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Chapter Text

Hannibal Lecter's morning routine was immutable. Light calisthenics to his favorite music, a refreshing shower, shaving, and standard hygienic procedures. Then, of course, freshly brewed coffee and a breakfast resembling a work of art, even if it was the simplest and most unpretentious one. While cooking, he enjoyed his beloved classical music and thoughts of the day ahead.

Today was special – and not only because Will Graham had shown up on his doorstep the day before, resolved to continue therapy. Taking a sip of the scalding hot beverage, Hannibal blissfully closed his eyes. He had kept that cherished hour for Will while he was in prison, the very prison Hannibal himself had sent him to. His desire to see what would come of their little game had outweighed everything else. He was accustomed to indulging his curiosity, but then things had spiraled beyond his control. Will had made a countermove, joined the game, started manipulating those around him – even Hannibal himself – with startling efficiency. The manipulations weren't obvious; Hannibal had failed to recognize some of them, but he wasn't the least bit upset about it.

After their session with Will, Hannibal had lain awake for a long time. He replayed their conversation over and over in his mind. Will's words sent a faint shiver down his spine and an inexplicable languor spreading in his chest. After Will left, he locked his office, returned home, and prepared the liver of the rude delivery driver he had killed the previous week, having first soaked it in milk with his characteristic fastidiousness to remove the bitterness. His mood while cooking had been excellent. The only downside to the meeting with Will was that the next one wasn't for a whole week. But Hannibal hoped a new case would emerge soon, forcing Jack to seek help from his recently reinstated profiler. A pity it couldn't be committed in the name of the Chesapeake Ripper, so that Will's beautiful mind would be occupied by him alone, and no one else.

Hannibal had no doubt that Jack had already invited Will to the designated Ripper-a.k.a.-Frederick-Chilton's lair to get his take on Miriam Lass's abduction and the other crimes. And though the setup was perfect, Hannibal remained vigilant. Jack might believe in Chilton's guilt, but Will knew the truth and still didn't fully trust Lecter. He needed to show Will that he was truly on his side.

Suddenly, his musings were interrupted by the sound of an incoming message.

"I'm home," Will wrote. "Thank you for today's session, Dr. Lecter."

The message seemed like a mere formality, but Will never wrote such messages as a rule. Usually, Hannibal texted first, and Will replied briefly and monosyllabically. "Did you get home safely?" – "Yes." Nothing more, nothing less. This behavior was new, catching Hannibal off guard, and he liked it very much. Perhaps too much. Will never ceased to surprise him.

He could finally see Will, and he no longer had to fight through Chilton's stubbornness and professional envy to speak with him. The arrogant and unimaginably foolish Frederick was behind bars with a gunshot wound to his face and the label of the Chesapeake Ripper. Of course, Hannibal would have preferred to see him in a quieter place, but the main thing was that his grubby hands could no longer reach Will or Hannibal's reputation.

Rereading Will's message several times, Hannibal finally made a decision and typed a reply: "Would you like to meet tomorrow in a more informal setting?"
Will's response was immediate, imbued with the familiar sarcasm Lecter had missed so acutely.

"What do you mean by 'informal setting,' Doctor?"

A pleasant warmth spread in Hannibal's stomach. Good thing the delivery driver's liver was almost ready – a marvelous aroma was filling the kitchen.

"Dinner at my home, of course. To celebrate your release," Hannibal decided to clarify one point: "When we are outside the office, you may call me simply by my name."

Perhaps he was rushing things, but it seemed Will was still keeping his distance. Hannibal nervously bit his lip, waiting for an answer. But the phone remained stubbornly silent.
As he was arranging the cooked liver on a large plate, the reply finally came:

"Agreed, Hannibal."

"I need to figure out these feelings. And you."

The entire day leading up to the evening was filled with a hundred tasks. After grooming himself, he drove into the city to pick up a brand-new suit, tailored to his measurements. If anyone asked Hannibal if he had enough expensive classic suits, he would merely reply that one could never have enough. High society always noted his impeccable taste; Alana liked his style very much, too. But people like Will and Jack seemed to grow uncomfortable around a well-dressed Hannibal. However, the clothes Will had chosen for their last meeting had suited him incredibly well. Hannibal hadn't missed the fact that he'd chosen one of his good shirts and changed his hairstyle. He had liked the feral, angry Will who appeared in his kitchen with a gun and a thirst for murder, but this calculating, manipulative Will he liked even more.

