He Who Holds The Devil (Hannibal, M) - Secret Santa for Clint

[TaurielRiver]

Dear Clint,

Hi, hello, I am your SS this year! I was so happy and excited to write for you, and to read Hannibee on your wishlist! I love the characters and the scenarios you mentioned too, so this is what I came up with in trying to tie a few ideas for them together.

I went with early-ish season 2 for the setting, and tried to inject a bit of ‘case fic’ theme here and there. It was also my intention to write you a fluffier drabble as well, so after the main story (parts I-III), part IV is a tiny ‘follow-on epilogue’ for fun. I really do hope this all came together in a way that you enjoy, and I wish you all the best for a very happy and fantastic 2016! <3

He Who Holds The Devil

Hannibal

for Clint~

Saving people you love isn’t stupid. It isn’t even a choice.

-Kami Garcia, Beautiful Chaos

-I-

Alana watched the filtered coffee pour into the glass. She watched it until the thin, frothy liquid reached the brim, then slipped over the edge, spreading in a dark puddle over the counter. And then she heard the banging.

“Alana!” Zeller’s fist seemed just about ready to break down the front entrance. “Did you hear me honking the horn? Your neighbour just asked if I’m bogged in your driveway!”

Quickly padding down the hallway, Alana tugged back the door handle in time to catch him mid-inhale, knuckles still raised. Her gaze flicked from his mouth still ajar, down to his converse, fresh snow tracked over the wooden porch.

“And are you?”

Zeller gave her a quizzical stare, then glanced at the SUV over his shoulder.

“…No?”

“That’s a relief.” Alana took a small step back, a nod toward the kitchen.

Zeller rolled his eyes, accepting the invitation nevertheless. He didn’t need a second to find his way to the coffee jug though. Or the cupboards.

“Do you have one of those travel mugs? Or a thermos?”

His eyes veered over the mess on the table, his question contained to the raise of an eyebrow. Alana declined to venture an explanation. In truth, she wasn’t sure she had one.

“Don’t you? We could get drive-through on the way, if you’d like.”

“Mine’s in the car. I meant for you.” Zeller hit on a picnic set behind the champagne glasses. Alana couldn’t remember the last time she had used either. Unclipping the flask from amongst some very questionable tartan plates, he filled it with what was left of the coffee. “You look like you could use it. And no, we really can’t. They just found the body.”

Alana frowned, shuffling her cell from her coat pocket. Three missed calls from Jack. The phone wasn’t on silent either. One hand closing around the flask, she took a tentative slip. Not too burned, at least. Or maybe she did really need it.

“Found where? I thought we were just closing-out this morning?”

Crossing the tiles, Alana flicked the latch on the back door, taking a well-choreographed step aside as Buster and Winston near tripped over themselves racing for Zeller. She had meant to take them both for a jog several hours ago. In lieu of fulfilling the mental promise, she made another to bring back a treat after work. For now, they seemed happy enough with the unexpected visitor.

“Are these Will’s dogs?” Crouching down, Zeller’s voice fell a fraction quieter as he ruffled a hand along Winston’s back.

“Yes.” Alana reached an arm around Buster’s middle, scratching him just above the tummy and receiving an eager lick for her efforts. She lowered her eyes, allowing the Collie to nuzzle into her jacket. She wasn’t much of a hugger. But today, she somehow felt like she wouldn’t have minded another one. “I’m taking care of them, until he…”

Zeller seemed to be focusing very hard on Winston’s collar, his face scrunched to a smile.

“…until we know what’s happening.”

Gently pinching the tip of her tongue between her teeth, Alana knew they both heard what she meant to say regardless. Until he gets back.

If anything, the thought surprised her. Alana wasn’t sure she’d yet acknowledged the idea that Will would ever be coming back, much less believed it. That he wasn’t culpable for his crimes was a certainty. But that he might never be convicted of them… that was just wishful thinking.

Or lateral thinking another voice in her head suggested. For is it not conducive when navigating a situation, to consider all possible directions?

“For as long as he needs” she allowed.

Zeller gave a reluctant nod, slouching both hands into his puffer jacket as he stood to his feet. Alana didn’t often permit herself to imagine what it must have been like, matching the DNA to Will’s samples, being the one to confirm every single detail of everything you didn’t want to be true. He probably appreciated the occasional wishful thought, just as much as she.

“And you haven’t answered my question, by the way.” Alana grabbed her keys and a second coat, not liking the look of the darkening sky one bit. She checked the locks twice on the way out. All three of them.

