Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter seven

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, he was going to get to see Hannibal in an element he was comfortable in, and it was a public place as opposed to the intimacy of his atrium. Will smoothed down his tie and hoped the small oil stain on the back of it hadn't seeped through. He'd given his wrinkled shirt a quick steaming by hanging it in the bathing room while he took a shower, and the dog hair on his black trousers took a generous roll of duct tape to wipe the various shades and lengths of hair off. In the end, he was as scrubbed and perfect as he was ever going to be, and a quick sniff of his armpit made sure he wasn't bringing any unwanted angry Alpha nastiness along. Heat season always made him a little gamey. There was nothing worse than being stuck around another Alpha's pit party. He doused himself in a bit of Old Spice to make sure and then checked his watch. He had a two hour drive to make, in the snow, and it was too damned late to back out of it now.

He slipped on his tweed suit jacket in the full knowledge it was inappropriate, but he wasn't about to wear his ill fitting court suit to a night out. Besides, the dark blue fabric brought back disturbing memories of court with it, and every pinch of its darts under his arms reminded him of sitting in the witness stand, his expertise viciously scrutinized. The last thing he wanted to feel was that he was on display.

He stood in front of his grandmother's antique mirror, giving himself a proper inspection, and not particularly liking the rumpled condition of his trousers or the missing button at the end of his shirtsleeve. The mirror itself was imperfect, tarnished from over a hundred years worth of use, the edges rusted and casting Will into shades of grey that made him look medieval. He felt a thick, heavy, regular thumping at his calf and he glanced down to see Winston staring up at him, his tongue lolling happily out of the side of his mouth as the equally scruffy dog smiled. "I don't know why you're so approving, I trimmed the beard. You hate it when I do that." Winston whined and trotted away.

Will sighed and gave himself another cursory glance, remembering the last time he had stood in front of this mirror and gave himself a similar inspection. He was in his uniform then, the newest member of the New Orleans P.D., and his grandmother had placed a gnarled, but strong, hand on his shoulder. "So proud of you. You're the fighter for the ones that need protecting now, mon cher. That's what you're supposed to do."

He didn't feel like he was very effective at that, lately, the haunting image of the dead Omega still fresh in his mind, the smell of his fear a lingering cancer that Will couldn't shake. The fact the body had been dumped so close to home was a factor, he was sure, and that someone he knew was the one who had discovered it. He couldn't quite get a handle on whether it was a grisly telegram meant for him or not, after all, the killer had to know there was an FBI profiler living nearby--he had Freddie Lounds to thank for making that information public. But there was no personal message for him at the scene. An Omega in full heat, tortured, the method of death not yet determined, it was an out of place murder for someone like Will, no effort put into display, no artistry. Price and Zeller were having a hard time getting a handle on the cause of death since animals had destroyed a lot of the physical abuse committed pre-mortem. If there were ligature marks, they'd been chewed off by coyotes, and the broken bones were possibly post mortem, though there was some evidence of rudimentary healing in the delicate cartilage in the wrists. Unlike the Ripper, the corpse itself held no fascination, the message it conveyed sparse. But there was still a warning in it, and Will got the distinct impression it wasn't one for himself or Jack, or any of the people on his team. Regardless of its gruesome components there was that pervasive, rotten feeling that a message was being sent, a flagrant taunt that happened to be tossed in Will's direction. Whoever was supposed to get it was too far out of Will's range at present. It left him feeling unsettled. Unfinished.

His cell phone buzzed and Will answered it. "Hannibal," he said, flat but not without humour. Two can play at ignoring tiny social niceties. No 'hellos' needed.

"I've realized that I have been extremely selfish with you, dear Will. This has been a very taxing day for you and perhaps a long drive into Baltimore is far too difficult for you to manage. I have no qualms against picking you up, though it may mean we arrive an hour into the opera, a tardiness that cannot be helped."

