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The days before Christmas were busy.
Will wasn't sure what Hannibal was planning, but it seemed elaborate. Hannibal spent most of his days in the kitchen, preparing all sorts of meals and shooing Will away whenever he asked if he could help. Once, Will thought he saw him baking cookies. Cookies.
Hannibal had always poured everything into his cooking, but their first Christmas together seemed especially important to him. It made Will smile and saddened him at the same time.
He hasn't had the opportunity to celebrate Christmas in years.
Maybe he never has. He has been as alone as you.
Or maybe he just never saw any reason for it.
Will's last Christmases had been filled with the laughter of children and the chatter of Molly's drunk relatives. It should have felt rewarding, but it had only been tiring. There were some things he did miss, but this wasn't one of them.
Hannibal felt the need to compare with his former wife. To be better than her, to gift Will with the best Christmas he'd ever have. So Will let him do it. Let him go all out with his preparations, with his cooking and with the decorations. No skulls this time, no antlers. Normal, festive decorations, bordering on kitsch. Smiling cartoony snowmen, chubby Santas, stars and cones and glitter balls. Maybe a bit too many reindeer in the mix.
Hannibal erected a giant Christmas tree, adorned it with lights and tinsel and antiquated wooden figurines that reminded Will of his childhood. He even made glogg himself, served with raisins and almonds that warmed Will's hands in the chilly evenings and tasted of fine wine, corn schnapps, cinnamon and cardamom.
He was trying to make Will feel comfortable in their new shared home. It had been almost half a year since they had reached their Canadian destination. A long time for healing and reflection, for testing boundaries and sharing only a little. They were slowly connecting with one another and exploring what it meant to be together. Everything had been quiet and peaceful so far, but Will knew that change was imminent. He only hoped that change wouldn't include any blood.
Hannibal came into the kitchen with two large sacks of ingredients. Another day spent shopping. Will wondered if they were expecting any guests he wasn't aware of, but feared they were not.
»Hello Will,« he greeted. He always went out shopping alone – it was safer that way. Will wouldn't be of much help in any case, but he wasn't idle either. He had grabbed a few tangerines and a small bag of cloves and was busy perforating the fruits with the dried-up flower buds. He merely nodded in answer to Hannibal's greeting, focused on his task.
»What are you doing?« Hannibal asked after storing his purchases away, looking slightly puzzled at Will's handiwork.
»Something my mother used to do for Christmas,« Will answered, plugging another clove into the tangerine. »Well, I never saw her do it.« He looked up and was met with a faint, understanding smile. »Dad made them and told me it was my mother's idea. That she learned it from her grandmother. Dad did it as a reminiscence of her.«
»And now you do it to commemorate her,« Hannibal said. He sat down next to Will and watched him work. It was still strange to have him so near. His body emanated cold and there were some snowflakes in his hair that had yet to melt.
»I haven't done it in years,« Will said. »It's strange, really. I saw that you bought some tangerines and I just... had to do it. Sorry if I ruined your plans for Christmas.«
Hannibal shook his head. His nostrils flared slightly, taking in the scent of the unusual blend.
»Subtle, but rather lovely,« he said calmly.
»It's something you only ever smell when you pass close by,« Will said. »Something that fills your nose for only a moment.«
»It has nostalgic value.«
»It's a reminder.«
»Of what?«
What Hannibal needed was validation. Will was inclined to give it to him. »Of home.«
Light filled Hannibal's eyes and his smile widened. He looked at Will as if to figure out if he was serious or not.
Will mirrored his smile. »Does it remind you of something too?«
Instead of answering, Hannibal took his hand. Hesitantly, giving Will more than enough opportunity to pull away. When Will didn't, he brought it up to his face, closing his eyes and breathing in. His nose felt cold against Will's skin.
»No,« he said. »But I'm looking forward to creating a new memory.«
Before he let go of Will's hand, he pressed a light kiss against his knuckles.
