Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter ten

Some cages were easier to bear than others. This particular cage was especially uncomfortable, and though his wrists were free of shackles his body was under a renewed assault, thanks in part to the ignorance of Dr. Frederick Chilton. First, the lights were far too bright, and the heavy glare currently shining down on him in his interview cage was piercing the backs of his eyes like tiny revolving points of glass. Chilton's guards had mistaken his watery eyes for weeping, and highly unwelcome kindnesses were given to him as a result. A young male Alpha orderly had taken it upon himself to welcome him into the BHCI with curious wonder , and he was overly sweet and soft spoken, his patronizing care making Hannibal's hackles rise. He wondered how nice orderly Matthew Brown would think him if he leaned forward just that little bit and took a chunk out of his neck and spat his chewed flesh into his face. It was bad enough he was showered and newly violated in examination before being forced to wear a jumpsuit made of overly starched cotton that scratched against his skin, now he had to endure fawning whispers and kind smiles. The BHCI never had a male Omega behind its walls before and it was painfully obvious in his treatment, with nurses checking on him on the hour, with Matthew Brown in particular constantly sniffing out his scent and trying to pet him. His stay here was set to be fraught with these sorts of dangers, the small treats offered gradually morphing into frustration as Hannibal constantly refused them, Alpha dominance stepping well past the hospital's patient boundaries. He would end up forcibly bonded before the month was out, and then he would disappear as a person completely and would be like his patients, forced to live beneath the yoke of a hated Alpha's will. He couldn't think of a worse fate.

The hospital itself was an archaic throwback to far more decrepit days in Baltimore's history in caring for the insane. Very little had changed in its design since the late 1920's, as evidenced by the interview cage he was currently housed in, a small box of metal that held an uncomfortable plastic seat that was hosed off periodically. Some of the more disturbed patients liked to defecate on them. Hannibal's keen olfactory senses took in all manner of unpleasant aromas, from spent blood to the bittersweet saccharine of schizophrenia, the lingering chemicals of the disease permeating every surface. Such an assault on the senses was enough to make Hannibal gag. It was the main reason he had avoided ever walking the BHCI corridors and had kept the realm of his practise well away from it.

There had been talk many years ago of shutting it down and demolishing the old building since it had fallen into such crumbling disrepair and had little left by way of reputation. Patients often died behind its walls, and abuse was rampant as it was perpetually understaffed and underfunded. The last administration had been held accountable for four patient deaths directly linked to decisions made by the head of BHCI, Dr. Morgan Pritchard. Dr. Pritchard was an elderly man suffering the early stages of dementia and his haphazard, confused management of the asylum had left it disintegrating. Dangerous patients were set free, benign autistic residents were given unnecessary shock treatments, prisoners were crammed ten at a time into cramped, filthy cages, some so far gone into their psychosis they could only smear excrement on the walls and rock blindly back and forth on their heels. Overworked orderlies used to sneak food in to feed starving residents. The inevitable expose by newcomer investigative journalist Freddie Lounds created such a public outcry the building was targeted by arsonists and nearly burned down twice, with all of its patients and staff within it. There is a certain telling mentality in that public reaction, Hannibal thought. Burn down the sick. It fed into the Coastline ethos of power and beauty above all else, where embarrassing and precious things were locked away with the same vicious fervour.

By the time Dr. Frederick Chilton took over nearly a decade ago, the foundation of the BHCI was so cracked it seemed the only hope for it was a bulldozer. Chilton had been accused of taking a position on a sinking ship solely to have the status of captain, but Hannibal had to concede that despite his arrogance and ignorance of certain gender dynamics, Dr. Frederick Chilton had made large strides in making conditions at the BHCI better. Strict nutritional guidelines were put in place, the electric shock therapy machines were destroyed and discarded, and most importantly heavy renovations began in the low risk section of the building, where cells were rebuilt and rusted bars were replaced with clear Plexiglas. The cold steel slabs that served as beds were replaced with soft foam encased in easily washed rubber and the walls were reinforced with fresh concrete painted in softer pastel hues, some even fashioned as little homes with wainscoting along the walls and other small decorative touches. Such detail was strangely incongruent with the pompous, overly self assured man Hannibal had met, and he wondered where these uncharacteristic little notes of professional kindness came from.

