Chapter Text
“You should apply.”
Will looked up from his laptop, his coffee beside him having long gone cold. Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening to half the conversation he and Alana were having. He was still immersed in wrapping up the threads in the final cases he was working on before taking a much-needed break from the FBI.
“Apply for what, exactly?” Will questioned. He went back to mindlessly typing before he glanced up again.
“The Secretary position.” She continued. Will recalled a bit of what they were talking about. His job. His search for a job.
“Where?”
“Hannibal’s office. He’s looking for a new secretary. His last one moved to the United Kingdom to be with her now-husband. Their engagement was a long one so it gave Hannibal long enough to get things in order, but he’s been having a hard time finding someone… suitable enough for the role. Especially for his tastes.” Alana mused.
Will stopped typing, his thumb hitting the space before he paused and finally retracted his hands. He decided it would be better to listen now, giving Alana his full attention.
“His tastes? What is that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head curiously.
“Hannibal is very particular about his secretaries. He holds them to high standards, someone who can type fast, follow directions quickly, and someone who can be even-keeled when greeting patients.” She trailed off slightly, knowing that Will probably wasn’t the best for the position, but he was more qualified than the others trying to fill it.
“And you think that's like me? Hm? Obedient? meek? even-keeled?” Will taunted back.
“You’re halfway there. A little bit of training never hurt anybody…” She stopped for a second, giving Will the sort of pity look she always did. “I think it’d be good for you. It’d be good for you to be doing something. A quieter, controlled environment, with routine. It’s just what you need. It’ll keep you busy without keeping your mind as busy.” Will sighed at that.
Alana pulled the paper application out of her satchel and towards him across his desk.
“Just keep me in the know? Hm?” She said sweetly before leaving Will’s office.
Will eyed the application left on his desk and reluctantly, but willingly, took it.
Will sat in the waiting room of Hannibal’s office. He’d passed the empty secretary chair as instructed in the online application directions. That would be his desk if he got the job. It looked comfortable, quiet, and routine. He felt like a patient. Of course, he had never been here before, even though Jack had tried pushing him into the patient position more than once. It was ironic considering their first meeting in Jack’s office. He really shouldn’t be here. The way he acted, the way he’d snapped on the man, the last thing he’d said to him was hardly ‘even-keeled’.
Will stared up at the frames hung on the wall, beautiful oil paintings, that of orchids, and animals, some to note were The Shrew Tamed, Leda and the Swan, and The Sacrificial Lamb, there were others, classical paintings hung all across the wall, all prints of course, but it was, particular.
Will couldn’t help but stare at the tied-up lamb before he pried his eyes away. He didn’t have much to do with himself. He couldn’t do anything to settle his nerves. He should probably leave. Even if he were to do excellently on the interview, the way he’d left things with the man the last time they had met wasn’t going to be made up with a few polite words and a please. Just as he started to get up to leave, the office door opened.
There he was, the same eccentric, european psychiatrist. Suit perfectly tailored, hair perfectly styled, that same unnerving soft Cheshire grin, his lips only curling more as he saw Will sitting there.
“Will, a pleasure to see you again, please, come in.” He said, stepping to the side, inviting Will into his office.
“Doctor Lecter.” Will greeted in return, he was nervous, he maintained some emotional distance from the man, to him, they weren’t on a first-name basis, but the doctor seemed to think otherwise.
He carefully sidestepped to pass the man when he didn’t move from the threshold of the door, it brought them closer than Will liked, close enough to scent his cologne. Rich and deep, imposing sandalwood and vanilla, elegantly masculine. It was much better than some cheap axe body spray or overwhelming, spicy patchouli cologne most men would use. But he still couldn’t understand how even the man’s choice of cologne irritated him. Yet he didn’t dare speak out of line about it. Everything about the man was seemingly perfect , maybe that was why he irritated him so. Will couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the aroma, which didn’t go unnoticed.
“I apologize for the smell. I haven’t had the office cleaned in some time. My last session just ended as well, I must say that his choice of hygienic products are, to put it politely, subpar.”
“My nose was itchy…” Will said not caring for the explanation. Hannibal paused, his smile growing even more at that.
“Even so, I apologize.” He stated and gestured with his hand to the leather seat he wanted Will to sit down in. Will followed the silent direction, only for his thigh to knock into the glass coffee table next to the leather chair he was supposed to be sitting in. Hannibal’s gaze felt slightly sharper now.
“Careful.” Hannibal urged, it wasn’t a warning but it felt like one. Will quietly and sat himself down.
“What happened?” Will asked.
“In regards to?” Hannibal questioned, folding his arms in his now crossed lap.
