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Fluff and Other Stuffings

Summary:

Fluff ficlets, to cater to all of your sappy needs.

Feel free to use the chapter titles (which mention the pairing featured in the chapter as well as a few words summarizing the plot) to skip ahead, since each chapter is written separately from the others.

Recent chapters:
Ch. 18: A soft, lazy morning chez the old married cannibals.
Ch. 19: Hannigram: a first dance and a first kiss.
Ch. 20: Hannigram: Lazy morning cuddles.
Ch. 21: A kind-of marriage proposal and some truth serum. :)
Ch. 22: Hannibal needs a hug. Will gives him one.

Chapter 1: Hannigram: First Time Cuddling

Notes:

Recommended music: Song to the Moon, from Dvorak's "Rusalka", and Debussy's "Clair de Lune".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwVYFpY3VL4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZrm9h3JRGs

Chapter Text

"The mongoose is no longer under the house," Hannibal whispered, nuzzling into his pillow. The moonlight pooled into his side of the sheets, making the bed resemble the ocean into which he and Will fell together. "He has emerged, victorious... "

"And the snake was never quite clever enough to just slither by, Dr. Lecter," came an answering whisper in the dark. If it wasn't for the glint of pale light that reflected in Will's eyes just as the sun's rays reflected onto the moon, he would have appeared consumed by the darkness. 

"He never intended to." A chuckle -- perhaps by day it would have seemed polite, happy, even, but in the stark liquid light it sounded soft and wistful. 

"He's molted," Will sighed. Almost fond. "It would seem that the mongoose is now in a house of his own, with the snake curled around him in bed."

"Not quite."

"Not yet." 

Backlit by the moonlight, Hannibal smiled, the small gesture as hidden as Will's was in the dark. He reached out a hand that appeared sculpted out of marble, casting an austere shadow over the sheets between them. Rather than taking it, Will rolled beneath the extended arm. 

"Around him, I said. Trouble following directions, Dr. Lecter?" Dr. Lecter. Just as Hannibal's mouth opened to protest, Will nuzzled into his chest and pointed, without looking, at the window frame. "Did you see that cobweb in the corner of the window? The spider's gone. So is the fly."

"I wonder where they are," Hannibal whispered, finally wrapping his arms around his Will. 

"Mmm. Me too," Will sighed, not out of attempted resignation as he had during their years apart, but out of contentment.

Feeling Will's hair against his lips, it was Hannibal who brought them over the ledge -- this time into sleep. 

Chapter 2: Team Sassy Science: Post-Fall

Summary:

Team Sassy Science meets up to cope with the past. This one's not as much fluff as a bittersweet hangout... . Light angst. AU where Bev is still alive.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jack's computer screen flickered to life as the video began. Lecter, bleeding out from what appeared to be a gunshot wound, gazed intently at something -- or someone -- out of the frame of the camera. He flinched. 

"When the hell does he flinch?" 

"My point exactly."

The hell Brian meant turned out to be Will receiving a stab wound. 

"Holy shi-"

"Hold it, Bev," Jack muttered, jaw clenched. "Save that for the end." 

He was right. 


They met up that weekend at Brian and Jimmy's house, in the living room with a vaulted ceiling. Just beyond the south-facing windows were the couple's beehives, nestled amid a sprawling flower garden. 

Bev padded laps between the kitchen and the living room, spreading bags of onion rings and Cheetos and beer around the large blanket Price had laid on the floor. "Come on, guys." With an uncharacteristic silence, Price and Zeller settled themselves onto the blanket, Zeller nestled into Price's shoulder. Beverly settled down beside them, staring at the ceiling.

"So, Will," Bev sighed. Zeller did the same into Price's t-shirt, as Price drew his arm around him. 

"Either dead, or a serial killer." 

"Not with those wounds, not yet. Technically we have a head start."

Bev sighed. "I don't even want to think about that. To be fair, Jack pushed him into Lecter's arms in more ways than one."

"Hey, don't act surprised," said Price, taking a swig of beer. "Graham crackers can kill people by way of choking, and they're probably dangerously sharp, too." 

Before Bev could process her relief at the subtle return of Price's humor, Zeller butted in: "Yeah, remember that time I injured the roof of my mouth with a Dorito? Thing bled for fifteen minutes straight." 

"Poor thing." Zeller fed Price another onion ring.

"Guys..." 

"Yeah, Bev?" 

"Is it bad that I still want Will to be happy, whether he's alive or in some twisted afterlife with Lecter?" A silence spread its wings in the air, blanketing the trio until Price softly pushed it away.

"It was pretty clear that they loved each other. So as long as Lecter agrees to get some dogs I think he'll be fine." 

"Hmm... yeah." The thoughtful crunching of Cheetos and onion rings spread through the room as Bev downed her beer.

"Maybe Z and I'll see them in hell," Price whispered, earning him a small kick from Zeller. "Oh hell naw." 

"We'll be okay," said Bev, and meant it. 

 

 

 

Notes:

The only reason I know about the Doritos thing is that, well, it happened to me while writing this fic. *slowly slinks back into the shadows*

Chapter 3: McFoster: A Walk Through the Fog

Summary:

Molly and Reba have pie, a chat, and a walk in the woods. Soft angst.
Requested by alexanderavery998.

Recommended Music: Prokofiev's Violin Concerto No. 2, Second Mvt.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQUvGBat5FM

Unbetaed as usual, and admittedly written in <1 hr. *hides face in hands*

Chapter Text

Molly gazed out the windows through the steam drifting from her cup of tea, taking a few deep breaths now that the dogs were settled and Wally was at his grandparents' house for the afternoon. Outside, the fog hung gently suspended in the air, and a few bird calls articulated the silence. 

She glanced at the oven timer. 3:21. Reba would be here soon. 

As if to answer that thought, in the distance, a car door slammed shut, and the sound of footsteps brought a knock to her door. 

"Good morning, Molly." God, Reba was beautiful. Her smile, though carrying with it the weight of a painful past, was refreshingly pure and honest. Her long jacket wavered gently in the breeze. With the mist as a backdrop, she resembled a forest sprite.

"Someone's looking pretty today." Keep it together, Molls, she thought. Reba smiled, and handed Molly a large plate wrapped in aluminum foil. 

"Just today? Maybe I shouldn't have made you this, then." 

Molly gratefully accepted the plate, and gave Reba a playful slap on the arm before taking her cane and guiding her in. "Come on, you know what I mean."

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, eating slices of the cherry pie Reba had brought accompanied by mugs of Molly's green tea. The flaky pie crust fell away easily, and the cherry filling was just sour enough to have a kick. Sweet, not sugarcoated, Molly thought. A few of the dogs came over to nuzzle at Reba's feet, then stretched themselves out on the carpet around them. 

"They used to be Will's dogs," said Molly, tentatively. "Our dogs." For a second, she thought she made a mistake in mentioning the past, until Reba took her hand into hers. 

"I would say I'm sorry, but neither of us have anything to be sorry for, Molly," she responded softly. "When we didn't know, we were in the dark. And when we did, we did our best."

"Yeah. Will -- I should have known he was hiding part of himself. The way he obviously still felt about Hannibal Lecter, I mean."

"Hey, hey. That doesn't mean he didn't love you at all, or try to love you. And you were good to him, right until the very end."

"My ex-husband killed your ex-boyfriend," Molly chuckled, trying not to cry. 

"Guess we have a type. Or maybe we just attract a certain type." 

"Yeah." 

Buster hopped onto Molly's lap, and climbed from there onto Reba's. "That's Buster. Buster, meet Reba."

"Hey, Buster." He licked her face, and woofed approvingly before returning to Molly's lap. "I wonder if he saw me like he sees them. Strays. Single mom. Ya know? But I don't think he realized that I've been okay on my own with Wally for so long."

Reba squeezed her hand. "Yeah. Me too. I was perfectly fine being blind. But being blind to the truth of Francis, knowing that he used my weaknesses to keep me that way, really hurt." Another silence settled between them, though both Molly and Reba felt like knots they had tightened around their insides were finally beginning to loosen.

"You know, I feel like we deserve more than just bringing out the best in them." 

"You do, Molly."

"No, Reba, listen to me. You do too. There's nothing wrong with you. God, I feel like we're just prey animals." Tears pricked at the corners of Molly's eyes again, and Reba drew her into a hug that smelled of pie and baby's breath. They rested, for a while, and though Reba was thinner than she was, the embrace seemed to envelope her completely, as if it had nothing to hide. 

"Hey, Molly... if we're truly prey animals, how about we go take a walk in the wild?" Reba's lighthearted tone felt like a salve, and Molly found herself wanting to preserve that mood for as long as possible. Maybe forever, for real this time.

"Wouldn't that be risky, two bunnies out in the woods?"

"Well, two bunnies, not one, Molly. We'll be so alert the predators won't have the chance to sink their teeth in."

Taking Reba's hand, Molly added: "Not to mention, we'll also have some canine protectors." 


As cold as the fog had looked through the window, it was soft and warm against their skin. Buster, who had apparently taken a shine to Reba, insisted on following at her feet, chasing the swinging of her cane. Winston stayed by Molly's side, and the rest of the pack scampered off ahead of them. 

The path, laced with fern and skunk cabbages, led from the house to a lake. Swaying branches loomed overhead, forming almost church-like arches above the pair. This is natural, thought Molly. Will had seldom taken walks with her and Wally, and almost never held her hand. 

Enjoying the stability and warmth of Molly's hand, Reba took deep breaths of the fresh air. For a moment she felt as if each breath in displaced the horror she breathed in over the course of the past few months. Each breath out felt like an absolution, like freedom.

Eventually, they reached a clearing by the lakeside. The mist had thinned a little, and the sun shone through some of the thinner clouds, gilding the crest of each small wave. The whole world seemed golden.

The worst of hell is over.

Gazing at the water, Molly tightened her grip on Reba's hand, even though they were on flat ground. "I wish you could see this," she whispered. Reba turned, and stood in front of her to take her other hand. The wind swept their hair, tickling their noses.

"I do see it, Molly." Molly wished Reba could see her own smile.

Slowly, Reba let go of her hands, and lifted her fingers to Molly's face. "May I?" 

Without responding, Molly recaptured Reba's hands and placed them on her cheeks before nodding. The thin fingers traced gentle strokes, on her nose, her forehead, her eyebrows, her chin. Finally, Molly guided them towards her lips before speaking again. "You already see me, Reba. I see myself in you." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." 

When their lips met, it was soft and dark and saccharine, and tasted of tea and cherry pie.

"We're strong enough together."

"I know." 

Chapter 4: Hannigram: "Come Here"

Summary:

Drabbles on the phrase "come here" -- some of them are pre-slash. A tiny bit of mild angst, some crack, and a first kiss. Post-fall.

Chapter Text

"Will?" Hannibal's voice carried through the apartment, reaching its intended audience in Will's bedroom. 

"Yeah?" 

"Come here." 

Groaning as he sandwiched Hannibal's fountain pen between the pages of his book, Will padded towards the living room. 

Hannibal handed him the iPad. Photographs of a stone manor surrounded by acres of wooded land stared back at him. "What do you think of Eiger as our next location?" 

"We really have to move again, already?" Will groaned. "You know I used to always be the new boy in town. No particularly fond memories of that to make me want to do it again." 

With a gentle smile and tentative fingers, Hannibal gently brushed Will's arm. "This time, you won't be alone. We will be the new boys in town together."

"Shut up, old man."


"HANNIBAL! COME HERE!" Will shouted, as if scolding a house cat. 