Hannibal had been placed in one of these newer rooms, and though he was sure Chilton was proud of his accomplishments, and for the most part should be, it was the wrong setting for a creature such as Hannibal. As always, the lights were too bright, the pastel hues garish and reflecting it along every wall, offering no escape from the glaring onslaught. As for the bedding, the rubber foam mattress held an unpleasant chemical smell that burned Hannibal's throat. Better for him to be in one of those dark, damp cells with their black stone walls and a far more pleasant earthy, mossy scent. He could taste the remains of fresh drywall on the back of his tongue and his stomach recoiled at all the poisonous flavours of paint, dust and cleaning products that his new home was saturated in.

"Well, now, this is interesting. So fine and precious and yet put in a such a dirty little box to await your fate." Dr. Abel Gideon rested his arms on the square metal bars of the interview cage situated beside Hannibal's. There were half a dozen in all, in a straight line, an ancient meeting place for prisoners to meet guests and to engage in therapy with their psychiatrists. Hannibal wondered why they were still in use since it was hardly likely there would be more than one prisoner at a time here, the criminally insane weren't exactly good candidates for group therapy. Dr. Gideon remaining here was simply an oversight, his meeting with his psychiatrist was long finished and he was simply waiting on the group of guards to collect themselves into a proper gang strong enough to safely move him back into his high risk, dangerous offender cell. Dr. Gideon was an especially volatile patient and last year had brutally blinded and crippled a nurse in the infirmary where he'd been recovering from a mild stroke.

Dr. Abel Gideon was a transplant surgeon who killed his wife and her entire family during a Sunday dinner and cited his reasons as "The ham was too salty." If Hannibal sought the definition of a narcissistic madman he need not look further beyond his elbow, for Dr. Gideon was a proud, articulate man dedicated to his own self analysis, who periodically claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper--A suggestion Dr. Chilton wisely considered ridiculous, and was quoting as saying so by Freddie Lounds herself. This hadn't stopped her from drumming up a conspiracy theory around Dr. Gideon and the Ripper mythology, of course, readers like a good villain. Gideon, with his careless words and need to be revered, had placed himself in that endless stream of suspects that flowed with a tide's ease within Lounds' columns, the theory of his being the Ripper long disproved since there were several murders committed since Gideon had been incarcerated--Hannibal had even made sure of it early on in Gideon's claim. But as was the case for so many things, it was emotion and not facts that garnered the most public interest. Dr. Alana Bloom, who periodically worked with Chilton, had told Hannibal that Gideon got bags of fan mail every week.

"You look a little ill, dear thing."

Hannibal closed his eyes and tried to shut out the harsh light above him and Gideon's intense, Alpha stare. The ones who wrote him had to be sad, lonely Betas completely lacking in perception, Hannibal couldn't imagine an Omega seeking out such attention.

"This is not a place for you, but maybe that's just as well. Gender subterfuge, that's the rumour. Hardly a crime, really, and easily fixed with enforced heavy duty anti-psychotic medications, massive cocktails of the stuff, followed by electric shock therapy. You'll be pissing yourself and drooling for the next few years until you figure out a way to die, that's been my observation in these cases...Of course, you didn't end up in a GSF facility, so maybe you have a bit of luck helping you there. You must have some seriously profound friends to be placed here instead, and no matter how uncomfortable you are, there are definitely worse nightmares in wait just beyond the doors of this palace." Gideon heavily sniffed in the air around Hannibal's cage and he actually wished Chilton was more hasty to show up to start his assessment, he didn't particularly like Gideon's company. "There's an Alpha on you," Gideon said, frowning over what he'd scented and giving Hannibal a confused, sidelong glance at this. "Fresh meat, I'd say. Call me crazy, but I'm just wondering what you're doing here with that all over you. Where is he? Did he make himself the instrument of betrayal? Such a typical thing for an Alpha to do, we're all such anxiously angry people, always searching for that little bit more to get the heart pumping. We discard what we value so easily. We debase our most precious things."

"You murdered your family," Hannibal reminded him. "You are thus proof of such inclinations, Dr. Gideon."

