You Are Now Entering Gate #12

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING GATE #12
chapter eight

Snow fell in gentle waves from the black sky, coating the front porch and Hannibal's Bentley in a soft dusting of purest white. The myriad footprints dug into the snow were quickly filling with the gentle flakes, obscuring the drama of the evening. Despite having a morphine drip administered via IV and still in unbearable pain as he was strapped onto the gurney, Jimmy Price raised his hand and gave Hannibal a weak wave goodbye. Hannibal returned it with an equal measure of exhaustion as a paramedic shut the ambulance doors closed. He crossed his arms as he watched the ambulance slowly amble out of their driveway, Price's exit from their lives one of significantly diminished suspense. Will stood beside him, sliding an arm around Hannibal's waist as he yawned. "My dad's upstairs with the girls. You have a busy day tomorrow, you should get some sleep."

Hannibal stiffened. "I want that man out of my house."

"Hannibal..."

"I mean it. Tonight. I do not want to see his miserable, know-it-all, cigar chomping, hillbilly gormless, sanctimonious, whoring face or I will, most definitely, carve it off of him and feed it to Samson."

The elderly dog slowly lifted his heavy head in whining question and then sank down again, sighing against the cool back entrance that led into their large backyard. Mona's hysterical laughter floated down the main staircase as Hannibal closed the front door behind him, a feeling of overwhelming hatred pouring over him at the thought of his vile father-in-law being in such close proximity to his children. Insufferable lout, he'd made a meal of far less crimes, the man's rudeness was untenable. It was a hard thing to compare that monstrosity with the soft, apologetic creature that was now tracing circles on the small of Hannibal's back, and he found himself leaning into Will's touch, still aching and hungry for it due to that constant, annoying aroused hum within his body. What was the term for it again? He could hear Bedelia's voice in his head, like cold ice with a strange mixture of drunken rancour. Heat. Yes, that was an accurate description for this constant fever that coursed through his veins, his body overdosing on ardour to the point it was making him nauseous. He felt exhausted at the thought of sex, a feeling that was made all the worse by the sudden appearance of Will's father, who was now stomping down the main staircase, guitar case and leather jacket and two pyjama clad teen girls in tow.

"BUT YOU CAN'T GO!" Mona shouted and Will visibly flinched.

"There's one golden rule you need to remember, Mona. A guest is a wonderful thing, and it's even better when they leave. Overstaying one's welcome is a capital offence. Love you, sweetheart, and I'll be back soon. Hey, you're getting old enough, maybe next time your daddy can drop you off at the swamp and you can spend the summer with me, fending off the 'gators."

Mona's kohl rimmed eyes widened to ridiculous circles at this as she stared down at her parents from her vantage point at the top of the stairs. "OH MY GOD, CAN I??"

"I..." Will couldn't find the proper argument and it was too spoiled a night to try to find it. "We'll talk about it later."

"CAN ABIGAIL COME TOO??"

"She'll have to ask her daddy, and I can't see why not, the more the merrier, I say." Ezra Graham hesitated as he looked up at her, a crooked smile on his weathered, but handsome, face. Hannibal remained tense beside him, but he noticed the way the broad shoulders slumped, the thin, harsh lines of his jaw working hard over words he wasn't sure how to say. It was a strange posture to see in the man and Hannibal revelled in it, hoping to draw it out and bring more of that self torture to the fore. But Ezra Graham was a stubborn protector of his feelings and he caught Hannibal's pointed stare. He stepped back, eyes narrowed, and Hannibal could practically feel the scalpel that was Ezra's finely tuned assessing vivisection.

"Tell Marcus I feel real bad over what I said earlier. I was a real piece of shit. Your momma deserves more respect than that. Babydoll works real hard for all of you, I get that. Ain't easy being a full time caretaker for your daddy and all. Needs some kind of medal, I'd say."

Will instantly bristled at this, and Hannibal gave him a warning look against using this as a springboard for a new argument. Ezra's words were the closest thing he understood the man was going to give them by way of apology and there was no point stoking a fire out of dead embers. "Much as we have differences of opinion on many matters, and have somehow not as yet come to homicidal blows, we are still family. I appreciate your attempt at reconciliation, Ezra."

