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The whole FBI team was hammered.
Sprawled in their seat, slumped over the table, or—like his husband—talking to the wall, each of them were getting cussed out by the owner for going past their limit without settling their tab and then going past their hours.
Hannibal sighs as he pays for the drinks and hails each of them a cab, not in the mood to be driving them around when he has a barely cognizant Will to deal with. This is exactly why he didn’t want the man to go out and drink with his co-workers. Will was a drunkard enough when it came to nightcaps with his husband, he didn’t need him in the presence of other heavy-drinkers who tolerated his habit.
The curfew of 1 AM he set for him went unheeded as well.
He slams the cab door closed and watches it speed off into the night with Zeller and Price in the backseat, before turning around to deal with his drunken husband next.
Only to find him gone.
“Will?”
He looks around, sees only a few staggering drunks trying to make it out of the bar, the owner angrily mopping around some feet, and the barista cleaning the counter.
No Will.
“Excuse me,” he flags a waitress, “have you seen a man this tall with brown hair and blue eyes, possibly wearing plaid and flannel?”
“You mean the cop cutie?” She smirks.
“Cop cu—” Hannibal has to hold his breath to fight his scream. “He is an FBI agent, yes.”
“Ah, yeah.” She pops her bubblegum in his face, making him grit his teeth. “He was a great dancer, danced with a couple girls earlier and got hammered with them. He even bought everyone drinks. Very handsome, too. I’d hit if I was you.”
His left eye twitched uncontrollably. Girls? Dancing with them? Did he hit on them, too? He could care less about the drinks, he’s got plenty of money to spare on his husband, but the dancing with anyone else (Hannibal doesn’t discriminate, Will is off limits to everyone) and getting drunk with them, Will may just have to find his own way home if Hannibal hears one more thing out of this lady’s mouth. Not with jealousy digesting him in the moment.
“Yes,” he forces out, “well, did you see where he went?”
“Not really. Last I saw, he was getting propositioned by a guy though, so maybe he went with him.”
Excuse him?
“Maybe you should check the streets.”
Yes, his husband was now indeed for the streets.
Hannibal jogs outside, bloody murder in his mind.
Squinting in the darkness, he thinks he sees a mop of curls having just turned a street corner.
“William,” Hannibal growls under his breath, and promptly goes to follow.
*
"Will," Hannibal tries to hold onto the man's swinging arms, but he twists out of the way before Hannibal can even grip him still.
"Will."
"Go away," he slurs, as indignant as possible.
Hannibal tries again. He misses.
"Will!"
"I'm married!"
Hannibal stills, eyes wide and unblinking as he watches the drunkard ambling wobbly down the street, trying to make his way home. He huffs a laugh, eyes wide, then proceeds to try and catch his stupidly faithful husband down the street.
So, thankfully there was no propositioning man, WIll’s faithfulness still surprisingly intact despite his shattered sobriety, and Hannibal doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he found out that Will had followed a man home. Perhaps he’d freak, kill the man, then Will, then himself.
He doesn’t want to think about it, really. For now, he needed to catch a faithful drunk trying to make it home on foot.
Two steps. Swipe. Miss. Will hobbles on.
Hannibal reaches. Will trudges on. On and on until the doctor was tempted to just leave the man on the street and wait for him to crawl his way back home.
It continued down for a block until Hannibal clicked his tongue and stood guard, watching Will sway himself alone down the street, his drunken grunts and murmurs kept to himself.
He sighs, rolls his sleeves, and prepares to hunt.
*
"I have a husband," Will says matter-of-factly, as Hannibal hoists him over his shoulder and lugs him to the car.
The older man grimaces at a twinging muscle when he deposits the drunkard on the passenger seat.
"Stop touching me!" Will fumbly swats his hands away when he tries buckling him in. "I said no, mister!"
Hannibal huffs. He grabs a smelling salt from the dashboard and shoves it under his husband’s nose. The man convulses like he was shot.
Hannibal harrumphs, pocketing it.
Will groans, all fight drained out of him as the smell disorients him.
"I'm reporting you." He moans, hands cupped around his mouth and nose.
"I'd like to see you try." Hannibal grins as he straps him in more easily.
"You're going to be in so much trouble."
"Will I?"
"I'm telling my husband." He jabs a finger in his direction. Hannibal doubts he could even see straight. "I'm going to tell him allllll about you—handsy, handsome, perverted kidnapper, and you're going to be sooooooo sorry."
“We’ll see.” Hannibal hums and slams the door on him.
Will groans as the man gets in and the whole world starts moving, the motion making him dizzier. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home."
"Stalker."
"Your husband sent me to fetch you."
"Liar. You don't even know him."
"His name—"
"Wait, on second thought, maybe you do. He's kinda famous." Will heaves a lovesick sigh. "He's amazing."
Ego petted, Hannibal preens silently.
