Chapter Text
“I think it’s the Ripper.”
Will Graham didn’t react at first, giving the sign in front of the towering building a disgruntled look. Beau Ideal. He knew the place well.
They were in Washington D.C., barely a half hour drive from Wolf Trap. The short commute was perhaps the only reason he bothered to come at all.
“Were any organs taken?”
Jack Crawford – head of the Behavioural Sciences Unit – shook his head reluctantly.
“But,” he added. “Two ribs were surgically removed. I just want to be sure.”
Will almost turned around. He didn’t want to be there, especially after what happened the week before. Abigail Hobbs – the Minnesota Shrike’s daughter – was still comatose. It didn’t look good for her, and he wanted to be there if (when) she passed.
He knew these paternal feelings weren’t his own, just a by-product of getting too close to Garret Jacob Hobbs, but the knowledge didn’t stop them from overwhelming him.
“I know this is difficult for you,” Jack said, trying to be soothing, yet failing miserably, “but this is the second body to turn up here in the last six months. The first was ruled an accident, but now that’s coming into question.”
Meaning that there could be a new serial killer blooming right under their noses, and Jack wanted him to catch the scent before a third body was found.
Will shut his eyes, wishing he was at home with his dogs. The cracks in his psyche were already forming. He could visualize them like broken lines along the inside of his skull. Sometimes he thought they resembled antlers.
Maybe he needed a new distraction to rid himself of Hobbs for good.
He gave in with a sigh. “Alright, Jack, I’ll take a look.”
Jack nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, you won’t be looking alone.”
Will didn’t like the sound of that. A moment later, he spotted a familiar car in the parking lot behind a few police cruisers. He couldn’t help his instinctive grimace as Hannibal Lecter stepped out of his Bentley and approached them.
“Have you heard anything about Abigail?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Hannibal didn’t take offence at the lack of a proper greeting, merely smoothing down his paisley tie absently as he took in his surroundings. “Her condition remains unchanged. The nurses assured me that they would call if anything happens.”
Will looked away. “Someone should be with her.” He clenched his fists, enraged by the unfairness of it all. If he’d just gotten there a minute sooner.
“I plan to visit her after we finish here, however I felt my abilities would be better served by assisting you here.”
Translation: Hannibal was feeling helpless and wanted to distract himself by aiding Will on this new case. Part of him wondered if Hannibal knew he would be eager to move on to the next one.
For a moment, Will considered apologizing, but he didn’t want to drag this out any longer. He just wanted to finish this and go home. Getting friendly with Dr. Lecter wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled.
Jack led them down the corridors, passed the dressing rooms to the main hall where the photoshoots took place.
The room was crawling with CSIs, as well as Katz, Price, and Zeller. Katz gave him a friendly wave, and he nodded in return.
Will stood in the middle of the room for a moment, taking in the familiar sights. The stage was barren, overhead lights blaringly white. His head was already pounding. In the corner were several couches, all filled with tearful models, most of whom were barely out of their teens. A few investigators appeared to be asking questions. One of the older male models put his arm around the girl beside him, offering her some comfort.
A part of him wanted to go over there and help, but he knew he’d probably say the wrong thing and make everything worse. He always did.
Finally, he made himself look at the body.
Male, about twenty, though it was hard to tell with all the makeup. He sat under the lights of the photo studio for all to see, leaning against the blank wall, posed with one leg stretched straight out, the other tucked toward his chest. His hands were tied together with a length of rope wrapping around his ankle to keep it from moving. His head was tilted to the side, eyes wide and clouded with death, lips parted. A rope around his neck was the only thing that kept him from toppling over.
Will stepped closer, taking it all in. The makeup was clearly applied by a professional – a light foundation, silky rose blush, eyes lined with black, and long lashes accentuated with mascara, no clumps to be seen. A nude lipstick was used to make his lips shine. Patches of foundation dotted his arms, no doubt covering up bruises from the struggle. He noted a single raised bump in the crook of his elbow, possibly from an injection.
His eyes trailed down the man’s chest, landing on the dark red corset wrapped around his unnaturally thin waist. Below that was a pair of matching red, silk briefs that left little to the imagination. The position of the model’s leg saved him some dignity at least. A red sequined scarf was draped around his neck, hiding the noose from view.
“Alright, clear out!” Jack shouted, startling him.