Graham Senior was still concentrating on Mona. "Your brother got some real interesting ideas and I think it's just fine that he wants to travel the world some. Walking across that vast horizon known as Earth did just fine for Moses, ought to do something for him, too." He tipped his hat to Hannibal, his guitar balanced in his grip as he stepped across the threshold and out into the blustering snow. "Too cold in these here parts. Come on down and swim with the alligators with me some time, Babydoll." He narrowed his near black eyes on the sparkling marble floor, so polished it reflected Mona's confused face within it. "I get the feeling the you'd be able to do the breaststroke in that swamp of mine just fine."

~*~
It never used to be so exhausting planning and murdering someone, the spontaneous appetizers of peripheral damage annoying tidbits that he always had to reschedule and plan menus around. Beverly, poor dear, he hadn't liked having to kill her, she was sharp and intelligent, as was Miriam Lass, whom he'd spared, just barely. Despite what Jack Crawford would tell you, you couldn't say Hannibal was all bad. She'd just lost an arm, that's all. And sanity. And several years of her life to a fugue state. Planting the thought that Chilton was her tormentor was a fascinating and successful experiment, and he was grateful to her for her usefulness. As for the brilliant Beverly, he'd given her a wonderful send-off, it had been a complex layering of Plexiglas and frozen flesh, and he would have cheated with plastination if he'd had the time. He'd made her body a puzzle box that was just as complex as the one she'd unpacked. But no matter, it was all just a strange quirk of fate now, and the bodies currently in the basement weren't even ones he'd killed. How very strange it all was. He found the longing he had for murder had changed dramatically in the face of all this work, and that which usually gave him a sense of excitement now offered nothing but this protracted, bored tiredness that spoke of chore. Dealing with Frederick's body was going to be a nuisance, and he had to ferret out a solution soon. Hannibal sighed and ran fingertips across his aching brow, the flu-like symptoms that were worsening overwhelming him.

He was currently in the ensuite of his bedroom, and he opened the medicine cabinet and took a couple of dry aspirin in a vain attempt to quell the symptoms. His skin felt clammy and, as always, had that awful sickly sweet scent, like he was dipped in a simple syrup.

Their children were still awake, and though it was a school night, Hannibal was in the mood to indulge their whims. In the living room, Mona and Abigail were wide eyed on the couch, watching a strange cartoon on large television screen that was, in Hannibal's opinion, far too close to the couches. After their grandfather had left, Mona and Abigail had quickly absconded back to the flickering light of the massive room, his son remaining pointedly absent. Downstairs on the main floor, Will quickly began putting away any remaining plates and food from dinner, a courtesy that Hannibal much appreciated.

Hannibal stepped out of his bedroom into the narrow hallway, past the long living room and eyeing the thin light beneath his son's door. He knocked gently on his son's door and earned a muffled bid to enter. Marcus was sitting in an office chair, his knees drawn up under his chin, all attention riveted to his computer. He was scanning discount travel flights and searching couch surfing blogs for points of interest to travel to on the cheap. Hannibal narrowed his maroon eyes at this, and a tiny spark of victory alighted within his heart. There were no fixed points in his journey. Lithuania was still a thought, not a cemented reality. His son was clearly open to other starting points.

He smoothed his palm across the back of his son's head and kissed the slight part in his hair. Marcus had the same razor straight, silken sheen as his mother, the tendrils of hair as fine and slippery as thin streams of water against Hannibal's lips. He imagined what it was like, holding him when he was baby, and kissing that same crown. A sudden memory, one he knew he most definitely did not have, erupted out of one of the rooms in his mind palace, and Hannibal nearly reeled as he could see, feel, hear and touch every nuance of his son. It was as though he'd been given a pure map of mind and flesh, both pulled from his very tendons, making them taut. He could suddenly feel everything. The weight of him in his arms. The scent of him as he pleasantly gurgled and nuzzled his tiny face hard against Hannibal's breast.

"Are you okay?"

Hannibal discovered he was holding his grown son in a tender, maternal grip, his lips still resting in the fine silk of his hair. "My child," Hannibal said, as though he was finally truly believing it. "Have I ever told you how precious you are to me?"

