Chapter Text
Hey, I actually didn't wanna upload this until Who you are was all up but it's my birthday and I'm full of endorphins and can't make rational decisions so here's my newest misdeed.
Enjoy!
It was a busy evening in Phillip’s Bay. The fine restaurant was always well-visited, but tonight it seemed like every single person in Baltimore, who could afford the posh location, had felt the urge to come here. Will hurried from table to table, his feet never stopping, always moving, always running- dancing through the restaurant. Not that he’d actually know how to dance. How could he? He barely remembered his mother and the only thing his father had ever taught him was fishing. And drinking. It was strange enough for a simple Louisiana-boy to be waiting tables in one of the finest restaurants in Baltimore, wearing a tuxedo and a bowtie he could normally never even dream of affording. While everything about this should have felt uncomfortable for the introverted young man; the noble crowd, the huge amount of people and stress, the sophisticated clothes he loathed; he knew it was better for him than his former job at the Baltimore PD. He had been a detective, working mostly homicides, and while his ability to slip into the killers’ minds was destroying his psyche, a serial rapist who had killed his last victim finally did the rest and destroyed his body too. Even now, four months later, he could feel the scar where the man’s knife had stabbed through his abdomen burning underneath the silken layers of his clothing and he unconsciously ran a hand over it.
Will had spent most summers helping out in his uncle’s inn when he was a teen, so he knew quite a bit about waiting tables. That plus the good word Alana; a friend he knew from college times and whose best friend was a waitress in Phillip’s, had put in for him had gotten him this job. It was his third week and he found it surprisingly easy to adept to the new surroundings. Beverly, Alana’s friend, was really likeable and she had helped him a lot at first. Will was anything but sociable, and the hardest part was making eye contact, let alone conversation with the guests, so he mostly kept his gaze riveted on the plates he was carrying, a habit Beverly tried to make him break since some guests might consider it rude.
“Will, don’t fall asleep there! And don’t forget to smile!” she whispered and snapped him out of his reverie with a slight grin, while she pressed a wine menu into his hands gently. She knew how easily Will got lost in thought.
“Table 7 wants liquor. You can recommend the good stuff, trust me, they can afford it.” she said with a small chuckle. Will let his gaze scan over her features, avoiding her eyes but seeing enough to know there was something important about that table. Number 7 was usually hers, and he wasn’t a sommelier, so why send him for the wine order?
“Who are ‘they’?” he asked warily. Something was off, otherwise she would have handled it herself, but she wanted him to go.
“Bedelia DuMaurier, she’s a colleague of Alana’s and one of our regulars. She brought company tonight, I can tell you; it’s quite the buzz over there. Not that I’d get a word they’re saying.”
“A colleague of Alana’s?” Will asked and then it dawned on him. “You want to send me to a table full of psychiatrists?!”
She just grinned and took the plates the chef was handing through the kitchen window.
“Relax, Will. They want to meet you, I think Alana let her tongue slip.” her smile faded a bit and turned into an apologetic frown before she hurried off.
Great. They want to meet you. Of course they do. Will Graham, the phenomenon. Will Graham, the detective that couldn’t bring himself to shoot a rapist because he had empathized with him. Will Graham, the man the BSU had been interested in for ages. Will Graham, the man that could slip into anyone’s mentality; the only price for doing so his own sanity. Will Graham, the man with the mind every psychiatrist in the state was dying to get their fingers on. And now he was forced to face an entire table of them. He took a deep breath and walked towards table 7, clutching at the wine list. A group of five people sat at the table. A woman, who he was immediately able to identify as Bedelia DuMaurier, looked up and she saw him approaching.
“You must be Will Graham. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.-” she started, her voice calm with detached curiosity.
“Dr. DuMaurier, all due respect, I am here as your waiter and that alone.” Will cut in sharper than what could be considered polite yet way calmer he had expected himself to be. He bit his lip and forced himself to keep staring at the woman’s nose, creating at least the illusion of eye-contact. An awkward silence settled over the table and Dr. DuMaurier raised her eyebrows. Someone cleared his throat and a smooth, accented voice from the other side of the table said:
“We will have the Rioja 95 if it is still on the menu.” as if nothing had happened and without even asking for the wine list.