The investigators rushed to obey, shepherding the tearful models out the door as well until only Jack, Hannibal, and himself remained.
“Would you prefer if Dr. Lecter and I left as well?” he asked, once again trying to be soothing.
Will looked away. “Yeah, I just need a few minutes.”
The moment he felt them exit the room, he relaxed, removing his glasses and opening his mind.
The pendulum swung. Again. Again. Taking away the clothing, the makeup, the ropes, until only a twitching, whimpering young man was laid out in front of him.
“You don’t understand what I hope to achieve, otherwise you wouldn’t have fought so hard,” he whispers. “I’m going to make you look magnificent.”
He approaches, runs his hands along the model’s ribs. “There’s just something we need to do first.” He picks up a scalpel, and the model, finally succumbing to either drugs or fear, passes out.
“I slice under both sides of the ribcage, through the abdominal cavity. I’ve practiced a hundred times. I know what I’m doing. The bone saw carves the bottom two ribs out. I remove them, and sew the body back up, washing the blood away. This has to be perfect.”
The corset is adorned, making the man’s figure resemble something more feminine. He has such a pretty face.
The makeup is easy. Routine. Posing the body is slightly more difficult, but once it’s done, he looks beautiful.
Good enough.
Will came back to himself slowly, clenching his hands which felt slick with blood.
He cursed under his breath, rubbing at his aching eyes. He just wanted to give Jack his profile and leave. Maybe he’d drop by the hospital for a quick visit.
After a moment, Jack returned. Will gave him a nod to bring everyone back inside, and soon the room was once again teeming with people, though the models had been relocated to a corpse-free zone to better question them.
“Alright, what did you get?” Jack asked brusquely. Hannibal stood just behind him, carefully observing while trying not to be intrusive.
Will averted his eyes as he recited what he’d learned. “He’s an older man, and he’s been in the business a long time. He’s obsessed with beauty in human form, and wants to preserve it by any means necessary. He doesn’t consider himself attractive, and some part of him is resentful towards those who are, but he mostly feels adulation for them.”
He cleared his throat, eyes sweeping over the room. “He’s targeting this company because it represents everything he loves and hates. Maybe the first time was an accident, but now he’s found a way to express himself. I think he’s going to try again, maybe in six months, but probably a lot sooner.”
Jack frowned. “Is that all you can give me?”
Will sighed. “He’s single, or at the very least he’s never had a serious relationship. He’s also likely gone through one of the usual stressors – loss of family member, or job, foreclosure, drug addiction or alcoholism.” He shook his head, rubbing at his temples. “Check the employees first. He’s connected to this place somehow.”
“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asked, concerned.
“Just a headache,” he replied, suddenly noticing a commotion coming from the hallway.
“It’s inconceivable that I wasn’t informed sooner!” a furious man spoke, marching into the room with a panicked woman just a few steps behind him. He paused at the threshold, raising his hands to cover his mouth. “Oh, that’s Zachary!”
Will recognized him immediately, and had to repress the urge to smile. He hadn’t changed a bit. Still hanging onto that incredibly posh British accent. His rimless glasses slid halfway down his nose. His hair was almost completely white, but other than that, he looked almost exactly like he did fifteen years ago.
“Mr. Prescott,” the woman said, gaining his attention. “Perhaps you should speak to the investigators.” She pointed over to them, and Will saw the exactly moment the man recognized him.
Mr. Prescott smiled warmly as he approached, adjusting his purple tie and smoothing out the wrinkles in his white button-up shirt. “Well, this is a surprise. I’d recognize that face anywhere. Hello, Will. It’s so good to see you again.”
Will smiled crookedly, not oblivious to the curious looks both Jack and Hannibal were throwing his way. “Hello, Elijah. It’s good to see you too. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Elijah’s manner turned somber as he gazed back at the model. “Quite so. This is dreadful. What am I going to tell his parents?” He clasped his hands under his chin and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jack interjected, “but, who are you?”
“Ah, apologies,” he said, holding out his hand for Jack. “Elijah Prescott. I’m the president of Beau Ideal. And you must be Agent Crawford.”
“Really?” Will asked, surprised. “What about your father?”
“He passed away from pancreatic cancer last year,” Elijah answered flatly, dropping Jack’s hand and adjusting his tie again.
“Oh, I’m…sorry.”