"Every time you bitch at me," Marcus replied. He sighed and curled his hand around his mother's arm, leaning into the embrace. "He's gone?"

"He is, and he vaguely apologized."

"He's an asshole."

"Yes. He's also family. I'm afraid nothing will change either of those things." Hannibal rested his forehead against the crown of his son's head before reluctantly pulling away. "Are you hungry? You didn't eat much at dinner."

"Nah. Are you sure you're okay? You got a fever."

"A minor ailment. Nothing to worry about." He pulled away, and lingered in his son's doorway, feeling a sense of pride in his son's actions that night, how he hadn't backed down from his grandfather's insults, how he'd leapt to his family's defence. His cool, reasonable, highly perceptive son who knew exactly when to say enough was enough. They would not always agree, but Hannibal understood his son would kill for his mother if he was pushed to such desperation. He had no inclination to test that theory, knowing it was true was enough. For now. There was something of himself within the boy after all.

Hannibal smiled. "Goodnight, Marcus."

"I love you, mom," his son replied, not looking away from his computer, and not seeing how those words hit Hannibal as fiercely as though he'd been sliced across the throat with a lino knife.

A foolish smile still on his face, Hannibal caged it beneath his long fingers and entered the living room where Mona and Abigail were curled on the couch, still silently watching a very strange cartoon. The flutter of happiness Hannibal felt at his son's words dissipated at the sights and sounds before him, the macabre spectacle a rather gory fairy-tale that made about as much sense as a Salvador Dali painting.

"I...Love...It...When...The red water...Comes...Out..."

"Mona, what on Earth are you watching?"

"It's a Salad Fingers marathon, Mommy, you love this show." Abigail made room and Hannibal sat between the girls rather stiffly, uncomfortable with the strange, childish yet horrific images colourfully traipsing across the screen. "You missed your favourite part, he already scraped the rusty kettle."

"It feels...orgasmic..." Abigail said, in the cartoon character's strangely stilted voice and Mona collapsed in giggles. It looked to Hannibal like an overripe avocado with insomnia.

He placed a warm hand on the back of Mona's head and kissed her forehead, liking the way she giggled and squirmed out of his grip, embarrassed to be shown affection in front of Abigail. He imagined she'd been a fussy baby, prone to anger and railing against the injustice in how she'd been brought into the world. Mona reached for the bag of chips on the table in front of her, the long, red scar on her arm sending shock waves of memory through Hannibal's being. His little baby had been hurt on her way out into the world. It was no wonder she was so sensitized to everything around her.

"Are you okay, Mr. Lecter? You look like you got a fever or something."

There wasn't a trace of real concern in her words. Abigail, sweet Abigail, still so much like that other manipulative monster in training he knew so well, who he had taken from them in his fury against Will's betrayal. She had never been innocent, and neither was this one. He wondered if Garrett Jacob Hobbs had an inkling of how dark his little girl's heart really was. He doubted this version of the man understood it. Murder had touched him negatively. He wouldn't court it save for revenge.

'I'm fine, just fighting off a small bug, that's all."

"Mommy, you've been looking sick all night. And not just because of Papa. Is it true, though? Can I really go to Louisiana and visit next summer?"

No. Never. But Hannibal wasn't going to tell her that. "I'll think about it," he said, instead.

"OH MY GOD ABIGAIL THIS SUMMER IS GOING TO BE AMAZING!!"

Hannibal pressed the heel of his palm to his head and gave Mona a tight smile at this before getting up and kissing both her and Abigail in turn on their foreheads. "Goodnight, girls. Please don't stay up too late watching this nonsense, Mona, it is a school day tomorrow."

"I love you, Mommy," Mona said, waving him off, and Hannibal felt a renewed kick in his gut, his hand instinctively pressing tight against his abdomen, in that place where she had been so cruelly wrenched from him. His precious, beautiful, eccentric daughter--Would he dare put Abigail in that equation as well? There was no harm in it, the two girls had been in each other's lives since infancy.

Goodnights given, Hannibal wearily made steps to his bedroom, his only thoughts for a shower and then bed. He was sure Will was going to have his usual amorous intentions, ones he would have to politely, but firmly, brush off. He was sore and felt inwardly grimy, and nothing Will did was going to make him feel properly sated. His abdomen cramped, his skin tender. The last thing he wanted was to be manhandled.