“Your secretary, I mean.” Will clarified.
“She became engaged, gave me a letter of resignation and two weeks notice, then followed her love to the United Kingdom.” Hannibal explained, simple, direct, concise. It matched with what Alana had said. He was testing, of course.
“I… want to apologize,” Will started “For how our first meeting ended. In Jack’s office…”
“No need. I should apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again, and you will tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.” Hannibal hummed.
“Then it would be best to keep it professional,” Will suggested.
“God forbid we become friendly.” His tone, amused.
“I don’t find you that interesting.”
“You will.”
God he needed to leave.
Maybe save himself the trouble of dealing with this man. He reconsidered. Dealing with another job search, another explanation, or returning to the FBI was too much to deal with. A small silence before Hannibal decided to break it.
“You’re rather over-qualified for the position of a secretary. Routine and mundane tasks, I worry they might bore you to death.”
“I want to be bored.” Will admitted.
Hannibal tilted his head, curiosity piquing, but for now, he wouldn’t press as that got him nowhere the last time.
“You’ll be expected to use a computer for some work, but I prefer my secretary use a typewriter as well. Have you ever used one before?” Hannibal asked.
“I have, but not in a long while” Will reluctantly admitted. “ but I can re-learn.” He answered.
Hannibal seemed to be pleased with that answer. Not many people still used typewriters in office areas, but he wasn’t opposed to it.
“Would you mind getting my coffee while I review your resume and application?” Will’s brow furrowed in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but soon pressed his lips together as Hannibal spoke again.
“Consider it part of the interview.” Hannibal gestured to a door to the side of the office.
Will decided not to question it and made his way over to the door. It was a break room area. It had a small table, a counter with a toaster, fridge, cabinets, electric kettle, coffee grinder and an espresso machine. Will decided to look in the cabinets first, finding only coffee glasses, mugs, tea cups, and plates. He then found the coffee beans. He was hoping for some instant coffee, but of course, the pompous psychiatrist was too good for that, he’d never drink it. He didn’t find any grinds, so he’d have to grind some himself. This wouldn't be the most difficult thing he’d done. He’d made real coffee before. Except he’d only used a grinder and a french press.
He already regretting even coming here.
He had to look up what to do and remembered what he’d seen baristas do in coffee shops. He followed the directions for the grounds, tamper press, and the portafilter but realized there was no water in the kettle. He found the glass jug in the corner of the counter, but underestimated the weight. It was heavier than he thought it would be, and the jug was full. He lifted it with one hand but soon realized that as the jug dipped down and Will quickly hugged the glass to his chest to prevent it from falling, but in return, he’d spilt water all over himself.
The liquid quickly drenching the cloth from his collar to his belt line, but luckily enough, he hadn’t spilled that much. Unluckily enough, he’d chosen a lighter colored shirt to wear today, a light lavender, now soaking into a bruised purple, almost as bruised as his ego. He stared down at himself.
Fantastic.
He slid the jug back onto the counter. he was now wet, anxious, and irritated, what a trifecta.
He took a breath in and let it out slowly. Of course it had to be complicated, of course it couldn’t be simple. Hannibal Lecter wasn’t simple, a simple man wouldn’t expect his secretary to bring him gourmet coffee on a whim. Although Will wasn’t a simple man either, he wouldn’t make himself a simple secretary.
He picked up the jug again and filled the kettle, and set the temperature. he then took the portafilter and twisted it onto the espresso machine and made sure he pressed the right button and filled two espresso shot cups. He decided to use a mug rather than a glass. He didn’t trust that it wouldn’t explode as soon as he poured the boiling water in. He poured in the espresso shots first, then the water as soon as it was done. He was able to find the sugar, they were cubes, of course they would be. He added five just for good measure and stirred. He then let the coffee sit for a while as he took a paper towel and cleaned up the spilt water and tried to dry himself off, but it was no use.
He made his way out of the break room with coffee in hand, soaked and stressed from the experience. But still, he’d done it. He saw Hannibal reviewing his file and set the coffee down on the metal coaster on the small table beside him. Only then did Hannibal acknowledge his existence.
“Thank you.” He said.
Hannibal looked the other up then down to his belt line where the water stopped. Another obvious but barely visible, amused smirk crept onto his face. He closed the file and set it on the small glass table next to his coffee.
“I’ve reviewed your application and resume. You’ve held good positions in academia as well as field work. Your skill set is broad, you have experience. You’re more than qualified for this position, overqualified. You were a police officer before you became a professor. What made you leave the police force?” Hannibal asked, interview becoming psychiatric.