“Don’t be. The man was an insufferable prat until the day he died. I’m amazed he actually included me in his will and didn’t just leave all his fortune to one of his lovers to spite me.”
Will tried not to smile, but found it impossible not to. “Yeah, well, Jeremiah did care about you, in his own way.”
“He just didn’t think I was competent enough to run a business.” Elijah sighed. “Maybe he was right. This is a disaster!”
“It’s hardly your fault,” Will assured him. “We’ll figure this out, Elijah. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, enough of this. How do you two know each other?” Jack demanded, eyes flicking back and forth between them.
Elijah gave him searching look, as if asking permission, and Will shrugged his shoulders. “I did some modelling over the summers during my college years,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Elijah was my booker.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open, and Will tried not to take offence. “Your what?”
“My booker, you know,” Will shrugged. “The go-to guy for helping models find work. They help you set up your portfolio, get details about castings or photoshoots, stuff like that.”
“I still have your portfolio if you want it back,” Elijah offered, smiling pleasantly.
“Oh god. Do you still have my original headshot?” Will groaned.
“Of course I do,” he replied, sounding affronted. “I would never misplace something so important.”
Will groaned again, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I wish you’d burned that. My ears stuck out like Dumbo’s.”
“Your ears are adorable,” the man assured him with a grin.
The profiler laughed, ducking his face to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.
Elijah reached out to grasp his chin, turning his head from side to side to examine him. “My goodness! If all my boys aged like you, I’d save myself a lot of money on scouts.”
“What, did crow’s feet suddenly become fashionable?”
“Oh, don’t be snarky. If you shaved, you’d look fifteen years younger.”
Will laughed again, playfully pushing the man’s hand away. “I would not look twenty-two.”
“Honestly, I was thinking you’d look closer to nineteen.” Elijah frowned. “Oh, goodness! You’re almost forty! I suddenly feel ancient!”
The profiler grinned. “You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”
Elijah preened. “Why, thank you. If you decide to shave off that atrocious stubble, I’ll be sure to return the compliment.”
“My facial hair is not atrocious. I think it makes me look distinguished.”
“Then you either need a dictionary or a mirror, because it is in desperate need of a trim.”
Will grinned, not at all offended by the nitpicking.
Jack finally managed to get his facial muscles to cooperate, though he couldn’t stop glancing at Will. “So, Mr. Prescott, can you tell me who might have done this?”
Elijah’s face fell at the reminder of the dead model. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t know much of anything. I don’t get to speak with the models much anymore. I try to at least learn their names and faces, but I’ve been bogged down in administrative work since my father passed.”
“We’re thinking the murderer might be one of your employees,” Will said tentatively.
Elijah frowned. “I can’t see anyone I employ doing something like this.”
“But you said yourself, you don’t know the models all that well anymore,” Jack pointed out.
“It’s not another model,” Will corrected dismissively. “It would be someone higher up. Likely an older man who’s been with the company for a long time. Or maybe someone who left or was forced to leave recently.”
Elijah looked uncertain. “I’m not sure.”
“He’d have an obsession with perfection, maybe to the point of lashing out when his vision wasn’t achieved,” he continued, sensing Elijah was thinking.
The man bit his lip. “I think – well – the only one who fits that description would be Marshall Weber, the photographer. He was part of the company for thirty years.”
Will grimaced instinctively at the sound of that name. “Was?”
“There was an incident about eight months ago,” Elijah said hesitantly. “Marshall arrived for a photoshoot, but it was clear he was under the influence of something. I offered to reschedule for the next day. He was one of our best photographers, you see – everyone has bad days – but he refused. The shoot was going well, but one of the models, Riley Simmons, wasn’t holding his pose properly. Marshall became annoyed and snapped at Riley, but the poor boy – it was his fist shoot – he was so startled he knocked over one of the lights. By the time security intervened, Riley’s nose was broken and Marshall was threatening to kill him for ruining his shot.” He cleared his throat. “I fired him on the spot. I put up with a lot of eccentricities in my employees, but outright violence should never be condoned.”
“Was he ever arrested?” Jack asked, writing the information down.
Elijah shook his head. “Riley didn’t want to press charges. I assured his parents that I’d fired Marshall, and they were satisfied with that. Riley came back for a few more shoots, but then there was that incident – he fell off the stage early one morning and broke his neck.”
