Chapter Text
Hannibal enters the Quantico Crime Lab facility with picture perfect ease, his pulse a steady 85 beats per minute. It might be lower, if not for who he is meeting here, and what he had tucked under his arm.
It's been nearly three weeks since he's seen Will, the longest they have been apart since that night on Will's porch; dried dog slobber on Hannibal's fingers, cheap whiskey in his belly, and Will's mouth pressed deep into his.
Hannibal had considered refusing the invitation to the annual Science of the Minds, had Will not insisted he'd be fine on his own. He'd booked his flight the night after. Getting to exchange theories with colleagues he hasn't seen in ages, as well as attending lectures on the latest dissection of the human pathology has been quite thrilling.
But the thought of coming home had been even sweeter to him. They had exchanged texts over his time away, Will's response times varying greatly, and Hannibal knew before Will told him he'd been working at the lab, where the cell phone service was subpar, to put it lightly.
Which is why Hannibal knew the perfect way to insert himself into another case. So here he is, signing in at the check-in station at the front of the FBI Crime Lab.
"Here is your day pass, Dr. Lecter." The woman says, handing him a 'visitor' badge.
"Thank you, Denise." Hannibal says, carefully clipping the badge to his lapel where it's least likely to crease the fabric.
There is a certain art to throwing off suspicion, and Hannibal has been perfecting it over the decades he's been doing this. Carefully crafted responses, catering his comments to steer the conversations to subjects that put them at ease or engage them. Get them on a subject they can't help but gush about, and you've hooked them. For Denise, the subject of choice is easy.
"And how's your wife doing?"
Denise grins, wide and lopsided, enough to show the slight gap between her two front teeth. "She's doing well! Thank you again for the reservations to that restaurant. It would have taken us ages to get a table without your help."
"It was no trouble at all. It was for a good cause." He says after he finds the right smile to wear. "The fifth anniversary is just as important as the first, after all."
Her eyes drift to the travel bag over his shoulder. "Lunch plans of your own?"
Hannibal touches a finger to his lips, smile turned secretive.
Denise laughs, "Lucky guy."
She has to check his bag anyways, but unless she was to perform a DNA analysis, she wouldn't have any idea what (or who) precisely is in the sauce. When everything is packed back up, he's on his way with a friendly wave.
It's a bold move, bringing a creation like this into a place designed to catch criminals not unlike himself. However, after carefully weighing the odds of discovery, the idea was too tempting to pass up. It's a small escalation, but one he is at liberty to perform, given how trustworthy he has made himself.
So Hannibal walks into the bowels of the FBI crime lab unaccompanied and unhurried. He resists wrinkling his nose at the sterile smell of the hallways as he makes his way to his intended destination.
The halls are fairly empty, as 90% of the staff go home on the weekends. Only those essential for keeping the place running or are approved for overtime criss-cross his path. This comes in his favor, as he isn't required to stop and make small talk and makes it to his destination quickly.
He enters discreetly and without fanfare, the door closing behind him with a hushed click. No one notices right away, all too absorbed in their own tasks.
Price is deep into a microscope, his brow furrowed as he fiddles with the dial. Zeller's back is to him, but the soft rustle of paper indicates he’s paging through their notes. Beverly isn't in the room, but Hannibal can see her form through the window to the next room, removing trace evidence from a torn shirt.
With none of the other members of Team Science Buds, Price's silly name for their gang, Hannibal is afforded just a moment to assess his sole reason for being here.
Will stands before the large pegboard, deep in thought, surveying the crime scene photos. Ignoring the wall of photo ls for now, Hannibal inspects his boy first.
Will has returned to his frumpy mismatched clothing; a tacky brown and orange flannel, buttoned up tight to his neck, a dismal green jersey knit long sleeve thrown over top. His dark blue slacks are either a size too large, or Will has neglected a proper meal in Hannibal’s absence. He cannot see his face from this angle, but he can only guess by the slope of Will's shoulders that he is exhausted, deep and heavy bags likely under each eye, marring his alluringly beautiful face.