“I got stabbed.” Will knew that things like this were going to come up. He didn’t doge the question, but he knew Hannibal was going to press him further.
“Where?”
“Shoulder.”
Hannibal looked over Will. Again, he felt uncomfortable. He tapped on the arm of his chair in an attempt to soothe his nerves.
“That wouldn’t have made you entirely unable to continue police work.” He was pressing further.
“Harder to shoot a gun with a faulty rotator cuff.” He desperately wanted to get this part over with.
The psychiatrist hummed in agreement.
“You have no trouble arriving on time and answering the phone. But I must say, compared to consulting, profiling, and lecturing at the FBI, this is dull work compared to what you’ll be leaving..” He insisted, he wanted to see if Will truly wanted the job or not.
“I like dull work.”
Hannibal’s smile widened. He crossed his leg off of the other, finally reached for the coffee beside him and sipped. Will watched intently, wanting to know if he’d done good or not, only to see Hannibal’s face twist with a different emotion than he’d seen since he’d met the man. He pursed his lips before he licked them and set the coffee down.
“How is it?” Will decided he’d rather ask than keep himself of edge.
Hannibal’s lips parted as he sucked in a breath and let out a small titter.
“Potent and…” Hannibal swallowed his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Scalded.” Will looked away shamefully.
Ring
The phone rang on Hannibal’s desk, and they sat there, both of them unmoving.
Ring
Will looked to Hannibal, who was simply looking at the ringing phone on his desk. Another ring later and Hannibal stood, striding to pick up the phone, but didn’t answer it. Instead, he brought the receiver to Will and placed it in his lap. Will looked up at him.
“Less sugar in the coffee.”
+++
Will finally made it to Alana’s office, and there he stood in the doorway, damp and dissatisfied. He’d landed the job, hired on the spot, but he didn’t feel like celebration was in order. It didn’t take Alana long to notice Will in the doorway, especially with how he looked.
“You’re wet?” She tilted her head with a confused smile.
“I haven't noticed.” He sighed as he made his way to sit down in one of the chairs across from her desk.
“Well? How did it go?” She wasn’t too worried about the answer.
“I’m now officially the secretary of a pompous, eccentric, European psychiatrist.”
Alana’s eyes lit up at the news. After all Will was perfect for the role, and Hannibal had expressed his interest in Will beforehand. They’d talked about him, yes, but she wasn’t sure if he’d get the job even after Hannibal found out he applied.
“I knew you could do it.” She chirped.
“You set me up.” Will said.
“How so?” Alana retorted.
“You failed to mention I would be subjected to trials of the Odyssey.” Will sighed.
“And what trials did you face, Odysseus?” She played along.
Will practically sank into his chair, not that the task itself was hard to complete, but the mental exhaustion of being watched and analyzed was weighing on him.
“He had me make him coffee.” Will stopped gauging Alana’s reaction to see if she’d know what he was talking about. Her face showed no sign til it sunk in a little more. Realization covered her face.
“I’m assuming it was all from scratch? No instant, no preground coffee beans?” She said, she knew Hannibal would never touch instant coffee, let alone an average blend of beans.
“He has an espresso machine in his break room.” Will said running one hand over his face, his thumb and pointer coming to pinch his temple. He didn’t know how he was going to survive this.
“Of coure. Knowing him it isnt so much of a break room, more of a private kitchenette.” Alana teased, Will only sighed more at that.
“I have to get the rest of my things today.” Will said, it was bittersweet, even if he was only leaving for a while.
Although the role of secretary was much simpler than his position as a professor or consultant, he somehow felt this was going to be harder for him in many ways. If he had to learn to make coffee like this and different types of coffee, he’d rather let himself freeze out in the wilderness of Wolftrap than return to that office and kitchenette.
Jack was, of course, having a fit about him taking a leave. There were other profilers, other detectives, even if it took two or three to replace him, there wasn’t a shortage of investigators for the FBI. He’d still consult on particularly difficult cases, but only if push came to shove.
“Jack still taking the news poorly?” Alana wondered.
“Taking it poorly would be a kindness.” Will scoffed.
“That bad?” Alana sighed.
Jack had never been great at respecting Will’s boundaries, driving all the way to Wolftrap in the middle of the night to wake him up so they could catch a spree killer, making him stay after hours countless times looking at gruesome crime scene photo, after gruesome crime scene photo. But Jack had a good heart and passion. He cared about people and cared about getting justice. Will still wanted to be a part of that, just less so.
“What did he say?” Alana sighed, knowing that Jack never hid how he felt about anything. Especially when it came to Will, he was quite harsh.
