Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter six

Janine Avion is a pale, meek Omega of twenty-one years who was sullied at sixteen years old by a Beta boyfriend when she was at band camp, making her an unbondable social pariah. She is as thin as onion paper and just as transparent, every emotion plain on her tiny features, and her hands shake as she wipes the tears from her eyes with a piece of silk cloth Hannibal gave her for the purpose. Tissues aren't soft enough for her delicate skin, and tend to leave red splotches on her cheeks when she tries to wipe them dry. Janine rarely speaks when she's in her therapy session with Hannibal and when she does it's in a voice so tiny it's a struggle to know she's capable of moving her mouth at all.

"They send me here because they think you'll be fooled into bonding me," she whispered.

Hannibal smiled fondly at her at this, ensuring her that there was to be no recrimination for this belief. "I have no such temptations from you, my dear girl. Your parents are overbearing social upstarts who are disappointed their ticket to fancy society engagements has been compromised and are hoping I am desperate enough, as an Alpha of a *certain age*, to take what I can get to start a family--even an unfortunate sullied girl who is exceptionally pretty. I have no such designs."

Janine looked perturbed and relieved. Her fingers knotted together, her hands shaking.

"What I am planning to do is build you, like one builds a castle, to make it an impenetrable fortress that no enemy can overtake. It will have walls made of thick rock that no gun nor spear can penetrate. The battle is coming, but you are safe, Janine, do you know why?"

Janine silently shook her head, blonde hair so fair it was nearly white falling in wisps across her equally pale face.

"Who lives in castles, Janine?"

Janine shrugged. "Kings?"

"Yes. And queens. But these people come and go and are weak when they are on their own. Supreme rule does not mean supreme power do you understand what I am telling you?"

Janine shook her head, refusing to allow her gaze to meet his and kept her chin tucked hard against her chest, too terrified to speak. Hannibal sighed in genuine sympathy and placed his hand beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She did so with fearful submission, her large green eyes like emeralds in her pale, round face.

"Warriors live in castles, Janine. It is they who protect the kings and queens, who are themselves weak, helpless even, without them. You are not to blame for the whims of your heart, and as a warrior what you do with your body is exclusively your business. It has nothing to do with the will of your parents, or the laws of society, or what a foolish, hormonal Beta boy thinks of you. Warriors have scars, Janine, and you already have a few on your heart." He leaned closer to her, unable to keep the oddly maternal feelings welling within him, a latent Omega trait that signalled his heat was approaching soon, probably within the next couple of days. It was one of the clearer signals, this sudden need to nurture, a feeling that made him pause at every cherub faced child he happened to meet and remark, without a shred of irony, "I could eat you up!"

He ran his palm along Janine's round, pale cheeks and cupped her face in his hands. Such a delightful child, one in desperate need of love and understanding, the lack of both having left her a shell of her potential. Janine had been forced into a tiny, quiet life, and was patiently suffocating within it. Hannibal was looking forward to bringing the glint of her sword to the surface, breaking that still glass caging her soul with a shattering battle cry.

"This boy took something from you that was precious and he knew the consequences of that," Hannibal assured her. "Tell me, is there something precious that he has right now, that he dotes on and adores and gives a love that he refused to give to you, despite his taking?"

Janine's voice was a tiny, barely heard whisper. "His car."

"Of course it is," Hannibal said, and he let his hand fall. How like his dear, twin sister Mischa she was, he inwardly remarked, so soft and nervous, wide eyes filled with an innocence that remained even in their captivity. He would give her the tools to protect it, he would hone her innocence into a powerful, steel edge. Saints made the best warriors. They were relentless in holy zeal.

"Destroy it," Hannibal instructed her, and she shivered in confusion when she met his gaze, nearly backing away from the red pinpricks in evidence deep within it.

"H-How?" she whispered.

"My dear child, in any way you wish. If you burn it and he happens to still be in it, all the better. Gasoline and a match is a simple solution, though I believe you are a far more creative girl than that, I've seen all of your paintings. It's why your parents sent you to me, they were concerned about your obsession with painting rotted hearts."