Hannibal has yet to tire of observing Will when the man is unaware of him. He sees it in the form of a painting, hung in the low light of an art museum. Will's figure is detailed with soft, yet expressive strokes. His head tilted to something out of frame, eyes never facing the viewer.
If any of the great art masters of old could see his vision, they would assign it a certain symbolism, the subject (in this case, Will himself) looking away speaks of distance, either physical or emotional. An absence of agency, even.
It's only after his inspection that he regards the pegboard. Pictures of women, posed with open throats and grey glazed eyes. And among them, one man. One now very dead.
There in a series of shots is Hannibal’s handiwork, detailed dissection of the man he took apart. He had wanted to stay faithful to the source material, thus he'd sliced open Felix Turner's throat first, letting the blood run free until the man had been too weak to stand.
None of the girls had been truly mutilated, only exposed to indecency. Hannibal had deviated here, wanting to extract a few choice cuts for later. He'd elected to tear right through the shirt, mimicking the original design before he started cutting. He'd left the heart, surrounding it with yellow carnations, the color pair well with the vivid color of the heart muscle while it was still fairly fresh.
The flap of skin and tissue around the bouquet was removed so as not to disguise the display. He'd given the throat a similar treatment, removing the skin in a carefully crafted smile of muscle, with a slit through the center so the stems of orange lilies sat in their perfect arrangement.
While seeing his work there on the board is thrilling, he finds he's not nearly as taken with it, not when he has an even better vision before him; Will looking upon his artfully crafted carnage on full display. Will, with his beautiful eyes and his even more beautiful brain, not just looking but *looking*, like he could see behind the layers of flayed bone and muscle like an artist through acrylics and gesttos to the sketch lines into the canvas of the self.
Like if he just looks long enough, he might see the artist's reflection looking back at him.
This is as he should be. It should always be this way.
Although…
Another image is stirring within him, one that causes Hannibal's fingers itching to put to paper. A new image has been coming with increased frequency.
He sees it in the progression of portraits, each more detailed than the last. Will's face coming into full clarity as his stance shifts. The upturn of his scruffy chin, his pink lips open just a fraction, the feather of each lash, surrounding each mirror like-eye.
And Hannibal, who is not just watching from the safety of the shadows, but with his own profile scratched within the frame alongside him. Hannibal can picture the soft droop of Will's shoulders as he turns to him, not in exhaustion, but with the ease of familiarity. Will can see him there, past person suit, in the beast below.
It's a dangerous thing, to be known in such a way. But Will sees him, down to his very marrow, and smiles just as sweetly as he ever has.
Beverly, who is reentering the room, is the first to notice when he enters, and by then, Hannibal has returned his face to neutral expression.
"Hey Doctor Hot Stuff!" She says, a little too loudly for the space they're in, making everyone jump to attention.
Hannibal resists a grimace. The nickname she's chosen for him is a little crude, but Beverly will only find a new name should he voice his displeasure. And besides, he likes the way Will reacts. Speaking of...
Will jumps, whipping around at the name, surprise and excitement written plainly on his face. "Hannibal," He breathes, snatching his glasses from his face, another thing Hannibal lives to see him do just for him. "I wasn't expecting to meet you until noon."
"It is noon." Hannibal says fondly, "Approximately—" he checks the watch on his wrist on purpose, a gift from Will.
He'd found it at an antique shop on a case in New Mexico, stating it's lack of functionality as to the cheap price for such lovely craftsmanship. Will had fixed it up himself, even adding a new leather band where the old one had cracked with age, and the back bears the elegant engravement of the letters H. L. Hannibal wears it whenever he knows he's going to see Will, and most days he doesn't too. "—12:07."
Will starts, eyes darting to the wall clock and winces. "Ah shit, sorry. I must have lost track of time."
"It's quite alright, my dar—" Hannibal stops mid-word, "....Will."
Beverly snickers, clearly catching his near slip. She nudges Zeller, who rolls his eyes, tired of being reminded of his own singleness, no doubt.
Will's shoulders hunch as his neck dips, a defense mechanism to appear smaller. He embarrasses easily, especially in front of his coworkers. He has asked Hannibal to refrain from terms of endearment in the workplace, something Hannibal isn't fond of. He wants everyone to know that Will is his now, that he has the privilege of calling him his own.