If Will ever decided to kill with his bare hands – would Hannibal resist? He had fought back against Tobias, refused to die at the hands of Matthew Brown, but if Will's hands closed around his neck, what would he do? How quickly would he stop clinging to life?

That, he didn't understand himself yet.

At 2:15 p.m., Abigail, who was temporarily staying at his country house, texted him. He had taken her there quite some time ago, when he set this whole game with Frederick and Gideon in motion. He'd had to relocate Miriam from there, which Abigail had willingly helped him with. She generally demanded very little, which Hannibal found strange for a girl her age. He had worried she would grow bored without company, but his special tea had a calming effect on her, and she showed no discontent with the lack of conversation. Hannibal once again pictured Will's face when he would learn that Abigail had been alive all this time.

An hour later, while selecting vegetables at the store, Alana called. Right after receiving Will's message, Hannibal had informed her that they were resuming therapy and that he would be very busy with other matters today, so their date would have to be canceled. He hated canceling anything, even when circumstances demanded it. Truth be told, in this case, Hannibal wasn't the least bit upset, but Alana sounded disappointed. Today she called to chat about nothing in particular and to say she missed him terribly.

"I'm also longing for our meeting. See you on Wednesday."

He was the first to hang up, understanding that Alana needed to be kept as close as possible to himself and as far away from Will as possible. This wasn't a problem, especially considering she willingly drank beer with a sleeping pill and didn't interfere with Hannibal's nightly excursions. She had become excellent cover in front of Jack, as well as a lever of influence over Will. Hannibal hoped he could finally eradicate the remnants of Will's feelings for Miss Bloom. He had been working very hard on it.

By the time Hannibal returned home, it was already quite dark. The new suit and groceries waited on the back seat of the car. Will's arrival was in two hours, but that time seemed catastrophically short to prepare. He needed an eternity.

Of course, the dinner to celebrate Will's release couldn't be ordinary; Hannibal very much wanted to do something special, something Will would remember for a long time. And this time, he wasn't planning to serve him "special" meat, just modest – by his standards, of course – delicacies. And definitely Will's beloved coffee dessert. Hannibal remembered down to the smallest detail the greed and pleasure with which Will had devoured the dessert served to him last time. The food in the hospital where Will was held had been disgusting, causing the man to noticeably lose weight, and though he looked magnificent because of it, Hannibal was seriously intent on fattening him up. And not even for the purpose of eating him – although, admittedly, that desire was hard to resist.

His mood remained magnificent as Hannibal proceeded to the kitchen to start prepping the ingredients.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

"Yes, Jack. Has something happened?" he pressed the receiver to his shoulder, continuing to rinse the vegetables in the sink.

"You don't happen to know what's up with Will, do you? His phone is off, and I can't reach him," Jack sounded more irritated than alarmed.

Hannibal tensed. A new murder was very interesting, but at this particular moment, he didn't want it to interrupt the long-awaited informal meeting with Will.

"Alas, I haven't spoken with him today myself," Hannibal was extremely flattered that, despite Will's accusations and Jack's suspicions, he was the first person Jack called to find the profiler. Previously, it would likely have been Alana, but fortunately, that was in the past. Hannibal mentally congratulated himself again on his decision to start a romance with her.

"If you hear from him, please let me know."

"Something urgent?"

"As always," Jack grunted and hung up.

Curiosity tickled Hannibal from within, but he noted his profound displeasure at the prospect of letting Will go to work tonight. On the other hand, if he had turned his phone off, perhaps he knew about Jack's call and had done it intentionally? To dedicate this evening solely to him? Hannibal realized this thought was making his cheeks warm pleasantly. He hadn't felt anything like this in a long time, hadn't experienced this euphoric anticipation of a meeting.

The pleasant languor was interrupted by the doorbell, which extremely surprised Hannibal, as Will wasn't due for some time. Hastily wiping his hands on his apron, Hannibal went to the front door and glanced at the intercom screen.

Will was indeed standing on the doorstep. He had caught Hannibal off guard.

