You Are Now Entering Gate #12

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING GATE #12
chapter three

Will brushed off chip crumbs from the seat of the couch before sitting down with the large box beside him. He'd found a slender, somewhat battered laptop on one of the winged back chairs facing the fireplace in the living room, and he brought this over to his spot on the couch as well. Between Google and these yellowing papers, information could easily be gathered.

What was currently between his legs was a story he was going to have to investigate as well. He put his fears aside, for Will well understood that knowledge is power. He opened up the web browser on the laptop and fired up Google. Doing what he could to keep the trembling from his fingers, he typed in 'human sexuality' and instantly earned links to various medical websites, most of them with far too much information that made the basics of what he needed to know confusing.

In times like these, Wikipedia can be your friend.

He chose the encyclopaedia link and a long article, complete with graphic illustrations spread wide across the screen. So the story went, the human race was comprised of three distinctive genders that could be categorized by chromosomes, and if one added in phenotype that number expanded into six. How's that for lots of room for exploration? Hell, Columbus had it easy if these charts were anything to go by.

Alphas, as Will no doubt was, had large penises that were shaped like slender rods, with rows of circular loose flesh that expanded and contracted during arousal. These were used to 'knot' during mating, especially with receptive Omegas, which according to the detailed diagram was what Hannibal was. Female Alphas also had these same appendages, and in some instances were larger than the males. Female Alphas had pseudo-vaginas, and were unable to bear to children. When an Alpha bitch said she had balls, she meant it, Will learned. They are known to be highly aggressive.

Omegas were also divided into male and female, the 'male' of the gender, as Hannibal also was, sporting a pseudo-penis comprised of an elongated clitoris that hardened upon arousal, especially during highly fertile times of the mating cycle, known as 'heat'. Like the female opposite of his gender, this particular appendage was just for show and clearly enhancement of sexual pleasure. Omega males had perfectly functioning wombs, and tended to have large families due to both usually having very eager, strong Alpha partners and low risk pregnancies. Omega females were distinguished by their significantly smaller psuedo-penis and the eventual development of breasts at puberty, and it was not uncommon for Omega males to be mistaken for females early in their development. Alpha males had no psuedo-vaginas, save for a small indententation just behind the scrotum, considered an evolutionary leftover from when they once did.

The third gender, Betas, were also had this division of male and female and had all the characteristics Will and Hannibal were familiar with. In that other world he'd taken his naughty bits for granted. If he believed in Fate, he could assume such a feeling was due to the understanding that he was destined to find himself in this far more fascinating patchwork of human sexuality. When it came to sex, where they originally came from was pretty damned boring.

After a few more cursory views of other medical websites to make sure he got all of the plumbing information he needed--and dammit, that was a *lot* of information!--Will closed all the windows and deleted the laptop's history. Somehow he'd done the right thing by Hannibal and gave him release, an act that was purely instinctual. He hadn't realized the power of his automatic responses and when Hannibal had sunk in submission onto the bed, it was as if a second Will Graham took over, the body this Will wore well accustomed to that particular brand of affection and instantly keen to enact it. There was some residual twitching within his cock that complained he hadn't done what it really wanted him to do, and even though the memory of Hannibal's strange, sweet scents was doing all sorts of things to his resolve, he wasn't about to go hopping back into bed with him and finishing what biology told him he started.

He was tempted to close the laptop, but a little knowledge was a dangerous thing and he had to wonder what other differences were waiting in that vast world outside of their little space upon it. He reopened Google and typed TattleCrime.org into the address bar, and the page instantly lit up with the gaudy headlines of the day. Freddie Lounds was still the editor in chief, though her little rag now had significantly larger hits, and from the sleek look of the website and what appeared to be indepth editorials, this version of Freddie Lounds was no hack. World events were prominent on the front page, and the crime section was pushed to the sidelines. Michelle Obama was president. A homeless man named Kanye West had tried to break into the White House yesterday afternoon. The thriving city of Chernobyl was hosting the Olympic games this year.

He was going to have to become one hell of a news junkie to catch up on everything. So much for being knowledgeable about history, Will was going to have to warn Hannibal to be on his guard about what he once knew existed and believed to be true. Will wondered how easily it would come to the man, this wiping of his old memories and replacing them with alternative information, a reset that could take years to bring into proper effect. Will shook his head, unable to fathom how it was all to unravel, there was no way they could function in this world without the rudimentary shreds of knowledge needed to navigate it. They knew nothing of its pop culture, nothing of its morals or systems, their family unit was only one layer of alien relativity, there was an entire world outside of their minuscule understanding. Will could feel his panic rising, and he fought against it, figuring that it would be best if he and Hannibal both just learned what they needed to, just enough to get by so people didn't find their lack of connection to this world too odd or suspicious.