“Are you sure it was an accident?” Jack pressed.
Elijah opened his mouth, but then closed it again, looking over at the body one more time. “Oh dear, you think they’re related? It never even occurred to me. Marshall was normally an easygoing man.”
“Still, it’s a bit of a coincidence. A boy he’d threatened to kill ending up dead in a mysterious accident a few months later.”
Elijah looked sick. “I – I don’t want to believe it, but if it’s true…” He swept his hand over his mouth, down to his chin. “I suppose you need his address, then.”
Jack nodded. “That would be helpful.”
Elijah nodded back morosely. “I’ll go get it for you. I wish I’d done something sooner.” He turned away, shoulders drooping as he trudged back into the hallway.
Will watched him go, aching for his old friend, but he soon noticed the weight of someone’s gaze on him.
He looked back, and saw both Jack and Hannibal were staring at him. His hackles raised as he blurted out defensively, “What?”
“You were a model?” Jack barked.
Will shrugged. “Yeah, for a few years. Is that a problem?”
“I think what Jack is trying to say is that it’s a strange transition to wrap one’s head around, to go from modelling to law enforcement,” Hannibal said smoothly.
Will shrugged again. “I needed the money, and it was better than flipping burgers.”
“Still…a model.”
Will grinned, brushing his hair back with one hand and thrusting the other into the pocket of his jeans, canting his hip playfully. “Really, Jack? I know you’re straight as an arrow, but come on! You must have noticed more than a few of my students are hot for teacher.”
Jack blanched, mouth shrinking as if he was sucking on a lemon. “I just meant it seems a little beneath you, at least for someone as smart as you.”
He shrugged again, relaxing back into his normal stance. “Well, after busting my ass during the school year, it was nice to just stand around and look pretty for a paycheck.” He stretched. “Course all the brains in the world won’t stop you from stabbing yourself in the eye a few times while learning how to apply mascara.”
“You wore mascara!” Jack sputtered, a little too loudly as more than a few heads turned their way.
Will, rather than avoid eye contact or duck away as per his usual method of dealing with unwanted attention, instead raised a condescending eyebrow at the curious techs until they looked away, flustered. He grinned. “Forgot how much fun that is.” He turned back to address Jack. “And yes, even male models wear makeup, especially foundation. The lights can make your skin look like you’re slathered in grease without it.”
Jack blinked, then shook his head. “That…isn’t relevant. Did you ever meet Marshall Weber?” he asked abruptly.
Will’s good mood shattered immediately, and he grimaced again, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I know the guy.”
“What’s your opinion on him?”
Will glared at the wall behind the two men. “I know he’s a slimeball. Bad temper, too. He didn’t take rejection well.”
“Rejection?” Hannibal repeated, eyes flashing.
Will sighed. “Yeah, he had a bad habit of singling out clients and purposefully sabotaging their photoshoots.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Hannibal’s tone was extremely measured, but Will detected a hint of darkness that wasn’t quite as concerning as it should’ve been.
He shrugged again. “Weber would offer to do a reshoot with them, in private.” He glanced over, seeing both the agent and the psychiatrist cluing in on what he meant. “One of the other guys, can’t remember his name, he showed up early the day after visiting Weber, practically in tears because he wasn’t sure how he was going to cover up all the bruises before his shoot started.”
Jack’s posture stiffened, and that was the only warning Will needed to know who was behind him.
He turned around, finding Elijah standing there with two manila folders and a horrified expression on his face.
Will looked down. “Hey, Elijah.”
Elijah pursed his lips together, suddenly appearing furious. “Forgive me, Agent Crawford, but this is quite a shock. I had no idea that Marshall was exploiting my clients in such a way, otherwise I would have fired him much sooner.”
Will shrugged. “There didn’t seem to be a point to reporting it. It was us against him, and Jeremiah wasn’t going to put a few amateur models above his star photographer.”
“Us? Oh, don’t tell me he assaulted you, Will.”
“Nah, I never gave him the chance,” he assured him, brushing off his concerns. “As soon as he tried the whole sabotage routine, I quit the next day.”
Elijah tilted his chin up, affronted. “You could have informed me. I would have done something.”
“Your father would have trampled over any attempt to deal with him,” Will said dismissively. “Weber’s photos made the cover of Vogue. He wasn’t going to give that up on some hearsay.”