Will was incredibly thankful and nodded. Without even darting a glance at the man he quickly walked away. He could feel their stares on his back and hear their speculations in his head. Suddenly he felt nauseous and had to support himself on a side board. The warm, soothing voice still resonated in his head and he turned to take a look at his rescuer. The man was wearing a pristine tailored suit that made even the fine clothing of everyone else around him seem classless. He had ashen blond hair that seemed almost golden when he leaned slightly forward and the light from the crystal chandelier caught the top of his head. Will’s gaze lingered on the man’s hands as he used them to emphasize the words he was saying to Dr. DuMaurier. Then he let his eyes wander further upwards, and he watched how gracefully his elegantly curved lips moved when he talked. The man’s cheekbones were sharper than they had any right to be and when Will finally reached his deep calm maroon eyes, he realized the man was returning his stare. Will felt a blush creeping up his neck and the nausea hit him with even stronger force than before. He quickly averted his eyes and realized his lips were slightly parted- Jesus, how long had he been staring at the man like that?? When he abruptly straightened his back and moved towards the kitchen he almost bumped into Beverly. She realized he wasn’t feeling well and gave him a sympathetic smile. She was about to say something but then one of her tables called for the bill and she just squeezed Will’s shoulder reassuringly and hurried to her table. Will wasn’t exactly a fan of body contact but he had gotten used to Bev’s occasional pats; he just didn’t find them as comforting, as they were meant to be. During the next few hours Will didn’t have much time to think about anything other than the ridiculous amount of orders but now and then he glanced at the man on table 7, who always seemed to be looking the exact same second Will was, and whenever their eyes met, Will felt the nausea again.
He wasn’t usually attracted to men; he didn’t consider it a certain impossibility and it had happened before, he just usually wasn’t. But there was something about this man that drew Will in like the strong, forceful stream that had once smashed his father’s fishing boat against a rock. The boat had been completely trashed, but Will had spent months trying to fix it nonetheless, it wasn’t like he had had anything better to do. When the group of table 7 paid and moved to leave, Will quickly walked over there. He knew he owed them an apology, and he didn’t want to seem rude.
“Dr. DuMaurier, I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I had no right to-“
She quickly raised her hand, politely waving him off.
“Please, Mr. Graham, if anything I have to apologize. Given your current profession it is obvious you are no longer interested in anything that has to do with your past life, and I should have respected that.”
Will looked up to meet her eyes briefly, surprised by her honest words and felt obligated to share a piece of truth himself in return.
“I just don’t like people poking around in my brain…” he admitted. He was very aware of the man in the pristine suit standing behind Dr. DuMaurier, and while he had not yet dared to look at him, he could feel the man’s eyes on himself. The woman nodded understandable and stepped aside to introduce the man behind her.
“Mr. Graham, this is Dr. Lecter. I intended to introduce you to him earlier, but…” she looked back at Will with a slight smile. He licked his lips nervously and shook the strong, warm hand that was being extended to him. Naturally he avoided the man’s eyes and stared at his lips instead. He could see them part to say something when suddenly the piercing sound of breaking glass cut through the air. Will jerked his head up and turned around, seeing one of the other waiters standing in the middle of shards and quickly excused himself. Dr. DuMaurier called out while he was already rushing away.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Graham!”
He nodded and focused on the broken glass in front of him. As they approached the exit, he looked up and when the man-Dr. Lecter- suddenly turned around in the door, their eyes meet one last time. The slightest hint of a smile danced over the man’s features. Before Will had the chance to bring himself to smile back, he had stepped out and the door closed.
“Thank god.” Bev sighed after the last guest had left and immediately ran towards the kitchen.
“Please tell me there’s still some of that crème brûlée left!” she yelled through the kitchen window and grinned triumphantly when the chef handed her a plate.
Will took a seat at one of the now empty tables. He was exhausted and the constant stress hadn’t exactly helped his headache.
“What do you want, Will? There’s still some of the soup and the pasta left, and I think…” Bev shouted to him from the kitchen. Will quickly interrupted her.
“It’s fine. I’m not hungry.”
When she reached the table she was still frowning about his words.
“You’re always ‘not hungry’. I’m not gonna wake up one day and learn you’ve managed to starve to death while working in a restaurant, am I?”
Will showed a small smile and accepted the glass of scotch she offered him.
“So how did it go on table 7?” Bev asked carefully. Will didn’t miss the fact that she had waited to ask until he had gulped down a good two fingers of scotch.
“About as bad as you’d expect…” he muttered and took another gulp. He considered asking her about Dr. Lecter, but quickly dismissed the thought.
“So which one of you geniuses dropped the wine bottle?” Brian Zeller sat down at their table and slammed his toque against Bev’s shoulder teasingly.
“Neither of us, and I swear if you hit me one more time I’ll use that silly hat to strangle you.”
“It’s not a ‘silly hat’, it’s a chef’s cap, penguin.” Zeller retorted, motioning at her smoking.
“Why don’t you go annoy Price? Where is he anyway?” Bev asked with a sigh.
“How would I know? I’ve been buried in soup up to my elbows until now.” Zeller answered and quickly stood up when he made out Price, the restaurant’s maître, at the door. Once they were gone, Will decided to leave too, not without receiving a disapproving grunt from Bev. When he got back to Wolf Trap he realized how tired he was.
