Chapter Text
Hannibal barely needed to put any work into his plan to catch Will Graham. The pieces had been arranged on the board, just waiting for him to make his move.
There was no need to play Good Cop/Bad Cop, because Will's life was already so extreme. He lived in a lonely hell populated only by psychopaths and serial killers, and it was steadily growing intolerable. Will mumbled through days at the academy and sweated through nights in Wolf Trap, and frequently allowed Jack Crawford to intimidate him into adding more demons to the legion inside his head. He was singularly incapable of caring for his own body, and he denied himself all forms of comfort save for stray dogs and Advil.
So when Hannibal stepped in, with his soothing blue office and his warm meals and his silent eyes, he automatically became the best thing in Will's life. He honestly could not have arranged it better if he had kidnapped Will and chained him up in the basement. It had all the potential of classic Stockholm Syndrome, with none of the fuss that came from actually kidnapping someone.
Their relationship continued in this manner for several months. Hannibal resisted the urge to escalate, and instead allowed Will to progress at his own pace. He treasured each conversation and every small intimacy as their interactions meandered away from 'professional' and toward 'friendly'. One day in early March, Will called the doctor by his first name and did not flinch when he rested his fingertips against Will's back, guiding him through the door. That weekend Hannibal killed a supple college swimmer in celebration. He used some of the meat to prepare sandwiches. Will preferred simple food.
To an outsider, the pace of their friendship would seem almost unnaturally slow, but Hannibal had never lacked for patience. Will was an intelligent man, and it would take many repetitions of outwardly innocuous behaviors before his subconscious would override his conscious mind and accept Hannibal as the source of all things pleasurable in life. His timeline allowed him to spend a year and a half taming Will, although he hoped that circumstances would bring him his man sooner.
Perhaps Hannibal had a dark angel watching over him, because the universe soon gift-wrapped the fragile empath and delivered him to Hannibal's doorstep.
***
Your brother's voice echoes in your head.
"You can't own a person, Mikey. It doesn't work like that."
He was right in some ways and wrong in others. You could own a person, you just couldn't keep him. You could try, though. Locking him up in the little room helped. That way you always knew where he was, and if you had to be away, you could imagine him, lying on his back on the comforter with the yellow roses, kicking his feet. So beautiful.
It wasn't that you wanted to lock him up. He looked nice out in the sunlight. You wanted to see him running through the yard, tossing a frisbee with the wind in his hair. But other people were outside, and they'd be looking at your boy. Some of them might even touch him. It makes you sick, thinking about the way men would leer at him on the bus. Imagining a girl grabbing his arm, pretending she'd tripped. All those people, watching your boy. Completely unacceptable.
So you keep him in the little room. But it's not good enough. He could be thinking about other people, inside his head. He says he isn't, but he could be lying. And he's changing, too. He's different already from the boy you used to follow around town. He's becoming someone else, and your boy is going away. Where is he going? Could be anywhere.
You realize what you have to do one day when you're making marks on your boy's back. He's so pretty like that, with just a little bit of blood dripping down. You're making a grid for him. There are science reasons, and math reasons, for why he's yours and no one else's, and you think the grid might help him see it. Plus, you like the small noises he makes, and the way his face looks when you turn him around. He's such a good boy.
And the only way to keep him good is to kill him, before he changes completely into somebody different. You're going to make his death so beautiful, beautiful for both of you, and he'll be yours forever. He won't be allowed to change anymore, and no one else will try to take him. It's the only way to keep him, and of course you have to keep him.
***
Special Agent Graham hits the floor. His knees bounce off the dingy linoleum, and he smells filthy plastic beneath his face.
"Is he having a seizure or something?" The voice sounds disgusted and a little bit excited.
God, I can barely even remember what my mother looks like. I wonder what she thinks of me, if she thinks I dropped out of college to do drugs or something. I hope she knows I was trying. Shit, he's coming back.
"Will? WILL! Somebody get him off the floor, check his vitals."
It's gonna be my last day with him, so I have to make this day last forever. It has to be perfect. Take a shower, shave, wear my best clothes. He said I looked good in blue, once. He's so quiet, but I know he'll understand what I'm trying to do.
"Special Agent Will Graham? Can you hear me? My name is Krista, I'm an EMT. Do you know what day it is? He's unresponsive."
Not the fucking knife again. Don't say anything. Don't talk. You know he won't kill you. If he was going to kill you, he wouldn't have waited months and months to do it. He would've done it right away. Don't act scared, he hates when you act scared of him.
"Did someone call Dr. Lecter? Well, his afternoon appointment can go fuck herself! Will's practically catatonic here. God DAMNIT!"
Pretty boy, sweet boy, it'll only hurt for a moment. Just focus on me and forget all about the pain. Don't you know how much I love you? I love you. I love you. You'll always be mine.
