You Are Now Entering Gate #12

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING GATE #12
chapter ten

Hannibal dabbed the damp sweat from his brow with a handkerchief before tucking it into the pocket of his black suit jacket. Mid-July and the air conditioning in the main portion of the house had stopped working, repairing it an expense that would cut into the remodelling costs of the kitchen and en suite bathing room. Will watched his husband as he set up the flowers for the funeral procession set to arrive at any moment, his attention to detail one of finely cultured finesse and possessing his usual intensity. Soft peonies and forget-me-knots and a few well placed lilacs completed the piece which looked vibrant and refreshing when one walked in the front door, only to twist in shadows should one glance over a shoulder and find a floral skull staring back. Hannibal's artistry had become bold in the last few months, and as long as it remained in this harmless macabre vein, Will was content with his experimentation.

However, there were certain habits that were ancient in construction, ones that Will knew Hannibal would never truly abandon. With his glass of ice water in hand, downing it in gulps, Will watched, impassive, as Hannibal noted the wobbling gait of the elderly widow approaching the front steps and quickly, with a shove of his heel, put a dangerous wrinkle in the rubber backed carpet in the marble foyer.

Will sighed and marched over to where Hannibal was standing, and smoothed out the wrinkle before the door opened. He gave a shake of his head at Hannibal's guileless look. "How many times do I have to remind you that we don't have liability insurance?"

Will finished his glass of water as the elderly woman toddled in, shaky as a dried leaf in the wind and just as fragile. Business had been booming lately and they had few days off thanks to the gossip columns having a field day with the Mason Verger funeral where Hannibal finally succumbed to his illness and had passed out in front of dozens of paparazzi. His faint had gone viral, thousands of Internet memes coursing across social media sites and gifs on Facebook, 'Falling Down Dead' a phrase that brought knowing looks among the geeks at Mona's high school. She hadn't been adversely affected, thankfully, but then, who would mess with his mouthy daughter who would lambaste anyone who dared to try?

Summer had crept into their life like a slinking cat, and both Tiger and Samson had found a truce in the spots of sunlight that crept in through the back window and bathed the floor in warm gold. Will was back in the kitchen, not for him the weeping monotone of the grieving and the display of sombre concern that had to go with it. Will didn't give a damn about strangers. There were some old habits lurking within him, too.

He reflected that, considering the alternative, they had found themselves in an uneasy Heaven, one that perhaps they didn't deserve. He often wondered about that other Will and Hannibal, the gentle souls who were rocked by tragedy and had struggled to piece themselves together, who had raised two incredible children despite the background of marital strife. Hannibal had assured him that they were living in a world very similar if not identical to this one, save for different dinnerware or maybe a deletion or insertion of bland acquaintances who would go unnoticed. "The nature of a parallel universe is not one of vast difference, Will, though we have been shunted into such a one. An infinite number or worlds and possibilities suggests something as simple as a name change could create a whole other configuration. There are theories that these worlds overlap and invade us all the time. We are exceptional, Will, and thus was our travel here. But our counterparts...I believe they are simply living their life as they always have."

He wanted to be able to latch onto that reassurance, though there was no evidence to prove that this was true. Perhaps that other Hannibal had finally had enough of cowardly Will Graham's ways and had moved him out and moved Jimmy Price in. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

He had settled here. Sharing his bed with Hannibal was oddly comforting, and though the operation meant he no longer had heats, Hannibal's flesh was most certainly still willing. Awkward beginnings had now become easy routine, Hannibal writhing in ecstasy beneath him as Will's knot found its mark at the base of his clitoris and its strong pulse rendering him wrecked in orgasm, unable to form words. He'd be in an incoherent daze by the end of it, rambling in Lithuanian and French, maroon eyes unfocused, body lazy and slack within Will's arms.

He enjoyed him in those moments, where honesty was the only purpose between them, skin on skin, Hannibal nuzzling the curve of Will's neck and kissing his throat. Hannibal had never been afraid of being affectionate, but Will knew the genuine purpose within the caresses, unspoken assurance that he was Will's to possess, as much as Will's soul was his to own.