“Huh. Yes. Fill you in on the way.”

Jogging to the four-wheel drive, Alana brushed aside the frost that had settled on the window. The dregs of the coffee now washed cold at the front of her mouth, bitter at the back. “That bad, huh?”

Manoeuvring his key in the driver-side door, Zeller squinted as he hit on the sweet spot, the locks popping up with a satisfying quiver. Why he hadn’t accepted the newer bureau-issue Cherokee still eluded her.

Zeller swung into the front seat, shoving aside a bag of jelly-snakes and cheez-pops from the one beside. “Nope.” He couldn’t resist a sly wink. “More like that good.”

It was Alana’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You bet we were just supposed to be closing-out the crime scene. And we are. Were.”

“…Meaning?” Alana closed her eyes. Will stared back from between the bars. She snapped them open.

“Meaning, where yesterday we just had a leg…” he hovered for suspense.

“Now we have the three-piece set?”

“Signed, sealed, and delivered. More of a seventeen-piece set, actually.” Zeller threw her a guilty grin. Alana had to point out they had just missed the turn. He wheeled them around like it was part of the plan all along. “He may not have a signature, but the killer’s got style. And what’s more, he knows it.”

“Style” Alana murmured. It wasn’t the first time she had thought it, not the first time she agreed. “A flare for the dramatic does tell us one thing, at least.”

“He wants to be noticed?”

Alana shook her head. Rounding the bend, she saw the collection of local police cars at the fringe of the woods, red and blue lights glinting off the snow. Against the infinite still of the surrounding pines, the buzzing crowd looked almost sleepy, not quite real. “He cares what people think.”

The words curled low in the air, more foreboding than she intended. Zeller broke the silence with a chuckle.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Hannibal.”

Alana smiled. This time, she didn’t have to force it. “No more than necessary, for two colleagues consulting on a criminal profile.”

Zeller snorted, quickly turning it to a cough. “Sorry. Must have choked on a sip of… air.”

Had the puffer-jacket not been several inches thick, Alana’s pinch might have been a little more impactful. “Had I known your early-morning sense of humour was this fantastic, I would have switched on the radio ten minutes ago.”

Zeller held up both hands, the apologetic gesture somewhat dampened by his lingering smirk. “Hey, just talking work here. Style and signatures and now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t dead bodies.”

“The signature doesn’t matter.” Alana crushed her scarf closer against her neck as Zeller killed the engine. “With Hannibal-“ As if hearing his name, the man turned toward them, his eyes glinting strangely carmine in the echo of the police lights. “-We can walk between the lines.”

-

Alana stepped down from the vehicle. Slamming shut the door, Jack Crawford was standing right in front of her.

“Alana. You don’t have to see this.”

“It’s fine” her words leaked a thin fog on the air. “You asked me to help with the profile.”

“You agreed to consult before we knew the body would actually be here” Jack frowned, measuring a step toward the edge of the forest regardless.

Alana kept pace, her boots crunching over the icy pine-needles. “Then I can probably be of more help than anticipated.”

They came to a halt where the wood began to thicken. Zeller had already set the forensic kit at his feet, staring at the treetops in wonder.

“Well. That’s one use for crime-scene tape.”

Craning her neck, Alana’s breath caught in her throat. It was the exact same area they had cordoned yesterday evening. She had watched Zeller do it, winding the yellow and black ‘DO NOT CROSS’ lines from tree to tree. This morning, not an inch of the perimeter remained sealed, the plastic tape instead repurposed to suspend a variety of human remains rather artfully from the branches above.

Alana felt her pulse swell beneath her chest. “The area wasn’t secured?”

“It was secured.”

Alana twitched to her left, not realising Hannibal had walked over to join them.

“Two local police officers were on surveillance. Unfortunately, they still haven’t been found.”

Alana felt a shiver claw down her spine, suddenly wishing she had a third coat on top of the other two. Somehow aware of it, Hannibal took a pair of gloves from his pocket. He seemed perfectly warm in just the one.

“Please. I’m fine without.”

Grateful, Alana nodded in thanks, folding her hands into the thick woollen lining. The outer leather was surprisingly supple, considering they looked barely worn.

His focus moving to the canopy, Hannibal acclimatised to the different elements of the installation, savouring each detail with tireless fascination. Leaving Zeller and Jack at the outskirts, Alana caught up with him somewhere between a carefully trussed lung and bow-tied kidney. Never breaking from what seemed like a languid stride, Hannibal still seemed to move awfully fast.

