Chapter Text
"It's actually quite common for patients with psychosis to act imprévisible et illusoire, * as we can clearly see in this case," Hannibal stated, his gaze shifting to Jack to see his reaction. "Is this why you called me, Agent Crawford?"
When foreign words came out of Hannibal's mouth, Will didn't think much of it. He was used to Dr. Lecter adding foreign phrases and words into their day-to-day conversations. It was a habit he had grown used to. He didn't mind it; most of the time, Will could guess the meaning by the context, so it wasn't a big deal.
Will had a mental list of the languages he has heard Lecter using. For now, it included French, Spanish (he silently thanked himself for not skipping classes in high school for that), Italian, and a language that he couldn't recognize. It sounded harsh and sharp, almost like Russian but not quite. Will couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't have time to do research, and what for, anyway? It's not like the world is spinning around Hannibal and his quirky mannerisms.
"We appreciate your professional analysis, Dr. Lecter," Jack looked a bit lost for some reason, but his eyes returned to the pictures on the board, following the red string.
"I'm always honored to offer my help," Hannibal replied with a soft smile, gathering his documents to leave the office.
Will stayed still in the chair beside the table. He was slowly examining every photograph of the crime scene. The unidentified male victim, approximately 40 years old, was found next to the river in the forest by a group of hunters. He couldn't shake off the nagging feeling he had about it. Something was wrong.
"I'm not sure about that," he suddenly spoke up.
Jack turned his head to him. "What are you referring to?"
Hannibal froze, his focus on Will.
"There's something off about the crime scene," Will explained. "The victim wasn't killed there; someone placed him carefully. The ground is muddy and difficult to traverse. So it would be almost impossible to bring a dead body there without making an absolute mess, right?"
"I assume so, yes."
"And look at the victim again," Graham pointed out to the main photo on the board. "Yet there's not a speck of dirt on the body. Like it was freshly washed. And the flowers surrounding the victim - bluebells, irises, and lilacs - don't belong in that area, you see?"
Hannibal's gaze hadn't left Will's face even for a split second while he was talking. He knows.
"What I'm trying to say is, this doesn't look like the work of a psychotic killer. It's too methodical, too careful, almost obsessive" Will said, trying to keep his emotions in check.
Jack seemed even more disturbed by the idea of an obsessed serial killer than some maniac, but Graham had a point, and it was clear.
"I have to agree with Will, Agent Crawford," Hannibal's voice sounded through the silence of the room. "We overlooked some crucial details," he continued " the flowers lying next to the body, in many cultures convey messages of everlasting love, hope and admiration," he gave Will a quick glance just to see his reaction and returned his eyes to the man in front of him.
"So you want to say that this is a love letter?" Jack asked, his eyes widening in realization.
"I'm afraid so"
***
The electric clock shone brightly, displaying "9:05 PM," in stark contrast to the dark office. Hannibal knew he should have left hours ago, but the paperwork on his desk demanded his attention. He analyzed the profiles of different patients, made calls to inquire about their medication courses, and checked his schedule for the next day, but his mind wandered elsewhere.
Suddenly, a knock on the door disrupted the quiet of the office. It was followed by another, harder knock, and then yet another. Hannibal had never attended to a patient this late, and the FBI had not notified him of any apprentices. He slowly took a scalpel from his table and hid it within his sleeve, not knowing what to expect
He stood up from his chair and walked towards the door, being careful not to make any noise. He peered through the peephole and saw a figure standing outside, their face obscured by the shadows. Hannibal hesitated for a moment before revealing the stranger behind the door: Will stood there, right outside his office. His eyes were red, circled by dark shadows, and his skin was paper-pale. For a second, he didn't dare say anything, silently brushing his hands at his sides while avoiding direct eye contact.
Hannibal’s gaze softened, his shoulders relaxed, and he pushed the scalpel further into his sleeve.
“I didn’t expect you to still be here,” the younger man finally spoke, his voice sounding croaky, almost sick.
“I didn’t expect anyone either.”
Mixed feelings flashed across the agent’s face: guilt, shame, fear, and embarrassment.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Will took a step back, ready to leave the place.