Elijah pursed his lips again, but nodded stiffly, holding out a folder to Jack. “This is Marshall’s contact information. It lists his last known address, but he may have moved. We haven’t spoken since his termination.”
Jack took the folder. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I hope you catch him, Agent Crawford.”
“I hope I do too.” Jack quickly took off with the folder, not even sparing them another glance as he flipped through it for information.
Elijah shook his head, then turned to Hannibal and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve been terribly rude. I haven’t even asked your name yet, sir.”
Hannibal smiled graciously and shook his hand. “Understandable given the circumstances. I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”
“A doctor?” he asked, smiling broadly. “That must be a useful occupation to have when people’s hearts stop at the sight of those cheekbones.”
Will groaned, smacking himself on the forehead. “Oh my god, Elijah. Don’t.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he replied, grinning shamelessly. “Oh, come now. I’m just teasing. I’m hardly going to steal your boyfriend, Will.”
Will’s face flushed until the tips of his ears turned bright red. “We’re – we’re not dating.”
“Oh?” Elijah replied, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Engaged? Married? Secret lovers?”
Hannibal cleared his throat, and for once Will was grateful for the doctor’s need to clarify things. “I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott, but Will and I have a completely professional relationship. We’re colleagues.”
Elijah seemed skeptical, but smiled genially. “Ah, my mistake. It’s just that when Will was discussing…Mr. Weber…you looked like you were planning to kill the man with your bare hands.”
Hannibal’s face was carefully blank. “I have little tolerance for people who use their positions of authority to prey on innocents.”
Elijah nodded vehemently. “I agree with you entirely. When I think of all the lives that were ruined by that man…” He glared at the wall. “I don’t consider myself a violent person, but I hope he gets the needle for what he’s done.”
Hannibal nodded back. “You’re very protective of your clients.”
“It’s a cutthroat business. Someone needs to look out for them.”
Hannibal nodded again, smiling. “Then I’m very glad they have someone like you, Mr. Prescott.”
“Oh, call me Elijah. Any friend of Will’s is a friend of mine.”
“Then I insist you call me Hannibal.”
Will observed their back-and-forth with growing discomfort until Elijah finally noticed. “Oh, apologies. Before you leave, I wanted to give this back to you.” He held out the second manila folder, and Will took it, flipping it open. His eyes widened as he came face-to-face with his humiliating headshot, and he closed the folder with a groan.
“Elijah, you didn’t have to dig out this old thing.”
“Nonsense!” he said, waving his hand. “I kept everything neatly filed. I knew exactly where it was. It only took a moment to retrieve.”
“That’s not what I – oh, never mind. Thanks for getting it, though I still wish you’d burned that picture.” He smiled awkwardly, tucking the folder under his arm.
Elijah clapped him on the shoulder. “I would never dream of destroying a face like yours. In fact,” He leaned in, and said in a sotto voice, “If you’re interested, you could stop by sometime and I’ll take a few updated shots.”
Will blinked, then snorted. “Oh, come on! You can’t be serious.”
Elijah puffed out his chest. “When it comes to my business, I am the epitome of serious.”
He shook his head. “No way. I’m too old for that.”
“Hardly. Like I said, shave your face and you’d look like a schoolboy. Not that I’m planning to go with that. If you really want to stay so rugged, we could do something outdoorsy.”
Will bit his lip, trying to repress a grin. “I’ll think about it.”
Elijah clapped him on the shoulder again. “That’s my boy! I’ll be waiting for your call.”
“I don’t have your number,” Will pointed out.
“I wrote it down on the back of your headshot.” Elijah smiled broadly again, bowing to them. “Will, Hannibal, I must be off.” He walked away, gesturing for the woman from earlier to follow him as he began speaking rapidly.
Will smiled at his back as he left, and then turned to find Hannibal was staring at him intensely. “What?” he asked defensively.
The doctor smiled. “It’s just a pleasant change to see you look so confident.”
He looked away, feeling awkward again. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s nice to remember that some people see me as beautiful instead of broken.”
“I’ve never seen you as broken, Will.”
The profiler fought down another blush at what that implied, and stuffed his hands into his pockets, momentarily forgetting about the folder tucked under his armpit. He recognized his mistake just a second after it fell to the floor, sending a collection of photographs scattering.
