Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter four

"What really surprises me is that there aren't more corpses getting strung up on our farm. Mason knows how to make enemies. Is it true it's the work of a serial killer?"

"The Chesapeake Ripper. You may be earning a visit from journalist Freddie Lounds as a result. I suggest you avoid her."

"Oh, I know all about Freddie, she guts my brother in her exposé articles and tempts him into lawsuits whenever she can. I actually like her."

Margot Verger picked at the scabs on her wrist, making them bleed anew. She observed the new, glistening hue of blood that seeped from the wound, and quickly covered it back up with the gauze bandage she had hidden it beneath. A crimson stain erupted fresh across the white fabric, and she braced her arm behind her, ashamed of revealing this tiny weakness in front of Dr. Lecter.

There were many things being hidden this morning, Hannibal thought, for though the artwork he had fashioned with a young, talented Omega who suffered a neglectful Alpha mate was now being dismantled, there were still secrets lurking, and not all of them his own. Will Graham's confusion was delightful, and he revelled in the blush of his cheeks as the nervous profiler stammered his way through conversations, never sure of why he felt this underlying tension growing between them. Hannibal wondered what he could do with this, his primary aim of course always being the furtherance of his cause, and if Will Graham was feeling a lurking attraction he would encourage it. An Alpha male falling for another Alpha male--That chemical misfiring alone was indication of instability and should Will Graham make connections enough to discover Hannibal's murderous activities, well, one couldn't trust the opinion of a fellow Alpha who wooed with lovestruck lust his very reluctant psychiatrist.

He would be remiss, however, to not admit that he himself developed a few unsavoury habits. Recently, he'd spent late hours curled around Will Graham's dirty grey t-shirt, the fabric well and truly raped as he sank into its Alpha scent, his body eagerly responding to the eroticism Will's dank sweat generated in his dreams. He'd stolen it from Will's pile of dirty laundry when he had picked him up from his home in Wolf Trap, and the past three nights had become a dreamscape of calloused hands, soft curls and wet moans that left Hannibal's body shuddering in want. He'd found himself waking in morning, still kissing the soft fabric, an ache within him that couldn't be cured without sultry rubbing and a toy that had gone through so much use in the past few days he'd just about wore out the motor. Always, in his mind, were the strong limbs of Will Graham as he moved above him in wiry aggression, taking him with fevered impatience. Seductive imaginings that were unexpectedly pedestrian assailed Hannibal's mind and he hated the fact he had descended into romantic tropes to put imagery upon his desires. Always the usual, Hannibal would pull away as Will tried to kiss him, make him work for it if only to watch the dew on his lips as his mouth lay half open, dying to taste him. Will would bite out of frustration, and Hannibal would return it, and the night would be a collection of opposing limbs, Hannibal's reluctance meeting Will's determination. Sometimes, in these wild thoughts, Will would kill him, in others it was Hannibal tearing out his heart with his bare hands, taming the Alpha with death. He well understood this violent game. That was the Alpha mindset. Subdue. Conquer. In his dreams, Will did not find either easily.

The whole scenario was painfully, typically Omega/Alpha dynamics in nature and Hannibal hated himself for being tempted by it.

He could blame his eager fantasies on the season, humans weren't immune to the effects of a winter heat and Hannibal could sense his own was about a week away. He had already scheduled time off, and his basement was well equipped to deal with this particular biological routine. Twice a year for three days he would sequester himself and hope he didn't go mad. There was no relief for him, not even with the pheromone injections, which did nothing to alleviate his symptoms. Most unmated and unbonded Omegas took suppressants to ease their way through those difficult days, but Hannibal couldn't risk the hormones involved since they could counter affect the Alpha pheromones. Thus, he spent three unbearable days per heat beneath ground, locked in his cellar, in excruciating pain. Toys helped the physical symptoms, but he was wary of his own emotions, his deeply buried torments rising to the surface, the dungeon doors of his mind palace cruelly wrenched open to allow all manner of horror to march through. The second day was always the worst, where he could feel and hear the clank of the iron collar at his neck, the pinch against his skin as it was cruelly locked. Bile rose within him at the very shadow of that memory, and he found himself seeking comfort from the small square of fabric he had cut from Will Graham's t-shirt and shoved into his suit jacket pocket before leaving for Muskrat Farm in the morning.