He practically staggered into their bedroom and, heedless of the fact Will was already there, Hannibal entered the ensuite and turned on the taps for the shower. He tested the water for a good few minutes until it was the proper temperature he liked. Once satisfied, he yawned and took off his tie before working on the buttons of his shirt. Will stood near the toilet, and he was oddly silent as he looked on Hannibal, not in a way that suggested he wanted to join him, but more in his usual, arms crossed, whose-flesh-is-in-this-stew kind of expectation.

Will grabbed the edge of the waste bin near the toilet, picking it up and shaking it at Hannibal. "Explain this!"

Hannibal audibly groaned and fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I don't know what you expect me to explain."

"Those are tampon wrappers."

"I'm a doctor, Will, you don't have to tell me what they are..."

"There's thirty of them in here. I counted. This bin was empty this morning. Mona and Abigail said you kept coming in here on the hour, was it because of this?" Will shook his head, the waste bin tossed to the floor, a barrier between them. "Hannibal, I'm certainly no doctor, but even I know that it's not normal for *anyone* to go through thirty tampons in less than a day! What the hell is going on?"

Hannibal stared at the small yellow packets in the waste bin with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "This body I'm in has birthed two children, William. Nothing about this life we've found ourselves in has any resemblance to normalcy. Our bodies are shaped in an alien sexual mosaic, the people around us are in wholly new personalities with shuffled influence upon our lives. My mind palace is now full to bursting with useless knowledge and every day is a fine dance of personal physics to keep from falling between the cracks of expectations. Our children watch cartoons of a creature obsessed with rusty teakettles and screaming headless infants..."

"Salad Fingers, it's hilarious, and you're changing the subject on purpose. You're sick, and you need to go to the hospital."

"That won't be necessary."

"Seriously, Hannibal, how would you know?"

He had a point. "I am trusting my instincts, which have served me well in that other world as I'm sure they will here. I don't know what's happening, it doesn't feel life threatening and I'll just have to make another appointment with Bedelia. As for why I used so many of them, I...I'm...Gushing slick like a tap. I had to change my trousers twice this morning, and those slick pads proved useless. It's revolting and embarrassing, please, I don't want to talk about it. I want to shower and go to bed."

"Why didn't you tell me you were having these symptoms?"

"Between your father's rudeness and Fred's unexpected demise, not to mention Price's broken hip, the subject didn't seem as important to broach." Hannibal snatched the waste bin from Will's grasp and placed it back beneath the counter where it belonged. "I will see a doctor when it's appropriate. The timing is not optimal, I have two funerals to enact tomorrow. This isn't a career path of lofty intellectuals stroking one another's ego, Will, I have an actual, physical job to do, and unlike other professions, I can't just walk away on a whim."

Will crossed his arms at this, giving Hannibal a level glare. Hannibal didn't like the scrutiny, a fire burning within Will that reached outward and set little flames alight on the many complex branches of Hannibal's psyche. Will stepped closer and Hannibal had the strange urge to take a step back. He fought against it, remaining in place, his shoulders braced for whatever challenge Will was about to throw at him next.

"That is the real reason why you became a psychiatrist. Being a surgeon was too time consuming. If you went missing, people noticed."

"That and a rather high mortality rate amongst my patients, yes. I changed careers to maintain a good reputation. The ruse worked very well, as you know." He placed his hands on his stomach, the strange softness of it and odd folds of flesh around his scar irking him. "And now I am forced to concede that the knowledge I'd acquired is pointless. Our physiology has many stranger components than the already confusing aspects of what we understood to be 'normal'. I have no understanding of what this re-arrangement of hormones and reproductive systems does to the rest of the human body. I will need time to study it. I don't know if my past knowledge will be of any help, we don't yet know if there are other changes within our physical systems that we haven't discovered yet." He gave Will's close proximity a dour expression, and dared to nudge him into an embrace. He sighed into the way Will kissed his offered neck, a thrill coursing through his spine. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Will's shoulder. "I had two memories today, of our children. I held Marcus in my arms when he was an infant, the memory so vivid I could see, hear, touch and smell every aspect of it as though it had been planted in my mind palace. It was such a beautiful feeling, Will. I admit it was fleeting, and I can't help but still chase it. I had one of Mona, too, as a fussy little baby who was difficult to please. I don't imagine much has changed."

