Chapter Text
The pointed green hanging arches in Dr. Lecter’s office always made Will feel like there were spears aimed at him from the sky, overwhelming and overbearing, ready to fall at any given moment to pierce his body. The warm artificial lights accentuated their hard edges, reflecting in the curve of his wine glass. He stared at the burgundy, mind drifting to the way Dr. Lecter’s fingers had lingered on Will’s for a moment too long when he had handed him the glass. The warm touch had sent a small shiver down Will’s back.
“Will?”
Will turned his head to face Dr. Lecter, mind coming back to the present moment. The man studied him with a curious, pleased expression, as he had a habit of doing. Will cleared his throat. “Sorry. You were saying?”
Dr. Lecter smiled, seemingly taking no offense at Will’s fleeting attention. “I was telling you about how societies deal with alterity,” he spoke in a gentle voice, legs crossed, hand cradling his wine glass. “Otherness gets classified as an anomaly, which in turn allows the societies to produce strategies for dealing with it. In that way, the structure of their world stays resolute, and not much consideration has to be given to the existence of said otherness.” He studied Will with those piercing dark eyes. “Firstly, ambiguity can be reduced by settling for one or other interpretation. We brand those who don’t fit into the social order as deviants so that we can accept their existence. The Nuer people, upon the birth of a monstrous child, believe they were born as baby hippopotamuses, accidentally born to humans. When a monstrous birth occurs, the defining line between humans and animals may be threatened, thus labeling it as an event of a peculiar kind allows the categories to be restored. Assigning the baby such a label creates a solution to their existence - they gently lay the baby on the bottom of a river, where they belong.” A soft smile appeared on his lips.
Will chuckled huskily. He wondered if Dr. Lecter purposefully searched for the most morbid anecdotes because he knew they’d make Will laugh. His reaction always seemed to deeply satisfy the man.
“I wish I was gently laid on the bottom of a river as a baby,” Will smirked. “Where I belong.”
Dr. Lecter grinned. “I beg to differ. I, for one, am glad that you’re here with me, Will,” he spoke in an affectionate tone, then took a small sip of his wine.
Will drew his eyes away. “Even when I keep you at your office at…” He looked at his watch, eyebrows rising. “Ten PM,” he said with a tinge of shame. Had they really been talking for so long?
Dr. Lecter’s ardent eyes were relentlessly focused on his face. “Especially then.” He smiled, then noticing Will’s unease added, “My doors are always open to you, regardless of scheduled appointments or time.” He picked up his notebook, having idly rested on the side table the whole time, and began writing in it. “Here, my home address.” He neatly tore off the page and got up to hand it to Will. “You almost missed me today, I was just about to leave after my last patient. If you ever wish to see me and you don’t find me here, don’t hesitate to come to my house.”
Will stared at the man’s outstretched hand before him, the ease with which he shared his life with him. It was both comforting and frightening. He slowly accepted the piece of paper, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you,” he murmured, pocketing the paper.
He watched Dr. Lecter return to his chair, the grace with which his body moved. Will took a sip of his wine, hoping it would quietly explain the blush appearing on his cheeks. “I…” his voice was quiet, “I’m also glad… that I can be here. With you.” Perhaps it was the alcohol, which made him decide voicing his feelings out loud was a good idea. He allowed himself to steal a look at Dr. Lecter’s face, which displayed fondness that appeared exceptionally genuine, in comparison to most of the man’s emotions. Will took another sip from his emptying glass. “What are the other ways societies deal with otherness?” he asked, voice unsteady.
A small smirk appeared at the corners of Dr. Lecter’s mouth. “The second way is physical control. Killing an anomaly destroys its discrepant nature. The third is avoidance. A rule of avoiding an anomaly affirms and strengthens the definitions to which it does not conform. The anomaly can be viewed as the negative side of the pattern of things approved,” he spoke as if giving a lecture. “Fourth - anomalies can be labeled dangerous, which can also help to enforce conformity. And lastly, anomalies can be sanctified. Transferring something into the sphere of the sacred gives saliency to the fact that it doesn’t belong in the sphere of the profane.” He leaned forward in his chair with a smug smirk.