It had gotten colder still and Christmas Eve met them with heavy snowfall. Sometimes in Will's life, winter had seemed never-ending – it had followed him from Wolf Trap to Moosehead Lake and now to Canada – but today, Will did not mind. The flurry of snow looked peaceful and had an almost innocent quality to it. Inside the house, Will felt warm and cozy. He felt no wish to venture outside – the dogs were safe and happy in front of the living room fire and the thought of being snowed in with Hannibal did not evoke any fear in him. He looked forward to dinner.
After a lot of preparation, Hannibal served 'salmon en croûte' first. He had baked it in a way that made it look festive – with ornaments on top reminiscent of snowflakes. It tasted of lemon and spinach and the fish Will had caught two days prior – not a mixture he would have thought delicious, but it was. Will craved for more when he had finished his serving. He needed to remind himself that this was only the first course.
After that, Hannibal brought out the main dish. Even though opulent and elaborate, most of it was quite classic – turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, lashings of vegetables, gravy and cranberry sauce. It was familiar but tasted much better than Will remembered. He was also served a few things he had never sampled before – roasted pumpkins with chestnut, cherries and cheese, as well as baked squash slices with rice and garlic and onions. Everything Will could have wanted and more.
»This is amazing,« Will said. He made no attempt to hide the awe he was feeling. Hannibal seemed pleased.
The table was quiet otherwise. Instead of conversation, all that was heard was the soft clatter of silver on the plates. Often, Hannibal looked at him – long, intense gazes, a few of which Will managed to meet for a couple of seconds before he had to look away due to an emerging blush.
While Hannibal stuck to his wine, Will drank more and more punch – whiskey with some fruits mixed into it. He didn't ask what was in it, but he detected cranberries and clementines and just a hint of vanilla. It was beyond delicious and Will soon caught himself getting tipsy.
As dessert, Hannibal served Black Forest Trifle with cherries tasting freshly picked. Will barely finished a third of it before his stomach could take no more. He had been spoiled rotten with food.
Will's tastes had been taken into consideration, but notes of Hannibal's own composition were still perceivable. It was different from how they would have spent Christmas with other people, a shared endeavor. It was their design – or at least it should have been. Hard to notice, but some things were plain wrong. Some of these things were neither him, nor Hannibal – they were Molly. To a degree, Hannibal was emulating her, thinking it would please Will if he played the little housewife. It did not.
While Hannibal took care of the dishes, Will stayed behind, too full to move comfortably. A few decorations remained on the table. Sweets, mostly. Gingerbread men, caramels, homemade fudges and those awful cookies in the shapes of fir trees and reindeer. Will nibbled on antlers made of dough while considering the evening.
Hannibal had tried so, so hard to please him and yet, something was missing. Will missed the real antlers as part of the decoration and the skulls of dead birds. He missed the extravagant dishes made from endangered animals and the experimental ingredients Hannibal usually found satisfaction in. He had thought they had left pretending behind. He had thought the bluff had eroded.
Will raised himself up with some difficulty and went into the kitchen. Hannibal stood in front of the sink with his back to him. He had taken off his suit jacket – cream with red and green stripes, almost festive - another layer of protection he usually forwent these days. He looked much more approachable like this: the sleeves of his dark-green shirt pushed up, his vest already a little crinkly from the day spent in it.
It was because of the alcohol, definitely. Otherwise Will would never have come closer and pressed his body against Hannibal, feeling his muscles tense beneath the layers of clothing.
»Thank you for dinner,« he murmured against his neck. »But you didn't have to prove yourself to me.«
It took Hannibal a moment to gather himself back together. »What do you mean, Will?«
»You didn't have to show me that you are capable of... normalcy.« Will pushed his nose against Hannibal, inhaling the scent of his clothes and hair and skin. »I didn't stay with you because I thought you to be a substitute for... my wife. I stayed with her because she was a substitute for you.«
They hadn't touched like this before, not since their fall off the cliff. Will's tipsiness made it easier, but no less intense. He found himself slowly rubbing his stubble against Hannibal's neck like a cat, just because the sensation felt so nice. A slight tremor went through Hannibal's body, but Will wasn't sure if his words or his actions had caused it. Hannibal stepped aside in a swift motion to put some of the cutlery away, ending their physical contact.