“He said that me leaving would be ‘a mistake’ and ‘tantamount to selfish’ and that i’m ‘wasting my mind's abilities behind a desk fetching coffee for a man I almost bit’. Very Jack, isn't it?”
“Very Jack indeed.” Will looked over Alana’s office, finding one singlular picture of her and Hannibal during her residency.
“Do you trust him?” Will asked.
“Hannibal?” Alana blinked.
Will only hummed in response, eyes still on the picture. He thought about his treatment today, sure the man was a bit invasive, but he could grow accustomed if needed, set boundaries…
“I do. I trust him with my life, and I trust him with yours. I wouldn’t have suggested you to him if I didn’t.” Will found that slightly comforting.
He stared at the picture again, that same smile painted on his face, he wondered if the man could make any other expression.
“I will say though, you are an improvement compared to his last secretary.” She continued.
“How so?” Will asked, he highly doubted that was the case.
“Collette wasn’t a very… pleasant woman. Classically and snobishly french, she was of course polite, but she never looked happy, always had a sort of scowl on her face. I tried to talk to her while I was waiting for Hannibal to be done with a patient once, it didn’t go over too well. I’m starting to think that Hannibal hired her because no one would dare flirt with her. Not so say she wasn’t pretty, but she was just, intimidating. She got happier when she got engaged, and she did her job well.” Alana explained.
“You think I look happy? People will try flirting with me?” Will scoffed.
“You don’t look happy, but your pout is rather endearing. Trust me, you have more charms than she ever did working there. A prettier face too.” She smiled of course teasing Will. It made him smile.
“The only thing I somehow managed to charm was Hannibal into giving me the position.” He sighed.
“Not many can charm Dr. Hannibal Lecter after serving him overly sweetened, overly espresso’d, burnt coffee.” She said happily, a silence passed between them.
“He’s toying with me isnt he?” Will asked.
“He is, but it’s not without honest or good intention. It means he respects you.” She answered.
“I don’t trust him.” He revealed.
“Then why did you apply?” Will stared off thinking about why he even applied, why he went to the interview, why he let himself be humiliated, not only for the job.
“I… I guess im, interested.”
+++
Will had finally made home. Pulling into the drive way and getting himself inside was all a blur, so was most of the drive home. He fell to his knees inside, greeting his dogs happily. It a nice consolation for what he’d had to endure while packing up the rest of his desk. Jack had guilt tripped him into consulting on the shrike case again. All those poor sad dead girls. He’d ended up consulting for an hour, giving Jack and the forensics team the best information they needed, he couldn’t let himself get involved further, it wasn’t good for him.
Those girls were all he could see, Elise Nichols was the straw that broke his back, he needed time, he needed less of it all. He knew he wouldn’t live with himself if he stopped complteltly though, so the deal he’d made with Jack earlier was the best he could get. He’d come when Jack called about hard cases, he’d consult, he’d help, but only if he was allowed. After all he had a new employer.
He’d left his box of office belongings in the car. He was going to move some of them onto his new desk soon so there was no point in getting anything inside. His eyes felt heavy, he knew whiskey wouldn’t do him well right now, so maybe some coffee would lull him to sleep well enough, or maybe tea.
He filled his kettle with water, then placed it on a stove burner on high flame. He made himself sit down in his chair, his dogs now settled in their beds and cuddled together on the floor. Winston, his newest stray, at his feet. It was peaceful yet his mind wasn’t at ease.
Then came the kettle’s calling.
Will made sure to stand up calmly and quietly for the sake of his dogs, the only one who really paid much attention was Winston. He wrapped his hands carefully around the handle, placing it on the dining table across from himself as he sat down again.
For a long moment, he simply stared at it, as if it would give him an answer. Elise Nichols, all those dead girls, Jack’s lecturing, Alana’s pity, Hannibal’s…
Invasivness.
Will slid his hand down to his right thigh, smoothing the fabric over the flesh and muscle there. Inhaling shakily, he didn’t give himself the chance to think. Wrapping his fingers around the handle again, pressing the searing enameled cast iron surface to his denim covered thigh.
Heat burned through the fabric immediately, it radiated in waves. Will’s breath caught in his throat and he bit his tongue keeping himself quiet. Muscles tensing, body reacting, he felt alive. Very nerve sparked, every distilled, concentrated into this very moment. Whimpering softly he gripped the handle tighter letting the weight do the work, he put his head back, his body shaking with the sensation, the resulting pain, the accompanying contentment. He quickly tossed the kettle on the table away from him now and rested back against his chair, quick pained breaths leaving him, his hand went back to smooth the warmed fabric now releasing a satiated sigh.
“Secretary.”