"Will," Hannibal greeted the guest with restraint.

The joy of Will's arrival shriveled under the onslaught of irritation and nervousness caused by his overly early visit. Hannibal hadn't finished preparing the dishes, not to mention the fact that the new suit was still lying in his bedroom, and his hair was in complete disarray.

"You're early," Hannibal noted with a chill in his voice.

Will looked at him and smiled a slightly guilty smile.

"Sorry. Miscalculated the time," Will ran his hands through his slightly tousled curls, back – an involuntary gesture, a sign of nervousness, or perhaps just a demonstration of it. "Jack was bombarding me with calls, had to turn off the phone. And you said your home is always open for friends, so I thought..."

Hannibal's heart thawed.

"Of course, my home is always open to you," – well, most of it. Hannibal was touched that Will had mentioned his phrase about friends. He was making move after move, astonishing Hannibal to his core. So, not all was lost after all. Things were developing correctly.

"Jack called me too, looking for you. Did you tell him about tonight's dinner?"

It wouldn't have angered Hannibal; on the contrary, he would have liked Will to tell Jack. To emphasize the new status of their relationship, so Jack would stop coddling Will so excessively and free up space for him.

"No, I didn't. Don't you think that after everything that's happened, he might be somewhat worried about you?"

Hannibal genuinely enjoyed this caustic hint at the attempted murder. Even now, Will was looking at him like that; in the depths of his pupils, Hannibal could see that thirst to close his hands around someone's neck. Preferably, Hannibal's neck.

"But he has nothing to worry about when you're with me," Hannibal answered Will's gaze with a long, piercing look of his own. If one could devour someone whole with their eyes, without a trace, he would have done it.

"Depends on who he's worried about," Will replied, clearly flirting. Dangerous.

"Though I am immensely glad to see you, you truly have arrived too early. I've only prepped the ingredients. And, if you don't mind, I'll go upstairs for a moment."

Hannibal was bothered by the thought that Will wouldn't see his magnificent new suit. On the other hand, he didn't want to leave Will alone for too long, as he didn't entirely believe that he wouldn't start looking for evidence, like Beverly Katz. A too desperate move and unlikely, given Will's recent actions. But Hannibal had remained uncaught precisely because he considered all possibilities. Better safe than sorry.

"You can keep me company upstairs."

"Sounded very ambiguous, Doctor. Wouldn't want Alana to get jealous," Will remarked, and Hannibal was taken aback, unsure if he had heard correctly.

If it was a joke, it was utterly unlike Will; his preferences seemed quite traditional and unquestionable.

"I merely wanted to show you my painting collection, as you haven't been in this part of the house."

He also intended to change into his suit while keeping Will outside his bedroom door. He hadn't even thought of inviting Will into the bedroom – at least, not until this moment.

Will suddenly burst into clear, ringing laughter, throwing Hannibal into even greater confusion.

"It was just a joke, nothing more," he said, having laughed his fill. "And if you're worried I'll search your house, don't be. I won't."

After all, I waited for you in the kitchen with a gun and a clear intent to kill. Do you really think I need any evidence? Will didn't say these words aloud, but Hannibal understood anyway. And he couldn't suppress a smile.

"In that case, wait for me in the living room. I would offer wine, but I recommend you wait for dinner."

"I'll wait. Again, sorry for the trouble with the early visit."

Chapter Text

Upstairs, Hannibal donned his brand-new suit and spent some time trying on first one tie, then another, pondering which would best suit the situation and his mood. It was unlikely Will cared what tie he was wearing, but for Hannibal, each one held significance and a certain meaning. He might wear a blood-red tie when feeling irritated or impatient, but a burgundy one signified passion and a readiness for sensual pleasures. One of the blue ties spoke of a neutral or even bored state, but could also denote light, casual flirtation. In an elevated mood, Hannibal preferred white, green, or beige ties.

An observant person, like Will, might notice this detail. But to the doctor's great chagrin, Will often didn't linger his gaze on Hannibal's clothes. It gave the impression that even if Hannibal were to come out in a woman's chemise, he still wouldn't attach much importance to it.