"Yes, and I take full responsibility for that, though to be clear, it was my *wife* and her family, and that ham was brined in the Dead Sea, it was so very salty. They were all mired in that mineral, as I recall." Dr. Gideon frowned, and leaned his forehead onto the bars of his small cage. "I may be a man of uneven temperament, but I have to say, I have grave concerns for you, dear thing. Chilton may have made the dungeon lighter and this is worlds better than a GSF facility, but it's still a nasty place for someone like you. He's a Beta, he doesn't understand the challenges you're going to face, especially when that second spring heat cycle starts up a few months from now. I'm curious to see if he knows how to keep you safe from the likes of monsters like me. Us Alphas are pushy when we want what we want. Does Dr. Chilton understand that? Hard to say. He's rather altruistic when it comes to his safeguards, a dangerous thing for a man responsible for keeping society's demons under lock and key. Tell you what, the next time that young orderly gets a little handy, I'll chop them off for you and shove them down his throat, that way you won't have to hear all those sweet nothings he keeps trying to whisper to you. Seems only right."

Heavy steps met with clipped, marching echoes could be heard behind them, and Hannibal turned in his seat, surprised to see Jack Crawford and Dr. Alana Bloom enter the visitor's arena. Alana was well ahead of Jack, her determined mouth a thin, angry pressed line as she stood in front of Hannibal, her arms crossed. She was dressed in a simple, flowered dress, one that hugged the curves of her body and made her seem demure to those who didn't know her. Hannibal knew the only person who earned Alana's softness these days was Margot Verger. Jack followed close behind, casting a curious glance at Dr. Gideon in the cage beside Hannibal before turning his attention back to the former psychiatrist. "Will told us to come here as soon as we could. I don't want you thinking you're going to be stuck here, Dr. Bloom and I have been discussing ways of getting you out of here. The GSF can kiss my ass if they think they can break up my team, you are one of the most important members of my crew. If those bastards think they can step into *my* arena they better toss off the gloves because I'm ready to fight dirty." Jack held up a piece of official looking paper. "This is a direct order from Jade Purnell stating that you are to be released. The GSF is already protesting it, so it might be a week before we can get it into effect and the drawback is that it's temporary, only good for a month at the most and then you'll be shunted back here. The good news is, it'll give me time to work on something more permanent."

Hannibal shut his eyes at Jack's misguided help, knowing that he believed he had far more power than he actually possessed against the orders of the GSF. The Genetic Sentry Forces was a strangely fascist branch of the United Main's law enforcement, one that clearly stepped around the boundaries of law and picked and chose amongst citizen freedoms. Gender subterfuge of any type was a serious crime, and Betas trying to emulate Alphas had earned long incarcerations, though they didn't make the bulk of the population since GSF facilities were mostly filled with Omegas dumped there by Alpha mates who wanted to free themselves from their forcible bonds. Omegas couldn't be divorced but they could be abandoned, left to suffer and waste away in a GSF facility by unscrupulous Alphas. Jack's plan could easily result in Hannibal's incarceration in such a place when he was returned to captivity. As he listened to Jack continue to argue for him, his own Alpha papa bear anger rising to the fore at how roughly his team had been treated, Hannibal still couldn't shake the need to have Will in Jack's place. He had been abandoned, that was much was clear, regardless of what Will had believed at the time--clearly those feelings had been heat induced--and instead of facing the shame of what had happened between them he had sent his dogs in his place. It was an unfortunate reality, but one Hannibal was set to accept and he moulded his heart around it, cementing it into even colder stone as he carefully watched the guards who paced the corridor.

He thought about what Gideon said concerning Chilton's possible lack of safeguards and he scoped the windows of the room and the rusted state of the ancient interview cages, formulating in his mind a bloody and violent escape that he genuinely hoped Jack and Alana would survive. He rather liked both of them.

"Watch yourself, I'm turning this thing off."

This realization was multiplied tenfold when Alana, fed up with watching him squint, stood up on her plastic chair and using the thick heel of her shoe smashed the light bulb that had been assaulting Hannibal for what felt like hours. The small shards of paper thin glass fell into his hair and he shook them out, letting out a sigh of relief even as he secreted one of the small shards into the sleeve of his jumpsuit. It might not be thick enough to cause real damage, but some creative manoeuvring could create discomfort. He could use it to pierce the soft belly of a tongue, the panic it created enough of a diversion to get to his real prize, the stun gun of a shocked guard.