Everyone is angry and everything hurts. A raven stag is stalking toward him. He's slashing her white throat. He's holding a gun. He's hiding under the bed.
--No! Stop!--
--I love you.--
--Fucking bitch!--
--Is he gone?--
--Just die already!--
--God, it feels so good.--
"Will? Will? It's Hannibal. I want to help you. I'm going to inject a low dose of clonazepam into your left arm now. Your heart rate is very high."
It feels like he's been drowning for days and someone has pulled him out of the water. Hannibal. Hannibal is here. Will sits up very suddenly, knocks the empty syringe out of Hannibal's hand, and pulls himself toward the other man, clinging to his lapels. He hears the other bodies in the room gasp and mutter, and then he hears nothing.
He rubs his face into Hannibal's chest. Warm. Firm. Smells like…safe things. Cotton and linen and expensive dry cleaning. Turkey. Mint leaves. That exotic masculine scent that must be Hannibal's cologne. Will presses closer, trying to close Hannibal's suit jacket around himself. He wants to disappear into this man. He's the only good thing, the only safe thing. Hannibal closes his arms securely around Will, and Will knows the demons can never attack him here. He sobs, and Hannibal soothes.
"Shhhh. Shhhhh. Hush now, good Will. You're mine, yes? You are mine, and I take very good care of my things. I'll never allow anyone to damage you. I've got you. You're safe now. Hush, Will."
Hannibal rocks Will back and forth, murmuring quietly. Will thinks about his lips, wonders what they look like when he shushes. He feels hazy and muted, feels the benzos in his veins.
He comes back very slowly. Hannibal's shirt is wet. He pulls away, and Hannibal allows it, but leaves his hands on Will's biceps. He is staring directly into Will's eyes, and the other man cannot bring himself to look away. He swallows audibly.
"I had a breakdown."
"Yes. Do you remember why?"
"It wasn't…it was a pretty basic case. Old man stalked, kidnapped, and killed a college student. I don't know why it made me…it was like everything came loose at once. I didn't have any control. I forgot who I was again"
"Why did Jack call you in? Isn't he only supposed to call you for the special cases?"
"Yeah. Lately, though… You know his wife is dying. He calls, and…I don't know what to say."
"It is not your fault that Jack's wife has cancer."
"I know it's not my fault, but I don't want to make things harder for him."
"So instead you make things harder for yourself? You must protect yourself, Will."
"I know. Otherwise I break down and then I'm no good to anyone. They gonna send me to the psych ward again?"
"No. You are mine now, and so I am taking you home. I will care for you there, and Jack can borrow you when you are well again, but only if I believe he will not hurt you."
Will blinks, and tilts his head. He's tired, far too tired to argue with Hannibal. The doctor always sounds so impeccably reasonable, and Will hasn't really slept in a couple of weeks. Besides, the food at Hannibal's house is way better than the pitiful soup and stale crackers he'd get on the ward. He nods, and Hannibal smiles.
Has he always looked like this? It's like he's the only thing in the room that has color, or like he's got his own personal spotlight. Will accept that Hannibal might sneak into every room before anyone else arrives to ensure adequate lighting. He's feeling pretty accepting of just about everything right now. The drugs, maybe, or he's just done fighting.
The doctor stands, lifting Will to his feet by both hands. They're holding hands, and the thought brings only placid amusement to Will's mind. Hannibal strips off his suit jacket, carefully slides Will's arms into the sleeves, then wraps an arm around Will's shoulder and guides him out the door.
Jack had herded everyone into the front yard shortly after the psychiatrist arrived, and they now stare at the pair avidly. Fucking vultures. He turns his head into Hannibal's side and closes his eyes, trusting his friend to handle everything.
"Dr. Lecter. You taking him to Johns Hopkins?"
"No. I am taking him home with me. Will is going to take a week of vacation from everything, and then he will return to teaching classes only. I will tell you when and if he is ready to resume looking at crime scenes. You are not to call him before he is ready."
Hannibal's voice rumbles through his chest like a boat motor, and Will smiles. Everything about Hannibal makes him happy.
Jack is not happy. He widens his stance, puffs out his chest subtly.
"Are you giving me orders, doctor?"
Will flinches slightly at his tone, and Hannibal draws him in more fully, so his back is to Jack and his face is against Hannibal's chest once more. Safe.
"You promised to protect Will, and you did not. I do not look kindly on those who break their promises. We are leaving now, and I suggest you do not say anything further. I will call you if I wish to speak with you."
It occurs to Will that Hannibal is terrifying. Scarier than Jack. If he talked to Will in that voice, he would have a panic attack. But Will is the one under his protection, and Jack is the one shamed into silence.
Will keeps his head down, and Hannibal herds him into a car, opens the door for him and buckles his seatbelt.
Will leans his head against the window and doesn't look at anything. For maybe the first time in his life, he feels kind of peaceful.