Reciprocity [Hannibal; Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter]

[evermissing]

A while ago, Bruyere posted a drabble ("Similarities," a few posts down the page) that took the idea of Will's unconscious mimicry of other people's speech patterns to a logical conclusion. I won't spoil it for you if you haven't already read it (go read it!), but let's just say the idea was so brilliant that I asked if I could borrow it, with credit, for something I was writing. And then it turned out that actually I wanted to write TWO stories that used it. This is the first--it's loosely a sequel to this story (which I, uh, never did get around to titling...), but you don't have to have read the prequel to follow this one. It starts out Will-centric, but I promise, Hannibal fans will not be bored.

Thanks, Bruyere!

* * *

Reciprocity

[Hannibal; Hannibal and Will]

Will Graham has decided: aside from the obvious, antibiotics are man's best friend, and certainly his best invention.

The day after he crashed spectacularly in Dr. Lecter's office, Hannibal roused him enough in the late afternoon to stumble into the car and allow himself to be driven back to Wolf Trap. Hannibal gave him some more pills, who can remember what kind, and he slept the rest of the day and most of the next. When he woke up the following night, he found two gifts on the kitchen counter. The first an was enormous serving bowl of some kind of soup--"Broth," the note said, in a casually, tersely elegant hand; "easy to stomach; stay hydrated and keep up electrolytes"--and the second the name and phone number of a doctor at Johns Hopkins.

The idea of getting himself all the way back to Baltimore was unappealing. Even worse was the prospect of sitting in a unfamiliar waiting room full of suffering people and then being handled by a prying stranger when his defenses were down. Instead, he made an appointment with the GP he'd seen when he first moved to Virginia.

When Dr. Lawrence opened the door to the exam room and was confronted with Will, jittery and red-eyed and shivering in one of those awful hospital gowns, he said only, mildly, "I was surprised when I saw your name on my schedule for today." That was one of the reasons Will had saved his name and number in the first place: Lawrence was always very, very calm. A bit like Hannibal, in that way.

Which was good, because as the appointment wore on, Will got the sense that a less reserved doctor would be giving him a lecture right now. When Lawrence asked what practice Will had been using and Will admitted he hadn't seen another GP during their hiatus, Lawrence merely raised his eyebrows and said, "The last time you were here was nearly five years ago." He hummed under his breath and looked at his clipboard. "You've lost some weight since then," he observed, and Will shrugged.

Lawrence was checking his ears when Will finally said, "I know there's nothing you can give me for the common cold, but I was kind of just hoping for something for the headaches, maybe, at least until I feel a little be-heh--" He shakes his head warningly, and Lawrence removes the otoscope and steps back. "Huh-ESHHoo! Better. Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Lawrence said dryly. "I get a lot of that in here. Look, I can't give you anything for the common cold, and you're probably just going to have to wait out the acute bronchitis, but I can certainly give you something for the sinus infection and the bilateral ear infection."

Will stopped blowing his nose to look up. "Seriously? All of that?"

Lawrence nodded and flipped to his prescription pad. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, Graham; you're an adult and God knows you're doing an adult's job. But I'd feel better if you'd let me schedule you for a couple of tests."

Will eyed him suspiciously. "Whad kide of tests?"

"You name it," said Lawrence. "I'd just like to see if there's a reason your immune system right now seems to be about as effective as a windbreaker in a hurricane."

"Vivid." Will coughed a laugh and considered it for a second. "Id's fide. I've just beed-- hag od." He blew his nose. "I've been working a lot lately. I'll just go with the drugs, thanks."

Several days later, Will is pleasantly vindicated in this decision. He's still got a cough, still feeling kind of rundown, but otherwise the improvement seems almost miraculous. In fact, in some ways he feels better than he did before he got sick in the first place. The headaches haven't gone away, but they're a little less severe; he still regularly wakes up terrified in the dark, but the night sweats are less extreme, and he spends less time afterward in that unmoored, disassociated state where he's not sure what's the dream and what's real. All in all, if he could just subsist on a steady drip of antibiotics, Hannibal's broth, and the occasional shot of whiskey, he thinks he'd do pretty well.

He shows up for his next meeting with Hannibal feeling positively perky, ready for a little verbal sparring, more in the mood for a conversation than a session. After all, Hannibal always says that their meetings can be whatever Will wants them to be. And right about now, Will wants a chance to prove himself clever and smooth and somewhere in the neighborhood of normal, not the walking three-car pileup he's been in Hannibal's office lately.