"I'm actually leaving right now," Will said, grabbing his parka and heading out the door, keys jangling and sending his dogs into worried whining. "I appreciate the offer, but actually, I think this might end up being a nice diversion. It'll be nice to see and talk about something other than maimed corpses for a change."

"I have found there is nothing more positively challenging to one's senses than a well executed aria. Music therapy is a well known practise amongst psychiatric circles, a component I have been considering adding to the therapy of a few of my patients."

"That's very well and good, but I'll have you know that since you're dragging me to the opera, pretty much kicking and screaming, I'm going to return the favour." Will grinned into his cell phone at the slight hesitation on the other line at this. "You'll be coming with me to a dive bar on the outskirts of Wolf Trap to hear some good old fashioned bluegrass, and you're going to drink beer, and you're going to like it."

"I will have to get my overalls dry cleaned."

Will laughed. "You do that."

There was a protracted silence at the other end of the line, and Will was ready to break it, only for Hannibal to get there first. "I look forward to seeing you, Will."

"Yeah," Will said, but Hannibal had already hung up. No good-byes, either. Will stared at the cell phone in his hand for a long moment before sliding on his parka and heading out the door, the screen softly closing behind him. The night felt full of unspoken notes already.

~*~

It wasn't right that the man could stand to one side of the entrance, in what would usually be an inconspicuous spot, and yet be the main focus. At least, it seemed that way to Will, who was admittedly awestruck by the lithe perfection that stood at the top of the stairs of the Baltimore Opera House, Hannibal's dark, formal suit understated and immaculate, placing him in a perfect geometrical symmetry that would make a mathematician's mouth water. Will averted his eyes, desperate not to show any hint of his lurking, unwanted attraction and made his way up the wide steps with meek invisibility. Middle aged women in sequined gowns and pastel hued gossamer silks lay draped on the arms of Alpha and Beta mates, though there was a decided lack of Omegas due to the heat season.

Will approached Hannibal with his hands deep in his pockets, his underdressed state painfully obvious to him. He passed a large billboard with a highly artistic rendering of Aida displayed on it, some not so subtle advertising that felt out of place with the rich snobbery of the setting. Hannibal's long, wool coat lay draped over his arms as he bid Will to follow him inside, his steps so typically graceful and careful it was like watching a deer gently pad its way through underbrush. They checked their coats, Hannibal giving Will's crinkled parka a raised brow, and Will shrugged in response. It was the only winter coat he had, and it kept in the warmth. Function over fashion, any day.

"The opera is not set to start for another fifteen minutes," Hannibal said, quickly checking his watch, a vintage Rolex that probably cost more than Will's car. "Ample time for us to view the Caravaggio. I am delighted that this opportunity has presented itself, seeing as how we had such a detailed conversation about it only last night."

"Last night was full of revelations," Will warned, and Hannibal merely smiled in acknowledgement, a missive that stung.

Hannibal directed Will away from the entrance to the opera house theatre, detouring towards a lobby that held a small bar and a small amount of people in formal wear milling about with glasses of champagne. This was a tucked away space amidst the opulence, Will noted, the front entrance boasting of three full chandeliers and two wrought iron staircases that led to the upper balconies. The floor of the Opera House was covered in a classical, rich red carpet that was befitting the soles of royal feet that had undoubtedly walked over it. The thickness of it was rather surprising and Will had to wonder if they changed the carpet every year, ensuring not a single wear mark ever marred its perfection.

