Chapter Text
Hardwood. Cold, dark slats of hardwood were the first and only thing Will Graham's blurry eyes could recognise in the weird daze he had just woken up in. The second one, that is to say the intimate relationship he had established with the floor, hit him shortly after.
"Fuck... m-my... my head..."
A painful groan escaped his lungs, as he tried to lift himself up just enough to look around.
The attempt failed miserably; his weak wrists slipped under him, letting him fall back at ground level.
"God... it hurts like hell."
"Oh, Will. You're awake."
Suddenly a deep, familiar voice echoed along the corridor and in the room, coming in his direction. He was not alone.
"...Doctor Lecter?" Will furrowed his brows in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"I was wondering when you'd wake up," said Hannibal while calmly sitting on the armchair of his psychiatrist studio.
He had probably come because of the dull thud caused by Will's fall. To 'check his special patient's condition,' as Jack would've said. He hated being called that.
The black leather seat crinkled under Hannibal's weight. "In regards to your question, this is where I work. Technically, I should be the one to ask."
Will could imagine him perfectly, tastefully dressed and smiling as always... even if his view of him was currently limited to a pair of leather Oxfords and maybe a small section of his ankles. Will didn't exactly like this unequal exchange of power; so, not without great effort, he finally managed to turn his body face up and admire the pale ceiling of the room.
"Need a hand?" Hannibal asked gently, giving the impression that, whatever the answer, he wouldn't have left his comfortable seat.
Will ignored his question, breathing heavily while trying to determine whether Hannibal's chair was circling around him like an eagle eyeing a prey, or he had simply been drugged with some kind of anticonvulsant, sedative or who knows what concoction from the doctor's secret stash. He opted for the second hypothesis.
"What... did you give me?"
"Benzodiazepine." Hannibal shifted in his seat and leaned forward to make his face more visible from Will's perspective, but did not lower his gaze. "You were experiencing a seizure, Will. What is the last thing you remember?"
Will's face crumpled. "Uhm... I... I was home. I was washing my dog," he managed to say.
"Ok. Do you remember what day it was?"
"What do you mean 'what day'? You think it could've lasted more than a day?"
"I wouldn't exclude an option just because it looks improbable."
A long, annoyed sigh left Will's mouth, which was now beginning to feel less anesthetized. His body seemed more responsive than before, but getting up still seemed like too arduous of a task.
"It was Sunday."
"The third?"
"Yes. The third of November. Sunday. Wolftrap, Virginia. My house. With my dog. I was soaking him in soap and water on my porch and then suddenly I was here. Anything else?"
While Will talked, Hannibal had maintained an amused, malicious smile which grew wider as words became faster and slightly more aggressive.
"Very good." He smoothly got up, passing over the limp body on his floor with alarming nonchalance. The snappy sound of his shoes got further away towards the desk, close enough but still inaccessible for Will, who still couldn't see him because of the seat that blocked part of his view.
"So? How many days have passed?"
"None."
There was fumbling and crumpling of paper, then the blaze of the fireplace. Will slowly turned his head towards the noise, trying to ignore the pain at the back of his neck.
Hannibal's broad shoulders stood out against the warm light of the fire, which perfectly outlined his silhouette. His hands were hovering over the flame.
"It is still November the third."
"Nice," murmured Will between relieved and sarcastic. He still wanted to understand what had brought him there, and laying dead surely wasn't going to solve that mystery.
His leg bent just enough for the sole of his left foot to stay in contact with the floor. "So I've not completely lost my mind yet. How lucky of me."
One hand. Two hands. He groaned, focused on the task, and pushed himself up with all the strength he could gather.
Finally, he got his back against the lower part of the armchair. His heavy breathing blended with the first, timid drops of rain, which had started clattering outside the studio's windows.
"No, not yet." Hannibal turned away from the fireplace. His eyes inadvertently locked with Will's, caught in the act of trying to lift himself up enough to sit on the chair Hannibal previously occupied. Neither of them looked away.
"Are you going to... send me back home?"
"No. I don't think that would be wise." Hannibal took a couple of slow, pondered steps forward. "Your conditions are still unstable, to say the least, and I don't know how you arrived or what you did to get here, apart from taking your vehicle."
"I haven't done anything." Will looked back down, muttering under his breath. He was finally sitting on something more comfortable, but the world hadn't stopped spinning around him. He threw his head back in frustration, making the situation undoubtedly worse.
"I can't know that. And neither can you, for now."
Hannibal walked to the side of Will's chair, letting his face hover on Will's reclined head.
"Are you experiencing any abnormal symptoms?"
Will half-laughed. He was currently enjoying the show of black fractals, deformed faces and whirls of nothing that his monumental headache was offering him behind closed eyelids.