Will lightly chuckled at this and gave Hannibal a light kiss which he responded to as if it were a delectable treasure. "We have their bodies, I guess it only makes sense that our brains are wired to hold their memories too. It's all over their neurons, all that information locked in the cells of their grey matter and coursing through our bloodstreams."

Hannibal shifted his cheek on Will's shoulder, and delighted in how Will held him a little tighter. Subtle differences were evident in Will's body that he hadn't yet detected, such as how his muscles were more defined, a scent of overwhelmingly good health pervading his every pore. He didn't have the same nervous tremors as that other Will Graham, his body more assured and confident, expressed in the strength of his grip.

"Do you think we will eventually be eroded away, who we were replaced by these beings who sidestepped every measure of tragedy both imposed and created?"

Will smiled against Hannibal's temple, and kissed the taut flesh. "We can hope."

He pulled away, a soft caress finding Hannibal's cheek as he offered another gentle kiss to his lips before stepping out of the tiny ensuite. "Have your shower. Since you aren't feeling well, I'm not going to reach for you tonight no matter how tempting you are. Just make sure you see a doctor as soon as possible, okay? Make that appointment with Bedelia. Promise me that, Hannibal."

"I promise," he said, and meant it.

~*~
He lay awake in the middle of the night, Will snoring contentedly beside him, the cat named Tiger in the middle offering Hannibal gentle purrs as she noticed him stir. He stared at the ceiling, his arm wrapped behind his head, soft comforters and pillows doing nothing to alleviate the constant unease he felt over his increasing discomfort. He shifted his hips and felt another squelching cramp within him. He hadn't had time or inclination to research much of what his new physical body was capable of or how it could break down, for even if it did offer up mind blowing sex it was still awkwardly different from what he understood about himself. Gender had been superfluous to the rush of murder in that other life. Will's companionship destroyed that particular barrier long before the fall.

Other matters were adding to his stressful night, for there was still the small problem of Frederick's corpse, now laying in wait within his workroom. Tobias Budge's mother was still on the metal slab, waiting to be lifted into her cheap, plastic pink coffin, a monstrosity against good taste that he hoped Tobias would be too grieved to check for quality. Frederick felt like a loose end, and if there was one thing Hannibal hated more it was not having his schemes tied up prettily in order to make room for others to branch off from them, where he could follow their path to a hopefully unexpected outcome. So far, Will Graham had been the only one to provide sustenance for that particular hunger.

He was uncomfortable and he couldn't sleep, a solution to the Frederick problem so obvious he couldn't waste any more time in inaction. Careful not to disturb his bedmates, he earned an angered gaze from Tiger as he pulled off the covers and slid on his navy blue dressing gown, the belt tied loosely around his waist. Bare feet kept his steps light as he left the bedroom, but not before chancing a glance at the sleeping form of his husband, who was contentedly snoring into his pillow. A sudden memory of being wrapped in warm flesh, skin on skin as they discussed their future hit him like a sharp scrape within his mind and he found himself reeling against that gentle happiness, unsure of what to do with it. He crept out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind him, his own cat feet taking him through the rest of the house.

He paused in the entrance to the living room, the flicker of the television catching his eye. He smiled as he saw Mona and Abigail both asleep on the couch, and he turned off the TV before pulling out a couple of beige knitted throw blankets that were folded on the matching winged back chairs in the study portion of the extra large room. He draped one each over his daughter and Abigail in turn, effectively tucking them in for the night before heading back out into the dark, narrow hallway.

He was still feeling queasy as he softly made his way down the long trek to the basement, the familiarity of it sending a renewed thrill through him. He had no idea he'd be so keen to work his magic upon the dead yet again, only in an actual legal capacity this time. Considering the burden of time and family, the corpse itself would have to take on his artistry and while most would be samplings of mere mortal mimicry, it seemed there was some license for artistic freedoms. Mason Verger's corpse, for example, now laid out in his overwrought casket that loosely resembled a stable and had all the class of an Edsel, still sported his massive head wound. Hannibal had gone through great pains to ensure it was far bloodier and nastier than the original blow to the head, and instead left a gaping black maw for many a tabloid reporter to take nasty pictures of. The man had nothing in his skull in life, there was no need to continue to pretend he had brains in death.

