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“The witch of Endor”
The woman was suspended in her splendid white cloak. The fabric of her sleeves hung billowing off of both arms, beseeching. It hung like a hood over her face and hair so that all that could be seen of her were her hands, hands that gestured upwards, relaying a divine message. Everything down to each separate finger was poised with delicate attention, frozen in elegance with rigor mortis.
The man prostrated at her feet was situated with the same meticulousness. Forehead to the floor, arms stretched forward, palms facing upwards to the heavens pleading for a different message from his prophet. He looked suspiciously like Jack.
“What was that Will?”
Will sighed as he pushed his glasses back over his eyes. “Saul and the witch of Endor. The ripper has mimicked the painting depicting a scene from the old testament.” He chuckles humorlessly, “ In the painting the witch is summoning the spirit of Samuel at the behest of Saul,” he gestures to ‘Saul’ the man on the floor “who asks for advice on how to defeat the Philistines. Instead he is told of his own downfall and commits suicide not long after his army is slain.”
It’s a very creative dig, not that Will would admit that to Jack. The other man besides him just rubs a hand down his face, looking far older than his years. “Anything else you can tell me Will?”
He doesn’t think Jack is going to like the rest of what he has to say either but he says it regardless. “The identification of the victims won’t get us anywhere. They won’t have any connection to the ripper other than a chance happenstance. There will be no connection between them either and no physical evidence.” That wasn’t anything new, even with the ripper's more gory scenes. No prints, no hair, not even a speck of blood on the white sheet draped around the ‘witch’.
Jack stands there staring at the scene, long enough for Will to start to fidget.
“Where’s Dr. Lecter?”
It comes out of his mouth before he has the chance to think about it properly. Usually Jack's attention isn’t entirely on Will when Hannibal was also there, which is the only reason Will notices he isn’t there of course…. Hannibal is the only other person whose opinion also means anything to Jack.
Jack frowns, more intentionally than he was before. “I don’t know. Someone should’ve called him.”, he says absently. He walks off without another word, clearly not concerned about it. Will keeps his eyes on the display of bodies as Jack's voice rings out behind him. “I want ID’s on those bodies. Now! Forensics! Find me something, anything!”
They won’t. Will thought, shaking his head.
On his way to the academy he keeps an eye out for a Bently on the side of the road. What other reason would his psychiatrist have to miss a Ripper scene? Hannibal is always punctual. He certainly isn’t rude enough to not show up without calling first. He ponders as he scans the roadside. Would Hannibal be the kind of man to have triple A or would he be down on the ground, muscles working under his suit jacket as he cranked his tire iron, tightening the new tire in place?
Will runs a heavy hand down his face when he realizes how occupied his thoughts are. His interest in his acquaintance? Psychiatrist? Friend? Is getting out of hand. He refuses to admit that he truly does find Hannibal interesting after saying the opposite to the man's face. Even giving in to the urge to text him to check to see if he was okay would destroy the implication that Will didn’t want him there at the crime scenes with him, and that wouldn’t do for his image.
So instead of giving into the urge to check on Hannibal he decides to teach the rest of his classes after missing the first one of the day. The more minds he can cultivate the more people that could potentially draw Jack's attention off of him for a moment. Not that he believes any of them could truly have a better chance at catching the ripper than he does but he can at least try to add to the quality of agents the FBI is producing.
Will makes it through the entire day without managing to break and ask Hannibal about his whereabouts. He even makes it all the way to his ‘therapy’ appointment the next evening. More like their scheduled talks, not a date in the way Beverly had alluded to earlier with a smirk. It’s not a date, but Will is still concerned when he gets stood up because again, it’s more unusual still for Hannibal to cancel without notice.