But he wants Will to be comfortable. Time to draw the room to a new conversation.
Hannibal steps carefully up to the photos of his crime scene, leaning in to appear curious. "This doesn't look like the work of our cutter.”
"It would seem he's attracted some unwanted attention." Will says beside him, relieved to have a subject change.
"Whose attention indeed." Hannibal muses, the slight upturn of his lips invisible to the crew behind him.
Like clockwork, Zeller takes the bait.
"It's been nearly 18 months since we've seen a Ripper murder." Zeller says, and the atmosphere turns a few degrees colder.
"Has he come out of hiding at last?" Hannibal asks, tone holding just enough indifference to hide how pleased he is.
Price's nose lifts from the microscope. "Judging by the display, it's certainly possible. We haven't had a chance to do a full autopsy yet and confirm it's the same techniques we are used to seeing from him." He motions to his microscope. "I've been comparing the outermost incision marks to try to narrow down what blade turned the guy's insides into his outsides."
Hannibal already knows, but he has a look through the scope anyways.
"It's strange, though." Will mutters, and Hannibal lifts his head, eager to see what his boy is puzzling out. "Why the Ripper would chose him." He says, index finger pressed blunt to the photo of their man's open death eye. "He is normally about statement pieces. People who have wronged."
"This guy did wrong." Zeller interjects. "We've been looking into his past, and he had close ties to the first victim." he says, picking up his notes again. He fllips around for the section he was reading when Hannibal walked in. "He worked with our first victim."
"He was interviewed after she died. He's quoted as saying—"
Beverly takes the pages from him, reading the group highlighted by words with a grim expression. "'the world is a little darker without her in it'. Sounds a little too poetic if she was just a coworker."
Zeller snatches his papers back," Well, turns out, our guy has a few write-ups about 'proper workplace conduct'. Apparently, he had made some inappropriate advances on her when they had overlapping shifts."
"So our guy asks her out, and when she reports him, he kills her for it." Price proposes.
"Some guys can't handle rejection." Beverly scoffs, crossing her arms as she leans her weight onto her desk. "I've had a few guys who didn't know how to take a hint to get lost. Thought they could push their luck, but I grew up with enough brother's to know where to put in a well placed kick." She smirks, and Hannibal doesn't have to fake the huff of amusement at the implication.
“That might explain the flowers. Yellow carnations symbolize disappointment and rejection.” Zeller says, and more than one head turns to stare at him. “What? I read.”
“Trying to impress a date, is more like it,” Beverly teases and Zeller bristles. Perhaps the date wasn't so impressed, then.
“Mr. Turner must have been quite a busy bee, if he was rejected so many times.” Hannibal says, directing the conversations where he wishes, hoping to see what his Will has already worked out.
"I'm not sure he was.” Will follows up with, and Hannibal has to resist looking pleased.
“There haven't been any other murders since we found Turner.” Zeller says, always eager to be the one with the correct theory. “It stands to reason he killed all of our victims."
"I don't think so.” Will says, giving the team his back to reexamine the photos. ”The first murder feels different than the others. The first one is about retribution, a punishment. I don't see the same feelings in the ones that come after."
"But they all look exactly the same."
"That's the weird part. Look at the arm placements," Will says, pointing to the pictures of the murdered girls. "All the bodies are posed the same way. It can't be an accident."
"Which just means he's deliberately staging them the same." Zeller says, like that proves anything.
"Not everything is the same." Price chims in, everyone turning to look at him. "The later victims are all missing one shoe, where the first was just a few feet from the body."
Will's hand drops to his side, the back of his palm brushing Hannibal's. It's such a simple touch, hardly anything at all, but it sets Hannibal ablaze all the same.
He takes a deliberate breath, too quiet for the rest of the team to hear him, but knows Will can feel it. Will doesn't touch him, not when his students or colleagues are in the same room with them. The reaction earns him a mile, as Will's pinky finger reaches out to graze Hannibal's, wraps ever so slightly around his when Hannibal presses into the touch. Around them, the others continue to speculate.
“Why take all but the first victims shoe?"
