alright, where are the keys?”
“Hm?”
“I’m going into town.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know, a scratching post, some barriers for the furniture?”
“Will, have you grown fond of our cat as well?” Hannibal asked, softening slightly.
“Just don’t kill your cat while I’m gone, okay?” Will said, walking away.
Things were going well with Will, he thought, until he couldn’t help but take things too far.
He took a bath once Will left, breathing in the fragrant oils he dropped into the water. It helped him to relax. He stepped out 20-minutes later, sated and warm in the steamy room.
He wiped away a spot in the mirror and stood nude as he applied a gentle exfoliating face mask followed by an eye cream. He washed his face off and then carefully sharpened his straight razor until he could have easily drawn blood. Though he usually bathed in the evening, the reminder of this routine was comforting.
He was carefully shaving the hair on his neck and up to his jaw when Will knocked on the door.
“Hannibal?” Will asked through the door.
“Mm?”
“I—well. Mind if I come in? If you’re not…”
Hannibal straightened up and looked down at himself, nude and soft and still damp, and considered the towels nearby he could use to cover himself. Instead, he just turned to the door and said, “You may come in.”
Will pushed open the door and his eyes flickered down Hannibal’s body and then immediately to a spot on the top left side of the ceiling. He took a jerking step back and shook his head incredulously.
“You know when someone asks that, they mean are you decent?” his voice immediately took on an icy, annoyed tone.
“You asked me if I mind. I don’t mind,” Hannibal said, nonchalant but unable to keep an amused smirk entirely off his face.
Will’s hand was still on the doorknob, and he pulled it closed a couple of inches before stopping. Hannibal recognized the conflict that Will faced—close the door and expose his discomfort with Hannibal’s nudity, lessening the plausible deniability that physical intimacy didn’t matter between them, or play the game by returning Hannibal’s nonchalance, leaving Hannibal the only exposed one.
Will wasn’t one to back down from Hannibal’s games. He let go of the doorknob and looked Hannibal right in the eye.
“I got the stuff but… I think the man in the shop knows about you and me.”
“Oh?” Hannibal said, shaving carefully under his jaw. His eyes flicked back to Will’s when he didn’t say more for a few seconds and he caught Will gulping.
“The questions he asked me… nothing incriminating, it was more of a feeling, but you know I’m rarely wrong about these things.”
Hannibal put down the straight razor and turned fully to Will, meeting his unwavering and frankly over-focused eyes.
“I trust your intuition entirely,” Hannibal said.
“What now?” Will asked.
Disappointing, that he obfuscated his question when he really just wanted to know if they would kill the man. They should be far past needing to tiptoe around the subject.
When Hannibal didn’t reply for a long minute, Will said, “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve never kept such consistent eye contact with me before, not until you’ve had to try so hard not to look elsewhere.”
Will’s face twisted into a scowl. Hannibal felt a pang of uncertainty at his choice to rile him up when he saw the hint of genuine hurt on Will’s face. Few things would give Will so much shame and indignity than Hannibal’s implication of his repressed feelings. Will probably thought he hid it well.
“You’re hopeless,” Will seethed, pulling the door closed hard enough to shake the room with its slam.
Hannibal stood aimlessly for a few seconds, naked and pondering, and then pulled on a robe and moisturized his face as he walked out.
By the time he left the bathroom, the front door slammed and a vase of flowers shattered in front of it, whether by the vibrations of the door or Will’s own spite.
And Will was gone.
He got dressed and considered going after Will, but the car was gone and Will likely wouldn’t appreciate being followed. Would he be impulsive enough to leave Hannibal completely? Hannibal found that he couldn’t say for sure.
Downstairs, Hannibal found an entire cat tree with three different levels and a cat scratching post up the middle. It was ugly, but Faust was already curled up on the highest tier so Hannibal reckoned he won’t have much luck getting rid of it.
He sighed and took a seat on the couch to wait.
The sky outside the window dimmed as the hours passed by. Hannibal sat as still as a statue, the side of his fingers leaning ponderingly against his jaw and occasionally clicking in restlessness.
He considered his and Will’s relationship and the strange peace they made here. They hadn’t changed much in that things were seemingly always precariously balanced depending on what one of them—typically Hannibal, he admitted—said or did. Will made Hannibal question his own patience, something that he always thought he was exceptional at.
Getting the cat took patience too, but it was still a much shorter timeframe of learning to tend to his needs and build trust. He needed to do the same for Will.
He did not notice Faust having moved until he was in Hannibal’s line of sight, hopping up onto the coffee table. With silent paws and graceful movements, his predatory instincts were truly unmatched among humans. Hannibal appreciated the quiet swaying of his haunches until the cat lept onto the other side of the couch that he was sitting on.
Hannibal kept himself entirely still, looking at Faust out of the corner of his eyes. The cat was clearly hesitant, but slowly came closer and closer, paws stepping over Hannibal’s thighs until he curled up right in Hannibal’s lap.