The utter picture of pure glee, Hannibal stretched and yawned as he entered the kitchen, where Will was scowling at a plate wrapped in tin foil. "A LITERAL FUCKING KNUCKLE SANDWICH, HANNIBAL, REALLY?!?!"

The man in question even had the nerve to feign innocence. "You claimed to want to give me a 'knuckle sandwich', Will, I am only attempting to make that endeavor easier for you." Sure enough, between two slices of Hannibal's home-made sourdough sat the knuckles of their latest victim, a blatantly transphobic high school teacher who had likely traumatized dozens of teenagers before she was butchered.

"OK, I'm going to force this 'knuckle sandwich' down your throat, and THEN some." At this, Hannibal's already smug grin widened. It took Will a few moments for Will to realize the meaning of what he said. Oh hell no. 

Will fled to his bedroom, and locked the door, burying his burning face in his hands.


Hannibal said he would be back by 6 PM. What are you going to do about it, huh? the face of the grandfather clock in the study seemed to taunt. Will sighed, and tried to focus on the music softly filling the study. It reminded him of Hannibal, and made it easier to imagine that Hannibal was sitting in the armchair beside him, sipping wine and reading as they sat by the fire, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. 

As if to answer his prayers, the sound of keys turning in the door made Will jump to turn off the record player. There was no way he was giving Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing that he listened to the likes of Debussy and Rachmaninoff and Donizetti when he missed him. 

"Will?" Hannibal was a vision. His deep red sweater accentuated the flames that reflected in his eyes, and the dim light cast long shadows across his chiseled features. Still, something was wrong. His voice, though still imbued with the fondness it always held when addressing Will, wavered uncharacteristically. His shoulders struggled to remain squared.

Then Will realized. Today was the anniversary of Mischa's death, as well as the anniversary of the rejection that sent Hannibal to prison for three years. Three years during which neither knew that they would ever meet again, during which both attempted to resign themselves to a lifetime of surviving, not living.

Will sighed, grabbed a blanket from the sofa, and held out his arms. "Come here," he whispered. Almost like an automaton, Hannibal shut his eyes, and took two steps forward into Will's arms. 

Will wrapped the soft cashmere around Hannibal, careful not to loosen his embrace. "Hey. I've forgiven you, truly, remember? I was prepared to die with you, or to live with you. Anything but being apart, ever again." Hannibal's long breath out was all the answer he needed. 

"I'm sorry I can't bring back Mischa. You know I would, if I could. But you're never going to lose me, Hannibal, not ever again. Okay?" When Hannibal burrowed his face into Will's neck and inhaled deeply, Will wanted to mold into him, to take up the same space, to breathe in the same air. But now was not the time, besides, learning to let go of the past and to live together was already challenge and fulfillment enough, for the time being. 

Even as they retired separately for the night, both Hannibal and Will wore easy smiles, bidding each other goodnight before both settled beneath warm blankets, resigning themselves to the joyous haze of Will's promise -- forever.


Sometimes it seemed that Hannibal was afraid of Will. When he trudged downstairs in the morning, shirt wrinkled and hair tousled, with stars in his eyes. When he read, fingers drumming against his thigh in concentration. When he gutted a corpse with the same precision as if he was gutting a fish. Hannibal never failed to stare, wide-eyed, bracing himself against the nearest flat surface as if attempting to restrain himself from approaching or running away. 

Will knew, and in those times he wondered where the usual smug bastard known as the Chesapeake Ripper went. Sometimes he wanted him back.

Do you ache for him? Bedelia had asked. Back then, he had done everything he could to avoid acknowledging it. Part of him still condemned Hannibal. Relinquishing that final boundary, that final fort would have melded them together in every way. Will didn't want to condemn himself, not any further than he already did. After the fall, he finally accepted loving Hannibal, but held back from indulging their shared desires. Hannibal was already afraid of losing him -- during those first few months after their plunge into the Atlantic, he often woke, gasping Will's name, sometimes begging for forgiveness. This fear made it difficult for him to let himself understand that Will truly reciprocated his feelings. The last thing Will wanted was for Hannibal to delude himself into thinking that Will was using him for carnal pleasures, fulfilling the need for touch and affection, and nothing more. 

But now, Hannibal knew that Will would never leave him, that Will cared for him. Why else would Will have pored over cookbooks when he was bedridden, in order to make him Lithuanian comfort foods? Why else did Will listen to him speak about his past, laying his own life before him in turn, weaving their worlds together thread by thread through their conversations? Why else were there longing gazes, not only on Hannibal's part, but on Will's? Why else did he hold him, the night before, knowing precisely what pained him without needing to ask?

Surely he had to know. Should know.

"Hannibal?" Will called. As expected, Hannibal appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, looking attentive and very slightly worried. His entire face seemed to relax when he saw Will peacefully looking out the window, watching petals of snow drift down from the sky. 

When Will turned, Hannibal thought he was dreaming. The tender want he saw in Will's eyes mustn't be real -- if it was, it must be only a reflection of his own expression, brought about only by the boy's involuntary empathy. 

"Hannibal..." Knuckles brushed gently along Hannibal's jaw, feeling his stubble. No, no, it can't be. Please do not taunt me. Please. "Hannibal," Will whispered again. "Stay with me." Fingers wove through the hair at the back of Hannibal's head as tears welled in his eyes, drawing him closer to the face that he saw in his dreams, the face whose very presence made everything all right. The face he wanted to see every day, forever, whether dewy and smooth or covered in wrinkles and framed by gray hair. 

Slowly, Hannibal raised his arm, not quite knowing where to put his hand. Will took it, chuckling slightly, and placed Hannibal's index finger against his bottom lip, letting out a breath that gently grazed his hand. 

"Come here." 

When Hannibal stayed still, glazed eyes fixed on the point of contact between his finger and Will's mouth, Will took matters into his own hands. He pulled Hannibal's forehead to his, tilting his jaw so that their noses nuzzled against each other and their lips met. With a hand to Hannibal's heart, he pushed him into the wall, and suckled at Hannibal's upper lip until he sighed, until a wetness made their cheeks slippery against one another. Will pulled back.

"Hey." Taking Hannibal's face into his hands, he brushed away his tears with his thumbs. 

Hannibal smiled, trembling slightly, but with all the joy in the world. "Hello, Will." For a moment, they simply stood there, saying and doing absolutely nothing apart from watching each other, like new spouses seeing one another for the first time on their wedding day.

Despite its beauty, that moment was short-lived. Not when Hannibal knew that his love, in all its dimensions, was reciprocated, that he could touch and be touched in turn, at long last.

Chapter 5: Hannigram: Hanni's Birthday

Summary:

It's Hanni's birthday. Will doesn't want to overwhelm him (if Hannibal Lecter could be overwhelmed, that is), but still wants to give him that experience for the first time in his adult life.

Chapter Text

Will looked up from his reading, folding the corner of the page inwards with a stroke of a finger. "Darlin'?" 

"Hmm?" Six months after the fall, Hannibal's stiff politeness gave way to a respectful but comfortable demeanor. When they first arrived at the safe house, he had answered each of Will's calls by striding near-frantically to his bedside with a "yes?". This time, the lazy, guttural sound that reflexively escaped Hannibal's throat spread warmth through his chest and a smile on his face.

"It's almost your birthday."

"It is not. I believe we were reborn only six months ago, were we not, mylimasis?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Come on, Hanni, you know what I mean." At the stupid nickname, it was Hannibal's turn to huff. 

"Indeed, Will, though January 20th bears no more significance to me than a number in my FBI files." 

Ah. "Don't worry," Will said, in an exaggeratedly sarcastic manner. "that'll change."


One week later

He was so happy to be home. After a long day of teaching psychology to hordes of loud, messy students at the local university, Hannibal craved another sort of chaos -- that of his beloved mongoose. But said mongoose was nowhere to be found. 

"Will?" A faint giggling sounded from the bedroom. Ah, precisely what I needed. Unfortunately, the Will on the bed when he opened the door was decidedly not naked. Instead, he stood by the nightstand, icing what was obviously a homemade cake, a ridiculous conical hat threatening to fall over his forehead. 

"Will, I --" 

With a smirk that normally would have made Hannibal raise an eyebrow, Will reached up to affix an identical and therefore equally horrific hat to Hannibal's head. "Happy birthday, love."

"I am unaccustomed to celebrating my birthday, Will. The few times people have remembered it in my adult life, I received some tasteless and equally thoughtless presents from those eager to curry my favor. There were not many peaceful years of my childhood during which I had anyone with whom to celebrate, either, as you know... "

Undeterred, Will placed a hand to his chest and shoved him onto the bed, then turned off the lights. "Yep. That's why we're celebrating now." 

"Wha--" 

"Shh, watch." As if performing a magic trick, Will lit two sparklers, and stuck them sloppily into the middle of the cake, just to watch Hannibal pout at his carelessness. Much to his chagrin, he only smiled. 

"There are two of them... and two of us." Will covered his face with both hands, letting out a theatrical sigh.

"I'm literally just trying to celebrate your birthday, and you're just being an annoying sap." 

"I am simply happy to be celebrating with you." That was it. Will had had enough. Once the sparklers burned out, Will grabbed a handful of cake, and smushed it into Hannibal's face. 

"Annoying. Sap." For a moment, it seemed as if Hannibal was genuinely taken aback. He simply blinked, catching the piece of cake sliding down his cheek before eating it with his fingers. Will laughed at the sight of his messy cannibal. Then, in a split second, Will found himself sprawled on the floor, cake covering his cheeks. 

"Oh no, you're not." In one fell swoop, he tore off Hannibal's jacket and shirt, smearing cake all over his chest, pressing him against the mattress. It was Hannibal's turn to glare.

"I believe you've had your cake, Will," he reprimanded, a salacious grin beginning to spread on his face. "It seems high time for you to eat it, too." 

Will shook his head. "Oh, no, no, Dr. Lecter. Can't do that yet."

"And why not, might I ask?"

"You see..." said Will, trailing a finger down Hannibal's frosting-coated chest before taking it into his mouth to suck. "We have to sing the Happy Birthday song." 

"I assure you, Will, I would be very happy indeed if you could spare the..."

Without giving him another chance, Will sang loudly: "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy biiiiiiiirthday you asshole, happy birthday to you!" 

The miffed pout on Hannibal's face made it clear that he was absolutely miserable. "Must you sing so off-key?" 

"What, just because you sing those stupid arias like a 1980s heartthrob doesn't mean I have to abide by the same standards." Will licked a broad stripe of icing off of Hannibal's left pec. 

"You do know that I do it only to help you sleep," Hannibal sighed.

"Mmm... and when we're showering, and when you're cooking, and --" Without fail, kisses always succeeded in silencing Will. Hannibal never hesitated to use this to his advantage -- especially not on his birthday. 

"Not so insufferable now, am I? Now, I think you have some cake to eat."

Will nodded as Hannibal ate some cream off of the tip of his nose, a silent agreement to stop bickering and to resign themselves to more pleasurable activities forming between them.

A pile of stained bedsheets, a ruined cake, and a heavily debauched Will later, Hannibal decided that this was a very, very happy birthday indeed. 

Chapter 6: Preller: Shenanigans in France

Summary:

It’s Preller… that is probably all the explanation needed here. Please turn back or skip to the next chapter now if you do not like crack. Or clichés. I am not a fan of clichés either, but hey, it’s Preller.

Pretty much 90% dialogue.

I speak French to some degree of fluency, but there is room for error. Please correct me if I (unintentionally) say anything stupid.

