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The windshield wipers on her car ask her “yes?” “no.” “yes?” “no.” as she mulls over whether or not she was right to step away from Will. Logically, they wouldn’t make sense. She has a tendency in her mind to break people down, try to sift through them until she can find what makes them tick. She’s done it with patients, lovers, friends. Broken people down into their component parts and examined each one closely. And Will would be the most fascinating clock of all to take apart and reassemble. But she can’t risk it. She thinks of all the books one could write about Will Graham, all the renown someone could get from spilling the secrets of his mind to the world. His face disappears as she pictures it on the covers of books, penned by the likes of Dr. Chilton or some other weasel who wants to worm his way into Will’s mind.
His face disappears further as she pictures herself penning a report on him. She sees the awards hanging on her wall, sees her own reflection in the bronze gleam of medals. Sees the twist of her professor’s mouth in college as he finally has to admit that Alana could make something of herself. And then she sees Will’s face in real life, bespectacled and softer than it seems, and she feels a rush of shame and wants to go to him and hide his face in her arms instead. She wants to protect his head from being cracked open and spilled out like spaghetti, served to hungry faceless people at a rotting dinner table. She has to shake the image from her mind, although the feast the psychiatric community would have from him is undeniable. It’s precisely why she can’t see herself in a room alone with him.
Couldn’t, that is. Until she dropped by his house. She hadn’t been able to stop worrying about him. The conversation they’d had in the snow looking for the “dead animal” had been so obvious a ploy to ask her about dating that it almost insulted her intelligence. She’s seen it before when clients try to deflect. The fake gesturing, the forced tone. It was a bad attempt at acting like a bad actor. There may not have been any dying animals in his field or in his house, but the cry for help he was uttering was loud and clear. No amount of pretending to be an awkward flirt could hide that.
She knew what was coming next as he came closer. She knew what the intake of breath meant from both of them. And a part of her had wanted it since the day she’d met Will and decided never to see herself alone with him. He was always seated when she thought about examining him, however, turning every piece of his beautiful mind over to record and mull over. He was always looking up at her, his big eyes vulnerable and gentle as his face twitched from the immeasurable weight of the load he carried inside him. He was never standing several couple inches taller than her, his face ducked so he could brush his nose with hers. Up close, he seemed like he was trying too hard to be real. But he isn’t real enough to stand this closer to her, his presence invading her personal space. She won’t let him be. In her wildest thoughts about examining him, he is small and needy enough to hold in her hands. He isn’t meant to hold her.
When he did try to hold her, regardless of the rules she’d set in her mind, she’d placed both her hands on his chest and held him at a half-arm’s-length distance, and when he kept trying to nose into her space, she dodged his kiss and pulled him into a close hug, squeezing him half to comfort him and half to keep him from trying again.
“No, Will,” she’d whispered. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” he’d whispered back, matching her, except his tone was more tremulous.
“I’m not compatible with--”
“Me.” A note of bitterness. “Because I’m crazy.”
“Unstable, Will.” She’d rubbed his back. He hadn’t tried to pull away. “You’re just not where you need to be. And I don’t trust myself to not--look at you like a specimen. I’m too curious about you to kiss you.”
“I’m not your patient , Alana.” His tone was pleading.
“And I’m not your doctor. But I’m still not what you need.”
“Does want factor into the equation at all?”
“It does.” She’d stroked his hair. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but he’d pulled away, his eyes filled with frustration and pain and something else, a different note than she’d ever seen in them before. Sit down and put your glasses on, Will. Stop trying to stand over me.
“I have to go now,” she’d whispered. She leaned up and pressed her lips gently to his cheek. It was soft under his stubble. Too goddamn soft to be taken apart by someone like her. “I’ll see you around, Will.”
She’d left him alone with the noises and images in his mind, and now she’s listening to her windshield wipers asking her the same haunting question over and over. She parks her car at the nearest gas station and refills. She gets herself a decaf coffee, with just a little regular to keep her mind focused for the drive home. She needs more than coffee. She needs a drink, preferably one of Hannibal’s beers. Not that she could call Hannibal this time of night, or that she wants to. Right now bitter coffee and the music on the radio seem to be the only things that can sharpen her senses enough to keep her from turning around and telling Will she’s sorry, explaining in hurtful detail all the reasons she has. Make him know her without getting to know her in the ways he wants.