She had noticed, of course, that Hannibal had placed one of her more disturbing works on his office wall, behind his desk, the image of a spoiled heart pierced with fingers spread wide, tearing it to pieces. It held all the elements of hyper realism, her careful shading adding a three dimensional effect that made it appear as if the heart was genuinely dripping black blood out of the frame, the fingers dug into it ready to reach out and tear the organ from the viewer. Her mother, with tears in her eyes, called Janine's work 'macabre'. Hannibal knew better. Like the precious young woman who created it, it was beautiful.

She became slightly more animated as their meeting went on, eagerly taking in Hannibal's advice on how to best destroy the car, and perhaps even a cut break line would not be out of the question, though it would be hard to manage the specifics of the victim. Her porcelain cheeks held more colour in them when their session was over, and Hannibal promised to bring in some paint supplies and they would forgo the next few sessions so she could create in peace and without judgement. He was sure there were far more violent musings beneath that forced quiet, and he was eager to draw them out. Strength, once recognized and released, was difficult to put back into chains.

After sending her back to the stifling discomfort of her family home, and giving her a few pointers on how to deal with it ("Simply imagine all the fun you will have when you set fire to your mother's bedroom curtains, for practice. They will accuse you of being a pyromaniac, of course, but the flames, my dear girl, they are positively *cleansing*...") Hannibal was free for the rest of the morning to go over his patient notes--he hesitated to call them 'battle plans', though this is exactly what they were--and with this rather ample amount of free time his mind wandered to the events of the previous evening.

Will's attraction to him was evident, and while he wanted to remain the aloof and unrequiting psychiatrist, shocked by his patient's amorous transference and proof of Will's instability, the facts were becoming far too complex for his liking. Will had kissed him and he'd liked it, going so far as to lean into his touch and part his lips wider, allowing Will further access. If it had continued, there was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that he would have lured Will into his basement lair, and after a heated exchange of dominance versus submission, where they'd engaged in all the commonalities of his recent fantasies, Hannibal would have been sated and riding on the high of an orgasm as he killed him.

That would have been unfortunate, for he was growing very fond of Will, and this was no mean feat for Hannibal placed exceptionally few people in that realm. He was surprised that a scruffy, angry little FBI profiler who was perpetually dog scented had been the one to breach that particular barrier and wondered what this said about himself. Upon reflection he genuinely enjoyed Will's earthy scent, slightly musky and tainted with motor oil from years of fixing fishing boats and a pervasive, forest flavour to him that Hannibal's keen memory brought rushing back to his tongue. He licked his teeth, as though tasting a morsel of Will that remained, and was disturbed by the jolt of longing that shot through him, slightly swelling both his sex organs and leaving him feeling feverish.

There was more than physical attraction at stake, Hannibal understood this, and in the past month he had forged a strong friendship with Will Graham, one that was mutual and that eased their combined loneliness. He truly did enjoy the man's company, and if he felt an ache when he couldn't see him due to outstanding appointments or conflicting schedules, it was due to that familiar emptiness creeping back, one he was sure Will suffered as well. Their closeness sometimes led Hannibal to believe that Will was that rare creature who would be permitted to see him, who could be let in and not in just the metaphorical sense. The very idea made Hannibal's stomach flutter.

A clink of iron and the scar at Hannibal's neck pinched and he recoiled from the thought, pushing the memory of Will Graham and his tender, questioning touch away. Such a foolish notion, thinking an Alpha would do more than take, for it had been his unfortunate experience that this was their prime function, to bully and shove themselves on the submissive. He'd been forced into that role enough to know the cruelty of that game. Fascinating as Will Graham was, he refused to play it with him.

Playing Alpha was always an uneven subterfuge, and he had no envy for the gender other than its usefulness in survival. By the time he had been plucked from the orphanage he had already suffered the loss of Mischa and his own innocence, the brutality he endured sometimes reeling him with flashbacks that left him howling in horror and pain. Lady Murasaki had been the one to rescue him, had walked into the orphanage and instantly recognized not only that he was of the Lecter clan, but also held that royal lineage's special gifts.

