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Hanging up the phone he apologizes to Will, explaining it a matter of urgency that he end their session early. More unfortunate still is that both were carving into the meat of the Cello-murder case and he was about to further regard this newer killer’s motives with a hint, yet another ‘gift’ special for his psychoanalyst to decipher. He does love watching the wheels of his remarkable psyche twist and turn as he threads the pieces together little by little, case by case... Hannibal will make something of him yet.
“Is something wrong?” Will asks from his chair.
“Most likely, and I’m afraid this cannot wait. If I may, perhaps we should reschedule this for tomorrow evening and return to the usual date again next week?”
“Sure, yeah, works for me just fine.”
Herein draws another mark on Budge’s name in Hannibal’s books. Never has he tolerated this calibre of discourtesy when it comes to a patient’s hour with him. Especially when it happens to be Will – that particular sin he refuses to forgive. He’s tempted to inform of Budge’s activities, maybe point the knife towards his string shop in town… another day, perhaps.
“Also, would you extend me the pleasure of your company afterwards by joining me at the table?”
“Dinner and therapy, huh?” Will entertains, “What would be desert be, a slice of stability? Maybe even with a garnish of optimism, if you’re feeling confident.”
“I often am,” Hannibal says with a smirk, privately taking glee in the man’s own. “It is my preferred means of apologia, and you have yet to let me cook for you again.”
“Thanks. I’d be honoured.”
“Wonderful. As would I.”
It’s clear that Will’s been actively avoiding him this past week since they fell atop one another in the midst of a crime scene.
To be fair… it was by pure accident on Will’s part. Not that Hannibal minded in the slightest.
Will was on the stage, deeply immersed when explaining their killer’s design, up until he took a step back and tripped on a stray cord.
If Hannibal wasn’t there to break his fall he would’ve cracked his head open on the floor below. He’d barely caught him when the two crashed to the ground together, his arms protectively wrapped around the profiler’s back whilst strong, capable hands clung to his shoulders; when they relaxed flat, his touch radiated electricity and a shock-wave of warmth coursed through Hannibal’s veins. Even his heart grew heavy knowing that Will could feel each and every beat beneath his palm, perhaps unaware that all drummed for him.
He recalls vividly Will’s flushed expression and panicked apologies, the most beguiling instant however was the way his voice quickly trailed into silence, how he lingered above him a little longer than necessary, both near nose-to-nose.
Hannibal would have given himself up to him there and then if he’d asked; the reign of the Chesapeake Ripper at last laid to rest if it meant Will would look upon him like that for the rest of his days.
Sapphire eyes gleamed and flickered as they searched his own – somewhat hopeful that Will may find himself reflected in the darkness there. Eventually he will, Hannibal’s certain; he just needs a little nudge in the right direction.
Then, without another word, Will’s breath hitched; he hurried to his feet, leaving Hannibal where he lay.
Today is the first they’ve seen each other since.
“Hey, wait,” Will says, straying behind him.
Holding at the front door Hannibal faces him, armed with a familiar curiousness. The moon pours through the windowpane with his beloved’s face shown in a veil of silvery light. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s admired him this way.
“Yes?”
“You forgetting something, doc?”
“If I am then it stems from your presence.”
He half-frowns, “I make you fall into a state of forgetfulness?”
“You always have that effect on me, Will.”
Both stare at eachother a moment. Will’s lips part and he dips his head, back up at him, looking as if needing to say something only to repress it.
“What is it?”
“You really don’t know?” Will rubs his face, stepping closer. “Never mind, you forgot –”
For the first time in countless years Hannibal gives in to impulsivity. Drawing him in by the waist he tenderly cups his cheek to meet their mouths, his lips gentle over the sensitive flesh; it’s minty. He didn't plan this, matter of fact, he had no intention of engaging Will romantically unless it were he to make the first move. Then again, Hannibal is increasingly intrigued by Will's influence over him as of late, going so far as to begin treating his Encephalitis as means of growing closer more authentically, rather than obscure it. His passion is returned when Will kisses him back, somewhat hungrily; he welcomes this sudden confidence as their torsos pull together, now following his lead.
At a total loss for words Will just holds him there with fingers hooked through the belt loops of Hannibal’s slacks. Clearing his throat a bloom extends across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.
“I... I meant this…” in Will’s other hand he jangles a set of keys; “you left them on your desk back there.”
“Oh.”
Will can’t withhold that bewitching smile, so, inviting himself back into the psychiatrist’s space, he leans up; lips finding their place beside his ear.
“Took you long enough.”