She sips and keeps the car on for awhile before she heads home. The windshield wipers ask her the same question over and over. “Yes? No? Yes? No.”
__
He should have anticipated rejection. Should have known Alana was only dropping in on him to see how he was doing. Like a good friend. Unless, of course, she was dropping in with the intention of finding something more than friendship until she realized that he’d taken apart his wall for absolutely nothing. Feels like he’s been doing a lot of that lately. And it drove her away.
The hole in his wall stares at him mockingly. Unstable, unstable, unstable, it whispers in Alana’s voice. He can’t be alone with it anymore.
He heads out to the field and stares at his house from afar. With the lights on, it does truly look like a boat. It even bobs along the ground like a ship on a tormented sea. He closes his eyes and pictures himself being carried along on a current through a precarious path of driftwood. The lightning flashes above him, but he doesn’t see it. All he sees around him is black water. His home. He tries to find his balance, but he turns over into a dead-man’s float. He buries himself in the water and opens his eyes. Nothing. He sees nothing at all. Not even his boat. His chest hurts. He’s had this vision before. This is the part where he drowns. He closes his mouth against the water. It will enter his lungs anyway.
Something wraps around his leg, but it doesn’t frighten him. It pushes him upright as it tugs downward, and he takes a gasping gulp of air. He’s found an anchor in the darkness, something mired so completely in the black water surrounding him that it can let him breathe. Or tug him down even further, if he lets it. It’s her, isn’t it? Brave, steadfast Alana with a voice like an oak branch, sturdy but with enough bend to keep from being hard.
“Alana?” he calls, hoping she’ll respond from below. “Alana?” His mouth disappears under the water. “Alana?” The water begins to fill his mouth again. Why won’t she help him? He feels dizzy. This is still the part where he drowns. He looks down and sees a hand around his leg. It has claws. From below, the figure from his visions looks up at him with white, ecstatic eyes. Its horns poke his foot.
He gasps and opens his eyes. The boat is before him, but it’s not bobbing this time. It’s also much larger and grandiose than his own. He blinks and looks around. There’s his car, parked beside him, not even idling.
When did he get here?
He makes his way up to the door, figuring that he might as well ring the doorbell. It seemed to be his end goal anyway. He presses one finger into the doorbell and tries to ignore the taste of salt water in his mouth.
Hannibal answers the door, neat and put-together as usual. The tidiness of his appearance enrages Will, makes him frantic. He wants Hannibal to be just as wrecked as Will is. He wants to toss Hannibal into the same storm he’s floating in.
“Will,” Hannibal says, his eyebrows lifting and the corners of his mouth turning up, “I didn’t expect you.”
If Alana’s voice is a thin oak branch, Hannibal’s is something far more decadent and altogether grittier. Like a pearl dissolved in blood-red wine at Cleopatra’s dinner. Like sand under the silkiest waters. Sometimes it irritates, sometimes it exfoliates. Will can never forget the feeling of it even when he tries.
“I didn’t expect me either, but here I am,” Will says, aware of how tremulous he sounds. He looks up at Hannibal from under his eyes. “I don’t know when I got here.”
Hannibal reaches out and touches his arm. “Come in, Will,” he says gently. He leads Will inside and Will can feel himself turning to putty, the way he always does initially when he’s in Hannibal’s presence. Before he feels his legs under him once more and he stands in front of Hannibal, remade for brief moments. “What’s troubling you?” Hannibal asks, closing the door behind him. Will doesn’t take off his shoes or his jacket.
“There was an animal in my chimney. I heard it scratching, so I started to take my chimney apart and it--it climbed out before I could get to it. So my chimney is just open now, and Alana stopped by and saw it and--”
Hannibal frowns. “You took apart your chimney to get to an animal?”
“It needed help,” Will replies, the corners of his own mouth turning up into a brief half smile before going back down again.
“Surely there are less extreme measures to take.”
“Well, I’m a man of extremity lately, aren’t I?” Will laughs despite himself and looks up at Hannibal. He looks very concerned. No, concerned isn’t the word for it. Observant. Will these damn psychiatrists stop picking him apart?
“Will, have you grown too close to your work?”
