Chapter Text
-
It had been too long since he saw those dark locks of hair, the awkward gaze of his, the shaky demeanor of a man he was meant to leave with.
That figure never left truly though, frustrated sketches, and unwashed blood—which stayed for weeks under his finger tips— were all memories that he kept dearly. They were treasures, he thought, fragments of Will’s that he could cherish no matter his disapproval.
But for Hannibal, nothing like a drop of blood between his fingertips could fill that longing of his.
At first, it was fine, and fresh. With Will not being a close drive away from his house or from his social circle, it was easier not to think of him.
Through pragmatic dinners, an array of new faces, events more fit to his exquisite tasting, it was a good distraction.
But all it took was a simple man for good him to be reminded of that man. His name was Nick, or was it Francis? He couldn’t remember, because the only thing he had in his mind was Will. He had a similar posture— anxious, hesitant —and had that hair pattern that hugged his fingers, so like his dear will. It was nice, for a bit he would admit. Something that hopefully would make him forget, something he knew in part couldn’t.
There was only one thing: he realized there simply wasn’t an alternative for the person he needed. No matter how witty, nor identical, it couldn’t be him.
Then it was done, and all it took was for one simple book to a flight back to Wolf Trap just to see the real thing.
-
For Will, after the events of the prison, the awful scene at Hannibal’s and now the aftermath, it hadn’t been easy. He was hospitalized for a good while, and afterwards, he came back to a house that was vandalized during his time away in prison.
His dogs were okay though, thankfully. Those were the only ones he cherished now.
He had taken a leave and absence from the FBI and teaching for a while. It was simply too much, and he became something that was too close to the people he was supposed to envision.
Jack had tried to contact, Alana too, but everyone seemed too far away in Will’s mind. He himself didn’t want to see them, afraid it would spark something in his mind again, or make him think of that man again.
Hannibal, of course, but he rarely ever said his name in his mind, or out loud.
Tonight was even worse.
He had come back from a trip of an unsuccessful fishing. Just one had decided to take his bait, and the little thing wasn’t even worth the gas nor the time.
He worked his way up the stairs with his dirty boots, latching the door as he stepped inside. The house was normally a mess, so smelling a cologne—burgundy of some sort— was an alarm in his mind as he closed himself in.
It was hard though, to differentiate that scent from people he knew, perhaps it was the fatigue.
He dropped his equipment by the door, spinning around with his eyebrows clenched together as he unfolded the scene in the mind. It suddenly felt unfamiliar. Too organized, he thought, even if it was a simple closing of his drawers in the kitchen. His alcohol was placed neatly on the counter (a bottle he knew was left unscrewed and glasses skewered around), and his dogs were too quiet (which he knew were relatively vocal about their hunger).
“Hello?”
He called out to the dark room, flicking on the light as he noticed his dogs wagging their tails. They weren’t eying him though. There was a figure standing just outside the lights reach. Wills fatigued gaze couldn’t quite determine who, but God, he thought flashed his mind of him. A thought he simply shoved aside, quickly pulling himself to the reality of things. Then, the figure turned around.
“Hello Will.”
The accented voice ran out through the building. This was a quick catalyst for Will’s fury, with his lack of energy all he could muster was throwing himself at the figure. Even this alarmed himself, he was shocked of course, but he couldn’t even think of why this was his first course of action.
With a little bit more of processing, maybe this wasn’t a good idea, and he realized mid motion. The serial killer, and he was throwing his smaller and rather at-the-moment weak body at him.
Hannibal caught the man easily between his shoulders, calm as always, but his heart rate at his wrists seemed rather heightened. The stubborn man —now that Hannibal could see him was rather disheveled from the late fishing trip— was thrashing at his grip. Even for Hannibal’s strength his hands were everywhere, digging tightly against his abdomen.
“Will, you need to calm down—“
All Hannibal could mustered before Will let out a grunt of either disapproval or frustration.
“What’s the point of coming back now?!”
He muttered, his frustration quickly manifesting sweat that now pooled from his forehead.
“I know. Deep down you know why too Will.”
