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“Will?”
The world was swimming around him. He could see distorted figures on the edge of his vision, the voice calling his name coming from further and further away. A loud thud and a sharp pain told him he’d dropped to his knees. He knew he would fall forward, maybe hit his head, but instead of crashing face first on the floor, he found himself leaning against something– someone. He heard his name again, but he was too tired to reply.
“He’s exhausted,” Will heard. It still sounded far away. He wanted to sleep. But there was a crime, he was supposed to be solving a crime, wasn’t he?
He was being pulled– carried up. Arms wrapped firmly against his middle.
“I’m fine,” he tried to say.
“He’s running a fever.” This time the voice was clearer, closer. “We did speak about his schedule.”
Will felt the beginnings of irritation forming somewhere inside him. His schedule, he realized. It meant they’d been discussing him behind his back.
“Will.” The voice came from the person carrying him, and this time he recognized it as Hannibal’s.
“I’m fine,” he tried again, but it either came out wrong or Hannibal couldn’t hear him. He decided to sleep, then, only for a little while. Hannibal wouldn’t let him do much else anyway.
When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on a couch, still at the scene. Cops working quietly around him. He sat up, feeling cranky and light-headed, and saw Hannibal and Jack speaking in hushed tones across the room. Hannibal caught his eye and seemed to excuse himself.
It was odd– Hannibal never rushed but whenever something happened, he was always the first one to reach Will’s side.
“Here.” Hannibal offered him a glass of water, his fingers brushing against Will’s. He didn’t ask how he was feeling. Instead he leaned closer and looked into his eyes, as if he’d decided it was easier to check for himself.
Will batted him off, feeling more annoyed by the second.
“I’m fine!” he said again. This time he could hear himself, loud and clear.
“My apologies,” Hannibal replied smoothly. “You seemed unable to speak earlier, I was uncertain you could understand me.”
Will set the water aside and looked around the room, looking for his glasses. Hannibal held them out to him wordlessly, and he couldn’t help huffing in annoyance.
“A combination of heat stroke and exhaustion,” Hannibal said before Will could even ask. “I have recommended a few days off…”
Will cut him off. “You’re not my doctor, I’m fine.”
“I am your friend.” Hannibal was looking at him, concern clear in his features, and wasn’t that unfair? Jack needed him around, didn’t he?
But a minute later Jack was sending him home, telling him to listen to Lecter and threatening him with evaluations if he saw him anywhere during the following week, as if that would stop him. He couldn’t drive himself home, of course, and Hannibal insisted on giving him a ride.
As time passed it had become increasingly difficult to turn down his psychiatrist’s requests. Will had not wanted a friendship, but Hannibal had gradually inserted himself into his life. Having him in a crime scene was commonplace now. The whole team seemed quite happy about it; they all seemed to be under the impression that he ‘grounded’ Will.
Will wasn’t sure “grounded” was the right word, but he had to admit that he liked having him around. Hannibal provided a lack of stimuli. He was much like a quiet, dark room, and it was easy to find himself when he was around.
That did not, however, made him any less annoyed.
“Would you like to leave town for the weekend?”
The question came so out of left-field that Will was sure he’d misheard it. He looked at Hannibal, who was holding the wheel at a perfect ten and two, his eyes on the road.
“What?”
“I know an excellent dog-sitter,” Hannibal said slowly, without turning to look at him. “It would be good for you.” And then, to top it off: “Jack has agreed to it.”
“Oh,” Will said, not quite believing what he was hearing. “If Jack agrees.”
Hannibal sighed, as if he were dealing with a stubborn child, which made Will all the more annoyed. Hannibal veered the car into the side of the road and parked it.
“Will,” he said, resting a hand on Will’s knee. There was not much Will could do but look at Hannibal. “You need a break. Let us give you one.”
Will wanted to say no, he really did. But he knew that if he did, everyone would hover around him. Jack would cut him out of cases, Hannibal would want more sessions. And although he had no guarantee that that wouldn’t happen anyway, a weekend out of a town sounded like a good idea.
“Where to?” he gritted out with a very obviously forced smile.
Hannibal answered with a smile of his own, a genuine one. And Will felt a sudden rush go over his body. They hadn’t left yet and he was already regretting it.