Hannibal realized how his response must have sounded and took a deep breath. He opened the office door widely and said, "You are welcome here at any time, Will. You are not my patient. Even though I would have preferred a short call or message in advance, I never mind your company."
Will shifted his posture and appeared more relaxed. "I'm sorry, but I need to talk to someone," he said.
Hannibal nodded slightly, indicating his understanding. Will slowly entered the room, took a seat on the couch, while Hannibal sat on the armchair opposite him. Will's hands trembled, and he closed his eyes for a second, trying to concentrate.
"What brings you here, Will?" Hannibal asked softly, observing the other man's demeanor.
Will took a deep breath before starting to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had a vision about the case we're working on," he admitted, his eyes flickering around the room. "It was so vivid and real, I couldn't shake it off." He buried his hands in curly hair and brushed them slowly. "And I feel something I shouldn't be feeling about it."
"Tell me about it. What did you see?"
"I was sprinting through the woods," Will took a deep breath, "and I was chasing someone down, a man."
"The victim from the crime scene?"
"Yes."
"And what happened next?"
"He attempted to escape, but..." Will paused for a moment, "...but I was quicker. Stronger. I felt the rush of adrenaline surge through my body, almost like hunger. It wasn't just a chase, it was a hunt. "
Will raised his head for a split second to gauge the therapist's reaction. He was expecting to see pity, fear, judgment, or perhaps just simple concern. However, he was met with the cold, maroon gaze of Hannibal's eyes.
"You don't need to discuss it further if you're not comfortable, Will."
"No-no, you don't understand. I have to." Will's spine stiffened, and his hands stopped shaking.
"Then let it be. What happened next?"
"I caught up to him. I could feel the weight of the knife in my hand as I sliced his throat in one swift motion. He didn't suffer, at least not in his final moments."
"What did you feel at that moment?"
"I felt powerful," he murmured quietly, the older man had almost missed it.
Hannibal’s eyes flickered with interest, almost as if he was pleased with Will’s admission. “And how did that power make you feel?” he asked softly, leaning in slightly. Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of how to answer. “It’s okay, Will,” Hannibal reassured him, “you can tell me.”
Will took a deep breath and met Hannibal’s intense gaze. “It made me feel alive,” he said finally, in a barely audible voice.
In that moment it seemed like Will just understood the actual meaning behind his words. He covered his ears and closed his eyes, as if trying to shield himself. Oh, Hannibal thought, This beautiful thing.
"Will, listen to my voice," he said gently, his hands reaching out to touch the other man's face. "It's 9:17 pm. You're in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Will Graham."
This simple reminder seemed to help him calm down. Their eyes met for a second. His, like the ocean during a storm, were filled with genuine fear.
“The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not only the worst of someone else.”
Hannibal's words echoed in Will's mind, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had been struggling with his visions and the emotions they brought up, but Hannibal's reminder that he had control over his own thoughts and actions gave him a sense of empowerment.
Not only the worst of someone else.
He tasted the words on his tongue, They felt too good to be true. The honesty in the man's voice fed this feeling. His mind cleared for a moment, and he realized that there were no woods, no chase, no blood, and no gut-wrenching screams. Instead, there was silence.
He allowed Hannibal's calming voice to fill his mind, and he felt a sense of calm and safety. Unconsciously, he leaned into the man's touch, shifting his weight.t. He let himself go off the control, trusting with his life.
Hannibal was sincerely touched by Will's sudden openness and trust. He slowly brushed Will's hair off his face to check his temperature. The agent was burning up, which explained his extreme hallucinations.
"It's okay, numylėtinis. Tu esi saugus. "*
For a few minutes, time seemed to stop and the world around them went quiet. They heard only the sound of their own, deep, slow breathing.
Will didn't catch the last phrase, but he didn't have the energy to think about it now. He felt safe for the first time in a while and wouldn't waste it.
A warm and unusual feeling filled Hannibal's heart. It wasn’t strong, more like a small stream carrying it through his whole body.
The two men stayed in that position for a few minutes longer, until Will's breathing had slowed and his body had completely relaxed. Hannibal's touch was gentle and soothing, and he felt like he could stay there forever. Eventually, though, Hannibal pulled away and stood up, offering a hand to help Will to his feet. "It's getting late," he said, glancing at the clock "You should head home and get some rest. I will contact Jack shortly and inform him about your condition. You will be provided with three days off.” Will nodded, feeling more centered and grounded than he had in weeks.