"A male Omega is the greatest proof of royalty," Lady Murasaki had told him once, when he was sixteen and suffering through his first heat. "In Japan they were the children of samurai, did you know that? The samurai appreciated not only the beauty of the male Omega but their cunning and strength. Alphas and Omegas traditionally fought alongside each other in battle, as passionate equals. Who would not fight to the death for the one they love? I am sorry that you have come into a world that has no understanding of your precious gifts. They are afraid of your intelligence, they want you to submit without acknowledging your strength. So many lies surround you, tangled half truths that are meant to destroy your significance. They will tell you that you go mad in your desires. That you cannot bear children. That you are meek ornamentation."

He can still see her, sitting at her dressing table, draped in a dark green silk kimono, her posture one of exotic grace, a cup of green tea at her elbow. The tea steamed out of a traditional Japanese tea cup, tall and cylindrical without a handle, meant to be cupped in the palms as one contemplated its simplicity and warmth. But there was nothing simple about that conversation, as evidenced when she opened the drawer of her dressing table and took out a very old and well weathered photo album. She opened it to a specific page and pointed to the various images of two samurai, one clearly an Alpha, the other a transparently male Omega. They were both in full armour, their expressions grim and battle weary, the comfortable way they held their swords belying the constant use they once made of them. By the time this picture had been taken, however, the Meiji Restoration had all but abolished the samurai as a class, thus rendering the image into a playful shadow of the truth. In other pictures, the Alpha male was decked in a highly western styled formal black uniform, showing his true status as a proud member of the Tokyo police force, the majority of whom were former samurai.

"These pictures were taken in 1910, during the last few years of the Meiji Restoration. There were very few samurai left, even then, the tradition was beginning to wane. Modern warfare was not conducive to the strict samurai code and in the Restoration the samurai lost their social standing, and were forced to take work as government officials, accountants and, in the case of your great-grandfather, police officers." She placed a pale, graceful finger along the edge of the ancient photographs. "That is my great-grandfather on the left, and his chosen mate, my great-*kaika*, is on the right." Her red mouth upturned in a tiny, delicate smile at Hannibal's shock. "In Japan we have a special word for such maternity, *kaika shikyu*, which means 'flowering womb'. It is called this because these *kaika* have a limited window in which to bear children." She proudly pointed to another picture. "My great-*kaika* managed to do it twice."

Hannibal looked at the image of the samurai and the two small children balanced on their knees, their posture oddly candid for a turn of the century photo. Lady Murasaki's great-grandfather was laughing, her great-kaika distracted by the happy infant who was slightly blurry in the sepia photo, unable to keep still. She pointed to the restless baby. "This is your grandmother. She met your grandfather during a visit to Japan in the late 1920's. As you are aware, the royal lineage of the Lecter clan has always been made of either Alphas or Omegas. The joining of the Lecter clan and the Murasaki lines was a cause for great celebration between the two families." She had placed her cool, pale hand on Hannibal's cheek, then, in much the same way he had comforted his patient, Janine. "In our world, who and what you are has always been a source of pride for us."

He felt the pinch, then, the clank of iron clasping tight around his neck, the pain of what happened afterwards an unbearable echo. Bile rose in his throat, burning it, and he fought the urge to gag. The reality of the present slowly coalesced around him, but he could feel the fever pitch of that malignant fear still cling to him.

His cell phone rang and he jolted at its intrusion. He forced calm into himself as he answered it, forcing his fear into his belly, where it cruelly twisted inside of his gut.

"Will," he said.

"Never a 'hello' with you, huh?" Will coughed and his voice sounded muted, the din of others moving around and speaking behind him invading the conversation. Hannibal could hear Jack's low, booming voice, making unintelligible complaints. "There's been another murder. Jack wants you here."

He didn't say it, but Hannibal could feel it. What Will really said was, '*I* want you here.'

Hannibal paused at this information, because he was quite sure that the murder wasn't one of *his*, for it was unlikely one of his Omega warriors would strike out on their own accord, not when they had pledged loyalty to his guidance. For a moment, he was worried the murder was committed by Chloe, who was close to snapping and killing her Alpha husband if only to alleviate her tedium. Curious, he forced a smile into his words and perhaps answered Will with more lightheartedness than he had intended. "I shall be there within the hour, though I'm disappointed you did not request that I pick you up first. I would have cancelled my appointment and brought you breakfast."

