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Will gets called to go out on a case, and of course Hannibal is asked to accompany him. Jack seems to have had enough of Will’s minor mental breakdowns at his clean crime scenes, so he’s acting preemptively by asking the psychiatrist along. And of course Hannibal can’t refuse, because it’s the chance to dig deeper into Will’s ever-shattering mind, and he just can’t pass up such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get Will when he’s weakest.
He makes sure he doesn’t have any appointments with clients before agreeing, of course. Hannibal Lecter is anything but rude. In fact, he loathes the rude. The only time a rude person is a good person is when he’s serving them up in a nice soup, or as the main course, or possibly as a meat pie.
Since he’s completely—conveniently—free the week of the investigation, Hannibal packs a suitcase and makes sure his freezers are working properly. He doesn’t want any of his food to thaw before he’s ready to cook it, and since he’ll be out of the country for the next seven days, it’s imperative that everything is working correctly.
The morning of their flight, he takes his suitcase and drives to the airport he’s meeting the BAU at. Jack Crawford is standing in a corner looking very angry and glaring at passerby. Beverly Katz is huddled around a coffee pot talking to Price and Zeller, probably complaining about the fact that the sun isn’t up yet. A few other officers and techs are milling around looking exhausted. And calmly sitting in a plastic chair in the middle of the group, awake as he’s ever been, is Will Graham. Hannibal heads toward him.
“Good morning, Will,” he says, taking the seat next to Will’s.
Will tries for a smile and doesn’t look Hannibal in the eye. “Morning.”
“You seem in a good mood,” Hannibal observes.
Will shrugs. “No one else is used to less than four hours of sleep like I am. They’re all complaining or sleeping. I’m the only one wide awake.”
Hannibal smiles and they lapse into silence. Will eventually does fall asleep, but only for about a half-hour, before jolting awake and glancing about wildly as if searching for a nightmare that feels too real. Hannibal shushes him and tells him to go back to sleep until they board their flight, and Will sits in silence until they do.
XXXXX
They arrive in Canada at just past noon, and check into their hotel as soon as possible. Jack has allowed everyone three hours to catch up on sleep or get settled in, and the BAU goes their separate ways. Hannibal ends up in the hotel room next to Will’s which he is rather pleased with. All the better to hear Will having nightmares and rush over to shake him out of it, furthering Will’s trust of him and his inevitable psychotic break. It’s a beautiful coincidence.
Hannibal immediately places his suitcase on the small dresser and surveys the room. They’re going to be in Canada for an entire week, and since you’re not allowed to bring food through to another country, he’s going to have to go… shopping. It’s good that his window looks out over a wooded area that seems unfrequented by mankind. He should be able to carry on with business as usual without interruptions.
He checks his watch and sees that he still has about two hours and thirty minutes before Jack will want him in the meeting room the BAU is currently using. That’s more than enough time to at least find dinner, if not follow it home and murder it. He’ll have to prepare it later, of course, but if he leaves now, he’ll be back in time.
Hannibal puts his jacket on, hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle, and makes sure no one sees him when he gets into the elevator. All of Jack’s people are on the same floor, so he relaxes a little when he’s safely on the ground floor.
He’s just leaving the hotel when someone smacks into him and spills their coffee all over his suit.
Well. It appears dinner has come to him this time.
It’s a young man, and he seems absolutely frantic. He ignores his coffee, lying on the ground in a small puddle of steaming brown liquid, and instead flails a bit in Hannibal’s general direction. Hannibal raises one smooth eyebrow, ignoring the scalding and the ruined material. He didn’t really like this suit much anyway, but tonight’s main course doesn’t need to know that.
“Shit, sorry!” the man yelps, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh man, I am so sorry! Look, I did not mean to do that. Oh God, this day just keep getting worse!”
“I assure you, it’s fine,” Hannibal lies smoothly.
The man shakes his head and digs in his pocket. “No, no it isn’t. I just ruined your suit with my own clumsiness.”
“I didn’t like the suit anyway,” Hannibal placates, but this time it’s out of curiosity. He wants to see how far this man will take the apology before he gives in and does something to earn Hannibal’s ire.
The man shakes his head again and pulls out his wallet. “Look, man, here. It’s the least I could do.”
