Chapter Text
As the minutes stretched on, Will began to regret his bold request for dessert. He felt a frantic sort of panic as he imagined that he’d been misinterpreted and that Hannibal would suddenly fill the doorway, naked, and present dessert. It was only Will’s certainty that he was undesirable - due to his drawn and bedraggled appearance, low social class and abrasive personality – that stopped him fleeing. He was unsure when, or indeed why, that realisation had dawned on him but that didn’t stop it from punching some of the air out of him. Inferiority was unpleasant, but he had no desire to be compatible with Hannibal – at least not in that sense.
As if to taunt him, the near-forgotten fantasy of Hannibal on his knees resurfaced in Will’s mind and he lurched up from his seat and began to pace the length of the room like a caged animal. People thought of all sorts of unexpected things when grasping desperately for release. Hannibal had pleasing features, in a discordant sort of way. Will wouldn’t try to deny it – had no reason to. He was like a peacock; dignified and incandescent, but not approachable or endearing. Acknowledgment of that fact did not mean that Will was attracted to him. In fact, Will was constantly put-off by Hannibal. He had forced his way into Will’s safe space so it only followed that he would make room for himself in Will’s mind as well. Not that that had ever been a particularly safe space. With a sigh Will reclaimed his seat and tried not to fidget.
When Hannibal did finally emerge, he was fully dressed and holding a small dish in each hand. He set them down on the ornate side table beside Will.
“Whisky and chocolate cremeux,” he announced, “and, if you give me one moment, two fingers of single malt to match.”
Will watched him pour two snifters and wondered if it was a good idea to follow wine with whisky. He didn’t question Hannibal though and took a sip as soon as the glass was in his hand.
“This is-” Will paused, looking for the correct way to describe the delicately crafted cups of dark chocolate, filled with golden icecream and sprinkled with cocoa, “art.”
“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal said, taking the seat on the other side of the table. ”I’ll admit, chocolate anglaise provides a rather challenging medium.”
“How do you find time to hone your culinary skills to this extent,” Will asked between heavenly mouthfuls of dessert, “and attend medical school?”
Hannibal watched while Will took another bite before answering.
“The two are not so different. They both rely heavily on one’s fine motor skills.”
Will hummed thoughtfully.
“And your sculpting too, I assume?”
Hannibal’s lip twitched up at the corner and he dipped his head.
“Especially the sculpting,” he said.
The study was dimly lit, cast in shadows like the rest of the apartment, until Hannibal stood to light the fire before them. It crackled to life and, rather than chasing the shadows away, set them to dancing all around them.
“This is cosy,” Will said, in the flat voice he often used when distinctly uneasy.
Hannibal turned to him and smiled with the flames at his back.
“I’m glad you’re beginning to feel more comfortable in my presence.”
Like so often before in their short acquaintance, Will was unable to decipher if he was being genuine or sardonic. He had such a flat presence – like someone two dimensional, not yet fully formed. Will had a way of peering around the edges of the façades that others used to mask who they were on the inside. With Hannibal, Will peered and found nothing. There was the façade, certainly, but no truth to uncover underneath. It meant that Hannibal’s company was uniquely unsettling all while offering Will a long sought-after reprieve from seeing.
“I find you hard to read,” he muttered, quite suddenly.
Will had gotten into trouble throughout his childhood for speaking his mind. He was still learning not to.
“What is it that you find so elusive?” Hannibal asked, sitting across from Will once more.
“Your intentions, for one,” Will bit out, placing his empty plate down beside his equally empty glass and wringing his hands. “Am I here just for you to poke at, or to satisfy your curiosity?”
Hannibal tilted his head.
“My curiosity?”
“The murders,” Will said, waving his hand in a frantic motion that even he couldn’t decipher the meaning of. “You want an inside scoop into the type of macabre displays that draw crowds of people and you’ve decided I’m so lonely that you only need to feed me and offer me a warm bed for the night and I’ll spill all the gory details.”