"I mean he digs around my head too much sometimes, but," Will sniffs. "I love him, y'know?"
Hannibal nods, hands going clammy on the wheel.
Will turns to him. "I'm married to Hannibal Lecter."
Hannibal nods. "Congratulations."
Will smiles, slumps in his seat. He heaves another lovesick sigh.
"I know, right? He's so perfect. He's an ass, and he pisses me off a lot of times—"
Hannibal lifts a brow.
"—but I love him. I wouldn't trade him for anything."
Hannibal swallows, looking to the side just enough to see Will's dopey smile and flushed cheeks. His eyes are hazy staring onto the windshield.
Will quietens then.
Hannibal thinks he might have fallen asleep, and he checks.
"Oh god."
Will almost looks sober, face morphing into one of horror as he scrabbles to sit straight. He looks at Hannibal.
"Shit. You said he sent you?"
Hannibal blinks, at a loss, but nods anyway.
Will pales. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. That's it. I’m done. I'm doomed."
"What is it, Will?"
"He's pissed. He didn't even bother picking me up himself."
Hannibal looks slightly affronted but keeps his eyes on the road.
"Fuckkkk, shitttt, what do I do? I-I told him I was going out for drinks with everyone and he even agreed but—fuck, where's my phone?"
Hannibal thumbs to the back. "You puked on it."
"Fuck. I'm dead. He must've been calling me. What time is it?"
He glances at his watch. "A little past two."
"Fuckkkkkk. he said he'll wait up for me until 1. Oh god, what have I done?"
His husband rolls his eyes at his theatrics.
"Will, you will be fine."
His eyes bulged.
"Fine? Fine?! I will not be fine! Do you even know who my husband is?!" Will turns to him, glowering. "That prissy ass is going to rip me a new asshole once he knows about this—wait, fuck, he knows already." His face falls. "He sent you to fetch me."
Hannibal blinks at how fast everything was going.
"I'm done. I'm dead. This is it. I might as well not go home at this state."
Hannibal huffs.
"Can you just drop me off at the side here? Thanks." Will opens the door.
"Will!”
Hannibal snatches the man by the his flannel as the car swerves.
“Drop me off! I’m not going home!”
“Hold still!”
“Let me go!”
*
“What are you doing?” Hannibal deadpans as Will clings to a tree near their home, the exhausted man having parked the car on the curb before his husband could lead them to an accident by being adamant of avoiding his husband’s wrath. Which, hannibal would dare say was exaggerated, because he was always an angel when it came to Will.
Unless he finds him drunk or in the company of a flirting other.
Then he was reaching for a knife to fillet every single one of them.
But no matter. He loved his husband. Would he have disturbed his beauty sleep and tried dragging his drunken, sorry ass back home had he not loved him? He’s willing to overlook it this time since it was Beverly’s promotion to field agent, and she was Will’s bestfriend and their best woman at their wedding. Despite what others may say about him being cold-hearted, Hannibal had a soft spot for his husband’s friends, and even more so for his husband who wanted to socialize for once.
He sighs. The things he does for love.
"What are you holding?" Hannibal grimaces when Will creeps back to him hunched, arms deep in his flannel’s pockets.
The drunkard slaps a hand over his mouth, except he misses, and he slaps him on the cheek instead.
Hannibal gasps.
Will bursts into a fit of giggles.
"Shh! Shh, shh, shhhhhh," Will laughs, then conspiratorially pulls a bruised orange from his pocket. "'S for my husband. Don't tell." He strokes the fruit lovingly. "’S an 'I'm sorry' gift."
Hannibal tilts his head.
"Curious. Does he like oranges?”
WIll frowns. “Not really…but…it’s fruit. ‘S nutritious. He’ll love it, picky eater that he is.”
Hannibal tuts.
“And where did you get this 'gift'?"
Will frowns, like he just realized.
"I...don't know." He frowns deeper, looking all the more confused and adorable. "I think I passed by a garden somewhere when we stopped. There was a lady in a red dress, I think she knew me."
Hannibal mentally slapped himself. He’d have to get an apology gift for Mrs. Komeda.
“Who’s there?!” Their neighbor Mr. Wells shines a flashlight on them. “Who’s messing with my apple tree?!”
Will jerks. “It’s the cops!” Then dives successfully into a bush.
*
“Here, have some water."
Finally succeeding in herding his husband into their home, Hannibal felt the exhaustion tugging at him as they make their way to the kitchen. It was possibly the longest night of his life.
He’s decided as well. No more than two drinks for husband.
"Are we having more drinks?!" Will hoots, then hollers, swinging his arms in the air and elbowing his husband trying to balance the offered glass of water. It sloshes.
Hannibal glares. "Will."
"What!" He laughs, then starts climbing over the counter.
The older man sighs.
"Stay still." Hannibal wrangles him onto the island stool, but Will slips, and topples and crumples to the floor. He cackles.