This room, however, was not so garish and had lower lights, the artistic pieces carefully spaced apart and lit by single, unobtrusive lights that were specially designed not to fade the paint. Hannibal's long strides were eager to approach the Caravaggio, and Will had to wonder if the opera was his real focus, for it seemed that if Hannibal had been given the option of standing in front of this painting for a couple of hours instead of hearing the endless warble of sopranos, the Caravaggio would have won hands down. Will followed behind him with a meek sense of caution, far too aware of his surroundings to be as comfortable as Hannibal clearly was, his hands clasped behind his back, his head cocked to one side as he took in every minute detail. "Sisyphus Bonding Thanatos," Hannibal said, and his voice was oddly wistful in the dim space, the shadows seeming to enclose them in a private viewing. "Not one of his most accessible paintings, and nothing like 'Judith Beheading Holofernes', but I would argue this is Caravaggio at his most passionate. Thanatos, the god of death, forced to submit to the desires of King Sisyphus and grant him eternal life. You would think such a subject would be offered up in darker hues and yet Caravaggio has opted for bright contrasts. Flowing reds and powder blues, rich and vibrant colours leaping from the canvas, full sunlight upon them both. Sisyphus is bonding Thanatos with a thin veil of silk, wrapped loosely around his mostly exposed neck. Such a blatant image of arousal caused quite the scandal in Caravaggio's day."

Will could easily understand why, for Thanatos's neck was blushed a fervent pink, signifying Omega heat. His head was turned to the side, fully exposing his throat to the ravishing need of Sisyphus, who seemed reluctant to hide his mate's obvious desire, the transparent silk accentuating rather than obscuring it. "In most paintings of the time, a bonded Omega's neck is bound in muslin, with the traditional french knot at the base, a not so subtle signifier of Alpha fertility." Hannibal gave Will a sidelong glance. "The piece is charged with eroticism. What do you think, Will?"

Will studied the painting, taking in the sinewy muscles that melded into each other, the darker skin of King Sisyphus in heavy contrast to the pale nudity of Thanatos. Caravaggio left little to the imagination, even going so far as to depict the beginnings of Sisyphus' knot, and Thanatos's slick glistening along the inside of his spread thighs. Caravaggio had been threatened with beheading and was imprisoned for a short time over the blatant pornographic imagery of the painting, and for hundreds of years it was hidden away in the private chambers of kings, where it provided artful inspiration for the continuation of the royal lineage. If one needed erotic fantasy fodder, the half lidded gaze of an enraptured Thanatos, head tossed back and body tensed in want for the rather exaggerated hard length of Sisyphus was ample inspiration for king and queen alike.

"I think it's a rather strange thing to be showing someone who keeps thinking about his uncomfortable attraction to you," Will said, deadpan.

"Is that what this image inspires in you?" Hannibal asked, and Will turned his head away from him, unhappy with how Hannibal had him trapped. Hannibal seemed to find the whole thing incredibly amusing, a fact that made Will's Alpha nature take note and rise to test him. "Do you still want to kiss me, Will?"

"Right now I'd love to do nothing more than hit you."

"A highly typical Alpha to Alpha response. I dare to call this progress. Perhaps goading is more suited for our conversations." He playfully grinned as he stepped away from the painting and into the gloom, and it was then that Will noticed they had been quite alone, and if anything was to happen it was then. But he found he had no desire at present to touch Hannibal, nor kiss him, not with the curved lines and naked honesty of desire laid out obvious and wanton in the painting behind him. He had to give Hannibal some credit, this excursion seemed to be working, and he went so far as to risk feeling at ease in his friend's presence, his hands loose in the deep pockets of his trousers as he followed Hannibal back into the lobby.

"The opera will be beginning at any moment," Hannibal said. "Our seats are on the second floor, the middle section. I do like a good view of the stage."

They were near the far right staircase leading up to the balcony when the front door of the lobby opened and a young Beta woman stumbled in, balancing a folded umbrella stroller and diaper bag in one hand and a fussing infant in the other. Curious, Will looked past the tinted windows of the main lobby and saw that a gale snowstorm had drifted in, covering the stairs in a thickening white blanket. Noting her difficult balancing act, Hannibal immediately came to her aid, propping open the door and bidding her to come in. She let the diaper bag and stroller drop, the swaddled baby perched unevenly in the crook of her arm and wailing with little lungs that could rival the diva's. "We got caught in the snowstorm," she said, with quick apology as though she were trespassing. "I was waiting on a cab, it should be here soon. It's just so cold. We needed shelter for a moment."