“It wounds me to discover that you find me so pedestrian,” Hannibal said, refilling Will’s glass, though he only looked quietly amused.
“No, it doesn’t,” Will grumbled.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Because you hardly value my opinion.”
Hannibal sighed as he placed the bottle down.
“No, Will. Because you have already confessed you find me hard to read and so I can safely assume you are reading me incorrectly. I am not only interested in the murders. I am interested in you.”
Will swallowed. His throat clicked.
“You’re incredibly unique and-“
“I’m not,” Will cut in, with a fervent shake of his head and an awkward chuckle. His face felt hot.
Hannibal blinked once, slowly.
“Let me finish,” he said, flatly, and Will closed his mouth and sank down a little in his chair.
“You’re incredibly unique,” Hannibal repeated, “and I would like us to be friends.”
Will hadn’t known that he harboured any hope of anything more, but – if the way his stomach sank, and his chest constricted was anything to go by – it just so happened that he did.
“Friends,” he said, aiming for nonchalance, “I don’t find you that interesting.”
Hannibal looked blankly at him for several long seconds then moved so suddenly that Will nearly flinched.
“Perhaps you will,” Hannibal said, taking a seat in the armchair besides Will’s “after a few more drinks.”
~
The study was small and the fireplace was not. Flushed from the flames and the drink, Will made his way tipsily to the balcony to get some air. He half expected Hannibal to follow, but he remained in the study. The jasmine spiralled prettily up along the wrought iron swirls of the banister that Will rested his glass upon. Hannibal had refilled it countless times, and Will was vaguely relieved that he didn’t have work the next morning. The sting of Hannibal’s rejection was gone and Will had begun to wonder if it was ever really there to begin with. Earlier that evening, he had felt the stab of unrequited feelings with startling certainty and yet moments before that, he had been equally certain that he did not view Hannibal in a romantic light. As pathetic as it made him feel to admit it, he knew he had to acknowledge the possibility that he had simply become confused because he had no other positive, platonic relationships to compare this to.
“Will?” He heard Hannibal call, “I have something that might be useful.”
Hannibal’s sleeves were rolled up when Will returned, and the top button of his shirt was undone. He slid a book from one of the many shelves and set it carefully on the floor so that he and Will would be able to look at it together. Will sank down next to him and examined the cover by firelight.
“Demeter and Persephone,” he read, tracing his fingers over the swirling script.
“I thought,” Hannibal began, reaching across Will to open it and in doing so brushing Will’s hand with his own, “that the God of nature and her daughter might offer some insight.”
“This is a beautiful book,” Will murmured, leaning closer to properly take in a tragic but stunning painting of Persephone trapped in the underworld. “What’s the story here?” he asked, pointing out a separate illustration of a daffodil.
Hannibal pulled himself closer to look, so that their bodies were touching from their shoulders to their hips. Will would have normally recoiled, but alcohol numbed his senses and made the touch seem distant and gentle.
“This is exactly what I wanted to show you,” Hannibal said, “when I saw the pictures from the first crime scene online, the daffodil stood out to me but I didn’t know why. As soon as I saw you diligently making your way through a mountain of literature on mythology I was reminded.”
Will could see Hannibal watching him from his periphery, but he was too focussed on scanning the text to return his gaze.
“Hades used a daffodil to trap Persephone in the underworld,” he breathed.
“In one version, yes. She plucked it and the earth opened up where it had been.”
“I don’t think that’s what the killer intended the daffodil to represent,” Will said, shaking his head and turning the page.
Hannibal was very still beside him.
“I’ll get you another drink,” He announced flatly, and stood to do so.
“Sorry,” Will reached up to accept the glass when Hannibal returned. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt. This could still be really helpful.”
When Hannibal sat, it was not beside Will but on the chair above him. He leaned down to look over his shoulder at the book and asked.
“What flowers were used this time?”
Will blinked and looked up at him questioningly.
“How do you know so much?” He asked.
