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“Hannibal. Oh my god, Hannibal, she’s waking up! Get here!” Will Graham, shouted across the hall of Hannibal’s house in Baltimore, Maryland. He leaned precariously across the painted-white oak crib, reducing his voice to a slither of a whisper as the baby stirred in her sleep.
Hannibal Lecter, alerted by Will’s cries, shuffled as fast as he could along the thickly carpeted floors, his flip-flop slippers slapping on the floor as he hurried along. He held two mugs; his a white cappuccino, Will’s a simple black tea. Even in his oldest slippers and most scraggly bathrobe, he was graceful and managed to not spill a single drop as he ran to reach Will’s side, breathing slightly hitched when he reached him. Hannibal pushed the two mugs out of reach (on coasters) and joined Will in his positioning over the crib, peering down onto the new-born baby that stretched before them, her face bright red and scrunched up tight, dreaming of warmth.
“She hasn’t to wake up soon. Surely. It’s been hours – hours. No baby sleeps this long. Not ever.” Will turned anxiously to Hannibal, his tone hushed but scared. “What if there’s something wrong with her? Can you tell? Is she ill?”
Hannibal merely chucked at his partner’s worry, bringing a hand to rest on his fiancée’s shoulder, curving his thumb in a soothing way. Will visibly relaxed, breathing out a heavy sigh and sagging on the crib’s frame, his own arms tucked underneath his body.
“Will it always be this stressful?” Will asked, pouting up to Hannibal with bright, shiny eyes. Hannibal didn’t speak, only shook his head and dropped down to where Will’s head rested, nuzzling his lover with his nose, the pair of them watching the baby stir more frequently.
“She’s waking up.” Hannibal murmured, his hand reaching out to cup the baby’s cheek – only to have Will slap it away at the last second, his jaw set tightly. “No! Let her sleep!” He scolded; but the baby had awoken. Will and Hannibal held their breath as the baby opened her eyes wide, blue and bright and unfocused. She clocked eyes at the pair of men hanging over her crib, holding their breaths and smiling faintly at her.
And that was when she decided to open her mouth wide, presenting her gums for the first time, and start shrieking with as much force as her tiny lungs could muster. Will visibly jumped back, but Hannibal stayed where he was, calmly scooping the tiny child up in his hands and cradling her to his chest, shushing her. The child continued to cry, but a little less, her fists waving in the air as Will moved closer, peering down on her face as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen.
“She is.” Hannibal answered him, breaking his eye contact with the child to crowd Will in closer, wrapping an arm around him too. “She’s the most precious thing in this world.” The baby had quietened, content to wail softly and murmur wordless noises, stretching in Hannibal’s arms to peer around her, even if she couldn’t comprehend what or where she was.
“She’s incredible.” Will breathed, his breath ghosting over her forehead as he pulled himself closer to her, to Hannibal, his whole life standing in one centre of one room. “Can I?” he asked, holding out his arms, even though he was shaking slightly.
Hannibal laughed, low and heavy in the darkness of the room. “Of course, Will. She’s your child too.” Hannibal structured Will’s arms, placing the baby into his cradle and took a step back, surveying the scene before him. His lover, his fiancée, holding the life they now had sworn to protect, together.
Despite the fact she was neither blood relation to either of the men, she held the look of Will; small features, large eyes, a lot of dark brunette hair. Pale pink lips that opened and closed in awe, her face scrunched up in the way Will does when he gets angry, or nervous. She may have Will’s looks, but she would have Hannibal’s upbringing. To the core, she’d be Hannibal’s daughter. And the two of them were completely content with that.
“I was thinking. Courtney?” Will said, not looking at Hannibal as he spoke but rather appearing enthralled by his daughter, by her small face and the way her eyes opened and squeezed shut, her eyebrows raising every time.
Hannibal tried to resist pulling a face, but he failed. “I like it, but I don’t think it’s her.” He managed, crossing his arms across his chest, trying to prove he was being serious. He wanted Will to pick the name, to make him feel like he was in control of something – he had practically organised everything; their home, their upcoming wedding, the structure of how they ended up adopting their daughter. He needed Will to have something. “I thought you had another name picked out?”
Will shrugged, rocking their daughter in his arms, watching her face light up with each swing. “I had one, I’m not too sure about it though.”
Hannibal settled into the arm chair situated by the crib, over-stuffed and ugly (according to Will), smoothing down his robe and keeping his eyes fixated on his fiancée. “What was it? It must be better than what I came up with.”
Will smirked, coming closer to where Hannibal sat, “tell me yours, I need the ideas.” Hannibal patted his knee, gesturing for Will to sit down. They looked like the classic Christmas card couple, all they needed was the hats and the tree.
Hannibal pressed his forehead on Will’s shoulder, looking down at their child and filling with pride. “My name is strange, I wished to name her after my sister. Mischa.”
“I suppose you don’t get a lot of Mischa’s around here.” Will mused, rocking the baby between the two of them, whispering the name above her. “Do you think she feels like a Mischa?” Will passed the baby to his lover, careful and quietly, reveling in the peace he felt right now. He hadn’t felt it in a long time.