"I'm glad you didn't," Will said, and the heaviness in his voice concerned Hannibal. "And for your own sake, I suggest you skip lunch."

~*~

Early that morning Will sat across from Dr. Mindy Singh, his lips pressed tight together in nervous anticipation. She went over the results on the papers before her again with meticulous precision. Will nodded, his eyes darting over her credentials, which were proudly framed and displayed on her office wall. They seemed official enough and he inwardly chastised himself for these paranoid doubts. He felt increasingly uncomfortable. The tape securing the small cotton ball in the crook of his arm from where she'd taken blood pinched his skin beneath the sleeve of his sweater, and he moved his arm in an effort to loosen it. Though a patient usually had to wait for results, he'd pressed her to rush it, urging her to use the lab next door, otherwise he'd be getting the forensic techs at Quantico to do it and since she surmised it would probably be better to hear the bad news in her office rather than in front of a half dissected corpse, she complied. The results took half an hour, and Will had waited impatiently, his knee bouncing at the sight of every lab coat that dared to cross her examining room door. He checked his watch. Nearly ten o'clock now, he'd been here almost three hours. If he had to be locked up in this confined space one minute more he was going to go crazy, he was sure of it, he was going to start tearing apart the walls.

"I need you to be sure."

She looked up from the papers, and gave Will a worried frown. "I'm sorry, Mr. Graham," she said. "The results are still the same. You *don't* have cancer."

Will stared at her, blank. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and leaned closer to her, fearful someone would overhear even with her office door closed. His breath felt shaky, his lips chapped. "I told you what's happening. I keep getting 'attracted' to an Alpha at my work, and there's no way that's possible...You're going to need to do those tests again, obviously you followed a faulty procedure..."

Annoyed now, Dr. Singh slapped Will's results into a manila envelope and handed them to him. "Mr. Graham, I put you through a very rigorous testing regime, at your request, and I got your results immediately--under duress, I may add. You have a much higher chance of obtaining false positives in a lab that is not familiar with this kind of testing. Your hormone levels are normal. Your white cell counts are normal. You are a healthy, fit, thirty-eight year old Alpha male who has no sign of cardiovascular disease or cognitive impairment." Dr. Singh sighed at Will's obvious distress. "Have you ever thought to consider that maybe this problem isn't you but perhaps the Alpha you are 'attracted' to? Maybe it's his chemistry that's all off--there's been an increase in Betas using Alpha hormone supplements to mask their gender in order to gain promotions at work, maybe that's what's going on."

"He doesn't have the usual Beta traits," Will said, shrugging. "He's not bossy, he's not approaching me with that usual 'cater to the Alpha mindset' stance or halfhearted challenges to my dominance. Besides, he doesn't need to mask himself for gain, he's transparently brilliant."

"Then what you really need isn't another slew of useless tests, Mr. Graham," Dr. Singh said, evenly. "You need a psychiatrist."

Will's cell phone erupted over his confusion and he took it out of his jacket pocket, fumbling over it as Dr. Singh left her desk and opened the door of her office, bidding him a polite, but firm, good-bye. She was still angry over his remark that she'd made a lab error, and Will gave her a sheepish apology before leaving, one she didn't quite accept. He didn't call Jack back until he was in his car, the manila envelope tossed beside him on the passenger seat.

"Graham," Jack said, voice clipped and instantly putting Will on edge. "We've got a crime scene."

~*~
He knew something was up when he arrived and the forensic team was still pulled back on the scene's periphery, hesitant to move in. Beverly caught Will's questioning gaze the minute he approached and she held up a rubber gloved hand, holding him back behind the police tape. "Here's the deal. I'm an Alpha, so are you, so is Jack. I'm leaving the processing on this one to the Betas, it's still an ugly job but at least their hormones aren't going to get in the way." Beverly put the back of her hand to her mouth, her knuckles stifling in a disgusted choke. Will stared at her in mute alarm. Beverly had guts like a steel drum, this was one bad scene.