Chapter Text

“Excusay-me-ay, but where is the Eiffel-ay Tower-ay?” Price asked, a dead serious expression on his face. The part not hidden by gigantic pink sunglasses shaped like hearts, that is. 

Zeller swatted him with a rolled-up map of Germany. “Think it’s called the Tour Eiffel, like, you know, Tour-ing the way you Eifell in love with me,” he responded with a wink.

”No, no, no, that is so unfair… you’re the one who fell for me… into a manhole.” It was true. Zeller, in an attempt to tie Price’s shoes for him (after untying them, it is important to mention), lost his footing and took quite the dirty tumble.

Speaking of which… “Right, but you fell into MY manhole first,” shouted Zeller, beating Price square on the top of the head with the stale baguette they had been carrying around for the past two days (“for aesthetic”).

Price bit the baguette, totally in self defense, before spitting it out onto the grass and wiping his mouth on Zeller’s sleeve. “I think, France-y pants, that there’s something called thrusting. Falling implies that gravity didn’t get my consent to shove my coq-without-vin into your beignet.”

”God, you’re brilliant,” murmured Zeller, disbelievingly, as he rubbed at his head the way one would after hitting one’s head on something hard. In Zeller’s case, his absolute stupidity ensured that such a concussion was not necessary to produce the expected effect. “What are we fighting about?”

Before either of them had any time to scratch their half-chewed noodles over this, an elderly gentleman nearly bumped into Price before speeding off with a “Pardon” tossed over his shoulder.

”Oui oui baguette!” Price called after him. “Speaking of which, I really need to go wee wee.”

”There’s a manhole right there,” said Zeller, gesturing towards it with his head. “So you can fall for me too.”

”Hmm… naw.”

”Why? Our vows included being fair, remember? Hannibal made us add it during that last premarital couples therapy session.” 

“Because, Briny-brain… remember that banana peel?”

Zeller’s face lit up. “Oh my god! We both fell for each other… so we’re in love!”

”Brilliant!” Price exclaimed. “See, this is why I married you!”

”Jim-class?”

”Yeah?”

”Since we just discovered that we’re in love, we should patent it first. Then maybe your banana can meet my baguette.”

”Oh yes! As long as there’s also peanut butter. Get it? Banana baguette peanut butter sandwich?”

”No. Change of plans. No peas. Just nuts.”

”Don’t want anything separating your banana from my baguette.”

”Except when I’m palmier-ing your ass.”

”Cheri?”

”Yeah?”

”We need to renew our vows. Let’s do it tomorrow. On our 0.32-year anniversary.”

”That deserves a Nobel Prize! We’ll both profiterole from it.”

Needless to say, as soon as they returned to the States, Hannibal gave them both referrals.

Chapter 7: The Crawfords: The Afterlife

Summary:

Jack dies, and reunites with Bella. This is happy, I promise. Bella also kinda makes a case for leaving Hannigram alone if they show up in the same afterlife bc she's smarter than Jack in that regard XD

I'm so very sorry for the brevity -- today was simply an exhausting day for me, in every sense of the word.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jack... . 

In the darkness, a faint glow began to pulsate towards him, as if attempting to draw him closer. 

Jack, can you hear me? Stop looking behind you. You're here, with me. 

"No. After everything that has happened, you don't get to... " His voice broke. "Bella. Please. Tell me it's you."

It's all over, Jack. 

Sure enough, before him stood Bella Crawford, smiling. Her eyes glittered, as if reflecting light, though Jack felt himself ensconced in darkness, save for that which radiated from her very being in a golden halo. Her skin glowed, the way it hadn't in so long, when the veil of deathly pallor misted over her features. Though there was no draft to be felt, the train of her wedding dress billowed at her feet. The dress had been white, at their wedding -- but now, it was a serene shade of light blue.

It's the color of peace, Jack, the color of forever. She reached out an arm towards him, and, as if sensing his reluctance to accept her embrace, drifted closer. See? I'm real. If you took my hand right now you'll feel me, Jack, I promise. 

When Jack remained motionless, save for the soft trembling that overtook his lungs and for the tears that eased like starlight from his eyes, Bella brought her hand to his face, and cupped his jaw as the warmth of her skin registered. See? I promised. I'm here. 

Finally releasing his torrent-like sobs, Jack gathered all of Bella's slight figure into his arms, only to find them melded together, literally occupying the same space. She squealed, then pulled back, giggling. It took all of Jack's effort to prevent himself from trying to savor the sound -- we're here, together forever, after all. 

Forgot to tell you about that part, Bella laughed, raising an eyebrow. But tell me you don't think it's perfect. We can touch, for the rest of time, but we can pretty much be each other, too. 

For the first time in years, Jack felt a genuine grin spread over his face. You also forgot to tell me about the mind-reading part, Bella. Should I be afraid of that?

No, she sighed, merging into him once more, the glowing lines of their body intertwining and intersecting with one another. You never have to be afraid again. 

They stood there, for a while, relishing the eternal warmth that was finally theirs to share, never to be lost again. 

Hey Bella? 

Don't think about them... . She beat him to it. If we do run into them again, it would be completely pointless. They won't be able to kill anyone. And no matter his purposes, Hannibal did keep me with you for a little longer, didn't he? 

He made me k-

A cooling wave seemed to wash over him. Shh, said Bella. If we run into them, they'll be just like us. 

Inseparable, those two. Like they are now. 

Like they always were, she countered. My point is that they'll still be inseparable. We have each other, Jack, that's enough. Let them have each other too. 

He smiled. I won't even try, my dear, I'm all yours.

I missed you.

Jack held her closer, aligning their entire bodies so that no part of them failed to overlap. Not anymore, Bella. Never again.

Notes:

... and Hanni and Will ended up in a different kind of afterlife where they discovered different kinds of art. Once Hanners found out that he could invite Jack and Bella over to the world he shared with Will, he tried inviting them over for dinner.

Will obviously hijacked said plan and fed everyone the afterlife version of Macdonald's. Hanners was pissed and ignored Will for a very small portion of eternity, because, apparently, he couldn't survive without cuddles, even in the underworld.

Hanners, needless to say, was never called upon to deal with any of Jack and Bella's little squabbles. That was the responsibility of the Lecter-Graham dogs.

Chapter 8: Chedelia: on peace, on healing, on love.

Summary:

Chedelia and a cold evening. Some, uh, feelings talk.

Notes:

Carmilla is widely regarded as the underrated sapphic older sister of Dracula. I recommend giving it a read.

Chapter Text

The topic of love didn't come until after thousands of cups of tea, of misty mornings, of wine-softened evenings and pleasure that came and went, surged and flowed, wordlessly, like the tide on the sand.

Chiyoh closed the door behind her, firmly, to keep the draft out. Though they spoke often, she and Bedelia had negotiated the move from Chiyoh's cottage and Bedelia's modernist home into the stone manor without the need for words. All it took was a simple shared look and two simultaneous nods, one slow and one solemn, and that was it. Home.

Hearing her footsteps, Bedelia rose without looking away from her book, and added more wood to the fireplace, knowing Chiyoh would wish to warm her hands. 

"Welcome home," she said, when Chiyoh's frostbitten face seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

In lieu of a greeting, Chiyoh rested her cheek on Bedelia's shoulder, nuzzling at it with a single stroke before turning to the fireplace, tracing gentle shapes in the air in front of it. Bedelia smiled at the sight. 

"What are you reading?"

"Carmilla." 

"Love, blood, and sickness. We have seen much of all three." 

"You mean to say that this novel is not entirely novel, to us."

"Is it?" Chiyoh turned from the fire, watching as the amber light danced across Bedelia's face, clashing with the rainstorms of her eyes.

"I am not one who loves. I have never felt a need for it." 

"All people have a capacity for it," said Chiyoh, a small smirk peeping through her eyes. "You did not need it, but you have it anyway."

Bedelia handed her a bowl of tea. "The Japanese use thin cups without handles, so one could gauge that the tea is ready to drink by feeling alone," Chiyoh had said that morning, before they kissed goodbye. "We'll buy some," Bedelia had replied, covering her hand with hers. 

"Someone we know once said to me that you 'cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love'. I seem to have skipped the falling part, and found myself directly in the eye of this storm."

Reaching over to offer Bedelia a sip of tea, Chiyoh smiled. "This is not the storm. This is what was left behind by the storm." They will not come for us, her assuring gaze said. 

"You are implying that what we have is a certain devastated peace." As if to back up her statement, Bedelia swung her calves over onto Chiyoh's lap, earning her a pat in response.

"We were resistant to this sort of devastation, as people, since the beginning." 

"We are not resistant to trauma." Sensing the tensing of Bedelia's legs, Chiyoh absentmindedly massaged them, as if it was second nature. 

"Then this peace, as you call it, is 'devastated' only because it is a time of healing. But you forget the other reason for this chaos." This time, a sly smile spread across Chiyoh's face. 

Bedelia grinned. "That of comfort." 

"I will clarify. What I mean by 'this chaos'..." Before Bedelia could pull her legs back to get away, Chiyoh pulled the pin that held her curls in place, relishing the way they spilled against her back, and flipped them over her face.

For what felt like the first time, Bedela laughed. "Chiyoh." She reigned in her expression, trying to tell herself that Chiyoh was a patient, and that this was a serious therapy session.

"Bedelia." She is a bird you must capture, Chiyoh thought, willing the corners of her lips to back down.

Unable to hold it in anymore, they lost themselves to soft giggles, the sound so foreign and so warm that both silently resolved to do it together more often.

Bedelia took a deep breath, expression fading once more into a genuine seriousness. "You are right, Chiyoh. I do love you." Ah, I have already captured her, then.

"You have... fallen for my trap once more. I knew you were reading Carmilla." I love you, said a smoothing of blonde locks with a gentle hand.

The grasp of one hand in another and the sounds of footsteps leading into a moonlit bedroom was answer enough. I know. 

Chapter 9: Marlana: Young Again

Summary:

The Murder Wives have tequila and a very therapeutic date. Brief mention of Peter because he's precious <3

Chapter Text

"How old am I again?" Alana asked, perched on a stool at the kitchen counter. 

Margot rolled her eyes. "Taxes, am I right?" 

"Yep." For a moment, it seemed as if Alana was once more absorbed by completing form after form, inching desperately towards the light at the end of the tedious Kafkaesque tunnel.

"Sometimes I'm surprised by how young I am. It's like I've woken from some nightmare that stretched across years." 

Sighing, Margot strode over and rubbed circles into her back. "Me too. I guess it's been like this all my life."

Alana breathed in, heavily, and slowly released the breath. "I'm sorry."

"It's... it's over. Besides, you make it all better." 

"That it is. And I'm glad."

A notification from Morgan's school flashed across the screens of both of their phones. For the first time, they both ignored it.

"Hey, babe?"

"Yeah?" Alana turned in her seat, looking up at her wife.

"How about we spend one night, just being young again?"

"We are young."

Margot cocked her head, frowning. 

"Fine, I get it. Sounds like a plan."


With Morgan sent off to spend the weekend at Peter's farm, the night was finally theirs. At the kitchen table, Margot arranged lime wedges, salt, and Costco-sized bags of various Frito-Lay products. 

"Hey, got the tequila," said Alana, emerging from the doorway. 

"Yeah?" Margot turned, only to be greeted by Alana's furrowed eyebrows. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

Shoulders sagging a bit, Alana sighed. "It- it's fine. Just... last time I had tequila was med school, when he was my ment-" Margot pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"No, dear girl, we're taking back tequila for you. Positive associations, yes?"

