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“Hannibal,” Will rubs his hand down the length of Hannibal’s arm; he’s not even cold but he’s shivering like he’s been stuck in the snow for years. “You’re okay, you’re not there. Take a breath. Breathe for me, you’ll be okay.”
Will demonstrates the breathing pattern that they worked out best helps Hannibal calm down when he has these episodes. Places one of Hannibal’s hands against his sternum, takes a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. It usually helps to bring him back down and out of whatever room he has locked himself in inside his mind. That, and Will’s warm hand on his shoulder grounds him in their reality.
After some time he blinks. The recognition that settles over him is both relieved and entirely embarrassed. It’s always like this when he comes back to. Whether it’s minutes later or hours, he always looks like he’d rather be dead. “Will?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Will whispers, softly brushing his hair out of his face. “Right here, don’t worry.”
Hannibal shakes his head, hands trembling as he tries to take a handful of Will’s shirt. “Sorry, I was–“
Will holds him, knees burning from how he sits over him. “I know, it’s okay.”
They know it must be brain damage from the fall. It started with his hands. They shake something terrible, more than any other part of his body. Will enjoyed that in the beginning, watching him struggle to drink and feed himself until he was frustrated and unable to do anything about it because he was bedridden.
He wouldn’t laugh to himself, but he would get a sick satisfaction from it. Hannibal poured water down his shirt, his hands couldn’t get a steady grasp on any silverware, and he’d eventually give up. It didn’t actually become a problem until he was lucid enough to ask for help. Will denied him once, and Hannibal struggled through the meal and then refused to eat again.
Then his moods started going from content to volatile in a matter of seconds as he became more lucid. Anything can trigger it, or nothing at all. He’s worse if he’s stressed, irritable, and quick to lash out. Will umbrella’s that with the slight changes in his personality.
The light sensitivity wasn’t something that manifested until they were off the boat. He had a seizure during the beginning of their escape into Canada, but when they moved from the boat it was worse. The seizures have become lesser, mostly only when there were sudden bright flashes, but all light gives him a headache so the house lights stay off for the most part.
Worst of all is the fact they couldn’t risk a hospital. Will did what he could, and what Hannibal was able to tell him to do–what medicines to steal, how to calm him down–but aside from that, they were pretty much up fucked. Especially because Hannibal was, and continues to be, in a great bit of denial about his situation. (He said it must have been slight brain damage once, but never acknowledged it again.)
Will tucks his arm under Hannibal’s legs so he can pick him up and carry him to their bedroom. His shoulder tingles, and begs for his attention, for a break, but he ignores it. There are far more important things than a fucked up shoulder, besides, the Messiah didn’t drop his cross on the way to be crucified.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Hannibal sighs, wrapping his arms around Will as they head down the hall. “I’m sorry.”
Will pushes the door open with his back. He knows arguing with him will just upset him more–he did it so much the first few weeks–and that really isn’t what they need right now. Denial is better than depression or anger. He’s not sure they’d ever get to acceptance, so he’ll let him be in denial.
“It’s okay, baby,” Will murmurs. “It’ll be fine.”
Will kicks off his work boots as soon as he’s next to his truck. His shoes have two holes in them as of today, which means his socks are soaked through, and it’s cold in Canada in the winter. Colder than he’s ever been used to. Cold enough to numb up his feet real good, and when he peels his socks off the skin has turned a veiled shade of blue.
He digs through his glove compartment for his spare socks while he attempts to rub some of the feeling back into his right foot. It’s worse off than the left, he can barely move it.
One of the men, Timmy Matthews, slams his hand on the rusted hood. It doesn’t startle Will like he intended it to. No, maybe a year ago when they first got here it would have, but now he’s not so scared of them getting caught. He doesn’t live in constant paranoia, skittish, ready to slit someone open for looking at him wrong. Instead, he glances up at him and then back down to his glove compartment.
Through all the receipts in it, he finds his gun first. His fingers ghost over the barrel for a moment, but he sighs and moves it to the side. The red socks are under everything, of course, and he decides to dig all the receipts out and toss them on the floor.
