Chapter Text
Will had spent more time in the Quantico teacher’s lounge that month than he had for his entire FBI career. The scraping of plastic silverware, office gossip chatter, and the depressing office furniture really wasn’t Will’s scene.
It was Alana’s, though. She had taken to picking up more and more of his colleague’s classes. Will wasn’t sure if that change happened while he was in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane or only since he left, but Alana had been covering for one professor or another every week since he had gotten out.
At first Will suspected this was her way of keeping an eye on him, considering how wary he had made her when she had dropped off his dogs. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to press her about dating a serial killer. Although, that was before Will had formed his plan.
Now, Alana being at Quantico seemed more motivated by wanting to coincidentally run into Hannibal. After witnessing one of these definitely not accidental run-ins, Will was sure that Hannibal had surmised this as well but Alana played it off like a surprise each time. Will had no idea how Hannibal was still allowed to consult for the FBI after everything, but that was a whole other story.
Since she had made it her business to be at Quantico, Will had taken it upon himself to repair their relationship. He started this by making a point to hover around her, pretending to be looking for the salt in the lounge, or something equally as innocuous. After doing this enough, Alana couldn’t not acknowledge him.
One of Alana’s best qualities, and unfortunately her biggest downfall, was her social skills. She was one of those lucky few that believed in the good of humanity and tried to be polite to everyone. Praying on her good nature had been the catalyst to their now frequent lunches in the teacher’s lounge.
After some purposefully awkward blunders to get her to let her guard down and some safe topics to allow her to warm up again, the two of them had formed some sort of friendship.
Will had to admit, it was nice to have a friend again. Before the BSHCI, he only had two. And of course one turned out to be a cannibalistic serial killer who murdered the other one, so Will had been fresh out in the friend department.
Talking with Alana now made Will wonder if they had ever really been friends before. In the past, they had both danced around mutual attraction and he had certainly felt Alana pitied him, but did that count as friendship?
When Will saw her pull out the same tupperware she had been bringing to every lunch, he smiled to himself. Will had been carefully not mentioning the decadently packed lunches, simply pretending that neither of them knew who made them for her.
After Will questioned her judgement when Alana dropped off his dogs, Hannibal had become a ghost in their relationship. Until then, Hannibal had haunted their conversations silently.
Gesturing at her picture perfect meal with his fork, Will asked, “So, what did he make you today?”
Will had aimed at friendly curiosity, hoping that he had laid enough groundwork for Alana to not raise her walls immediately. Her cheeks flushed as she looked down, avoiding Will’s gaze. Perfect.
“Oh, um,” Alana paused, as if attempting to remember the elegant way that Hannibal had undoubtedly described it to her that morning. “I think it’s braised ham? Han- It was repurposed from our dinner last night.”
Noting how she stopped herself from saying Hannibal’s name, but that she was fine with talking as if he existed, Will pressed on. “Smells good. Then again, all the lunches he’s made for you have.”
Alana blushed again at this. If she had thought Will hadn’t noticed, she was very wrong. “Have they all been leftovers?”
This was getting at the true reason why Will broached this conversation. Based on the way Alana had defended Hannibal during his trial and then again when she dropped off his dogs, Will guessed that they started some sort of relationship while he was incarcerated.
It shouldn’t have surprised Will, really it shouldn’t have. Hannibal was known to be petty, Will just didn’t think the sophisticated psychiatrist would stoop to this level. Hannibal framed Will for his own crimes just to make sure no one believed Will when he turned around and claimed Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper.
But to top it all off by stealing Will’s barely there love interest? That seemed beneath Hannibal, and yet it wasn’t.
So, sue him but Will wanted revenge. If Hannibal was so keen on making Alana a pawn in their tortuous cat and mouse game, then a pawn she would be. Across from him, Alana pushed around her piece of potato, clearly debating opening up Pandora’s box.
Thankfully, she nodded and admitted, “He’s an amazing cook, who am I to refuse?”
Will bit his tongue on that one. There were so many things he could say to that, but to further his plan, he needed Alana to be on his side. At least for a little while longer. Faking some humility, Will exaggerated a shrug as he glanced down to his own meal. “I guess I wouldn’t know. Calling someone a murderer to their face doesn’t usually garner an invitation to dinner.”