They needed to use their killer instincts to pretend.

How about that? There was an upside to being such a narcissistic chameleon. Who was he kidding, Hannibal was going to fly through every ruse with ease, and he'd drag Will's clumsy efforts along with him. Hannibal was long used to playing the game of pretend, he was a master of it.

Will's eye alighted on the crime headline and he felt a twinge of danger curdle in his gut as the white, block letters 'Caesarean Ripper Set For Release' popped at him in significance on a black background. He clicked on the link and the small screen was awash with several columns of text, all dedicated to the terrible crimes of one Dr. Frederick Chilton, who had terrorized the Baltimore region sixteen years ago.

Baltimore, Sunday, February 25, 2016--Despite public outcry, Dr. Frederick Chilton, also known as the Caesarean Ripper, is set to find his freedom next week in a decision many victim's advocates are calling a gross miscarriage of justice. Originally convicted of five counts of murder and two of assault, Chilton's lawyer has long argued that his client committed the crimes during what was a protracted psychotic break, which led the jury in his trial finding him guilty by way of insanity. Chilton has been imprisoned in the Baltimore Maryland Asylum for the Criminally Insane for the past fifteen years and it is through the efforts of both Chilton's lawyer and his current therapist, Dr. Abel Gideon, that Chilton has been able to sustain his temporary insanity argument.

"Frederick Chilton poses no threat to the public at large," Dr. Gideon expressed to this reporter. "He has had extensive therapy which has proven effective and has shown grave remorse for the events that transpired in the month of April, 2000. He understands what his crimes were, and is deeply sorry for all of the pain his actions had caused. When he arrived at the Baltimore Maryland Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he was in deep delusion, unable to differentiate between reality and fantasy. I am very happy to say this is no longer the case, and he has made a full, healthy recovery. I think we must be reminded that the ill mind is very much like any other organ, its ability to be repaired as solid as any heart condition or broken bone. Though he will still be monitored in out patient treatment, I am fully confident in saying that Frederick Chilton is now sane and I have ample proof in my daily reports of his significant progress. I am happy the courts have finally agreed with my assessment."

Not everyone is as positive in outlook as Dr. Gideon. Garret Jacob Hobbs, whose wife, Louise Hobbs, was attacked and murdered by Dr. Chilton on April 2, 2000, calls the impending release a 'travesty of justice' and is calling on legal counsel to re-examine the decision. "He gutted my wife like a fish and left my infant daughter perched on her chest like some kind of sacrificial offering. It's a miracle my little girl survived. I can tell you this, if that creep thinks he can walk these streets safely, he'd better rethink his plan. I'm a proper butcher, and I know how to cut him up into a million pieces!"

Asked if he had been speaking with other victims of the Caesarean Ripper, Hobbs had this to say: "I've talked to Hannibal Lecter, our families have been very close for the past fifteen years. Of course he's upset. You think a million dollar settlement is what's going to help someone sleep at night after a trauma like that? That was no windfall, that settlement got divided up between seven people, and what the lawyers didn't get the hospital bills got next. We lost out then, and we're still losing out. I'm scared to death Chilton's going to come after our kids and finish what he started. The guy's a fucking lunatic, any idiot can see that!"

The date of Chilton's release, as well as the location, is being kept under a strict gag order due to death threats against him, as well as threats against the BMHCI staff.

There was a larger report spilling over the rest of the page, a rehashing of Chilton's crimes that he'd read in far more detail in the various court reports he'd pulled out of the box of family papers, where he'd found the ultrasounds of their children. Will closed the window of the screen with a sad sigh, wondering how it was that they never seemed to be free of psychotic murderers in one way or another. Always, with Hannibal, nothing but death and destruction and even now in this fiercely domestic setting he brought it home, if not on their plate then in the very air around them, where the wailing cries of mourners were no doubt often heard over the sounds of Spongebob Squarepants on the upstairs TV.

The laptop was Will's own, and out of curiosity he began hunting through that other version of himself's files, wondering if he had any secrets openly hiding in digital storage, as most people often did. There were a few downloaded popular movies, but otherwise the hard drive seemed clean enough. In the Videos portion, there were several home movies dated from as early as 2005, and since this was a newer laptop Will figured they must have been transferred over from an older model. Many of the videos had a grainy quality, the lighting poor or the camera not quite in focus. Some were crystal clear, like this one of a little girl dancing beside an exceptionally fancy four tiered birthday cake, everything she wore and all of the decorations in various shades of pink.