“I saw flowers in the photographs of the most recent crime scene, but the FBI were very good at obscuring much of it from the photographers’ view. I couldn’t make out what they were.”
Will nodded and returned to the book, taking another large swig of whiskey.
“Lotus flowers,” he said.
Hannibal hummed from above him and Will felt his hot breath on his neck. It suddenly dawned on him that he was essentially sat at Hannibal feet. He considered standing, but then Hannibal’s hand was on his shoulder.
“The first Lotus was a Naiad-Nymph.” Hannibal murmured thoughtfully, bent to see the book over Will’s shoulder in such a way that he was practically whispering into Will’s ear. “Persephone spent time with Naiad-Nymphs in some renditions of the time leading up to Hade’s abduction of her.”
“Oh,” Will sighed, feeling ignorant for having dismissed Hannibal so quickly and mortified for having felt so self-assured only moment before.
He ducked his head and was all the more humiliated when he felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze gently.
“So, I could be wrong.” Will sighed, turning the page to learn more.
He pictured the gratified sneers of the Chief and his colleagues and shuddered. They were already a pack of manic and mottled hyenas at his back – cackling and waiting for him to stumble. If he did, especially now that he’d made a spectacle of himself by garnering the attention of the FBI, they would lunge and there would be nothing left of him.
“I can’t be wrong,” he intoned desperately, craning his head back to look up at Hannibal.
He was sat stoically above him and Will was at least grateful that he had not started to gloat.
“Perhaps you’re not,” he murmured dismissively, withdrawing his hand, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. “It’s late,” he added.
“Oh,” Will said dully, before stumbling awkwardly to his feet. “Oh. I’ve outstayed my welcome.”
The confidence he had gained since finally being taken seriously had depleted from a scorching furnace to a pile of ash.
“Not at all,” Hannibal assured him, still sitting comfortably – his legs spread around the spot that Will had vacated. “Only, I had a long day. There’s nothing like ten hours at the hospital to make one appreciate the folding seats and buzzing projectors of the lecture hall.”
Will nodded numbly, not really listening. He rubbed his eyes and found daffodils and lotus flowers burnt onto the back of his eyelids.
“I’ll call a cab.”
Hannibal stood, shaking his head, and held Will’s upper arms firmly in both hands.
“Stay,” his fingers pressed in, “I can tell you’re upset.”
Will couldn’t keep the scoff from escaping. He tried to make himself smaller, to shrink out of Hannibal’s reach, but it wasn’t possible.
“That’s not your problem.”
Hannibal exhaled through his nose and offered Will an affected smile that landed a little too close to pitying.
“I’d like it to be. I’d like us to be friends,” he reminded him softly.
Will felt tears threatening to betray him. He blinked quickly but he was sure his eyes looked glassy now.
I could use a friend, he thought.
He stopped trying to slip away from Hannibal and leant into him instead.
“I’ve had too much to drink,” Will muttered, “I can tell, because I can’t feel my lips,” he added, needlessly.
Hannibal leant back to look down at him and brought his thumb to Will’s bottom lip.
“Still there,” he said, with a youthful smirk.
Will’s breath hitched in his throat, and he pulled away in earnest this time.
“Perhaps we’ve both had too much to drink,” Hannibal allowed, after clearing his own throat, and it sounded more like regret than a simple apology.
“I’ll call that cab,” Will said, eyes downcast. He felt suddenly as thought the evening had been nothing more than a long list of tortures – embarrassment, miscommunication, rejection and, to top it all off, doubt. That sudden realisation that he might have been wrong all along stung worst of all.
“You won’t,” Hannibal uttered without a trace of doubt. “You’ll stay in my guest room again tonight.”
Will scoffed: “You can’t just-“ He trailed off, brow drawn, shaking his head.
“I’ve upset you,” Hannibal went on, as if Will hadn’t spoke at all, “So you’ll stay tonight and in the morning I’ll undo the damage I’ve caused.”