A devilish grin overtook Alana's features. "How do you propose to do that, wife?"

"Let's just say that the salt isn't all I'll be licking tonight." 


One week later

Margot tiptoed down the stairs, exhausted, but bright-eyed. "Hey babe?" The living room showed no signs of Alana.

"Babe?"

"In here." Sure enough, Alana was slicing limes in the kitchen. 

Margot wrapped her arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of Alana's hair. "Morgan's asleep." 

"Mmm... finally." 

"Thought you didn't like tequila," Margot accused, raising an eyebrow.

Alana huffed. "It's our damn tequila. Join me?"

"Yup. Every day for the rest of our lives." 

 

Chapter 10: Murder Family: Abigail Shenanigans

Summary:

Abby chooses to acquire some... useful skills. The murder family inevitably benefits from it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"So, dads?" With an uncertain waver in her voice, Abigail twiddled her thumbs. 

Hannibal and Will exchanged a look.

"Yeah? You know you can tell us anything, right?"

Abigail nodded, though her thumbs still fidgeted, and her dinner remained untouched, much to Hannibal's chagrin.

"I've decided on a major. Like. For school." Will breathed out a sigh of relief, and Hannibal beamed at them both.

"That is wonderful news, Abigail. What is it? Surely you know that we will support you no matter what you choose to pursue."

"No, wait --" holding up a finger in warning, Will shook his head, a look of mischief gleaming in his eyes. "No professional drug dealing or any shit like that."

Abigail laughed. "Absolutely not! Besides, if I actually needed anything, Dad would be able to get it."

At this, Will glared at Hannibal. "Yes, and he will administer it safely."

"Of course, dear Will. Now, Abigail, are you going to tell us your chosen direction of study?"

"Yeah... it's computer programming." 

Will's eyebrows wrinkled. "Hehhhh??"

"Don't speak with your mouth full, darling... "

"So?" It seemed that Abigail had gone back to fidgeting. Gently, Hannibal rubbed Will's back as he swallowed. 

"We're, uh, very proud of you, Abigail, but computer science was my weak spot in college... . I just wish I could help you if you need it for homework or something, but I'm afraid I won't be very useful."

Hannibal smirked. "Perhaps I might be of some small assistance, then, mano dukra. I have some rudimentary IT knowledge, and have taken introductory courses in Java."

The look on Will's face was decidedly unamused. "We get it, not only are you good at literally everything, but you're also the biggest showoff about pretty much all your capabilities. You owe me, you know that?" The strokes on Will's back turned to teasing brushes, and Hannibal nuzzled his shoulder. 

"Just... shut up. And Abigail, if you need help, by all means bother your dad, and get him to make all of us coffee and treats while he's at it. Serves him right for being such a pompous ass."

"But you love me," Hannibal murmured into Will's shoulder, planting a kiss there. 

"Gross," said Abigail, as she took a picture to post on social media -- (Snatchap? Chatsnap? Will had given up on trying) -- likely with the caption "my dads are disgusting" with a heart after it.


Three months later

"Good morning, darling," Hannibal sang, as he waltzed back to their bedroom with a breakfast tray. "Has our Abigail sent us a" -- he wrinkled his nose -- "text message?"

"Yeah, she ignored your question about eating her veggies, but apparently wants us to check Tattlecrime."

Setting the tray down beside Will, Hannibal sighed, shaking his head. "She never did like Freddie Lounds. I cannot fault her for it, however.

Will sipped his passionfruit agua fresca ("Hannibal fucking Lecter, can't you just make orange juice like, I don't know, normal homo sapiens?"), before unceremoniously entering Tattlecrime.com into his search bar. 

Suddenly and without warning, agua fresca exploded all over the bedsheets, and Will doubled over with laughter, practically face-planting in his pancakes. 

"Will? Darling?" Hannibal tentatively picked up the iPad. 

The logo of Tattlecrime greeted him, as usual, but beneath it was a glaringly evident lack of articles. 

"Shogayaki, Japanese Ginger Pork: An Easy Weekday Dinner," the recipe beneath the Tattlecrime header screamed. Sure enough, pictures of meat accompanied by broccoli florets and tomato wedges appeared on the screen, followed by detailed cooking instructions.

"Ah..." Hannibal scratched his head, dumbstruck. "It seems that Abigail has learned to apply her new skills to the real world."

Will was still giggling, sloppily eating pieces of pancake with his fingers ("But we already have to do the laundry anyway," he'd probably protest). "Her new s-kills, get it?"

At Hannibal's frown, he rubbed syrup onto Hannibal's bare chest. "Aw, come on, you're always the one with the bad puns. Let me have this one?" He lapped at the syrup, looking innocently up at Hannibal. "Please?"

"My dear Will, you know I could never deny you anything. Now," he said, dead serious, jabbing a finger over Will's sternum, "is there anything you'd like to do before we inevitably have to wash these sheets, and cook a, let us simply say, easy weekday dinner?"

"Just you," Will sighed, settling back onto the sheets. 

If an insulated container of shogayaki was delivered to Abigail's dorm the day a certain Freddie Lounds went missing, no member of the family said a single thing.

Notes:

Mano dukra = daughter of mine/my daughter

Chapter 11: Hannigram: The Art Museum

Summary:

In celebration of the 10th anniversary of McQueen's Savage Beauty, hosted by the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

100% dialogue.

Chapter Text

"Hannibal."

"Hanni."

"Hanners."

"Will. How many time-"

"No, no, no, you tell me. You've been looking forward to this exhibition for months, and plaguing me about it, and then plaguing Chiyoh over having to figure out logistics for gettng us here without getting caught in the first place when you know we shouldn't even be anywhere near the United St-"

"Shh, Will. I'm savoring the experience."

"Jeez, when'd you start doing that? You've been staring at me all day."

"I've never seen you beside any of McQueen's creations before, Will, nor have I watched you behold them."

"You can watch me when you get home."

"Are you planning on committing grand theft, then, Will?"

"You know what I mean. Fine, you know what? Fine. Just. Fine."

"Thank you, Will."

...

...

...

"Are you fucking done yet?"

"The very symbolism of the curved horns in conjun-"

"Nope. Nope. Nope. We're going home. Come on. Call Chiyoh."

"Will..."

"Hey, Chiyoh? Hannibal's out of hand. We're going home. Yeah, he's fine, just pouty. Okay, thanks."

...

"Do you plan on compensating me for the loss of this experience?"

"Mhm."

"It seems that you still have a shred of reason in you, then."

"Ah, don't worry, darlin'. In about five minutes, neither of us will."

"Good."

Chapter 12: Hannigram vs. Jack: Jack Finds Out

Summary:

AU in which our bois figure their shit out really early, but Jack still thinks it's a bromance because Will's his iNnOcEnT lItTlE pUpPy who will apparently never do anything but save lives... .

Summed up in three words: Bev vs. Jack.

Then he realizes it the hard way (okay, but not when he's the one being hard) << sorry folks I make crass jokes

Chapter Text

"Oh my god, oh my GOD!" Beverly chirped, bouncing on her heels, drawing Price and Zeller's attention from their electrophoresis gel. 

"What, did it work?" Price asked, clapping his hands. Zeller glared.

"Wait, did what work?"

Drawing a banana in the air, Price mouthed: "Getting Jack to slip on a banana peel." 

Bev rolled her eyes. "No, but this is better, I promise... Graham Cracker finally looked at someone. In the eyes. Without the I'll kill you look."

"Really?" grumbled Zeller. "We all know the get me coffee look. That's nothing new."

A slow smirk spread across Bev's face as she raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry... apparently it's a get coffee with me look."

"uh- ahhh... that."

"VICTORY!!" Price chanted, hopping around the room on one foot, stretching both hands over his head. "Graham's getting laid!"


"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS NONSENSE, AGENT KATZ! I EXPECT YOU TO KNOW TO DO YOUR WORK, AND THAT'S IT!" Jack bellowed.

"Fine, just don't tell me I didn't warn you. Graham definitely wants Lecter. Like, ya know," she gestured lewdly with her hands, "want want." 

Jack rubbed his face between his hands. "Out, Katz. All he did was say something about eye contact being distracting while staring Lecter down. It sounds more like we need to keep him from antagonizing Lecter."

Beverly winked. "Yeah, sure. They'll be antagonizing each other plenty... "


Lunch at the BAU cafeteria was never a particularly toast-worthy event, but Jack's somber mood seemed to darken the entire atmosphere, even in broad daylight. 

"I had hoped to find help for Will, a shoulder to lean on," he lamented to his coleslaw. "But Lecter and Graham spend more time bickering and staring each other down than talking the way they're supposed to."

Suddenly, Bev erupted into a hailstorm of snickers. "Hold on, did you say bickering?"

Jack sighed. "Yes, I did, what about that?"

"Jack," said Bev, patting his shoulder, "that's a really good sign." 

Meanwhile, somewhere in the background, a certain Hannibal Lecter was indeed staring moon-eyed at a certain Will Graham, as said Will Graham made a rather cruel comment about color-blindness and his ridiculous suits. 


For the first time in months, Will didn't look uncomfortable sitting at his desk. Instead, a look of confused surprise adorned his face as he explored his own drawers. 

"Whatcha lookin' at?" 

"Huh?" Will nudged at his glasses. "Someone left me a lot of stuff. Someone who, uh, knows me... by the looks of it." 

Sure enough, in the usually-empty filing drawers sat two compact travel blankets, the sort used for hiking, a large bag of Will's favorite snacks, a sizable Tupperware of praline oatmeal cookies that looked and smelled as if they came just out of some Louisiana grandma's oven, a dog paperweight with an uncanny resemblance to Winston, bottles of aspirin, and stainless steel tubes of -- Beverly read the labels -- some luxury deodorant.

"Will," Jack strode over, towering over the desk. "Agent Katz. Wheels up in ten, yes?"

Bev smiled. "Sure, Jack, Just give him some time to sort his presents. From his, uh, secret admirer." 

"Nonsense, Bev, Lecter's just being a good friend, as I hoped he would be."

"LECTER?!" Will exclaimed, though evidently not displeased at the revelation. It may as well have been Christmas morning. 

"There he goes again," Jack sighed.


The BAU's kitchenette, in Hannibal Lecter's opinion, was a hellscape even he was almost afraid of navigating. But there was one small problem: this particular kitchenette happened to contain Will Graham.

"Will? May I come in?"

Before Will could respond, Jack practically leapt towards Hannibal, escorting him towards the coffee machine where Will had been making -- Hannibal wrinkled his nose -- Keurig coffee. 

"Will," Hannibal repeated, "I had meant to ask if you would accompany me for coffee after work today."

Jack beamed. "You can have some now. Will, make Lecter a cup, would ya?"

Gently, Hannibal lowered a hand onto Jack's shoulder. "Thank you for the sentiment, though I asked mainly in order to spend some time with our dear Will." 

"Excellent, Doctor, thanks for checking in on him... Oh. Will seems to be heating up. Can you take a look at him?" Sure enough, a deep blush bloomed across Will's cheeks as he meekly tucked his chin inwards in a poor attempt to conceal it. 

From the doorway of the kitchenette, Bev slammed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "What. Idiots."


Will blinked, the visceral images of the killer in action slowly draining from the permeable mesh of his mind. 

"Will?" called Hannibal. "Will, I'm here." 

Numbly, Will nodded, bringing his hands towards his mouth to warm them. Hannibal intercepted their journey, encasing them with his own gloved hands. 