Will exhaled a dry laugh. “If a god was born among people, we would label him a deviant and slay him at an altar, so he could return where he belongs,” he spoke slowly, staring into the man’s eyes.
Dr. Lecter grinned, sharp teeth catching on his bottom lip. “Gods only serve us as long as they don’t speak.”
Will smiled bleakly, turning his head away. The conversation had left a dull ache in his chest, uncomfortably resonant. He knew Dr. Lecter had chosen the subject on purpose, everything he did had a purpose. He liked to poke and prod. There was no malice in it, however, no judgment, just curiosity and fascination. If it were anyone else, Will would never allow himself this kind of vulnerability, but Dr. Lecter made him feel seen. He wanted to be seen but only by Dr. Lecer - only he seemed deserving of seeing Will, his most true self. He emanated safety and comfort, something so difficult to obtain in Will’s life - how could he refuse?
The man had a rarefied appreciation for beauty, so to be appreciated by him meant to be elevated into something above oneself. Will wanted to be beautiful in Dr. Lecter’s eyes, he’d never cared much about his looks or how he was perceived by everyone else but the way Dr. Lecter looked at him evoked something entirely new within him. His attention was intoxicating. As always, Will’s desires were dangerous and the most sane course of action was to stifle them before they could get out of control. Having said that, there wasn’t exactly much sanity left in Will.
Will broke the silence. “My whole life I’ve felt like an anomaly,” he said quietly, eyes focused on his glass. “People like to label me in intricate ways to find some way in which I can fit into their view of the world.” He managed to look up at the man before him. “Give me a diagnosis so that they know how to fix me.”
“I remember you telling me about how you’ve carefully avoided a diagnosis so far.” Dr. Lecter took a sip of his wine.
Will nodded, biting his lip. He mimicked the man, emptying his wine glass. “I think you’re the only person in my life who hasn’t tried to fix me.”
Dr. Lecter leaned closer, looking Will in the eyes with affectionate affirmation. “I can’t fix you because you’re not broken, Will,” he spoke in a gentle yet assured tone.
Will frowned, eyes embarrassingly wet. He broke eye contact before the tears could fall. A slight smile crept up his lips as he felt the warmth engulfing his chest; there was a sharp sting present alongside it. Will didn’t think he’d ever heard those words aimed at him before, surely he would remember. “It’s hard to believe,” he murmured, getting up from his chair and walking up to the stag statue in the office, leaving his empty wine glass on the side table. He’d developed a habit of doing it, despite his best efforts, the texture of the statue’s material was strangely comforting. The antlers reminded him of the Chesapeake Ripper, he caressed them with the tips of his fingers. It was only a testament to his twisted nature that a memento of a serial killer brought him comfort. His mind recalled all his depraved thoughts, all the depraved feelings he’d unsuccessfully tried to get rid of his whole life. Labeling himself as anything but broken seemed contradictory.
Dr. Lecter followed him with his gaze, and Will couldn’t help but notice a quiet yearning in his dark eyes, as if he was disillusioned by the distance put between them. A recurring appearance, Will observed, each time he distanced himself from the man.
“You’ve internalized the labels placed on you, but it doesn’t mean they hold value or truth,” Dr. Lecter spoke.
“I’m aware that value and truth are subjective…” Will sighed. “It’s just that my own values are often contradictory to my thoughts,” he added, voice turning soft.
“Are you sure they are your values and not somebody else's, then?”
Will chuckled dryly. “I’m not even sure if my thoughts are my own, either.”
Dr. Lecter studied him carefully. He gently got up from his chair and walked up to Will at a slow pace, notably presenting himself in the most non-threatening way, as if he were approaching a stray dog. Also a habit, Will had noted, formed during the many months of their conversations. Dr. Lecter carried himself around Will in a way he had noticed the man didn’t assume around others. Deliberately trying to make him feel safe, but not in a demeaning way like other people used to. Shedding that carefully crafted public persona bit by bit, just for Will. It made him feel special in the man’s eyes.