His fingers were playing with the piece of gentle fabric now, as he watched Margot get up again and pace, a cigarette lit in the gloom of her living room, the ember tip following her like a pet flame. He crushed the fabric in his palm, not entirely sure why it offered him so much comfort, and released it back into the prison of his pocket before bringing his hands before him and clasping them over his knee. "Your concerns are valid, Margot. He has injured you before, you would be wise to consider the option I have presented to you."

"I've already taken a near overdose of suppressants and I still can't be within shouting distance of him. In case you didn't notice, he's especially attuned to every bit of hormonal shift around him. He's a walking crusty penis."

Hannibal grimaced slightly at this blunt description, for it was gruesomely apt, especially considering what he knew of Mason Verger's more sordid activities. It made his pity for Margot all the more poignant and with that vile picture in mind he repeated his stance on the matter. "You do realize that the best solution to this problem is obvious. I have told you many times before, Margot--You need to kill your brother."

Margot let out a long stream of smoke at Hannibal's words, her voice ash. "I do that, I lose everything, I've told you this. I have no hope of finding an Alpha willing to be the turkey baster to my womb and frankly, if Mason gets his way, I'll be keeping the next heir to the throne in the family, if you get what I mean." She tossed her cigarette into the fire in front of her long, antique velvet couch and collapsed into the curved corner, surrounded by softened, straw stuffed cushions.

Hannibal was seated on the opposite end, his legs still crossed, though his tactile attention was on the silky feel of the couch, the bits of straw worn into a near sawdust consistency, the old fabric retaining an earthy scent, a treat for the olfactory senses. The couch was an early Edwardian construction, possibly Scottish in origin as those craftsmen were known for their specialization in Omega furnishings and were popular during a time when Omegas had more control over their immediate environments. It was of a similar construction to his bed at home, and with the surrounding muted shades and forest colours Hannibal felt calm and relaxed in Margot's little abode and thus ensured that he made house calls for most of their appointments.

Hannibal traced a nail along the velvet, pulling the colour into a taut, dark line. "Is Dr. Alana Bloom visiting you next week?"

Margot tersely nodded. "She's moving in tomorrow. Mason has already started complaining about having a pushy Beta moving in on the family property, but Alana herself has made it clear he has no legal claim on who I can receive as a visitor during the heat cycle. She shouldn't pose a threat to him, it's not like we're making babies." She crossed her arms and stared into the dying embers of her fireplace. "Of course, having her here makes sure he can't attempt it. She's quite the cockblocker, my girl. He still has the scar on his forehead from when she went at him with a poker during the last heat cycle. No charges, of course. There never are. It's all 'Alpha rambunctiousness'."

"Quite," Hannibal said. Margot's tense posture remained immoveable, and shaking, well manicured fingers deftly touched tears from her lashes, capturing the dew of them beneath her nail. Hannibal knew he had to choose his words with extra care and he licked his lips over them, eager to know how they tasted. "I take it Mason is unaware of your past precautions?"

Margot choked down a small sob that threatened to erupt, only to put on her warrior's mask again. It was one that Hannibal knew well amongst his fellow Omegas and he was hopeful that Margot would be open to joining his army and bathe the world in Alpha blood. But she was currently involved with Dr. Bloom, who was a female Beta and a rather dogged one at that with an infuriating strict moral code. He was sure Margot hadn't revealed she'd been encouraged by him to kill her brother, but if she did Hannibal knew exactly what to say to deflect blame. His words were taken out of context, he would say to Dr. Bloom. He was speaking metaphorically, encouraging Margot to envision a world where her brother did not hold such power over her.

Dr. Alana Bloom was empathetic and kind. She would like that excuse.

"If you're talking about the abortions after he'd raped me during heats, most of those were spontaneous thanks to how much he messed up my insides when we were kids." She bit her bottom lip and shuddered. "No, he doesn't know. He figures I'm barren, which I guess I am. Thanks to him." She blinked back her tears and set her jaw, grinding her teeth as though she was chewing up the very soul of her evil brother and finding it distasteful. Hannibal wouldn't make the attempt, Mason Verger's organs were rancid, ugly things not worth consuming. "Alana doesn't know about that. If she did, you wouldn't have to keep telling me to kill Mason, she'd do it herself."