Timmy grabs the door, watching as Will pulls the socks out from where they were buried. “Everyone’s coming to the party tomorrow. What about you and that husband of yours? You two coming?”
Will doesn’t look up as he pulls on the new socks. They’re warm, soft, if not a little itchy. “He stays home and I do too.”
“Oh?” Timmy says, “thought you said he’s some kind of doctor. Figured he loves social events.”
Timmy is the kind of guy who tries to be nice and befriend everyone, even those who don’t want to be his friend. Will holds nothing against him personally, but the fewer people who try to know him the better. He’d like to stay here for as long as possible, it’s quiet here for the most part, and Hannibal’s so used to it. Comfortable, even. He can’t imagine how hard it would be to move him across the country, or even, to a new one. He wishes to some degree he could tell Timmy and anyone else that he wants to try and stay here so could they please leave him the fuck alone?
“He used to be, he had a pretty bad accident back in the states so he stays home now. Don’t want him getting too excited.” Will shrugs. “I like to keep him as comfortable as possible.”
Timmy doesn’t back down, but he does seem put off by Will, which is good enough for him. As long as he can get under the people he works with skin, he’s fine. It means they’ll eventually leave him alone and he can fade into the background. “Damn man, sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, but it’s better he stays somewhere that’s familiar.” Will nods, tossing his wet socks in the back. They hit the seat with a wet smack. “So, I’m just doing right by me and mine.”
It’s true. If he has an episode, loses time, thinks he’s somewhere else, or, god forbid, has a seizure, it’ll be ten times worse if he’s anywhere but home. He’ll probably move into a panic attack which can get physical if Will’s not careful. He’s got a nice scar on his eyebrow from one of his more physical attacks and he'd rather not have to stitch himself up again.
“You could come, though?” He offers, taking a step away from the door. “Just for a while. It could warm people up to you. You could have friends.”
People want to know Will and his mysterious husband. In a little town like Digby, newcomers that aren’t just tourists trying to pass through the Gut are rare, and they’ve been here since November of last year. People mostly mind their business, but Will is strikingly American, and everyone knows he’s got a husband in a house outside of town.
It wasn’t something he meant to do, but he was still wearing his ring from his marriage to Molly and a lady at the market asked after his wife and he panicked and corrected her. Now they both have rings, new ones that Will ordered from a jeweler in St. John’s, and they openly refer to each other with the title. The thing is, no one has seen Hannibal, so all the men joke that his husband is a ghost.
Will rolls his shoulders at that. He kind of is. He’s not the man he used to be in some ways, he is in others. He’s stuck somewhere in purgatory and Will’s trying to pay his way out.
“Don’t need friends,” Will sticks the keys in the ignition. “I don’t like to leave him longer than I have to.”
That’s true, too. Even working is pushing it, and he only comes out to the boatyard three days a week. They were here for six months before he even dared leave aside from grocery shopping–no. That’s a lie. He left once in the early days. Left and came back and never did that again. Now he stays home as much as possible, and wouldn't even dream of leaving.
“You’re a saint,” Timmy says and Will almost thinks he means it.
Will looks up at the man finally, laughing at the mere idea of it. He’s no man of god, not in any way. “No, I just love him. He’d do it for me, too.”
Would he? If there was enough Will in him, he’s sure. If he was in a bad way though… he’s not so sure. He’d eat him, though, which feels more like a comfort than it used to.
Timmy rocks back on his heels. “Is he like… you know.”
“No.” Will snaps, sounding offended, and maybe he is. More that he’s prying into their personal life than anything else but also that he’s asking him something like that. What happened to respecting people’s privacy? “He’s a lot better than he was. He’s a fucking fully functioning person.”
Timmy backs down once Will’s tone leans towards harsh. It’s the first time he’s raised his voice to anyone he works with; he doesn’t regret it. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject, yeah?”
Will nods to him and then slams the truck door shut. He doesn’t spare him a second glance, he doesn’t see why he should have to. He isn’t going to his party, he isn’t going to be his friend. He should mind his business and leave Will alone like he wants.