Will is on his way to Hannibal's house in Baltimore before he can talk himself out of it. He’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with nervous energy, glancing up at himself in the mirror, clearly able to see his eyes due to the lack of glasses and the (somewhat) taming of his unkempt hair. (It’s not a date, but he doesn’t have to be an absolute mess in front of Hannibal all the time)
There's a warm ambient light peeking around the curtains of Hannibal's home when Will pulls into the driveway. It both piques his curiosity and irritates him at once. Will walks up to the door, less worried now but still cautious as he knocks three times in quick succession. It’s quiet, eerily quiet without even a flicker of the warm light inside. Will lets a few moments pass before knocking again a little harder. He almost considers calling the other man when the door cracks open just a bit.
Will almost does a double take at the sight of Hannibal in a hat, not just any hat but a beanie at that, pulled all the way down to his eyebrows. He also has a pair of sunglasses on, at night, that are no doubt more expensive than Will’s entire wardrobe. They reflect his perplexed expression right back at him in their dark lenses. The immediate feeling of concern and the urge to laugh fight for dominance as Will stands in the doorway mute.
Hannibal opens the door a little wider at seeing who his company is. He looks pleasantly surprised behind all of his apparel, at least that’s Will’s subtle impression. If it weren’t for his sharp cheekbones Will might almost mistake him for somebody else. “Hello Will. Unfortunately it seems I am not in good enough health to attend our session tonight.”
Will is quick to interfere with the door closing in his face. “Wait Hannibal. Are you alright? It isn’t like you to cancel without calling first. Terribly rude.”, Will tuts, knowing full well how much the other man abhors rudeness.
Hannibal takes the bait as expected, sighing, and letting the door fall open wide enough for Will to slip through. It wasn’t exactly an invitation but Will wasn’t going to take no for an answer after being worried the last two days. Usually he wouldn’t be this bold in inserting himself in other peoples spaces but it was different with Hannibal. He senses he is different for Hannibal as well, knowing he could get away with things like this that other people could not.
“What is actually going on? I’ve never seen you wear a hat before. Did you get a bad haircut?” Will can’t help but tease now that he can see for himself that the other man is physically okay. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Dr.Lecter.”
Hannibal doesn’t laugh but his expression changes minutely enough to where Will knows he is amused, even with the hat and glasses blocking the majority of his face.
“It’s just a peculiar ailment Will. I regret having to cancel but I suspect I will be feeling better by our next appointment. There’s movement, like a twitch beneath his hat, and this time Will really does do a double take.
“Are you hiding something under your hat doctor?”
Hannibal goes still, expression frozen in a way that is only obvious to the most perceptible people. He pauses with his entire body, not even the ribcage under his suit dares to rise for a moment. And then it resumes just as quickly. “Of course not, that would be ridiculous.” He’s lying. The curiosity becomes too much and Will advances step by step until the doctor has his back against the wall and they are only inches apart. Only with Hannibal can he be this confidently brazen. He reaches for the hat slowly, and finally grasps it when the other man doesn’t make any move to stop him. He feels whatever is under there twitch again against his hand as he pulls.
He didn’t know what he expected before, something alive if it was moving but he was not prepared for ears. Two fuzzy, pointy cat ears. Will doesn’t know how long he stares at them on top of Hannibal's head. He can feel Hannibal’s sharp stare through the sunglasses analyzing his face. When Will tears his eyes off of the ears he focuses on those next. Bringing his hands slowly to the glasses on Hannibal's face, they slide down his sharp cheek bones to reveal two slitted pupils slashing through familiar rusty brown irises.
He has grown accustomed to eye contact with Hannibal, more than anybody because like with many things, the older man is an outlier for Will. Even so, they stare for so long that Will thinks this must be a record even for them.
Will with all of his quick wit and massive intelligence all he thinks to say is, “What.”
“I'm not quite sure what to make of it either. I discovered my new feline features upon waking yesterday.”, Hannibal whispered, probably because Will was still standing very close.
“Can I…” Will asks, already reaching his hands up towards the ears as if magnetically drawn to them. The ears flatten themselves against Hannibal's hair, still disheveled from the beanie. He runs his fingers from the base to the tips and repeats the motion a few times, transfixed by the softness before he realises that he is petting his psychiatrist. The ears spring back up as soon as his hand recedes. He meets Hannibal's curious gaze and takes a healthy step back.