"Beverly, would you please do me a favor and retrieve my coffee?" 

Beverly practically skipped over to fetch Hannibal's Thermos. Maintaining a hold on Will using his free hand, Hannibal gave him the coffee.

"Hold this. Perhaps your hands will be warmer. I suggest you drink it, as well, since ingesting warm fluids will likely also be beneficial for you."

"Psst. Jack." 

"Is it about evidence, Beverly?" A disgruntled Jack sighed.

"Nah, that's already done. Just look at Lecter and Graham. Ya think they'll be Lecter-Grahams soon?"

"Graham-Lecters!" Price shouted.

Jack slowly closed his eyes and turned his back to them.


"Might I impede on your schedule for dinner tonight, Will?" With honest-to-God puppy eyes, Hannibal placed a thermal bento box onto Will's desk, as if willing him to accept the lunch as an offering.

Will rolled his eyes. "Try to invade my dinnertime, doctor, and you'll just end up captured." 

From the desk next to his, Beverly nearly choked on her burrito.  

To absolutely no one's surprise, Hannibal simply smiled like the cannibal who got the corpse. "It would be an honor to be captured by you, dear Will. I can only hope that you won't spare me."

Bev's phone lit up. Are you seeing what I'm seeing? XOXO Price (I swear if you tell Zeller I have his phone I'm replacing your chair with a basin of water)

Yeah, no shit, she typed back. Stick him into one of the morgue's lockers, eh?


The next morning, it seemed that the usually scarf-averse Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter both decided, by some coincidence, to wear matching cashmere scarves -- Will's in blue, and Hannibal's in red.

Upon seeing them, both Price and Zeller pointed, snickering. 

"What?" Jack's annoyance, like a rain cloud, seemed to follow him everywhere. "What's with two friends coordinating their outfits now and then?"

"OH my GOD, Jack said WHAT?" Unable to keep a straight face anymore, Bev burst into a shower of giggles. "Anyhow, boss, you're on the right track. What's a little falling in love between friends, eh?" 

"Yeah!" Price and Zeller shouted.

Luckily, Will and Hannibal seemed too entranced by whispering to each other with their toes practically touching to notice any of the commotion.


Monday morning found Jack staring out the window, hands in his pockets.

Bev hesitantly cracked open the door, arms full of various dockets and photographs pertaining to the most recent case. "Jack? Whatcha lookin' at?"

"I'm worried about Will," Jack sighed.

"Can I see?" As soon as she peeked through the blinds, Beverly burst into laughter.

In the parking lot, Hannibal and Will stood, wrapped in each other's arms, nuzzling at each other's necks as if letting go would kill them. When they finally broke the hug, their hands remained entwined, and for a moment Bev wondered if she had somehow teleported back to high school to watch a "hallway couple" part before class. 

"Jack, Will's not upset," she said, softly. This was almost becoming pitiful. Surely Jack had to know. "Well, he kind of is, but in a really sweet way, you get it?"

Jack's loud guffaw startled her. "Good one, Katz. Will? Sweet? Get outta here." 

"Glad to be of service," sang Bev, as she scampered down the hall to dish the juicy gossip to anyone who wanted a taste.


Abigail Hobbs was finally being adopted, getting a chance to move on in life. 

"Congrats, guys!" The BAU team swarmed Hannibal and Will, raising Thermoses and flimsy paper coffee cups in a toast to their new daughter.

"Oh my god you guys are literally PARENTS!" Bev squealed. After a moment of consideration, she decided not to have mercy on Jack.

"Hey, Jaaaaaaack!" she taunted, practically ramming his office door open. "Guess what?"

Jack huffed. "What."

"Hannibal and Will are co-parenting! Wanna know what that means?" She winked.

Exasperated, Jack buried his face into his hands, elbows braced on his desk. "Yeah. It means they're doing her a great service and going above and beyond duty."


The rest of the week was a similar kind of hell for Bev.

"Jack, guess what? Hannibal and Will have showed up to work in the same car for the past five days!"

"Carpooling is environmentally friendly, Katz, get your mind out of the gutter."

 

"Yo, Jack! Hannigram's making out in the break room."

"This case is time sensitive, Zeller! Hannibal's European, please don't make fun of his heritage. We don't do that in this workplace."

 

"Oh-em-gee, Jack, they're even cuter than Price and I!"

"No, they're not!" 

"Ignore Price, but yeah, every day Hannibal brings Will lunch and massages his shoulders and Will gives Lecter a scalp massage... I mean, it's vee gross but also vee cute!"

Jack slammed his forehead onto his desk.


Beverly Katz was always, without fail, chipper -- even when she was positively miserable. Today, however... chipper wasn't even going to begin to cut it.

"Oh my GOODness GRAcious, everyone! ANNOUNCEMENT!" She struck her spoon against her Thermos, loudly, jumping up and down on her desk. 

"What?" An intern groaned.

Graciously, Hannibal rose, and bowed slightly. "Actually, Agent Katz is correct. Will and I have an announcement to make." Gently, he took Will's hand, drawing him up to stand beside him. Will slipped his arm around Hannibal's waist. 

"So, uh, guys, Hannibal and I thought you guys should know that we got married and are both now Lecter-Grahams." Indeed, matching wedding bands adorned their fingers, as did smiles of a caliber no one had ever seen on either of their faces before. 

"You truly are a wonderful colleague," said Jack, clapping Hannibal on the back. "I knew you'd not only be immensely helpful, but beyond entertaining as well."

Hannibal beamed. "Speaking of which, we'd like to invite everyone to a small celebratory dinner at our home this weekend, if everyone is amenable."

Bev gave Jack a pointed glare. "Our. Home."

"I don't want to hear it, Katz. He's keeping a good eye on his patient. This is better for Will."

"At least he didn't ask you for a dowry," she muttered under her breath.


Jack's mood for the next month was particularly sour. The Chesapeake Ripper's kill patterns seemed to have evolved entirely, making predictions or even finding trends near-impossible.

At least they still had Will. "They're Rippers, Jack. Modus operandi unknown for now, but he's not killing alone anymore."

"Well then, find out who his partner is," Jack practically shouted into the radio silence.

"This one's modeled after Magritte's 'The Lovers II', except the shrouds that cover their individual heads, in the painting, have been replaced with a silk veil covering both heads," Will said. "They see each other clearer than anything, but they see the world, too, through the... silk. It's just that the world can't see them." 

Hannibal, as always, stood on the sidelines, entranced by watching Will.


Wincing upon contacting the cold metal, Jack lifted the brass door knocker and released it. There was no response. Instead, a pained cry sounded from Hannibal's foyer, followed by a loud grunt that was unmistakably Hannibal. 

Fearing the worst, Jack kicked down the door, drawing his gun. At the sight before him, he froze.

"Well, darlin'," said Will, sprawled naked over a credenza, "it looks like we have a visitor."

"Indeed, my love," Hannibal replied, still balls deep inside Will. "One can only wonder, given his current position, whether he intends to leave us to our... activities, or to watch." As if to prove his point, he thrust once more into Will, earning himself a whine.

"Close," Will panted.

Only then did Jack seem to remember that he was, unfortunately, still alive. He swiftly turned on his heel and ran. 


Two months later, Will officially resigned from the FBI to take a teaching job at the Italian university at which Abigail studied. Hannibal opened a new practice nearby. If it hadn't been for the fateful incident at the Lecter-Graham house, Jack would have unleashed all his wrath upon everyone in the BAU for the loss of Will. Instead, he and Bella only wrote them a letter congratulating them on their new lives and sent them a bottle of wine.


The day after the Lecter-Grahams left for Italy, Miriam Lass was discovered, alive and completely intact, in a small run-down shack. Tied to her neck by a red ribbon was a note: "Should you ever change your mind, do let us know. Perhaps we might send you our sex tape." 

Needless to say, that very day, Jack Crawford officially resigned from the FBI.

Chapter 13: Murder Family: Among Us

Summary:

The Murder Family plays Among Us. Things go as well as you can expect them to.

A dialogue fic.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Tetis?"

"Yes, miela dukra?"

"So I was wondering if you guys wanted to play this game with me... Among Us?"

"Oh no, no, no. Nope. Not Among Us, ever. Your father and I are busy tonight."

"Will, I wish you would exercise a bit more... discretion around Abigail."

"C'mon, dad, please? It'll be fun. I mean, don't you want to play a find-the-impostor game with the Chesapeake Ripper?"

"Quiet, kid, it's murder husbands, plural. I'm not safe either."

"There is a chance that Abigail will win, Will, have some faith in her."

"Raised by two murderers, yeah, I get it."


"Will, my darling, I am so very sorry, but I hate to play against you. I must resign from this game."

"DAD! Seriously, the whole point of the game is FINDING the impostor and outing them!"

"Your father and I are already out, and very publicly at that, Abigail."

"Jeez!" 

"Hannibal, I swear, we're not doing that thing you like for a week for this."

"Ew!"


"Hey Tetis, Dad was faking navigation!"

"No, I didn't. Hannibal, just band with me for the rest of the game. Abigail, if he dies, I'm the impostor."

"Fine."

...

"This game has been going on forever! What the hell!"

...

"Wait... you guys are just walking around the halls together like an elementary school couple? One of you has to be the impostor!"

"For the sake of time, darling Abigail, I was the impostor."


"NO one kills Hannibal except me! And even then it'll be WHILE I commit suicide, and only as a mercy if absolutely need be!"

"Yeesh, Dad, it's just a game."

"I am very happy that you feel that way, dear Will. Shall we have an early evening?"

"You guys are disgusting."


"More eggs, miela mergaite?" 

"Yes, please, Tetis."

"Mongoose?"

"Fuck you, love. Are we going to talk about how playing Among Us was a terrible idea?"

"Indeed. We are all the so-called impostors of society, so it was unsurprising that none of us lost, involuntarily, that is, when playing the role of the impostor."

"I sucked at being a crewmate," Abigail grumbled. "Dad got the unfair advantage, he literally worked for the FBI."

"He made quite the handsome impostor, I'm afraid."

"Tetis, you do realize that all the little figurines in Among Us look pretty much the same... right?"

"Will, beloved, you are always beautiful, in any form."

"You know what, guys, I'm going to school."

"Have fun with the crewmates, lil' impostor!"

"Seriously!! Fine. I'll be home for lunch."

"Goodbye, dear."

"See ya, kid."

"Now, darling... shall we?"

...

Chapter 14: Hannigram: The Great Cake Debate

Summary:

Will is a lil' shit, and Hanners puts up with it.

Sorry this is so short... I'm just so exhausted today.

Chapter Text

"This isn't a cake, Hannibal, it doesn't even have icing." Will pouted, shoving his plate, untouched, back in Hannibal's general direction. How spoiled my mongoose has become, Hannibal thought fondly, a pang of satisfaction at their domestic ease welling in his chest.

"It is, indeed, a cake, dear Will. I believe I of all creatures in this household should know that." 

Will shrugged. "Hey Buster! Is this a cake?" When Buster let out an excited yip at hearing his master's voice, Will pointed a triumphant finger at Hannibal. "See? It's not a cake."

Hannibal sighed, feigning annoyance. Is this how we're gonna play it, Dr. Lecter?  Lowing his head to rest atop his arms on the counter, Will tilted his chin down, peeking up at Hannibal from beneath his eyelashes. "Actual cake, Haaaaanibal, please?"

If he hadn't anticipated this move and taken a few deep breaths to brace himself for it, Hannibal would have flushed and tumbled off of his stool. Instead, he only ducked to hide his blush, and padded back into the kitchen with Will's plate. Will sat up, smirking. "And there you have it, Buster. Foolproof."