"Then why not tell her?" Hannibal said. "Between the two of you I'm sure an excellent plan could be hatched. Dr. Bloom is an exceptionally intelligent Beta woman, and her determination in protecting you would be paramount."

Margot frowned, tears traded for incredulity. "What makes you think she would be so eager to help me?"

"Because she loves you. Love knows no limits."

Margot closed her eyes against the strange advice and sighed, a tiny frown marring her delicate, doll-like features. "You are not like any other Alpha I have ever met, Dr. Lecter. Most of them just want to comfort me, and offer a listening ear that only halfway hears me. The rest of the time they spend wondering how to get into my pants when heat season rolls around. But you don't have any interest in that at all. I barely get a hint of Alpha off of you, and when you leave my house your scent doesn't linger, it's like you were never here."

"The spectrum of our sexual biology is more diverse than grains of sand in a desert. I admit, the one drop of Alpha rule can be a tad disingenuous, and I perhaps have more in common with Betas. But the law is the law."

"A drop of Alpha is still considerable enough," Margot reminded him, still frowning.

"Perhaps you are right. When Alana stays with you during your heats, do you find her company eases your discomfort?"

"If you're asking whether or not she satisfies me during my heat, the answer is yes, and I take it all back, that is a very perverted, intrusive question and very typically Alpha."

Hannibal gave her a disarming smile at this. "I thought it would be."

~*~

The corridor leading to the lab at Quantico had fewer lights than other sections of the building, a fact Hannibal was thankful for. The lab itself was awash in harsh fluorescent lighting and he wasn't looking forward to suffering beneath them, the stark brightness hurting his eyes and giving him a headache that would take hours to alleviate. He couldn't take over the counter medications, a typical Omega sensitivity where something as simple as an aspirin would give him stabbing stomach pains. He braced himself as he turned the corner, ready to endure an environment that was anathema to his genes.

He was surprised instead by the rising voice of Will Graham who was deep in argument with Dr. Frederick Chilton, the head psychiatrist at the Baltimore Hospital For The Criminally Insane. Will's voice rose as Hannibal approached them, and he could feel the unpleasant fury that wound from the Beta towards the Alpha, impotent against Will's ire.

"I am only suggesting it may be a good idea to consider wider possibilities and to lean on my expertise," Dr. Chilton said. He inched closer to Will whose fists were clenched tight, a stupid move for a Beta to make and one an Alpha would immediately consider a challenge. Of course, as a Beta, Chilton had the advantage of ignorance and could easily claim a lack of interpreting aggressive signals if it came to blows. As a psychiatrist, however, missing those signs would paint him what he really was--A fool.

"It is obvious to me, from what Mr. Crawford has shown me of the case files, that this is the work of a solitary Beta with aims at becoming an Alpha. He is clearly self medicating, with illegally obtained pheromones and his agenda is clear--He wants to obliterate what he perceives are Alpha rivals."

"That is not the case at all," Will snapped. "This is about justice, about...about war, the sentries getting prepped for battle. The Omega scent..."

"Is a ruse," Chilton finished. "Really, Mr. Graham, the very thought an Omega could be involved in a crime as vicious and bloody as this, it's a ridiculous notion at best. Mr. Crawford was wise to ask my second opinion on the matter and frankly, I am a little disturbed by your need to bring Omega dynamics into it. This says more about your state of mind than you may realize. I understand you are unbonded and unmated, and with your Alpha status that can be problematic psychologically."

Will's dark features deepened in fury. "Why does everyone have an opinion about my bedroom?"

"Basic needs fascinate us. I have myself written several papers on the subject of Alpha sexuality and am happy to see that measures are being taken by the current political hopefuls to put an end to such abstinence. Hopefully, they will put the law through immediately--Someone such as yourself will benefit from it, that is a guarantee."

This was a pushy, misguided blow, even for a Beta, and Hannibal moved quickly to stand beside Will, the heel of his palm gently smoothing down the length of Will's arm. Will's fists instantly relaxed and he looked up at Hannibal as though in a daze, his rage so consuming he'd been lost inside of it. Hannibal held out his hand. "Dr. Chilton, it is good to meet you. I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, an associate of Will's."