He was thinking on this as Hannibal quickly entered the kitchen, the funeral procession now safely in the hands of the priest at the chapel, who was giving a familiar sermon on life and death that Hannibal was bored of hearing. Will gave him a soft kiss on his lips and smiled at Hannibal's eagerness to enjoy it.

"Is Marcus packed?" Hannibal asked.

"For the last two weeks, yes," Will reminded him. "Mischa called earlier, she's meeting us at the airport, so we won't have to pick her up. She's riding with the drummer of that punk hip-hop fusion band."

"The one with his Compton prisoner number tattoo 'ed on his forehead? How disappointing. My sister knows how to dig from the bottom of the barrel." Hannibal shook his head. "She's setting a terrible example for Mona. Our daughter looks up to her wild and free spirited aunt, we may need to place some boundaries in terms of her influence."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Hannibal, but our daughter is not a person you can easily tell what to do." He stretched and crooked his neck to one side, his vertebrae cracking. He'd spent the day before with Jack Crawford hunched over a grocery store dumpster digging through the refuse and picking out body parts, three in all. A leg, an arm, a torso. Identifying cause of death was going to be a bitch.

"Looks like someone left all the prime cuts!" Jack Crawford had exclaimed, and a dour Will didn't find the retort funny.

But thoughts of Jack Crawford's cheerful, good natured face had to be banished at present, for there was plenty that had to be done on this hot, stifling Saturday afternoon, and the fact there was a corpse ripening in the room next door and being wept over for a couple of hours annoyed Will no end. "I don't know why you took that one on, you knew this was a busy day."

"Saying no to someone's grief is not an option, Will. I am branding our family business on flexibility and assurance. Besides, the new air conditioner isn't going to pay for itself. I've had to put the latest customers on ice in the basement, and thankfully it's cool enough down there to work. I admit, it's been a challenge to keep the rot out this week, I've had to work around the clock to make sure they were properly preserved before I could even start on any of the sculpting."

Yes, the money had been coming in, Hannibal's macabre touches of darkly toned works of art now graced the walls in the main foyer, and there was decidedly more dark purple in the new wallpaper and assorted accents. The patrons didn't seem to mind the gruesome portraits of skulls and bones that braced the walls leading into the chapel, and Hannibal was once actually praised for creating a funeral home that was 'honest'.

Hannibal checked his watch. "The funeral will take two hours. Much as I would prefer to be in this kitchen, relaxing on this Hades inspired day, I'm afraid I'm needed to direct the traffic of the mourning. Please make sure Marcus has everything he needs, the last thing we want is to get to the airport and he's forgotten his passport."

"He's our son, Hannibal, he's not stupid."

"Tiny details are easy to overlook."

With that little snap, Hannibal marched back towards the chapel, leaving Will alone in the kitchen. He sighed and contemplated the empty glass before him, wondering if he should refill it. He shrugged and figured it didn't matter. He'd be sweating it out more than he'd be putting it in.

~*~

The Baltimore, Maryland airport was decidedly different from what Will remembered, the interior a busy hub of the usual straggling travellers going to international destinations, but the layout considerably more confusing. It had been redesigned by a man with more money than planning and the strange jigsaw of loading bays and staircases that led to every manner of gates made Will dizzy as he tried to interpret them. He took his son's boarding pass and grimaced at the tiny number in the far right corner that indicated where he was supposed to go. "Gate #12," Will said, shaking his head and staring up and down the long rows of numbers and letters that didn't match up. "Where in the hell would that be?"

Hannibal was busy drilling his son, his hands busy folding down the collar of Marcus's jean jacket and in between deep breaths he let out a slew of unwanted instructions. "Lady Murasaki is not used to young men of your energy and willfulness, so be sure to listen carefully to her wishes and to exercise the correct levels of decorum. No excessive drinking. No romantic trysts hidden in the guest room. Your great aunt is an exceptionally proper lady and you will not disappoint, is that understood?"

Marcus shrugged, and gave his mother a grimace of acknowledgement. Hannibal continued to fuss with his bag, opening and closing zippers, ensuring he had everything needed for his intercontinental journey that was set to take him to his great aunt Lady Murasaki's home, in France. Will found the whole display rather amusing, since the journey was built on compromise, with Marcus being convinced to visit the ailing aunt as both a family favour and as a method to quell his reckless concepts of wanderlust.