Precisely on the hour, Hannibal opens the waiting-room door. He nods at Will and inclines his head into the office. "Good evening, Will. Please come in."

"Hi," says Will diffidently, and mentally kicks himself. It's not his best opening salvo, but he can't pull off "Good evening" with the kind of apparently artless Old World charm that Hannibal can, and "Hi" was all that sprang to mind.

Hannibal settles into a chair and looks up at Will, who's debating the merits of sitting versus standing. His body aches with a lingering fatigue, especially after the long day at the Academy, but he always feels more in control here when he's on his feet.

Hannibal decides the matter: "Please sit," he says, and Will automatically does as he's told. Or invited. He's never quite sure of the distinction. Hannibal studies him openly for a moment, clears his throat, and says, "You seem much improved since our last meeting."

"Much," agrees Will. "I'm beginning to understand why people acquire drug habits."

Hannibal arches an eyebrow at him. It's not a disapproving expression, though--merely curious.

"Just antibiotics," says Will with a sigh. He'd been hoping to get at least a little bit of a rise with that one. "I saw the doctor the other day. He wanted me to come back in for some tests, actually."

"And will you?"

Will shakes his head. "I'm… not that big a fan of doctors poking and prodding at me. I've already had my fill of that from shrinks."

"Understandable." Hannibal gives him a brief almost-smile, but it quickly dissolves into a sort of frown. "Excuse me," he says, turning away slightly.

For a few seconds Will worries that he somehow said something offensive. Did Hannibal think he was being lumped in with all those other fumbling, unsubtle, over-eager psychologists? Will's about to clarify when Hannibal, his head angled away, face invisible, raises his shoulders jerkily and sneezes into a handkerchief that he seems to have produced out of nowhere.

"Hnnngt!"

Will flinches in startlement. He has absolutely no idea what to do, so he just sits there watching as Hannibal blinks, sniffs once, and folds the handkerchief back into a pocket. Obviously Will should say something, but "Bless you" seems too familiar and intimate, somehow, and "Gesundheit" too affected. And Hannibal seems disinclined to acknowledge the incident at all. Will squirms in his seat, gives it a moment, and goes on as before.

"Anyway, I, um… I mean, thank you for… the other night, for…" He gestures vaguely, ineffectually. "Um."

"You're quite welcome," says Hannibal, with a kind of gracious dignity that forgives and translates Will's floundering. "I was concerned."

Will actually blushes a little and drops his gaze to the carpet between them. He doesn't understand how lately, every single time he comes in here he manages to find a creative new way to humiliate himself. This isn't exactly going the way he'd hoped.

"I really don't get sick that often," he offers, like that's some kind of apology. "I promise."

Hannibal starts to reply, but abruptly his upper lip curls. Will gets a glimpse of his small, even teeth and the tip of his tongue as he tilts his head back on an inhale, but Hannibal doesn't even have time to excuse himself before he sneezes into the handkerchief he's deftly maneuvered back out of his pocket.

"Hrrrreshh!"

The sneeze, obviously unexpected, isn't as well contained as the first. The combination of the explosive noise and the lack of warning nearly makes Will jump out of his skin.

"Eh… excuse me…" Hannibal begins, the handkerchief still in place.

Will knows he has to say something, so he jumps in with "No, no, it's fine, go ahead." As if he's giving Hannibal permission. He resists the urge to bury his head in his hands. Maybe he should just stop attempting speech in Hannibal's presence. Maybe they can conduct all of their sessions in sign language from here on out.

Mercifully, Hannibal seems too distracted to notice much of anything. His shoulders lift again in anticipation and his eyes flutter shut, but he remains suspended like that for a beat, eyebrows twitching. Will wriggles in his chair but can't tear his gaze away.

"Huh… h-hh-HNNNGGT!"

Hannibal's eyes reopen slowly, and Will can see them glistening now. Then they widen and focus on him, and Hannibal's looking straight at him over the handkerchief. His hazy expression clears by degrees.

Will, caught by that gaze like a sparrow in thrall to a snake, holds the eye contact, watching Hannibal watching him. Hannibal blows his nose vigorously and efficiently, then folds the handkerchief. Will notices, though, that he doesn't put it away this time.