The music began to swell and the opera doors were quietly closed as the performance began. Will stood at the base of the stairs waiting on Hannibal who, for reasons Will couldn't understand, was entrenched in the young woman's plight.

Or, rather, the baby's. "Please," he heard Hannibal nearly beg of her, his arms outstretched. "I will hold her while you sort yourself out."

"Oh could you? Honestly, she's been such a fusspot. She's cold and tired, in case you can't tell. The cab will be here any moment, I promise."

But it was as though the mother disappeared, Will observed, and Hannibal's long arms suddenly draped around the baby with a natural protective warmth that practically exuded maternal affection. Everything was forgotten in that moment, the Caravaggio and its seductive promise, the lilting tones of the orchestra as the opera sang into life, the ill mannered, unkempt man who stood at the base of the stairs, silently watching. He witnessed Hannibal kissing the infant's angry, red face and whispering to it in a language Will couldn't interpret, the press of his cheek against the infant's brow soothing enough to stop its crying. Hannibal cooed over its remaining whimpers, studying it with that same, wistful gaze he gave his favourite work of art.

Will held his breath as his mind sprouted long, white antlers out of Hannibal's back, the thick branch of bone stretching into a tight cylinder around him and the infant in his arms, a halo of velveteen tipped spikes surrounding them, daring any enemy to come near. Will tried to discern the image of Hannibal within this fortress, to see what he was hiding as he held the infant in his arms. But the antlers were stubbornly meshed, refusing entry to even his closest friend. Will was not allowed to see this, and he'd borne too much witness already.

When the young woman remarked that her cab had arrived, Hannibal allowed her to take her baby back with a sad reluctance. Hannibal kept watch as they got into the cab, a mittened wave from the mother offering him a hasty, well worn thanks. When he turned to Will, there was a poignant longing hidden beneath the cold black gaze affixed to a secret point in Hannibal's inner horizon. Will stepped away from it, the darkness it looked into lined with fierce, sharp antlers designed to prick the inner skin of whoever dared to steal a peek.

They were guided to their seats amidst dirty looks and Will felt worse than ever over his dishevelled appearance, though Hannibal was nonplussed by the snobbish scrutiny. They were two rows back from the very front of the central balcony and, as always, Hannibal was right, this was a good view of the stage. Drapes in dark orange and navy blue accented the vast Sphinx placed in the central focal point, an overtly obvious allusion to the opera's Egyptian setting and a tad cliche for both Will and Hannibal's taste. Will didn't speak a word of Italian, and the English synopsis handed to him upon arrival was overly complex and filled with useless annotation, the tiny script a struggle to read even with his glasses perched long down his nose, and he remarked to Hannibal that it should have come with a magnifying glass. Hannibal, being the detail man he was, loved it. Will tried to follow along and found his mind wandering halfway through reading the details of the first act, where he managed to understand that Aida was in love with an officer of the Pharaoh named Radames and she suffered a rival for his affections in the Pharaoh's daughter Amneris. There was conflict and war and lies and broken hearts and in the end, of course, there's the finality of death for the young lovers Aida and Radames. So much for steering clear of corpses.

The music held Hannibal captive, his concentration on the notes so deep and personal Will had to fight to keep his eyes on the stage, and not on the statuesque posture of his friend, whose emotions were brought rushing to the surface, his black gaze glassy with tears. Though it could easily be blamed on his passion for beautiful music, Will couldn't help but believe the emotion Hannibal was feeling had nothing at all to do with the opera. There was another tragedy beneath the delicate notes, one wholly unrelated to the story Will saw unfold before him and that only peripherally held its soundtrack. Hannibal's tears were about a young woman getting into a taxi cab with a placated baby. The tears were an inexplicable yearning that was left behind in Hannibal's heart.