Will laughs again, the sound extremely hollow. “Too close? What do you think?” He looks down at the ground. “There was never any goddamn animal. Alana told me I was unstable, that she--”
“Do you feel unstable?” Hannibal’s head cocks to one side. Will wants to scrub the pearl out of his ears.
“I feel like there’s an animal in my chimney that isn’t there but I heard it anyway. So if you’re asking if I feel crazy--” he punctuates the word “crazy” with a significant sweep of the arm.
“Do you want to be crazy?”
“That’s a pretty stupid question from someone as smart as you, Dr. Lecter.” His hair is too neat.
“It’s a simple one. If you’re crazy, then it’s the perfect anaesthetic for the truth. If you are sane, then you have to grapple with the fact that being human hurts this much.”
“I know exactly how much being human hurts , Dr. Lecter.” His voice breaks.
“I’m not technically your doctor, Will, you can drop the formality,” Hannibal responds, “it’s not necessary in a friend’s home.”
“A friend, huh?” Will whispers wryly. He still hasn’t moved or taken off his shoes.
“Do you not see me as a friend, Will?”
Will traces his eyes over Hannibal’s face, forcing himself to take in every line. Hannibal’s eyes search him right back, and they look almost hurt. There’s never much vulnerability in his impassive face, never any way to breach Hannibal’s wall he keeps up at all times. But somehow the possibility of not being friends is weakening one single brick in the foundation of his wall. Will wonders if a moat churns behind his features. A moat full of black water.
He blinks once and looks back up at Hannibal. His hair and suit need to be less neat, goddamnit. He wonders if there really is a pearl somewhere in Hannibal’s mouth, dissolving on his tongue. Will tastes salt water in his own mouth, and it dawns on him.This is the part where he drowns.
Will shakes his head. “You’re an anchor,” he whispers before grabbing two fistfuls of Hannibal’s lapels and pressing his mouth to his. Hannibal freezes and remains perfectly still, a perfect statue, as Will maintains the kiss for another second. His lips hold no trace of pearls. He pulls back and looks up at him, daring to look at his eyes, which hold surprise and something altogether different now. No trace of psychoanalysis here. Or rejection. Good. Will leans back in and kisses him once more, and this time Hannibal reciprocates, the rest of his body joining him and gathering Will closer. Will reaches up and twists his hands in his hair, and Hannibal makes a soft noise against his mouth. Will moves one hand down to mess with his bespoke suit but he’s maneuvered into a close embrace instead, Hannibal holding him securely with his lips pressed close to his temple.
Not again, not again. I’m not too unstable for you too, am I?
“I wasn’t aware you had these inclinations, Will,” Hannibal murmurs.
“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.” He twists his hands in the back of Hannibal’s blazer. Hannibal replies with a kiss to his temple.
“What brought this on?”
“I just--I needed something to hold onto. I’m going crazy, I don’t even remember driving here. I just remember needing this. Needing--” he gestures vaguely before running his hand over Hannibal’s back. He seems to understand.
Hannibal holds the sides of his face, looking deeply concerned for him for a moment before caressing his cheekbones. “I am happy to be your stability, Will. You can hold onto me.” Will does so and buries his face in Hannibal’s shoulder. He feels Hannibal’s hand stroking his hair.
“Why don’t you stay for awhile?” Hannibal whispers, filling Will’s ear with his pearly-wine voice. Will wants to drown in it. “My guest left rather abruptly, which leaves me with dessert for two.” Will nods.
“Hannibal,” he whispers, “this killer we have to find, I--I don’t want to grow so close to him I lose myself. I can already feel it, like when I see him face to face I won’t even recognize him cause I’ll be buried inside him. We’ll be one and the same.”
“I promise you won’t get that close, Will. And if you do, I will pull you right out. You won’t lose anything but your fear.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure.” Hannibal kisses his temple again.
He hears the animal’s voice from the chimney again and he turns to see the feathered stag in the corner. It tosses its head triumphantly. Shadowy hands wrap around each of its ankles, keeping it secure. Will smiles and closes his eyes and lets Hannibal cradle him. He sinks into the silky black water. His home.
“And I promise you, Will,” Hannibal murmurs, a small smile curving his mouth, “I will be right by your side when you find him.”