"Are you… are you all right?" Will asks.

Hannibal clears his throat. "I had taken something for this earlier, but you are my last appointment of the evening and--" He spreads his hands. "Even pills only last so long. My apologies."

"No, it's fine, I just--" Will pauses. "You took something for--? Oh. Oh. Shit."

Hannibal hums something approaching a chuckle.

It's absurd in retrospect, but the possibility that he might be contagious to Hannibal never even crossed Will's mind. Whatever he brought back from Nevada has been burning through the Academy like a brushfire: yesterday was his first day back, and he couldn't help but notice the number of canceled lectures, the concert of half-stifled sneezes in his classes, and the way Alana Bloom was valiantly attempting to hold office hours with her voice nearly gone. Of course he feels awful about all of that, but-- Hannibal.

"A minor inconvenience," says Hannibal. "Please continue."

Will has no recollection of what he was saying before this discovery, and he can already tell that this session is a lost cause. He's unfocused, ashamed, even shaken, the way he felt when he walked through that door and saw the aftermath of Budge's visit--Budge, whom he failed to detain--and Hannibal's battered face.

"Will." Will swallows and averts his eyes. "This is your hour," Hannibal reminds him gently.

"My fifty minutes, you mean." How much longer do they have? Hannibal's not, in general, a conventional therapist, but he's quite firm on this point: he gets a view of the clock and Will doesn't. "What were we talking about?"

"Whatever you like." There's an awkward silence, and then Hannibal prompts, "How much do you remember of the last time you were here?"

"Honestly, not much at all," Will admits. "I remember the bathroom…." Hannibal, his usual graceful precision of movement blurred by haste, is unfolding the handkerchief yet again. "I, uh, I think I remember… there was a dream about…." A soft, helpless gasp escapes Hannibal as his head bobs down into his waiting hands, and as he surrenders to the inevitable, Will does too, and stops even trying to pretend to talk about himself.

"Huh-rrrrsh!! Hrrrrsh!" Will can hear Hannibal panting behind the handkerchief. "H-h-heh… huh… RRSSSH!"

"God, I'm so sorry," says Will miserably. "I feel terrible."

Hannibal blows his nose again, more wetly than before. He clears his throat, but when he speaks his voice is still hoarse. "Perhaps you're still not well enough for this."

"No," says Will, feeling Hannibal's solicitude as another pang of guilt. "I feel fine, I just mean…." Naturally, the back of his throat starts prickling at just that moment, and he gives in to a harsh, impatient spasm of coughing. "The doctor said the chest cold might take a while to clear up, but I'm fine. Are you?"

Hannibal nods, but his face is already contorting again in itchy irritation. They both wait for it, Hannibal trembling minutely, Will flushing. But nothing happens, and eventually Hannibal, looking tireder than Will's even seen him before, lowers the handkerchief and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," Will says again.

Hannibal gives him a wry look. "I assure you, I know this was not intentional on your part. Please conti-yeh-eh-eh-rrrsh!"

"Sorry." Will can feel himself starting to shut down; he doesn't know what else to say.

"Pardod be," Hannibal says throatily, and blows his nose. "I told you the other week that you needn't apologize for your illness. You also needn't apologize for mine."

Actually, Will had thought that saying "Sorry" was a convenient substitute for "Bless you," and with that option off the table, he has nothing left. He shifts uncomfortably.

"You could have canceled. I wouldn't have taken it personally. I had this too; I remember what it's like. It was… pretty bad."

"I expect, given my lifestyle, that mine will be a milder case."

"That's a nice way of saying I have no idea how to take care of myself," Will observes. "Can I… do anything…?" He's struck by a renewed sense of gratitude and awe at Hannibal's unshakeable competence, his easy way with people. Will can't even form the words "Bless you," much less assume a bedside manner or offer a slew of home remedies on the spot. He can't understand--literally can't imagine, which is a problem he rarely has--how Hannibal was able to bring him blankets and hustle him into the bathroom and touch him last week when their roles were reversed.

"I'll remind you that my health and welfare are not your responsibility," says Hannibal, "even though yours are mine."

"Then why don't I just… go home and let you go to bed?"

"Not necessary," says Hannibal, but Will can see it in his face again, the dreaded sinus twinge, that mental bracing against the mounting urge. Hannibal raises the handkerchief again, slowly, perhaps trying to be subtle, and dabs it to his nose once, as if in reproof. Will grimaces, knowing that sensation, knowing that nothing will stave it off or satiate it for long.