After what felt like a few butt-numbing eons, Hannibal finally reemerged from the kitchen, presenting a small, frosted cake topped with fresh raspberries to Will, who demolished it immediately with no regard for the obvious care Hannibal had put into decorating it. 

"Hmmmibuhhlll?" He mumbled through a mouthful of cake. At the butchering of his name, Hannibal smiled, eyes creasing at the corners.

"Yes, dear Will?"

"This isn't the same cake you made earlier." Before he could even consider lying, Will raised an eyebrow in warning. 

"Ah, so now you accept that it was a cake."

"See-wee-ous-ee?" Will's indignant tone, muffled by an excess of cake, faded into sheer hilarity. Hannibal did his best not to chuckle, thoroughly charmed by the messy display before him.

"I... admit that I may have made you an entirely new cake. The other one did not go quite so well with this frosting." Indeed, the frosting was Will's favorite. The first time Hannibal made it, Will had insisted on "cleaning" all of the utensils that came into contact with it himself. Since then, Hannibal almost always kept a jar of it in their fridge, and pretended not to notice whenever a certain mongoose slipped from his arms in the middle of the night, only to return smelling like said frosting.

"You know, Haaaanibal," Will drawled, "you are so full of shit some-- nah, all the time."

"Is that your way of thanking me for the cake, beloved?" countered Hannibal.

"Oh, no, Dr. Lecter. For that to happen, you'll have to come here... "

Needless to say, it was not long before Hannibal himself had a taste of the frosting. 

Chapter 15: Hannigram: Sappy Poetry Reading

Summary:

Twenty years post-fall, Hannibal's still a sap, and Will puts up with it. That's all I got.

Two chapters in one day... though these aren't sequential, don't miss the previous one (unless you want to, that is!).

This is just self-indulgent fluff combined with my own personal love for literature... I've had a rough week, so this is kinda selfish.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Reading love poems are one thing. To be read love poems by another, sitting beside billowing curtains in a window seat, is another. Reading love poems requires one to fixate on each word, to admit them one by one to the theatre of one's mind. Listening to them isn't so much about the words themselves as about the sincerity they bring out in one's lover's voice, about basking in the steady but hazy stream of warmth trickling from the sentences.

Such was Will Graham's excuse for paying absolutely no heed to the precise words that swirled around him like the dust in the sunlight, ground smooth and finished to the point of gleaming by Hannibal's polished-granite voice. Instead, he shut his eyes and leant backwards so that his head rested against Hannibal's shoulder, and rested his arms against Hannibal's thighs as if he was a human armchair as Hannibal read and stroked his hair. 

"... when you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: you stood before me, you took dominion like a queen, like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion."

The rounded-off cadence in Hannibal's tone and the kiss planted into the soft curls at the top of Will's head signified that the sonnet had ended. 

"I am quite certain that you are still awake, my dear Will, and that you are simply being willful at the moment," Hannibal chided, teasingly.

"Mmm. Warm." As if to prove his point, Will nuzzled into Hannibal's neck, wiggling a bit to press their bodies closer together. Hannibal sighed, content to remain in this moment with Will for eternity.

"Y'know, old man, marrying the Chesapeake Ripper wasn't the worst decision I ever made."

"Ah, and what decision might that be, beloved?" Will reached up to boop Hannibal's nose.

"The worst decision..." He rose, straddling Hannibal's thighs, "was marrying a goddamn hopeless romantic. Seriously, it's literally been what, twenty years, and you just have to be a sap every fucking day."

At the pop of Will's right knee, Hannibal smirked. "It would appear that I am not the only old man here, then." Will glared at him, before the corners of his lips trembled and a laugh burst from his chest, unbidden. "But if I am not mistaken, you find no small amount of joy in my reminders of my love for you."

The eye roll that had somehow managed to endear itself to Hannibal after all these years reemerged. "Can't you just say 'I love you', like normal people do? Actually, you know what, we've had this argument already."

"Indeed we have, mongoose," Hannibal chuckled. "And I do say 'I love you'. Every morning," he kissed Will's cheek, "every afternoon," he pecked at his other cheek, "every evening," a soft kiss found its way to Will's forehead, "and every night. But I find that if I said it every time I meant it, you would grow quite bored of me in no time. Hence the need for... variations," he finished, gesturing towards the abandoned book of Pablo Neruda's sonnets.

"Screw you," Will spat, failing to conjure any vehemence in his voice, before sinking into Hannibal's arms. 

"Ah, but my dear boy, I believe that is your job." 

For the rest of the afternoon, Will Graham ensured that it was, indeed, a job well done. 

 

Notes:

... the poem from which Hanni reads in this chapter is from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet 22. It's one of my favorites -- do check it out!

Chapter 16: Hannigram: Sunbathing

Summary:

Hannigram and some not-quite-fun in the sun. Pure fluff and some degree of crack.

Notes:

Referenced poem: Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 ("My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun").

Chapter Text

Will folded his arms behind his head, sighing contentedly as Hannibal rubbed sunscreen into his skin. 

"My William's eyes shine just like the sun," Hannibal half-hummed, "coral is far less red than his lips' red." 

Jolting up on the picnic blanket, Will glared through his sunglasses. "Seriously? Okay, you know what, you're definitely not going to be waxing poetic about the color of my breasts next." Hannibal only grinned, an expression he seemed to have developed over time living with Will. 

"That is indeed the next part of the sonnet, but I was about to adapt it to suit your physique." Shoving Will back down against the blanket, he smeared a dollop of sunscreen onto Will's chest, as if to drive his point home. 

"Jeez. You know this isn't what I meant when I said that us doing nothing together could never really be doing nothing."

The dreaded smirk that made Will want to punch Hannibal in the face resurfaced. "Indeed, dear Will, it would seem that we are capable of entertaining each other with little external stimuli." Oh no you're not. Grabbing Hannibal by the hair, Will flipped them over so that his own face hung menacingly over Hannibal's. 

Hannibal only ignored his snarl, electing instead to bring two already-tanned arms around Will, drawing him to his chest. 

"I'm going back inside if you act smug about this," threatened Will, before tucking his mop of curls beneath Hannibal's chin. Though he knew Hannibal well enough to know that the man was likely pouting at this point, a gentle finger traced the shape of a heart into his back. "You do realize that it's way too hot out to be cuddling."

"Yes," Hannibal said, though neither made a move to separate. "Do you see, now, why I decided against using the lawn chairs?"

Will huffed. "Seriously, we should have brought them. I'm uncomfortably hot."

"You are always uncomfortably hot," Hannibal purred. 

"Shut up."


Four hours later... 

"HANNIBAL!" Will shrieked, standing before the mirror in the ensuite bathroom. "What the hell is... "

"Yes, mylimasis?" 

Sure enough, two tan lines seemed to bifurcate Will's sides so that his back was a rich golden-brown, but his chest and the front of his legs were still creamy white. 

"Regarding that, Will..." Hannibal removed his clothes, putting his own odd tan on display. "Apparently only my forearms, shins, and feet managed to tan. It would seem that you managed to... protect me from tanning the rest of my body."

"Shit," Will laughed, pointing a mocking finger at Hannibal. "I thought I looked ridiculous, but you're even worse! Y'know what, let's throw those lawn chairs out. I don't think we'll ever use them again." As he jeered, Hannibal's lower lip eased itself outwards, jutting from his upper lip. 

Will stopped, gathering Hannibal into his arms. "Aww, I'm sorry. It's just nice to see you so comfortable, here, with me," he murmured, kissing Hannibal's neck. "Besides, you're adorable."

Hannibal brightened. "Care to show me how much?"

Chapter 17: Hannigram: Shampoo

Summary:

Will and Hanners are on the run following a murder spree. It'll be a while before they can return to their home in Cuba. Hanners deals with some... inconveniences.

Chapter Text

Joining Hannibal beneath the pattering spray of the shower, Will wrapped his arms around his waist, nuzzling his cheek into the back of Hannibal's neck. Hannibal sighed.

"Hey," Will whispered. "It'll be okay. We'll be home soon -- tomorrow we should be able to make it to Buenos Aires." Indeed, they spent the past fortnight planting false leads, anywhere away from their home in Cuba, as the taking of Bedelia du Maurier's leg alone screamed Hannibal Lecter. Jack Crawford would be livid.

At first, Will had been surprised that Hannibal was homesick -- he seemed to give up his Baltimore home easily enough. "It has sentimental value to me," Hannibal had said of their remote manor in Vinales, face burrowed in Will's lap as Will massaged his scalp. "It is our home, the first place of long-term residence where we both left our masks and dressings to hang by the door." 

"Want me to wash your hair? Heard it's a good way to start the day," offered Will, holding up the opened bottle of shampoo. Hannibal's nose wrinkled, like that of a cat being fed a slice of lemon. In response, Will raised an eyebrow. "You gotta wash your hair at some point, y'know."

The pout that often made Will question how the sophisticated Chesapeake Ripper could also be such a brat returned. Though he would never admit it, except on the rare days when Hannibal felt ill and needed comfort, he found it positively adorable. 

"C'mon, darlin'," he coaxed. "Seriously, I promise we'll back soon. You'll be reunited with those fancy-ass hair products of yours before you know it. But for now I'd much prefer that you don't stink up my pillow."

Hannibal refused to budge, only turning up his nose to further emphasize how repulsive the idea of using the hotel shampoo was to him. Dammit, Will thought. There was only one option left.

"Hannibal," warned Will, "If you refuse to wash your hair again today I'm going to sleep on the couch." 

A devilish grin spread across Hannibal's face. "Then I won't mind sharing it with you."

Okay, so that one doesn't work anymore. Fuck.

Groaning, Will rested his head on Hannibal's shoulder. "The shampoo is fucking scentless, Hannibal, it says so on this goddamn label." An insistent finger jabbed against the bottle. Unfazed, Hannibal quirked a corner of his mouth. Any moment now.

Will slapped his palm to his forehead. "Okay, okay, fine. Shit. I should've remembered. You're always complaining about smells and scents, after all... I'm sorry, darlin'."

Hannibal gathered him into his arms. "I propose a compromise, then, mongoose."

"What might that be?" 

"I will wash my hair using this atrocious shampoo if you agree to let me use your towel to dry it afterwards. After you use that very same towel, that is. That way, perhaps the odor would be replaced by a much pleasanter scent, one that I happen to crave at all hours of the day."

What the actual fuck. "Oh my god, you are disgusting," Will practically lamented, digging his chin into Hannibal's shoulder for emphasis. "Fine."

As promised, Will left his towel for Hannibal to use to dry his hair. But when Hannibal opened the bathroom door to return to the bedroom, Will was nowhere to be seen.

Go rest up in bed, asshole, the note read. Stay put. I'll be back before lunch. 

By lunch time, however, Will had still not returned. Hannibal began to drum his fingers against the sticky table. "Being on the run means no luxury, idiot," Will had said.

At two in the afternoon, Hannibal began to pace around the suite, contemplating whether to go look for Will. Still, the note had said to stay put. Hannibal obeyed.

The situation was no kinder to Hannibal two hours later. Had he not honed such an innate sense of self-control, he would have erupted into a nervous pit of lava. 

Finally, just as Hannibal was about to bust out of the hotel to scour all Argentina for Will Graham, said mongoose returned, face red and panting from exertion, but oddly triumphant. Beautiful.