However, as he stood up, he suddenly felt embarrassed. He realized how uncomfortable it must have been for the other man to just sit there in complete silence.
“Jack won't be happy about that,” he said, avoiding eye contact once again. Beautiful thing.
“Even though you're not my patient, I'm still a licensed professional with a breadth of experience. As your official supervisor, I have the right to give you a prescription whether Jack Crawford likes it or not.”
The agent remained skeptical, but Hannibal seemed confident in his power, so it didn't make sense to argue. Will's eyesight still had a shadow of blur left, so he tried to rub his fingers to pull himself together again.
Although Will felt better after opening up about his visions, he felt guilty. He had let his guard down and allowed someone to get into his mind and see him. And that meant that he fucked up.
Hannibal was not his family, friend, colleague, therapist, or even a close neighbor to whom he saw every other day on his way to work. So who was he? Just another person, nothing less, nothing more. And yet, Will had let him in.
“Will, are you listening to me?”
He shook his head, meeting with Hannibal’s heavy gaze. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I wanted to check if you're feeling well enough to go back to Wolf Trap. It's a pretty long ride from here,” he looked genuinely concerned. “If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, I don't mind offering you a ride back. Alternatively, you are welcome to stay at my place for the night. I have a spare room for visitors. It's just a 15-minute drive from here, and you can return to your house the first thing in the morning.”
Will wanted to lie. He truly did. He wanted to say that he's feeling better now and leave the office as soon as possible. But his eyesight and headache were getting worse with every passing second and the thought of spending another two hours on the road was devastating. He gave up.
“I really don't want to come off as rude but I guess I could really use some help now" he admitted with a low voice.
Hannibal's eyes widened and his brows hardly noticeable rose, as if he didn't expect such an answer. Nonetheless, it appeared that the weight had lifted off his shoulders, and he simply replied, "I appreciate your trust, Will. Give me 5 minutes to collect my belongings, and I'll meet you outside.”
The younger man gave him a small nod, walking straight out of the door, needing some fresh air.
Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. The cold filled his lungs, he leaned into the door frame that looked a bit too fancy for a typical office.
He couldn't believe he had let Hannibal get so close to him, but he couldn't deny that the older man made him feel safe in a way that no one else ever had. As he stood there waiting, he couldn't help but wonder why he was feeling that way. He didn't open up like this to Alana, Jack, Beverly or hardly anyone in his life. Of course, Will enjoyed his life (as much as possible); he chose a home far away from every other soul just to stay undisturbed with his dogs and thoughts. He didn't need a family, not at all. Maybe that was a result of not having a real one as a child, but Graham shortly realized that he had the power to create his own safe place. It might not be as extravagant as Hannibal's, or it might be formed by stays, and barely have functioning heat, but it was his home. And he was happy.
A short sound returned his attention to the world around him, reminding about the reason he ended up standing on this marble porch, instead of his wooden one.
Hannibal was standing directly behind him, wearing a black coat and holding a pile of papers in his hands. He asked Will if he was alright, his eyes filled with concern. Will gave him a small nod, still feeling as though he couldn't speak.
When they got to the car, Will instantly felt uneasy. Hannibal's Bentley was flawless, just as he had expected. He knew that when he got in, the dog's hair was going to ruin the unblemished black seats that were probably worth more than anything Will had ever owned. He couldn't stand the thought of being even more of a burden than he already was, but before he could back down, the older man was already holding up the door for him to get in.
The ride to the house was quick, but it felt like an eternity to Will. Hannibal seemed to sense his unease and tried to make small talk, but Will couldn't bring himself to engage. As they finally arrived at the house, Will took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever was to come next. However, his body grew heavier with every step, his headache intensified, and the ringing in his ears became deafening. His mind grew cloudy and his vision blurred. He wasn't sure what was happening or where he was. Everything felt surreal, and the world around him seemed to grow larger and louder, overwhelming him.
He wasn't sure what was happening, but he felt warm hands removing his jacket and shoes and taking him somewhere. Then, someone held up his face. He tasted something sour on his tongue just before the world went dark once more.
And then there was silence.
****