Maybe he was betting too much, but he was hoping she would see his reply for what it was: an olive branch. Alana snorted, her hand quickly covering her obvious amusement before Will looked back up and met her eyes with a smile of his own. Sharing the joke together felt easy. The rocky tension from when Will brought up Hannibal dissipated.
“There do tend to be consequences to that sort of thing,” Alana supplied, continuing to eat at a regular pace.
“Well,” Will sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Of all the consequences of publicly losing your mind, I think a missing dinner invitation is the least of my worries.”
He watched as she smiled at him, hesitating before stating, “True, but you are really missing out.”
Judging by her pause, Alana was doing some testing of her own. Her eyes tried to catch his as Will shrugged again and humored her. “He’s your boyfriend, right? Doesn’t that mean you could sneak me an invite at some point?”
Alana laughed without hesitation that time, apparently thinking this was so impossible that it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. In her laughter, she shook her head, “Yeah, right. And he’s not my boyfriend.”
Ding, ding, ding. There was the golden ticket Will had been waiting for. He faked disappointment. “No?”
Her disappointment was real, though. The way that her bottom lip jutted out in a pout made Will remember why he had tried to court her all that time ago. She was unmistakenly beautiful.
Straightening her shoulders, as if to show it didn't bother her, Alana elaborated, “We haven’t made it official. He’s not really a label kind of guy.”
Her carefully even voice almost made it sound like she actually believed that. Will put on his best friendly voice and sympathized, “I’m sure he will soon, you’re a catch.”
Alana’s eyes latched onto Will’s, no doubt scanning to see if Will still had feelings for her. Whatever she found in his eyes seemed to put Alana at ease because she replied, “Thanks. He’s taking me to the opera next weekend.”
With that, Will had heard all he needed to know. He feigned interest in Alana’s opinions about whatever opera they were supposedly seeing until lunch was over. He surmised that, yes they were dating, Alana apparently was more into him than Hannibal was into her and they had a date next weekend.
Will’s plan could finally start, now all he needed was to start plugging pieces in.
Since he started back at teaching, Will had been adamant to not resume consulting just yet. This was to Jack’s chagrin and the head of the BAU made it known almost daily. Will knew that consulting would lead to being put back into Hannibal’s realm again and Will wasn’t ready for it.
Coming out of the BSHCI, Will was raw with anger. Not only had Hannibal betrayed his trust and friendship, ruined Will’s reputation, and killed his closest friend, but worst of all: Hannibal refused to die.
Sure, maybe picking hitmen at the state hospital for the criminally insane was a bit of a risk. But at the time, Will didn’t have a lot of options. He would have much rather killed Hannibal himself, but being locked up hadn’t allowed for it.
So, Will had picked someone who didn’t get the job done. A hit and a miss, so to speak.
Not that it mattered, Will wouldn’t miss this time.
Having this elaborate plan was honestly Hannibal’s own fault. Will would have been just as satisfied with breaking into Hannibal’s house and shooting him. But then Hannibal’s pettiness got in the way.
Now, Will was going to steal him from Alana, humiliate him and then kill him.
Thus, Will needed Jack. He wasn’t about to get thrown back in jail after only just getting out, so someone needed to cover for him. Jack was just thirsty enough for the Chesapeake Ripper to make it all work.
After Will’s last class, he found Jack in his office and made up a reason for why he was finally ready to resume consulting. The reason was paper thin, something about how now that his dogs have all settled back in Will could finally feel good about leaving the house sporadically. The reason truly didn’t matter, Jack was chomping at the bit to put Will back out there.
After Hannibal’s dramatics with Miriam and Chilton, Jack had used every trick in the book to gain Will’s expertise. The whole “saving lives” bit had admittedly gotten old. Jack didn’t care about saving lives, at least not all lives. Jack was perfectly happy to use Will’s as cannon fodder and it seemed he had still not learned his lesson.
So, when Will promised to come when he was called, it seemed to be good enough for Jack. In the most Jack-like fashion, he had immediately proposed going to the lab to check out a body that just came through. Before they left the office, Will paused and asked, “Is Dr. Lecter still consulting?”
Jack nodded, “Thought it would be best to keep him close.”
It was an admission of doubt. Will kept his voice light, but curious. “But not too close?”
He saw Jack shake his head. They had stopped in front of the door, not leaving the privacy of Jack’s office just yet. Jack’s eyes were hard as he peered at him, daring Will to lie, “Do you still believe he’s the Ripper?”
