Chapter Text
Will Graham did not look good. Of course Hannibal wasn't referring to Will's attractiveness, but the state he was in. His face was shiny with sweat and his curly bangs stuck to his forehead. His entire face but especially his cheeks were flushed and his usually so sharp and clear eyes were glassy as if they were trying to focus on something far, far away. Only after Hannibal took a demonstrative step aside to gesture Will inside his office, his heavy-lidded gaze landed on Hannibal.
"Good evening, Dr. Lecter" Will said, voice barely audible. Hannibal frowned.
He obviously knew the source of this infection, knew why Will was like this, he'd even go as far as saying that it was his fault that Will's immune system was this weak. When he had found out about Will's condition, he was delighted. It paved the way for his manipulation of Will's mmind, taking advantage of his warped perceptions, his hallucinations, his lost time. Getting what he wanted had never been this easy, so why, for God's sake, did his chest fill with worried compassion at the sight of a sweaty FBI profiler?
Of course he was taken by surprise by the state Will was in, he had not expected the illness to progress this far in such a short span of time. Just yesterday Will had been investigating a crime scene, not the Chesapeake ripper's but the one of a measly serial killer.
The victims had been drugged and strapped to trees in the forest. According to Beverly that was where they stayed for about three weeks as birds, wolves and all kinds of wild animals as well as hunger and dehydration slowly killed them. What a dull and original way to kill. Even though Hannibal too despised his victims and did not want to give them the honor of a "noble" end, he preferred a closer distance to his victims, to watch the life of yet another unworthy pig leave their eyes. In that moment, he wasn't just a killer, he was death and he identified with completely and utterly. To not be present at that moment though being the reason for someone's death he could not get behind.
Following this train of thought he had realized something else though and that brought him back to the present immediately.
The crime scene, the open, infected wounds- Will's already heavily weakened immune system had probably caught a disease at said crime scene.
And once again his heart twisted in a way that was unknown to him. He shook off the feeling as quickly as possible and focused on the more important things. Depending on what was plaguing Will right now it could easily be life threatening. And he would absolutely not allow his pawn to die on him.
Bringing him to a hospital was out of the question. Hannibal was well aware that sooner or later Will's encephalitis would have to be discovered, but he didn't estimate it to be this soon. This would paint a big black mark over the sketch he had so carefully drawn. Will's appointment with Doctor Sutcliffe was not long ago. If his encephalitis were to be discovered in the next few days, Will would be onto Hannibal quicker than Franklin got attached to all his psychiatrists. Probably even quicker, considering he'd probably have left his fever-dazed state by then.
Per usual, he settled for observing the situation a little more, gently guiding Will to his chair inside thhe office, a firm grip on his waist the entire way there. Now that they Will was slumped right across Hannibal he could further observe those dry lips and the frequent shudders that seemed to shake the younger man's entire body for a few seconds.
"I assume a glass of wine would do you more harm than good. I do have an excellent selection of herbal teas. I'm afraid I'll have to strongly advise you to have some, given that you are shaking like a leaf."
Will just nodded slowly and murmured a low "Thank you". Hannibal excused himself to make said tea, hurrying so he wouldn't leave the sick man alone for too long.
When he came back he saw Will sat limply in the armchair and Hannibal quickly set the tray down, not caring that the tea spilled with the rough impact. He hurried over to Will and checked his pulse and breathing. Both steady, but his forehead and neck were burning. The fever was fairly obvious, but Hannibal felt an insuppressible concern rising at the burning heat that was radiating from Will. Unconsciousness was never a good sign (neither for illnesses nor for Hannibal's victims) and the fevered sweetness Hannibal had first smelled on him months ago smelled stickier than ever, with a slightly acidic undertone which confirmed what he had deduced earlier: Will must have caught some kind of new pathogen at the crime scene yesterday.
It could be treated with antibiotics and rest, Hannibal was certain of that; but without it, he knew Will's survival would not be guaranteed. He also knew that time was his enemy here. The more the disease spread, the less likely it was for the antibiotics and medicine he had at his home to function properly. If that weren't the case, he'd have to get a hospital involved which, as stated earlier, would ruin his entire relationship with Will. That was the last thing Hannibal wanted, not now, when he had Will at his breaking point.
