(no subject)
Jul. 28th, 2018 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Alana let him access the video feed from Hannibal's cell sometimes. If he asked. Which he never did. Not till today.
He understood. Understood why Hannibal had put himself here. Let himself be caught.
So he would always be there, a constant temptation. An itch Will promised himself he wouldn't scratch.
He has a family. He was happy.
But that itch never stopped. Like a constant low-level migraine.
Hannibal was inside him, behind his eyes, in the folds of his brain. He could hear Hannibal's voice behind his own words, like an echo. Like a ventriloquist.
He'd woken badly. A nightmare he couldn't quite remember. Which was unusual for him. He could almost always recount his dreams in perfect, horrifying clarity. Taste, touch, smell. Realer than real. Making him question reality. His reality. His sanity.
His house smelt like dogs. It felt like Molly's warm body and the sigh of her breathing. Outside it was still dark and the air crackled with the sort of cold that threatened an early winter.
And yet the scent of Hannibal's cooking, the smooth wool of his plaid suit. The memories lingered in the air, realer than real.
Molly barely stirred as he got out of bed. She was use to his nightmares, use to him getting up three or four times a night to shake them off. It use to be more when they met. Maybe he was improving. Just maybe.
A couple of the dogs stirred as he padded barefoot into the kitchen, lifting their heads and wagging their tails in the hope of treats. He hushed them back to sleep and made himself coffee.
He shouldn't. Not this late. Or was it early. He'd long taken the batteries out of his only clock. The ticking reminding him too much of something... something else he'd heard. Something that has been done to him in this weeks of fever and madness. Another itch in the folds of his brain.
The thought made him look out the window, to the spot where Hannibal had surrendered himself. Where he had burrowed himself deep, so Will would know where to find him.
And for a moment Will could see him there, unaffected by the cold, which eyes for no-one but Will.
Hannibal who he trusted. Hannibal who he had confided in, who he would have raised Abigail with. Who killed and resurrected Abigail only to kill her again. Who had intended to eat Will brains directly for his head.
Hannibal, who haunted his sleeping mind as much as Will tried to put him out if his waking life.
The itch. The ache.
He would never admit it to another person but he missed Hannibal's office - the smell of books and leather. The warmth of it. He could feel the smooth wood of the library ladder under his hand. Almost more familiar than his dining room table.
He didn’t need the pendulum swing to take him back there. Not the way he needed it at crime scenes. He wasn’t searching for something or collating evidence, he was going back to a familiar place. A room in his own mind palace. Perhaps it was one shared.
Everything felt right, familiar. The crackle of the fire; the wood chosen for its scent as much as the way it burned. The heavy drapes holding back the cool of the night, making a cacoon of leather and paper and conversations and company.
All that was missing was Hannibal. It felt wrong to be there without him.
And yet he was there – in the corner of Will’s eye, the pressure between his shoulders that at any moment would become the touch of Hannibal’s hand. The itch in the folds of Will’s brain.
But he needed something, something more. Something to make the phantom of Hannibal’s presence manifest.
On a whim he texted Alana.
Tell me he’s still in his cage.
Then put his phone down without expecting an answer. It was 2am according to the little screen. There was no reason to think she’d be up. But she’d understand when she got the message. At least, she’d understand what she thought Will needed to know. That Hannibal was still safely locked it. That she had him secure.
She’d think Will had had a nightmare and wanted reassurance. And that was fine too. It essence it was true.
Will doubted she’d understand. How much Will missed Hannibal. She would miss him too, but in that angry way she carried like a shield too. She missed the mask; the veneer of humanity Hannibal wore for them.
Will missed the monster he’s walked the streets of Europe to find.
The beep of his phone was so loud in the still darkness, Will cursed, fumbling to open the message before the sound woke Molly and Walter.
A text back from Alana. And so soon.
I lose sleep that way too.
And then a link.
Will clicked the link, suddenly grateful Jack had pressured him to upgrade to a smart phone. But connection wasn’t great in the house, but on the corner of the pouch there would be enough bars to open it.
A live feed to Hannibal’s cell – black and white, but crystal clear.