Hannibal ceased breathing for as long as he could stand it, worried that the slightest movement would scare him away, but Faust stayed. In fact, he twisted his body to lay more on his back with his fluffy stomach slightly exposed. Less at the ready to pounce if he needs.
It showed a startling amount of trust. He barely let Hannibal pet him some days but now looked close to sleep, unguarded and cozy. Hannibal recalled reading that animals could sense their owners’ moods and sometimes offer comfort, which could explain this sudden closeness. Hannibal stroked down the back of his head a few times until gentle vibration signified purring.
Hannibal did not dare move. The gentle weight was nice on his thighs and he hadn’t been nearly as close to another being since he and Will had to bandage each other’s wounds.
He and the feline sat together in quiet peace until he heard a bang from near the front door.
Faust scurried off of him without delay, disappearing somewhere in the dark house.
Hannibal stepped just as silently to the front of the house. He leaned into the crack at the side of the door and breathed in deeply, considering the scents he could trace from the outside.
When recognition came, he opened the door.
Will, his hands full with what let off the dominant scent that Hannibal perceived. Blood. Sweat. Excretement.
Gracelessly, Will dropped the corpse onto the front step like a package just for Hannibal.
Hannibal tilted his head to assess the body. He instantly recognized it as the cashier Will spoke of. Even in the dark, he could see the discolouration of bruises and blood all over his face.
Will’s fists, undoubtedly bruised and bloody just as they had been in the past, clenched at each of his sides. He was panting. Hannibal was certain that it was from more than just the exertion of dragging the body this far. He stood stick still and Hannibal knew he was looking for guidance from here, likely battling his mind from threatening to shut down.
“Grab his arms, and I will grab his legs,” Hannibal said.
Will followed his instructions and they carried the corpse into the house and down to the basement where it was colder and no one would be able to see.
Hannibal knelt down to appraise the body and the number of traumas close up. It was clear that Will played with his victim for a long while, perhaps more than Randall Tier.
“Will you commemorate him?” Hannibal asked.
“Tomorrow,” Will said, not providing an excuse. He might have had a plan that requires daylight. He might have just needed a day to rest. Hannibal would be patient and allow him his time.
“Come, then.”
Hannibal turned to the stairs but Will said, “Wait.”
Will looked at the corpse and back at Hannibal, and Hannibal nodded in understanding.
He knelt down again.
“What shall we make?” he asked, feeling the lean muscle of the man’s thigh.
Will knelt next to him, appraising.
It was a meal like no other Hannibal had before. He knew the taste would stay with him forever, the memory never forgotten.
It was not the meat. It was Will taking his scalpel and cutting the meat off the thigh, spilling blood like a river across the tarp they put down. Kneeling down inches apart, he knew it was intimacy he had been looking for his entire life, and he knew it could never feel the same as it did with his Will.
Will sat across from him in the dining room, quiet but ravishingly hungry. They devoured their meals, looking up at each other over glasses of wine, and Hannibal realized that their boundaries were breaking down, piece by piece, even if it didn’t feel like it some days.
“It’s a little bitter, is it not?” Will asked.
Hannibal smiled. “Your taste is improving.”
“I had an advantage. I knew he was scared shitless.” Will smiled smugly and Hannibal returned it with a proud smile.
“Perhaps with more of my meals you will begin to recognize the subtle differences.”
Will hesitated, but nodded.
“This will not be our last meal,” Will agreed.
“There is too much in this world to indulge in to lie down now.”
Will looked a little pained at the thought but he continued eating.
“I never expected to live this long,” he whispered.
“Will, I have you. I will take care of you. I will keep you warm,” he said. “Until our very last breaths.”
After dinner, Will followed him to the living room. He sat next to him on the couch, perched awkwardly on the edge, and peered at Hannibal. His eyes were wide, moon-like and questioning, even though Hannibal could sense just how desperately Will wanted to not feel everything he must be feeling.
Hannibal hoped Will knew just how much he wished to indulge him. Anything he wanted, anytime he needed it. He opened one arm in a welcoming gesture and Will hesitated before scooting closer once, twice, and then lowered himself to the side, hesitating even in this action as if he expected Hannibal to strike him, until he finally rested his head down on Hannibal’s lap. Will started breathing again.
“There was a stray dog that the man was feeding,” Will whispered, gulping. “I found the bowl and filled it, but I want to go back and pick up the dog.”
“It is a commitment, but if it is what you wish for, then we will.”
“We will have to be careful to introduce them,” Will said, looking at Faust asleep in his cat tree. “They are bound to clash by nature.”
Hannibal touched the top of Will’s head and slowly stroked down his hair a few times over, curling his fingers so he could pull on the strands. Will turned his head to give him more access.
“I believe with time they will grow to live with each other.”
Hannibal pet through his hair and breathed in deeply, indulgently, mimicking the rise of Will’s chest, and let a content smile spread across his face.