He was carefully inspecting the bolts of his cage for loose connections as Alana was talking, raging as she was against the conditions he was left in, that this was wholly unsuited to Omega physiology and she had half a mind to bring Chilton up on abuse charges. He felt that was a tad over the top, especially considering he hadn't been too badly treated and it was merely ignorance that was at fault here not genuine malice, a fact that still irked him.

"Dr. Lecter, I am not going to let them keep you here and I'll be damned if they even whisper about tossing you into a GSF facility, I'll chain myself to the front doors and go on a hunger strike if I have to." She fretted in her seat, full of so much energy and outrage if anyone glanced sideways at her they'd think she was an Alpha. He knew much of her outrage was based on her own challenges with Margot and she was superimposing her frustrations onto his own.

"I want to bring charges against Mason Verger," Jack said, choosing his words with precious care and leaning closer to Hannibal, putting him in his confidence. "I know you've refused to talk to the GSF about it and to the staff here, and I think that was wise of you. I want that son of a bitch's head on a platter, and if there's things that happened in that basement that can help us put him away for good..."

Hannibal liked the way Alana bristled at this, knowing she was on the same page he was, that Mason Verger didn't deserve to be locked up in a cushy little cell decked out in his money and still managing the family business from some gold lined brick alcove. Incarcerated kings only earned enforced holidays before a team of lawyers managed to spring them free upon the world, especially Alphas who expressed keen interest in making more of their kind, no matter in how perverse a fashion. No, Mason Verger needed to be dead. He gave Alana a small smile at the unspoken agreement, and her face reddened in inward fury over what she wanted versus the inevitable unsatisfactory outcome should Jack Crawford get his way.

An unmistakable scent hit Hannibal like a punch and Dr. Abel Gideon, fascinated by the little show he was allowed to witness, raised a brow and said, with some surprise, "Well now, what's this? Ah, your knight in shining armour is here, ready to take on the battle. He's looking especially grim, my friend. My, my, look at you, all alive like a dog expecting a rare treat. No surprise there, it is his bones you want, after all."

Ignoring Gideon's taunt, Hannibal carefully watched every move Will made as he entered the room, Hannibal desperately seeking eye contact and not earning it. He stood up from his seat, his fingers curled around the metal squares caging him in, his forehead pressed tight against the stained steel.

"Will."

Will ignored him, nodding instead to Jack and Alana, listening with distracted interest as Jack began his tirade, how he had gone to Purnell and Alana butted in saying it was a terrible plan, that Hannibal could end up in the hands of the GSF at the end of it, and Jack, begging her to tell him what better solution was there, then? Hannibal watched them argue back and forth, with Will on the debate's periphery, not talking to either of them, not acknowledging them, standing aloof and cold. If he'd doubted Will's stance, it was clear to him now. The abandonment was unbearable, it would have been far easier had Will taken out a pair of scissors and slowly cut Hannibal's heart out, the flesh yielding in jagged clumps. Will turned his head and Hannibal clamoured for his attention. "Will, speak to me. Please...Will..."

The air around Will Graham changed, and he stood in front of Hannibal's cage, pacing in a small circle around it, Alpha rage building with every step. Jack and even Alana noticed the sudden act of dominance, Will's low growling accentuating the very clear signals that his rising hormones were riding on. They backed away, Jack frowning in question at Will's sudden turn, the air charged with a fight set to happen between Will and a highly vulnerable Omega who in his current state had no hope of fighting back.

Dr. Gideon lightly chuckled, in on a joke Hannibal didn't know how to interpret. Will's fury all but consumed him and when he turned his stare on Hannibal, he felt an immediate need to turn his head, not meeting the boiling rage behind Will's eyes. What had happened in the time since they'd been together that morning that had changed Will's love for him so much? Hannibal felt torn by it, his soul further rendered by this man who had claimed to know him and was now clearly set to using that knowledge against him. There was only one explanation for this angry posturing, Will was about to tell Jack the truth, that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. The revelation would ruin all of his carefully set plans, and he bit the inside of his cheeks until he tasted blood. Thanks to this, he was to spend his life to rot in a far less optimal place than BHCI if the courts of the United Main had their way and his Omega warriors would be left adrift. Will Graham, FBI profiler and monstrous betrayer was the victor who had played an exceptionally cruel game and he was ready to destroy him.

"Will, are you even listening to me?" Jack was saying. "I told you, I have a signed release form from Purnell and..."