The camera jerked unevenly and Mischa's slurred voice carried over the small speaker, the shadow of her glass of wine visible as she held it aloft. "Mona! How old are you today, sweetie?"

Mona frowned into the camera, which was adorable, dark curls framing her chubby face. "Daddy says you don't know because you've been drinking again and you forget things when you're wasted." The camera shot back to an image of a much younger, shrugging Will Graham.

"I can't argue what isn't true," he said.

"I've only polished off half the bottle, and you're already digging into the whiskey." Mischa's long finger pointed at him, her wine glass sloshing its contents.  "She's turning six, isn't she?"

"Yeah.  The devil's number."

Will's tumbler of spirits clanked ice and he cast what looked to be an angry, almost jealous glance into the dining room where the round oak table had been pushed to one side to make room for guests. His fingers tightened on the body of the glass. "I see Agent Price got his invite. Great, he's buddies with my boss, too, I'll be hearing all about how great a guy he is all damned day tomorrow, you watch. Of course, he has to fucking haunt every single family event we have. "

Mischa heaved a huge sigh from behind her camera, the focus on a very unhappy Will. "It was four years, ago, Will, and you promised Hannibal you were going to be civil. He was the FBI Agent on scene when Hannibal was attacked, and it was thanks to him they caught Chilton at all, not to mention he's the reason Mona is even having a birthday today, or have you forgotten he's the one who found Hannibal in that hospital room and alerted Emergency." Mischa's camera focused on Will's discomfort. "He stepped in when you stepped out. Hannibal was a mess, Will, and you left him when he was at his lowest. The other miracle is that you're standing here in Price's place, that Hannibal actually forgave you. Not too many people would."

Will stared into his tumbler of whiskey, as though seeking an answer and, as many before him had long learned, there were none.

"Mona, sweetie, what are you doing?" The camera swung back onto the little girl, a young, older boy standing close to her and watching with bland interest as she grabbed the chef knife resting on the table and started making a beeline for the four tiered cake.

Will reached out with one hand to stop her. "No, Mona. Come on, stop it, you have to wait, you'll have some later."

"ABIGAIL WANTS CAKE!" Mona suddenly screamed.

"Mona! Put down the knife!"

"NO!" Mona held the knife high over her head and ran after the cake with the full intent to homicidally stab it. She was one hell of a good wielder, Will thought, as she brought the knife home into the centre of the cake and started demolishing it, Anthony Perkins' Psycho style. Will watched that other version of himself run to her, shouting at her to stop, his thighs smeared with pink icing as he tackled a tiny six year old spoiled rose taffeta princess to the ground and wrestled a massive chef's knife from her tiny grip. The other child, who must have been the older brother, looked on with a sense of protracted boredom, his feet kicking at jellybeans that had spilled onto the floor. The tiny girl, who was presumably their daughter, Mona, wriggled free from Will's grip, leaving the knife on the floor as she headed back for the cake. She picked up an entire half of the lowest tier and plopped it with her hands messily onto a plate. The plate went to another little princess, this one dressed all in purple, and wearing a cracked tiara.

"Here's some cake, Abigail," Mona proudly said as the other little girl took it and began digging into the icing with her fingers and licking them clean of blobs of sugar.

Mona was covered in black forest crumbs and whipped cream, as were Will's thighs. "What's going on?" Hannibal, arriving well after the fact, dressed in another simple, dark suit, was shocked at the state of his daughter and the centrepiece on the table. "Will! I told you they had to wait on the cake until after she opened her presents! That's hardly a way to cut it! Oh, Abigail, sweetheart, that is far too much cake, take at least another fork and share it with Marcus."

Marcus walked away, absorbed in the antics of his Tamagotchi, disinterested in being drawn into the drama. Will watched him disappear out the back door, a slobbering black shape let in as he went out.

"She had the fucking knife! It's not my fault she wouldn't listen and went at it like Michael Myers!"

A wagging, hyper puppy appeared on the scene and instantly began licking at tiny Mona's cake smeared dress and her hands, its sloppy pink tongue making her giggle as it ecstatically licked chunks of cake out from between her fingers.

"Down! Samson, stop it! Really Will, that stupid dog has been drinking out of the toilet, get him out of here!"