“What?” Will repeats, asks this time. Hannibal, now that he has given up hiding from Will, reaches into the back of his pants for a very long perplexing moment and pulls out a tail that has Will’s eyebrows raising even higher. He sighs, looking as casual as Will has ever seen him and walks over to his liquor cart to pour them both a generous glass of top shelf whiskey.
“That was mildly uncomfortable.”, he says by way of conversation as he hands Will a glass of whiskey that he gratefully takes.
“You seem relatively calm about all of this.”, Will observes. The older man was missing his suit jacket, his hair was in disarray, and the top few buttons of his pressed dress shirt were undone, it was actually the most human Will has ever seen Hannibal Lecter despite his newest additions.
“There’s nothing to be done about it.” The irritated thrashing of the tail behind him contradicts the unaffected air he's trying to put on. Will smirks, watching the grey appendage flick too and fro. He takes pity on his friend and chooses not to point it out.
“I thought cats were supposed to be a symbol of luck”, Will jokes as he takes his seat in a chair across from Hannibal, slightly more intimate than his practicing office. Hannibal's lip quirks to reveal the tip of a pointed little fang, he settles into his seat, legs crossed and tail tucked neatly around his waist.
“Cats are thought to bring good luck and good fortune across many cultures. Most notably in Egypt where they are associated with the goddess Bastet who is said to bring protection and good health. I am not feeling much of either at the moment.” One of his ears flick towards the fire as it gives off a particularly loud pop of the burning wood.
“In what way?”
Hannibal takes another healthy drink from his glass. “I’ve been checking my vitals and they have been normal, although I have experienced some unorthodox urges now that you’re here.”
Will sits forward with interest, sensing a rare bout of embarrassment from the doctor. Suppressing a smirk he asks innocently. “Such as?”
Hannibal’s pupils slowly widen from the slits they were before as he stares at Will for a few moments. Will can see the resignation in the other man's eyes as he uncurls from his seat and walks over to Will’s chair with the grace of a feline.
“Will, please refuse me if this makes you uncomfortable.” His pupils are large and round now, to the point of seeing his own face reflecting back at him in them.
Will always has been and always will be more of a dog person, but he has never refused the opportunity to pet a friendly cat looking for attention. Feeling bold he reaches forward and tugs Hannibal's hand until the man gets the message and sits rigidly in his lap. Even disheveled and unsure he looks elegant as he sits. His ears lie flat against his head, unsure, so Will takes pity on him with a chuckle and runs his fingers along one of them.
Petting a cat is much different than petting one of his dogs, and petting Hannibal is an entirely new experience in itself. The man relaxes in increments. Eyes going from open to hooded to shut the longer Will spends stroking his ears and hair. Will stares fascinated at seeing the man so open and easy to read, so desperate for Will and his affection.
Hannibal's eyes suddenly open and they look at Will for a moment with a hazy soft quality before he leans forward getting his face so close to Will’s that he closes his eyes thinking he was about to be kissed when he feels the pressure of Hannibal's cheek against his. Nuzzling, rubbing his scent onto Will with a soft rumble in his chest that only gets louder when Will starts running his fingers through the longer strands at the back of his head.
Hannibal is heavy and warm and purring on top of him and Will doesn’t think he would ever want to get up, even if the house caught fire. “Well that all but confirms it.”, Will smirks, lightly running his fingers over Hannibal’s grey pointed ears. “You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”
The purring cuts out in an instant, the only thing that Hannibal doesn’t have ironclad control over. The rest of his body stays slack and content, a liar with years to master every small twitch that could possibly give him away. Untrained eyes would brush off Hannibal’s body language as casual, unbothered. Now this chameleon has a few scales that refuse to conform in the form of those eyes, back to being thin focused slits.