“What do you make of it all?” she murmured, feeling much like they were picking their way through a cathedral, or sanctuary, or any other place she didn’t belong. “These knots reminds me of Shibari. Do you think it’s possible the killer had knowledge of ancient Japanese art forms?”

Hannibal leant her an inquiring stare, his focus sliding from her eyes to her shoulder, then back to the canvas of the woods.

The suggestion somehow tickling his fancy, his nostrils gave a barely perceptible twitch. Hardly anything at all, but Alana couldn’t help sense he was noticing something. Something he hadn’t expected, or that wasn’t quite right.

“That he had the knowledge is certainly possible. Whether he intended to use the technique as a means of paying homage to the tradition, less so.”

Hannibal fixed on a laceration in one of the pines, his fingertips leaking over the scar of severed wood. It appeared the bark had been ripped from its surface, small chips broken across the lean bedding of snow.

“Shibari originates in Hojo-jutsu, a means of handling prisoners of war from as early as 1400. The law at the time required captives be restrained in a manner befitting their rank. As such, the victors of the age developed different means of tying their prisoners, in order to demonstrate the station of each.” Hannibal paused, crinkling his nose at the bridge, eyebrows pinched in vague discomfort.

Catching his train of thought, Alana approached the arrangement, scrutinising the bonds from below. “The killer chose different knots for each of the organs. Using all the techniques on the one person doesn’t attribute them any particular status. Honour and hierarchy become meaningless.”

Hannibal gave an indiscernible dip of his head. With the back of his hand, he gently pressed at the side of his nose. A fleeting gesture, but one that Alana found almost endearing.

“Nothing is ever meaningless” he said quietly. “Perhaps our killer simply believes that one person can be many things. Beneath the veil of our mortal flesh, there are meanings that even he cannot yet grasp.” Sniffling, Hannibal took a small step backward, a hint of an apologetic smile. “But, it is clear he is trying.”

To Alana, the woods suddenly seemed very quiet. The filtered light grazed over Hannibal’s features, his gaze faraway in the nearness of such beauty and violence. Alana never felt the killer had been further from their reach.

“HhhRSHhhh-euh!”

Stirred from her reverie, Alana glanced up to see Hannibal recover himself from a sharp sneeze. Blinking at her over his arm, he hesitated, then lowered it a fraction.

“…Excuse me.”

Hedging between offering him a blessing or a tissue, she hadn’t made up her mind before he redirected to the bend of his sleeve a second time, his pitch more aggressive than the last.

“HhhRTCSSHhhue!”

Straightening, Hannibal’s nostrils flared momentarily whist he attempted to focus his attention elsewhere. As his mouth curved to a jagged grimace, Alana guessed it wasn’t working.

“AKTshCHHhh!... h-hh-”

Eyes narrowed to a vicious glare, Hannibal seemed to have regained some sort of control by the time he opened them. In spite of it, he looked no less watery for the effort.

“Bless you…” though it came a little late, there was no lack of feeling behind it. Alana realised she was surprised, if not a little curious. She wasn’t sure she had witnessed Hannibal caught quite so off-guard in all the time she had known him.

He replied with a curt nod, a liquid sniffle. “Thank you. I beg your pardon.”

Weighing up whether asking if he needed anything would labour the incident rather than aid it, the decision was made for her as Crawford strode up behind them.

“See anything? I’ve told Lab Tech to make the final sweep. Need to get this mess down before the rain hits.”

Alana nodded, grim. More than enough. Such precision under the cover of darkness, unable to know if backup surveillance might arrive at any second… it was impressive, if not largely reckless. In truth, she doubted the killer saw either as a fault.

Hannibal raised a hand to Jack’s departing form. Alana stole a last glance toward the web of bright tape, searching for the face of the killer amongst the leaves and shadows. She didn’t find it. Not the killer’s face, at least.

“Hannibal.” She gripped his wrist tight enough that her own palm smarted. “Hannibal…”

“Hm?” He stared fondly down, then followed her line of sight.

“Oh.” He smiled, unsurprised. “Well. It seems we’ve located the surveillance team.”

-II-

By the time the last of the crime scene had been swabbed, sealed or wheeled away, the horizon was no longer visible between the fog and sleet.

Stowing the last of his kit back in the SUV, Zeller flagged Alana down as if they were missing the start of some race. Hannibal approached by her side, poking his head through the passenger-side window.