Before he could do anything about his joy of seeing his beloved again, Hannibal found a thick paper bag thrust into his face. "For you, idiot," Will spat, fondly. "I fucking spent all day trying to find this shit. You better appreciate it."

Confused, Hannibal gently undid the packaging. Two familiar glass bottles stared up at him.

"You bought me shampoo."

Will burst into laughter, practically rolling on the floor. "Oh my god, now I get why you were so miffed when I remarked that you brought me chicken soup." Hannibal, for his part, was entirely unamused.

"You bought me shampoo," Hannibal continued, "the same shampoo I use at home, because you know that it bothers me. It would seem that you are the only god who is, himself, a blessing."

Rolling his eyes, Will huffed. "Yeah, you must want that blessing terribly."

"I would kneel at your feet for it," Hannibal affirmed.

"You're so full of shit, you know," said Will, matter-of-factly. "Now, c'mon, I think we have another shower to take. To wash that gunk out of your hair. Shall we?" He gallantly offered his arm to Hannibal, who rested his fingers atop the proffered forearm. 

"Now who is 'full of shit'?" Hannibal asked innocently, earning himself a hard bump to the hip in retaliation.

"Don't you dare. I might just decide to take the hotel shampoo home with us." 

For the rest of their stay in Argentina, Hannibal Lecter remained on his best behavior. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18: Hannigram: Lap sitting

Summary:

... more fluff, y'all! Feel free to leave requests for future chapters in the comments!

Notes:

This is set fifteen years post-fall.

Chapter Text

No matter how untempered their evenings often are, in love or in war, mornings shared between Will and Hannibal are slow and sweet. Though Will enjoys blaming it on their old age, Hannibal insists that it is only what is natural for them, now that they can finally be themselves as a family of two. "We are both prone to quiet contemplation," he had said, as Will pinched his cheeks. 

It turns out that quiet contemplation refers to quite a long list of activities. First, it begins with lazy cuddles beneath sheets of Egyptian cotton, accompanied only by the softest, most-drawn out morning greetings. Hannibal is always the first to rise, which is always met with Will's sloppy attempts at grabbing onto his sleeve, the hem of his shirt, his pinky, his pants -- anything to keep him in bed. Sometimes, Hannibal manages to resist.

Without his morning coffee, apparently, Will refuses to do anything, getting dressed included. So they struck a compromise -- each morning, after escaping Will, Hannibal brings him a cup of his "snobbish asshole" coffee, and lovingly dresses Will as he drinks it. The process is always clumsy, but any other methods would leave Hannibal's spoiled mongoose grumpy and uncooperative.

On nice days, Will goes out to sit on the veranda with Encephalitis, who rests her head in his lap as if she herself was reluctant to greet the new day. Together, they wait for Hannibal to finish cooking breakfast, carrying it on a tray as Encephalitis jumps at it, trying to snatch pieces of egg or sausage. When she succeeds, Hannibal pretends not to notice, choosing instead to enjoy the anticipation of sitting beside his beloved, eating slowly as they listen to the sounds of birds stirring in the trees.

Today is very much the same. Will, rocking gently in the porch swing, swirls his fingers idly through Encephalitis's fur. At Hannibal's approaching footsteps, however, she abandons him in favor of yapping at Hannibal's feet until a sliver of prosciutto, by complete accident, happens to fall from the edge of his tray. She gobbles it gleefully.

"Hey, c'mere," Will calls, joints popping as he stretches. Hannibal smiles.

"But I am already here, mongoose, am I not?" No, the grip on his wrist responds.

"I said," Will repeats, "come here." Before the familiar cock of Hannibal's head could express the man's confusion, Hannibal finds himself tugged onto Will's lap. 

"There. That's better." Will's chest, though still in complete possession of deadly strength, has softened over the years of being properly fed by three lovingly cooked meals a day. Hannibal sighs in satisfaction as he rests his face on it, feeling a responding purr echo from the center of Will's torso. "Routines change, Hannibal."

Perking an ear up, Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Is this to become our routine position for eating breakfast, then?" Will only nods. 

"This is a reckoning," he threatens, pointing a strawberry at Hannibal's nose before feeding it to him. "A reckoning for all those years you insisted on eating lunch with me in your lap."

Around the comically large bite of strawberry, Hannibal does his best to grin, succeeding instead in looking like a pufferfish. An adorable, deathly poisonous pufferfish, Will thinks. "Cunning boy." A rivulet of red juice flows down his chin, and is intercepted by a coarse thumb that is, in turn, offered to him to suck.

"Old man," Will retorts, enjoying the way Hannibal's nose scrunches. "What? You are an old man, you vain, prissy idiot."

Hannibal only shakes a finger in his face. "Every day, forever," he warns. "You are quite condemned to being stuck with me." 

Bending over slightly, one arm around Hannibal's waist, Will presses a strawberry-sweet kiss to Hannibal's lips. "So are you," he whispers, eyes bright. "Because this, darlin', is just practice for our eternity in hell." 

 

Chapter 19: Hannigram: Dancing

Summary:

Again, folks, I am so sorry for being late with everything... this is simply a sluggish week for me as I was quite ill for the past few days, and am just starting to feel better today. That being said, I'm still almost perpetually exhausted.

Here's a small apology present.

Chapter Text

Every morning since he regained his ability to walk, Hannibal shuffled carefully to the door of Will's bedroom, gently easing his ear against it, listening for the gentle puffs of air that reminded him of Will's continued existence, before retreating downstairs to cook them both a breakfast, which he left at the counter. Half an hour later, without fail, Will would always perch silently on his stool, spooning food between soft cherry blossom lips as Hannibal watched from behind a book in the study. 

It was polite enough to leave a festering itch at Hannibal's core, and rude enough to stick thorns in his side.

Yet every morning the breakfasts continued, then lunch, then dinner, then trays of whiskey and bratwurst and manchego delivered to Will's door, left with a plonk just loud enough to alert him of its presence. If Will noticed Hannibal peeking through a crack in his own bedroom door to watch him accept the bedtime snack, he never commented.

Not that he ever said anything, these days.

Hannibal had considered letting Will break the silence between them when he was ready, to treat it as any other item of his clothing -- to be left on unless given consent to do otherwise, until it occurred to him that they were both wearing layers of hesitation. Will's clothedness did not restrict Hannibal to a similar state.

So he stripped.

As Will ate his shrimp etouffee ("You should make etouffee. It's his favorite," Beverly Katz had said, "They say you cook like the devil, and God knows Will over there needs to be fed."), instead of retreating to the study and leaving the door open -- to let in the air, of course -- Hannibal set his own dish across from him, and barely ate a bite.

"Will," he pleaded. "Will." 

The response came after another bite, another swallow, the clinking of a fork laid to rest against a plate. One breath, then another. "What do you want, Hannibal?" Barbless, like a rose stripped of thorns. Sit pretty.

What did he want? Everything. 

Nothing Will didn't want to give.

Everything.

"Dance with me," Hannibal blurted, as it only made sense that the first time he blurted anything at all to anyone would be to Will, the only person who mattered -- when he needed, above all, to be careful. 

What?  Will's gaze asked, since Will Graham didn't stutter these days, didn't react visibly in shock. The smooth lift of watery eyes said it all.

"Dance with me," repeated Hannibal, feeling smaller and smaller. Will stood.

To leave? 

He strode towards Hannibal, who remained seated, as if reluctant to leave the dinner table. He extended a hand, and only then did Hannibal rise -- just to grasp the fingers that, for three years, he feared would forever hover just beyond his reach, disappearing when he woke from sleep, or stirred from a reverie, like the fruits that dangled above Tantalus. 

"Dance with me," Will asked. Hannibal led him towards the middle of the study, not bothering to turn on any music. Yes.

Their arms wrapped around each other, winding far too tightly to be considered even decent form. 

"In the waltz, there are steps," Hannibal whispered into the patch of hairless skin just behind Will's ear. "Between us, there is only motion." A foot rocked backwards, taking another with it. A leg snaked around a thigh, gripping tight. 

"We shift continuously," Will affirmed. "Only to move together."

Sighing, Hannibal flexed his fingers against Will's back, feeling the join between muscle and bone. With a swift step forward, he pinned Will against a bookshelf, until a foot caught between his legs and swept away his balance. A firm palm at the small of his waist brought him up again. 

Stubble scraped against stubble in a slow slide, until -- 

Lips brushed against lips. A low thrum bloomed from the center of Hannibal's chest to his fingertips, where they met at Will's spine, threatening to consume him from within. Tears bled over onto Will's cheeks. I feel it too. 

This new, sneaking pain left behind no scars, but claimed the body itself as a wound. Hannibal, for once, could not name it. 

Will's nose brushed under his ear, as moisture smeared from Will's cheeks onto his own, as if they had welled in the same pair of eyes. "I love you," one of them whispered, trying to do nothing but to name their ache.

"I love you," the other replied, an echo swirling into those first three words, the simplest words in the world, that made all the others impossible to understand.

Dance with me. 

I love you.

Yes.

You love me.

Dance with me.

Forever.

I love you.

Yes.

Neither Hannibal nor Will ever ate another meal alone again. The nights, too, were simpler -- gone were the surreptitiously delivered trays of spirits and charcuterie. In their stead was another sort of dance, slow and piercing, set to nothing but rustling sheets and sighs and moonlight.

Goodnight.

Chapter 20: Hannigram: Getting Up

Summary:

Literally Hannigram trying to work out the very difficult matter of getting out of bed.

Chapter Text

Every morning with Will gave Hannibal a newfound appreciation for the grueling training the FBI Hostage units' members must endure, not that he himself had ever taken hostages. What he wanted, in taking his victims, was between himself and Will and life and death. 

Still, he suspects that no amount of sneaking could possibly save him. Indeed, just as he silently congratulated himself for successfully easing a foot out from between Will's legs and an arm from beneath their blankets, two strong arms seized his torso, helped by the insistent nuzzling of a head of curls -- with teeth -- and apparently, now, it was Hannibal who was held hostage.

"Don't you dare," Will mumbled in warning, tangling their legs together once more. 

"Will. I should hate for you to miss your morning coffee," chided Hannibal, despite the warmth that seeped into his skin and nourished every pulsating cell that thrummed with joy. It felt so long ago, those desolate days spent in his memory palace, with a Will whose back was perpetually turned to him, waiting like a kicked puppy for the real Will to visit him. Don't leave me behind.

As if he had spoken aloud, Will dug his chin into Hannibal's sternum. "I took you with me, Hannibal. Didn't I?" There was no arguing with the clear blue eyes aimed up at him. "'Sides, I was the one who sailed across the Atlantic to see you. Still need me to drag myself to the kitchen to find you at seven in the morning to prove my love?"

To Hannibal, it was always Will who left first -- never literally -- rather, in Baltimore, his loyalties had fled Hannibal's side, then, back in Wolf Trap, his willingness to be with Hannibal at all. At the BSHCI, even the possibility of Will's pleasure upon seeing Hannibal had been taken from him, leaving Hannibal alone with the unexpressed but pressing fear that Will would never return for him again. 

When Will refused to let him go as they greeted each new day together, Hannibal's monster was comforted, as much by the weight of Will atop his chest as by the meaning of Will's embrace itself. But the desperation Will seemed to exude when he managed to break free, by pure necessity -- his love would upend the entire city without his coffee, after all -- worried him.

"Will? Will." Gently petting the sleepy mongoose's hair, Hannibal did his best to soothe him. "I promise to return within five minutes." It was nowhere near enough time for him to prepare a cup of coffee he deemed remotely worthy of Will Graham, but compromises had to be made.