"It's an Omega male," she said, confirming his suspicions. "Not sure what age yet, but he was definitely in heat when he was killed, the pheromones are pretty ripe. I can give you a mask to help filter out the scent, but I can't guarantee it's going to be a hundred percent affective. I just cried for ten minutes in front of Price and Zeller, and you know how these Betas are, they don't get how strong Alpha emotions get dredged up around Omega victims, they think we're being dramatic." Beverly sniffed, and moved away from the scene, but not before handing Will an imposing looking gas mask usually used on biohazard sites. Will refused it.

"I have to be receptive to what the killer experienced, this mask will dull my senses too much to get an accurate reading on the scene." He thumbed the filters, the skull-like construction of the mask disturbing him. "A male Omega? You're sure?"

Beverly didn't answer him. She was too rattled and he could feel her nerves shaking along his perception, her steps uneasy as she began tearing off her forensics jumpsuit and heading for the comfort of the front seat of the van. Jack Crawford waved him over at the back of it, and Will gratefully left behind the police tape to approach his superior officer, who was stamping out the cold with rough claps of his gloved hands.

"It's a hell of a thing," Jack said, and Will sagely nodded. A harsh breeze attacked them, making the tips of Will's ears smart. "The good news is, Zeller and Price tell me the cold froze the body, so there should be ample evidence preserved in and around it. The bad news is what Beverly already told you. A male Omega, probably the victim of illegal poaching and as its unlikely he's from the United Main, the second best guess is Malaysia, that's the most recent skin route. Whoever the sick son of a bitch is who did this they picked a hell of a time to do it. The heat season will be on us full force in a few days, and this one started early. I can't even stand at the police tape, I can smell the poor thing's fear and you know what that does to bastard Alphas like us."

Will gave Jack an understanding nod. There were few things that made an Alpha more prone to aggression than a frightened Omega in heat. The instinct to protect would override any sense of self preservation and Alphas had been known to throw themselves in front of bullets and hungry bears to protect vulnerable Omega mates. They also killed perceived threats, including rivals, the instinct so strong that Alphas were given lots of leeway within United Main law should two Alphas fight to the death over an Omega in heat. It made the murder all the more perplexing, and Will was fearful of what strutting around in that kind of twisted perspective was going to do him, especially since his own mental chemistry was feeling way, way off.

"I'm calling Dr. Lecter," Jack said, and didn't give Will a chance to argue. "You aren't going near that scene until he gets here."

"I'll call him," Will quickly said, and took out his cell phone. He didn't think Hannibal would tell Jack why he'd be reluctant to come to the scene, but one couldn't be too cautious, especially in an environment like this, with the terror laced corpse of an Omega poising half of the team on the verge of violence.

He warned Hannibal of the scene as best he could without giving him details and then waited with Jack at the back of the forensics van for him to arrive. Beverly remained in the front seat and while he wanted to comfort her, he understood her need to be alone with her own inner rage. Alphas needed long cool off periods, and it was one of the big advantages to living at Wolf Trap. After a particularly bad nightmare, he could wander the periphery of his property for hours, confident he wouldn't run into anyone who might tempt his ire. Will shoved his hands in his pockets, grateful for the relentless, icy winds that slipped between Jack and himself. The dump site for the body was a stretch of river not very far from Wolf Trap. In spring he often did his fly fishing at this exact spot. The dumping of the body here felt like a violation on his sacred space and that familiar anger was already crawling up the back of his neck and into the lining of his skull.

"Who found the body?" Will asked.

"Some guy with a plough business in town name Aaron Nestle. He was duck hunting and he was out with his dog, an old Labrador retriever. She kept whining and barking and wouldn't leave the body alone until he came up to see what she found. Local forces contacted us right away when they saw what they were dealing with. They thought it was the Ripper."

"It won't be the Ripper," Will assured him. He shivered and it wasn't just from the cold. "I know Aaron, he ploughs out my driveway. He's a good guy, I'm sure this affected him pretty badly."

"He was still puking when the local P. D. showed up."