By the time the lights came up for the intermission, Hannibal was in a decidedly more sombre mood. The audience milled into the lobby to stretch their legs and partake of champagne and stronger refreshments, and though the crowd was still pressed around him, Will found some relief in finding a space near the stairs that had a few feet of breathing room in a wide circumference. His scowl kept people from coming closer and if he used his Alpha dominance to this small advantage he wasn't about to feel guilty about it. Hannibal stood by his side, two glasses of champagne in hand, and a warm smile that still held that hint of sadness that made Will want to beg of him to tell him about it.

Instead, he took the offered champagne and sipped at it, grimacing over its overly sweet taste. "I still don't like the opera," he admitted.

"I myself am finding this evening rather tiring," Hannibal said. "Such is the problem with anticipatory desires. Once we get what we want, the struggle given to have it often eclipses our enjoyment of it. I have been looking forward to this performance of Aida for quite some time, and am happy that we were able to view the Caravaggio, but I am finding an exhaustion creeping into our enjoyment that is difficult to shake. It has been a long day."

Will nodded in agreement, though he didn't really feel it. What he desperately wanted to do was inundate Hannibal with questions, the most obvious one being, 'What is troubling you?', a turnabout on Hannibal's own words and one Will was sure the man wouldn't appreciate. He was about to suggest they part ways, and thus leave the night open for their own separate reflections which would leave them stronger by morning, but his words fell into the ether before he could utter them. A clammy hand met Will's shoulder, and he fought the knee jerk urge to sucker punch the creature it belonged to.

"I must say, it's no surprise to see you here, Dr. Lecter, but I'm a little shocked at your choice of date. A bit of the rough rider, are you? Alphas, hanging out like besties, as if that's not one for the books. Good thing we can barely smell you, am I right, Dr. Lecter? A passive Alpha among Alphas, but you know how it is, that one drop rule. We can scent it out of a blade of grass. Right Mr..uh...Damn if I can remember your name..."

"Will Graham," he said, and Mason Verger grinned as though he'd said the right answer on a game show.

"Right!" and he clapped Will on the shoulder as he inched closer into his personal space. "Will Graham of the Eff Bee Eye. Tell me something, that fellow you found on my farm, was he in any kind of trouble that I should know about? Simply out of curiosity, you understand, it's not like we Vergers are able to stay out of controversy, but I'd kind of like a heads up if there's any, oh, nasty things going on his background. Like certain bad habits that might inadvertently be lumped in with mine, which are not the same, not at all..."

"I don't know, Mason. Have you murdered any Omegas lately?"

Mason Verger was especially slimy this evening, Will thought, taking in the man's brocade smoking jacket and his high fashion laced shirt beneath it. Combined with the dark green velvet trousers, the ensemble made him look like a boudoir pimp. Mason checked his watch, which was held inside of his matching brocade vest on a long chain. Will had half a mind to ask him if he was searching for a white rabbit. "I'm all about the Omegas when the season fits, just like any Alpha my good man, but I am hardly one to seek out that which I don't need the rest of the year. That's for the real perverts. Mind you, I've been known to rub myself off on a sow or two if she shows the right kind of pink. Makes for happier relations in the selective breeding pens, oddly enough. I do say, Dr. Lecter, your neck is looking particularly rosy this evening. I have to wonder if you're coming down with something."

Turning his attention on Hannibal was a big mistake, one Will was determined to make Mason Verger pay for. As he had that morning on Muskrat Farm, Will placed himself between Mason and Hannibal, Alpha pheromones powerfully coursing between them. Usually this was enough to make most Alphas back down, but for some reason Mason was on high alert, his little pig nose sniffing the air, his small pig eyes widening as he took in Will's attempt at dominance. "You really wouldn't attack me here, would you?" he asked, only pretending to whisper. "I know he doesn't have much, just a drop of Alpha, really, but that doesn't mean that pretty bitch behind you can keep this little tiff between us from getting weird. Stand down, Mr. Graham. *Your* deviance is painfully obvious."