He found himself taking a screenshot before closing the feed. He’d forgotten to charge his phone again and the battery wouldn’t last long streaming.
Besides, he had to text Alana back.
Is that ethical, Dr Bloom?
He didn’t add a smiley face or anything so trite but he knew Alana would know he was teasing.
Her response came almost at once. An ellipsis. Three simple dots that omitted answer. Followed by-
Call me any time you need. But go back to bed now. I’ll swing by tomorrow.
He meant to put her off, to find a polite way to avoid her. Or to at least message back to thank her.
But his thumb grazed the screenshot and he found himself lost in it.
Even at 2am, Hannibal was up. Drawing by the light of a small lamp. The image was so clear Will could zoom in on it, see what Hannibal was drawing.
Almost like stepping into Hannibal’s office.
“Interesting subject. I’m afraid the symbolism is lost on me.”
He understood. Understood why Hannibal had put himself here. Let himself be caught.
So he would always be there, a constant temptation. An itch Will promised himself he wouldn't scratch.
He has a family. He was happy.
But that itch never stopped. Like a constant low-level migraine.
Hannibal was inside him, behind his eyes, in the folds of his brain. He could hear Hannibal's voice behind his own words, like an echo. Like a ventriloquist.
He'd woken badly. A nightmare he couldn't quite remember. Which was unusual for him. He could almost always recount his dreams in perfect, horrifying clarity. Taste, touch, smell. Realer than real. Making him question reality. His reality. His sanity.
His house smelt like dogs. It felt like Molly's warm body and the sigh of her breathing. Outside it was still dark and the air crackled with the sort of cold that threatened an early winter.
And yet the scent of Hannibal's cooking, the smooth wool of his plaid suit. The memories lingered in the air, realer than real.
Molly barely stirred as he got out of bed. She was use to his nightmares, use to him getting up three or four times a night to shake them off. It use to be more when they met. Maybe he was improving. Just maybe.
A couple of the dogs stirred as he padded barefoot into the kitchen, lifting their heads and wagging their tails in the hope of treats. He hushed them back to sleep and made himself coffee.
He shouldn't. Not this late. Or was it early. He'd long taken the batteries out of his only clock. The ticking reminding him too much of something... something else he'd heard. Something that has been done to him in this weeks of fever and madness. Another itch in the folds of his brain.
The thought made him look out the window, to the spot where Hannibal had surrendered himself. Where he had burrowed himself deep, so Will would know where to find him.
And for a moment Will could see him there, unaffected by the cold, which eyes for no-one but Will.
Hannibal who he trusted. Hannibal who he had confided in, who he would have raised Abigail with. Who killed and resurrected Abigail only to kill her again. Who had intended to eat Will brains directly for his head.
Hannibal, who haunted his sleeping mind as much as Will tried to put him out if his waking life.
The itch. The ache.
He would never admit it to another person but he missed Hannibal's office - the smell of books and leather. The warmth of it. He could feel the smooth wood of the library ladder under his hand. Almost more familiar than his dining room table.
He didn’t need the pendulum swing to take him back there. Not the way he needed it at crime scenes. He wasn’t searching for something or collating evidence, he was going back to a familiar place. A room in his own mind palace. Perhaps it was one shared.
Everything felt right, familiar. The crackle of the fire; the wood chosen for its scent as much as the way it burned. The heavy drapes holding back the cool of the night, making a cacoon of leather and paper and conversations and company.
All that was missing was Hannibal. It felt wrong to be there without him.
And yet he was there – in the corner of Will’s eye, the pressure between his shoulders that at any moment would become the touch of Hannibal’s hand. The itch in the folds of Will’s brain.
But he needed something, something more. Something to make the phantom of Hannibal’s presence manifest.
On a whim he texted Alana.
Then put his phone down without expecting an answer. It was 2am according to the little screen. There was no reason to think she’d be up. But she’d understand when she got the message. At least, she’d understand what she thought Will needed to know. That Hannibal was still safely locked it. That she had him secure.
She’d think Will had had a nightmare and wanted reassurance. And that was fine too. It essence it was true.