“Ah, shit!” he muttered, dropping to his knees to pick them up.
Before he could blink, Zeller seemed to teleport directly beside him, and reached down for one of the pictures. His eyebrows nearly bounced into his hairline as he got a good look at it. “Holy mother of – Jimmy! Come see this!”
Jimmy Price appeared at his side just as quickly, and Beverly Katz soon followed, standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the photo.
Will quickly scooped up the rest of the photographs and held out his hand. “I’d like that back, please,” he said flatly.
“Dude!” Katz exclaimed, her eyes darting from the photo to his face. “Is that you?”
Zeller glared at the photograph. “This makes me feel extremely conflicted about my sexuality,” he muttered to Price.
“Really, because mine has never been more certain,” Price quipped back.
Katz plucked the photo from Zeller’s hand and held it out. “Here you go, Graham.”
Will snatched the photo back and quickly tucked it away. “Thanks.” He turned around, intent on getting as far away from them as possible when Katz grabbed his arm. He glanced back, about ready to shake her off, but she smiled genially at him.
“I’m not even going to try to figure out what that’s about, but I just gotta say…woof.”
Price snickered, and Zeller looked even more frustrated than before.
Will couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “Thanks. I appreciate the compliment.”
He turned and left, Hannibal following behind him, and made his way back to the parking lot.
“Would you like to visit Abigail together?” Hannibal asked him, as if it was just a normal day. “We could drive back to your house so you could leave your car there, and then take my car to the hospital. I’ll drive you back when it’s time to leave.”
He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
The drive back seemed longer than it really was. Will couldn’t help but glance over at the manila folder on his passenger seat again and again. He wondered if he should just leave it at home, but some part of him wanted to go over the old pictures. They reminded him of happier days.
They pulled up to his house, and he opened the door to let the dogs out for a bathroom break, desperately trying to keep them from jumping all over Hannibal’s suit.
“Down, Buster! Winston, no! Harley, you sit!”
Hannibal smiled through it all, looking down at the giant balls of fur with barely-contained amusement. “You’ve certainly built an interesting family for yourself.”
He shrugged, leading the way into the kitchen. “Dogs are simple. They don’t care if you say the wrong thing, or don’t say anything at all. They communicate by touch more than anything.”
“Touching helps build bonds, especially between humans.”
Will rushed to fill the dogs’ bowls, desperately trying not to read too much into that statement.
“May I use the facilities?” Hannibal asked.
Will glanced at him. “The bathroom? Uh, it’s that way, last door on the left,” he said, pointing down the hallway.
Hannibal thanked him and made his way to the proper room. Will stood at the doorway for a few minutes before calling his dogs back in. They rushed for the food bowls, completely ignoring him as he took a seat.
Will ran his hand over his stubble, and found he couldn’t help but agree with Elijah just a little bit. Maybe he should shave it off. It wasn’t like he needed the facial hair to keep from being carded while buying his whiskey. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore.
Hannibal emerged from the bathroom, and Will shook his head, getting to his feet. “Ready?”
“Yes, are you?”
Will shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, somber. He gave Winston a goodbye pet, but the rest of his family hardly seemed to notice as he left.
They got into Hannibal’s Bentley, and Will was just grateful his shoes weren’t too muddy. The inside was spotless.
“I see you brought your portfolio,” Hannibal noted after they got back on the road.
Will flattened his hand on the folder. “Yeah. Figured I’d go over the pictures for old time’s sake.”
“Were you happy with that job?”
“Are we in therapy, Dr. Lecter?”
Hannibal smiled. “My apologies. I am simply curious.”
Will shrugged again, pulling out a few of the pictures and spreading them out on his lap. “Aside from Weber’s sexual extortion, it was the best job I ever had. I always knew what the photographers wanted from me, what emotions to convey, how to angle myself to show off whatever was being advertised. It wasn’t always fancy clothing either. They usually put me in casual wear.” Will lifted up a photo of himself in a navy blue shirt and faded jeans, draped over the backseat of a car with a slit down the front of his shirt and his legs spread open. “Sorta like this,” he said, grinning.
Hannibal glanced over to quickly peer at the photo, and froze in place.
Will blinked, surprised, and quickly lowered the picture. “You alright?”
Hannibal wrenched himself out of his stupor and turned back to the road. He licked his lips. “Perfectly fine. It’s just a bit of a shock to see you in that position.”