"He decided he wanted a trophy to remember them by?"
"So he evolved after the first one. Or he is just trying to relieve the first kill all over again."
Hannibal turns to view Will's profile, because no matter how many times he sees him, he is always left hungry. Will's eyes find his, and Hannibal can see longing reflected in them.
"You guys gonna hit up the cafeteria?" Price asks them, startling Will away from him. Hannibal wonders not for the first time if he could get away with eating him. As if Hannibal would ever let Will eat their meger offerings in his presence. "Wanna bring something down for me?"
"I think he's already brought something." Beverly says, noticing not for the first time Hannibal's bag.
"Indeed."
Will had tried to decline his offer of bringing food to his work when Hannibal brought it up.
"The last thing you should be worrying about is cooking for me after a five hour flight home," he'd said when Hannibal was boarding his plane.
"Nonsense." Hannibal had all but laughed, "after partaking so many meals crafted by others, I long for the chance to use my hands, especially for you~"
That comment had earned him a sputter of sounds, and a sure fire "Okay then”.
"Man," Price sighs wistfully, bringing Hannibal back inti the moment, "I would sure wish I had a hot boyfriend to brings me home-cooked meals."
"Not to worry, I haven't forgotten about all of you." Hannibal says, places his thermo nah in the table. From the contents he pulls out three aluminum trays and a silver tin from his bag. "Pork fried Rice, cream cheese wontons with sweet and sour dipping sauce, and beef and broccoli in a dark sauce."
The plume of steam wafts off the freshly prepared banquet as easy cover is removed, and the team gathers around to stare, mesmerized.
"Oh my God." Zeller moans, drooling already. "Marry me instead."
Hannibal rolodexes through for an appropriate smile. "You are all working so hard, I wanted to do something nice for all of you."
Beverly and Zeller immediately begin fighting over who deserves the beef and broccoli, while Price sneaks extra wontons onto his portion of fried rice in the chaos.
Will doesn't move from Hannibal's side, a pinched expression lingers in the bridge of his nose.
"Don't worry," Hannibal says, zipping up his bag and shouldering it again. "I saved some for us."
Will's tension lifts, though Hannibal knows it's not the food that has him worried.
"Would you like to eat in your office?" Hannibal suggests.
"Sure." It's delivered in a flat tone, but the glow in Will's eyes let Hannibal know he's gotten it right. Hannibal is just as eager to be alone with him.
"Remember to lock the door!" Beverly calls out.
Will looks back to shoot her a glare before he pushes Hannibal out the door. Hannibal only laughs. There is something about Beverly's delivery of humor that endears her to him. He hopes he is never faced with the need to kill her.
"Sorry about Beverly." Will says when they are in the safety of the hallway.
"It's quite alright." Hannibal assures him. "Her enthusiasm is refreshing, and I know she has your best interest at heart."
Will's lower lip purses to prevent him from smiling. He must be especially stressed if he refuses Hannibal his happiness even now.
Will's office is tucked away in the science department, just a few minutes walk from the lab. His teacher's cubicle is small, the back wall taken up by poorly installed cubby space for books and paper. The only other items inside is small desk and a chair on either side.
Will's bookbag is shoved under the edge, his work laptop open, but the screen saver running. A mountain of ungraded papers waits beside it, red pen ready to deal in a harsh reality to his students.
He's over loading himself yet again.
Once the door closes behind them, Will invades his space, placing a searing kiss to Hannibal's awaiting lips.
Hannibal wants to consume him, gather him up in his arms and feast. Instead, he hums pleasantly, reaching up to cup Will's pale cheeks. In lue is eating. Hannibal deepens the kiss, licking his way into Will's mouth, earning a needy whine from his lover.
"Should we lock the door after all?" He asks when they part, grunting when Will punches his ribs playfully.
"Oh, stop." Will laughs, pulling out of his embrace, moving himself a safe distance away. "I think once was enough. Mrs. Reinhart is definitely suspicious after last time."
"You wound me, darling."
"You'll live." Will says, more lively now. His usual smile whenever Hannibal is present has returned. "Now show me what you brought for me."
"With pleasure."