The camera jerked uneasily as Mischa tipsily aimed it at Will, who was now ushering the dog back outside. The tiny kitchen and dining room had mostly adults milling about, and he recognized Jack Crawford and Bella, who were chatting with a rather dapper version of Jimmy Price as well as Beverly and...

Will's heart grew cold. Hell, maybe it had even stopped.

Was that Garrett Jacob Hobbs?

It shouldn't have been a shock. The newspaper article had more than hinted he was a close friend of their family since Chilton's trial, but Will hadn't expected it to be their kid's birthday party close.

Mona was crying, and Mischa put the focus back on her, Hannibal crouched down at her level, his dark suit woefully out of place amidst the casually dressed adults milling about the small area. "Mona, why did you do that to the pretty cake?"

He didn't know how she did it, but somehow Mona's unshed tears made her eyes look six times bigger and sadder than was humanly possible, her bottom lip pouted out long enough to use as a shelf. Her breath was hitched as she voiced her complaint in a high pitched, agonized staccato and you had to be some special kind of monster not to look on her and think she was the cutest little thing the world had ever been blessed with. Even if she did handle a knife better than old Jack the R. himself.

"Daddy said we couldn't have any...And Abigail wanted a piece...And Daddy said we weren't having cake...And that's not fair...And then Auntie Mischa got drunk..."

"Don't go pulling me into this, kid!" Mischa shouted from behind the camera.

Mona's wails began to get more forceful as her story increased in scope. "...And then Daddy told me I'm not allowed to have cake, ever...And I was gonna get a little piece for Abigail...And...And...And then Daddy pushed me to the gr-ground..."

"Aw, my poor baby. That's very mean of Daddy." Hannibal scooped her up in his arms and she hugged him tight enough to choke him, her tiny little body wracking with dramatic sobs. Will noticed that Mona's arm had a long red welt coursing down its length, but it wasn't bleeding. An old injury, a warrior wound of childhood, Will assumed.

Mischa focused on her brother as Hannibal glared at Will. "Really, Will."

Will stared back at him with wide eyes, incensed. "She wouldn't let go of the knife!"

"So you football tackled a six year old girl. Genius. Absolute."

"You are acting like this is my fault. *You* said they had to wait on the cake!"

Hannibal coldly ignored him. "Come on sweetheart, let's go the bathroom and get you cleaned up. There's lots of pretty presents for you, so let's wash those tears away, and have a happy birthday instead, hm? It's so overwhelming, isn't it, having a big party like this, and all you wanted to do was make your friend happy. I think you did just fine with that, look at Abigail, digging into more than half the cake. You're generous to a fault, dear Mona."

And as Hannibal left the room with their tearful smeared little princess in his arms, it was Garrett Jacob Hobbs who entered the kitchen, grabbing a handful of black plastic forks along the way. He gave one to Mischa and one to Will and kept the last one for himself. And there she was, that daughter they had both almost had, that whisper of a family that was clearly very real and solid in this world, all hopes and longing for the past to aright itself fashioned into a tiny six year old Abigail Hobbs and a giant plate of cake in front of her.

Was he about to break apart right now? He certainly felt as though he would, this world slipping into him with an eel's ease, nipping at all those old sores that were still bleeding. Hannibal had scarred him so deeply he had made his own pain one with Will's, a shared ache that would forever easily bruise.

"It's a very big piece, honey," Hobbs said to his daughter and he toasted everyone else's fork with his own. "Not to worry, we'll help you out. Let's dig in!"

Will closed the video off, unable to watch more of it. If she was alive here, in this world, what did this mean for them now? He felt the tears well up from deep within him and he fought to keep them choked down. Relief and sadness were still fighting with one another, for while this was an Abigail Hobbs, she wasn't *their* Abigail, was she? He could be wrong, it could all still be the same, it could be that realm he'd had in his head when their family was tightly woven together in his fantasies, he was in a place of hope made real. How did this whole thing work, this world slippage, this patchwork of lives they found themselves in?

He wiped the moisture from his eyes with the heels of his hands and with heaving sighs he forced himself to open another folder, this one hidden amongst some family photos and slightly older than the others. It was marked 'Special--1999. Hot.' It was an older video file in .mp4, and fairly large, though not large enough to be a proper movie file.

Frowning, Will doubled clicked on it, and a small window using a different video player popped up into the right hand corner of the screen. He had to turn up the volume to hear it properly, and he was surprised to see both himself and Hannibal in what looked like a hotel bedroom, in far younger, fresher years.