This wasn't a reassuring detail. By the time Hannibal's car pulled up, Will was well and truly frozen, his shoulders hunched inward in a vain attempt at warmth. In his typical prepared style, Hannibal stepped through the snow drifts with the ease of a deer picking through dead brambles, steaming cups of take-out coffee in a paper tray. He was underdressed for the weather, and Will wondered if he'd rushed over, heedless of the need for a proper coat and hat, and especially proper footwear. Hannibal exuded calm warmth as he handed a coffee to Beverly, through the open window of the van and then walked to the rear, handing one to Jack and lastly, one to Will. "I didn't know how everyone took their coffee, so I opted for cream and sugar across the board. Except for you, Will. Black, two sweeteners."

"Thanks," Will said, and sipped it gratefully, his hands already stinging from the warmth the cup provided.

Hannibal stood next to him, their shoulders nearly touching and Will had to fight the urge to haul the man off to some quiet corner of the forest and beg forgiveness, ask him to punch him in the face, anything than to be feeling this miserable and awkward around the one person he'd dared to call his friend. Hannibal gestured to the crime scene with his coffee cup. "I trust this is not the usual work you've had as of late. A fan of the Ripper, adding to the repertoire?"

"The victim is a male Omega," Will said, and didn't miss the slight flinch of Hannibal's body at this. "I don't know how much use you're going to be for me, seeing as how you're an Alpha yourself. Just keep in the background, I'll work the scene on my own and if you got a dart gun ready that might be useful. I'm going to be feeling pretty angry after this and I might come out of it swinging."

"I won't need to dart you into submission, Will," Hannibal said, and gave Will a smile that had more bemused empathy than Will was expecting. Hannibal gestured again to the police tape. "Whenever you are ready."

Will braced himself, shook off the cold, and headed for the scene of the crime.

~*~

You are my toy. My rare prize that I have captured to play with. I both exalt you and denigrate you, the two happening in such quick succession you don't know where to put your desires and your terror. In the end, it is fear that wins, and you cower beneath me, begging me to stop, telling me it hurts. This only thrills me, your cries fill me with unnatural fury at myself and then at you.

My nature is perverted, turned in on itself. That which should repulse me only gives me joy. I want to feel your fear, not your desire. I feed on your pleas for mercy.

I have purchased you at a high price, one I would gladly spend again. Your survival is not the issue here, it is your rarity that I wish to exploit and destroy, my fury at your beauty enough to make me want to rip it apart. I like watching you cry, I like seeing you writhe in pain regardless of how much your body screams for my sex...

I am not bogged down by dogma.  I approach my horrors with the base simplicity of a hungry animal.

This is my design...

Will stepped out of the empathic perception and staggered back from the partially frozen, nude body, and with his hands clasped tight around his stomach he made it to the edge of the river and collapsed onto his knees before vomiting into the fast running, icy water. He heard his name being called and a protest from Jack, but long, determined steps crunched through the snow as they made their way towards him. He was still on his knees on the frozen shoreline, and he grabbed a clump of clean snow to wipe the bitter bile out of his mouth and to wash his face. He braced his hands on his knees, bent over far enough to see Hannibal's ankles in his line of sight.

"You should have worn boots," Will chided him, taking in the expensive black leather loafers.

Hannibal held out his hand and helped Will back to standing, the effort making him dizzy. An instant need to lash out flashed within him, but Hannibal placed a cool hand on the back of Will's head, the touch calming him. "I think this is a foolish request for Jack to make." Hannibal brushed snow off of Will's shoulders in curt strokes of his gloved hands. "Hormonal chemistry and high emotions are not a good mixture. Are you well?"

Will stepped closer to Hannibal, liking the heat that seemed to radiate from him, and he was relieved when Hannibal didn't step back. "The person who did this is less than an animal. He is obsessed with his own desires, his own needs and will do anything to bring his perverted pleasure relief. He is the worst kind of monster, Hannibal. He has no goal but his own self gratification and he revels in the torment of innocence." Will could feel the body laying in wait behind him, as though clinging to him from out of the depths of its lonely pain. "This was done by an Alpha. A very sick and twisted Alpha male, I can smell the after burn of his knot, it's making sick."