There was nothing to say except, “Yes.”
“Even after everything?” Jack was stark still, voice gruff with authority.
Will met his gaze, “Especially after everything.”
Jack lifted his chin in assent and walked out the door. Will doubted that would be the last of that conversation.
Halfway through the week, Will got a text from Hannibal while he was at home. Until then, Will had been leaving Hannibal in stasis. He wondered how long Hannibal would sit idle with their metaphorical chess game unattended to. Apparently the answer was about a month and a half.
If Will were to guess, Hannibal had wrongly assumed that Will would come to him right away and was now growing impatient. While working with Jack and dating Alana, it would be easy to imagine Hannibal being privy to updates about Will. Therefore, Will was sure that it had gotten back to Hannibal that Will wasn’t holed up on his property, isolating from everyone.
Just Hannibal, it would seem. Not even Chilton showing up on Will’s doorstep got Hannibal any reaction from Will. Apparently, Hannibal was going for a more direct approach this time.
A patient has requested the Thursday at 7:30pm slot. Shall I assume it is available?
Looking at his phone, Will rolled his eyes at this barely veiled attempt for his attention. Hannibal was a bit like a cat, he wanted attention but didn’t want to seem like he did. Truly, Will’s first instinct was to hastily write back, ‘you can assume whatever you want.’ Or better yet, not reply at all.
Unlucky for him, interacting with Hannibal was necessary. If he didn't already have a timeline from Alana, Will might have entertained toying with him more.
not this week
Will threw his phone to the other side of the couch and proceeded to ignore whatever response Hannibal had unfortunately graced him with. He had a mountain of papers to grade anyways, it wasn’t like he had time to wait patiently for a response.
Thursday rolled in like sludge. Knowing that he was seeing Hannibal that evening plagued him, creeping into Will’s mind and pulling at his attention. He knew what he had planned on, but doing it was another thing completely.
A piece of Will was concerned about whether seeing Hannibal in person would throw everything off its tracks. If his rage would be insurmountable upon seeing that sly, overconfident smirk being masked by calm concern. He shook that thought out of his head as he finished buttoning up his freshly ironed salmon shirt.
Enticing a socially sophisticated cannibal meant looking the part. Glancing at the mirror and seeing his reflection was satisfying. Gone was his unmaintained hospital look and in its absence was trimmed scruff that perfectly accentuated his jawline. Cut back curls laid over his forehead in just the right way and clear eyes that were as blue as the ocean looked back at Will.
That night, Will would see Hannibal through a lens unobstructed by sickness or desperation. He would meet Hannibal’s gaze as an equal.
Will debated knocking on the patient entrance’s door, but decided instead to wait for Hannibal to open the door for him. As expected, at 7:30pm sharp, the door opened. Will had his back to Hannibal, giving the appearance of admiring the artwork on the opposite wall.
When he was ready, he slowly turned to face Hannibal. The man in the doorway looked different than expected. For one, he wasn’t in his usual three-piece suit. Evidently, Will had dressed up and Hannibal had dressed down.
It reminded Will of their first meeting, when Hannibal was playing at being an average joe psychiatrist just wanting to help. He wondered if this was another ploy to look more human. Hannibal’s eyes were distant and apprehensive, despite the warm, practiced smile on his lips. “Hello, Will.”
After so long of not seeing him, Will had built Hannibal up in his mind to be more monstrous than he appeared. There were no antlers, no hoofs and certainly no dark shadow following his every move. What Will was looking at was just a man.
All that careless destruction and controlled violence was done by just a man.
A moment had passed and Will could see the calculation forming behind Hannibal’s gaze.
“May I come in?” Will asked in earnest, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s maroon ones.
“Do you intend to point a gun at me?” It was a serious question wrapped up in humor.
Will’s lips flattened out and he shook his head. His rage compartmentalized as he pushed past Hannibal, “Not tonight.”
Stepping into the office felt odd. Will had been in many therapist’s offices prior to this one, but none had been as interesting nor decadent. There had been, for a brief time, a sense of comfort here. Will had trusted Hannibal. In this very room, he had offered up parts of his mind that were closed off to others.
When he was stuck in his cell, Will had nothing to do but spend months going over each conversation. He had been beyond agitated with himself for being as open as he was with Hannibal. For not seeing through Hannibal sooner.