Dr. Chilton took the offering, his hand clammy and weak in Hannibal's cool grip. "I understand you are here to monitor Mr. Graham's stability. That may be quite a feat for a fellow Alpha to achieve on a regular basis, and I have to wonder at your decision to take on the challenge." Dr. Chilton gave him a near sneering smile, filled with self importance. "Of course, *I* would have been a better candidate, simply due to my experience with the more aggressive Alpha mindset. However, far be it from me to be stepping on the toes of another professional peer's therapy. I have to ask you, Dr. Lecter, what do you think of Mr. Graham's theory? Surely you can understand the problematic nature of it, and can convince him to see the crime in far less fantastical visions."

Hannibal masked himself in cold effrontery. "I believe Mr. Graham is an expert in what he does and I trust his analysis. Thus, I'm afraid I cannot extend that courtesy to you, Dr. Chilton." Hannibal gave Chilton's pique at this insult a bland smile. "I do believe I have read some one of your papers, Dr. Chilton, specifically 'Latent Alpha Aggression In Paranoid Schizophrenics'. Fascinating reading, though it was based on an older theory already in small circulation from the late 1930's. Word for word, in fact. It was a gesture of goodwill on your part to include the name of the original author. Eventually."

Mention of his early academic misstep reddened Dr. Chilton's cheeks and he stepped back from both Will and Hannibal, his chin tucked tight against his chest in a protective gesture Hannibal found highly amusing. No, one didn't like to have one's dirty laundry aired out in public, especially in front of a couple of Alphas.

"I believe I know your work as well, Dr. Lecter. 'The Study Of Revolutionary Submissives'. Riveting reading, if one likes to peruse the daily lives of peasants and hard working Omegas, whose real contribution to the great ancient wars is suspect at best..."

"There was extensive annotation," Hannibal reminded him. "Though I suppose no matter what proof history offers, it will forever be at the mercy of those who dismiss it."

"As I recall your paper caused quite a bit of controversy among our circles," Dr. Chilton replied, and Hannibal noted the disdain lurking in his features. He really was a small minded man, putting on airs of academic understanding without ever truly learning a thing.

"Controversy?" Will said, raising a brow at Hannibal. "Sounds like an interesting read."

Fully defeated now, Dr. Chilton huffed his good-byes. "I will be seeing you in future," he warned Will. "It is always good to get a fresh perspective, so please come to me if you feel the need to bring in a narrower focus. Good day, Dr. Lecter."

Will leaned against the grey concrete wall, watching Dr. Chilton's clipped march as he left them alone. Will was exhausted and Hannibal stood closer, as though ready to prop him up. "That man is as draining as a sieve. If it isn't in front of his face he can't see it, and even then, it's like he has common sense blindness. What a pompous, snobbish bastard, I pity his patients, he's the kind of asshole who lords himself over others and isn't above making ones who annoy him suffer."

"Your empathy is showing, Will," Hannibal said and Will nearly growled at the jibe.

"I'm done at the lab, I probably should have texted you to let you know, but I guess you were on your way anyway." Will gave him an abashed, tired shrug. "Lunch? There's a fancy enough looking tapas bar in town near your office."

"Hunting for adequate dating sites, Will? I appreciate your efforts to maintain my aesthetics, but I have warned you before, I am not partial to eating out." Will was about to protest and Hannibal cheerfully interrupted before he could start. "I have, however, taken the liberty of bringing lunch, for both of us, with me. It's in a lunchmate cooler in the trunk of my car and will be an adequate repast, though if you are averse to the venue we can arrange something different."

"Venue?"

"The basement cafeteria. Unless you don't want to overhear conversations about insect casing analysis over a meal?"

Will grinned at this. "I think I can manage that. Besides, I want to pick your brain about a few things, I like having you to bounce off of."

"I have already expressed to you how interesting I find our conversations. Just be warned that your concepts tend not to bounce so much as pummel."

