Work Text:
Will Graham reeked.
Hannibal hesitated at the door to the lab. Will Graham always smelled—of dogs, nightmares, poor choices—but this was new.
"What is that smell?" asked Katz, bustling past. "Graham, is that you? You smell delicious."
"Garlic," answered Price, giving wide berth to the corner where Will leaned.
"Granny's cure for colds," said Will, rubbing his collar self-consciously. He acknowledged Hannibal with a nod. "Keeps away germs, vampires and, apparently, psychiatrists."
"You do sound stuffy," said Katz.
"Mask, please," said Zeller. "And stay, just, over there, away from me."
"No, he's gotta go - I can't marinate in this until dinner."
Price squinted and walked up to Hannibal. "Hang on. Mysterious foreigner with money and a flair for the theatrical. Not squeamish about blood."
Hannibal froze.
"And not entering uninvited. Do you drink...wine?" asked Price.
"Yes, and you can't afford it," answered Will.
"What goes with stuffed garlic Graham?"
"Two Buck Chuck," said Will on his way to the door. "Alright, fine, I'm going to go air out. Unless you wanted to talk, doctor?"
"It can wait," answered Hannibal from behind his handkerchief.
"Okay. Well, see you floating outside my window tonight, I guess."