Hannibal sighed. Sometimes one has to accept that not everything is as you want it to be. Hannibal hated such things, but for Will, he was prepared to compromise. He had realized this after he himself had pushed Will behind bars and then understood how gravely he had been mistaken.

Fully ready, Hannibal descended downstairs to find Will on a phone call. Judging by the irritation on his face, it was Jack again.

"No, I really can't, Jack, seriously. I'm still not well, and today is my official day off. Let's manage without me this time, alright?"

Hannibal greatly liked this categorical refusal from Will. Despite his curiosity and desire to know what had prompted Crawford to once again pester his profiler, Hannibal had no plans to let Will go to work today. Oh no, Will Graham had a date with the Chesapeake Ripper tonight—the real one, not the stand-in.
At the thought of a "date," Hannibal smiled slightly. Of course, Will might call it a friendly meeting, but he preferred that word.

"Old Jack not giving you any peace?" Hannibal asked when Will hung up.
He waved his hand irritably, turning towards the window.

"As always. But after everything, I don't want to jump at his first call. And it's far from your house. Dinner would get cold."

Hannibal tried not to show just how pleased he was. His heart constricted with a sweet languor—Will was finally choosing him, not Jack.

"Dinner, which isn't ready yet. Do you mind if I return to the kitchen?"

"Of course not, it's my fault for interrupting you. I'm sorry."

Will looked embarrassed, but Hannibal hurried to cut off his apologies.

"Stop it, Will, I'm not taking back my words. Friends are welcome here anytime."

Will suddenly looked directly at him, piercingly and openly.

"Are we still friends? After everything?"

He didn't say "after everything I did" or "after everything you did to me," but Hannibal didn't need him to.

"After everything. We are who you want us to be, Will."

They looked at each other as if they were back in Hannibal's office for a therapy session, and Will's image was changing, blurring, acquiring completely new, hitherto invisible contours. Hannibal was exultant.

"Right now, you really are my psychotherapist," Will remarked.

"Within the office walls," Hannibal said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "but not in my home."

"You won't be able to stop yourself from psychoanalyzing me, no matter where we are."

Impudent. So delightfully impudent. Until now, Hannibal had never forgiven anyone in the world for rudeness or sarcasm directed at him.

"You know me well."

"Not well enough," Will turned away again, and Hannibal felt a pang of regret. He wanted to lose himself in Will's eyes again and again.

Hannibal turned to leave, but Will added:

"Do you mind if I join you in the kitchen?"

"Of course not."

Hannibal didn't offer him help with dinner, even though Will could quite easily chop vegetables or herbs. He didn't trust him with a knife yet.

"By the way, that suit looks very good on you," Will remarked lazily, "you look great."

Hannibal thought that this one phrase alone could kill him faster than any gun.

He quickly returned to the tasks interrupted by Will's arrival. Rolling up his sleeves, Hannibal began to chop, slice, mince, mix, and season, fluttering around the kitchen as if on a stage. Here he felt completely in his element, and the knowledge that the one for whom he was putting in this effort was watching him right now was exhilarating. However, when Hannibal looked up from the kitchen table, he noticed Will pensively gazing somewhere into the distance, nervously fiddling with the sleeve of his grey jacket. Such disregard for the mini-performance Hannibal was putting on in the kitchen was disconcerting.

"Worried about Jack's request?" Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head:

"Not at all, just remembered something."

'About the last time you were in this kitchen and pointed a gun at me,' Will's expression said. Hannibal's breath caught. He felt the tension emanating from Will, but it wasn't the sweet-smelling febrile delirium of encephalitis, nor the uncertainty of the socially maladapted Professor Graham who dove too deep into the minds of serial killers. No, this smelled of something completely new, unfamiliar, and wild, something Hannibal had absolutely no idea how to handle.

'Who are you, Will? Right now, before me.'

Hannibal had a sharp desire to approach and touch Will's shoulder, to look into his eyes to see what was reflected there. What was rising from the depths of his soul. But his hands were covered in flour, and the oil was already sizzling loudly in the pan. Perhaps next time.

"You changed into this fine suit just to cook in it?"

Hannibal transferred the pieces of meat to the pan and glanced back at Will with an inscrutable expression. There was no avoiding Mr. Graham's signature sarcasm.

"I planned to wear it for dinner, but since you're already here, I saw no point in delaying."

