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One of his patients is a psychologist. Of course. Will can't escape psychoanalysis even at work. His patient—Dr. Hannibal Lecter—also used to be a surgeon. His past medical background allows him to get along with Will's staff quite well. It doesn't help that he's handsome. Like, handsome handsome. Rich and European with a beautiful lilting accent. His face looks like it's sculpted from marble. Regal and unmoving. He's charming and well-educated and loves the arts. He's fucking perfect. It bothers Will for some reason, so he rarely says more to Hannibal outside of a customary greeting and questions about his teeth.
Hannibal has sharp teeth. Predator's teeth. Dangerous teeth. It always sends some sort of sick thrill up Will's spine to put his fingers in Hannibal's mouth as if the predator belonging to those teeth will suddenly emerge from behind the gelled hair and pretty suits and snap at Will's fingers. But that never happens. It shouldn't be disappointing.
Will supposes Hannibal's teeth may be the only imperfect part of him. But Will doesn't think they're imperfect. Not really. Hannibal's teeth aren't completely straight, and Will had to fill in a chip last month. Will had asked what happened, but Hannibal simply blinked innocently and said he didn't know since he cooks most of his own food. Because of course he's an amazing cook, too. Bastard.
But there is something…else about Hannibal. Will catches glimpses of it in the flash of Hannibal's eyes when one of his assistants was a bit rude and in the perfectly neutral mask he wears most of the time. He's hiding something. He is something. Something he wears a person-suit to cover. And Will wants to see.
One of the dental hazards many people don't realize is when something becomes embedded in the gums or teeth so snugly that it becomes stuck. It's then prone to terrible infection if not treated promptly. Hannibal knows this—probably due to his medical background—and scheduled an appointment for this problem almost two weeks ago. Today is the day of his appointment, and he and Will have undergone their usual—yet slightly awkward—greeting when he arrived.
Hannibal is laying down on one of the reclined dentist chairs now as Will gently prods at his gums where the debris has been caught. It's between a couple of his back right molars. Will can't quite tell what it is despite the giant lamp hanging above them illuminating his work. With a pair of dental tweezers, Will delicately removes the debris. It's…stringy. It's…hair? Will pulls it out of Hannibal's mouth and into the light. It's a chunk of flesh attached to several long strands of hair. Human hair. This is human flesh. Hannibal bit someone so hard he ripped part of their scalp off. Holy shit.
How the hell did he even do this?
Will glances down to see Hannibal already watching him. Wordlessly, Will places the piece of flesh on the small pan beside them.
"Open," he commands.
Hannibal does.
Will closely and carefully inspects Hannibal's mouth, but the rest of Hannibal's teeth are clean and free of any more…debris.
Will follows it up with a standard cleaning he does himself. It's something the techs usually do, but Will's silently decided he'll be monitoring Hannibal closely today. And maybe probably forever. But no more flesh is upturned during the cleaning. And Will is…disappointed.
Will sets his tools down on the pan. The piece of flesh is still there. Will looks at it. It's a decent sized chunk. Hannibal must've bitten the person and then ripped through the flesh, tearing it off violently with untamed strength. Will bets there was blood. Oh, God. It was probably on Hannibal. It probably covered his lips and dribbled down his chin. His sharp teeth probably shone red with it. Jesus. That mental image…
This is a problem. Or it should be a problem, but Will finds himself more morbidly curious than disgusted or afraid. He should definitely be more afraid. Will tugs his gloves off and pulls his surgical mask down to his chin. He needs to say something to placate this. To show Hannibal he needn't harm Will. But…how exactly do you tell one of your patients you're okay with finding human flesh stuck in their teeth. When Will glances up, he realizes Hannibal has been staring. Shit. Fuck. He needs to say something. Now.
"Um."
"Will this be a problem?" Hannibal asks politely. Always politely.
Will shakes his head, suddenly mute.
"Are you afraid?" Hannibal asks.
Will should be. It would be normal to be afraid. Would it be worse if Will is honest and told Hannibal he isn't?
Will tears his eyes away from Hannibal's penetrating stare. He clears his throat. "Uh, yeah," he lies.
Will's eyes land back onto the piece of flesh. Where did the rest of the person go? Did Hannibal tear them apart completely? Or did he— The back molars is an odd spot for the flesh to be stuck in after being viciously torn through. It should've been stuck in the front teeth. Unless Hannibal had…
Will wonders what it tasted like. He licks his lips.
The dental chair creaks as Hannibal moves. Will looks over, and Hannibal is sitting up while still staring at him.
"You aren't afraid," Hannibal says.
Will swallows. "I think I should be," he admits quietly.
"What do you feel then?"
Curiosity.
Intrigue.
Excitement.
Instead of voicing any of that, Will scoffs and shakes his head instead as an ill-timed grin tugs his lips upward. "Are you psychoanalyzing me?"
Hannibal's eyes gleam in amusement. "Yes."
"Is that even real?" Will asks while nodding in the direction of the flesh. "Or are you fucking with me?"
"Can it not be both?"
Laughter bursts out of Will at Hannibal's unexpected honesty. He's still smiling when he replies, "I suppose it can."
"You didn't answer my question."
Will raises his eyebrows. "You mean you asking me how I feel after finding…that in your teeth?"
"Yes."
With a sudden and strange confidence that doesn't belong to him, Will answers, "Ask me to dinner first, and then I'll tell you."
Hannibal grins, revealing his sharp, glinting, perfect teeth. "May I have you over for dinner tonight?"
Will mirrors his grin. "Yes."