Will was positioning a video camera on what looked to be a shelf opposite the bed. He was grinning widely, his face devoid of any semblance of stress, a boyish charm to him that was amplified by his clean shaven face and oddly muscular physique. He wore nothing save a pair of tight grey boxer shorts that left little to the imagination.

"I just called my dad and told him to keep Marcus for the night. I'm so glad you came out here and had dinner with me, baby." Will bit his bottom lip in eager anticipation. "And that you'd prefer to sleep over. I'm sorry this whole thing happened during your heat cycle, but it's not like I can say no to this opportunity. I'll make you feel better, I promise."

Hannibal walked into the room, looking incredibly young and nervous, a sheen of sweat covering his skin as he frowned over what Will was doing. "I didn't say yes to this," this meek, young Hannibal complained, and Will waved his concern away with an impatient hand.

"It's just for me, baby. I'm stuck here in Virginia, heading to Quantico via the highway every day for a week with Jack Crawford, getting that mini-course in forensics in. It doesn't happen that often, but I do have to assist on crime scenes sometimes and it's better to know where not to put the spatula. Besides, it's another ten grand a year, that's a raise I can't pass up. Jack doesn't give this kind of go ahead to just anybody, he loves my work and he wants to officially make me the coroner's full time assistant. He says I scrape them off the pavement better than anyone he knows."

"It doesn't matter how long the grass is, you never miss a tooth," A tired and rather sick looking Hannibal said, clearly quoting a phrase this version of Will Graham used often.

"That's right, baby. Master of the meaty tarmac, that's me." He checked the window of the video camera and rubbed his hands together. "Perfect."

Hannibal wasn't impressed. "You're only going to be gone a couple of weeks, hardly a marathon of celibacy. I'm sure you'll remember how much fun we had before you left just fine, without some stupid tape."

Will kissed him, softly at first, and then with deeper passion. His hands worked the buttons of Hannibal's dark dress shirt, opening them in teasing slow movements. "Mm, you taste so good when you're in heat. It's all over your skin, your mouth. I can't wait to get between your legs." He pulled away, suckling Hannibal's bottom lip between his teeth lightly before letting the soft flesh go. "This is more important to me than just some masturbation material, Hannibal. We're making a baby, one we planned for this time. I want a record of everything, of how good I made you feel, I want us to look at this together as proof of our commitment. To have evidence of how much I love you, baby, so much that a second away from you is agony..."

Things were definitely heating up, and Will continued to watch, cringing in parts and shocked in others as he earned a far greater understanding of Alpha and Omega dynamics than any websites he'd visited that evening could possibly explain. He'd certainly have to try *that* move, it was obvious from the way Hannibal was shouting he really, really liked it.

The sex itself was passionate enough, but for Will the arousal was all about tastes and sounds, especially with all those strange little growls and purrs of pleasure rolling out of Hannibal's diaphragm like muffled velvet. Yeah, he'd definitely wanted Hannibal to look like *that*, his eyes closed, mouth open and wanting, body tensed and attuned to every movement Will dared to place upon it. He could feel that alien cock in his pants twitch at the images, and he glanced at the entrance leading out into the hall, where their bedroom was laying in wait, as was his partially tamed monster, who was possibly feverish once again, longing for his comfort right this minute.

It was a good twenty minutes before they were finished. A collapsed young Will Graham and a very happily sated Hannibal were in a tangle of sheets and limbs on the bed, smiles pressed against each other. Will turned up the volume to listen in on the pillow talk.

"Everything is going to go great for us from here on in, baby, I promise," Will said. "I'll get that raise and we can move into a better place. Get out of that dumpy apartment, make sure Marcus goes to a good school. Maybe we can even save up a little, when they give you more hours at work. Get that down payment on a house you wanted."

Hannibal sighed sadly at this. "I wish we had enough to buy that house on Thomas Lynch Blvd. It's perfect for branching out on my own, but the start up debt is going to be huge. Carrying a mortgage on both a home and a business will be impossible for us to manage even on both our salaries."

Will shrugged at this. "So we combine a home and our work. Not a big deal."

Hannibal shifted his head on his pillow at this, Will's fingers lightly tracing the outline of his sharp cheek as he turned to face his husband. "You want us to raise a family in a funeral home?"

Will kissed his forehead, and then placed another on his pouting lips. "Why not? We make enough money to get a good start and then think about moving out later, after some of the bills are paid and we start turning a profit. It'll work perfect, the kids will be too young to notice they ever lived there."

"Their formative years will be full of coffins," Hannibal reminded him.