So he made short of slumping Will's body over his shoulder and placing him in his car, even going as far as putting the seatbelt on and positioning the headrest accordingly. Hannibal was a meticulous man, after all. At some point during the drive Will started shifting in his sleep and whispered a few things while his breathing got heavier. Without thinking (which was an outright lie, Hannibal never did anything that wasn't carefully calculated) he put his hand on Will's thigh to stop him from thrashing, which proved effective. Even as his movements stalled and his breathing got steadier, Hannibals hand remained where it was.
When they arrived at Hannibal's house, Will still hadn't regained his consciousness. Hannibal carried him inside, in bridal style this time. He couldn't help but slightly sniff Will's neck. Only to check for illnesses, of course. Underneath the overwhelming smell of sickness he could make out a faint masculine, earthy scent that was usually covered up by that atrocious aftershave. When Will got better, and Hannibal was certain that he would, he would tell him to abandon it once and for all. Now that he had smelled Will, he wished he could take his scent and bottle it up, if that was what it took Will to never wear any other fragrance again, be it Dior or Armani. Hannibal would also very much like a bottle of that to himself, thank you very much.
Once inside, he put a blanket on the couch (yes, he adored Will's scent, but the man was still sweating buckets) and laid Will on top of it. He considered moving him to the guest room, but there he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on him at all times. Because that was Hannibal's plan: Keep an eye on him, give him medication to fight of the infection. If possible, not treat the encephalitis. Deep down Hannibal knew how Will would see through his manipulations and ruses immediately once he was at full mental capacity. Not only that: He would see through Hannibal as if he himself was madd out of glass, heart and brain on full display.
Being seen, truly seen, was a concept entirely unfamiliar to Hannibal.
He wasn't scared, that wasn't in his nature, but he longed to understand the concept it just like everyone else.
And the only one who could help him with that was Will, who was always tugging and toying with the line that bordered in seeing too much. So Hannibal had to keep him alive, but pliant and malleable. That had never been a problem for him.
He looked over at the man on the couch. The cool, wet cloth Hannibal had placed on his forehead had seemed to calm him a little. Droplets of water had run down his face, shimmering in the dim light of the living room as if tears were glistening on his cheeks. When Will finally slept, without dreaming or fussing or anything, he looked like a beautiful painting more than anything.
The curve of his lips, his soft nose bridge, even his stubble looked nothing short of artistic. Hannibal had never officially declared any type of attraction to men, and he wouldn't necessarily describe his feelings towards Will as "attraction". He was a connoisseur of arts though and with that he knew beauty in it's most complete form when he saw it.
The doctor walked over to his impressively stocked medicine cabinet. Along various illegal, deadly and recreational substances there was also penicillin which was exactly was he, no, Will needed.
He decided he would test Will's reaction to being fed liquids first. At this point Hannibal had established that Will was not unconscious anymore but had fallen asleep, so feeding him a liquid carefully should not be dangerous. Especially as Will had begun to drift in and out of a half-asleep, half-conscious state, eyes fluttering open while being entirely shut again just seconds later. When Hannibal held a spill-proof bottle of water to his mouth he began slowly suckling at the mouth piece. The sight of it hit Hannibal full force. The way his adams apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way his lips wrapped around the mouth-piece of the bottle... It was nothing short of obscene. He couldn't resist placing his hand on Will's cheek slowly stroking it with his thumb. After all, Hannibal had always taken his liberties with touching Will in his weakest moments and this was no different.
He quickly retrieved a spoonful of the antibiotic and fed it to Will before he fell asleep again. Apparently his worry as misplaced, because just as he nudged Will's lips with the spoon to signal him to open them, the younger man opened his eyes. Still heavy lidded, he looked up at his caretaker and gave him a weak, lopsided smile.
"Thank you, Doctor Lecter."
He swallowed the medicine and his entire body went limp again. Hannibal reacted immediately, his hand reaching out to steady Will's head.
His other hand was pressed to his chest trying to steady his rapidly beating heart.