The ride isn’t far, but they live outside of town and it can get dicey if the tourists are here and it’s raining so he tries to get out of town quickly. They’re far enough away from the sea that it isn’t a problem, but close enough that Will can be home in less than 15 minutes if Hannibal calls and needs him.
When he comes inside, Hannibal is sitting on the couch. A blanket is tucked around his legs and he’s sketching something against the sketch board Will made for him. He stands there for a second, just watching him. He only moves when a wet burst of air hits him and he shivers from it.
“Hey sweetheart,” Will says walking into their little living room, and leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Miss me?”
“Yes, I did.” Hannibal presses into the affection then turns and kisses him on the mouth. “Hello, my beloved.”
Will sits down beside him, ghosting his fingers across Hannibal’s stomach so he can lean into him. He’s warmer than Will is, and he untucks the blanket and covers Will as well. “How was your day? Do anything interesting?”
“It was well enough. I sketched for some time.” Hannibal brags, but only a little. Any day he sketches feels like a win for them both, and he knows it makes Will happy to know he’s doing something he enjoys. He wraps his arm around Will’s shoulders to pull him in. “I used the new charcoals you bought me.”
“Let me see?” Will presses a little closer to see the papers Hannibal has on his sketch board. He turns it towards him. There’s some nature, the scene from outside the house, mostly still life. A few smudges but not nothing serious, mostly where his hands probably shook and hit the paper. He still hasn’t regained the confidence to draw Will yet even though he’s offered to sit for him. “It looks really good, darlin’.”
“My hands still shake. It could be better.” Hannibal sighs and his lip twitches like he wants to frown, but he doesn’t. Instead, he places the charcoal down and looks at his hands, rubbing his fingers together.
They still shake, but they’re so much better than they used to be, and, with enough concentration, he can sketch really well. No, it’s not to the same level, and maybe it won’t ever be, but it’s therapeutic and still miles ahead of whatever Will could do.
Will pinches his side, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him squirm. “It’s fantastic, I’m proud of you.”
Hannibal laughs, takes his hand in his, and squeezes it gently. “It is better than it was. Not what I used to be able to do, however. Perhaps one day I’ll get there.”
“You’ve made great progress, don’t tear yourself apart over it. I like it.” Will squeezes his hand three times, bringing his hand to his lips. “You’ll get there.”
There’s a moment where Hannibal curls into the warmth of Will’s affection, breathing him in. Will takes the hint with ease and kisses his hand again, then, across his jaw and cheeks and lips. He holds his face close, and Hannibal laughs when he rubs his face against his until he finds his lips again.
Sometimes, at moments like this, Will can almost believe they’re a normal couple. Happily married and without a care in the world, living in a cozy little house in a coast side town. He pulls Hannibal’s legs onto his lap and cups his face to deepen the kiss.
His lips are chapped, and his tongue brushes against Hannibal’s bottom lip, and feels his lips part slightly for him. He can taste the chamomile tea he drank earlier in the day when his tongue touches Hannibal’s and Will smiles into it. Hannibal’s fingers find Will’s shirt and he pulls him a little closer, pressing them warmly against each other, making a noise when Will’s fingers thread through his hair.
Hannibal pulls away after a time so he can put the board down on the coffee table and give Will his full attention, smiling when Will whines at the loss. “How was work?”
“It was okay. Both of my boots have holes in them. Soaked straight through so I’ll have to get new ones this weekend.” Will rubs his thigh under the blanket as he talks. The fabric of his pants is soft, Will’s found that he wears more comfortable clothes since he’s been stuck at home. He isn’t sure if he does this naturally or if it’s because he doesn’t like feeling so constricted since the fall. “That guy I work with, the annoying one I told you about? Timmy. He’s having a party. I swear that guy can’t take a hint.”
Hannibal perks up at that. “Were we invited?”
Will looks at him, his hand doesn’t pause but he gives him a look. It’s the kind of look that works on everyone else, but never Hannibal. “Don’t get any ideas, Dr. Lecter.”
“I’m not. It would just seem that if we were invited it would be rude not to make an appearance, at the very least.” There’s this tone in his voice, something from years ago, a Hannibal Will hasn’t seen in years. Before the fall, before the BSHCI. Resurrected, perhaps walking on the water himself, if just for that moment. “Would you really want that?”