Hannibal grunted between thought—his nails were rather sharp. But it didn’t matter, he would endure far more for the sight of this. Hannibal was now looking down at him, taking in the proximity, from then oceans away to breaths away.
“I don’t know.”
Will’s voice quieted in frustration, though his inner mind had other thoughts. He was practically lost after everything, and with Abigail floating in his mind he couldn’t possibly let go the thought of Hannibal after all this time. Even if he tried his best to block his name out or face out.
He was getting impatient, and obviously digging his fingers or shoving him wasn’t helping with his grip. It was unfair, all of it really, how easy it was to fuck up his life, from encephalitis, to Abigail, to prison, to now whatever the hell he was doing back in Wolf trap.
Will went slack in his grip, before he quietly accepted his position: Hannibal holding him steady.
Hannibal, too, slacked his grip, letting his hands cease from digging into the fabric. He brought his fingers instead to run through the lines of his shirt. Breathing in his shit perfume that he missed so dearly. He brought him in for a small embrace, something that they rarely shared, the last time ending in a bloody goodbye.
It felt like years went passed, in the end, there understanding of each other went far beyond simple pleasantries. Far beyond the amount of dead men that had perished between the hands Will was under.
It was quiet just like for a while, before it was deterring the edge of Will’s sanity.
“I’m not going to be able to accept it.”
Will began, pulling himself just so he could catch a glimpse of the older man’s eyes. Defiance as always. Will knew that a part of him would always accept. That part was Hannibal. He stared back at him, taking in his words while his eyes glinted in the light above them.
“Everything, Will?”
He asked, always ending with his name. It had a been a while since he said it with him in the room. Bedelia had heard it more in the last few months that he’s probably ever referred to him by it.
“Yes.”
He mumbled, his eyes were swiveling between him and his features. He was taking in the sight like this was his eternity. He had been—in his mind for all these months, a virus he couldn’t get out of his system.
“There are no records. a woman named Chiyoh flew me in. I’m practically unheard of being in the US.”
He mumbled, motioning an embrace which he accepted silently.
“You don’t have to know, not tonight. Tomorrow, if you wish to tell Jack I broke into your house and threatened you with my hands so be it.”
Will shook his head. His stomach was swimming at the thought of Jack and him being with Hannibal here. Everything was beyond fucked— both of his identities he came to know were now entangled in a tussle.
He couldn’t do that though. Not right now, not when he has so much left to ask, to understand.
“I’ll tolerate it.”
He mumbled, before those words seem to familiar.
“You’ll tolerate it? You walk back into an embrace that has pierced you before, is that tolerating Will?”
He shook his head then, gulping back his admittance and that sinister identity.
“No—I’ll accept then,”
He mumbled with a shaken cadence, before pausing to let it all sink in.
“that I can’t rationalize any of the ways I feel.”
With those words, Hannibal drew a long breath, smelling the truth of it. He yearned for a moment of hearing something similar.
He closed the gap then, his lips aligning just short of his ear, whispering,
“Then don’t rationalize. Just feel it.”
Will inhaled softly, the fragrance of Hannibal’s was something he so vividly remembered.
“I really want to sleep.”
He mumbled, the exhaustion getting to him, and he felt whole and safe somehow between the grip of him. Maybe it was the fact that he knew deep down that Hannibal knew that other side of him. But he could never vocalize that.
Hannibal nodded, quietly taking him to sleep on the couch, which the fatigued man just happened to accept. He grunted as he was moved to lean on his shoulder. Hannibal did his best to keep his usual composure (which was regularly easy for him), as he felt the man’s ruffles against his shoulder. How strange, he had thought, that he rid himself of this for so long, knowing it was just a plane away.
”Thank you for feeding my dogs.”
Will muffled quietly, it seemed he was already half asleep, which Hannibal responded with a soft chuckle. He wore a genuine smile. He understood why he waited, they both needed time, a lot of time to figure themselves out.
He’d hoped when Will woke free of fatigue, the fragile understanding wouldn’t crumble within the morning bleak.