Even without them, Will knows Hannibal too well. Hannibal delights in trapezing the thread of the spider's web. He thought Will was just another arachnid, little did he know Will had already familiarized himself with each and every one of Hannibal's minute expressions, his subtle mannerisms. The web had expanded without him realizing, becoming stickier with every minute he spent in Will’s proximity.
Will continued to pet the ear, now folding itself against the top of Hannibal’s head in another outward sign of the other man’s uneasiness. “The witch of Endor.” Will says outloud, as if he were simply contemplating. “Wasn’t just a dig at Jack now was it? No. I think she was actually a witch.”
Hannibal kept his silence, body language still calm and giving nothing away. Will would be impressed, a true testament to his mask. Count Hannibal Lecter the third has certainly been killing far longer than he’s been in America. A mask like that is refined through years and years of lying. A mask that had nearly fooled Will. Nearly.
Will let the pendulum swing. Not caring for the threat that still sat comfortably in his lap, he closed his eyes in the face of the Chesapeake Ripper. “She was a fraud wasn’t she? At least you thought so. Selling spells, portions- readings. Scamming people you thought were vulnerable. No. One specific person. A patient.” Will hummed thoughtfully. “You were making fun of her in death. Making her corpse into a representation of a real witch.”
Will opened his eyes with a smirk. “She wasn’t a total fraud it seems.”, he flicked an ear meanly. Both of the ears were now flat against the top of Hannibal’s head. In the corner of his eye Will could sense Hannibal’s tail flicking irritably. He wondered morbidly if Hannibal had developed claws if he would use them to make tableaus. Could a claw be an adequate replacement for a scalpel? Would they make it easier to remove the organs of a pig?
Is he thinking of using them against Will right now at this moment? Contemplating scratching his eyes out and leaving him as blind as the rest of society is to him? Will looked closely into those dangerous slits and decided that yes, he is. He can’t help the second thought that the slitted eyes of a predator suited Hannibal nicely.
“All I would have to do is call Jack. Tell him our witch hexed her murderer in her final moments.” Will spoke casually, as if he were setting up dinner plans. Hannibal remained stoic in his lap, but Will could see flickerings of a monster underneath his skin. Could see in real time the way soft pointed ears morphed into broad, grand antlers.
“Why haven’t you?” Hannibal finally asks with a disturbingly even voice. Ever curious, even against his own good. His ears are becoming unstuck to his head, slowly moving into a more neutral position.
Why hasn’t he? Will leans forward, tilts his head as if in contemplation. Understanding and acceptance. Hannibal has seen the facets of him that others cringe away from, embraced them even. And Will… Will most likely is the only person in the world capable and willing to understand Hannibal. And who among us doesn’t want understanding and acceptance?
When Hannibal doesn’t move away he leans further, pressing his lips gently to Hannibal's. Tentative despite his bravado. Their kiss remains gentle until he feels a sandpaper tongue against his lower lip.
Will groans, pulling the other man further into his lap and angling his head so they better fit together. Sharp needle teeth threaten his lip while soft fingers run through the curls at the base of his skull. Fingers that have cut open and stitched up bodies, have created art of every medium, now cradle his head like something precious. Hannibal is purring again and it lulls Will into a daze. The other man pulls away with two last kisses whispered against his lips, close mouthed and reverent.
His pupils are back to being big round pools of empty black. Will smiles and he sees it reflected there before it’s reciprocated at Hannibal’s mouth, where it widens until there are two little pointed teeth poking over his kiss swollen lip. It makes Will want to kiss him again. Their closeness is intoxicating. The affection from a person who knows and cherishes every part of you- it feels better than any rush of adrenaline, better than any rush of second hand euphoria that Will has ever experienced through the eyes of a killer. Better than killing Garret Jacob Hobbs had felt. Good enough to kill for. To die for.
The following week Will is overheard at the latest crime scene lovingly referring to Hannibal as ‘kitten’. Much to the amusement of Beverly and the other members of the forensics team who would gladly take the cute pet names over the suffocating homoerotic tension from before. Little do they know.