*
After three hours of sleep at most, he got up and showered. The nightmares seemed to get worse every night. With a small sigh he let his dogs out and watched them from the porch. It wasn’t long until his thoughts wandered to the previous evening. He realized Beverly had said Bedelia was a regular, meaning he’d probably have to face her again soon. On one hand he was hoping this would have been their first and last encounter, on the other he really wanted to find out more about the man who had burnt himself into his head with his eyes yesterday. He would see him again a lot sooner than he had anticipated.
Two relatively uneventful weeks later, Will shifted from one foot to the other in a supermarket. Places like this always made him uneasy, the hasty people, the loud conversations, the chaos… But his fridge was, as usually, empty, and if Alana wouldn’t constantly remind him, he’d probably forget nutrition completely.
He was standing in front of the huge selection of fruits when it happened. A woman hurried past him and gave him a strong push as she did. He stumbled forward and suddenly felt a firm hand on his upper arm, steadying him. When he turned around maroon eyes met his blue ones and the ‘thank you’ he had been about to mumble got stuck in his throat.
“Hello, Mr. Graham. You might not remember me-” the man began.
“No, I remember you, Dr. Lecter.” Will said, maybe a little too quickly. “You can call me Will.” he added. The man smiled.
“Then I must insist you call me Hannibal.”
Will focused on the strawberries in front of him and couldn’t stop repeating the word over and over again in his head. Hannibal. The doctor let go of his arm and Will realized he had probably been holding it longer than could possibly be considered normal.
“So what brings someone like you to a simple supermarket?” Will asked and glanced down at himself. He was wearing dark jeans and a blue flannel shirt. It had been easy to blend in in the restaurant, with his dark smoking and his hair neatly gelled back, but here, with his glasses and his hair as a curly mess, he couldn’t help but feel exposed, especially when he noticed Hannibal was wearing a suit only slightly less elegant than two weeks ago.
“Will, contrary to what you might believe, I don’t think myself above another person simply because of their or my social status.”
Will looked up in surprise. Without having exchanged more than three sentences the man had detected his rejection against the high society he had to serve six days a week. But then again, he was a psychiatrist. The thought made Will anxious and in an instant he got the renowned feeling of being psychoanalyzed once again.
“I didn’t say you do.” he retorted dryly.
“The implication was quite clear.”
Someone like you. That’s what Will had said.
Again, typical psychiatrist. Always reading between the lines.
“Wouldn’t it be a paradox if someone like me would be prejudiced?” the young man said. “Hypothetically speaking.” he added.
“Are you often met with prejudice, Will?”
Will glanced at the man, who seemed to have meant the question entirely serious. He thought of the many articles about him on Tattlecrime. Dr. Lecter must have read them.
“I’m often met with-” he paused and pursed his lips “-a lack of understanding.” he said at length.
“We lack of understanding about everything until we learn to broaden our mind. Before a child can form a sentence it has to understand the meaning of its words.”
“Except I’m not a textbook.” Will said sharply. “I’m aware of the constant interest in me due to my… ability, but I am not a psychological study.”
“I wasn’t my intention to persuade you into becoming one; I apologize if my motives were misunderstood. “
“What exactly are your motives, Dr. Lecter?” Will couldn’t quite bring himself to call the man by his first name, not if their conversation seemed so awfully much like a therapy session. The doctor smiled.
“This is a simple conversation, Will. Why do you suspect hidden motives?”
“People don’t have ‘simple conversations’ with me, especially not psychiatrists.”
Dr. Lecter furrowed his brow.
“That brings us back to prejudice.” he mused and took a shiny yellow star fruit from the shelf in front of them to examine it scrutinizingly.
“There is a thin line between experience and prejudice.” Will retorted and tried to remember how long they had been standing there.
“If you project your past experiences onto the present, they become prejudices.”
“Precautions.” Will corrected.
“Precautions against the past?” the doctor asked. Whatever test it had been put through, the star fruit must have passed and landed in the dark wooden basket Hannibal was carrying.
“Against a possible future outcome.”
“If one lets their past direct their present, they can never truly liberate themselves from it.”
“And if one doesn’t, history will simply repeat itself.” Will finally brought himself to glance at his watch and was shocked when he realized they had been talking for almost an hour.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter, I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you. Again.” he said with a small smile and extended his hand.
“A pleasure indeed.” the doctor replied at length and returned the smile as he shook Will’s hand.
Again, Will had the feeling he was holding it just the split of a second longer than what was usual and found that he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. While he had felt on edge earlier he was fascinated by his conversational partner now, even more than he had been when he had known nothing but his name. The doctor was different from anyone he had ever met. When the strong, warm hand let go of his he perceived it as a loss and quickly reached for a fruit, any fruit, to occupy his hand otherwise.
Back in his car he realized the smile he had given Hannibal upon their good bye still hadn’t left his face.