Will laughed at this, and picked at imaginary lint on Hannibal's shoulder, the near touch sending an electrified jolt through him that he had to fight to suppress. "I couldn't possibly harm you," Will said, still smiling, though the sentiment had a layer of confusion beneath it that left his cheer stumbling. "Not with words. Not in any way."

~*~
"The art books were my grandmother's. I spent more time with them than I did my actual schoolwork." Will took another bite of his slice of french batarde, finishing it and moaning in delight over the pate smeared over its surface. "This is really an outlandish spread for a simple afternoon meal, Hannibal. You should have brought a silk tablecloth, some candles and a bottle of wine to accompany it, forensic corpse talk be damned."

"I do have a bottle of wine in my trunk, a delightful malbec of exceptional quality, but it is frowned upon to drink it in a Quantico cafeteria. It's been my experience that FBI agents are notorious teetotallers, an anomaly in law enforcement, I assure you." Hannibal topped up Will's wine glass with sparkling water before putting the squat green Perrier bottle down and picking up his own bubbling glass. "To your health," he said, and clinked the rims of their glasses together.

As a simple faux wine and cheese arrangement for two it was perhaps a tad too genteel for nosy cafeteria goers, though Jimmy Price made sure to invade their space and comment on the quality of a good blue cheese. "Maggots," Jimmy asserted with grave certainty. "The best Carzu Muzu I ever had was crawling with them. They're mostly cut off before sale of course, but what's a little extra protein amongst immune strengthening mold? Is that Roquefort?" Jimmy had helped himself, along with a generous amount of the batarde. "Mm, delightful. Though I have to admit, I'm more of an unpasteurized Stilton man."

Having effectively put Will off the cheese, Jimmy returned to his spot in the cafeteria with Brian Zeller, who gave the lunch a raised brow and a playful, gagging pantomime. Hannibal took the ribbing in stride and was happy to see that Will tucked into the liver pate instead, and with the accompaniment of a mixture of olives, and the slices of batarde that were from an organic bakery not far from Hannibal's office, he would dare to call their little meeting a success. The liver belonged to McDermott, of course, and it had just the right amount of fatty deposits as all alcoholics sported to make the pate the creamy consistency desired.

"Your grandmother was a patron of the arts as well as a swamp maiden." Hannibal smiled as he sipped the sparkling water from his glass, his lips pursed in mischief. "Your words, Will, not mine."

"She was," Will said, slowly nodding. "Don't let my talk of mystery meat and algae encrusted walls fool you, my grandmother was obsessed with art. She picked up massive reference books from library discard sales and used bookstores, she must have had at least a hundred of them, all lined up proudly in her living room, begging for guests and strangers to sneak off to the couch with one of them and educate themselves on the merits of Gainsborough. She didn't have a favourite style, or era, art was a place of magic for her." Will continued to smile as he gently twirled the base of his wine glass in a slow circle on the surface of the table, making a damp spiral beneath it. "I remember coming home from school one day, and I'd had a fight with a couple of the bigger kids who were a few grades up from me. Stood my own, but I earned a black eye and a foul mood and all I could feel was angry. And there was my grandmother, handing me a shot of swamp liquor, and a book full of Japanese prints from the Jazz Age she'd picked up at a foreclosure sale, and didn't she talk my ear off about blocks of colour and simple lines being complex and how culture can be so progressive it infects the way a whole other country sees itself. Before I knew it my black eye was a thing of the past and the bullies I had to deal with were just wisps of mist on the water. My head was full of geisha girls dressed like sloppy flappers and Omega males in full make-up. Bare nipples and limpid eyes. I had good dreams that night."

Hannibal fought to keep the delighted grin he felt from being too apparent, for he was sure Will didn't notice how often he slipped into his Louisiana drawl when talking about his grandmother, his mouth chewing on Cajun phrases that snuck through when he was feeling especially comfortable. "A formidable woman," Hannibal observed. "And yet, as an Omega, a non-person in the ways of our world at present. What we have gained in wealth we have lost in social equality. Human beings are obsessed with cages, it seems. We forever lock up those things we believe are precious only to abuse and neglect them."

Will's rocked back in his chair, his mood serious. "How was your visit with Margot Verger?"