"How would I know that? I don't even know what the normal ones look like for someone like me."
From his perspective, it looked like Hannibal had entered a kaleidoscope. He was feeling... warm. But that wasn't an 'abnormal symptom' for him. Not anymore.
"Well then, let me put it this way: is anything physically or psychologically bothering you?" Hannibal's face merged into thousands of itself, folding on itself, eating itself.
"Physically? You. Psychologically? Also you." Will brought his head back up, making it roll around like a football. "Let's stop playing games, Doctor Lecter. I don't like that you're trying to find out how my brain works and I can guarantee you, from someone who also doesn't know, you'll never get there. So undrug me and... let me... go... home..."
Will's eyes began rolling upwards, losing control of themselves. His body went weak and, once again, he was knocked out.
Hannibal sighed; the understanding look on his face couldn't have changed the displeasure he had felt seeing Will's determination in refusing to collaborate. He quickly grabbed some strong-smelling salts from a nearby shelf and hovered them under Will's nose.
"G-Goddammit... Hannibal!" Will's eyes struck open in surprise. The doctor's face was mere inches from his.
"Do you understand why I can't let you go, Will? You'd be a danger for others and, most importantly, for yourself."
"...Yes. Maybe you're right." Hannibal's eyes were like the centre of a tree: hypnotizingly beautiful. What? I meant dangerous. Hypnotizingly... dangerous.
"Good." Hannibal sat on the opposite armchair, calmly observing him.
Will sighed, defeated; he wasn't going anywhere. What if he had locked Wilson outside of the house? Poor dog... he would've been freezing at this time of day.
Will looked outside, regretful, following the drops of rain. That regular pattering was starting to bother him. "Then... could I get an Aspirin? I'm having a really bad headache and haven't brought any."
"Sure Will, I can get some for you. I'll be back right away." Hannibal promptly got up showing a sweet, helpful smile and disappeared behind a wall, hurrying towards the other room.
As soon as he heard the door close behind him, Will knew he had just a few seconds to check his surroundings.
It wasn't Sunday when he had left his home in Wolftrap, he knew that for sure; Hannibal was deceiving him for some reason, and he had every intention of finding out why.
Staggering across the room, he reached the desk and quickly opened its drawers. Folders and papers, tidy as always. He had a feeling the documents Hannibal had burned before were out of place, but that smartass had obviously got rid of them before he had had a chance to look.
The door. Will hurried towards the exit, reality bending around his every step, and silently tried turning the handle. As he could've guessed, it was locked.
"Fuck..."
"Will."
Will stood still, cursing under his breath. He had officially been cornered.
How ironic, how cliché of him to fall for it, fooled by the oldest trick in the book.
Just as he had begun to chastise himself for how "he should have foreseen this scenario" and "he was a fucking FBI profiler", a sharp pain in his right temple broke his chain of thought.
There was no reason to delay. With a hand pressed on the side of his head, Will turned around to face his fate.
Hannibal had entered the room, Aspirin in hand. His warm smile and caring attitude had given way to a much more menacing, stern look. "I believe you should stay seated to avoid further injuries."
"O-Of course." Will pressed his back against the door. His heartbeat began to speed up. "I was... just... looking for you."
"Will."
"Yes... Hannibal?"
Soft rain kept falling undaunted, mimicking Will's glistening skin.
"Come here."
If he had been in danger before, the risk sure had increased tenfold by now. Will slowly walked towards the threatening figure in front of him.
Hannibal was slightly taller than him. Out of the both of them, he was stronger, and perhaps even faster. If there was to be a fight, Will wasn't all that sure he could prevail against him. He raised his gaze to meet his opponent's and exhaled, expecting the worse.
But there was no pain. Instead, Hannibal held out his hand. His thick, steady fingers went up towards Will's head, lifting some of his small curls out of the way to lightly feel his forehead.
"You have a fever" he murmured. His hint of a smile looked almost like compassion.
Will stood still, paralyzed from fear, or maybe surprise, or... God, he didn't even know anymore. Hannibal's freezing hand was pressing so delicately on his skin that he would've pushed against it, desperate for relief, if he hadn't retained one last semblance of dignity. He sank into that feeling, between grateful and demanding.
Hannibal's hand moved downwards, ever so slowly, as Will looked on. That simple caress on his cheek was enough to make him shiver. He had to use all of the energy he had left, which wasn't a lot, to prevent a sigh that had secretly been growing in his throat from slipping out. Everything to him seemed strangely unreal, ethereal, like if it was out of this world and into his deepest, unconscious desires.
A glimpse of a lightning suddenly caught Will's attention. How weird it was... he had driven his car there without even realising. Yes, his car... Will lazily scanned the parking lot outside in search of his vehicle. Not in the front, not in the back. Not near the exit. Where… was it?
