Chapter Text
He sits encompassed in an expensive leather chair, across from another, where Will should be. Silence is the beginning and end of all things, while chaos and communication lay somewhere in the middle. Right now, Will should be arriving any minute to break the silence Hannibal seemed to crave so much with his communicated chaos; but he found himself bored without the feeling of gentle scrutiny he received from examining Will and wondered if Will felt the gentle acknowledgement Hannibal bestowed upon him.
He must have buried himself too deep in his own thought by accident and was startled when he heard a light knock at the door, as if a figment of his deep desires came true. Hannibal left his chair and answered the door.
"Hello, Will."
Will nodded in acknowledgment. "Doctor Lecter."
Hannibal stood to the side and held the door for Will as he stepped into his office. Will was dressed in a dark brown corduroy coat, lined with a muted green plaid pattern. Grey jeans complemented his top. Practical, thought Hannibal, yet constricting for his personal taste. Contrary to him, he wore a suit, as always. He found the routine to be sensible based on his professional practice; visual proof of composure no matter the circumstances.
Will roamed his office, slowly, as if it was his first time inside. He did that a lot. If it was an attempt at trying to establish a sense of superiority, he would lose, but Hannibal knew it wasn't a competition; just another thing to examine. So he let Will do as he pleased.
Hannibal was the first to break the silence as he sat back down. "How are you feeling today?"
Will turned and met his gaze casually. "Fine," he replied, with the slightest hint of a grin. "We had a new break on the Ripper case."
Ripper, Hannibal echoed in his mind. An unrecognized alias he has come to accept, and a prestigious nickname for someone so familiar to those working on the case.
"May I ask what?" Hannibal questioned, out of genuine curiosity as well as a mean to get a better look into Will's thought process.
"That victim from the music shop? We are highly suspecting that the culprit did what he did to gain the Chesapeake Ripper's attention. It's... theatrical. Literally, and metaphorically."
Hannibal considered the copycat killer's intentions. He could have only done something like this as an attempt to lure him in; not to impress him. Of course, Hannibal didn't say this; it was Will's session after all. "Fascinating. What do you think he was trying to convey? Or should I say... attract?"
Will gazed at Hannibal again. Hannibal was like a gravity to him, always pulling him back when he had nowhere to go, or something to consider. It was as if he was trying to pull thoughts straight from his mind and translate the words he wanted to say into something Hannibal could understand. But no matter how Will would word things, Hannibal would always understand him.
"I guess he wanted to build some sort of alliance, or... maybe have him as a mentor. For whatever reason."
Will's eyes clouded in thought. He had much to think about, but so little information and clues that every thought led straight to a dead end. Hannibal studied him, the way his jaw clenched absentmindedly, the subtle chewing of his bottom lip, and the unheeding picking of his fingernails. It was like he was close to finding something out, but nothing he had could lead him in the right direction. A simple constraint Hannibal held over his head, bringing a silent pleasure to himself, but absolutely nothing for Will. Hannibal knew of Tobias, and could easily stir the waters of this investigation, but the sight of Will visibly struggling simply delighted Hannibal. A little device for no one else to enjoy. A silent and selfish thing.
"What do you think is the next step?" Hannibal asked.
"I need to know him. It's one thing to empathize with a killer, but to know them is another. If I could meet him, somehow, I think it would untie a lot of knots." Will glanced at Hannibal. "What do you think?"
It caught Hannibal off-guard to have such a straightforward, yet open ended question presented to him. Either he could lay out everything he knew, or tell Will the truth laced in a sparkly bow and reworded to the point where he was technically telling the truth, but would reroute him to a longer path that still led back to Hannibal, inevitably. Whichever he chose, and he already knew what he would choose, it would eventually mean getting caught, even if Hannibal didn't commit the concert hall murder himself.
"I think you're all you need, Will. You have a rare gift that has benefited you in ways you have not recognized."
Will looked down at his feet, as if he was disguising embarrassment as deep thought. "They're recognized, alright," Will replied as he looked back up at Hannibal. "By someone who was willing to take the time to dissect them."
Hannibal admired the implied praise and cracked a slight grin, copying Will.
"But to know someone is a slippery slope," said Hannibal, trailing back to his thoughts again. "Ignorance is a holy grail for the impure of heart. You mustn't become too vulnerable for those who are willing take advantage of it."
Will broke his gaze and stared into the space in front of him.
"If you do anything," Hannibal continued, and Will looked back at him as he finished, "don't lose yourself trying to find someone else."
On his way to Bedelia's, Hannibal occupied himself with thoughts of Will. He imagined him in the passenger seat, probably talking about his work at the academy, or his dogs, or nothing at all. He never really had much to say unless it was about something he truly cared about. He admired it. Will was never subtle with his opinions, or unwilling to correct someone on mistakes. It was almost rude, the way he'd right a person's simple wrongs. In his tone of voice Hannibal knew he wasn't trying to be rude, even if others thought so; Will simply disliked a lack of abstract thinking. He always seemed to be bothered by something. Whatever it was, Hannibal knew that Will knew he could come to him. Will exchanged his emotions for the analysis and advice Hannibal gave him. He always seemed reluctant to do so, but Hannibal knew he'd always come back.
He stopped his car and reached for his umbrella in the glovebox. He put on his gloves. which he bought years prior in Florence, and stepped out of the car. Immediately he was greeted by the thick scent of wet concrete, followed by a faint trace of mechanical smells that followed the cars that passed by like a shadow. The rain was weak, but the drops were thick, like crocodile tears from the sky.
Hannibal stood at the door after alerting his presence, and Bedelia answered just a few moments later. Like Hannibal had done with Will, Bedelia stood aside to let him in, and Hannibal made himself at home.
"You seem hurried, Hannibal," Bedelia started. "What's got you so worked up?"