"Jack, I need you to step back."

Will snarled the order, and Jack, not sure of what had gotten into his best weapon, complied, acknowledging Will's overbearing dominance. Will turned his fury back onto Hannibal and stepped closer to his cage, close enough that Hannibal could reach through the bars and embrace him or strangle him, he still wasn't sure what the best solution to this strange stand-off was just yet.

Will's eyes had morphed into a dull grey and they were a swirling perfect storm of dominance, his face worn and braced for a deadly battle that he was set to win. Alpha pheromones exuded from his every pore and Hannibal felt his knees involuntarily tremble at the power of it, hating the way his Omega instincts wanted him to sink and submit. Will came closer to the bars, his lips nearly grazing Hannibal's perspiring forehead. Hannibal was still standing, his arms shaking as his hands gripped the bars, holding him up.

"Hannibal," Will whispered, his voice like a precious aria caressing Hannibal's ear. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Will pulled a long, richly embroidered swatch of near transparent white silk from his jacket pocket and Hannibal instantly recoiled as he understood its significance.

"No..."

But such protests meant nothing in the letter of the law, and as Will lunged forward and plunged his arms through the bars he slid the silk around Hannibal's neck in a tight vice. Hannibal was forced to endure it. He swallowed, fear overwhelming him as Will tightened it, wanting Hannibal to submit. "Will. Don't do this..."

"Hannibal Lecter, I bind you to me."

"Don't..."

He tried to pull the silk off, only for Will to tighten it further, nearly choking off his air supply. Will moved both his arms and spun another layer of silk around Hannibal's neck, the ends rolled tight in his fists. The pain and threat was nothing compared to the unbearable need to appease him that rose up within Hannibal, his knees quaking as he fought to stand. He couldn't meet Will's stern, steady glare, full of Alpha purpose. He kept his head turned, his neck exposed in submission, hoping it would be enough to make him stop. It wasn't.

"I am Will Graham and I bind you to me so that no other can have you. No other can have sway over you, no other can command you but me. The only law you obey is my law. The only words you hear are mine. Your body is my body." Will slid another loop around Hannibal's neck, and he choked against it. "Submit to me. Be bound to me on your knees."

He could barely say it the silk was so tight, he could barely breath. He had to make him stop, this couldn't happen, he was set to lose more than his freedom with this, Will was forcing him to lose himself. "Will..."

"On your knees, Hannibal."

"What the hell is going on?"

Dr. Chilton, marched into the interview room with his guards in tow, his steps turning into a run when he witnessed what Will was doing. He dropped his manila folder his haste, one that held all of the notes he'd already made on Hannibal's case, the GSF logo and 'Approved Guardian Only' stamped in wide, red letters on the outside of the folder. He reached out for Will as though to tackle him. "You can't do that here! Stop!"

Will let out a fierce growl at this and Hannibal felt a gush of slick leave him, his knees nearly giving way. "Jack," Will said through gritted teeth and the other Alpha was at his side in an instant. "I have a bonding permit in my left pocket. Take it out and show it to him."

Jack complied, though he was cautious, uncharacteristically timid, a side effect of being a bonding witness. Alana stood frightened and unsure beside him, forced into the same role as Jack and socially paralysed from preventing it. Jack opened the permit and read it over himself, bidding Alana to do so as well before brandishing it to a flustered Dr. Chilton, who snatched it from him. His eyes scanned it quickly, reading it over at least four times. "This is uncalled for," Chilton admonished them all, shaking the paper at them, his guards standing down as they knew what it signified. Hannibal's file earned thick footprints as the guards moved to the opposite side of the room, wanting no part of a bonding ritual--even compliant ones were uncomfortable at best and usually done in private. "In some more civilized societies bonding an unwilling Omega is considered assault!"

Chilton's protests meant nothing to Will, whose raging Alpha dominance was becoming impossible to resist. Will leaned close to the bars, his grip wrapped tight on the ends of the silk that were now just about choking the life out of Hannibal, his breath a thin wheeze. "Hannibal...." Will's voice had changed, had become softer, making Hannibal's tense muscles turn to jelly. "Hannibal, look at me."

Forcing himself to turn his head and break the submissive posture of his exposed neck proved more difficult than standing. Hannibal braced his knees against the solid metal at the base of the interview cage, his head slowly turning as he met Will's gaze. He shook violently as their eyes met, raging dominance battling with a tender longing that was locked in a tight spiral within those blue depths.