Will's rage grew to renewed heights at this, the memory of the dead Omega rushing to the forefront of his thoughts and obscuring all sense of reason. He indulged in that moment, skinning Mason alive with the sharpened tips of white antlers, tearing apart his face until only muscle was left and helpless, lolling piggy eyes...

"Dr. Lecter, it's good to see you."

Will's head shook as he stepped back from the intrusion into their standoff, and he hated the way Mason Verger continued to smirk at him, as though he was in on a joke Will hadn't heard yet. He kept himself as a barrier between Mason and Hannibal, not at all secure in the thought of leaving his friend exposed to the creep, a feeling that seemed to be mutual if the stance of the young, brunette woman standing beside him was any indication. "Dr. Alana Bloom," she said, holding out her hand. "We haven't yet met. I'm an old acquaintance of Dr. Lecter, he was my mentor at the university.'

He took her well manicured hand and shook it, remarking inwardly on the fierce grip she had. There was an angry determination in her, too, and it dawned on Will that this was Margot Verger's mate. Mason didn't seem to pleased to see her, and he stepped away from the confrontation, his Alpha challenge deflating in the face of a rather fearless Beta who could care less about such hormonal posturing.

"Bit of a surprise to see you here," Mason said, and he rolled impatiently back and forth on his feet. Will gave them a frowning inspection. Red cowboy boots, with a good two inches added to the heel for height. And Will thought his scruffy outfit was out of place, yet Mason wasn't the one getting judgemental glares. He shook his head at how money made every ridiculous whim acceptable. "Shouldn't you be at home sewing buttons with Margot? She's in heat last I peeked in. Really, you didn't need to board up the windows like that, can't get a ray of sunshine in the place if you tried as it is."

"Keeping an eye on you is one of the things I've decided is an important part of my relationship with Margot," Dr. Bloom said, and she flicked her long, brown hair over her shoulder, her bottom lip jutting out in aggressive determination. Will got the distinct impression this was not a woman one would dare to cross. "Mr. Graham, do you see that scar on his forehead? That was a mistake on my part." Alana sipped at the glass of champagne in her fist, downing it like a beer. "I went at him with a fireplace poker. I was aiming for his eye."

"Dr. Bloom, I am not entirely sure it was advisable to leave Margot alone if she is in heat," Hannibal evenly said to her. He moved away from Mason Verger to talk to her more privately, and Will was happy to follow him. Alana's posture was rigid as she walked, unused to the high heels that turned her clipped, angry march into heavy stabbing in the red carpet.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Dr. Lecter!" Mason shouted after them, and it took every ounce of willpower in Will's resolve not to turn around and tear into the bastard's throat with his bare hands.

"Margot is safe because *I* make sure of it." Alana whipped around, glancing at Mason's piggish scrutiny before turning her anger on Hannibal. "You're her psychiatrist. Surely there's some way you can get the law involved, get them to have her moved to a safer location at his expense, far away from Muskrat Farm and him."

"I have tried, Alana, but the problem as you well know is one of inheritance." He set down his champagne glass on a passing tray, and Will did likewise. Alana held hers in an iron grip so tight Will worried she was going to snap the stem. "Mason holds the purse strings of the Verger empire, Margot has no autonomy. Even if she left it all behind, as her only direct living relative she is an unbonded Omega and he has legal privilege over her. He can force her to live on the family property, he can bar her from entering other coastline cities. Until she is bonded to an Alpha mate, she is at his mercy."

"That's not going to happen," Alana said, and Will felt the anger and fear and misery over Margot's plight as if it was his own. 'Dr. Bloom loves Margot,' Will thought. 'She'll do what it takes to make her happy.'