He eyed the late Mrs. Budge's corpse before pulling out the recently deceased and still rather messy Frederick Chilton from one of the drawers in his morgue cabinet. He grabbed a measuring tape from a nearby table and checked his length, tutting over the fact he wasn't going to be able to get him into the coffin without some adjustment. He would have to get the bone saw and chop his feet off just above the ankles and bury them with him tucked into the side against his shins. Satisfied that he'd found a good solution, Hannibal tied on a rubber apron for the purpose as well as blue latex gloves and searched out his tools that were hanging in the chemical room, ready to get to work.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that your whole fair maiden routine has been scrapped. But then, from the information I've gathered of you over the years, you have always been a practical person. Even when it came to who was in your bed. Always good to have a plan B, am I right Mr. Lecter?"

The familiarity of Dr. Gideon's voice did not disturb Hannibal, and if anything he found the man's intrusion into his personal space annoying rather than alarming. They'd been through far worse in that other life, and his appearance in Hannibal's workroom was giving him a heady sense of deja vu. That other Gideon has been insightful, even vaguely pleasant and he had been wholly delighted with their conjoined madness. This one's ambitions were far more pedestrian in scope, a search for money and fame to retire handsomely on. How dull this ordinary vanity was, even if it did take sixteen years to bring it to fruition.

"I'm afraid I have very little patience for your games at present, Abel," Hannibal said, and he liked the confused way the man looked at him at the bland familiarity. "Your patient was not brutally murdered by an outraged victim, sorry to say. He slipped and fell and hit his head on the slippery marble floor in my foyer. Instantaneous and unexpected. I had no intention to kill him. I can't claim the same for you."

"You have placed a rather unwelcome snag into my plans," Gideon said, nodding thoughtfully, and through his calm Hannibal had to wonder if, indeed, this doctor was just as mad as that other vicious murderer he had left in tasty pieces on his plate. "I was hoping to bank on either yours or Garret's hysteria. I had a whole lambasting of media influence on patient release planned, ready to paint Fred as the poor, unfortunate victim he in actuality was. Pathetic man, I never really liked him, but as a protracted experiment in the implementation of false memory, he was quite ideal."

A latent nod of admiration arose within Hannibal at this, for he'd conducted much the same experiment with Miriam Lass, with the exact desired effect. Perhaps he was being too harsh in his admonishment of Gideon's self serving needs, for certainly it took a great deal of patience to perfect such a long game to its completion. Hannibal knew this from his own experience.

However, Gideon had broken that most golden of rules, and what he had done to those pregnant Omegas in their moment of pure vulnerability was, without question, unprovoked and therefore *rude*. It was a grave unkindness to create the illusion of a serial killer to secure a good retirement package and professional accolades upon the deaths of newborn innocents. Had he simply killed random people on the street, Hannibal could give him some leeway, but not for his ugly abdominal scar, and not for the angry red welt that was slid from elbow to wrist on his darling little Mona's arm.

"I have to say Mr. Lecter, the years have been good to you, though I'm a little concerned about this sickly sweet scent you are giving off, and that glistening sheen on your brow. I'd chalk it up to a heat cycle, but there's something off putting about it, to be honest. You aren't well. I think you need to see a doctor."

"Your concern is noted," Hannibal tersely replied.

Gideon shrugged. "Or not. The point is moot. You've ruined my original retirement plans and the only thing for it is a killer on the loose. I'm a practical man myself, and yes, I also have my plan B. I'm afraid Frederick Chilton will have murdered you and his whereabouts are currently unknown. I'm going to blame one of the psychiatrists in my employ, Dr. Miriam Lass, for falsifying reports and skewering my diagnosis. She's probably going to go jail for a long time, and it's unfortunate because she's brilliant at what she does, but I'm afraid you've left me without a choice."