Will's empathy rode over his dominance and Hannibal could see it, as transparent as blue glass, the deep longing and affection and overall need to possess entwined in bloody thorns that pierced the inside of Hannibal's heart. Will's gaze terrified him, for inside of it was everything he'd wanted laid out bare and open for taking, asking him to answer with fear.

"On your knees, Hannibal." Will whispered, the Alpha fury softening, just that ever bit so slightly, into a desperate plea.

His body melted, slick and urine released as he fell to his knees, a whining cry leaving his bruised throat in such a sorrowful mourn Alana covered her mouth in shocked horror against it. He felt Will's palm, hot and clammy against the back of his head, his fingers deftly loosening the tight silk around his neck and gently winding the rest of its length around it until it was completely covered from the soft underbelly of his chin to just above his clavicle. Will held the binding in place with a loose knot at the base of Hannibal's throat, and lightly caressed his covered neck, making a point to press his knuckles against the back, along the base of his skull and the tense knots of his spine in a vain attempt to calm him. Hannibal leapt from his touch and pounded his fists on the cage, rattling it enough to send bolts flying. He screamed in rasping protest, his throat raw, his knees and feet kicking at the cage holding him prisoner. Will needed to be thankful for that, for all Hannibal wanted to do was to get out of his cage and leap onto Will, his teeth bared, ready rip his skin off and tear into his pulsing Alpha neck in animal choler.

He'd stolen him. He'd snuck in here, into the BHCI, and with a swath of silk managed to thieve the very essence of Hannibal's autonomy, masking it in the guise of love. Will had full power over him now. Hannibal was officially what he'd always feared of becoming, a non-person who others would see fit to use like one would use cutlery.

"I'm taking him home," Will said to a dumbstruck, horrified Dr. Chilton who was loathe to see his new favourite prisoner go free. "He's a bonded Omega now, there's nothing you can do to hold him here."

But Dr. Chilton wasn't done with Will Graham. He roughly gathered up the papers he had dropped and shoved them into the manila folder before slamming them against Will's chest. He stood nose to nose with the Alpha, heedless of the dominant pheromones still lurking after the bonding ceremony, his own anger rising well over the tide of Will's spent rage. "You are revolting," Chilton spat. "These notes belong to you. For now."

The tense moment was broken by low clapping from Dr. Abel Gideon, the steady slap of his palms echoing through the large room and hitting its mark in all manner of unpleasant ways. Hannibal, his fight spent, sank into the plastic seat, wincing against the state of himself. They'd be soaping this down and spraying the hose on this particular cage later.

"Congratulations to the bonded mates, may they forever have their pieces of each other. My, it's a messy business, isn't it, and not in just the relationship sense, which I'm thinking is a tad damaged after this. All that airing of dirty laundry in public." Gideon waved for Dr. Chilton's attention and shouted to him. "I'd suggest you let the dear thing get cleaned up and get him a new jumpsuit first, Fred, it's the very least you can do, considering the circumstances."

"Cut the crap, Abel!" Chilton shouted back, but it was clear he was rattled. "Of all the people to be witnessing this, that man is a menace." Chilton turned on Jack, shaking his head in mute disgust. "You should never have allowed this when you saw him take that silk out of his pocket!"

Jack shrugged. "Who am I to stand in the way of nature?"

Chilton marched up to him, then, his chin raised high in haughty moral superiority. "There was nothing natural about what happened here."

"Come on, Fred, not everyone has the same vanilla life you and Diedre enjoy. Your wife wouldn't dream of going on her knees for you. My, my what a cruel thing love is." Dr. Gideon tutted over the scene and he wasn't insincere in his pity. "Try not to be so upset, dear thing, it's not so bad. You can't be bonded alone, after all, and you're luckier than most, this one actually cares about you. Your knight came to your rescue, just like you wanted him to. It's silly to be angry that he used his sword."

