Will Graham

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.”