"Just a couple of years is all it will take, and by that time we can get a house separate from the business. They'll be starting school in a corpse free environment. It's a guaranteed moneymaker, baby, it's not like people can avoid being dead." Will grinned into Hannibal's concerned frown. "We'll call the bank tomorrow."

Will closed the video, and then the laptop itself, shutting it off. He sat in the warm, darkly lit silence of their living room, a worn couch beneath him, a box of alternative history sitting on one side of him, scattered court papers on the coffee table in front of him. He was surrounded by a warmth and affection that had long eluded him, one he had never thought, in all of his gift of imagination, that he deserved.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the cushions, their rough texture digging into the ache in the back of his neck. He was falling now, down into that wet cavern, down, down, hitting craggy rocks along the way, the ocean reaching up, foamy arms embracing him tight as they collected them into their watery mist.

~*~

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

Will's eyes shot open and he toppled off of the edge of the couch, and whacked his head hard on the corner of the coffee table. Stunned, he reached out blindly, his hands frantically searching out a weapon he didn't have. He'd collapsed on all fours onto the floor and looked up in abject confusion at the two strange figures staring down at him in mute dismay. The one female looked oddly familiar, and Will, not sure what else to do, managed in his shaken, sudden wakefulness to utter, sotto voice, "Mona?"

The silent young man beside her grabbed Will by the shoulder and helped him back onto the couch, where he sank into it, his head still shaking in disorientation, a bruise creeping along his temple from where he'd landed on the coffee table. "Marcus...I..."

The young woman standing before him was dressed all in black, looking like she'd wandered off of a vampire movie, complete with long black leather trench coat and smeared burgundy lipstick and smudged, thick black eyeliner circling piercing blue eyes. Her lips were twisted in a tormented grimace, as though her feet had just been stomped on.

"OH MY GOD, ARE YOU AND MOMMY FIGHTING??"

"Mona, we aren't fighting, I was just looking over some things and I guess I fell asleep, I..."

Mona wasn't one to be deflected so easily, however, and she grabbed a handful of the court papers into her pale grip, shiny black fingernails and her fingers adorned with a ridiculous amounts of pewter jewellery. She shook the papers in Will's face. "WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT THESE! YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T WORRIED!"

"Jesus..." Will tried to back away from her accusation, but it kept pummelling at him like a drowning torrent. "Mona, I was just...I was curious and..."

"OH MY GOD! YOU'RE GOING CRAZY LIKE ABIGAIL'S DAD! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS! YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN'T EVEN LOOK AT THEM, THAT'S HOW UNWORRIED YOU WERE! WHERE'S MOMMY??"

"Mona..." Will's hands shakily met his temple. Damn, that was going to be one hell of a goose egg. "Mona stop fucking screaming, for fuck's sake, please!"

Mona's face crumpled into abject misery and the tears immediately started flowing. She was still pulling the same crap as when she was six, Will quickly discovered. A habit that had never been broken.

"OH MY GOD, STOP YELLING AT ME!"

"I am not yelling at you!" Will yelled.

"Will. What's going on?"

Hannibal stood in the entrance to their living room, dressed in the ridiculous silk pyjamas, the weird cartoon, green face with its overly large, white eyes staring into nothing like little patchwork eggs. The face was interspersed with little rust coloured spoons. It was not a cartoon Will was familiar with.

"Mommy!"

Oh, so she did know how to talk in a normal voice. Mona instantly ran to Hannibal and threw herself into his arms, nearly toppling him with her overreaching misery. She sniffled into Hannibal's shoulder, her mouth a big, twisted line of half truths spewing blobs of emotion at him. "Daddy's sleeping in here, and he lied and said you didn't have a fight, and he lied about the papers and I got mad that he lied and...and..." Big hitched sobs, all ugly snot and blubber. "He's looking at those papers and he said you were okay, but he lied and...and...and then he yelled at me! He was so mean and all I wanted to know was that you were okay and he wouldn't tell m-me..and...and..."

"My dear, sweet child," Hannibal instantly wrapped his arms around her and petted the back of her head in much the same manner as he had enjoyed petting the cat. "Daddy clearly has an ill temper he needs to get under control." Hannibal rested his chin on the top of his daughter's head and glared at Will over it. "Really, Will. Shouting at her? Is this any way to start?"

"Mona started screaming the minute she walked in here! She woke me up, I fell and hit my head on the fucking coffee table!"

"Stop swearing in front of the children," Hannibal harshly admonished him between clenched teeth.

Will turned to his silent son, who stood off to one side, hands loosely in his pockets, a bland expression on his face. "Marcus, help me out here, she started it!"