“Mind if I tag along?”

Zeller reached to unlock the rear-door opposite. “If you don’t mind sharing with an esky full of human organs.”

“Not at all.”

As Hannibal fixed himself neatly behind her, Alana couldn’t help notice the thread of congestion at his tone. He sniffled once, twice, then gently cleared his throat behind a fist, apparently shaking it off.

Sidling a little closer to the field equipment, he hardly looked pleased when Zeller shook himself free of his puffer jacket, trying to find a spot to wedge it between the transportation cases. It was the same unreadable expression he’d had earlier. Alana made a mental note to figure out what that one meant. Not that many such notes ever came to be solved.

As Zeller eased the car to second, he managed to avoid the worst of the potholes as they steered toward the highway. “So. Looks like The Surgeon was interrupted after all.”

Alana rolled her eyes, incredulous. “The Surgeon? We’ve been in the woods two hours and he already has a catchy nickname?”

“Catchy is debatable” Hannibal muttered.

Zeller shrugged. “Honestly, you don’t see that kind of meticulousness every day. Medical background is almost a given.” Twisting over his shoulder, he offered Hannibal a grin. “Close second was Rope Master.”

With a glance at the rear-view mirror, Alana could have sworn Hannibal nearly flinched.

“The Surgeon it is then.”

“What if he wasn’t interrupted?” Alana ventured, rearranging herself to face between them. “He took a risk coming back, yes. But it wasn’t an uncalculated risk. “In all likelihood, he would have known the area was being watched.”

“Or even who was watching” Hannibal suggested, sitting forward. Without the cover of the trees, Alana noticed his nostrils were flushed to a tenuous pink, the inner wick of his septum clouded moist.

“It wouldn’t have been hard to find out, if he’d wanted to” Zeller offered, reaching for his computer tablet like he’d only just considered the possibility. “All the local cop cars still use analogue radio frequencies. You could pretty much buy the equipment to tap one at your local hardware store.”

Hannibal nodded, pinching a thumb and forefinger over his nose for scarcely a second. The gesture wasn’t anything more than she might have done to quell an irritation, but, given the uneven breath that followed, Alana wasn’t sure it had done the trick.

Depositing the tablet in her arms, Zeller tapped the passcode onto the screen without his eyes leaving the road. “Employee profiles just transferred through. Names are Darren and Zane. Neither have been with the force more than eighteen months.”

Scrolling down, Alana held her breath at the bottom of the first, frowning in disbelief. “Wait, this guy’s got priors?”

“They both do” Zeller sounded more than a little enthused. “Both let off the hook on a technicality. Shady stuff, huh?”

Caught between a sense of disapproval and wonder, Alana moved to show Hannibal the record. He tapered to a shake of his head, the curve of his arm hovering at his throat, lips slightly parted.

“–ehdtSHHCHhh-h!”

Jerking toward his lap, Hannibal kept his face firmly tucked against the sleeve, his chest shuddering as he fought to inhale as inconspicuously as possible.

“h-hh – dtSHHh-ue! …hhETCHH-hh! h-HRSSHhue!”

“Bless you! Alright back there?” Zeller punched the glove compartment open, rummaging around for something helpful. The best he could find was a box of kool-mints.

“Quite fine, thank you.” Hannibal’s response came slightly muffled. He affected a smile over the sober material, his eyes creasing at the corners. It dissolved just as quickly as his breath hitched again.

“…hHTZSSHhh-h! hh-hXSCIHHhhue!”

As Hannibal’s forehead near collided with the back of her seat, Alana noticed some clean Subway napkins folded between Zeller’s empty thermos and phone charger. It was a poor offering, when the sound of Hannibal’s urgent sniffling was enough to break her heart. He accepted them, an appreciative blink as his fingers bumped unsteady against her own.

As the SUV rolled to a standstill, Hannibal removed himself from the car with no less than his usual composure, crisply thanking Zeller for the lift before walking several feet in the opposite direction, his poise slowly sinking into the napkins.

Lingering at the edge of the carpark, Alana read the rest of the police employee files. The facts supported much of what she’d already gathered. Evidenced by the various informal warnings both officers had received over the course of their service, if she’d had to put a phrase to it, Alana might have described Darren and Zane simply as… people who rubbed people the wrong way.

Hannibal gathered himself beside her, looking slightly less assailed. And... not entirely ungrateful to find she had waited for him.