Hannibal had become very close to his children as the months slipped away from winter and entered spring and now alighted in a hot summer that made all of them want to melt. He would confess, almost fearful if Will didn't know better, that he had vague recollections of holding them both in their infancy, of a biological link that had become spiritual in proportions, a tug he could sometimes physically feel. There was no terrible, blood soaked crime he wouldn't commit for his children, and if it was the world or his family, Will knew exactly where Hannibal stood on that matter. He was relieved that Mona was still too eccentric and unapproachable to most of the boys at her high school, no matter how much Abigail tried to set her up--usually with boys who were anathema to Mona's difficult personality. He had the sinking suspicion that Abigail could soon become more of frenemy, and to prevent any slit throats from one over vigilant Mama he would have to watch how the friendship developed in future.

They were standing near a canteen that sold chips and paper thin hamburgers for exorbitant prices, and of course Mona was insisting on having the cardboard meal, much to her mother's dismay. "BUT I'M HUNGRY!!"

"Mona, you can wait until we get home, and don't give me that look you aren't five years old, you aren't going to waste away."

Mona gave her father a stricken look that instantly made Hannibal dismiss his attempt at discipline. "I know you are very upset that we are losing Marcus for a few months, but he will be back soon." He reached into his wallet while Will made helpless protests. "Here's twenty dollars. Get what you want."

"What is wrong with you?" Will said, shaking his head as Mona happily traipsed to the canteen, her brother following behind her. "The body is a temple, remember those days?"

"Pick your battles more carefully, Will, she's upset about her brother."

"So, just throw all sense of discipline out, then, right. Got it."

"I am not arguing with you about this here."

They were interrupted by the noisy arrival of Mischa who had a gangly, tattoo laden miscreant on her arm, his orange hoodie reminding Will of the prison jumper he was no doubt far more familiar with. Mischa hugged Hannibal and then ran up and hugged both Marcus and Mona, nearly knocking their heads together. "Oh my God! I can't believe you're taking off to France, it's only yesterday you were playing with Tamogotchis and using crayons! Here, put these in your bag." She unzipped his duffel bag and poured a heavy selection of mini bottles of vodka, whisky and rum into the neatly folded stack of clothes within. "You're gonna need this, Lady Murasaki is great and I love her to death but she can kill your last fucking nerve, believe me. Don't let her turn you into her indentured servant, she's perfectly capable of getting her own tea and if you want to go out and get wrecked with your new friends in France, just do it. Vick's lozenges, they work great for hiding booze breath."

Mona was munching on a scrawny hamburger, her eyes wide at Mischa's new boyfriend. "OMG, YOU'RE THE DRUMMER FOR 'MASSIVE HOMICIDE'! I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN PRISON FOR MURDERING YOUR MANAGER!"

The drummer flinched at Mona's outburst and Mischa came to the rescue. "Yeah, he's on a weekend pass. There's an armed cop escorting us, he's standing just over there, see?"

Mona's kohl encircled eyes were widened ever further as she stared across the narrow space between a flight of stairs and the canteen. A man wearing a police uniform sternly stared back at her. "OMG!" Mona exclaimed, hamburger still in mouth. "THIS IS SO COOL!"

Hannibal gave Mischa a withering look and she gave him a 'What?' sneer in response.

"I think I've figured out where he's supposed to go," Will said, and nudged Marcus along the various stairways until they came to one painted a bright yellow and green, 'International' painted in orange on every step. The entourage followed him, and Will made quick work of walking through several security doors, before they finally found one that chimed, in a sing-song voice that said in both English and French: "You are now entering Gate Number Twelve. Vous entrez maintenant dans la porte numéro douze. Thank you for flying France Airlines. Nous vous remercions de voler France Compagnies aériennes"

"I guess you check your bags over there," Will said, pointing the baggage handlers on the far right. He dragged Marcus's bag along with him, Hannibal following close.

Hannibal placed a hand on his son's shoulder, stopping him, and Will was likewise forced to pause. Without warning, Hannibal snatched his gangly son into a tight embrace, his face buried in silken locks so similar to his own. Hannibal pressed damp eyes against his son's hair, unable to properly speak. When he released him, he stepped away, holding his emotions in with tight restraint, leaving Will to deal with the practicalities.