“You’ve not-“ Will began to reassure, but stopped when he realised that it was indeed Hannibal who had brought his world crashing down around him. “You don’t have to-“ He tried again, but that wasn’t right either. Hannibal didn’t appear as if he felt particularly pressured to do anything he didn’t want to. I don’t want to stay the night, Will thought and found that that was equally untrue.
With a sigh he swallowed the remaining shreds of his pride and ducked his head in a single nod.
“I don’t really know how to be a friend,” he admitted.
Hannibal nodded sagely, as if he had assumed as much.
“Then let me guide you,” he said, with a sweeping gesture towards the stairs, and Will – who had never really been comfortable leading his own life – let Hannibal take the reins.
-
The next morning, they returned to their units. It felt strange to arrive there together, when just the thought of Hannibal existing in this space had caused Will no small amount of displeasure only days before. Will stepped from the car first and wondered if he might finally catch a glimpse of Hannibal’s workspace but Hannibal had other plans, and bypassed his own unit entirely to follow Will to his.
“What’s on the agenda today?” He asked.
Will’s brows arched in question.
“You don’t mind getting your hands dirty?” He asked.
Hannibal removed his soft, leather gloves and slipped them into his coat pocket.
“No, I suppose you don’t.” Will reasoned, thinking of scalpels and surgical masks and operating theatres smeared with blood. “I’ve been tinkering with an old boat motor for a while now. I know exactly what needs to be done. Trouble is, I’d need three hands to hold everything in place.
“Then allow me to lend one of my own,” Hannibal said amicably.
Despite his insistence that they had both over-imbibed the night before, Hannibal seemed positively peppy while Will’s pulse was pounding in his temples. There weren’t many mornings that he didn’t wake hungover, though, so he was well-versed in getting on with things anyway.
“Do you know anything about mechanics?” Will asked, as Hannibal came to stand beside him.
“Nothing at all,” Hannibal replied, amicably.
Will looked into the black, greasy depths of the gutted motor and then at the crisp, clean cuffs of Hannibal’s sleeves.
“You know, you don’t have to help me. I can manage,” he said, but Hannibal simply shook his head.
“Show me what to do, Will,” he insisted, and rolled up his sleeves.
In the end, that did little to help, and they were both smeared in engine grease far past their elbows by the time they were done.
“I’m sorry,” Will said, grabbing two rags from a shelf and handing Hannibal the cleanest of the two. “I should have warned you.”
Hannibal received the rag with a nod of gratitude and began making quick work of cleaning himself off.
“You needn’t apologise, Will,” he said, “It was a pleasure to see you in your element.”
Something clicked then, and Will felt foolish.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh?” Hannibal asked, handing the cloth back after having limited success with removing the black streaks from his forearms.
“You did all this to make me feel like less of a failure,” Will realised aloud. “To fix bursting my bubble last night.”
Hannibal began to suavely deny it, but Will held up a hand.
“No, it’s okay.” He said earnestly, “It’s actually kind. I appreciate it.”
And it really was. It was perhaps the only time in Will’s life that someone had made a concerted effort to make him feel better about his own failure, rather than scolding him or mocking him or simply expressing their disappointment.
“I’m a terrible detective, but a serviceable mechanic,” Will laughed, only half-bitterly.
“You’re talented in many fields, Will. Last night, I only meant to offer a wider perspective. As someone on the outside, looking in.” Hannibal ducked his head, “I only meant to be of some help, having had some experience studying mythology in boarding school in my youth.”
Will nodded numbly.
“I appreciate it. Better you show me I’m wrong than someone back at the station. God,” he groaned, “I’ve made a fool of myself in front of the FBI.”
“I may be the one who is mistaken.” Hannibal allowed.
Will shook his head. Hannibal had said it himself. He knew more about this than Will.
He laid a hand on the motor, eager to change the subject.
“Thanks for your help, anyway.” He said. “I’d offer to return the favour, but somehow I don’t think I’d be any good at what you get up to next door.”
Hannibal offered another of those blank, indecipherable, smiles.
“I think you’d surprise yourself,” he said.