"Strained," Hannibal said. He thought about picking up another piece of the batarde, only to put it back down, his appetite quashed. "I was relieved to hear Dr. Bloom is moving in with her this week and will be staying with her for a protracted period of time." He gave Will's blank look at this information a small grimace. "It seems I may have said too much. You weren't aware they were in a relationship."

"It's not my business, I only know Alana on the periphery of my acquaintances," Will said, shrugging. His empathy was pulling him into Margot's place of suffering, Hannibal noted, watching carefully as Will's shoulders slumped, his mood taking on a striking similarity to the one Margot had projected in her cottage home as she stared with blinking, inwardly crumbling rage into the dying embers of her fireplace. "To have to live with a disgusting piece of shit brother like that...Alana has her job cut out for her. I take it Margot is nothing like him."

"She is an unbonded, sullied Omega, Will. I am pleased that she has found such a strong ally in Dr. Bloom, though I do fear there are times when the ugly grip of depression suffocates even the hottest flame in one's heart. It is a far too common affliction in my practise. The world has forgotten there were Omegas like your grandmother, who forged their own paths and were not given special treatment that has only served to imprison them. Margot Verger is an intelligent, vibrant woman despite the abuse she has endlessly suffered, and hers is not a singular story. There is so much waste of potential, Will. It is a painful thing to understand at times."

Will pressed his lips into a thin line at this. "There is *no* understanding it," he spat. The venom with which he said this took Hannibal aback, and he distracted the ire by packing up the remains of their lunch. "There is no *nice* portion to this tale, Dr. Lecter. No *polite* way to talk about it. Our world is messed up, it's full of inequalities that have nothing to do with natural law or human reason, it is simply punching bags meeting fists and there is *no* other purpose for it."

Will earned the stares of various Quantico staff members at this outburst and Hannibal enjoyed the growing discomfort that had overtaken the large room. "So what do you propose to do about it, my dear Will? Shall we expect you to go on an Alpha killing spree alongside our Ripper to even out the tide?"

"I have no argument with the Chesapeake Ripper," Will said, and Hannibal felt the little flutter in his stomach hammer against his ribcage, making it hard to swallow and breath. He masked himself in calm, but it was not what he was feeling, which was a sudden rush of heat that he felt right into the heels of his feet. He half wondered if he was going into his season, but this sensation was sparked by emotion, not physical need. He wasn't sure what it meant.

"The Chesapeake Ripper has a clear and concise agenda," Will said, his voice too loud for this sort of conversation, but Hannibal wasn't about to stop him. "He wants to create an equal world, to toss off the silk veils society has been hiding behind and reveal the revolting, naked denigration beneath it. He has very good reasons for killing Alphas, and his use of Omega accomplices is not sexual in nature, but one of a comrade in arms. This is political, and it is not a platform I am in disagreement with. If I could string up Mason Verger by the tendons of his neck and slowly watch him suffocate as he dangled from them I wouldn't hesitate to do it."

Brian Zeller dropped his cup of coffee and Will glared at him as he picked it up and tossed it into the waste bin before turning back to Hannibal. Hannibal, however, had already long noted that Zeller and Price had been eavesdropping on their conversation, curious about how two Alphas were so friendly for such an extended period of time in each other's company. There was usually aggressive posturing by now, and they were keenly listening, feeling out the beginnings of Will's fight.

"Don't worry, Dr. Lecter, you have not breached any confidentiality in regards to Margot Verger. I have already figured out the kinds of horrors that she's been through. My question is, what do you believe needs to be done about it? I think the Chesapeake Ripper took a serious misstep in leaving that bastard alone and going for his college days crony. I have to wonder why." Will's anger bubbled on the surface of his soul and Hannibal understood that there was more at play here than a criticism of his psychiatrist's effectiveness. He was seeking out a like minded revolutionary, one who would not find it strange that an Omega grandmother could have such a profound influence on an Alpha. He'd never asked about Will's mother and he never mentioned her. The pain of that absence was clear to Hannibal and he had seen it before in his practise, that usual sadness and it's inevitable end. She had died by her own hand. He wondered what method she used.

It was suddenly obvious to Hannibal that Will Graham was as much an alien in this landscape as he himself was, and the thought sent a signal deep into his belly that fluttered like a trapped sparrow inside of it, one that he clenched his abdominal muscles against in a vain attempt to crush it.