"You know to call us if anything goes wrong, right? You need to come home right away, if you're in a tight spot. We'll get you on a plane, you can come right home."

"I know, Dad," his son said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't do that. We care about you, Marcus. Always remember that. We're here." He gave his son a firm hug and a pat on his back as he gave one last wave, a nod to his sister and her signalling back 'Text me'.

"Call us when you get there!" Will shouted to his parting form, but he was long gone, lost in the bustle of people heading out into Gate #12, the world open and ready for one more rambler to walk across it.

~*~

"He'll be back before the summer is out, you know that." Will sighed and stared at the glassy tears that threatened to fall from Hannibal's stoic gaze, unseeing as they drove on the highway, away from the airport. "Are you sure it was a good idea letting Mona ride with Mischa and that...Guy? I guess it doesn't matter, he seemed pretty frightened of her, actually. Probably doesn't get that many fans so enamoured with his murderous past they even have copies of his arrest report printed out from 'The Smoking Gun'. Should we be worried about that, do you think?"

Hannibal sniffed and gave the radio in the Bentley his attention, turning it away from Will's grunge punk and rock station to one far more relaxing classical. He sighed and pouted slightly, his shining maroon eyes for the road through the open passenger window beside him. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't know. Something easy and light, it's too hot for anything heavy. You want to stop off at Hobb's Organics? Garrett's got Abigail working the weekends now so he can take off fishing with Francis. Mona is talking about getting a tattoo."

"Absolutely not."

"Good to know we're in agreement on that battle. I'm never going to get used to that, Francis and Garrett...." Will shook his head. He glanced over at a very quiet Hannibal and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You doing okay?"

Hannibal didn't answer him.

By the time they got off the highway it was late afternoon, the sun still frying them in its relentless brilliance. Will parked the Bentley in Hobb's parking lot and entered the crowded store with a sense of purpose. Hannibal hadn't specified what he wanted to make, but Will knew what he was after. A bag of chips and some ice cold beer to make the afternoon slip by into evening with ease.

Abigail was behind the massive meat counter, helping an elderly female customer and Will gave her a friendly wave, which she returned with a smile. As far as grocery stores went, Hobbs certainly kept an eclectic shop, dedicated to meat and yet full of every kitchen gadget and decorative imports he could find. His organic vegetables were a big hit with the university crowd in the area, as were his ready to eat salads which Abigail had painstakingly created, under the tutelage of Hannibal, of course. Will selected a couple of healthful offerings that used fried lotus root and a miso/sesame dressing of Hannibal's creation. He was placing his own stamp here as well, Will noticed. A tiny imposition of grains and green in an ironic corner of the former cannibals' lives.

His basket containing chips, beer and now a couple of salads, Will turned a corner to find Hannibal investigating a collection of delicate teacups, antique offerings that Garrett had decided on providing on a whim in hopes of upping sales of his organic tea line which used up excess herbs from his home garden. Hannibal picked up a particularly delicate looking sample, its surface gleaming in a shimmering opalescence that reflected the scant light in this section of the store. He caught Will's eye, and, with a devilish grin, he tossed the teacup to the floor, smashing it into a million pieces.

Will grinned back. And laughed. And Hannibal laughed with him.

What power did teacups have now? None.

Will twined his arm in Hannibal's, the taller man resting his temple against Will's head as they approached the counter and paid for their groceries, and the damaged teacup. Will's heart felt light as Abigail smiled and said she would stop by their house after work and Hannibal eagerly nodded at this, happy to go over a new salad recipe to add to her repertoire. He told her she was welcome at any time. Hannibal beamed at he possibility of playing in his kitchen.

As worlds spin and teacups break and reform and break again, there is a profound sense that what we become is the nature of what is around us. Tamed monsters are not so uncommon. Will twined his arm around Hannibal's slender waist as they headed for the Bentley, profane love traded for the steady, dull rote of domesticity, its lull sleepy and addictive. Tortured hearts pumping confused, furious poison had already crashed and burned upon some black, unwelcome shore. There is only sunlight here, and the waves are calm. The only ripple is a nag of memory that is drifting further and further from the shore. A discarded, bobbing flotsam. It is sucked into an undertow, never to be seen again.

~END~