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The boat rocked steadily across the water. Chiyoh seemed to be a better captain than she had given herself credit for, initially.
Will maintained that it wasn’t a difficult thing to learn. She had arrived in something much smaller, easier for the average person to navigate in. But that wouldn’t last, not across a literal ocean. And so he had urged her to help him steal something bigger the moment they could.
He was coherent enough to lend a helping hand, but once she learned the ropes, she would no longer allow him to assist. He tried to anyway and earned a cold glare, ordered to go lay back down and rest his injuries.
“Wasn’t aware the one who pushed me off a train cared so much,” he muttered, trying not to tug at the stitches in his cheek from speaking.
“It is not for my sake, I assure you,” she said, more lighthearted than he expected. “But I cannot choose who his nakama is. He would be greatly upset if you were exerting yourself.”
That had gotten him to back down easily enough.
Chiyoh was a smart woman, certainly. She had dedicated time to gathering supplies before she’d arrived. Aware of the long journey ahead, she had supplied a basic amount of clothing. Incredibly cheap clothing, but accessible and necessary.
Will had been the first to change, since he was able to do so. Stab wounds, as much as they sucked, were not nearly as grave as a shot through the stomach. He was just grateful the bullet had exited. He didn’t want to have to deal with a future riddled with Hannibal taunting him for his shitty attempt at bullet removal.
Speaking of, Hannibal’s dressings needed changing. Will was supposed to have done that earlier, but it was rather difficult to keep track of time in these conditions.
He hadn’t actually been able to get Hannibal to change beyond getting his bloodstained sweater off. By the time that had happened– God, Will nearly hurled just thinking about it– the blood had started to coagulate and dry. He couldn’t stand the sound Hannibal made when he had to peel the fabric off of his wound.
Fortunately, Hannibal was barely conscious. Or unfortunately. Will wasn’t sure which at this point. He’d prefer not to have Hannibal fully awake while dealing with the recovery, and the peace and quiet was nice if he had to admit. He wasn’t sure how sane he would be if he had to listen to Hannibal’s ramblings while patching him up.
But there were some ramblings, during his moments of consciousness. Except they weren’t in English. Go figure.
To make it worse, any time Chiyoh was in the room during those ramblings, she looked amused, glancing at Will. Whatever the hell Hannibal was saying about him to prompt that, Will wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Hannibal was sleeping now, but as was Chiyoh. Hence why Will was supposed to do it earlier. She had the supplies.
Shit.
It was fine, it would be fine. He was sure he could figure something out…
An idea dawned on him, though he wasn’t sure if he was brilliant for it or insanely stupid.
He pulled off his shirt, a cheap red long-sleeve, wincing at his shoulder. Good God, he was lucky to have any mobility in that arm at all at this point, considering how much that shoulder had been injured.
He took a deep breath. He had a good amount of other shirts. Chiyoh wouldn’t comment on it, right?
He grabbed a pair of scissors he found in the “kitchen” area (okay, so maybe they stole a small yacht), and he started cutting.
He couldn’t cut the whole thing, of course. No, this still needed to be wearable. To some extent.
The sleeves were cut off. Bandages needed to be sterile, right? He brought the fabric to the “kitchen” area, washing them as thoroughly as he could.
Then it hit him that he was going to have to dry these. He fought down the idea to put them in the microwave.
He wrung them out to the best of his ability, letting them dry off to the side of Hannibal’s bed. Well, technically he and Hannibal’s bed, but he never stays there. It drove Chiyoh insane that he won’t lay down properly, but he insists other spots are fine.
He finally mustered the courage to deal with this on his own, and he began to roll Hannibal’s shirt up to scope out the bandaging.
Hannibal’s eyes opened immediately.
“Ką–?”
Fuck.
“Hey, Hannibal,” Will said with a sheepish smile. “Just need to change these. Try not to move, okay?”
“Will…? Kur mes esame?”
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Will said, beginning to unwrap the bandages.
Hannibal winced beneath him, but after the initial shock of pain was gone, he looked at Will fully.
His eyes were nearly sparkling.
Will’s brows furrowed a bit in confusion. “You good, Hann?”
Hannibal swallowed, his gaze running over Will’s entire being. “Will…”
Will looked down, still confused– oh. Oh.
He wouldn’t consider himself the “scantily clad” sort, but he was currently in nothing but black boxers and that red shirt with the sleeves cut off.
“Necessity,” he said with a groan. “Chiyoh’s got the bandages, and I don’t have enough of a death wish to wake her up.”
“Will,” Hannibal tried again, his voice less weak now, “tu atrodai gražiai.”
Will shook his head. “Hannibal, for fuck’s sake– Is your head still messed up?”
Hannibal looked like he was concentrating now, and Will immediately regretted pointing out anything about his head. He didn’t need to make it worse by struggling to think clearly. Was he trying to think in English? Wait, how many languages did he know?
Where had he been in life? Lithuania, France, Italy–...Oh shit. Was English one of the last languages he’d learned?
“Bellissimo,” Hannibal tried at last.
“What are you–”
The word was familiar enough that the realization dawned on Will pretty quickly, causing his face to visibly heat up. Hannibal smiled.
“Oh would you shut up,” Will said with a huff, trying again to undo the bandaging. “I need to focus.”
Hannibal chuckled softly, though the movement immediately made him wince from his injury. “Ti sto distraendo, bellissimo?”
“I don’t have to speak Italian to know that you’re taunting me, asshole,” Will said, finally grabbing the (now dry) cut off pieces of fabric to wrap around the wound, held in place with safety pins for the time being.
He sat against the wall at the end of the bed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. With his only current responsibility down, he could finally get a moment of peace.
If Hannibal’s eyes weren’t burning into his soul.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Will muttered.
He suddenly felt Hannibal’s hand entwine with his own.
“Bello…”
Will sighed. “You’re not gonna let me leave you alone now that you’re awake, are you?”
Hannibal shook his head, a nearly childish grin on his face now.
Will sighed. He climbed onto the bed, on the other side that had remained unoccupied. He was grateful, honestly, that this was the side in which he wouldn’t need to lay on his injured cheek–
“...Hannibal.”
“Hm?”
“Did you move sides so I would lay with you?”
“And what if I did?”
Will rolled his eyes, finally laying down on his side. “Of course you did. Good to see your speech is back for me to deal with.”
Rather than engage with Will’s attitude, Hannibal turned to face him better, reaching his hand up and stroking along Will’s jawline, deliberately away from his wounded cheek. Will could feel his heart doing somersaults at the touch, not that he wanted to let it show (though of course, it did anyway).
“I can imagine walking down the streets of Florence,” Hannibal began, his voice so soft that it was far too difficult to stay angry. “Everyone would see you, and they would stop and stare. And the people on the side of the road would yell out ‘ Bello, bello, bello! ’ to try and get your attention.”
Will huffed softly, trying internally to aggressively swat away the butterflies in his stomach like pests. “Would they be so forward just because they saw an American?”
Hannibal smiled, amused. “No. They would be forward because they saw you.”
God, he wished he had a response to that.
Hannibal ran his hand from Will’s jaw to his arm. “You should wear this more often.”
Will turned onto his back, rubbing his face. “Is this what you’re like now? First opportunity you get?”
“Are we pretending that it upsets you? Your face practically matches your shirt.”
“Jesus…I almost prefer the therapy.”
Hannibal laughed at that, wrapping his arm around Will and pulling him closer.
“I’m sorry, then, mylimasis. I’m afraid I’m going to be quite insufferable from now on.”