“You’ve got light sensitivity, Han, and this is a New Year's party. What if it causes a seizure, or worse? Fireworks? The noise?” Will sighs. “You’ve been doing really well.”
“I have been doing better.” He agrees, and he latches onto that. “I can handle this. I’m nowhere near where I once was.”
Shaking his head, Will gives his leg a slight squeeze. “I don’t want to risk it.”
Hannibal’s lip curls, determination blazes in his eyes. It’s good to see, and Will knows eventually he’s going to give in. If only to see Hannibal look victorious. “I do. What is life without risk?”
“Baby–“
“Just for a few minutes.” He admits softly, “I miss going out.”
Will chews the inside of his lip and then glances off towards the kitchen. “Are you gonna help me make dinner?”
Hannibal bites the inside of his cheek, dropping the conversation. Will knows it’s just for now, that if he lets it go too long, Hannibal is going to bring it up again, but he nods and agrees to help him with dinner and acts like the conversation has been dropped for good.
Will kisses him once more before moving his legs so he can stand. “Thank you, Han.”
That night, once they’re both fed and Hannibal’s asked about the party two more times, Will finds himself on top of him. They don’t have sex most days, Hannibal gets tired easily or he has a headache or everything hurts from nerve damage in his leg. He feels okay today, though, he’s starting to have better days more often.
They’re grinding against each other, Will has a tight grip on Hannibal’s hips as precome slicks their cocks and stomach and makes them both quiver with every brush. They probably won’t go much further than this, but it’s enough. It has them moaning into each other's mouths, clutching onto each other as the warmth of release builds in their abdomens.
Will lifts himself up, steadies himself on his forearm. He looks down at Hannibal, his kiss-swollen lips and his glassy eyes, and he grinds into him to watch him throw his head back and stutter out Will’s name. He kisses him with a smile, wrapping his hand around their cocks. When he tightens his grip around them Hannibal’s thighs tense and he bites onto his lip until it bleeds.
Will sighs, eyes closed, he slides his hand down and then back up, forcing precome to coat his fingers. They both make a noise, and Hannibal’s hands find his hair, pulling it until Will groans and leans down to taste his skin.
“Don’t come,” Will tells him, pressing open mouthed kisses against his neck, tongue sweeping against his pulse. “Don’t you dare.”
Hannibal whines this high pitched, desperate noise that vibrates wildly through his throat to the point that Will can feel it against his tongue. One of his hands wraps around Will’s, trying to get him to move faster, to bring them both closer to the edge.
Will pushes his hand away, letting go of them both and making his husband whimper from the loss. “Darlin’,” Will murmurs against his skin, “you better not.”
He feels his body tremble beneath him, nails dragging down between his shoulders. He’s urgent, needy in a way he usually doesn’t get. His hands are trying to find anywhere to dig into other than Will’s hand. “Will, please.”
“Don’t,” Will bites his neck, teeth marking the soft skin. “If you come, I’ll keep going until you cry.”
Hannibal whines, his nails digging into Will’s back until he’s got skin and blood under his nails. Will twists his hand and rubs his thumb across the heads of their cocks, pushing them against each other.
Hannibal’s body trembles under him, thighs quivering as they wrap around his hips, trying to fuck harder into Will’s hand. He comes, choked and trying to say something that doesn’t come out quite right.
Will slows, stares at the mess Hannibal’s made. It’s pooled around his cock, across the lower part of his belly, some of it slicks Will’s hand. He bites his shoulder until Hannibal gives him a breathy moan and then continues. Will moves his hand faster, not minding how Hannibal twitches with each stroke of their cocks, just trying to bring himself to orgasm as quickly as possible. He comes not long after, the feeling building and then breaking in his abdomen until he comes across Hannibal’s stomach and chest.
Once he finishes, he rolls over and takes Hannibal’s cock in his hand again. He’s still hard, only by Will’s continuous movement. His cock is heavy, throbbing in Will’s hand.
“Will,” his breath hitches when he pulls his foreskin back. “Beloved.”