“I don’t think there will be a lot of Mischa’s where ever we go. You know we can’t stay here long.” Hannibal muttered, holding the child in one hand and pulling Will closer to himself with the other. “She doesn’t feel like a Mischa. Mischa was very important to me, and I don’t wish to name our daughter after someone who fills me with such pain.”
“I like the name Ashley.” Will butted in.
“That’s… Interesting.” Hannibal choked out, practically shielding the baby in is arms from Will’s suggestion. “I doubt she feels like an Ashley though. I don’t know any deep history behind name, I prefer something that has meaning.”
Will chuckled to himself, “of course you do. My other suggestion was Abigail.” There was a pause, and the baby hiccuped, bouncing in Hannibal’s arms.
“We wish to not name her after someone painful, but you decide on the name that is the most painful for both of us.” Hannibal said, bringing his daughter to his lips to press a kiss to her forehead. “But I think she likes it. She looks like an Abigail. She looks like ours.”
“Remind ourselves of our pain every day. And every day we would ensure we treated her right, unlike the first.” Will said, rolling his eyes at his lover and standing up to stretch. “How long are we staying here? I haven’t bothered to unpack.” Unpacking meant removing the bullets from his gun and changing his shirt that he’d been wearing for several weeks.
“We can afford one more day here. I’m sure there are sensors and wires we could trip to alert the police that we are back.” The baby stirred in his arms, closing her eyes and appearing to go back to sleep. “If Abigail is such a frequent sleeper, we shouldn’t have a problem leaving.”
Will sighed, unbuttoning his top button and fanning himself. His scars were only just heeling, the skin pink and puckered over the wounds he’d acquired over the time they were fleeing. The rocks had managed to significantly damage his ribs, and they were only just healing properly. Sometimes it hurt when he took deep breathes. Hannibal thought he looked beautiful with the scars.
“Where’s next on the list?” Will asked, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, weary. “We need somewhere to stay, properly. Permanently. We decided to pick up a daughter and we have nowhere to live.” He stopped, sinking to the floor beside Abby’s crib.
“She would have died had we not saved her, Will.”
“Just another of my children to the list that I would have had that you took away from me.” Will shot a look at Hannibal, his eyes darkening. In this light, the scar across his forehead was illuminated.
Hannibal stood, stepping over Will, placing Abigail into her crib. He sank to the floor beside Will, wrapping his arm across his shoulder and bringing Will into a hug without much of a fight. It was an odd relationship, they had, to say the least. “Will, I have apologised for you every day since we fell together. Is it possible for you to forgive me?”
Will smiled and butted Hannibal’s head with his own, nuzzling into him. “I forgive you, Hannibal. I won’t forget it, but I forgive you.” He guided lips to Hannibal’s, pressing himself lightly to his lover, hoping it would wash away all the ill feeling between them, the tension that had been built over the many years together, slowly washed away by the salty sea they had been bathed in after killing for the first time.
“We should retire to bed, sleep for the first time in a long time, peacefully.”
Will laughed, stopping himself from being too loud when Abby murmured in her sleep. “I haven’t slept peacefully since I was a baby myself.”
Hannibal smirked, pressing himself closer to Will and nipping at Will’s ear. “That’s untrue. You often sleep like a log after long nights together.” Will blushed, pulling away from Hannibal and squirming, embarrassed, in his arms.
“Not in front of the baby.” He warned, standing up and offering his hand to Hannibal, pulling the man flush against him and folding his arms around his waist, squeezing him softly. They paused like that, life silenced, Will’s head resting on Hannibal’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut, sighing into the old robe that smelled of spice and Hannibal.
“Should we sleep?” Hannibal asked, running his hands through Will’s messy curls, having grown back in the months they had been fleeing. Hannibal liked it, loved carding it between his fingers as he slept, soothing Will’s fevered cries and hot flashes of nightmares.
“We can try.” Will agreed, taking Hannibal’s hand and led him from the room, shuffling across the cold floors and getting chills from the icy house that hadn’t been heated in months. It was risky coming back, but they had to, and Will secretly hoped they could stay here just a little while longer. He doubted Jack would be smart enough to look in the same place twice.
“Wait, Hannibal.” Will stopped, “go on to bed, I'm going to get Abigail.” Hannibal nodded, settling into the covers that hadn’t been washed in months, stifling a shudder as the sheets touched his skin. Will returned with Abby in his arms, placing the baby between them and slipping under the sheets too, resting his head on the dust-covered pillows.
“Goodnight, Will. Sleep well.” Hannibal whispered, his eyes closing in the dark. He almost looked as peaceful as Abigail did when he slept, and Will closed his eyes to the image, wondering how he managed to acquire such a life in which he murdered people, ate their flesh and settled into an old house with his lover and his new-born daughter. All he needed was his dogs, and he’d been content; but for now, with the travelling, the running, this was enough.