Marcus shrugged and slumped onto the opposite couch, and pulled out his cell phone. He began txting and ignoring all of them.

Hannibal, however, practically purred over this stranger he'd just met, the chaos of the moment quelled second by second as she wept and calmed in turn in his embrace, a tender kiss placed expertly into the part of her hair. "You are my dear child," Hannibal stated, and he sighed and held her tight against him, a treat Mona most definitely took full advantage of. There was no small amount of wistfulness in his voice as he said, "How perfectly you fit into my arms. What a lovely feeling. How blessed I am to have you with me."

Hannibal widely grinned and Will was shocked that the sentiment he observed was wholly genuine, Hannibal's stance relaxed and happy, his eyes closed in pure bliss as he breathed the scent of his daughter in. "I suppose I should not find it strange that my body has every memory of you. You are so deeply loved, my precious girl." He pulled her away gently and framed her wet cheeks in his palms, staring down at her in what Will could only interpret was maternal affection. "It's late, Mona. And you have school tomorrow morning."

Mona nodded, her bottom lip jutting out and quivering in that now familiar shelf. "I have biology for first period. They're making us take apart a live chicken. I'm going to behead mine first, I'll take the five percent grade penalty."

"No point ruining the meat of a perfectly good chicken," Hannibal agreed, and to Will's shock Mona did, too. "A frightened bird becomes bitter. You're still shaking and upset, my poor girl. Would you like some hot cocoa?"

Mona contemplated this for a long moment, considering it only to shake her head. "Thank you anyway, Mommy." She kissed Hannibal pleasantly on the cheek, leaving a burgundy mark on its hollow. "Goodnight, Mommy."

Then, before he could get away, she swooped down on Will like some vicious carrion bird and though in some distant future he would claim he most certainly did *not* flinch at her touch, fully expecting a blow, Mona gave him a sweet kiss on his forehead where the bruise was swelling, leaving a perfect imprint of her lips on the rounded purple mound. "'Night, Daddy. Love you."

"Yeah...I...You too, honey."

Hannibal ducked into the hall, walking with her the short distance to her room. They were in private conversation, and Will could sense the fascination and surprise at their apparent closeness, his grin matching their calmed daughter's. It was now, while they were momentarily alone, that the ever silent Marcus decided to speak.

"Is everything really okay?"

Will shook where he stood, the weight of Marcus's words, the very way he said them pulling all of the universe into his mouth and forming vast judgements around every syllable, until there was nothing at all left of Will Graham but a single light bulb in an interrogation room, with Marcus drenched in shadows in front of him.

Will frowned. Faltered. Marcus took this in like he was studying the very fabric of the universe. "It's okay. Really."

Will was given a good once over by his son, a feeling that not only made his skin crawl, but left the inexplicable sensation that Marcus had an omniscient view of all of his secrets and he was just biding his time until Will couldn't help but realize he knew. He was long limbed like his mother, but the stoic silence was a tool he'd stolen from his grandfather's genes, and with his arms crossed the way they were and the scowl that pinched his wide brow over almond shaped eyes, there was no mistaking the Ezra Graham outline bearing down on Will.

"Hope so," his son said, unsmiling. He uncrossed his arms and legs and left the couch, his knee nudging against the array of court papers strewn about the coffee table and floor, a silent order to hide them away, and a silent admonishment that he'd upset the family leaving them out like this. Marcus Graham-Lecter was disappointed in his dear old dad.

Will began gathering up the papers as Marcus left the room and as he headed for his own bed, Will managed to mumble, "Goodnight, son." This seemed to suffice, and Marcus gave his father a tight, but not dismissive, nod.

This restrained goodnight was not visited upon him by Hannibal, however. Marcus paused in the doorway of his bedroom, halted there by what biology dictated was his mother, the impatience he clearly felt at Hannibal's intrusion on his space palpable. "Mona says that Garrett is acting especially erratic these days, and he was heavily drinking tonight and that's why the two of you had to leave. Is Abigail all right? You should have brought her with you."

"She's fine," Marcus said, and shrugged one of his lanky shoulders.

Hannibal didn't catch the extra meaning in the words, though Will certainly did. What Marcus was really saying was that Abigail has had to deal with this particular problem for quite some time now and she was used to it. She gets embarrassed when her company has to witness her father when he's at his worst. She wanted to come, but he would have freaked out, and it was easier to stay. None of this information met Hannibal, who gave his son a warm press of his palm on his cheek and a light kiss goodnight on his opposite one. Marcus turned around as Hannibal, yawning made his way into their bedroom. He caught his father's eye and gave him another, knowing nod that spoke essays. 'I love you, Dad. Get some rest. Keep an eye on Mom. I don't want the whole house going loopy, okay?'