Before Will could investigate how he felt about this, Hannibal said something as if the former conversation had never taken place. »I have something for you.«
Will frowned. »I thought we said no presents.«
»I didn't buy you anything.«
To Will's surprise, Hannibal took his hand while he guided him through the house. They stopped right outside Hannibal's bedroom. Will felt the urge to say something, but thought better of it. Being so crude was not Hannibal's style.
When he opened the door, Will already knew. He instantly recognized the smell. Hannibal guided him to the window. It had become dark outside – the moon shone brightly onto the snow, made it glitter and shine. It was a peaceful, innocent beauty, one that Will wanted to preserve. He wanted to stay here – with Hannibal.
»I tried to make some.«
Will looked at the windowsill. Hannibal had made a few of his mother's special tangerines and a few oranges too. They were much more handsome than Will's versions, with intricate patterns both Christmas-themed and otherwise. Faint, carved lines, like scars, ran through most of them, guiding or crossing the way of the cloves. The faint smell of home reached Will's nostrils.
Before he knew it, Will's vision blurred. Happiness tightened his voice when he said, »They're beautiful.«
They were. They were Hannibal's design and his own. Just theirs. And Hannibal, with his keen nose and his heightened sense of smell, knew exactly what it meant to him.
»I merely want you to feel at home, Will.«
He said no more but there was so much meaning in it. The compromises he wanted to make for Will's happiness. The things he'd do to keep Will by his side, of his own accord. None of that was needed, because Will wanted him exactly as he was.
There was one thing, Will thought. Only one thing to gift in exchange, to truly make him understand. »I- I have something for you as well.«
This time, it was Will who took Hannibal's hand, leading him two rooms farther, into his own.
There were no tangerines in here and nothing that indicated a present. Hannibal looked at him quizzically and Will pointed to the ceiling above the door.
An evergreen branch with red berries hung above them. Will had tied a red-and-white ribbon around it. When he had made it, he hadn't been sure about whether he wanted to show it to Hannibal. He had just made it. Now he knew that it was the best kind of Christmas gift just to see Hannibal’s reaction. Slowly, just barely perceivably, his face changed until he looked genuinely surprised.
Will almost expected him to make some witty remark – to talk about the importance of the mistletoe in some mythology or about its association with whatever – but he didn't. He turned to Will with a smile on his face, licked his lips and waited.
It was natural – taking a step forward, putting a hand on Hannibal's arm and bringing their mouths together. Natural as living together had become, natural as waking up in the morning and being greeted by the instant thought of amber eyes and crooked teeth.
Hannibal was warm and soft and tasted of wine and chocolate. It was easy to kiss him, and pleasant. They shared an innocent kiss – somewhere between shy and courteous. Heat spread in Will's belly, but it was not of a sexual nature – it was contentment and butterflies. Will knew full well that if he chose to, he could take this in any direction he wanted – Hannibal would pliantly agree to be shoved onto the bed conveniently situated in the room. But they would take this slow and they would do it right, lest they overwhelm each other with sudden intimacy.
Hannibal cradled his face and brought their noses together once they parted, rubbing their skin together in disbelief. His eyes were closed, but he emanated happiness. His face had relaxed and become soft – lines of stress and worry had disappeared with just the slightest press of lips on lips.
»Next year, I want you to make me the most absurd and over-the-top Christmas dinner you can think of. Something that screams Hannibal Lecter – just maybe without the dead bodies.«
»I will,« Hannibal said. He sounded hoarse and adorable and he still refused to meet Will's eyes.
Will laughed at that. Things would change, after all. And not in a bloody way.
»Merry Christmas,« he whispered before he kissed Hannibal again.