"But you still had to take off the jacket and put on an apron," Will noted. There was no mockery in his voice, rather just curiosity.

"I usually don't soil my clothes while cooking, but an apron is a necessary attribute I'm not in the habit of neglecting."

Will unexpectedly laughed, clearly and sincerely. Hannibal froze.

"Hannibal," Will hurried to add, and Hannibal shuddered upon hearing his name from his lips, "I didn't mean to offend you, it's just a friendly joke. The suit looks great on you, but I meant to say you look magnificent in loungewear too. As you do in anything else."

Hannibal was accustomed to praise for his style and appearance. He was invariably showered with compliments at dinner parties, at the opera, even by patients during sessions. He knew Alana was delighted with his suits and impeccable hairstyle. But hearing such words from Will was the second finishing blow of the evening. His words held no hint of a trick or an attempt to flatter, just a sincere compliment. And perhaps a subtle attempt at flirtation.

The next move was Hannibal's.

"You look wonderful today too, Will. Your new haircut favorably accentuates your face and suits you very well."

"Really? It's nice that you noticed."

The old Will Graham would have said, "Oh, come on, just trimmed the length," but this one calmly accepted the compliment, smiling and looking straight into Hannibal's eyes. Suddenly, Dr. Lecter felt a slight languor low in his stomach. He urgently needed to occupy his hands with something to avoid doing something foolish. Like approaching Will and grabbing him by that impudent chin to look deeper and make sure all this wasn't just his clever game. Hannibal knew it was a game, but he genuinely wished it weren't.
Hannibal cooked in silence after that, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Will was lost in his thoughts, Hannibal was kneading the dough for the dessert. After a while, Will began to watch the doctor's movements. It became interesting to wonder what he was thinking about.

"You're not making that coffee dessert, are you?" Will asked, somewhat confused.

Hannibal didn't deny it:

"That's exactly what I'm making. It seems you appreciated it highly last time."

Will had indeed praised the dessert, though the expression of enjoyment on his face had been more memorable to Hannibal than any words.

"So many dishes, and dessert on top of that. You're clearly intent on fattening me up."

"If you don't finish something, I'll pack you a container to take home."

Hannibal didn't miss the skeptical glance Will threw towards the meat. He clearly wasn't entirely ready for that knowledge yet. It didn't upset Hannibal; he didn't want to rush things. Everything was proceeding as it should, and sooner or later Will would accept this side of him too. After all, he had already tried the special meat and knew its taste.

"Don't worry. This time, it's ordinary beef in the pan."

Will hastily averted his gaze, putting on a feignedly bored expression. How charming this man was.

"Hope you're not lying this time."

"I have never lied to you," Hannibal said, sounding offended.

"Of course. You just never told the whole truth."

Hannibal decided to ignore this barb. To be honest, he had indeed taken the game too far when Will's brain was burning with encephalitis, but what could he do with his nature? It was useless to try to convince Will that he would have stopped as soon as the threat to his health became more serious. Although, only now did Hannibal realize the necessity of stopping. After Will had become something more to him than just another interesting patient.

He truly wanted to show Will everything, to show his true self. But was Will ready to accept him?

"Dinner is almost ready," Hannibal announced after a while. "Take the wine and go through to the dining room. I'll start serving shortly."

"Alright."

Taking the bottle of wine from his hands, Will seemed to accidentally brush his fingers against Hannibal's palm. In his memory, this was the first time Will had touched him of his own accord. Blood rushed instantly to his cheeks, while his hands, conversely, turned cold. For a moment, Hannibal thought he would drop the bottle, and he couldn't have cared less about the wine. The touch lasted only a fraction of a second; not a single muscle twitched on Hannibal's face. Will looked into his eyes, and Hannibal felt monstrously exposed before him, which was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Will took the bottle of wine and withdrew into the dining room.

'What are you doing to me?'

Chapter Text

"Boeuf bourguignon. Prime beef braised in a rich red wine sauce with a beef stock base, with mushrooms, seasoned with garlic and herbs," Hannibal announced, placing the plate on the table before Will.

