Work Text:
“Dr. Lecter?”
The call came from an unknown number at 3:07 in the morning.
Sure, Hannibal Lecter was far from being tucked warmly in his bed, fast asleep, but that didn’t still matter. Calling someone after midnight is still quite rude.
Despite that fact, or maybe because of it, Hannibal answered his phone. The voice that came through was a little difficult to hear and spoke in an unusual pitch, but it was clearly recognizable.
“Ms. Katz, is everything alright?”
“No, uhm, well. Yeah, kinda.”
“Who’s that?” Another voice, muffled but still audible cut her off.
“Shh shh. Phone!” she nearly shouted the last word, causing Hannibal to wince.
“Ms. Katz?” he prompted in a calm voice.
“Yes, so no one’s dead-”
“Yet!” a third voice screamed before dissolving into a fit of laughter at their own joke.
Ah, Mr. Zeller.
The picture was slowly coming together in Hannibal’s mind, but he waited for Beverly’s explanation anyway.
“Uh, so we went out drinking and it’s cool, we’re good. Definitely probably don’t have alcohol poisoning. But we kinda dragged Will along with us and Price is coming to get Zeller. Also me. Zeller and me....Zeller and I....Which one is it?”
“Ms. Katz, how am I involved in this?”
“Oh right, Zeller and I live in the same-ish area but Will is in the other direction and he definitely can’t get home by himself. I’m so sorry, we didn’t know who to call. Will wouldn’t tell us but then he finally said your name....I think. Could’ve also been Campbell’s. Or cannonball. Uh, yeah. So that’s what’s happening.”
With someone else, Hannibal would’ve been annoyed. Such lack of planning and irresponsibility was extremely inconsiderate and rude. But the idea of getting to observe a drunk Will...well that was just too good an opportunity.
“I’ll come get him. Send me the address.”
At first, Hannibal hadn’t been entirely sure that Will was actually drunk. Sure, he was quiet and keeping to himself, but Will was like that a good portion of the time. Any doubt Hannibal had was washed away when he approached the man. Settling a firm hand on Will’s shoulder, Hannibal was about to speak when Will turned his gaze up and their eyes met for the first time that night. Time ambled on slowly, the world leaving the two of them be, to do nothing but focus on each other. And then, the moment was over. Will’s entire weight was pressed against Hannibal’s side, the sudden movement threatening to topple them both over. But Hannibal was quick to steady himself.
“Oh he’s a clingy drunk!” he heard Beverly call as she disappeared into a car.
“So it seems.”
Getting Will into the car was no small task. Not because Will struggled to walk, as many drunk people do, but because he absolutely refused to let go of Hannibal.
“Will,” he started in the softest voice he could muster, “you must let go.”
Gentle hands tried to pry Will’s own off Hannibal’s body, but the drunk man’s grip was like iron.
Finally free, Hannibal buckled Will in and shut the passenger door before climbing into the driver’s seat. It appeared as though the worst of it was over. At least, for a while.
Minutes passed, darkness flew by outside the windows, and all that could be heard in the car was the air conditioning and the soft sounds of tired breath. Then there was movement in the corner of Hannibal’s eye. Not fast or sudden, just a gradual sluggish slope as Will’s body slumped over from where it had been pressed against the car door to pressing against Hannibal’s arm. If it made driving difficult, Hannibal didn’t say anything. He just allowed it.
“Ya know,” a soft voice said after some time.
“Hmm?” was Hannibal’s only response.
There was no answer. He thought that perhaps Will had fallen asleep. But there it was again, after some great pause.
“Ya know I didn’t ask Bev to uh, to call you.”
“Ah.”
“I said the opposite, actually.” He chuckled.
Vibrations moved through Hannibal’s arm, originating at the spot where Will’s face was pressed heavily against it.
“She asked who to call. I said ‘not Hannibal.’”
Another chuckle, soft and easy. Dripping with laziness and content.
“Well, this is unfortunate for you then,” Hannibal responded, voice just barely above a whisper.
He couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.
The rest of the drive went smoothly--Will clinging to Hannibal like he was the only thing keeping his head above violent waters, and Hannibal acutely aware of the sensation of the contact between them. It was poetic...peaceful. But like all things, it came to an end.
The Bentley pulled into Will’s driveway, stopping just in front of the house’s familiar silhouette, and Hannibal’s next actions mirrored the ones he’d taken just a little while before. It was a slow process, like removing a fossil from the hardened soil and rock it was caked in, and it had to be done carefully. Will did not want to let go, perfectly content to sleep in the car, Hannibal as his pillow. But Hannibal did not let him. And so they made their way into the house, past the crowd of dogs that awaited them, and towards Will’s bed.
At some point, likely within moments of his body meeting the mattress, Will lost consciousness. A shame, Hannibal thought, but probably for the best. It was much easier for him to move about without a grown man clinging to him, and there was quite a lot to do. Dogs to let out and the like. He didn’t have to do it, he knew, but Hannibal did those things anyway. And then he came over to say goodbye.
It was a mistake.
Will, who had certainly been asleep the second before, stirred at the contact of a hand to his face. Eyes not even fully open, he was quick to reach up, wrapping both arms around Hannibal’s neck and dragging him down with surprising strength.
“Stay.”
A puff of laughter escaped Hannibal’s lips. He knew he needed to return home, but how could he refuse? Edging forward, he pressed his forehead against Will’s own. They stayed like that, Hannibal holding himself over Will, whose arms held Hannibal’s neck and shoulders so he couldn’t escape (if he even wanted to), foreheads pressed together, only a few inches separating the rest of their faces.
“You won’t be happy with yourself--or me--in the morning,” Hannibal broke the silence.
“Happiness is overrated,” Will responded, opening his eyes fully to gaze into Hannibal’s own.
It was such an intense gaze, it seemed impossible that Will was anything but sober. And then, the uncontrolled strength of a very much inebriated man took Hannibal by surprise and dragged him down onto the bed, narrowly crushing Will in the process.
“Alright, I’ll stay,” Hannibal finally gave in.
“Like you have a choice,” Will muttered against Hannibal’s arm, but relaxed his grip enough to let the man reposition himself more comfortably.
“Hmm,” he sighed, pressing his nose into Will’s hair. “I never feel like I have a choice with you, dear.”