No, Hannibal agreed, options were no longer viable.

So, with his bone saw in his grip and fully charged, he was ready to duck the knife Gideon held in his hand and effectively chop off his head from his thick neck, a process Hannibal knew would only take seconds with the correct amount of force applied. Softness at first as it sliced through the main arterial vein and then, ignoring the copious spray of blood, a clever dip to ensure the rapidly sliding saws cut between vertebrae, neatly severing the spinal cord, and then following the body as it fell to complete the cut through the other side of his neck. A messy business, yes, but one that Hannibal had experience and confidence in.

Only he never got the chance. With a decided whack at the back of his head, Gideon went down, bringing Will brandishing a heavy brass cross he'd picked up along the way down from the chapel into view. Hannibal tried to hide his disappointment and Will rolled his eyes, gesturing to the small room they were currently crowding with both the living and the dead.

"Like you would have time to clean up the mess he would make."

"I suppose you are right, but it would have been so much more satisfying." He stepped over Gideon's collapsed body and pressed two slender fingertips against his neck, feeling the thrum of a strong pulse. "He's still alive. A heavy dose of tranquilizers will keep him in this state, I trust Beverly has some at her animal clinic and Marcus has the keys, they're in his coat pocket in the front hall."

Will groaned and ran his palms roughly over his face. "I guess you're in the mood to play, though if it was up to me I'd just kill him and be done with it. I won't be long, then. You want me to pick up anything on the way back since I'm out? We can forget about sleep, I guess. You want me to get you a coffee on the way home?"

"One cream, two sugars. And not that ghastly dark roast from the gas station, it's absolute swill, I'd prefer one from that twenty-four hour independent cafe on Mill St., the one next door to Hobbs' Organics." He placed a hand on his stomach and gave Will a guilty grimace. "And a trip to the all night pharmacy for another package of...Well, you know..."

Will paled at this.

"Are you seriously making me buy your tampons?"

Hannibal gave him a huff of frustrated annoyance. "It's not like this is happening on purpose, Will, I don't have control over what my body is deciding to do."

Will let out an exasperated sigh, one that clearly let on that he'd rather chop up a living man into tiny pieces rather than go on such an embarrassing supply run. He shrugged, helpless. "Any particular brand?"

"I don't know. Whatever I used before. Or...Maybe something more absorbent? I really don't know, use your discretion."

"Fine." He gave Hannibal a moist kiss on his cheek before he left, hands in pockets as he rolled his head from side to side, working out the last of the sleepy kinks in his neck muscles. The kiss left a tingling ghost upon his skin as Hannibal surveyed the scene left behind and he felt a tiredness he hadn't known before. Gideon's heavy body was going to be difficult to manoeuvre and he hated the thought of moving his already carefully constructed work on the bodies he'd been legally given. It was all so tedious this murdering and hiding bodies business. He still had the flowers to arrange and now the brass cross for his chapel had a dent in its base. The day's schedule was tight and he had to make sure the mourners didn't linger between funerals. He had far too much to do to indulge in this silly preamble.

He pressed the back of his gloved hand to his hot forehead and got to work. It was going to be a terribly long, early morning.

~*~
The sun was rising, sending the sky into a purple haze as Will entered through the back basement entrance, two cups of steaming take-out coffee in hand along with one of Hannibal's favourite beignet pastries. Will set a small plastic bag on one of the empty slabs and began emptying it of its contents. "You can have the coffee because you need it to stay alert, but I got you some Gatorade. The pharmacist said you need it, you're probably dehydrated thanks to all that excessive slick. I got you the super absorbent ones, this is the brand he recommended." Will snatched up his coffee and thirstily sipped at its hot contents before turning back to a stunned Hannibal. "I had to ask him, we don't know what's going on, but he did. He said you probably have cysts, that's the usual culprit, and it's not life threatening, usually, but since you've been producing this much slick it has to be seen to as soon as possible. He said you're losing a lot of fluids and sugars, and you have to keep up your strength and not to forget any meals or overexert yourself. He did say if you start getting any really painful cramping we have to go to the ER right away, it could be a sign of a rupture. I got you some acetaminophen for the fever, and he said if that keeps up or gets worse you have to go to the ER right away as well since it indicates infection."

