Chapter Text
Hannibal lingers in the doorway of the morgue. The tableau before him is unusual, even for a Thursday, and even by his own somewhat whimsical sense of mise-en-scène .
Doctors Price and Zeller are pressed closely on either side of Agent Katz, who is pointing at one of the monitors on the far wall. Instead of the expected anatomical or forensic images, they appear to be watching a video of two men engaging in quite enthusiastic sexual intercourse.
“See? I told you.” Agent Katz hisses loudly, stabbing emphatically at the screen, “It’s, like, his porn döppelganger.” The face of the figure at whom she is pointing is obscured by a shift in the camera position and Hannibal sees only lithe hips and pale buttocks undulating above coy glimpses of genitalia.
“I have to admit, I am impressed,” Price says with a thoughtful tilt of his head.
“Where did you find this?” Zeller asks. “It’s total nineties vintage college porn.”
“How can you tell it’s from the nineties?” Agent Katz replies without taking her eyes from the screen. “Oh, yeah,” she says after a moment, answering her own question, “I had that Pulp poster in my dorm room too.”
Hannibal focuses more closely on the set background and sees that many of the posters are familiar from streets and alleys of Baltimore during his early years as a surgeon. One black-and-white image of a group of young women had been particularly striking, spattered with blood cast off from the knife as he slit the throat of an impatient drug-seeker who had struck a nurse. The camera angle shifts again and his nostalgia vanishes as the subject of his colleagues’ fascination is revealed.
A close up of an open mouth with lush lips surrounded by the barest hint of dark stubble; long dark lashes; jaw-length dark curls falling back to reveal a surprisingly strong, tanned neck. The camera pans down to show a slim, strong, torso and muscled arms. Labour, Hannibal surmises, not exercise; a summer job, perhaps. He imagines him unloading palettes in the sun, or hauling nets and traps on the deck of a fishing boat.
The boy’s hand has prominent knuckles and calloused palms. A long, pink, scar is visible on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger when he slides them over the crown of his cock. With an effort, Hannibal shifts his eyes from the screen. He swallows once to clear his throat, then raps sharply on the open door to announce himself.
“That is an approach to DNA collection that I had certainly not considered. Are you expecting it to become standard?”
“I won’t ever be that lucky.” Doctor Price says mournfully. He turns to face Hannibal with a sheepish grin. “Doctor Lecter, Bev was just showing us, ah-”
“Will’s pornstar twin,” Agent Katz finishes for him. “What do you think, Doc?”
Hannibal arches his brows in mock-consideration. “Are you asking me to critique his performance, Agent Katz? Or to comment on his resemblance to Agent Graham?”
“This is your time, Doc,” Agent Katz says with a smile, “we can talk about whatever you’d like. And please, call me Beverly.”
“Shall I call you for therapy as well?” Hannibal asks dryly.
“Only if your ideal therapy setting has chicken and beer,” she says flippantly, reaching up to turn off the monitor. “Have you seen enough?”
“Yes, I think so.” Hannibal hopes his nod conveys serene resignation, and nothing of his impatient desire to be alone at home with his tablet and a glass of wine. He has not seen enough.
“It would be inappropriate to comment on Agent Graham’s appearance,” Hannibal says cooly, “especially when he is not present to defend himself, or to receive our appreciation. I will say only that the young man was aesthetically pleasing and performed with enthusiasm. I am certain that with time and experience, he could realise great potential in his field.”
“Me-ow!” Doctor Zeller called over his shoulder, “that’s a pretty back-handed review, Doctor Lecter. I guess you’re used to a higher standard.”
“That,” Hannibal replies with a thin smile, “is between myself and the good people at American Express.” He is spared from further irritation by footsteps in the hall, accompanied by a familiar scent of geranium, ambergris, and dogs.
“I’ve told you Zeller,” Will sighs as he enters the room and comes to stand beside Hannibal, “you can’t afford his tailor, so stop asking.”
“Little do you know, Graham, you don’t need fancy clothes to make an impression on the ladies. Bev here, she prefers a birthday suit.” Zeller quips, flushing. He sets busily to work at the autoclave to avoid drawing further attention.
Will looks helplessly first to Hannibal, then to Beverly. “Anyone, uh, want to catch me up?”
“We’re watching porn,” Beverly informs Will joyfully, tapping at the monitor and then gesturing with a flourish when it comes to life. “Wanna join?”
Will’s blush is deep and sudden. Hannibal watches in fascination as it rises like the sun from his collar and peaks, rose gold, along his cheekbones. He wonders what it would taste like.
“Uh,” Will flounders, “not really?”
“Yeah, you do,” Katz says, buoyantly undeterred. She slips an arm around Will’s waist and pulls him closer to the screen. The movie plays from the title card; a plain screen that reads Real Life Roomates #23 in a shadowed, blocky, typeface.
“C’mon, Bev,” Will groans, “knock it off.”
“No can do, Agent. I’ve got a friend I want you to meet.” Bev strokes the screen and suddenly the dark haired boy and his friend are en flagrante . “He looks just like you, I swear. Hey, do you have any pics of yourself from college? I bet you and he are total twins. Totally hot twins.”
Beverly, in her enthusiasm, fails to notice that Will has frozen. Hannibal watches him in profile and his face has gone utterly blank. A discreet inhale reveals an acrid edge of anxiety to his scent, and fresh sweat. Interesting .
“I don’t know,” Will says finally, “I think you’re giving me too much credit.” His smile is bright, self-deprecating, and to Hannibal’s eyes, patently false.
“As if,” Bev relents at last and turns off the movie. “You know you’re a snack.”
“Speaking of snacks,” Will turns to Hannibal and the brittle edge of his smile softens to something genuine and welcoming, “I was wondering if you want to grab something to eat before we get started?” He gestures to a stack of files left on a desk by the open door.
“Nonsense, Will. I have already prepared a meal.” Hannibal tucks the files under his arm and inclines his head first to Doctor Price, then to Beverly. “Thank you,” he says with a smile, “it’s been an… educational afternoon.”
Will looks at him, alarmed. The scent of sweat and fear is once again sharp in Hannibal’s nose. “You saw that too?”
“I am a Doctor, Will,” Hannibal reassures him, “I saw nothing today that I have not seen before.” Hannibal walks ahead out the door to give Will an opportunity to gather himself. As the door closes behind them, he hears a low mutter.
“I’m not so sure about that.”