“Is that why you came to me today?” Dr. Lecter asked softly, standing within a comfortable distance. “To help you decide which thoughts are your own and which aren’t?”
A crooked smile appeared on Will’s face but there was no humor to it. “Is that a pattern in my behavior you’ve discovered?”
Dr. Lecter stepped a tiny bit closer, gaze ardent and piercing. “It seems that each time you visit my office in the late evenings, outside of scheduled appointments, it’s because you either no longer wish to be lonely or because you’re afraid of yourself.” His voice was delicate and far from accusatory.
Will flinched, unable to deny the truth of the statement. There was a certain comfort in the way Dr. Lecter so easily read him, but it was equally dreadful. Still, the mellow flow of his voice, the affectionate gaze, and his proximity to Will’s own body held him in place and it kept his mouth from denial. He took a step forward without thinking, attracted to the man’s warmth. It called to him often, ever so enticing, and most times he tried to control himself, deny himself that one desire aching inside him. Other times, he failed. This time, he blamed the wine. It was an easy excuse.
Dr. Lecter studied his reaction. “Don’t get me wrong, Will. I always appreciate your visits. They remedy my own solitude.”
Will looked into his eyes, recognition visible in their form, and he understood the difficult display of vulnerability. He felt a sudden need to touch him, as if to comfort, to convey something he didn’t want to utter. Will squeezed his fists, keeping them close to his body instead. “They remedy mine as well”, he whispered.
Dr. Lecter smiled with his eyes, framed by crows-feet Will so quietly adored. “Were it your dreams that bothered you again today?”
“It’s not the dreams that bother me, it’s how I feel about them that bothers me.” He felt an equal need to walk away and stay as close to Dr. Lecter as possible. Averting his gaze was an acceptable middle ground. They had talked about his dreams before, him embodying the chased killers in his sleep, recreating their murders, sometimes changing them. But Will had always been too reluctant to admit that the reason he woke up gasping for air, covered in sweat, was not his revulsion to violence, but his fear of delighting in it. “It’s not the image of me killing them that scares me…” he whispered, overwhelmed with the desire to seek comfort in Dr. Lecter’s touch. “What scares me is the fact that I enjoy doing it.”
He saw the minuscule step Dr. Lecter took to get this much closer to him, the hesitation in the movement of his hand as he placed it on Will’s shoulder. He leaned into the man’s touch, searching for comfort, craving more. Will often imagined the man’s hand on his cheek, on his hip; the desire evoking a shameful whisper in the back of his head: this is wrong, you shouldn’t crave this .
“What is it that you actually fear, Will?” the man spoke slowly, caressing Will’s arm. “Losing control, your values, being yourself?”
Will focused on the way Dr. Lecter’s fingers stroked his upper arm, touch palpable even through his sweater. His breathing quickened despite himself, feeling he should step aside, not let this happen. But god, did it feel good. “I fear becoming someone I’ve tried very hard to stop myself from becoming.”
“Who is that someone?”
A dry nervous chuckle escaped his mouth. “Myself… if I gave up desperately clinging to some resemblance of morality.”
It escaped his notice when exactly they moved so close to each other. Will didn’t think he’d ever stood this close to the man, able to feel his warm breath on his own skin.
Dr. Lecter gazed at him relentlessly, as if he were reading his very thoughts, no twinge of a facial muscle able to escape his attention. “You’re saying it as though you don’t actually believe in those moral values you cling to. You’re just doing what’s expected of you.” His voice was free from judgment, soothing.
Will stared at his face, fear pooling in his gut. He’d never told anybody as much about himself as he’d told Dr. Lecter, and as alluring it was to be seen, it was equally terrifying. He braced on, seeing no point in suddenly lying. The worst that could happen was complete rejection, which would conveniently solve the problem of all the feelings Will harbored towards the man. Trust was difficult for him, but he’d learned to trust Dr. Lecter; he’d continually lied to Jack Crawford about Will’s mental state with such ease it might as well have been the truth. “What’s the alternative? It’s easier to pretend to be some form of a virtuous man than accept the fact that I just can’t make myself care about morality than accept the consequences of that,” he whispered, voice shaking.