Confused, he looked back at Hannibal. Then, his eyes struck wide with awareness.
"Wait, I... I remember now!" Will freed himself from Hannibal's grip, a look of indignation on his face. "I was... I mean, after washing my dog, I went... I was reading your letter, and then... YOU!"
In a sudden fit of anger, Will pressed both hands on Hannibal's chest and pushed him back with all his might, knocking him far enough to fall against the glass table.
"You ambushed me, you piece of shit!"
Dozens of pieces of shattered glass welcomed Hannibal's back with a crash. The loud thunder echoed his fall.
"You knocked me out, kidnapped me, then brought me here! I knew I couldn't have been so sore from a seizure..."
"Will... calm down now." Hannibal's voice took on a reassuring tone, which clumsily hid the pain of his newfound glass wings.
"I had come to visit and had no ill intentions. You greeted me..." he slowly got up, some pieces of glass falling back on the floor, some others still nailed in his shoulders. "...and we talked for a while, outside your house. You had something to tell me, but then..." his hands were covered in shards. Dense blood dripped from his palms. "...I saw a man trying to get in from your backdoor. There was a scuffle and... you were hit in the back of the head. I'm sorry for not telling you before."
Will's eyes narrowed. Hannibal's story was convincing; not easily verifiable, but honestly quite possible, given his social status. There were many people who could've wanted to kill him, for a variety of reasons. But it was a first for someone to threaten his home, and there were still some outstanding questions; why had Hannibal come to visit him shortly after sending a letter? And... what was Will planning to tell him?
"I... I'm not sure if I believe you, Hannibal."
"I brought you here to take care of your injuries. My car is in the parking lot. You have very evident bruising around the base of your neck and injuries in other parts of the body. I, too, was attacked by the intruder." Hannibal carefully unbuttoned the lower end of his shirt, exposing part of his abdomen. Three slashes hidden by splotches of dried blood stood out right over his liver. "I don't want to hurt you, Will."
Will's face went pale, even more than it already was. He was mortified. He had taken it out on a wounded man, injuring him further.
"Then why did you drug me? And why did you say I came here on my own?" his voice quivered in the air.
"You had a seizure following your concussion. I did what was best for your situation. As for the misdirection..." Hannibal looked down, checking his left wrist for his watch. It had survived the fall, but not unscathed. "I was curious to see your reaction."
"WHAT?!" Will's initial pity for the man retreated, as his brows furrowed disapprovingly. "Stop treating me like I'm just a specimen for you to do your experiments on!"
"You'll have to excuse my behaviour. One doesn't get the opportunity to observe the consequences of such a deep state of dissociation often. Most often it's somnambulism, but... oh, I shouldn't bore you with the technicalities."
As always, Hannibal hadn't been able to restrain himself from professional curiosity. Will was annoyed, sure, but... somehow, the pitiful way Hannibal's arms fell along his body, his elegant three-piece perforated and damp with blood, his wounded abdomen... made him look weak and defenceless, kind of like a stray dog. Will's instincts kicked in.
"Fine, fine... I believe you." Will took some steps towards him. The sound of broken glass under his feet made him feel even guiltier, knowing that because of him it had ended up in Hannibal's back.
"Come on now. Let me help you with..." he gestured broadly at the upper part of Hannibal's body "...that."
"Oh, no need really, I can-"
"No, no, I insist. Even if it's just the ones you can't reach." Will stared into the eyes of his unintentional victim. "Just tell me where the first aid kit is. I'll get them out."
Hannibal stared back. He felt grateful for that act of kindness, even if it was Will who had hurt him in the first place. "It's... on that wall, just behind the ladder. Thank you, Will."
Will quickly brought over the box, checking for bandages and gauzes while Hannibal waited calmly, having stepped away from the glass to stand next to the fireplace.
"Ok, this... won't be pleasant." Will snapped on his gloves, brandishing a pair of tweezers. "Sorry Hannibal."
"Don't worry about it. You thought I was the enemy, so you acted accordingly." Hannibal smiled, then carefully turned with his back to him. "Also, there's no risk in pulling them out, as none of the shards have punctured my lungs. I think you would've noticed, if they did."
"Right. Well, that's a start."
Will exhaled, focusing his attention on Hannibal's bleeding shoulders. Every piece of glass shined with the warm reflection of the fire. It was weirdly beautiful, to see those dancing flames on his back.
Will approached the first fragment, next to the right scapula. It slid out with no resistance, leaving a small hole overflowing with blood. "Ok, that's one."
Two, right over the tenth vertebra. Three and four, in the left shoulder. Five, at the base of his neck.
"Ouch. That hurt." Hannibal tensed up, resisting the urge to move away.
"I know, I'm sorry. I’ll have to make up for it, somehow."