Will swallowed back bile and turned his head over his shoulder, only now realizing he hadn't even given the body a proper inspection, had only ridden the wave of the victim's fear and the perpetrator's elation in it. He felt a new tremor of nausea hit him, and Hannibal pressed his palm against the small of Will's back, his brow furrowed in concern. Will braced himself by placing a hand on Hannibal's shoulder, the touch more soothing than it was supposed to be.

The body was nude, and if this was a male Omega as Price and Zeller had attested, there was little left to it to reveal that fact. Animals had torn the Omega apart as he laid exposed to the elements, the death mask of his torment a gaping wound where his face once was. There were still signs of his gender evident, in the smooth contours of his body's shape, the small amount of hair and the perfect complexion of his skin that not even latent bruises could destroy. He was tall and lithe, not overly muscular but retaining a softness that would have rendered him unmistakably androgynous. He was young, maybe eighteen, possibly younger. Most traffickers of poached Omegas sold them in their prime.

"Whoever purchased him has a great deal of expendable money, especially since he was bought solely to be tortured and killed. It's highly unlikely he was a virgin, I have a suspicion if he was the torture would have lasted a lot longer."

"Not the work of the Ripper, then," Hannibal said.

Will made a disgusted face. "What kind of observation is that? Of course not, if anything, the Ripper will be just as keen as I am to find who it was who did this and to put his own brand of justice on them. Don't even ask it, you know as well I do that I wouldn't stand in the Ripper's way. Free pass all around, as far as I'm concerned."

"This Omega was in heat," Hannibal sniffed the air around Will. "You are reacting to it. It's filling your heart with overflowing fury. What do you want to do with your anger, Will? Your heart is weeping for this poor fallen creature and it beats solely to avenge it. You know nothing of this victim but his suffering, and through your empathy you superimpose those you care about upon the blank canvas of who he was. You feel the ill tempered rage of your co-workers as they stand in the distance, unable to come closer and leaving you fully exposed. Your empathy for the plight of the victim is the memory of those you love upon him. Your mother, her vibrancy chained. Your grandmother, independent and yet never to be an equal. Your father's guilt." Will's fists were tight as Hannibal stood in front of him, blocking his reaction from the view of the team in the far distance. "Who is it you see when you look upon the victim, Will?"

Will raised his fist and Hannibal stood his ground, his maroon gaze cold and unreadable. Will's fist relaxed, and he brushed his knuckles against the sharp line of Hannibal's cheekbone, and back against the nape of his neck, his fingers splayed wide, thumb grazing the small scar at Hannibal's throat.

"I see you," Will said.

Hannibal remained immobilized, but Will could detect it, that tiniest, unexpected tremor rolling through him, held on with every grip of his self resolve, and Hannibal had a great deal of it, Will realized, an almost superhuman amount. If his reaction was in anger, fear or love, Will couldn't tell. He let his hand fall away, worried about causing further harm. "Why would I see that?" Will asked him, shaking his head. He could feel emotion clawing at the back of his throat, tears forming that froze as they slipped down his cheeks. "Hannibal...About last night..."

"This is not the time to discuss it, Will."

"I can't lose your friendship," Will said, and it came out like a plea, and he hated the way it made him feel weak. "I...I'm sorry I did that, I don't know why...It's weird, I know, and I even went to a doctor this morning trying to figure it out and got tested and..."

"You went to a doctor?" Hannibal asked, frowning.

"Yes."

"Did you mention my name?"

"No."

Hannibal seemed suddenly relieved at this, a fact Will tucked away, wondering what it meant and keen to examine it further later. Hannibal gave Will's shivering worry a warm smile and closed the already too close gap between them, their shoulders now touching in an easy intimacy that other Alphas would quickly misinterpret. "What was her diagnosis?"

Will let out a long sigh at this. "That I need a psychiatrist."

Hannibal chuckled. "You most certainly do."

