Chapter Text
As a highly capable, in-demand surgeon with a certain amount of seniority, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was guaranteed two requested holidays off per year. The only one he ever requested, and was granted, of course, was Halloween.
While he enjoyed Christmas and New Years and the various rituals associated with those celebrated days, Halloween was the only day he required free from his employ. Hannibal was in demand socially as well as professionally, and whenever he may have free to mark those other days, he was sure to have company. But one could not reschedule the pomp and circumstance of a neighborhood at Halloween. That one night of the year, when the earth is damp and dying, among the blood-red and bile-orange leaves, a parade of monsters just like himself held court on the streets of Baltimore. Ghouls and ghosts, fiends and faeries, vampires and victors filled the sidewalks and parade door to door to be paid homage to and admired.
Of course they were, in reality, mostly children, the occasional brave teenager. However, Hannibal had always been fond of both children and the brave, and always saw fit to reward those who ventured to his door with king-sized candy bars (he used to make his own treats, of course, but the neighborhood had put a rule in place that everything must be store bought and in its original packaging… allergens.) He did, however, continue to keep cider mulling in the kitchen, and a few baked goods ready on the counter, for the more familiar and trusting families.
And of course, every year, he crafted an elaborate tableau, with allusions to Poe, or Shelley, or the particular year in question’s theme, Lovecraft. A few carefully trimmed toperiaries served as the rolling waves of the ocean, while various flowers and vines provided the body of the mythical beast himself- Cthulhu, rising the call on the poets and the madmen, to overtake the earth and give rise to the reign of the Old Ones yet again. Candles were, unfortunately, not practical with so many children, but he made do with artificial ones that cast strange and entrancing shadows over the whole scene. It was beautiful and unsettling, without being too frightening for the littlest ones.
As for a costume, Hannibal always went as the scariest thing he knew of- himself. While everyone else was in disguise, he was free to be seen as he was.
Of course, no one knew what they were looking at.
Hannibal had been ready since two in the afternoon, and the very youngest had started making the rounds at about four. Their costumes were mostly store-bought and sweet, more to the parent’s tastes than any child’s- there were pumpkins and strawberries, angels and little demons that brought a smile to Hannibal’s lips in his own private joke. It was now nearing 8:30, and the last of the older children, with their more elaborate costumes, were finishing up. More than a few parents had stopped in, for Hannibal’s famous cider (some with a little bourbon) and a beautifully decorated seasonal cookie for the children, who all knew and adored the friendly and unflappable doctor. He even had a large bucket set up with apples bobbing in the water, to the nostalgic delight of the parents and the gleeful joy of the children. It was, all in all, a delightful evening, full of the sense of community he so thoroughly enjoyed and the enchantment the real world was so often lacking.
Just as he was considering turning the lights off in the yard, placing the remaining candy bars on the stoop, and calling it an evening, another knock came to rouse him to action again. Dutifully, Hannibal opened the door, and lost the ability to breathe for a full thirty seconds at the sight before him.
Beautiful, clear blue eyes, against skin as white and clear as cream and hair as black as coal. Snow White herself would be green with envy at this man’s coloring. And while he seemed delicate, there was also something glinting and sharp about him, like he could dance on the end of a knife. An inch or so shorter than Hannibal, and slighter, but solid. And those eyes- fierce yet friendly, intelligent and guarded. Hannibal felt he had waited a lifetime for eyes like that. He had never even imagined love at first sight before, but looking at the face in front of him, he felt his inner world shift on its axis.
The spell he was under was momentarily broken by a soft, high voice: “Trick or treat!”
Hannibal looked down to see the owner of the voice, to find a girl of about 7 or 8 with similarly blue eyes, straight fawn brown hair, creamy white skin dotted with freckles, and tiny hands wielding an equally tiny toy ax.
Hannibal blinked back and forth between the two strangers at his door for a moment, then regained his normally unfailing self-control. He squatted down to take a look at the little ax-murderer. “And who might you be, my dear?”
The little girl flushed with excitement. “I’m Lizzie Borden!” She exclaimed.
Hannibal gave a soft chuckle at that. “Of course you are, I can see that now. And what if I said ‘trick’ instead of ‘treat’, Lizzie?”
The blue eyes in front of him narrowed in thought, the lips pursed in consideration, before she reasoned, “Well, I guess I’d have to ax murder you.”
“Abigail!” The man standing just slightly behind her admonished, then shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “It was on some Netflix documentary that got past the parental controls, and she was so excited about the costume idea, I thought it couldn’t hurt. I really am sorry, Mister…?”
“Dr. Lecter,” Hannibal provided smoothly, using the man’s segue as an opportunity to offer him his hand. “And it’s quite alright. I did ask the question.” Hannibal turned his attention back to the young murderess. “And now that I know the consequences, I shall have to go with ‘treat.’ Please take a candy bar, and spare this house.”
Abigail took the bar and put it into her pillowcase, which Hannibal noted was a bit more worn in then one would see in the neighborhood, even for an excursion like this. He then also took note of the man’s clothes, an old but good quality jacket, intended for outdoor use, a pair of serviceable but similarly aged pants.
“I’ve not seen you two about the neighborhood before,” Hannibal said, purposely leaving the statement open.
“We’re new,” the man said, then immediately breathed out and gave a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, that’s a lie. We’re actually not from the neighborhood, but one of Abigail’s schoolmates lives here and has been crowing about your candy bars. I just didn’t want Abby to feel left out. That’s probably terribly rude, isn’t it?”
Hannibal likely would normally have found it very rude. But from the pair standing before him, Hannibal found he was ready to forgive all sorts of things. “Rude of her classmate to crow. And unfortunate, because if they only mentioned the candy bars, they may not be privy to the cookies I have in the kitchen.”