“Shall I accompany you to the lab, Dr. Bloom?”

While his intonation blurred low over the last trace of irritation, Alana paused to wonder if Hannibal even noticed he switched to her formal title when they were within FBI headquarters. When he’d been her mentor, she had only ever been Alana. But then, Hannibal enjoyed titles, probably all the more when he’d been instrumental in someone achieving one.

“Let’s drop-by evidence storage first” Alana said, the idea only coming to fruition as she voiced it. She skimmed Zeller’s tablet one last time. Facts. Figures. Fingerprints.

And something else too.

“There’s a link” she whispered, the realisation hitting her harder than a man suspended from a tree ever would. “There’s a link between the victims. All of them.”

“Is there?” Hannibal sounded, if anything, mildly amused. He chased a knuckle to the underside of his nose as they crossed the bureau foyer, his upper lip curling back a fraction, his inhale stinging rough. He swallowed, focusing. “Different ages, locations, occupations…”

“No visible profile, no signature.” Alana’s pulse fluttered at her windpipe as they stopped at the elevators. “Except for the killer. His taste, his choice, his reasons.”

“Not all psychopaths need a reason.” Hannibal conjectured, intrigued. “The act of bringing death can be an end unto itself, for a mind that sees the necessity of it. Or rather, the irrelevance, of certain lives.”

Alana touched her identification card to the elevator security system, the buttons lighting green where she had clearance. Despite the recent refurbishment of the lower levels, there was always a certain mustiness that only the storage of tainted objects seemed to attract. It was a very particular scent, and one that seemed to make Hannibal cringe even before the metallic doors slid open. With a biting sniff, he recovered himself.

“I’m curious to hear what changed your mind, Dr. Bloom. What was it that made this particular handful of victims, in this psychopath’s eyes, special?”

Alana stopped to sign-in with the Agent on duty, recording both hers and Hannibal’s name on the digital register. She waited until they were some rows from the entrance before turning back to him.

“That’s just it. Nothing. These people may have been special to someone. But they were entirely un-special to their killer.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side. If anything, she thought he looked pleased.

“He just… didn’t like them.”

-

Pulling one of the metallic trolleys alongside, Alana reached for the zip-lock bags.

Items #412337-45, storage location R-21, class 6(a).

While any fingerprints, fibre and other trace evidence had long been removed, procedure required agents to wear gloves at all times whilst handing active case materials. There was an economy-sized box on the second tier of the trolley for that explicit purpose. Methodical, Hannibal followed her lead, snapping the blue latex over his long fingers. On the stainless steel surface between them, Alana released each of the plastic seals.

Three victims. Three leather wallets.

“How do you begin to look for something that’s missing” Alana began. “When you don’t know what was there to start with.”

Hannibal took a step to her side, the cuff of his charcoal suit brushing against the red of her coat. He picked up the thinnest of the wallets, holding it with the same delicacy one might have on inspecting a rare sculpture. Balanced in his palm, he peered in as if it might break at any moment. The object seemed to fix him with delight.

“The absence of detail is as telling as the details one chooses to outwardly project.” Hannibal spoke softly, his words coiling around the emptiness of the space. “A wallet- the utmost reduction of what we feel is necessary to facilitate our passage through the day.”

In a languid, fluid motion, he tipped the contents neatly on the tray in front of them. A few worn loyalty cards, gym membership, an American Express.

“But still we add those… personal touches” Hannibal ran his thumb along the edge of the leather seam, a photograph of the victim next to the head of a stag fluttering down. “To remind ourselves, that even at our most banal, it is the smallest of choices that define us.”

On the trays beside, Alana neatly spread the artefacts from the remaining two. Between banking details and lunch choices, she straightened the corners of each personality profile. None of the victims seemed particularly careful- most of their particulars were as battered as the wallets they came in. But they were all self-employed professionals. She didn’t need the case file report to know that.

“They all carried business cards” Alana murmured, tapping her fingertip along the embossed edge of one.

Hannibal leaned closer, his attention piqued at the remark. Alana imagined she felt the touch of his exhale against the back of her hair, the breath that followed drifting to a coarser shade. Alana found it near as fascinating as the connection in front of her. And just as difficult to grasp.

“ehdtZCTHHHh-h!”

Hannibal wrenched away from her, throwing the sneeze into his shoulder. Unforgivingly harsh, neither his proximity nor the quietness of the space did much to disguise the strain of it, nor did he sound relieved at just the one. Nostrils darting to a precipitous arc, Hannibal sucked a lungful of air between his teeth, defeating the remaining urge behind a clenched frown.