Hannibal stood closer, his height looming over her, his cold stance one of an infinite, black grace that washed over the conversation in a drowning ink. "I have told Margot what she has to do."

Dr. Bloom nervously looked past Will Graham's shoulder at Mason and then turned away. "We can't do that."

"Betas and Omegas have formed legal bonds in the past, though they are not as absolute as the bonding ritual between Alphas and Omegas. Without going into a long, protracted treatise on the nature of Beta and Omega dynamics, I will tell you this--Should Mason Verger come to an unfortunate end, your legal recourse would be to have a civil bonding with Margot and to have an Alpha child. The handling of the estate will then be your responsibility, though the child will be its ultimate inheritor. You may not have the present resources to make that happen, Dr. Bloom, but there are many clinics appealing to your exact predicament." Hannibal hesitated. "Of course, the real problem is how you will obtain the donation. I have a feeling Mason is not at all keen on having an unfortunate drunken tryst that ends in pregnancy with *you*."

"God forbid," Dr. Bloom said. "According the maid, his sheets get the most action. He makes me sick." She closed her eyes and sighed, helpless in the face of Mason Verger's twisted grip on his small family. A tyrant in cowboy heels with the mind of a boar, Will thought. Small minded, insecure and dangerous.

The orchestra was beginning its practice notes and the crowd that had milled in the lobby was now re-entering the theatre, Dr. Bloom put her champagne glass on the rim of a garbage can, keeping Mason Verger in her sights. "I have to go back in. I'll talk to you later in the week, Dr. Lecter."

"Of course, Dr. Bloom. Please give Margot my regards."

Still on fire, Will watched as Dr. Alana Bloom hunted her prey, admiring the tenacity of her approach. "Mason won't get away with a thing with her around," he said. "Has she been called in for questioning concerning the McDermott murder?"

"I'm not sure. Frankly, that murder is the least of both her and Margot's worries, as is evidenced this evening." Hannibal let out a tired sigh. "I'm afraid that interaction has fully quashed any remaining enjoyment for tonight. Are you ready to leave?"

"I can't get my coat fast enough," Will said.

After obtaining their coats from a bubble gum chewing coat check girl who was more keen to check her Twitter account than if their tickets matched, Will slid on his parka while Hannibal kept his coat draped over one arm, his scarf lightly slung across his neck. He did seem oddly out of sorts even before the altercation with Mason Verger, and Will had to wonder if he was feeling ill. As they stepped out of the theatre and into the stinging cold of a winter's night in Baltimore and Hannibal still hadn't put on his coat, Will was convinced the man was suffering a flu.

"You really didn't need to take me here if you weren't feeling well," Will said to him, feeling a growing fondness that usually had a dangerously intimate component to it. For now, he was able to keep a handle on it.

Hannibal smiled at this as he headed down the wide steps, mindful of the ice that had built up on the concrete. He reached out and braced himself by clasping a hand on Will's shoulder. Will had naturally worn more sensible shoes with good grips. Will lightly chuckled at this. It was nice to know the man wasn't always such an absolute expert when it came to organized perfection. "I admit a certain selfishness. I was very keen to see the Caravaggio."

"You weren't feeling very well after you held that baby," Will said, and Hannibal's foot took a wider misstep, nearly toppling him. Will gripped his arm, propping him up.

Hannibal reached the bottom of the steps with a forced sense of poise, Will slowly following him and keeping his grip on Hannibal's arm. "You were very sad after you held her," Will said, and Hannibal remained tense in Will's grip at this, near pulling himself away. Will released him, and Hannibal let his arm fall to his side, his shoulders pushed back and his cold aura taking over.

"I had a sister," he said, all emotion drained from him. "Her name was Mischa, and I was the one responsible for her care.." He shivered and slid on his coat, then reached into the pockets to take out his leather gloves to quickly put them on. "She died when she was very young."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. There are times, such as when I held that delightful little baby, that I am forced to realize that Mischa was my last and only chance to be a...Well, let's just say certain avenues have been permanently closed to me."