Hannibal stood pale in the middle of his workroom, his rubber apron still on, his blue gloves stained a brilliant red. "You discussed my condition with the pharmacist?"

"How else was I going to know what tampons to buy? Hannibal, come on, this is hardly Victorian England, it's not a big deal to know how your mate's bits are supposed to work. I'm glad I asked, the guy was a wealth of information. I got you some candies too, he said to keep popping those until you see the doctor, keep your blood sugars up. Apparently, slick is comprised of mostly water and partially broken down glycerol, which is what makes you so tasty." Will gave Hannibal's stricken face a smirk and kissed his open mouth, scenting him with coffee. "You nearly done here?"

Hannibal, still annoyed with how easily Will could talk to a stranger about his medical ailments and yet couldn't be open about simple feelings (Oh, I would have run away with you after all, Hannibal, no need to go to all that Teach Me A Lesson bloodbath and all. I just needed five minutes to digest your mindset and I would have speed dialled Travelocity...You needn't have spent all that time licking your heart's wounds with that ice queen Bedelia and ticking off the minutes before you turned her into pork roast.). He gave the late Mrs. Budge's face a tired inspection. There was definitely too much rouge on her cheeks, but she was a rather choleric person in life and the blush of anger would no doubt be something Tobias Budge would appreciate. He couldn't get the frown lines out no matter how much sculpting he performed on the flesh, and as a result he left her scowl in place with some added paint to accentuate her disapproval at death.

"You did do a good job, I think he'll like it. What are your plans with these extras? Anything I can do?"

"Yes," Hannibal said, getting to work with the bone saw at last and moving past his husband until he was next to the slab Frederick Chilton was laying in permanent repose on. "I need you to throw down a rubber mat in the foyer. I have enough work to do, I don't need any more casualties."

Hannibal sipped at his coffee as he contemplated what cuts he was going to give to Fred's shins. The thought of chopping him up was making him giddy, even if the fact he was here was accidental. This was delightful work, and Hannibal was reminded of the incorruptible, saints waxen and mummified beneath glass as they spent their unspoiled repose in ornate shrines, granting the wishes of those who dared to brush fingertips across their clear coffins. He wondered what it would be like, chopping up a saint into tiny bits and freeing its twitching, fractured soul from the service of humanity. Probably very much like the foot he was now severing from Fred's leg, and making the man a good three inches shorter than the stout woman with osteoporosis with whom he was about to share a crowded eternal sleep.

"Show time isn't until nine, you can maybe sneak a power nap in before you get fully set up." Will gave him a soft kiss on his cheek, and Hannibal wanted to sink against his cool skin, his own so feverish it felt like cold water would make it sizzle. "I saw the latest schedule, it's Tobias first thing and then Verger's burial this evening. Do you think there's going to be lots of paparazzi around here tonight? From what I've read up on him, Mason Verger was something of a tabloid joke."

"I'm thinking of putting glitter in his empty skull," Hannibal said.

Will laughed at this. "If you think that's going to punish him, guess again. This Verger was just as much of a tacky creep, he would like that." Will frowned, his knuckles gently rapping the closed cabinet door behind which Dr. Abel Gideon was shouting muffled curses. "What are you plans for him? Nothing to do with our diet, I hope. I'm not so inclined for human bacon these days."

"Nor am I," Hannibal assured him. He pressed a bloodied palm to the side of Will's face, the cooled blood smearing in clotted clumps against his chilled skin. Fred's feet lay in a pile next to his knee. "You are a fervent distraction, my love. Leave the depths of this project to me, you have been involved enough."

"Sharpening finer points when you have always been good at polishing the surface." Will kissed him again, on the lips this time, sending a thrill of temptation through Hannibal's groin that ended with the usual unwelcome cramping. He pressed his bloodied palm to his side, earning more worry from Will.

"Bedelia," Will said, shaking his finger at Hannibal as he left to go upstairs, and Hannibal nodded. He'd leave a voicemail and hope he could get an appointment within the week.

He was at last alone, Dr. Gideon cursing him from his cabinet prison, fists pounding against the steel sides. He could scream all he wanted. Hannibal knew this room was soundproof.