And then he’s gone, leaving Hannibal with a hundred dollars. Hannibal stares down at the money, not entirely certain what to do about it. He decides to pocket the money and change his clothes.
Well. Looks like he’ll have to keep looking for dinner some other time.
XXXXX
Of course Jack drags them out to the newest crime scene as soon as he can. Will is obviously exhausted, and any good psychiatrist would intimidate Jack until he allowed Will to get a good night’s sleep first. Actually, any good psychiatrist would never have agreed to allow Will to come on the case in general, and probably would have been prescribing a dozen different medications and have let Will know about the encephalitis. So it’s a good thing Hannibal Lecter is not a good psychiatrist.
Or course Will has a small panic attack at the scene, but Hannibal is able to lead him away before anything can be ruined. Will ends up breathing heavily and leaning on Hannibal’s shoulder, eyes shut tightly against anything that could make his condition worse.
People walk past and some of them give Will and Hannibal funny looks, but for the most part Hannibal ignores them. After all, simply watching isn’t rude until it devolves into full-on staring, at which point one ought to look away before one can no longer move.
One woman stops in front of them, and Will opens his eyes a crack and tenses, as if waiting for her to shout at them. Hannibal too is prepared to be as scathing and cruel as possible until she goes away.
Instead of saying something negative, she stoops in front of them, a worried look in her eye. “Is he alright?” she asks, concerned.
“Yes, he’s fine,” Hannibal answers, and Will tries to nod. The woman doesn’t look convinced, and Hannibal waits for her to press. She’ll probably pry until he has to kill her for invasion of privacy.
“Well, if he isn’t, there’s a hospital down the block. If you end up having to take him there, just tell them Cathy sent you, and you’ll probably get into the ER faster. My dad founded it, so I try to help people with his influence,” she offers, and then she’s gone, heels clicking on the sidewalk and skirt swishing in the thin breeze.
Will’s chest shakes in what could possibly be considered a laugh. “She was nice.”
Hannibal can’t help but agree.
XXXXX
Hannibal ends up eating with Will at a restaurant down the street from their hotel, because he simply didn’t have enough time to prepare anything. Will talks animatedly—well, as animatedly as Will Graham can talk, which is about as animated as a coma patient. Hannibal listens and smiles from time to time, trying not to taste whatever it is he’s eating. It’s supposed to be risotto, but it certainly doesn’t taste like it.
“So I was telling Alana about it, and then Katz came in and made all the wrong assumptions, and somehow Price and Zeller found out, and they can’t keep their mouths shut, so the whole department thought I was dating Alana for an entire month before we noticed anything weird. She was highly embarrassed,” Will finishes, taking a sip of the ice water Hannibal had insisted he order. As much as he wants to twist Will’s mind, he knows that Will doesn’t sleep well when drunk. His nightmares get worse, and Hannibal is exhausted too. He’d like to get some sleep without listening to Will’s panicked mumbling through the wall all night. Tomorrow is another story.
“Rude of them to spread rumors,” Hannibal observes, and Will huffs a laugh.
“I don’t really mind anymore. It’s over and done, and I know she doesn’t want to date me anyway, so why be mad?” Will shrugs and repositions his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Hannibal doesn’t mistake the way the wire sits higher than usual, allowing Will to make eye contact if he wanted. He counts it as a major victory in getting Will to trust him irrevocably.
“Still, it was rude,” Hannibal says, secretly thinking that the forensics team is lucky Will doesn’t hold grudges.
“A bit more rude to not tell me that I was dating her,” Will deadpans.
It takes a second, but he slowly realizes that he’s just said something funny. He blinks a few times before laughing, a real actual laugh, though small and breathy. Hannibal watches the developing emotions with fascination before quirking his lips upward in return. For him, that’s about as close to laughter as he gets.
At that moment a waiter comes over, smiling at them softly.
“I have the check for you, whenever you’re ready. And just let me say, you’re a cute couple,” he says, still smiling, and deposits the check before leaving.
“We’re not a couple,” Hannibal says briskly.
The waiter stammers in utter, incoherent embarrassment. “Oh, I am so sorry. It was wrong of me to assume. I’ll just get out of your hair then. Really sorry.” And then he’s gone.