"What do you suggest she do, Dr. Lecter? People hire psychiatrists to hear good advice. In her situation, with no hope of escape, what great survival plan are you capable of giving her?"

"The most obvious one," Hannibal said, knees crossed, hands clasped benign on his lap, his head held high. He was the very image of proud, cold, professional calm.

"I told her to kill her brother."

Will slumped back in his seat at this, his mouth opening and closing in a shocked gasp that finally ended in a highly amused grin. "You didn't."

"I most certainly did."

"You don't expect her to go through with it."

"Sadly, she will not. She is a profound victim of her brother's will and as such shall find extracting herself from his overbearing power over her near impossible. I do admit, the advice is unorthodox, but it is not without substance. Fantasy can fill in what the body cannot perform. The seed of imagination has been planted, and though she has not admitted it, I am sure she readily envisions the various ways in which she murders her brother. A tapestry of inner strength is being built as she slays her demon over and over."

Will raised a brow at this and shook his head, chuckling over the information. "You've filled her mindscape with blood and that doesn't bother you. But I get it, it's better to put all that anger outside of yourself instead of allowing it to destroy you."

Hannibal was delighted that Will so quickly took his side in this therapy, though he of course really did want Margot to kill her brother, the insufferable little monster needed a good lesson and who better to inflict endless torment than one's victim. He had strung McDermott up on the Verger property as a warning that his piggish ways were about to catch up with him, and in the usual Mason style he had been too busy trying to pick a fight with who he perceived was the weakest Alpha in the pack to notice the telegram of destroyed human flesh.

They were alone in the cafeteria now, Price and Zeller having hustled back to the lab, while the rest of the stragglers moved on back to classrooms or offices to pursue justice in far more officious looking spaces. The white expanse was uncomfortable for Hannibal who preferred smaller, cozy rooms, but at least where they were sitting the glare from the fluorescent lights didn't reach them. He'd chosen a table beneath a burnt out bulb and the small section of greyed space was a welcome balm against the rest of the building's white out glare.

"We got some history on McDermott that was pretty unsettling." Will drummed his fingers on the surface of the table, his hands framing the small lunchmate canteen Hannibal had packed their lunch in. Will seemed reluctant to talk about it, his brow furrowing deep as he focused inward, the haunting images wanting to come out to play. But what he'd discovered had hit Will in ways that weren't the usual admiration for style and substance. Hannibal was curious what had brought revulsion instead of envy out of Will, and he waited with grave patience for him to continue.

"Have you ever met a male Omega?" Will asked, surprising him.

Hannibal licked his lips and didn't meet Will's gaze, focusing instead on how quickly he could open the lunchmate and snatch up the knife. He calculated how long it would take for Will to bleed out, just a few minutes, and figured severing the main artery in his neck would be best. He'd make the cut deep enough to slice into his trachea as well, might as well be extra cautious, wouldn't want him screaming for help in a building full of FBI agents.

"Why are you asking?" Hannibal wrapped his hand around the handle of the lunchmate and pressed the button that would release the lid.

"McDermott was involved in the death of a male Omega about twelve years ago. It was pretty gristly, enough that just the description of the crime scene photos in the cold case article is already ghosting the back of my skull. They figure he was a trafficked male Omega from Russia before the political crackdown pretty much killed the industry from that end. He was sold to someone here, they always are, and whoever bought him had ample cash." Will fumbled with his fingers as though not knowing what to do with them. He sat rigid in the uncomfortable plastic seat, a bead of sweat seeping from his brow. Hannibal cocked his head, taking this reaction in with interest.

"Why would this Omega's death affect you so profoundly, Will? I can see that you are upset and yet the display of McDermott's body did little to disgust you. A description, is that all you heard?" Will nodded. "And here you are grinding your teeth and sweating over it. Explain it to me. Why is this case, in your mind, worse?"

Will took in a long, shaking intake of breath, letting it out in an equally trembling gasp. "I don't want to be in that killer's perspective," Will said, and he swallowed as though a foul taste had met his tongue. "He's rancid. That Omega wasn't even treated like cattle, there's more kindness for meat. This was an innocent, wrenched from his home, a human being bought and sold to be tortured for someone's pathetic whim. What they did...First they..."