“Apologies.”

His tone came sincere; and though he certainly hadn’t intended to, made her feel somewhat guilty for dragging him down to the evidence unit in the first place. Whatever had set him off in the woods clearly hadn’t mended, and she wondered if she might’ve been better to suggest a hot drink in the cafeteria instead.

Perhaps inferring such a thought, Hannibal shook his head, the turn of his mouth curving to a kinder mettle. “I’m alright. Perhaps someone is thinking about me.”

Alana scoffed, used to Hannibal’s affection for such superstitions amongst the breadth of his philosophies. It was one of the little quirks that almost made her feel that she knew him. Almost.

“Someone is thinking about you. Me. And I’m thinking we can probably continue our discussion somewhere more comfortable.”

Alana tucked the wallets back into their respective zip-lock sleeves, her touch lingering on each of the business cards. The watermarks were still crisp, the lettering shiny and cloying. All recently printed.

“…hHRRSSHhh-ue!”

Alana looked up in time to see Hannibal bowed against the sleeve at his wrist, the unyielding cuff insufficient for the strength of the exertion. He stepped back, raising his fingers in a gesture of apology. Angling himself away from her, he cinched from the waist, nose squashed cruelly against the material as his gasp came erratic.

“HhHTCSSHhhue! …EHHktchh-hh!”

Hannibal held his breath for long enough to hastily remove his pair of latex gloves. Eyebrows gritted in desperation, he closed a thumb and forefinger at his nostrils with no degree of gentleness, palm cupped securely over his mouth.

“HRSHhhh-euh!”

“Bless-”

“EKTCZCHHhh!”

“-you.” Alana felt her hand move to the small of Hannibal’s back, steadying him.

With a soaked sniffle, Hannibal glanced across at her, a flicker of acknowledgement lighting the prickle of his stare. She smoothed the hand in what she hoped was a comforting token, then lowered it. He softened.

“Forgive me.”

“You must be becoming more popular by the second.” Alana offered, pleased to see a glint of warmth framed between his disquiet.

“Indeed.”

With a last scrape of his septum against a curved knuckle, Hannibal warily loosened the clasp of his hand, eyes licking over his surrounds as if expecting to find something amiss. Apart from the smudge of latex powder where his fingers had pinched at his nose, no visible trace of the incident remained.

“Ah, here. Let me-”

Gentle, Alana raised her hand toward his face, indicating the spot where the dusty lining of the gloves had left a mark. Hannibal raised an eyebrow, then, understanding, folded himself ever so slightly closer to her reach.

Running the inside of her thumb to the outer curve of his nostril, Alana gently swept free the chalky residue. His nose twitched in response, still blushed tender from the chaos. Careful not to press too hard, she allowed herself to repair the faint bead of wetness skimming the edge of the appendage too. Hannibal wavered to an unreadable expression. It was, she mused, not an unkind one.

“Thank you. Alana.”

Tracing back toward the elevators, her own expression became similarly nebulous. They were, after all, still technically within FBI headquarters.

-

In the wider corridors of the Behavioural Sciences Unit, Hannibal’s sniffling drowned behind his concentration, the haze at his eyes sunk back to the corners. Alana did, however, see the bridge of his nose occasionally crumple, no more so than when Zeller rounded the corner. Puffer jacket swapped for a white lab coat, there was no mistaking the pace of his sneakers against the polished linoleum, the expectant grin.

Alana tucked her arm tighter against her hip. “Found something?”

They’d been back just over an hour, not time enough for preliminaries. But from the enthusiastic collection of bagged vials in Zeller’s hand, she guessed the autopsies were well underway.

“Found plenty. Care for the guided tour?”

“It’ll have to wait. I made an appointment to see Will this afternoon. I don’t want to break from his treatment schedule, not when he’s expecting me.”

As Hannibal’s attention cut over the words, Alana realised she hadn’t yet mentioned it to him. But then he smiled.

“Of course. Will has much to come to terms with. A routine is the simplest form of reassurance when much else in indeterminate.” He raised an eyebrow toward Zeller. “I, however, have no such engagements. I’d be curious to see what you’ve turned up.”

Alana felt the stricture at her chest dissipate. “Alright. Let’s touch base later.”

“Consider it a promise.”

Hannibal’s stare seemed to linger at her back, long after she had left the building.