Will gave him a shaking nod back, one he hoped conveyed that he was going to do his best. His son slunk into his room and shut his bedroom door, leaving the gesture with no additional silent comment.

Sighing deeply, and with the box of Family Papers & Etc. in his hands, Will walked back into their bedroom, taking care to put the box back in its accustomed spot. Hannibal was sitting up in bed, wide awake against Will's sudden exhaustion. Will shakily crawled under the covers, not even the sweet scent of Hannibal's skin doing anything to alleviate the furious pump of his heart.

"In all of five minutes of meeting her, my daughter has shattered every nerve in my body. She's terrifying, Hannibal. She is Shiva the Destroyer, a histrionic goddess who belly flops onto every small stressor like an atomic bomb."

"She is a fifteen year old girl who is very concerned about her parents." Hannibal gave Will's tired face a relaxed once over. "Did you find out anything of interest?"

"Dr. Frederick Chilton tried to kill you fifteen years ago. They called him the Caesarean Ripper, and I think you can guess as to why." Will pulled up the shirt of Hannibal's pyjamas, his finger alighting along the jagged, silvery scar across his abdomen. "They're letting him out for being a good little crazy and responding well to treatment. Dr. Abel Gideon was his psychiatrist and this leads me to believe we may have something to worry about after all."

Hannibal sank onto his pillow, his face close to Will's as they spoke to one another across feather down in the dark. He pulled the covers up and over their shoulders, cocooning them in the bed together. "Perhaps. I would not want anything to happen to my children, especially as I am just getting to know them. It's a strange feeling, Will, the way my body instinctively is familiar with them, that every organ within me understands they shared this house of flesh and blood with their beating hearts close to mine. I already feel an intense and overpowering need to provide and protect them at all costs. Despite their bad habits, they are caring and loyal children, with fierce sparks of creativity and strength. They are children we made together, Will, they share aspects of our mutual history. This fills me with more comfort than you can possibly imagine."

But Hannibal was wrong. Will could imagine it, his empathy bursting in connective synapses in thoughts of Abigail and images of a dead sister brought back to life, of a desired friend now reborn into a lover, of unfortunate choices rectified, of the longing for family fed in abundance. Hannibal shivered and Will understood he was feeling the effects of his heat again, his skin sweet with his pheromone rich sweat. Will slid closer to him, embracing him loosely in his arms, a gentle kiss offered to Hannibal's eager lips.

"I was doing some other research on a laptop that was left in the den. I found an interesting home video you might like." Will began teasing open the buttons on Hannibal's ridiculous silk pyjamas, liking the way the man trembled slightly at Will's sudden confidence. He felt a low, feral growl rumble through his chest at this soft submission, and Will especially liked the way Hannibal responded to it, becoming pliant beneath Will's touch as Will crawled over him, his strong, muscular arms caging Hannibal beneath him. The pants were easy enough to slide off, what his hands didn't reach tactile toes pulled down, and Hannibal kicked the offending fabric from his ankles, shoving it with his feet to the bottom of the bed.

Will stole his mouth and tasted that aromatic, heady burst of sweetness once again, that scent and that flavour now so intricately linked to their fall.

Hannibal sighed as Will moved over him, his back arching as Will's sex brushed against his own. "What have you set your mind to now, dear Will? Am I to melt beneath you? I would not be averse, your touch alone gives me so much pleasure. Lovemaking is natural for us in this world, Will, and I am increasingly enjoying all of its earthly delights. You are the one at present with the bulk of knowledge, and to your newly found expertise I am willing to submit."

Will kissed him again, his tongue rolling across Hannibal's, scraping against his sharp teeth before breaking free to kiss again. He gently nipped at Hannibal's neck, a low purr meeting that action, and Will grinned into the response, knowing he'd found an erotic point to exploit. His skin was delightful, and Will couldn't stop himself from suckling and licking it, the sheen of sweat a dew he could easily find addictive.

"Will." Hannibal's voice was a whisper in the darkness of their marriage bed. "What are you about to do?"

Will licked at Hannibal's throat, sending another paroxysm of purring in a deep vibration through his chest. He thought about the video he'd watched, of the cries of pleasure that other Will had ellicited from that other, willing Hannibal.

"I'm going to revisit history," Will said, and most certainly did.