Chapter Text
“Two days. I was gone for two days.” Will’s worked up to a brisk pace back and forth across the bedroom floor but not yet to wild hand-gesticulation. That usually comes next; Hannibal’s on the lookout for it.
“And I walked the dogs, as you requested. And they found her in the woods. Was I supposed to let her die out there?”
Will stops dead and stares at Hannibal, one eyebrow rising so high it’s threatening to fly off his face altogether. Hannibal can just about see him tallying up numbers behind his eyes - all the people he knows Hannibal’s killed, the smaller but more precious number they’ve killed together. They both know that Hannibal does not, in general, have a problem with letting death have its way. Or with giving it a nudge.
He ignores Will for the moment, running a hand over the kitten’s back instead. She’s so small she can just about fit in a single one of his hands, and she’s fallen asleep warm and feather-light on his lap. He murmurs quietly to her in his native tongue, Don’t listen to him, darling girl. He’s going to let you stay. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Will’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t know much Lithuanian but he knows darling. And there he goes with the hand gestures. If he gets a little more wound up, that muscle in his right cheek will start to twitch. It’s delicious. Sometimes Hannibal makes him angry just to see it. That’s not why he brought home the tiny bedraggled scrap of fur from the woods, but it’s a delightful side-effect of his impromptu decision.
Will’s hand flies wide and open as he ramps up, in a vague but emphatic gesture of frustration. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have four dogs. They’ll eat her within a week.”
“Not if you’ve trained them as well as you think you have, darling.” There goes the muscle twitch. “Lupo and Isa didn’t harm her when they found her, and we can introduce her to the others slowly. It can’t be that much different than introducing a new dog.”
“There are a million dogs who need homes if you changed your mind about us being at our pet limit. And dogs make sense. They do things. You can train them. Cats are impossible. Have you ever had a cat, Hannibal? Do you have any idea?”
Hannibal was expecting that, and he has his answer ready. And it’s true, but perhaps exaggerated just a wee bit. "We had a sort of barn cat when I was very young. I played with her sometimes. She wasn’t allowed in the house. I would have liked to have one later on, but neither orphanages nor boarding schools are particularly conducive to such things.“
Quietly, to the cat, in the language he intends to share with her if she turns out to be smart enough to learn a few words, he adds: You will learn, darling girl, that my beloved has a weakness for orphans. It may work to your advantage as well as it does mine. I suggest you play it up. She rolls over partway and blinks up at him and he would swear, he would swear that she understood, his clever girl.
The twitch stops and Will’s shoulders slump a little as some of his annoyance fades. “That’s not fair, Hannibal. You know that’s not fair. You can’t pull that card out every time you want something.”
Hannibal waits him out, patient, and does not point out that it was perhaps also not fair when Will brought home the fourth dog after they’d agreed to stop at three. This isn’t meant to be retaliation. He wants the cat; already feels an animal sort of kinship with her, her fussy ways and ravenous appetite and sharp claws.
Eventually Will sighs heavily and sits down on the floor, putting him close to eye level with the cat. She opens her green eyes and views him with a bit of suspicion, which he returns. It’s not the most auspicious beginning, but it’s not the worst either.
Will holds out a hand and the kitten sniffs at it thoughtfully. Hannibal tells her, It’s okay. He’s family. He’s ours. She considers, and then finally reaches out a single paw to hold Will’s hand in place. She licks Will’s skin curiously two or three times, then takes her paw back and returns to her coiled position on Hannibal’s thigh.
Will’s jaw twitches but he knows he’s beaten. He shifts to a more comfortable position since he’s already down on the floor, and leans his own head against Hannibal’s knee. He mutters, half-muffled by the fabric of Hannibal’s pants, “I’m not cooking for her, and I’m not scolding the dogs if they eat her.”
Hannibal resists the urge to smile. No need to rub the victory in. He moves his hand from the kitten to Will’s dark hair, running a hand through it to find where the strands of silver lie.
He’ll get up in a few minutes and start the dinner preparations he was holding until Will’s return. For now, he stays where he is and says only welcome home.