They walked along the quiet stretch of sidewalk, devoid of people and shadowed in the partial light of evenly spaced street lamps. The area they were in was meant for daytime strolls, the evening reserved solely for opera goers and summer tourists who would walk the docks of the nearby marina. It was deserted at this time of year, and with the way the snow was still falling and closing them into its white blanket the solitude of it was comforting.

"Did you always want a family?" Will asked.

Hannibal stopped, then, just outside the light of a street lamp, keeping them both in the shadows. His Bentley was nearby, and he was already fumbling in the pocket of his long, wool coat for keys. "Closed doors, Will. What I wanted has no bearing on the present."

Will stepped in front of him, blocking his way to the Bentley. "Do you want me to kiss you now?"

Hannibal gave Will a small, controlled smile at this. "Has my therapy failed you?"

"Only one way to check," Will said, grinning. Still smiling he leaned forward and gave Hannibal a soft kiss on his lips. It was nothing like the night before, it held only an amicable, but bland feeling, like paper over a steaming cup of tea. Will felt a bubble of mirth rise within him at this, because in an instant he felt foolish, his fears attacking him for naught. "Definitely not what we had last night. Much to my relief."

"I am glad, Will," Hannibal said, smiling back. His maroon gaze met Will's raised brows and wide, open, ocean blue eyes and it was then that Hannibal's smile began to falter, his mouth going slack, his breath quickening as he moved with that graceful stealth. He was much too close as he bent down just that tiny amount, that tilt of his head, and without warning Hannibal stole all of Will's breath from him in a kiss that was definitely *not* like the one last night. This kiss was full of fire. This kiss was longing and hungry and it licked its way right into the very bottom of Will's resolve and destroyed every fragment of it.

Hannibal tried to pull away and Will wouldn't let him, he pressed his palm against the back of his head and sought deeper within his mouth, his tongue sliding across those little sharp teeth, tasting iron and an indefinable flavour that held something sickly sweet within it. It was very different from how Hannibal had tasted last night, and Will felt an overpowering need to explore it. Will wanted to know it. He wanted to bury himself in it, it tasted so good. Hannibal. It was Hannibal who tasted like this, like wine syrup, sour and strange and lovely.

A tiny whimper escaped Hannibal's throat and the very vibration of it drove Will mad. He placed his hands on Hannibal's neck, stroking it with his fingers, his palm pressing along the base of his spine and sending another one of those little trills out of Hannibal's throat, a deeper one this time, one that started in the hollow of his chest.

"How is it you're so beautiful to me?" Will lapped at his tongue, hands roving needful through Hannibal's hair. "I can't care anymore. I don't have it in me to give a damn. I need you, Hannibal. I want you..."

"Will...I...I can't..."

With a tight groan, Hannibal managed to push Will away, leaving him dazed and alone beneath the lamplight. His head swirled in dizzying remembrance of Hannibal's tongue, his body aching to respond. But the Bentley's lights went on and it took too long for Will to come back to himself, to recognize that it was Hannibal, this time, making his escape.

Will nearly collapsed, his hands bracing his knees. He tried to tell himself it was all about stress, it was all about the leftover heat of the Omega making them do and believe strange things. This whole ridiculous scenario was a side effect of his damned job.

Or maybe he was going crazy, and putting Hannibal there too. Crazy was all about chemicals wasn't it? This was the end game of his mind, his head full of antlers scraping along the inside of his skull. Jimmy Price had mentioned that in Asia, ground antlers were considered an aphrodisiac. He suddenly found this half remembered fact incredibly funny. He grabbed the white antlers crawling up from the concrete that threatened to overtake him and he shook their cage as his hysteria found root. He broke free of them and laughed all the way to his car, and by the time he got back to Wolf Trap his throat ached from frustrated screaming.