Dr. Lecter smiled at him so tenderly that Will couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. “Morality is not a virtue, Will. It’s a tool of the mechanisms of power in the world. Adherence to moral standards keeps us subjugated. You perform the role of a moral man because it’s what’s expected of you. However, you don’t believe your own act. You’re just afraid of what will happen when you stop performing.”
“You’re talking like it’s so easy. Why don’t you try forgoing your own morality?” Will spoke quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
A slight grin adorned Dr. Lecter’s face, matching his pleased expression. “Oh, I have forgone my own pretense of morality a long time ago, Will.” He carefully moved his hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Will’s ear.
Will’s breath hitched at the unexpected touch. He couldn't tell whether the blush on his face was the result of their charged conversation or the sudden intimacy. The man’s words were not exactly surprising. As much as Dr. Lecter observed Will, Will observed back. The man was so different from him in every way but one - the way in which Will could see himself in him, or maybe the way he could see Dr. Lecter in himself - the carefully hidden darkness, cradled in his chest, covered by the layers of masks and veils. “And how did that turn out for you?” he muttered.
Dr. Lecter seemed to be pleased with being the cause of Will’s reaction. “I’ve never been happier. And freer. We all play different roles, Will, there’s no escaping that. The power lies in making the choice which roles to play and when to stop performing.” He smiled brightly, returning to caressing Will’s arm. “Stifling one’s desires never leads to deliverance, only a self-imposed captivity.”
The actual subject of their conversation seemed to blur in Will’s mind, the proximity of Dr. Lecter’s face awfully distracting. To Will’s quiet disappointment, the man’s hand left his body as he stepped away and toward the cupboard, in which he stored alcohol.
“Would you like some more wine? Dr. Lecter asked briskly, reaching for the opened bottle. It was quite fascinating how he was able to effortlessly defuse the emotion in the room before Will even became aware of it.
Will blinked at him. “Uh, no, thank you. I have to drive myself home.”
“You’re welcome to stay the night at my home. I have a perfectly serviceable guest bedroom.” He smirked, inviting eye contact. “Then we could indulge in this fine bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild.”
Will exhaled a quiet laugh. “Do you often invite your patients to stay the night at your house, Dr. Lecter?”
A sly smile adorned the man’s face. “You’re not my patient, Will.”
“Right, I forgot. We’re just having conversations.”
“You didn’t seem to question the nature of our relationship when I caressed your hair just mere minutes ago,” he said playfully, pouring himself a glass.
The blush stupidly returned to Will’s face. “Let’s say I was distracted by our conversation,” he murmured.
A knowing smile. “Hopefully I haven’t overstepped your boundaries. Though, judging by your reaction, any overstepping was welcomed.”
Will chuckled, hoping his lack of answer was enough of an answer.
Dr. Lecter walked up closer to him again, stopping way farther than he had previously stood. Way farther than Will hoped. “Would you like more wine, then?” he asked with that questioning head tilt he had a habit of doing.
Will cleared his throat. “I can’t. I should go home and take care of the dogs.”
If Dr. Lecter was disappointed, he didn’t let it show, instead, he nodded in understanding. “Very well. Have a good night, Will.”
Will pressed his lips into a flat smile, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Good night, Dr. Lecter.” He walked to the coat hanger, taking his jacket in his hand. Dr. Lecter had somehow managed to outpace him and open the door for him, the ever gentleman he was. Will lingered in the doorway, feeling he should say something or do something. “Thank you for staying up with me,” he managed to say, stumbling over his words. “I know it’s late, I… thank you.”
Dr. Lecter’s gaze was so affectionate that Will couldn’t keep his eyes away. “Thank you for coming to me.” After a moment of consideration, he lifted his hand and tucked that same wild curl behind Will’s ear. “Good night, Will. Drive safely.”
Will’s heart skipped a beat at his touch and for a moment he imagined a life where he could get used to it. “Good night,” he mumbled and exited the room. He never heard the door shut after him.