Hannibal, upon hearing that, settled in his form and relaxed his shoulders. He took a silent breath and planted himself in his seat, as Bedelia did the same. "I must thank you for noticing," Hannibal replied, hiding his unease. "It's not often that I get so lost in my head that it manifests itself in physical ways."
"What exactly are you lost in?"
Hannibal paused. He wasn't sure on how to answer. Intrigue? Fondness? Observation?
"I'm not sure that I can put a label to it."
"Could you try?"
"If it were a drug, prescribed to me, I would have overdosed." Maybe not the best analogy, and a rather dark one, but Will was essentially prescribed to him. It worked the other way, too. "If I haven't yet, I can see myself becoming dangerously close to doing so."
"Is this about Will?"
Hannibal didn't reply.
"This session is about you, Hannibal. Not Will.
"I wouldn't say it's about Will," Hannibal replied, "but rather about my own fixation on him." Fixation was an odd word choice. Hannibal could control most aspects of his own life, but when it came to the thought on someone like Will, it was as if he had lost his own autonomy to a certain degree. "I don't think I could share this with him," he continued, "as that would be unprofessional, and hypocritical on my part." He thought of Franklyn, and how he was merely a mirror of Hannibal's own desires, just in a different font. He thought of Franklyn with disdain and knew Will would think the same of him if he ever were to share this information.
"You talk as if he's your patient," Bedelia said, "to which you've denied in the past. Has that changed?"
"No," Hannibal replied, "I treat him as a patient for my own sense of control. I treat him otherwise when the lines between professional and personal blur on their own."
"And when do they start to blur?"
"Before we've both realized they have. We simply succumb to what feels natural when order as we know it slips away."
"You two are lost in each other. Can I ask: what do you think Will thinks of you?"
Hannibal could examine Will all day; from his mannerisms to his speech patterns, all the way to understanding his level of empathy people called him crazy for. But he could not see himself from Will's perspective, no matter how deep he delved into his head. He knew he could find this information out working with what he had, and in retrospect, he could form an answer. "I'm confident that he feels the same to a certain degree. To where that reaches, I cannot say."
"Do you think you could test those limits?"
"If the circumstances align," he paused, "perhaps I could."
Hannibal walked along the saturated sidewalk, resting his umbrella against his shoulder. Despite the gloomy weather, people also strolled around him in the park. The chilled temperature in the air gave Hannibal a sense of reassurance. The air grew cold with him, and such a thing as rain, seen as unfortunate to some, should be cherished, much like the circumstances he found himself in. He could try to mask his true character all he wanted, but he was human at the end of the day. Humans do beastly things, some more evolved than others. The patterns don't repeat, but rhyme.
A sight caught Hannibal's eye as he made his way back to his car. Along a tree-lined path, on the right side of the sidewalk, sat a pile of dead leaves. Among the dirtied orange and brown, a hint of some bright red and white object peered from the leaves. Hannibal paused. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but he found the other people he'd seen earlier had vanished. Hannibal walked up to the pile of leaves and brushed the ones that covered the object away with his shoe. It was long, about six inches in length. Hannibal picked it up and studied the packaging. The art style copied that of a vintage packaging, perhaps leaning towards a sixties design. In bright red, bubble-style letters in the shape of a wave it read "ONE WISH WILLOW." The rest of the front was dappled with sparkles of the same red, accompanied by a little boy and girl, whose faces gleamed with smiles. The right side of the package read "Amaze all your friends," and "You only get one wish!"
A glimpse into the world of a child. Wish-making played an essential role to many children, and on rare occasions, Hannibal included. During his stay at the orphanage, he'd often wish that things had been different. Maybe if he was still a child, he would have tried changing the past.
"I see you've found one!"
Hannibal was startled, but it didn't show on his expression. A voice came from his right side. It was a man, average looking, maybe in his mid-forties, who wore a long black wool coat. From the tone of his voice, he seemed cautious and obviously wanted to start conversation.
"It's a willow," he continued. "Where did you get it?"
"It was hidden," Hannibal broke his gaze and gestured to the pile of leaves, "in there."
The man furrowed his eyebrows. "Interesting. I wonder if someone lost it, or maybe decided against it."
"Can I help you with something?" Hannibal asked.
"Oh, yeah," the man replied, "My apologies. I used to be very intrigued by those, especially in my days of youth."
"What exactly does it do?"
The man nodded his head at the willow. "Exactly what it says on the box. I don't know if I just got lucky, if it was a coincidence, or if it actually worked."
"May I ask what you wished for?"
"In my twenties I worked a shitty job. It was..." the man became awkward, "ruining my life to say the least. Found one of those in a shop in... I think it was Denver, or Salt Lake City. Wherever it was, it doesn't matter. I broke the thing inside and I got a job offer the next day. I've been there ever since."
Hannibal forced a grin, genuine looking, but a part of it was actually authentic. "Congratulations."
The man smiled. "If I were you, I'd take it. Don't feel pressured, though." Without goodbye, the man continued on his walk, leaving Hannibal alone. He stared back down at the packaging and began to open it. He took the willow half out of the box, then placed it back inside and sealed it back in. Hannibal looked around once more and put the willow in his pocket and started for his car.
-
Once Hannibal was settled in his car, he took the willow out of his pocket. He unboxed it again, this time holding the actual willow wood. It felt thick and textured beneath his touch, and it smelled sweet, with a touch of bitter notes that worked well with the main scent. He studied the structure for a moment longer and caught a glimpse of the outside packaging. He fixated on the word willow, but only the first part. Still holding his eye on the word, Hannibal broke the wood. Ashamed for acting on such impulse and childishness, Hannibal tucked the willow away in the glovebox along with his umbrella and drove back home, eyes set on the road, but his mind set on Will.