"Hannibal, the thought of you being hurt in any way...To see you on the victim...It fills me with so much rage, of a kind that frightens me and I don't know what I'm capable of..." Will felt his mouth go dry, his hand wiping at it as though hoping the feeling of red hot fury that was boiling within him could be so easily appeased. "If I find him before anyone else does, I'll kill him, and it won't be for this victim, it will be for a very wrong, very unnatural reason. I'll be killing that bastard for you." Will sucked in a cold breath with a sibilant hiss. "Just the thought of that prick hurting you, even breathing the same air as you, I don't know why I'm feeling like this, Hannibal. It's wrong, I can't be reacting to you this way, if he so much as brushed a shoulder or looked at you, the things in my head that I've got planned for him--they frighten me..."

"Will." Hannibal whispered his name, his forehead pressing against Will's in a gesture that was both intimate and reassuring. "I am right here. And I am perfectly safe."

"No. You're not." Will's head shook beneath the subtle embrace.

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because I kissed you."

Hannibal straightened and pulled away from him, then, and to Will it felt as painful as an amputation. "I liked it. I did. I keep thinking about how you tasted, the feel of your tongue against mine and...It's absolutely insane." Will gaze was imploring as he looked on Hannibal, and if he could have gone on his knees and begged for this to be the explanation he needed, he couldn't be more pathetic. "Have you slept with an Omega recently? Please, Hannibal, tell me the truth, it's important..."

"I haven't," Hannibal quickly replied, and Will didn't doubt him. "Will, I have already explained to you what you are feeling. This is about attachment, and it is perfectly natural. Our friendship has broken a few necessary boundaries, but I am also reluctant to pull back on it, for I understand that this connection is something we are both in dire need of."

Will's head shook. He stepped back, nearly toppling the cup of coffee he'd set on a flat rock at the shore of the river, and he turned away from it, his stomach churning. "If this connection, as you call it, is harming our friendship in this way, we need to start pulling back. I need to be away from you for a little while, just so I can get my head back into perspective."

Hannibal frowned at this, his head cocked to one side as though Will had just spoken to him a language he didn't understand. "On the contrary, Will, it is imperative that we determine our boundaries and the only way to do that is through constant contact and communication with one another. I suggest we explore this dynamic further and not to hesitate in its execution. My dear Will, I have an extra ticket for the opera tonight, and I would be delighted if you would accompany me."

Will's confusion was spiralling out of control, the scent of the dead Omega wafting between Hannibal and himself, the fervent, almost fruity scent of heat pervasive between them, to the point Will just about wanted to tear into Hannibal, though he still wasn't sure if he wanted to bite or kiss him or embrace him or outright fuck him. "I'm going insane," Will said, and nodded fervently. "I can't allow that, Hannibal, not with what's at stake. That poor Omega, I can't see something like that again. Please, you need to help me."

"I am helping you, Will," Hannibal assured him, his position one of cold analysis, and the very poise of the man made Will want to strike him, his first instincts be damned. "Meet me at the Opera House in Baltimore at seven o'clock tonight. I will be waiting for you on the front steps. Should our friendship be tested by the needs of the physical, I will be able to determine those triggers that are bringing you to these uncomfortable conclusions. My dear Will, I am not so daunted from our friendship by a simple kiss from a person routinely under desperate duress such as yourself. There are basic reasons as to why it happened, and we will determine how it began together."

"I.." Will's head shook. He clasped his arms tight around himself, as though holding in his soul as well as keeping out the cold. "I don't really like the opera. I don't even own a proper suit."

"You can't claim to dislike something you have had no actual exposure to," Hannibal tutted. "As for a suit, wear what you like. You are going to the opera with me, and if I haven't judged you for your choice in vestments by now I hardly think I will tonight."

"Hannibal," Will frowned, trying to piece all of what was being said to him together, his Alpha anger and the hormones surrounding the air making Hannibal's suggestions almost hypnotic. "I think...You're making me go on a date with you."

"Two friends go to the opera." Hannibal shrugged. "I see no force being applied here, Will, you can always say no. Is that what you want to do?"

"No," Will said, and frowned, because he didn't know how he'd answered, really, because it could be taken both ways. From the way Hannibal smiled, it was definitely the more positive route, and not the one Will was travelling along.

"I will see you at seven," Hannibal said, and grinned with his little shark teeth.