Will blinks in utter, absolute confusion. Hannibal would like to second the emotion, if he felt things like regular people, but all he does it take the check in hand and study it carefully.
Across the table, Will appears to be having trouble breathing. “He thought—he thought we were a—oh.”
Hannibal shrugs and signs his name with a flourish. “To be fair, we were laughing and smiling at each other. People make assumptions.”
“But—we’re not—I mean, we aren’t even.” Will doesn’t finish his sentences, instead clamping his lips shut and blushing furiously. Hannibal scrutinized the expression, carefully filing it away for future reference. This is Will’s embarrassed face. It could be useful information in case a situation calls for it.
“No, as you’ve repeatedly pointed out,” Hannibal says, standing and putting on his jacket. Will follows suit, still bright red. The blood beneath his cheeks is making his pale skin turn a brilliant shade, closely resembling the plumage of a cardinal. His fingers would probably make little pale spots if Hannibal were to touch it.
“I didn’t think people would assume we were… together,” Will protests. Hannibal hums thoughtfully. He’s protesting too much.
“You can never know what other people will do until they do it,” Hannibal says.
Will stares at him as if he’s just committed the biggest faux pas one can commit. Indeed he has, but it wasn’t entirely unintentional. Mostly, he’s enjoying watching Will switch from one emotion to another. It gives him a better idea or how to duplicate that emotion in the future.
“Sorry,” Hannibal mutters, pretending to have noticed his little “slip” and regret it. Will is still staring at him. He’s beginning to worry that Will might have somehow figured out his whole charade.
“No, it’s alright,” Will says, but he sounds distracted. And then Hannibal realizes, belatedly, what’s happening. For the first time, Will is making eye contact. Without his glasses rim as a barrier between them, Will is reading everything in Hannibal’s thoughts. At least, everything Hannibal is intentionally projecting at all times.
“Will?” he asks, pretending to not have noticed. He makes sure to furrow his brow in such a way that he looks concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Will says dazedly. Hannibal gestures toward the door, and Will breaks eye contact to follow the movement. He blinks a few times and then steps out into the cold Canadian air, leaving Hannibal to follow with slight confusion that he doesn’t show, in face or in thoughts. He’s gotten fairly good at keeping things hidden.
They walk back to the hotel in silence.
XXXXX
The second day of their investigation, Hannibal is beginning to get worried. Everyone is being unnecessarily nice to him. Even random passerby on the street would say a kind word, or hold open a door, or pick things up for him if he dropped them.
Will gets to stay in his hotel room for the entire second day, as no new bodies have turned up yet and there’s nothing for him to do. As far as Hannibal can tell, he ends up trying to sleep and having frequent nightmares. After about an hour of sitting and listening to him alternately pacing and tossing around on the squeaky springs of the hotel mattress, Hannibal heads out for a walk. If Will is still having trouble when he gets back, he’ll cook for them.
That is, if he can find something to eat.
The first place Hannibal goes is the local park, hoping for a tired tourist to shout at him for simply being there. When he lived in larger cities, angry tourists were always a given. Here, in Canada, they seem nonexistent.
He sits on a park bench and watched a few birds sit on electrical lines, silhouetted against the noon sun in a bright halo of light. Before long, a few children end up playing on the swings. Even the children aren’t loud or overly shrill.
Hannibal is really starting to get worried. And hungry.
XXXXX
Will is still having nightmares when Hannibal gets back, after having no less than six doors held open for him, three boxes carried up stairs by helpful strangers, and passing an impressive amount of passive-aggressive graffiti. Hannibal, trying not to let his irritation show, lets himself into Will’s room with the backup key Jack gave him.
He carefully places a hand on Will’s shoulder, shaking gently. Will startles awake, and before either of their instincts can kick in, Hannibal’s feet are swept out from under him and he’s pinned on the mattress with Will sitting on his stomach and a hand wrapped around his neck, effectively cutting off air supply. He’s also impressed. Anyone who can catch him by surprise must have some very extensive skills and training.
“Will, it’s me,” he rasps against the hand clutching his throat. Will’s eyes take a second to clear, but when they do, he lets go almost immediately. Hannibal coughs.
“Sorry,” Will stutters, but he doesn’t get off. Hannibal decides not to mention it.