He drags his hand down and then back up in slow movements until Hannibal’s trembling, tears in his eyes but not falling yet. His entire body trembles with each pass of Will’s hand, his hair’s wild from rubbing against the pillow.
“You’re doing so good. Do you like that, sweetheart?” Will asks, voice low and thick. He’s hard again from listening to him whimper. “Come on baby, tell me how much you like it.”
Hannibal makes a noise, turning his face to hide from Will. He tries to blink back the tears in his eyes, tries to save himself from being a martyr on Will’s altar. “Yes–“ he swallows “–So good. Tighter, please.”
Will gives him what he wants, tightening his grip and twisting his arm as he brings it back down to the base. His entire body tenses when he snaps his hand back up and runs his thumb over the head, rubbing over the slit.
“Look at me when you come,” Will demands, biting his shoulder. “Come on, let me see your pretty eyes.”
Hannibal turns to look at Will, whining as he comes again. It makes a mess across his chest and stomach and now he twitches hard, broken little sounds passing his lips as Will gets faster instead of slower, causing drips of come to hit his stomach.
It slicks his cock more and Will rubs his palm over the head, causing Hannibal’s entire body to convulse. He slides his hand back down, squeezes, and then smooths it back up to see his body jolt again.
When he goes back down again he runs his hand down, squeezing his balls lightly on the way, and then adjusting to push a finger inside him.
He finds his prostate with ease, ghosting his fingers against it, he moves his whole body so he can take his cock in his other hand and jack him off in sync. With every brush of his finger over his prostate, he slides his hand down to the base.
He comes again, quicker the third time, and grabs Will’s wrist when he doesn’t stop. His grip is hard, but it doesn’t hurt Will. It’s just demanding something of him.
Hannibal is crying now, it’s not heavy, but a few tears are present. Will lets go of his dick, leans down to kiss Hannibal’s face, and then gets out of the bed to wash his hands.
He comes back with a warm washcloth and sits beside him. With the hand now holding the washcloth he wipes away a tear and tenderly kisses his lips. “You did really good.”
Taking a breath, Hannibal turns his face to kiss Will’s palm. It’s a soft moment, it warms something in Will’s chest that he doesn’t feel often.
Gently, he runs the washcloth over Hannibal’s stomach and chest. He keeps the touch light against his skin in an attempt to keep him comfortable. “You’ll tell me if you start to feel weird at the party?”
He blinks slowly, brain trying to register what Will means and then he’s beaming. “We can go?”
Will pauses, glances at him, and then continues cleaning him off. “Thirty minutes. Promise me you’ll tell me if you feel weird at any point.”
Hannibal smiles, relaxing into the bed. “I promise, Will. I wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”
The smile is more important to Will than Hannibal will ever know. It’s real, brighter than the ones he usually gives. The victory is there, the happiness of having gotten Will to do something he wants, even if it’s just for a little while.
Will sighs, takes the washcloth and deposits it in the dirty laundry. When he comes back he lays behind Hannibal, spooning him, and interlocks their fingers over his husband's stomach. He squeezes his hand three times, kissing his shoulder. Will can’t lie, he’s worried, but Hannibal deserves something good. He deserves to see other people, even if it’s just for a little bit.
Will glances at his watch when they arrive the next day. It’s not that late, 8:34 PM, to be exact, but it certainly isn’t early. He tried to time this perfectly. No fireworks. Just a little mingling to satiate that need within Hannibal and then they’ll go home, share a glass of wine, and wait for midnight in the living room.
“Be good,” Will teases, “or else.”
“Have you ever known me to act anything but exceptional?” Hannibal mocks in turn, but Will can tell he’s hiding a layer of seriousness. “This is meant to be a good thing, my beloved, have more faith in me.”
Will is overly cautious and he has a lot of reasons to be. The reasons may vary due to importance, but he considers the fact that Hannibal is a social creature and he’s kept him locked away for little over a year, and maybe he can give him more than thirty minutes. Nonetheless, he’ll be keeping him on a tight leash.
“I know, it would be unspeakably ugly.” Will smiles as he squeezes his hand three times.