-III-

Somewhere between Quantico and Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, it had rained. Alana hadn’t noticed until Dr. Chilton met her in the foyer, his interest alighting on the puddle forming below Alana’s jacket as she checked it at the station.

“You’re a little late, Dr. Bloom. I already had Will removed back to his cell.”

“I’m less than five minutes late. And I have no issue with conducting our interview through the bars of his cell.”

Chilton hummed, unsurprised. “That would be… unorthodox.”

“But not outside the realm of possibility.”

Chilton looked amused. It occurred to Alana that he may have been needlessly quick to action for that very purpose. Chilton had, if nothing else, a tendency to favour the unorthodox. The where and when of how he would record their sessions mattered not.

“No” he agreed. “The book on Will’s psyche remains to be written. Perhaps he’ll have better luck with his memory in a more hospitable environment.”

As Alana underwent the usual pat-down with the wardens on duty, she decided Chilton’s use of the word hospitable was arguably an attempt to be ironic. The poorly lit lower cells, all stone walls and iron gates, reminded her of something from a nineteenth century asylum. It was a far cry from the innovative treatment facility Chilton seemed to describe whenever he was quoted in the psychiatry journals.

At the very end of the darkened passageway, Will was already standing to meet her. The shadows under his eyes had deepened since the week previous. But so had the light. Alana bridged the tips of her shoes across the security line.

“How are you feeling today, Will?”

Will matched her step forward. His hands were trembling, a thin sheen of sweat at his cheeks. “I’m feeling fine. I’ve been feeling better, since our last meeting.”

While he appeared not to have slept for days, his tone was calm, his eyes focused.

“I have a question for you, Alana. A question about Hannibal.”

Alana couldn’t stop the twinge of dismay biting at her stomach. On some level, she had hoped their first hypnosis session might have done more for Will than keep him awake at night. In truth, no treatment ever worked that fast. More wishful thinking, she realised.

“These visits aren’t about Hannibal” Alana murmured, soft. “They’re about you.”

“If they’re about me, they’re about Hannibal.” For the beat of a second, Will’s face creased, as if to some indescribable agony. It pained her in more ways than she had desire to admit.

“When Hannibal was your mentor…” He look a shuddering breath, the air seeming to choke him even whilst he inhaled freely. “…Did you ever get the feeling he was pushing you? Beyond what might be reasonable, within the context of your… affiliation?”

“He was my teacher, Will” Alana’s voice came quiet. “He challenged me, yes. And encouraged me to challenge myself. His intention was always to allow me to reach my potential.”

“And what if he had his own concept of your… potential?” Will gritted his teeth, his eyelids flickering as he braced himself against some malignant thought. “To what length do you think he might have challenged you, if he knew there was a boundary through which you wouldn’t freely cross?”

“I think he would have done whatever he could to help me” Alana granted, careful. “He has always acted in my best interests. The same goes for you, Will.”

“Though perhaps our view on what constitutes my best interests differs” Will hissed.

Alana decided it was time to redirect the conversation. Intuiting her shift in direction before she acted on it, Will closed his eyes. When he opened them, the storm had subsided.

“You found another one this morning.”

“Another three” Alana sighed. “I’m that easy to read, huh?”

“Yes.” Will attempted a half-smile. “Show me the file.”

Alana took an involuntary step back, a gesture rooted in protectiveness rather than alarm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” she tried, knowing full well it wasn’t. “The time you spend here, while unpleasant, is a chance for your mind to heal. A chance for you to come to terms with what may have happened. I can hardly justify repeating your exposure to some of the initial triggers as part of your treatment.”

With a patience that Alana found near excruciating, Will gave a single nod. There was no malice behind it, no distrust. The wetness of his eyes mirrored only emptiness.

“You know what the most terrible thing is, about having everyone think that you’re crazy?”

[Hawkeye]

OKAY I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START.

I would go and quote my favorite parts but then we'd be here all day because I loved the entire thing!!!! I loved this so much. The interactions between Alana and Zeller were wonderful (I always thought they should have interacted more in the actual show) and the interactions between Alana and Hannibal were ALSO wonderful and!!!! Just the sheer indignity of Hannibal having to handle a sneeze attack in the BACKSEAT of Zeller's car with SUBWAY NAPKINS, no less, was absolutely perfect and I just LOVED THE ENTIRE THING.

I wish I could articulate this better but thank you, thank you, thank you so much!! This was so much fun to read and I love it.