He suppressed the temptation to lean in and inhale the rich aroma emanating from the man. Will was wearing cologne, which he usually didn't, and despite the not-too-expensive brand, the scent was significantly better than his usual boat-lotion. Will seemed to be the best version of himself, served to Hannibal on a silver platter. It was hard to resist taking a bite.

"A magnificent aroma, Dr. Lecter," Will said, as if mirroring his thought.

"You're resorting to formality again."

"Habit. When you explain things like that, it's hard to address you any other way. I feel like an inexperienced student in your lecture hall."

Hannibal sat down at the table opposite, seeking Will's gaze. Will only glanced up from under his brow for a moment and picked up his fork.

"You are not an inexperienced student. You were a lecturer."

"That hardly matters in our situation."

Hannibal smiled with the corner of his lips, pleased by what he heard. He also picked up his cutlery so Will wouldn't feel shy and would start eating. He wanted to capture the expression on Will's face when he took the first bite. It now seemed that a dish made from ordinary beef—not that it was entirely ordinary, but prime and very expensive—could be just as satisfying. It seemed Hannibal could be satiated by the mere sight of Will consuming the food he had prepared. And yet, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't want more.

"Nevertheless, I am inclined to consider you a colleague and a friend, rather than my student."

"Don't care for the teacher-student dynamic?" Will smirked.

He closed his eyes as he placed the first piece of meat in his mouth. Hannibal felt his own mouth fill with saliva. This wasn't new, but now it felt too sensual and intimate, so he chose to ignore the crude implication.

"I appreciate when the proper hierarchy is observed."

"But sometimes you're willing to make an exception?"

Will opened his eyes and stared intently at Hannibal as he chewed. That gaze seemed to pierce right through him, under his skin. A shiver ran down his spine. Hannibal hadn't felt such strange tension, mixed with excitement, in a long time. Their first dinner after Will's release felt like a gift from the heavens. How he had missed this voice, this mind. These eyes.

"If the exception is worth it."

"And do you think it is?"

He was supposed to be the one asking questions, but he was letting Will lead. For now.

"That remains to be seen. How is the beef, Will?"

Will demonstratively licked the tip of his fork, causing a fine tremor in Hannibal.

"Superb, Hannibal."

That praise spread a sweet languor through his entire body. Many people had sung praises to his culinary skills, but for some reason, hearing words of approval from Will now was the most pleasing of all. Hannibal had completely forgotten about his own portion, so greedily was he devouring the sight of Will eating with his eyes. It would be even more pleasant to watch him eat someone's kidneys, Beverly Katz's for example, perfectly aware of the dish's ingredients. Knowing, and still accepting food from Dr. Lecter's hands. Hannibal knew Will was angry with him about Beverly Katz – so angry that even from prison he had sent a killer after him. What a pity Hannibal hadn't dispatched that scoundrel with his own hands. The scars still ached. But he wasn't angry with Will; the man truly had reasons for his righteous fury. And this remarkable man was finally beginning to realize what he was capable of.

"Why aren't you eating?" Will asked.

"I wanted to make sure my guest is satisfied with dinner."

Will gave him a piercing look.

"He is satisfied."

Hannibal's thoughts drifted in a completely different direction. He suddenly imagined Will rising from the table, slowly circling it, and approaching him.

"Is this not all you've prepared for me, Hannibal?" Will asked in a low, slightly husky voice.

"There is still dessert," Hannibal replied, not rising from his chair, looking up at Will. His pupils noticeably dilated as Will loomed over him and suddenly grabbed the doctor by his jacket lapels.

"One shouldn't keep a guest waiting, isn't that right, Doctor?" Will leaned in so close that Hannibal could smell his unique scent, inhaling it greedily. With a strength Hannibal hadn't expected from him, Will hauled him up and slammed him down onto the table. There was a clatter of dishes falling to the floor; Hannibal felt the hard tabletop against his back and Will's hot hands on his neck. He gasped from the surge of excitement. Will leaned over him, pressing close against his thigh, his fingers warningly tightening around his throat.

"You said there would be no one to answer my questions if I killed you. But what if that's not so important to me?"

Hannibal wasn't afraid, not like when Will had pointed a gun at him in the kitchen. He mustered all his strength to keep an impassive mask on his face, but his eyes burned with the fire of lust.