Standing in the office, Will could see why his past self had found comfort there. The warm tones, the scent of old books, and a man that exuded expertise yet presented himself as curious at worst and friendly at best. It had been the perfect storm of Will’s demise.
Behind him, Hannibal was speaking nonsense about loss. Will chose to ignore it. He wasn’t here to pretend like Hannibal apparently wanted to. Hannibal had meant something to Will, but Will meant nothing to Hannibal. The door of friendship had closed long ago. At least now they were finally on the same page.
“I have to deal with you. And my feelings about you,” Will glanced back over his shoulder, letting his body follow. Meeting Hannibal’s curiosity, Will continued, “I think it’s best to do that directly.”
Surprise widened Hannibal’s eyes minutely before amusement settled in. “What do you propose?”
Will draped his jacket over the back of his usual chair, “I think I’m past therapy now. You’ve changed me enough.”
Across from him, Hannibal followed his lead and stood next to his own chair as well. In a light tone, “The hope of every therapist is that our patients find the change they seek.”
Just short of rolling his eyes, Will looked away with a grimace. “I’m not convinced this was the change I was seeking.”
“You wear it well enough.” Will’s head snapped back, eyes furrowing.
“Was that a flirtation, Dr. Lecter?” His words were accusatory, but a smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “I didn’t think psychiatrists were allowed to do that with their patients.”
There was a coyness that sat in Hannibal’s smile, nonexistent to perhaps anyone else but Will. Hannibal straightened his shoulders and shook his head slightly. “I was merely commenting on your progress, Will.”
Will breathed audibly through his nose, unsatisfied with whatever Hannibal’s version of progress was. He wasn’t a doll for Hannibal to play with.
“And in any case, I was never officially your psychiatrist.”
Straightening his jaw, Will retorted, “Right, right. Just conversations.”
“What is it that you came here for, Will? If not for my death nor for my therapy, then what?” His tone was even, but Will could see how impatience and curiosity were bleeding together in front of him.
Finally sitting down, Will shrugged. “Nothing. Alana has been bragging about you and I got curious.”
Alana, of course, had done nothing of the sort. However, if Alana had been, Will imagined her uncouthness would be unattractive to Hannibal. He saw a frown tease Hannibal’s nearly still expression and then watched Hannibal’s graceful descent into his chair.
“Yes, Alana has been discussing you as well. I’m glad you have settled back into your old life.” By the sound of it, Hannibal meant no ill will. A comment for commenting sake.
But to Will, this was an offense. Will only settled back in, as Hannibal put it, because Hannibal wanted him to. If Hannibal hadn’t intervened, Will would still be rotting away in his cell and they both knew it.
As his jaw tensed, Will’s stare hardened. He carefully danced around the offensive comment, “I’m glad that you’re glad, Dr. Lecter.”
His hand rubbed at the leather of the arm rest, idly.
“Are you returning to consulting? I admit, I try, but I am no Will Graham.”
Will hummed his affirmation, “Mhm. Just cleared it with Jack. Been working on those bodies that were found in the abandoned schoolhouse.”
“It is curious how they all ended up there, stabbed in the same way.” Good. Consulting on cases was a safe topic. Will needed to let his guard down more, show that he can be amicable.
“Did you hear that they found wood shavings in the wounds?” Hannibal shook his head. “I asked Price if he could look into it. If I’m right, a stake through the heart feels vampiric.”
With mirth, Hannibal inquired, “Do you believe you’re on the hunt for a vampire slayer?”
Allowing himself a small smile, Will shrugged, “Angel maker, vampire slayer, all kind of sounds the same after a while. A person can make themselves believe anything.”
He observed the way Hannibal’s body shifted with interest, “Have the past killers merged in your mind?”
Will licked his bottom lip in thought, “Merged? No. More like they aren’t interesting enough to stand out.”
None except the Chesapeake Ripper.
“You want them to stand out?” Hannibal’s curiosity nearly radiated from him. Will’s interest in killers and lack of hesitation around gruesome subjects was what Will imagined drew Hannibal in nearly a year ago.
Looking over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will pretended to think for a moment before explaining, “I suppose the more interesting they are, the more satisfying it is when I catch them.”
And because his ego couldn’t help himself, Hannibal supplied, “Is it satisfaction you’re looking for with Chesapeake Ripper?”
Will cocked his head to the side, dramatically feigning confusion, “I thought the FBI just caught that guy.”