Will stared at him. “Okay then. I’ll keep them to myself while you’re driving.”
Hannibal swallowed thickly. “That would probably be for the best.”
Will slipped the photos back inside, peeking over at Hannibal every few minutes. It was a crazy thought, but it almost seemed like…
No, not possible. Hannibal Lecter was one of Baltimore’s Elite. He wasn’t the type to slum it with some unstable FBI reject.
Still, he found he had to fight down a blush.
Just because Hannibal knew he was messed up didn’t mean he couldn’t still find Will physically attractive.
This was too awkward. He needed to change the subject.
“I was so embarrassed when I went to audition for the first time,” he confessed, sinking into his seat.
Hannibal glanced over, nodding for him to continue.
“A scout approached me while I was working on an assignment for school in a local park. She said I had the perfect look.” He rolled his eyes. “She gave me a business card, but I didn’t call until a month later, when I was desperate for money. I went in for an open casting, met Elijah, and made $150.00 in three hours. Like I said, it was better than flipping burgers, so when Elijah called me two days later, I went back for another gig, and by the time I went back to school, I was working there pretty regularly.” He grinned again. “I still remember the look on Elijah’s face when I told him how old I was. He was convinced I was only sixteen.”
“You do look much younger without facial hair,” Hannibal commented.
He reached up to stroke his stubble. “Tell me about it. I didn’t stop getting carded at the liquor store until I was over thirty.”
“I know a lot of women who wish they could say the same.”
Will laughed. “I’ll bet. You must hang around a lot of bored housewives. They used to come to the fashion shows. One time when I was nineteen, this woman – Christ, she must’ve been in her fifties – she offered to pay my student loans off for me if I slept with her.”
Hannibal’s knuckles turned white as his gripped the steering wheel. “And did you?”
He shook his head. “No, I was tempted, though. Living paycheck to paycheck and more than ten grand in debt, you do a lot of things you wouldn’t expect you were capable of.”
“Were your parents able to help out with your education?”
Will shook his head again. “Nah. Mom left when I was just learning how to walk, and dad was a good ol’ boy who didn’t believe in no fancy schmancy degrees. He could barely afford to keep a roof over our heads most of the time.”
“It must have been very difficult for you.”
He sat up straighter, not letting the implied pity aggravate him. “I survived. What about you? Private schools and summer camps, I expect.”
Hannibal shook his head somberly. “I was largely homeschooled until my parents died. Then I went to live with my aunt in Paris, and started attending university when I turned sixteen.”
Will’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry. How did they die, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Pneumonia, most likely. We were living in Lithuania during the Cold War. The Iron Curtain was not kind to our family. I lost my parents and my baby sister the winter I turned fourteen.”
“Christ,” Will muttered. “Well, now I feel like an asshole.”
Hannibal smiled. “It’s quite alright. I’ve cultivated this persona for many years. The fact that someone like you cannot see beneath it reassures me.”
Will frowned at that, pondering a bit at the phrasing, but shook his head. “Still, it puts things into perspective.”
“Indeed. We can become so consumed by our own pain that we fail to notice it in others. I was quite miserable for many years after my family died, until I met a woman who had lived through the Cambodian genocide. She lost both her arms to gangrene after being tortured. I had the privilege of watching her change her infant son’s diaper with her feet.” The doctor smiled fondly at the memory.
Will mirrored the expression instinctively, mind already conjuring an image of a woman doing just that as easily as one might use their hands. “Must’ve been nice, being a doctor, helping people. Why’d you quit?”
“I killed someone,” he confessed, prompting Will to look over in surprise. “Or, more accurately, I couldn’t save someone, but it felt like killing them.”
“You were an Emergency Room surgeon. It has to happen from time to time.”
“It happened one time too many. I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies and no one has died as a result of my therapy.”
Will grimaced, suddenly aware of his own tactlessness. “I would make a terrible doctor.”
Hannibal smiled playfully. “Your bedside manner may need work, but you’re certainly clever enough for the job.”
He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “I doubt anyone would trust me with a scalpel. They’d worry I’d start to enjoy cutting people open a little too much.”
Hannibal let out a thoughtful noise. “I would certainly trust you with one…if you were properly trained, of course.”
“Well, that’s all the motivation I need.”
Hannibal just smiled.