He's also beginning to think he spoke too soon when he said he's feeling physically fine. At this hour, the exertion of a full day of activity is starting to catch up with him--sore muscles, mental fogginess, a painful bone-deep exhaustion. Being back at work is already taking it out of him. The headache's on its way; he can sense it rolling in like the shadow cast by a storm. And watching Hannibal struggle with this sneeze is starting to give him a feeling that he doesn't want to think about too much.

So he stands and says, "No, I'm gonna go," just as Hannibal loses the battle, squeezing his watering eyes shut with an anticlimactic, unsatisfying "Hrrrsh."

Will is ready to get the hell out. "Seriously, trust me, you'll thank me later. Uh, get some sleep, drink some tea, take some… pills…."

Hannibal wipes his nose gingerly and rises as well.

"If thad's whad you'd prefer," he says, formal and almost courtly even through the congestion. But Will can tell he's flagging, the cord of his control fraying--can all but feel the weight of it in his own head, not to mention that deep sinus itch. "I'b sorry you cabe all this way for a curtailed sessiod."

"I don't mind," says Will. "I'm going to head out, beat the traffic"--he's aware that he's babbling; rush hour is long past, even for DC--"I'll see you next week if you're feeling better, I hope you are, I just, I'm really sorry about this."

If Hannibal could look abashed, that's how Will would say he looks at the speed of this development. But Will has no more time or willpower for social niceties, and as it turns out, neither does Hannibal. His face is settling again into fuzzy annoyance as Will closes the door and flees through the patient exit out onto the street.

He's unlocking his car when his breath catches in his throat. It starts as a cough, and he turns away from the car, presses his back against the driver's-side door, and gives in to the urge that he's been trying to deny.

"Hih-ishoo! Isshh! Isshoo! Issh, issh, isshoo! Huh-ISHHOO!"

The fit is sudden and overpowering as a flash flood, but at least it's relatively short. And the upside of not being genuinely sick anymore is that the sneezes are quick and dry; he contains them in his hands, and looks up blinking and breathless when it's over. It's actually an enormous relief to give in, not to have to pretend that it's not there, that it's only in his mind.

He shakes his head, clearing it, and gets into the car. He's adjusting a rearview mirror when someone calls his name, close enough at hand that it makes him jump. He looks up and it's Hannibal standing on the sidewalk. His approach must have been impossibly quiet.

Hannibal extends an arm, over which Will's coat is nearly folded. "You left this." He seems to have regained control, but Will doesn't trust the illusion. There's a faint flush around his eyes and nose, and his voice is still rougher than usual.

"Oh. Thank you," Will says, hurriedly accepting the coat through the open window. "Next week?"

Hannibal nods. "Next week. I'll be much more useful to you then."

Will tries not to watch him walk back to the office, but he can't help himself. Sure enough, halfway to the door Hannibal's back stiffens, his shoulders rise involuntarily, and he slows his pace.

"Huh-rrrssshh!"

Will curses this perverse streak in his own nature, or maybe it's masochistic--the inability to just look away--and the next moment he's doubled over the steering wheel in the grip of another violent fit.

"Huh-isshh! Isshoo! Isshoo, isshoo, ISHHoo!"

He groans and massages his temples. Yeah, the headache has officially arrived.

He tries to keep himself distracted on the drive home, but every now and then, before he notices the drift of his thoughts, he finds himself revisiting the image of Hannibal's crumpled face or the sound of his hitched breathing, and that sets him off all over again. He's pretty sure that if he can just get to sleep tonight, he'll be able to break out of this, but for the time being he can't get out of the zone, can't disengage; he's too sensitive to Hannibal right now, and he has that feeling he occasionally gets that he's vibrating at the same frequency as another person, as if struck by a tuning fork. It doesn't help that he had the same cold just last week, and the sense memories are still very fresh. Nor does his awareness of their connection--how he gave this directly to Hannibal.

He's been operating on the assumption that going to therapy is, eventually, supposed to make you feel better. But as he navigates through northern Virginia in the dark, he feels a potent combination of sickness and self-reproach. Then again, for all his real-world psych training, he's never really been in therapy himself, not long enough to know what it's like when it's working. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. And that perverse streak in him says: maybe feeling this bad means it's actually doing some good. He has no point of comparison.