"You can do whatever you want, Will," and Hannibal knew it was true; he would truly allow him anything at this moment. Even his own murder. As long as Will didn't pull away.

"And what is it I want, Dr. Lecter?" Will whispered, leaning close to his face, his hot breath washing over him. Hannibal had never in his life felt such a powerful desire for another person.

"So, when is the next course, Hannibal? I've finished everything."

Will's calm voice jerked him out of this sweet fantasy.

"Right now, of course. Forgive my rudeness."

Hannibal shot up from his chair and disappeared into the kitchen where the next course was being prepared. He felt Will's gaze on the back of his head, attentive and studying. He didn't want to be away from him for long. He wanted to ask him if he ever imagined killing Hannibal with his own hands and what he felt then. Even with all his perceptiveness, Will evidently didn't understand what Hannibal himself was thinking.

The next course was soon plated; Hannibal deftly picked up both plates and returned to his guest. Will was just finishing his portion of beef; he looked up.

"I wanted to ask..."

But before he could finish, the doorbell rang. A furrow appeared between Will's brows.

"Expecting anyone else?"

"No."

"Alana?"

Will's face instantly became detached, and Hannibal didn't like it.

"Unlikely, I informed her I would be busy."

Will sighed, pressed his palms to his face, and gave a crooked smile.

"So, Jack."

"I'll go open it; it's impolite to keep him waiting. Excuse me."

Jack was indeed on the doorstep, tense and wound up like a spring. Apparently, Will's turned-off phone hadn't been a sufficient argument.

"Jack, good to see you," Hannibal lied, smiling politely.

"Sorry, Doctor, new developments. Is Will here too?"

Even though Will no longer worked for the FBI, Jack wasn't about to stop himself from using him. Hannibal didn't particularly like this, but he understood the necessity. Besides, keeping Will close to the minds of other killers was part of his design. The main thing was that he didn't get lost in them, because Hannibal intended to eclipse everything else in Will's life.

"Yes, he's with me. Has something happened?"

"An abduction. And a murder. Possibly a double homicide. I need you, and I need Will."

Suppressing the urge rising from within to immediately hit Jack with the metal statuette from the console table in the hall, Hannibal adopted a concerned expression and nodded. Well, at least he and Will wouldn't have to part ways this evening. Hannibal hadn't yet had the chance to find out in what capacity Will planned to keep working with Jack, but it seemed the man still held considerable influence over him. That would change soon, especially since Graham was already clearly showing that the scales were currently tipped in the doctor's favor.

"Wait, I'll inform Will. It's easier to take my car; I haven't had a chance to drink yet."

Jack looked intently at Hannibal; his chin twitched slightly.

"I'd like to tell him myself, if you don't mind."

Hannibal, of course, minded. Jack Crawford needed to be kept close; he was useful and willingly trusted Hannibal with all the information on cases that interested him. Lately, however, he had become more suspicious due to Will's accusations, but Hannibal believed he could lull his vigilance once more. But he really didn't want Crawford personally influencing Will; he didn't trust him for a second.

Jack must have sensed how inhospitable Hannibal was feeling at the moment.

"Of course. Come in. I know it's urgent, but perhaps you'll have a quick bite while we get ready?"

"Thank you, Doctor, but it's better not to have a full stomach before something like this."

They left almost immediately in Hannibal's car; Will didn't particularly object. Jack briefed them on the case, and throughout the drive, Hannibal could feel a grim anticipation emanating from Will. Hannibal continued to feel an inexplicable anger towards Jack. It was as if he and Will had been making love and were very rudely interrupted.

"What did you want to ask before Jack rang?"

Will started violently, apparently too immersed in his thoughts and caught off guard by Hannibal's question. He looked through the windshield at the road.

"Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I don't remember now."

"Ask that question if you happen to remember it," Hannibal requested.

"Of course. Sorry the dinner turned out this way."

"It's quite alright. Unless you planted a fresh corpse for Jack to find to avoid my company."

Will turned to him.

"And if I had?"

"I would consider it a rather unorthodox way to avoid my dessert," Hannibal remarked with slight offense.

He heard a light chuckle from Will and couldn't help but smile.

"I still want your dessert."

Hannibal felt a heaviness settle low in his stomach.

"And you can still have it."