Will doubted she’d understand. How much Will missed Hannibal. She would miss him too, but in that angry way she carried like a shield too. She missed the mask; the veneer of humanity Hannibal wore for them.
Will missed the monster he’s walked the streets of Europe to find.
The beep of his phone was so loud in the still darkness, Will cursed, fumbling to open the message before the sound woke Molly and Walter.
A text back from Alana. And so soon.
And then a link.
Will clicked the link, suddenly grateful Jack had pressured him to upgrade to a smart phone. But connection wasn’t great in the house, but on the corner of the pouch there would be enough bars to open it.
A live feed to Hannibal’s cell – black and white, but crystal clear.
He found himself taking a screenshot before closing the feed. He’d forgotten to charge his phone again and the battery wouldn’t last long streaming.
Besides, he had to text Alana back.
He didn’t add a smiley face or anything so trite but he knew Alana would know he was teasing.
Her response came almost at once. An ellipsis. Three simple dots that omitted answer. Followed by-
He meant to put her off, to find a polite way to avoid her. Or to at least message back to thank her.
But his thumb grazed the screenshot and he found himself lost in it.
Even at 2am, Hannibal was up. Drawing by the light of a small lamp. The image was so clear Will could zoom in on it, see what Hannibal was drawing.
Almost like stepping into Hannibal’s office.
“Interesting subject. I’m afraid the symbolism is lost on me.”
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 08:50 am (UTC)"You didn't leave me much time for sightseeing." He rests his hip against the desk, arms crossed as he looks down at the drawing, and the sharpening scalpel Alana would never allow Hannibal to have.
But Hannibal's office had Hannibal's tools. Time and place and setting.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 09:08 am (UTC)There are cupolas in the background of the drawing.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 09:12 am (UTC)"You'd make a terrible tour guide. You know too much."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 09:32 am (UTC)He breathes in through his nose, remembering Florence. Old stone, controlled gallery air conditioning. And the taste of blood in his mouth. "I think I saw it. At least the Florence you wanted me to see."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 10:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 10:36 am (UTC)It's almost affectionate, the way the moniker sound on his lips.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:11 am (UTC)"He took up space that didn't belong to him." Will crosses back to where Hannibal sat, still drawing. "Space that belonged to Abigal and I?"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:29 am (UTC)He leans in, admiring the fine detail. "Would we have danced the way you danced with her?"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:40 am (UTC)What would it be to dance with Hannibal? Publicly. Could Will have done it? Probably not. "It would have been... inelegant."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 11:48 am (UTC)But then another thought shoves it away, like a trodden on toe. "Did you teach her to dance? Abigail."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:10 pm (UTC)Hannibal taking her shopping for a dress, something elegant and tasteful. Something that suited her perfectly, and tailored expertly. Expensive without pretension.
Will wasn't conscious of the crashing wave of grief till it overcame him, making his breathing hitch and his gut clench.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:15 pm (UTC)"I have seen her again"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:19 pm (UTC)Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:40 pm (UTC)The words he said to Abigail.
When she was no more or less real than Hannibal is now.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:07 pm (UTC)Hannibal signs deeply.
"No promises, this time. Just snatches of faint hope."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:12 pm (UTC)What? What would he have done differently? Killed Jack just to keep Abigail? Gone gladly with Hannibal, to raise her together. Whose blood would Will have shed just to protect her?
Or was that what her father did? Killing all those girls so he wouldn't have to kill Abigail.
See?
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:30 pm (UTC)And yet Hannibal was always the one to initiate touch.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:43 pm (UTC)A quiet sigh, a fleeting touch of Will's hair, then silence. Darkness.
Will is alone.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:49 pm (UTC)Wanting Hannibal in the echoes of his own mind is something akin to mental masturbation.
Between beats of his heart, the cold of Wolf Trap invaded Will's lungs, stealing the scent of leather and wood fire. In it's place was the bite of unfallen snow and the smell of his dogs.
It should have been comforting. Home. But it felt like having something taken away.
Will touched his cheek, feeling moisture. Not sweat this time but tears. For what might have been.
He walks out onto the field to look back at the house. Without lights on, it was just the sea.