~*~

Freshly showered and in a new, equally starchy and itchy jumpsuit, Hannibal sat miserable in the passenger seat of Will's beat up Ford and contemplated methods of murder. He kept picking at the rows of silk that hid his neck beneath it, the feel of it smooth and warm on his skin, no doubt carefully chosen by Will to ensure it. He had to wonder if this was another family heirloom, but he wasn't about to give the quiet, morose man at his side the satisfaction of a question that could engage them in conversation. He had cooled off from his initial resentment and had begun to formulate plans to return himself to his free state once again. Killing Will was an inevitability he hadn't anticipated and it pained him a great deal, but there was no possible way he could allow him to have reign over his movements like this. He would slit his throat tonight and make his way overseas and he could guide his army from a foreign shore, possibly from Russia where they were developing far more favourable laws for Omega protection. What Will had done at the BHCI was illegal in Moscow and would have earned him a lifetime imprisonment, a rather karmic measure of justice that was rare to find in action.

"Are you going to sulk and think of ways to kill me all the way home?" Will asked. "Don't give me that look, you don't have to be an empath to figure out just how pissed with me you are. If you want me to just drop you off at your house and I'll head back to Wolf Trap that will suit me just fine."

"It's not my house, not anymore." Hannibal rolled his lips together tight, trying to ease the bad taste of the words out of his mouth. "Everything I once had is now yours. I can't so much as buy a coffee without your permission."

"So staying imprisoned in an insane asylum was a better solution?"

Hannibal shifted his shoulders, hating the little label in the back of the jumpsuit and how it kept picking at that sensitive nub at the base of his neck, scratching his skin and leaving a tiny, but tortuous, lesion. He tried to rip it out but it was sewed on in a square block that made it impossible for him to get a grip on it. The thread felt stiff, liking fishing line. He gave up and clenched his fists against his knees, helpless.  The brand Mason Verger had burned into his back was also paining him thanks to the stiff fabric brushing against it.  He tried to ignore it, memories of Will kissing it and telling Hannibal in long detail of the terrible things he had planned for the torture of Mason Verger a brand of pillow talk that had nearly caused him an orgasm.  The studied, clinical and overly sympathetic inspection of it at the asylum infirmary was one memory he planned on tucking away forever and never revisiting.  "I had a plan I was ready to implement."

"Which involved killing everyone," Will said to the road.

"Not everyone. Just a few select people. I was anticipating some survivors."

"This may come as a shock to you, but murder is not always the answer. In fact, I'm going to go so far as to say that my method not only had less casualties, but is far more conducive to your needs than you think." Will gave Hannibal's reticence a long suffering sigh. "I'm from the mainland, remember? I don't care about how things are done here, I'm not going to tell you to not go to work, I'm not going hide you away. You're too brilliant not to have purchase in the world, though maybe cutting back on the killing jar of Alphas you got going on would be a good idea, especially since you don't need the hormones any more. No one wants you locked away. Let's face it, the only reason Jack didn't stop me from bonding with you is because he can't wait to have his dream team back. And yes, that means you, too."

"They have revoked my license," Hannibal reminded him. "I am no longer able to practise psychiatry in the same capacity as before and I am uncertain as to how my client base will react to the news of both my gender and my bonding. Nothing is as it was, Will, no matter how pretty a picture you are trying to paint for me."

They pulled up into the driveway of Hannibal's stately home, Will's sad Ford beater a sharp contrast against the gleaming Bentley. Will sighed as he killed the engine and he turned to Hannibal with weary resignation. "How about instead of killing me outright we just see how this thing goes between us for a while? If you want to take off and find your freedom elsewhere, I'm not going to stop you, Hannibal, you don't have to stomp over my corpse to do that." He stroked Hannibal's cheek, his touch moving with deft, slow movements down his neck, and he let out a contented sigh at how Hannibal seemed to relax into it. "I know you don't believe it, but I did what I did because I love you."

"That sentiment falls out of you so easily." Hannibal instantly regretted saying it, taking in Will's hurt reaction at his bitterness, his head slightly jerking in that familiar, anxious tic, his eyes roving everywhere but in contact with Hannibal. Still, he wouldn't apologize, he would allow the hurt to fester if only to wound Will for pain that had little to do with him.

They got the front porch and Hannibal reached under a large flowerpot, taking out a spare key.

"Flowerpot? Really? It's a miracle you haven't been robbed."

"Those who tried mysteriously disappeared."

Will was quiet a long moment.

"Are you telling me you left a key there on purpose as bait?"