“You were having nightmares,” Hannibal says by way of explanation. “I tried to wake you. You have impressive reflexes.”
Will blushes and seems to finally realize that he’s literally straddling his therapist. He looks like he wants to remedy that immediately, but he doesn’t. Instead he sighs and rubs a hand roughly across his face, leftover terrified tears sparkling in his eyes.
“Sorry. About all of this. Um, I would get off of you but I don’t seem to have full use of my body yet. My, um, legs won’t work right after a nightmare like that. They tense up.” Will seems highly embarrassed. Hannibal decides against complaining. To be completely honest with himself, he doesn’t mind having Will sitting on him.
“It’s fine,” Hannibal says, and Will’s blush escalates by at least tenfold. It’s fascinating how often he blushes.
They sit there in the darkened hotel room, not saying anything for at least a minute. Then Will flops onto the bed next to Hannibal, legs awkwardly straightening and twitching slightly. Will mutters at least seven curses under his breath in the process, but eventually he manages to have his head on the other pillow. Hannibal doesn’t sit up.
“That was embarrassing,” Will mutters, sounding completely mortified.
“Do your limbs always tense up after a nightmare?” Hannibal asks, intrigued.
Will makes a small choking sound. “Only after really bad ones. If I wake up suddenly, it’s worse.”
“Interesting,” Hannibal says.
And before he can say anything else, his stomach growls. Damn polite Canadians.
Will laughs nervously. “Are you hungry? We can go get something.”
Hannibal reluctantly agrees, hoping to meet someone, anyone, rude while they’re out.
XXXXX
They end up at a small Italian restaurant a few blocks from their hotel, which seems to be populated by exclusively pleasant people. Hannibal orders something complex in Italian, and Will gets the same, probably unable to read most of the things on the menu in the first place.
Hannibal eats in silence, contemplating how he’s going to survive the next five days. He can’t keep eating at small restaurants with Will every evening and starving the rest of the day. If there’s one thing Hannibal Lecter knows, it’s that eating is important. Well, he also knows approximately a hundred ways of killing a man and cooking the body, but that isn’t relevant to his train of thought.
Will obviously knows something isn’t right with Hannibal, but probably assumes it’s the little incident in his hotel room. Hannibal is too busy watching their fellow patrons and the servers to correct him. Besides, he tells himself, he’s helping Will to slowly go insane by denying him information.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Will says, not looking up from his complex Italian dish.
“It’s not a problem,” Hannibal replies. And it really wasn’t. That fact is another cause for worry, but he’s not focusing on it. There are other, more important things to fixate on, such as his impending starvation.
“Still, I’m sorry,” Will insists.
“I don’t mind,” Hannibal says, hoping that Will will shut up and think on that for a minute. Hannibal is distracted by a blond woman a few tables over, who seems to be having a heated argument with her husband. She’s waving her arms around and her face is red, and he’s fervently hoping that she shouts something soon. Disturbing other diners is rude.
But then she laughs and husband kisses her, and Hannibal feels something inside him die.
He hates Canada.
XXXXX
Hannibal hasn’t eaten people in three days. He thinks he’s going to throw up if Will drags him to one more diner or fast-food joint. But Will seems to enjoy it, so he swallows some of his frustration and pretends to eat whatever Will shoves in his direction.
Of course a new body turns up on the third day, and Hannibal is all too thankful that it happens during a visit to a Mexican place two streets from their hotel. Will ends up having to get a cab and they ride to the crime scene together, Will subdued and Hannibal hungry.
The body is elegantly displayed on a coffee table inside the home he once owned. Hannibal is made to stand in the doorway while Jack shouts all the other investigators out and Will looms over the body. His facial expression changes from sickened to elated in the blink of an eye. It’s fascinating.
Will is muttering under his breath—something about designs—but Hannibal isn’t listening. He’s looking at the body, dressed in a three-piece suit, hands clasped peacefully over his chest. The only thing out of place is the wickedly sharp dagger thrust into his ribcage. There’s so much wasted meat on the body that it almost makes Hannibal angry. Wasted potential, wasted food, so much waste.