----
Will didn’t ask for details, largely out of stubbornness, and Hannibal didn’t give him any hints. Will didn’t even know if he was leaving town on his own or if he’d have an escort. But it was no surprise when he found Hannibal standing outside his door at eight in the morning.
That had become a sort of routine as well, Hannibal showing up on his doorway a couple of times a week with breakfast. “It is what friends do,” Hannibal had told him, and Will had simply shrugged. He didn’t exactly have a point of reference on what friends did or didn’t do.
“Good morning,” Hannibal greeted from the door, and Will entertained the idea of not opening it. He wasn’t dressed and if he were honest, he didn’t want to do anything. He stood there in his boxers and t-shirt for a few seconds, debating whether or not to turn around and go back to his room. Hannibal knocked on the wooden frame. “Will?” he said. “I can see you from here.”
Will huffed, half amused, and stepped over to open the door.
“Morning,” he said gruffly.
“Have you packed?” Will hadn’t– he didn’t even know where they were going. “Ah,” Hannibal added after a moment. “If you’d like, you can do that while I make breakfast.”
Hannibal wasn’t wearing a suit. Will thought he should have noticed that first, but for some reason he hadn’t. He was wearing khaki pants, no vest, no tie, but still impeccable. Will found himself wondering if Hannibal would look just as impeccable in pajamas or sweatpants, or in the boxers and t-shirt, like what Will was wearing. The thought was disorienting.
“Will.” Hannibal was standing in front of him now, close enough to touch him. “Have you slept?”
Will swallowed.
“Yeah… yes. I’m packing.” He turned away abruptly and headed straight into the bathroom and under the shower. He couldn’t hear Hannibal cooking outside, but he could picture him, setting the table, using that really old pan he owned. Will never cooked, and ever since Hannibal had first started to drop by it had felt wrong to have him use his kitchen, much like asking a professional chef for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
It took him several minutes just to reach for the soap, and by the time he stepped out of the shower Hannibal was calling his name, asking if he was okay.
“Five minutes!” he called back. He got dressed in a hurry, glad to have to rush. Rushing meant less time to think. He packed in a hurry, a couple of shirts, a couple of pants. He still didn’t know where they were going, but even if he’d known his wardrobe was fairly limited.
It occurred to him, while digging for his only pair of flip-flops, that he didn’t know how much the trip would be. He left his bag open on his bed and stepped out of his room.
“Hannibal,” he said walking into the kitchen. And then he froze. Hannibal had set the table, there was even a jar of freshly squeezed orange juice. “... what the hell…”
“I suppose I did go slightly overboard, but you were taking a long time.” Hannibal pulled out a chair for him, smiling. Will rubbed the bridge of his nose, but accepted the seat.
“You think this is funny,” he commented.
Hannibal laughed in response.
---
The plan was to drive to a resort by the beach a couple of hours out. Will was relieved to hear it: he’d been half dreading the thought of Hannibal having booked plane tickets somewhere, being the sort of person who would fly them down to Mexico without telling him first.
“Why did I agree to this?” Will asked completely rhetorically about thirty minutes into the drive.
“I would like to think that you agreed because you realize that you do need a break.” Hannibal answered, then after a moment. “But I assume you did so in hopes we would, ah– ‘back off’?”
Will couldn’t stop himself from smiling wryly. Hannibal knew him better than he sometimes gave him credit for.
The drive was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. It was a lot like his sessions with Hannibal: sometimes Will spoke about cases and Hannibal offered advice, though lately, as Hannibal had become a more active participant in the investigations, Will hadn’t needed to explain as much. Hannibal no longer needed to hear about the background, just about Will, what it was like, whether he felt stressed. And often Will would run out of words before they ran out of time, and he’d just lie there, listening to his own breathing.
Will had started to think that he would sleep better in Hannibal’s office than he did in his own bed. And that was likely why he ended up sleeping during most of the ride, waking at intervals and falling asleep again after Hannibal reassured him they had not reached their destination yet. Once they did, Hannibal shook him awake gently.
“This was nice,” Will said stepping out of the car and looking up at what was obviously a five-star hotel. “Let’s do it again sometime.” He turned back to the car.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Will,” Hannibal said from the back of the car, already having pulled out their luggage. Will walked over to him, leaning in as if expecting closeness would make it all sound more reasonable.
“I can’t afford this,” he said, gesturing accusingly in the direction of the building. “I don’t want to afford it.”