Timmy steps out of the house, a beer in hand, and he’s already a little bit tipsy. Behind him follows a woman, taller, dirty blonde hair. “Hey! Thatch, you made it! And this must be your husband.”
Timmy moves to shake Hannibal’s hand. “Vladas, right? He talks about you all the time. This is my wife Francesca.”
She shakes both of their hands. “It’s nice to meet you both. Timmy said you wouldn’t be able to make it?”
Will glances over at Hannibal who smiles, kissing Francesca’s hand. “Thatcher is protective, but we would hate to not be gracious and attend a function we were so kindly invited to. Even if just for a short while.”
Francesca smiles and looks at Timmy. “At least some people’s husbands care.”
He waves her off, rolling his eyes. “You two can follow me.”
Will elbows Hannibal in the ribs as they walk, smiling regardless. “Show off.”
They’re 25 minutes in, Timmy has tried to pass them both beer which they’ve passed on, (too cheap for either of them these days), and he’s made good on telling stories about Will’s asocial behaviors. Hannibal enjoys it enough, chastising Will about being more friendly.
At some point, they get to a break and Will’s talking to one of the other men from the boatyard when he notices something amiss.
Hannibal plays with his ring. He does this often. He did it a lot in the beginning when he needed more grounding, and he’s doing it again. Twisting it round and around, trying to remind himself of where he is and why.
Will steps closer to him, wrapping his arm around his waist so he can whisper in his ear. “You okay?”
Hannibal startles but composes himself almost immediately. No one else would notice it, only Will. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, face empty, his tone is colder than it’s been in months. “Yes, completely.”
“Are you sure?” He tries again, smoothing his hand over his back. “It’s okay if you aren’t. We can go.”
Hannibal blinks and his lips twitch downward. He takes a step away from Will and smiles. It’s this horrible kind of smile, the one Will describes within the safety of his mind as bitchy, and when he talks he’s even colder than he was moments ago. “Yes, I am completely fine. I wish you wouldn’t hover so.”
Will holds out a hand to him. “I’m just worried.”
Hannibal doesn’t look at him, instead takes a sip of his drink. “Well, worry somewhere else. I am an adult, you know.”
Will blinks, recoiling, he glances at his watch. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
They’re just under 40 minutes when Francesca comes to find Will. He’s been nursing the same drink since they got there and the last two times he’s tried to talk to Hannibal he’s gotten a mix of cold anger and exasperation. He doesn’t want to leave, Will knows. Not yet. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance to see people again.
She touches Will’s shoulder, gesturing vaguely outside. “I don’t know, he’s–“
“Oh god,” Will pushes past her and moves outside.
Hannibal had excused himself to the bathroom and Will hadn’t exactly gone to find him when he didn’t immediately return to his side. He was talking, socializing, getting his fill, and Will didn’t feel like getting snapped at again. Not yet at least.
Hannibal is sitting with his head in his hands outside of their car. Will can’t tell if he’s crying or just out of it, but it doesn’t matter. He kneels down beside him.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Will places his hand around the nape of Hannibal’s neck. “Think you had one of those absent seizures, darlin’. You’re okay. Do you know where you are?”
“Is he okay?” She asks, standing a few feet away from them. “I had to get ice and I saw him. Timmy said you told him he hit his head real bad before and he had issues and I didn’t know if–“
Will turns back to her, she takes a step back. He didn’t mean to scare her, but it’s probably better that he did, especially if he gets violent when he comes to.
“Yeah, the lights.” Will waves her off. “He’ll be fine, he might have had an absent seizure or sometimes he loses time. Probably forgot where he was.”
“Is there anything we can do?” She moves to take a step closer but pauses when Will looks back at her.
He’s protective, he knows. More so than he ever thought he would be, and the look he gives her must be damn near evil because she takes a step back instead. It takes him a minute to bring himself back to a cool neutral. He offers her a tight smile.
“No, we’re gonna go.” Maybe he looks at her wrong, maybe it’s the tone of his voice, but she falters. “Thanks for having us. Really.”
“No, yeah, of course.” She says and turns. “Please tell Timmy if there’s anything we can do. Have… have a good night.”
