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Midnight Errands

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Abigail Hobbs was lying on the plush, expensive covers of her mahogany bed in Dr Lecter's house, staring at the creamy, expensive paintwork of the ceiling. She was mind-numbingly, outstandingly bored. She had already re-organised her closet, made a new playlist on her iPod and filled a few pages of her sketch book.

Now, she was on her back, not yet in her pyjamas, plucking at a loose thread on her comforter.

She wasn't tired. She should have been, but she wasn't. She had run for miles earlier, away from the pulsing discomfort of the city, away from the boundaries of Dr Lecter's house. Close to nature. She had wanted to go fly-fishing with Will, but he'd been teaching all day and it was almost dark when he got home. He looked exhausted, totally spent, but had dragged a smile onto his face and kissed Dr Lecter who was busily sautéing some chunks of meat.

The three of them ate shortly after Will got home - a liver-y dish, that Will pushed around his plate with his fork. He was still having a little trouble with eating people. Abigail had gotten over it fairly quickly when she had learned of Dr Lecter's "dietary preferences", but Will had taken much longer to adjust. None the less, he was eating the meals that Hannibal put in front of him, even saying how delicious they were, but whether this was genuine or stroking Dr. Lecter's ego, Abigail wasn't sure. After the first few times, he stopped vomiting them back up in rushes to the bathroom in the early hours.

There was a soft knock at her door.

"Yes?" She called.

Dr Lecter came in, still in an expensive plaid suit.

"Abigail," he smiled. "I have some errands to run. I was wondering if you would care to assist me?"

Abigail's eyebrows knitted together. Errands? At nearly midnight? What -
Her eyes widened in understanding as the doctors lips quirked upwards. She could not hide her excitement.

"Oh, yes" she beamed. "Yes, I would."

When Will woke up, his watch on the bedside table told him that it was 3 AM. He sighed, laying back into the warm mattress and rolling over to drape an arm across Hannibal's chest.

His arm hit the covers instead.
Will sat up in confusion, his mind foggy with sleep, and switched on the lamp. The sheets weren't even rumpled - Hannibal had never gone to bed. Will scanned the room for further evidence: Hannibal's expensive robe still hung on the back of the door.

Will swung his legs out of bed, and pulled a pair of sweatpants over his flimsy boxer shorts. He padded down the hall in bare feet, knocking on the door to Abigail's room after seeing the empty study and bathroom.


No answer.

Will nudged the door open and flicked on the light. Abigail's bed hadn't been slept in either.

A cold, burning sensation clawed at Will's stomach. He knew they'd gone - and why. He didn't let himself believe it until he had checked Hannibal's office and the downstairs.

Eventually, Will conceded that they had indeed gone out. They had something - no, someone - Will thought bitterly, - to take care of.

He made himself a black coffee and settled in a kitchen chair. He turned the lights off, sitting in complete darkness.


The sound of the key turning in the lock reverberated throughout the downstairs. Hannibal swiftly stepped inside, as silent as a ghost. Abigail followed him into the kitchen, where he set a coolbox down on the counter.

Abigail starts when the light flicks on.

"What time do you call this?"

Will was sat in a chair a few feet away, an empty coffee cup on the table. His teeth were set, jaw clenched like his fists. The muscles of his arms stood out in tension.

Hannibal smiled.

"My dear Will," he purred. "I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep."

"I was," Will bit back. "Until I realised I was the only one. You can't just take off like that - either of you - and -"

Hannibal cut Will off, sliding into the seat opposite him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I will be more careful to ensure that you know our whereabouts."

Will shuffled uncomfortably. Hannibal's thumb lightly traced circles on Will's wrist.

"What's the matter, Will?"

Will looked at him, then at Abigail. He struggled to find the words, to express himself. Poor Will, always so in touch with the feelings of murderers, to so capably describe the minds of sadistic killers to his students; unable to state his own emotions. His mouth opened and closed a few times before it managed to form the question.

"Why wasn't I invited?"


"W-what?" Abigail stuttered. Hannibal remained utterly silent and still.

"Well," Will said. "You two keep going off and having all the fun. Where's my invite?"

"Oh, William," Hannibal breathed; his eyes gleaming, his mouth a small smile. Will knew that this was Hannibal's version of pure joy. "Of course, Will. Next time."