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"Jack," a soft voice in his ear says, "I think you should know that we're fucking."
Jack tilts his head, but Hannibal Lecter isn't looking at him. His gaze wanders serenely over the crime scene, eyes deceptively unfocused.
"With all due respect, Doctor Lecter," Jack replies drily, "I think I would know if I was fucking you."
Hannibal makes a short humming sound, the corners of his lips curling up like smoke off a fire. "Funny," he says, although the way he says it makes it sound like the opposite. "I was referring to Will and myself."
Jack takes a leisurely sip of his coffee. "There a particular reason you felt the need to tell me that now?" Another sip. "If this is your coming out party, I hate to say it, but the immaculate nails and bespoke suits already did it for you."
"It's hurtful to see you buying into those kind of archaic stereotypes, Jack." Hannibal's voice rolls lovingly over the words, as if savouring them on his tongue before letting them slip out.
Jack has his coffee, Hannibal has his words. It's all a matter of taste.
"I couldn't hurt you if I tried, Hannibal," Jack replies.
"Oh, but Jack, you're hurting me right now," Hannibal croons, in that way of his that manages to be both toneless and sarcastic. His hands are thrust in his pockets, but his body is pointed like an arrow toward where Will and Alana are standing. "You persist in sending that poor woman to seduce Will; I don't recall her name, but I would hate to see her inevitable disappointment." His voice is pitched low, too low for anyone but them to hear.
"Her name," Jack's voice, by contrast, is purposefully loud. "As you very well know, is Doctor Alana Bloom. And I am not sending her to seduce Will. He deserves friends, too."
Hannibal's lips are thinned in- what, anger? Disappointment? Frustration? Jack doesn't know and he doesn't particularly care. Hannibal is a puzzle, but he isn't Jack's puzzle. Will's puzzle, maybe, although Will doesn't tend to go in for them until they've been broken clean through.
Maybe Hannibal is. Broken, that is. It wouldn't surprise him. That preternatural control has got to be hiding something; no one uses reins so tight on a docile horse.
"I like Will," Jack says, rolling his empty coffee cup between his hands. "Don't hurt him."
He walks away, chucking his coffee cup in a convenient trashcan as he makes his way toward Will and Bloom.
He can feel Hannibal's eyes on him the whole way.