Hannibal handed the car keys to a valet, while a second one picked up their bags.
“The costs have been covered already, Will. Relax, try to enjoy yourself.”
Will took a deep breath. One weekend, one weekend in an absurdly expensive hotel with nothing happening. Maybe it’d be okay; maybe he could hang the do not disturb sign on his door and sleep.
Hannibal checked them in while Will sat awkwardly in the lobby and turned down a free drink. He could imagine what it looked like, two men checking into an expensive hotel for a weekend, but to his surprise no one gave them odd looks. In fact, some of the staff seemed familiar with Hannibal.
“You’ve stayed here before?” Will asked once Hannibal got back to him with the room keys.
“Oh, yes. A few times.” He handed him a key. “We will be sharing a suite. I hope it is not a problem.”
It was, but Will couldn’t say that. He was getting a holiday for free, and it would have been rude to complain.
“As long as there are two beds,” he said.
“Certainly,” Hannibal replied with a laugh.
Something about Hannibal’s reaction made a chill run down Will’s spine, and he thought for the first time that maybe it was odd for him to take a holiday with his psychiatrist.
Their suite was lovely, with a balcony facing the ocean, a huge bathroom with a jacuzzi and, thankfully, two twin beds.
To Will’s surprise, once they were settled in the room, Hannibal excused himself. “It would hardly be a holiday if you were under supervision,” he said, then asked if he’d like to get together for dinner. Will agreed, following his new pattern of taking the path of least resistance when it came to Hannibal.
He had a relaxing day, walking on the beach, and not thinking too hard about anything. He wasn’t sure if it had been the nap on the way to the hotel, or the fact that he was actually away from everything for the first time in what felt like ages, but he actually felt rested.
That evening, he let Hannibal take him to a local restaurant and watched with badly concealed amusement as Hannibal disapproved of every single dish set in front of him.
“I would rather cook myself,” Hannibal said.
“You’re better than a professional chef?”
“I shudder to think of what is considered a professional nowadays.”
Will surprised himself by laughing, and then surprised himself again by accepting a glass of wine. Later, as they stepped into their room, he surprised himself yet again by the sudden impulse to kiss Hannibal.
It was the wine, he reasoned, and left it at that.
---
His nightmares followed him to the unfamiliar bed of the hotel, but he found himself being shaken awake before they went too far.
“Will?” Hannibal’s voice was soothing. It was amazing the difference it made to have someone close.
“I’m fine, sorry.” Will rolled over and fell back asleep. Hannibal woke him up again a couple of times throughout the night, but by morning he felt rested. Hannibal, of course, looked flawless as usual, even in pajamas.
“No wonder you’ve been exhausted,” Hannibal commented. “You didn’t mention they happened every night.”
Will could have lied then, but he just shrugged.
“I could prescribe something.”
“It’s fine.”
“Will, please. We would not be here if that were the case.”
Will had to admit that Hannibal had a point, but he didn’t feel like folding. He stepped into the bathroom, hoping that Hannibal would have dropped it by the time he came out.
Their arrangement was the same as the previous day, Will was free to go where he wanted, once he had breakfast. Hannibal was certain that Will would skip lunch, and wanted to make sure he had at least two meals a day.
---
During dinner, Will felt even better than the previous day. A little giddy, even. Their server kept refilling his glass of wine, and Will lost count of how many glasses he’d had.
The impulse to kiss Hannibal was there again, and by the time they made it back to their room, Will had decided to give into it. He wasn’t even nervous about it– maybe it was the wine or maybe it was how unreal it felt to be away from everything.
As soon as Hannibal closed the door behind them, Will stepped in, crowding him against it. The kiss was sloppy at first, teeth against teeth, but after a second Hannibal took over, gripping Will firmly by the jaw and working his tongue into Will’s mouth.
Later, much much later, Will would think back on that night and realize that Hannibal hadn’t been surprised at all. That it was as if he’d been expecting it. And then he’d think back on the food and the drinks, and how the server at the restaurant look remarkably like the one who’d carried their bags, and the one who brought them room service.
Will would think of how during that night, Hannibal’s smile had seemed almost unnatural as he went down on him. And he’d feel sick. And he’d throw up on the single toilet in the corner of his cell.
And then, despite the disgust, he’d slip a hand under the waistband of his pants and relive every second of it.