Hannibal had the slightest urge to stomp his stomach in.
“Can I have another drink?”
“I’m going to bed.” His temples throbbed the more he put up with his husband’s shenanigans.
“Noooo, don’t go!” Will whines.
Hannibal stops, all too easily.
“Don’t leave me,” he whimpers, getting to his feet. “I need to get to my husband.”
“Will, you’re home,” Hannibal says softly. “Your husband is here.”
“He is?”
Hannibal nods. He doubts Will would remember everything come morning.
His husband looks around. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
The doctor approaches and sits on the stool beside him. “I called him, he knows you’re here. He’ll be here in a moment.”
“Oh.” Will looks at his hands, then the bruised orange he sets on the counter. “Do you think he’ll like it?”
At his puppy eyes and pouty lips, Hannibal finds himself going weak.
“He’ll love it.”
Will beams then, placated. Hannibal’s heart jumps. Even drunk, his husband was still so beautiful, adorable, and faithful, despite being a road hazard. He nudges another glass of water towards him.
“Drink up, your husband wouldn’t want you dehydrated.”
Will does so obediently. Then he rests his head on folded arms on the island. “Do you think he’ll take long?”
“Not long. He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay. Wake me up when he’s here. I’m just gonna take a nap, okay? Okay.”
Then he was out like a light, softly snoring away. Hannibal tucks an errant curl behind his ear, kissing his temple. “Good night, my love.”
*
Will wakes with the most smarting headache he has ever had, his cheek squished on soft pillows, blanket warm, soft, and cocooning him, the scent of his husband filling his nose—he jolts.
He abruptly sits awake, suddenly sober, ice firing in his veins. He pats himself up and down, then looks around. The room was bright but familiar, the slant of the sun indicating it was late morning. He was dressed in his own silk pajama set that Hannibal got him, in their bed, in their room, in their house, but without the man sleeping beside him.
Figures, his husband got up at the ass crack of dawn, was up and about before roosters can even cock their doodle-doo.
He scrambles off the bed, knowing just how pissed his husband would supposedly be, before the door is swinging open and what greeted him was his ridiculously handsome husband in a comfy sweater and slacks, holding a breakfast tray in hand.
He smiles at him.
“You’re awake. I was just about to wake you myself.”
“Hanni, baby, beloved, I don’t remember how I got home but—
“Ah. That.” Hannibal sets the tray on the bedside table and sits next to him. “Yes, let’s talk about it now that you mention it.”
Will gulps.
“I seem to recall a ‘handsome’ stranger—according to you—bringing you home last night.” Hannibal crosses his arms.
Will blanches. He makes his way to Hannibal who thankfully doesn’t resist his touches. “Babe–baby–Hanni, it wasn’t—I didn’t cheat, I swear, I don’t know who brought me home last night, but I swear I don’t know them. I love only you, I swear on my life.”
“You wound me, Will.”
“Babe, I swear I’m not lying—”
“After all I did to make sure you got home last night despite you trying to walk home on foot?”
Will blinks. “You?”
“Throwing up on your phone in the car?”
“I—” Will stills. “Wait—”
“Trying to get us in an accident?”
“Uh—”
“Thieving oranges from a friend and neighbor?”
“I don’t—”
“I figured you wouldn’t be coming home had I not come to fetch you after your curfew was over, and true enough, all of you were passed out on your table with no way of getting home, not even a single designated, responsible driver to get all of you to your respective houses and spouses.”
“Y-You went and got me?” Will sounded close to crying.
Hannibal looks at him incredulously. “But of course. I wouldn’t want my husband missing when I could’ve easily gotten him myself.”
“Then…we haven’t paid yet and we were all drunk…that means you—”
“I took care of it, yes.”
“I—” Will flounders, then lowers histail, imaginary dog ears drooping. “Hanni, I’m sorry.”
But Hannibal just laughs lightly, stroking his cheek. He kisses his forehead, making him blink. “It’s fine. You did get me a bruised orange for the trouble.”
“I—why an…orange? Where did I get it?”
“After you trespassed and climbed Mrs. Komeda’s orange trees before diving on the adjacent neighbor’s bush to hide from the possible ‘cops’, which turned out to be Mr. Wells.”
“Oh god.” Will falls back on the bed.
His husband chuckles, then falls back with him, fingers running through his rampant curls. “I’d accept any form of payment as compensation.”
Will raises his brows, then grins.
Before he can even tackle him, Hannibal gets up and reaches for the tray he’s set aside.
“But first, your breakfast.”
His plate was filled with bacon, eggs, some toast and jam, waffles with syrup and butter, with a side of coffee. Will’s stomach grumbled.
“Aw, thanks babe.” Then he starts digging in.
Hannibal sits properly beside him, hands folding on his lap.
“You’re welcome.”
As he sips his coffee, his husband shows his fangs.
“So, tell me about those girls you danced with at the bar.”
Will chokes.