[TaurielRiver]

eeeeeEEEeee oh I am so so happy (so so RELIEVED) that you like!! I was quite ridiculously thrilled when I saw Zeller on your hit list, despite being supporting roles, him and Jimmy are two of my very faves! Their last "ta-dahh" moment in the S3 finale is now forever my benchmark for how autopsies REALLY go down.

aaaahaha YES, poor Hanni, at first I thought Alana might have a travel pack of tissues in her handbag... buuut then decided I should go all out and introduce some TRUE HORROR into the story.

Thank youuu so much for this lovely compliment, I am so so pleased you enjoyed!

[Guest]

Can I jump in and say that I thought this story was wonderful! I love love love Hannibal, and particularly fics where Hannibal is sneezing, but it's so tricky to write in character, and you absolutely got all of them. It was really, really perfect, and you got the tone of the descriptions wonderfully (something that's always put me off trying to write any myself).

I really particularly liked the scene in the back of the car, with Hannibal not taking the file because he needed to sneeze. And trying to make light of the situation in the evidence room with the 'maybe someone's talking about me' line. So good.

Anyway, thank you so much for writing it!

[TaurielRiver]

Can I jump in and say that I thought this story was wonderful! I love love love Hannibal, and particularly fics where Hannibal is sneezing, but it's so tricky to write in character, and you absolutely got all of them. It was really, really perfect, and you got the tone of the descriptions wonderfully (something that's always put me off trying to write any myself).

I really particularly liked the scene in the back of the car, with Hannibal not taking the file because he needed to sneeze. And trying to make light of the situation in the evidence room with the 'maybe someone's talking about me' line. So good.

Anyway, thank you so much for writing it!

Thank you so much, I was so happy to read this comment and I truly do appreciate that a great deal!

Hannibal took some kind of wild fast-track to my heart this (last) year, but oh my goodness yes, taking a swing at canon style mood-setting was incredibly intimidating, and I think it was only my unhealthy obsession enthusiastic interest for imagining all of Mads Mikkelsen’s characters sneezing that made me overconfident enough to give it a go?? But then I had an excuse to power-watch through S2 again, soooo… :3

Heee, yess, I really really like the idea of someone knowing they are about to sneeze just a split second before the other character does, and not quite being able to articulate it while that person carries on as normal…

And oooh, it was Clint who gave me the inspiration for that line, as a means of having Hanni try to play it off as not being all that bad (I enjoy this theme too ), I am so so glad you liked!

Thank you so much again; if you do ever decide to write for the series, I would definitely love to read!

Edited January 13, 2016 by TaurielRiver

[Bruyere]

Honestly the only bad thing about being your Secret Santa was that I didn't get to read this until now!

I really enjoyed Zeller and Alana's interactions and the teasing element to their relationship.

Hannibal's sneezes throughout were perfect and I loved the humour in it, having to use Subway napkins and trying to pass his sneezing off as someone thinking about him. But I also really, really loved the creepiness of the case woven throughout, especially Alana's visit to see Will.

“What’s at the centre, Will? Who is at the centre?” Alana heard herself whisper, her knuckles turning white. Will gasped for air, suddenly caving forward, wild and undone.
“We are…” he fought, fingers wrenched apart as the wardens secured her out of reach “-us.”

That line gave me chills especially given how this story ends and what obviously comes later.

Edited January 10, 2016 by Bruyere

[TaurielRiver]

Honestly the only bad thing about being your Secret Santa was that I didn't get to read this until now!

I really enjoyed Zeller and Alana's interactions and the teasing element to their relationship.

Hannibal's sneezes throughout were perfect and I loved the humour in it, having to use Subway napkins and trying to pass his sneezing off as someone thinking about him. But I also really, really loved the creepiness of the case woven throughout, especially Alana's visit to see Will.

“What’s at the centre, Will? Who is at the centre?” Alana heard herself whisper, her knuckles turning white. Will gasped for air, suddenly caving forward, wild and undone.

“We are…” he fought, fingers wrenched apart as the wardens secured her out of reach “-us.”

That line gave me chills especially given how this story ends and what obviously comes later.

Yay, yay, thank you so much and I am so glad you liked it! I love love love quirky side characters, and that setting (Chilton's facility) was one of my favourites in the series for that same (creepy!) reason! (...but then, I was also incredibly *fingers-crossed* that the fic wasn't getting too... morbid )

So yes, thank you for this and I am super happy to hear you enjoyed!

Edited January 13, 2016 by TaurielRiver