So he blocks off the usual hour in his schedule for next week, and spends the night trying not to think about it. And praying that Hannibal's recovered by then, for both their sakes.

* * *

Edited March 31, 2014 by evermissing

[evermissing]

Apologies for all typos / mistaken auto-corrects. I can't edit this post, so I know they're there but I can't fix them, which is TORTURE. :/

[Bruyere]

Yay! New evermissing fic! This totally makes my weekend! I am so glad that you posted this and that it acts as a follow-on to the previous story.

"I'd just like to see if there's a reason your immune system right now seems to be about as effective as a windbreaker in a hurricane."

I really like Dr Lawrence and this line was excellent. I like the way Will echoes it later as well when he talks of his headache in terms of a storm rolling in.

Of course he feels awful about all of that, but-- Hannibal.

I love Will's concern for Hannibal but that it ends up tying him in knots throughout his session.

he finds himself revisiting the image of Hannibal's crumpled face or the sound of his hitched breathing, and that sets him off all over again. He's pretty sure that if he can just fall sleep tonight, he'll be able to break out of this, but for the time being he can't get out of the zone, can't disengage; he's too sensitive to Hannibal right now, and he has that feeling he occasionally gets that he's vibrating at the same frequency as another person, as if struck by a tuning fork. It doesn't help that he had the same cold just last week, and the sense memories are still very fresh. Nor does his awareness of their connection--how he gave this directly to Hannibal.

Oh my god. This is just perfect. This whole section. Will remembering Hannibal and sneezing? *dies* And the tuning fork is excellent, particularly when Will had been thinking about Budge earlier and with how well it chimes with what he said in one of the episodes about Garrett Jacob-Hobbs about how he'd think about how they'd be doing the same things at the same time of day.

So glad you ran with this idea! And that there'll be another one? \0/

(Also, once you get validated you'll be able to send PMs and can ask an Administrator to add you to the Writer's group and then you can edit your posts to remove typos & update Headings for new parts etc. I'm not sure how far back it can be applied to old posts but you'll definitely be able to edit posts in the future.)

[evermissing]

Yaaaay, I'm so glad you liked it! Thank you for all the awesome comments (and, obviously, for the premise. ). I was definitely thinking about Will's connection to Hobbs with that bit about the tuning fork, but the Budge thing was unintentional/subconscious--I hadn't even thought about that, but you're right about the link, especially given how far into Budge's head Will got, what with hearing his "serenade" and speaking in his voice in the morgue and so on.

Hopefully there will be another one! It's in progress.

(Ahh, okay, thanks for the tip. I figured it had to be something like that. Not being able to edit EVER would be cruel and unusual!)

[Garnet]

Ughghg EVERMISSING how do I love you, let me count the ways, etc. I think I legitimately did little happy seal clap hands when I saw you'd uploaded another story, and it's Hannibal as the "victim"? It must be my birthday.

I will give this a detailed blow by blow when my workload is not kicking my butt, but suffice to say that this is delicious and excellently written :q Thank you for sharing.

[evermissing]

\o/ Thrilled you read and liked it! I was hoping people (you in particular! HAPPY BIRTHDAY?) would appreciate the Hannibal angle, even though I still find actually writing from his perspective to be beyond me except in short bursts.

I hope your workload gets more manageable soon. Not even because I'm greedy for feedback. I'm starting to enter my own period of constantly working like crazy, and it's exhausting, so I feel your pain.

[Garnet]

I forgot that I never came back to give this a more detailed analysis :x And by analysis, I mean spastic flailing, sooo... here I go!

When Lawrence asked what practice Will had been using and Will admitted he hadn't seen another GP during their hiatus, Lawrence merely raised his eyebrows and said, "The last time you were here was nearly five years ago."

Nice little detail, and relatable. Oh, Will, you and me both :/ I like this little interlude with his general practicioner in general.

The headaches haven't gone away, but they're a little less severe; he still regularly wakes up terrified in the dark, but the night sweats are less extreme, and he spends less time afterward in that unmoored, disassociated state where he's not sure what's the dream and what's real.

Okay, I really just quoted this because I liked the use of the word "unmoored", I feel like it's not the first time you've used boat metaphors for Will, and it's congruous with the ones mentioned in the show.