Will wound his arms tighter around Hannibal, unrelenting. "No. Fuck coffee. We won't need it if we never get up again." His tone was light, humorous, and entirely appropriate for a morning in bed, but it wavered towards the end, betraying a hidden terror.

"Don't leave me."

There it was. To Will, it was always Hannibal who left. Hannibal, who gutted Will and ran away to Florence -- with Bedelia -- before Will could explain, confess, or reach forward to kiss him. Hannibal, who he just knew was in the Norman Chapel, but who left him to search for him. Hannibal, who turned himself into prison before Will could consider the consequences of the well-practiced words he didn't truly mean. 

Don't leave me. Stay. Please do not greet the world without me. Wait for me. Take me with you.

The mornings, when Hannibal inevitably woke to Will wrapped around him like a finger monkey, legs tangled and hands joined, became self-explanatory. Will was begging. A pulsating pain bloomed in his chest at the realization, and he clung harder to Will, earning him a satisfied sigh from his beloved. 

"I will never leave you again, Will, I swear it," he whispered, planting a kiss onto the top of Will's head. 

Will smiled, sleep-soft, and Hannibal's heart broke. "Mmm... you better not try, 'cuz I'm not planning on letting you go again, ever."

"You might think differently when I tell you this," said Hannibal, lifting an eyebrow. "If I stay in bed with you, your coffee will be quite late this morning." In response, Will rubbed his cheek against the soft thatch of hair on Hannibal's chest. 

Hannibal sighed. "All right, then. I suppose we can stay for another hour, after which we will rise together." 

"And make my coffee together?" 

"Precisely, mylimasis."

When one hour became three, Hannibal found that he truly did not mind lazy mornings in bed, after all. 

Chapter 21: Hannigram: Truth Serum

Summary:

Probably Part I of some nonsequential truth serum chapters I might write. Written, as always, while procrastinating.

No 100% effective truth serum exists in real life. There are lots of psychedelic drugs that lower inhibitions, as does alcohol, but all of them have serious side effects (think Death of Marilyn Monroe level serious).

For the purposes of this series of fluff ficlets, truth serum refers to some magical substance Hanners managed to procure that somehow has 0 medical side effects aside from putting the subject to sleep after the session, only for them to wake with no recollection of what happened.

Chapter Text

"So, we agree. No more secrets and no more lies, yes?" Wringing the dish towel into the sink, Will had turned to look Hannibal in the eyes, pinning him in place as if to intimidate him into answering.

"No more secrets and no more lies, my love," Hannibal had echoed with a smile. 

When he found the truth serum at the back of a small apothecary, he thought of Will, and purchased it as soon as his beloved's voice echoed in his head. It would make for an interesting evening.


Will crossed his legs, settling back into the chair placed opposite Hannibal's as the Chesapeake Ripper's eyes fogged under the influence of the truth serum. Leaning over to retrieve the tape recorder from the coffee table beside him, he pressed "Record".

"So, babe, what's your name?"

The edges of Hannibal's lips curled into a dopey smile with some teeth and tongue between them, like that of an infant. "Count Hannibal Lecter the Eighth, although sometimes I am also apparently... babe." Will snorted.

"Where are you?"

"Home."

"Sounds like you got all that right, doctor. Now, do you want to tell me why you brought Bedelia du Maurier" -- he grimaced -- "to Europe with you after... leaving me?" 

The residual happiness in Hannibal's expression fell away and fled. "After leaving him I did not wish to be alone in this world again. But I wanted at the same time to prove to myself that he did not change me, that all I wanted from him was to toy with him... and that, because of that --"

"By that logic, you would've succeeded in convincing yourself that she was enough, is that right?"

Hannibal nodded slowly. "Yes, and also that I was capable of being, again, who I was before." 

"Did it work?"

"No." I missed you too.

Will cocked his head, gesturing for Hannibal to continue, wishing that his own eyes were not aching to well with tears.

"I could not stop myself from seeking him in my own mind. She told me that I chose to go to Florence because it was where he would come find me." A breath, thin as water, escaped slowly from Hannibal's lungs. His hands clutched at one another, and Will barely managed to contain the desire to rush forth and cradle him in his arms.

"Then why? Why did you try to consume his brain when you were reunited?" Slowly, a wet trail snaked its way down Will's cheek, just as an answering one paved the terrain of Hannibal's.

"I wished to consume him... just as I consumed Mischa. To have him with me, always, but not to be so weakened by him again, so chained and so tortured." 

Will drew in a deep breath. "But then you gave up the freedom you wanted to keep him from ripping from you." Hannibal nodded.

"To have him absorbed into my own body and to retain my freedom, then, both led to the same outcome -- losing him, losing the chance to converse with him again, to see his face again. I could not bear it." 

Will turned off the tape recorder, and swiped at the tear drying on Hannibal's face with a thumb before sitting back down. 

"I'm sorry for those questions. I... I just needed to know."

"It's quite all right," Hannibal returned, as courteous after consuming truth serum as he was sober. Will grinned.

"So tell me about this man you were talking about earlier." 

"He is beautiful, in his wrath and in his joy alike. I do not feel I have the adjectives needed to describe him. Often, I am still surprised that he chose to remain willingly in my life, and I can only wish that he will desire to do so every day for the rest of our days. I want to be married to him, although I fear that asking may drive him away." At this, Hannibal's head drooped, and his shoulders hunched forward sadly. Huh. Guess I'll have to beat him to it, then. 

Lifting an eyebrow, Will leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, trying not to let his enjoyment of Hannibal's words show. "Go on."

"Perhaps I neglected to mention his beauty..." Will snickered. "His mind is so captivating, as is his form, that I think I would keep in conversation and in bed at all moments of every day if I did not also so enjoy beholding him in his moments of creation."

"And who is this man?"

"Will Graham... Mongoose... beloved..." Hannibal wrinkled his nose in frustration. "He is not a name, but a person. My everything. It would be an insult to myself to contain him in a word."

"Jesus..." Unable to contain it anymore, Will burst into laughter, pointing a mocking finger at Hannibal. "You're such a sap."

"It's you," Hannibal said, simply. "I love you." 

Brows furrowing, Will huffed. "You knew it was me this whole time?" Hannibal nodded.

"I cannot see you clearly, but your voice... I find that many of my own thoughts occur to me in your voice." Entirely and truly conjoined.

Dropping the game of the truth serum in its entirety now, Will plopped himself down onto Hannibal's lap, and kissed his nose. "Y'know, darlin', I love you too." Though his veins still carried threads of truth serum, Hannibal's eyes seemed to brighten as he tilted his head up to meet Will's lips. 

A few days later, the box containing the ring Hannibal had taken so much pride in hiding so cleverly was missing. In its place sat a hand-whittled box of roughly the same dimensions, laid on top of a note: Come find me, dearest. Sometimes you gotta catch a mate. 

Hannibal smiled. I won't keep you waiting, he promised Will. They were going to have the shortest engagement period and the longest honeymoon ever. 

Chapter 22: Hannigram: Hugging.

Summary:

Post-fall, Will and Hannibal share a friendly domesticity. The problem is that Hannibal has a tendency to pet things. As it turns out, all he needed was a hug.

Chapter Text

From his observations of Hannibal years ago, Will was always aware that Hannibal was a very tactile person. He used touch to gain trust, to manipulate, to create, to destroy -- but also to soothe himself.

In beholding Will's wrath for himself in the stable with Clark Ingram, he had petted a sheep to establish the reality of the situation in his own mind, the better to store it in his memory palace and treasure it forever. At the BSHCI, he had crossed his hands behind his back in what appeared to be a dignified pose, only to hold his own hand whilst imagining that he was holding Will's. On the cliffside, he had clung to Will's shirt, relishing the feeling of Will's hair glued to his cheek by blood, and wrapped his arms around his beloved as they fell, if only to feel their hearts beating together for the first and final time.

Touch grounded him.

It infuriated Will. 

At first, Hannibal was quite subtle in his touches. He opened doors slowly, sometimes stroking at the cool brass beneath his fingers. He brushed his hands against tabletops, worried the fabric of the curtains as he opened them each morning. 

Eventually, however, he took to placing one hand on Will's shoulder every time he set something before him -- breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, coffee, tea -- as if he couldn't simply slide the dish or cup towards Will from a more platonic distance. When Will brought home a succulent for his own bedroom, Hannibal watered it once a week, but took to visiting it each morning -- stroking the sides of its spiky leaves, speaking to it. Will named it Double Agent.

Will had had enough.

"Han?" he called from the study, switching off the vacuum cleaner. Hannibal materialized almost instantly, duster in hand. 

"Yes, Will?" He sounds like a fucking butler. No. That wouldn't do.

"I'm real, you know. This is real." Hannibal's eyes softened, a twitch of his lips conveying to Will that he's successfully found him out. "I've seen you talking to Double Agent, you know. You've taken to petting a goddamn house plant." 

"I apologize, Will. Indeed, touch assures me of the reality of our situation, of this life together. It also serves to help me preserve it in my collection of memories, should this be only a beautiful dream. Still, if you would prefer that I keep out of your room... "

Will lifted a hand, silencing him.

"Would this be an ideal life for you, if I wasn't here?" He already knew the answer, but Hannibal needed a push. A shove, moreover.

The Chesapeake Ripper shook his head obediently, like a tamed mountain lion. "You know it wouldn't, Will."

"So then... " continued Will, "why won't you touch me?" Hurt clouded the edges of Hannibal's gaze, but somehow, just somehow, it burned brighter than ever before. Don't taunt me, it begged. I won't, Will promised, lifting a tentative hand to squeeze affirmingly at Hannibal's bicep.

"I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, Will. Touching the unique features of our home is enough."

Will huffed. "You're telling me that you needed something but didn't tell me. We agreed on open communication when we got here, Hannibal, what part of that don't you understand? It took us five years to learn that lesson."

Closing his eyes, Will's cannibal took a deep breath, as if trying to memorize his scent. Well... another conversation for another day. "I... would find it comforting to be permitted to touch you, Will." 

When Hannibal opened his eyes again, Will was smiling. He inwardly thanked the hand on his arm for helping him maintain his stability, keeping him from losing his solid form to a more aquiline structure. Slowly, Will ran his hand down Hannibal's sleeve, brushing lightly against the back of his hand. He stepped closer, and gently wrapped his other arm around Hannibal's waist and rested his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder.

"M'here," he affirmed, clutching Hannibal's hand a little tighter. "You can have this whenever you want, okay?"

Hannibal smiled, partly by instinct, partly in a gesture of protest against the pricking of tears against his eyes. "Then, dear Will" -- he took a moment to even his breathing -- "you may have to eat your meals sitting in my lap."

A gently tremor shook the two of them, and the knowledge that he had made Will laugh warmed Hannibal in a way that sunbathing beneath the Italian sun never did. Gently, the arm around his waist moved up and down before tightening its hold on him. 

"Whoa there, boy," Will teased. "We're getting there, but we sure ain't there yet."

We're getting there, we're getting there, we're getting there. Hannibal's heart throbbed, at once drilling him into the floor and sending him flying into the sky. 

Love. 

"I think we are beyond betrayal and forgiveness now, Hannibal," murmured Will, as if he had heard his thoughts. 

"Where are we, then?"

"Well, congrats. We've arrived at the stage of bickering and pettiness."

"Good," Hannibal agreed, nuzzling into Will's hair. "Then I shall do my worst at upsetting you."

"Your worst? Don't worry, darlin'... I'll make you beg."

And that, dear reader, quickly became another story for another day.