Hannibal felt the pinch of metal against his neck, his inner dungeon opening ever so slightly. He reeled against the onslaught and the words were out before he could stop them. "Will. Please. Don't."

Will frowned and clamped his mouth shut, his eyes darting all over Hannibal as though taking all kinds of micro expression cues and determining just what it was that had made the man suddenly beg off a description of a crime where he'd been so analytical before. "Male Omegas are extremely rare," Hannibal said, as though it was an explanation and he was unhappy to see that Will didn't find it to be one. "I deal with the Omega perspective a considerable amount in my practise. I fear I may be overloaded with their challenges at present."

Will's confusion softened into an expression of genuine sympathy. He left his seat to stand behind Hannibal, and without warning placed a warm hand on Hannibal's shoulder and gently massaged it. Will had a strong grip, the exact pressure of which Hannibal tucked into his memory palace, committing to the forefront of his mind the differing depths of fingers against muscle, the unrelenting Alpha strength that was poised along the long arm that wonderful, hot hand was attached to.

"I forget you have a job outside of here sometimes," Will said. His hand was still massaging Hannibal's shoulder, and it took all of his inner resources not to curl into the touch, and beg of Will to slide both of his strong hands over him. Will's hand finally left Hannibal's shoulder, only for his nails to absently scratch along the line of Hannibal's back, shoulder to shoulder across the expensive fabric of his suit in an absent gesture that had little to do with ardour and was simply Will utterly lost in thought. "The first suspect that comes to mind is Mason, of course, he's the kind of person who gets his rocks off with this kind of sadism. But I can't help but get the feeling there's something bigger under this. Always, just that nagging, relentless...*something* that I'm not seeing."

His touch was dangerously close to the nape of Hannibal's neck, a pleasure zone that was highly erotic for Omegas, especially when stroked by a passionate Alpha. Will, hopelessly lost in the case, continued to prattle and trace his fingers back and forth, and every time they passed the centre of his shoulder blades Hannibal fought to keep a needful shudder at bay.

Of course, he could just stand up. He could move away from Will's touch and Will's hand would fall to his side, completely clueless as to the erotic storm he was tempting inside of Hannibal. But he was immobilized by how pleasant it was, and when Will's thumb grazed that sensitive spot at the base of Hannibal's neck he couldn't stop the heady sigh that escaped him.

"...And I was thinking, if Jack's going to be getting Chilton involved in all of this, he's got another thing coming. I am not co-operating with that self indulgent ass, he can write a paper about that, The Empath Who Wouldn't. You feeling okay? You look a little pale." Will's hand finally fell away though he remained standing behind Hannibal, who felt glued to his seat, unable to turn. "It really has been a rough day for you, and here I am being a selfish prick and trying to push you beyond your limits. I should be more understanding considering how often Jack does it to me and I don't like it. You're so tense, your muscles are all knotted up, have you ever thought of going to a masseuse? You seem feverish, damn I think you are coming down with something." Will put the back of his hand on Hannibal's forehead, and he might as well have given him a lobotomy it was so electrifying. "Do you want a glass of water or something?"

"I want to give you my heart," Hannibal weakly said. He was wound far too tightly, he realized, he had to bring himself back down from that Heavenly sphere that held Will's touch and descend into his cold calm. It was a difficult task when the man creating his inner chaos was now standing beside him. "Couer du beouf," Hannibal clarified and his shoulders relaxed as Will stepped fully in front of him, looking down at him in mute question. "I am inviting you to my home for dinner tomorrow night. Is eight o'clock acceptable?"

Will was puzzled, but he agreed. "Is this a new kind of therapy we're trying out?"

"It is friendship, Will. I like your company."

"We do have..Interesting conversations." He watched as Will pondered the concept, rolled it carefully around in his imagination, wondering why the air between them had taken on this strange intensity. Hannibal couldn't answer him. He didn't understand it himself. It wasn't heat, that wasn't happening until well into next week. If there were pre-season symptoms they would be too mild to rise above the scent of Alpha his body exuded.

"Couer du beouf, hunh?" Will nodded. He gave Hannibal a smirking grin. "Sure. I'll take your heart and eat it."