He could see the distaste Hannibal had for his artwork being associated with the likes of Fredrick Chilton, but Hannibal hid it well. “Are you as satisfied as you hoped?”
Smiling too wide to be believable as genuine amusement, Will replied, “No. I don’t think anyone is. Just another ploy by the real Ripper to get on Jack’s nerves.”
Hannibal paused at this, his head tilting in a way that would be reminiscent of a house cat. “You believe the Ripper is toying with Jack? What good would it do to upset the man trying to catch him?”
Will’s eyes bored into Hannibal’s. “The Ripper wants to humiliate Jack, to let him know that the closer Jack thinks he is, the farther he’ll be. He doesn’t see it as a risk, he sees it as fun.”
As he sank further into the chair, Will saw how his legs parting ever so slightly drew Hannibal’s attention. It was a blink and you missed it moment, but it was real. Previously, Will had theorized that Hannibal could be attracted to him. To his mind, almost certainly.
But attracted to more than that, Will had wondered. It was part of the reason he cleaned himself up that night. Will wanted to see the reaction, if there was a reaction to be seen at all.
Upon walking past Hannibal in the doorway, Will thought he had felt Hannibal’s gaze linger on him. And then again when Will had licked his lips, Hannibal’s eyes tracked his tongue. With clearer eyes, it was easier to pick up on these small notes of attraction. Although, Will doubted that Hannibal was either aware of these signs or that he thought Will noticed.
“You’ve stated before that the Chesapeake Ripper had no clear motive, is it possible that he killed for fun?”
Will couldn’t stop himself from barking out a laugh. The way that Hannibal almost implicated himself just to see how well Will knew him was comical. “Sure, we can call it that. Fun, whimsy, indulgence.” He paused. “Curiosity. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Would a killer with such a motive be interesting enough for Will Graham?”
Across from him, Hannibal’s eyes were steeled onto Will’s own, not so patiently waiting for an answer. “The Chesapeake Ripper always has my attention.”
“After such a public display, would you think that the Ripper would go into hiding?”
Will considered this as he traced the edges of Hannibal’s sweater with his gaze before saying, “I wouldn’t call it hiding. The Ripper might enjoy killing, but he only displays kills with a purpose.”
“He kills in his off time?”
Nodding, “Whenever he needs to restock his pantry, I guess.”
Hannibal switched which leg he had crossed and nodded to the clock in the room. “Our time is coming to a close.”
Will didn’t need to look at the clock to know that the hour hadn’t passed just yet. “I thought this wasn’t therapy, Doctor.”
He added in the ‘doctor’ just to hammer in the point. With a polite smile, Hannibal replied, “You are right, it is not. However, I do have another client at 8:30.”
Will tapped the armrest, looking away, “Someone interesting?”
“It’s our first session, but I do believe so.” Something about this irritated Will, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Would you like to keep this time?”
Shaking his head, Will exhaled, “I think I’ve had enough therapy for a lifetime.”
For a moment, Hannibal considered him. Will watched him uncross his legs and then suggest, “Perhaps you would be amicable to dinner, then?”
He tried not to smile and give away how that was exactly what Will wanted to hear. He managed a half-baked grimace as he stood up, “Sure. Same time?” Will paused for dramatics and clicked his tongue, “Oh, I forgot, the new patient.”
As expected, Hannibal swooped in with, “I’m sure they would be willing to swap, this was the preferable time afterall.”
Interesting, so Hannibal’s text wasn’t a complete fabrication. Will let himself be walked to the door. He turned at the last moment to glance back at Hannibal, “See you then.”
“Goodbye, Will.”
He looked away and heard the door close behind him. Will let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
On his way out to his car, he passed by a woman. Will could feel her interest in him as they passed. “Wow, I heard he was good, but I didn’t realize he was that good.”
Will took a second to realize she was talking to him. “I’m sorry?”
She appraised him, a smirk on her lips as she gestured to the building beside them. “Dr. Lecter. If I walk out of here looking that contemplative, I’d say it’s money well spent.”
He blinked at her, waiting to see if she had a point. Something clicked for her as her eyes widened, “You look familiar, are you famous or are we friendly?”
Will didn’t particularly care for small talk with strangers, so he thought he’d make this quick. With a careless shrug, he explained, “I’m the one who didn’t kill all those people.”
Apparently that gave him enough time to walk away without her calling after him.