Will softens when he turns back to his husband, deft fingers moving his hair from his face. “Look at me, we’re gonna go home, okay? Do you know who you are?”
Hannibal is blinking back into reality, and when he looks up at Will his eyes are red from where he was crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he glances back at the house, “Can you stand? Can you tell me your name?”
“I’m Hannibal Lecter.” Hannibal thinks for a second before nodding, his voice is so incredibly small. “I can stand.”
“Okay, then let’s get you up.” Will wraps his arm around Hannibal and pulls him up to his feet. He would carry him, but he knows he’s probably embarrassed as is. If anyone came outside, he’d die of shame. “Lean on me, I’ll help you in the car.”
Getting him in the car is easy enough, he lets Will move him as he pleases. He lets him buckle him too, and doesn’t even complain when Will puts in one of his country CDs for the drive home.
“You did really well.” Will takes his hand, squeezing it three times. “We should have left when I said we would, I’m sorry. I’m real proud of you.”
Hannibal doesn’t respond, but then again, Will wasn’t expecting him to. The most he does is return the squeeze of Will’s hand and plays with his own wedding ring.
When they get home, Will comes around to the other side and helps him up, this time scooping him into his arms and carrying him up the steps and into the house. It takes a little maneuvering to get the door unlocked, but he manages, and Hannibal holds on to him tightly.
This house is the Island of Malta. They were bitten by the fangs of the sea, the cool venom of the ocean sunk into their bones and blood, changing them permanently. Somehow, maybe by chance or by some higher power he doesn’t wish to acknowledge, Will was Paul and Hannibal, Philoctetes.
“Let’s take a bath?” Will offers and Hannibal shakes his head. “No? Sleep then.”
He brings him up to the bedroom and sits him on the side of the bed. It’s easy enough to help him strip down to his underwear, he did it enough in the beginning. He stays knelt in front of him, rubbing his thumbs over the palm of his hand.
“I forgot where I was,” Hannibal says defeatedly. “I promised I wouldn’t cause a scene. I insisted I could handle it.”
“You did so good, Han. It’s not your fault.” Will shrugs, kissing his hand. “Things happen.”
“It wasn’t a seizure, they live so close to the water. I was in the sea again.” Hannibal hates to admit that. They have to live far enough away from the water or else he’d panic every day. Neither of them really know why, brain damage or fate or whatever else, he was never one to panic before, but now–now is different. “I went to get my phone, I was stuck looking at the water. When I came to I didn’t–you weren’t there and I forgot where I was and I must have panicked. I hardly remember now.”
Will places a hand gently on Hannibal’s cheek, rubbing his thumb under his eye. “You’re here, not there. I pulled us out.”
Hannibal kisses his palm. “You’re here too.”
“Yes. I am. We’re together.” He stands, kisses his forehead and then moves to take his clothes off and lay in the bed with him.
Hannibal lies down when Will walks around to his side of the bed, pulling the blanket up and sliding into the sheets. The room is dark and quiet. They won’t hear the fireworks when they go off, and they won’t have to worry about anyone driving past their house drunk.
It isn’t the New Year yet so he guesses they can just celebrate tomorrow. Hannibal’s tired, shaking from more than the nerve damage, and embarrassed.
At some point, Hannibal moves to lie closer to Will. Rests his head against his chest, one of his hands moving to find Will’s and holding it close, kissing his knuckles.
“Do you wish you had succeeded in killing me?” Hannibal asks once they’ve laid there for what can only be an hour. “You could have killed me on the boat and gone back to your family.”
No, he couldn’t have. They’ve had this conversation before and it never fails to leave Will shocked, choked even. Any time Hannibal has an episode it always ends up this way, and a part of Will wonders if it would have been better for Hannibal if he did die. Not that Will wants him dead, no, he’s far too selfish. He just wonders if he’d rather be dead.
“You are my family.” It’s not so much hesitation that makes his response delayed, he’s just taken aback. He always is. Once he pulled them both from the tight coil of the water he hadn’t thought of killing him again. He isn’t god, he doesn’t need endless sacrifices. “No, I don’t. I’m happy we’re alive. Together.”
He squeezes his hand three times and Hannibal returns it just as firmly.