Will makes a choked noise and his eyes go wide. Hannibal is instantly watching him, but Will doesn’t seem to need help. His breathing is elevated, and his eyes are blown wide as saucers. He seems on the verge of hyperventilation. Nothing Hannibal needs to worry about.
“Hey, what’s going on?” a tech asks, craning his neck to see into the crime scene.
Hannibal grins on the inside, slow and malicious. This is his chance.
“You’re not authorized to be here,” he snaps.
The tech’s eyes widen in sudden fear, but it quickly fades into genuine apology. “Hey, I’m sorry. Nobody told me not to come in here. I didn’t mean anything.”
Hannibal pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and nods at the tech. The tech leaves quickly, still mumbling apologies. Inside the crime scene, Will is shaking violently. Hannibal goes to calm him down before he starts disassociating and hurting people, even though it would be fun to watch.
He really hates Canada.
XXXXX
Hannibal ends up having to take a semi-conscious Will back to the hotel on his own while Jack and the rest of the BAU rope off the crime scene and collect evidence in plastic bags. He deposits Will’s body in his room and heads next door to make sure there’s nothing in his suitcase that he brought along and forgot about. He knows it’s futile anyway; it’s been in there three days and wouldn’t be safe for consumption.
He then grabs a book, goes back into Will’s room, and sits in the recliner and reads, waiting for Will to wake up. Hopefully he’ll do something interesting soon, like sleepwalk or have a nightmare or say something. Hannibal is getting bored with only his hunger to keep him company.
Before long Will starts awake, panting and sweating profusely. He presses his palms into his eyes for a second, and Hannibal debates actually making his presence known. It would be interesting to see what Will would do.
As it is, he clears his throat. Will makes a peculiar gasping sound and sits straight up, relaxing almost immediately after recognizing Hannibal. “What are you doing here?”
“You almost had an episode at a crime scene. I brought you back,” Hannibal explains, flipping the page. Will sighs heavily.
“I really want to go home,” he mumbles.
Hannibal has never heard sweeter words.
XXXXX
“I don’t care, Jack, Will needs to be home right now.”
Jack protests, but of course Hannibal wins the argument. He’s always been good at systematically destroying someone’s stance in a fight, no matter if it’s verbal or physical. He’s given permission to take Will home first thing in the morning, and he’s never been happier to get out of a country.
Canada has been the worst experience he can imagine. There aren’t any rude people. If he stayed for more than a month, he’d either starve or go back to eating everyday meats. Neither option is preferable.
He and Will get on a plane at six-thirty on the fourth day of their Canada trip, Will exhausted and Hannibal starving. Will ends up asleep, first leaning against the window and ending up with his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal wishes someone on the flight would start a fight, or catcall a flight attendant, or comment on Will’s disheveled appearance. He wouldn’t even mind if someone decided to point out the fact that Hannibal currently has a man asleep on his shoulder. Anything, if it meant he got to eat something fresh.
Sadly, no such thing happens. It seems the plane is full of Canadians—which is quickly becoming a derogatory term—and nothing more exciting than a flight attendant dropping a sandwich happens. And she even gives the recipient a free replacement. Hannibal is ready to pull his hair out. He’s also ready to go home and cook his whole freezer.
He wakes Will up when they get to the airport in America, and Will blushes and smiles sheepishly at having fallen asleep on Hannibal. They collect their bags and head out to Hannibal’s car, driving in silence for a few miles.
“You didn’t like Canada either, did you?” Will asks sleepily.
“No. The people were far too friendly,” Hannibal replies, hoping he doesn’t sound bitter.
“I thought so too. And the food wasn’t great, either,” Will says.
Hannibal smiles, and Will laughs.
“You’re planning on cooking tonight, I can sense it,” Will announces. Hannibal’s smile widens almost imperceptibly.
“I am,” he allows.
“I’m hoping you’ll share,” Will says. When Hannibal looks at him, Will’s eyes are hopeful and slightly embarrassed, and Hannibal understands what he’s implying. He still doesn’t answer, though, wondering what Will will say next. “That is, if you don’t want to just take me home and be by yourself for a while.”
“No, I’d rather have company,” Hannibal says finally, and Will’s grin is possibly the happiest expression he’s worn since Hannibal met him.
And if Hannibal drives a bit faster, it’s just because he’s absolutely famished. That’s all.