“Cookies!” Abigail cried, then bit her lip. “Are you saying I can have one?”
Hannibal looked to the man, who still had not stated his name. “I am saying you are welcome to not only have a cookie, but a cider as well, and then who will have cause to boast tomorrow in the classroom? That is, if your father does not object.”
Will rubbed his hands together, the chill clearly getting to him. “I don’t object at all. Thank you for the offer, Dr. Lecter.”
“Please, call me Hannibal, just Hannibal.” Hannibal gestured for them to come in. “And what may I call you?” he questioned as he removed the man’s slightly worn jacket, lowering his voice slightly in pitch as he spoke quite close to the man’s somehow-adorable ear.
To Hannibal’s delight, the man shuddered minutely, and his response had just a hint of breathlessness. “Will,” he said. “Just Will.”
“Well, just Will, and Lizzie, right this way.” Hannibal led them into the kitchen, where Abigail squealed in delight seeing the ghost, pumpkin, witch and vampire cookies sitting freshly baked on the counter, the smell of cider in the air, and the centerpieces and bouquets made of skulls and beautiful black roses adorning the room. She caught sight of the bucket, filled with water and apples, and asked, “What’s that?”
“That,” Hannibal replied, leading her over to the bucket’s edge, “Is for apple bobbing. It’s traditional for this season, where I am from, and I brought the custom with me. It’s very simple- you try and snatch an apple from the water, using only your teeth.” Abigail looked uncertainly at the bucket, so Hannibal further offered. “I shall show you.” Unerringly, he plucked an apple by its stem with his incisors, grinning broadly around it before letting it fall into his open hands. “You try. If you succeed, I’ll give you a reward.”
“Like trick or treat!” Abigail exclaimed.
Hannibal’s smile was all teeth as he looked at Just Will over Abigail’s head. “Exactly.” Will’s responding lip quirk was a twin of Hannibal’s expression as Abigail dove into the bucket, chasing an apple, then another, until finally she emerged victorious with a small red orb in between her small jaws.
She let the apple drop into her lap, then looked at Hannibal expectingly. “What is my treat?”
Hannibal smirked before standing on guiding both Will and Abigail over to sit on his counter. “You get one treat now, and one for later,” he said, sliding one vampire cookie across the counter, before also presenting an already wrapped ghost-to-go. A pumpkin found it’s way in front of Will as well. “And one for your father, of course.”
“Why does Daddy Will get a pumpkin and I get a vampire?” Abigail queried.
Hannibal looked at Abigail curiously for a moment, pausing both at her question and her mode of addressing Will, before responding, “Would you prefer a pumpkin?”
Abigail’s nose squished up and she shook her head. “Nuh-uh! But a pumpkin isn’t scary, and Daddy Will is scary.”
Hannibal looked at Will, who was staring at him in amusement, before he decided on his next action. “Quite right,” he said, removing the offending pumpkin cookie and placing a witch one in its stead. “I think this is better suited.”
“Much better!” Abigail stated in contentment. “Now can I eat it?”
Both Hannibal and Will laughed as they nodded their assent, and Hannibal prepared them all ciders- his and Will’s with just a splash of bourbon. Not too much, as Will was driving, after all. The three of them chatted and laughed, Hannibal revealing his position at John Hopkins as a surgeon, Abigail telling Hannibal all about the 3rd grade, and Will eventually cagily admitting to being a teacher.
“Not just any teacher!” Abigail interrupted excitedly, as she charmed another cookie out of Hannibal. “Daddy Will teaches at the F.B.I.!”
This new bite of information washed over Hannibal like cold water at first, then aburptly he was warm again as he looked at the handsome F.B.I. instructor. “I’m a forensic scientist. Very boring stuff. What I’m mainly known for is using insect activity to determine, uh, well… time of… you know, this isn’t great kid conversation.”
Hannibal smiled kindly at Will, before offering, “Not suited for little ears, perhaps, but I think I would find it fascinating. Would you be available to discuss it sometime over dinner?”
Will blushed before shrugging. “It’s really not that interesting. Mostly, it’s very dry, except, of course, when you’re in the sort of climate… see, it’s all very technical.”
“While I would be delighted to try and keep up,” Hannibal interrupted, “I think perhaps I am being unclear. I believe I would find anything you wished to speak of fascinating, and I would love to have you for dinner.”
Both Will and Abigail blinked at Hannibal, before Will’s eyes widened and Abigail smiled broadly.
“Are you asking Daddy Will out?” Abigail squealed.
“I am,” Hannibal confirmed. “Do you think he’ll accept?”
“I will,” Will confirmed.
Hannibal’s smile was shark-like.
***
Later, as Hannibal was turning all the lights in his opulent Baltimore home out, he could not tear his thoughts from the beautiful and singularly charming Will Graham, who had agreed to come over the coming Saturday night and let Hannibal wine and dine him, and hopefully, after an after-dinner whiskey, he would learn what those rose-petal pink lips tasted like. He had felt a moment of alarm, of course, when he learned of Will’s association with the F.B.I., but a forensic instructor would likely not be looking too closely at the cases which concerned Hannibal. And after all, Hannibal had not been ‘active’ to their knowledge for almost two years. No one was looking his way right now. And who knows- perhaps the handsome professor could give him perspective on how the F.B.I conducts its business when it’s not busy breaking down doors.
Thoughts of the very interesting young father occupied his mind even as he climbed into bed, and let the early levels of sleep wash over him- so lost in his own thoughts was Hannibal, that he didn’t even feel the knife until it was at his throat, a weight settling over his hips.
“I think,” the now familiar voice of Professor Will Graham spoke, “That getting me in bed was your plan in the end, after all, Doctor.”
Hannibal was cornered, and in his own home.
Hannibal was smitten .