"Much," agrees Will. "I'm beginning to understand why people acquire drug habits."

Hannibal arches an eyebrow at him. It's not a disapproving expression, though--merely curious.

"Just antibiotics," says Will with a sigh. He'd been hoping to get at least a little bit of a rise with that one.

Also love that Hannibal doesn't really have a reaction here. It's easily written off as him being... well, shrinky, but I have to imagine that he's experimented with a bevy of mind-altering substances, out of professional curiosity. I believe that's canon in the books as well as the show, but I'd have to reread them.

For a few seconds Will worries that he somehow said something offensive. Did Hannibal think he was being lumped in with all those other fumbling, unsubtle, over-eager psychologists?

Oh, Will. You're freaking killing me. I just love that he's such a guarded little sassmouth, but also worries about stuff like this, because he's bad at friend.

I also really, really like him having no idea how to bless Hannibal despite wanting to, it's perfectly fitting as per his usual social interaction indecisions.

"Hrrrreshh!"

The sneeze, obviously unexpected, isn't as well contained as the first. The combination of the explosive noise and the lack of warning nearly makes Will jump out of his skin.

Uh, yeah :q I love that harsh, uncontrolled sound, and NNNNHH Hannibalsneezing. So much happy seal clapping. So much.

Also, such a small and somewhat unimportant detail, but I dig how Hannibal is pretty blasé about blowing his nose in front of him. Makes sense, since he's a doctor and I imagine is used to the idea of gross body shit happening, dealing with it, and moving on.

It's absurd in retrospect, but the possibility that he might be contagious to Hannibal never even crossed Will's mind. Whatever he brought back from Nevada has been burning through the Academy like a brushfire: yesterday was his first day back, and he couldn't help but notice the number of canceled lectures, the concert of half-stifled sneezes in his classes, and the way Alana Bloom was valiantly attempting to hold office hours with her voice nearly gone. Of course he feels awful about all of that, but-- Hannibal.

And this is where my heart is breaking. It kind of encapsulates how he elevates Hannibal to this... I don't want to say pedestal, but a sort of false importance, though. Like he's in a separate class. Also, Alana <3

"God, I'm so sorry," says Will miserably. "I feel terrible."

Hannibal blows his nose again, more wetly than before. He clears his throat, but when he speaks his voice is still hoarse. "Perhaps you're still not well enough for this."

Ffff this little blip of misunderstanding (or is it?) is so fucking cute despite the feels.

"I told you the other week that you needn't apologize for your illness. You also needn't apologize for mine."

Okay, this is such a good line. Very clever, and... I don't know, Hannibal. I also like the slightly more clipped follow-up shortly thereafter, where it's clear he's starting to get vaguely annoyed.

Being back at work is already taking it out of him. The headache's on its way; he can sense it rolling in like the shadow cast by a storm.

And again, just isolating this because I really like the imagery and the... grammatical structure of this? Can I appreciate grammar? Well, I'm gonna.

The fit is sudden and overpowering as a flash flood, but at least it's relatively short. And the upside of not being genuinely sick anymore is that the sneezes are quick and dry; he contains them in his hands, and looks up blinking and breathless when it's over. It's actually an enormous relief to give in, not to have to pretend that it's not there, that it's only in his mind.

Oh and, um, I still REALLY like this little idea and am totally going to steal it from you and Bruyere when I can figure out a set-up.

And the fact that Will knows it's all in his mind, but is still strong enough to engender a real, physical response? Nngh baby.

He tries to keep himself distracted on the drive home, but every now and then, before he notices the drift of his thoughts, he finds himself revisiting the image of Hannibal's crumpled face or the sound of his hitched breathing, and that sets him off all over again. He's pretty sure that if he can just fall sleep tonight, he'll be able to break out of this, but for the time being he can't get out of the zone, can't disengage; he's too sensitive to Hannibal right now, and he has that feeling he occasionally gets that he's vibrating at the same frequency as another person, as if struck by a tuning fork. It doesn't help that he had the same cold just last week, and the sense memories are still very fresh. Nor does his awareness of their connection--how he gave this directly to Hannibal.

I'm just going to marry this whole paragraph, okay? I feel like it would almost be getting a song stuck in your head, but for Will it's an emotion or a sensation or a visual, and he needs, as you mentioned, either a hard reset of his brain or another distraction to break the feedback loop.

In summation: omnomnom. You're making me want to write in this fandom again, despite the hiatus drag.

[evermissing]

...Wow, so, I kind of disappeared from the Internet for a while, and never responded to your feedback, Garnet! Sorry. :/ Thank you so much for all the comments.

Okay, I really just quoted this because I liked the use of the word "unmoored", I feel like it's not the first time you've used boat metaphors for Will, and it's congruous with the ones mentioned in the show.

Haha, you know, I do use them a lot, and the funny thing is that it's rarely a conscious strategy. Those kinds of metaphors just... come naturally, when I'm writing Will.

It's easily written off as him being... well, shrinky, but I have to imagine that he's experimented with a bevy of mind-altering substances, out of professional curiosity. I believe that's canon in the books as well as the show, but I'd have to reread them.

Oh, definitely. I think you're right that it comes up somewhere in the books, but I can't quite remember where. I need to reread the later ones.

I just love that he's such a guarded little sassmouth, but also worries about stuff like this, because he's bad at friend.

Auuugh, THIS. I find that so, so endearing too.

So much happy seal clapping. So much.

This tends to be my reaction every time I read something new of yours, so I'm glad to return the favor.

And this is where my heart is breaking. It kind of encapsulates how he elevates Hannibal to this... I don't want to say pedestal, but a sort of false importance, though. Like he's in a separate class.

Yes, oh god. skfdklfslkf

(You know you've got it bad when even simple descriptive sentences make you keyboard-smash.)

Ffff this little blip of misunderstanding (or is it?) is so fucking cute despite the feels.

OR IS IT? That's exactly what I was going for there.

where it's clear he's starting to get vaguely annoyed.

Heee. Yeah, I do imagine that there were sessions--obviously not seen on the show because they're so un-dramatic!--where Hannibal made no real progress in tearing down Will's walls, and no major insights were shared, and Will was actually kind of... uninteresting to Hannibal because he just would. not. stop. going around in these pointless thought-loops about how wrong and abnormal he is at his core and how everything's his fault/responsibility, and you can't talk him out of it. You know? I get the feeling that Hannibal really doesn't have much patience for that kind of behavior in his practice in general, and it must be frustrating to him when Will is so self-sabotaging that he can't even have a freaking conversation. Like, STOP HAVING BORING TERRIBLE SELF-ESTEEM ALREADY, WILLIAM, I'M TRYING TO DISMANTLE YOUR PSYCHE.

I feel like it would almost be getting a song stuck in your head, but for Will it's an emotion or a sensation or a visual, and he needs, as you mentioned, either a hard reset of his brain or another distraction to break the feedback loop.

Exactly. I think that makes the whole concept even more appealing to me, because it's another way that he's completely helpless and at the mercy of his own mind. Which pushes aaaaall my buttons.

You're making me want to write in this fandom again, despite the hiatus drag.

It's almost over! Although I'm insane and am actually kind of stressed out at the prospect of all-new episodes--ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN. THERE COULD BE LOTS OF FEELINGS.--I'm also psyched that we'll (hopefully) get a bunch of brand-new fic to help us deal with the trauma.

Most importantly: catching up on the forum, and I just saw that you posted your take on this concept. sljfjdkljdfjkggjkdjkfjkgfdkjfgdkjdgfkjgfl I'M SO EXCITED TO READ IT THAT I MAY EXPLODE

[beatlelover22]

"Understandable." Hannibal gives him a brief almost-smile, but it quickly dissolves into a sort of frown. "Excuse me," he says, turning away slightly.

For a few seconds Will worries that he somehow said something offensive. Did Hannibal think he was being lumped in with all those other fumbling, unsubtle, over-eager psychologists? Will's about to clarify when Hannibal, his head angled away, face invisible, raises his shoulders jerkily and sneezes into a handkerchief that he seems to have produced out of nowhere.

"Hnnngt!"

I'm pretty sure I just exploded This was amazing... I love love LOVE how you wrote out Hannibal's sneezes; very realistic I think and they're perfect. Also everything Will says and does... it's just so in-character! I'm really impressed okay

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Wow, I just read this and- and- Will and Hannibal *love them*

[evermissing]

beatlelover22: Thanks! Writing Will comes a lot more naturally to me, so it's nice to hear that I did an okay job with Hannibal too.

Vongola Undicesimo: Yay, glad you liked it! Thanks for letting me know.