"Statistics show it is usually young, disenfranchised male Alphas seeking to prove dominance who break into homes. Their livers are especially ripe in Alpha hormones as are their thalamus glands. The ones I killed tended to have long assault records, though I'm not going to pretend I knew that at the time. I did once let a hungry, unemployed Beta go, he only broke in to steal food." Hannibal unlocked the front door and allowed Will to enter first. "The master arrives to take over his estate. I imagine I should give you the proper tour this time, one that includes my secrets of which there are no longer any between us."

Will closed the door behind him as they went in, his coat slid off and hung on the rack near the door. "Does that bother you? You've lived with secrets for so long, Hannibal, it must be a strange feeling having someone to share them with."

Hannibal led Will to the kitchen, his steps sure and graceful despite the bulky fit of the jumpsuit which hid many of the slender lines of his body. "On the contrary, I am finding a mixture of relief and excitement at the prospect." He paused as they entered the dining room, and Hannibal whirled around, a hand braced against Will's chest. Hannibal could feel the steady thrum of Will's heart in the centre of his palm, and he held his breath for a short moment, enjoying the strength of it. "You may not like what you see. I have very specific needs and I have attuned my lifestyle to fit them. You were correct when you stated that the rest of my home is a showcase. I never use the rooms upstairs, nor do I partake of any other places in the house other than the kitchen, this dining room and the atrium. The great bulk of my time is spent here." He pushed the great oak dining table to one side, revealing the trap door beneath it. Hannibal stood back and gave Will the honour of opening it, which he did with silent trepidation, constantly looking back at Hannibal as though he were still a threat. He began his descent and Hannibal followed him, bringing the lid of the trap door back down, hiding them both underground.

"It's hard to see down here, but I guess that's because of your photosensitivity," Will said. He nearly hit his head on a low lying ceiling lamp and edged his way around it as he found solid ground. He raised a brow at the simple surroundings, the grey stone warmed into amber hues by low light lamps scattered throughout the space. Hannibal's butchery table and stainless steel refrigerator were given a cursory inspection, while the wine cellar's stock was whistled over as Will was impressed with the vast selection available. He opened a door and discovered an ornate white washed bathing room complete with a deep antique shower and lion's claw bathtub. The light here was also dim, casting the porcelain and silver fixtures into a watery, grey hue. "It's like the underside of a lake," Will observed. He closed the door and made a quick sweep of the rest of the surroundings, taking in the final room, where Hannibal's bed and study were combined in a cozy space that had low lying ceilings and seemed to be carved into the earth like a baroque cave dwelling. The large, four poster bed's spires scraped against the rounded ceiling, and Will sat on the edge of the sinking mattress stuffed with fine sawdust, his hands teasing along the soft velveteen sheets Hannibal preferred.

"It's chilly down here," Will remarked. "I can bring you my grandmother's furs if you'd like."

A heady memory of what had gone on between those wondrously cozy blankets sent a long warmth through Hannibal's belly, and he gave Will a demure nod at the suggestion. "I would like that."

Will leaned his head against the bedpost, closing his eyes in spent exhaustion. Hannibal wasn't sure what hour it was, but it had been well into the evening when they arrived here and he was feeling the tug of sleep himself. An errant lock of hair fell in front of Will's eyes and Hannibal tucked it back behind his ear as he stood before him, his touch hungering to caress as he traced his long fingers through Will's tangles. Will rested his hands loosely on Hannibal's hips and pulled him towards him until his knees were nestled between his legs. "I'm guessing you haven't taken care of yourself at all today. Are you hungry, dear Will?"

Will eyed the knot of silk at Hannibal's throat, his gaze uneasily drinking him in. "Yes," he said, but it wasn't in answer to what Hannibal was suggesting. Will closed his eyes and sighed, his hands moving up to Hannibal's waist, lightly squeezing, his touch sending a now familiar thrill through Hannibal's body. "But it's okay. I can sleep upstairs."

Hannibal pursed his lips at this, confused. "Whatever for?"

It was Will's turn to share in the confusion. "Because it wasn't fifteen minutes ago that you were planning on killing me. Dr. Chilton was right, what I had to do to free you was...It was against your will, Hannibal, I broke my promise to you. I told you I was never going to hurt you and bonding you to me has done just that."

"You performed the ritual with nothing but my interests and safety at heart, Will. The harm is, admittedly, perhaps more about ego in this circumstance than fact." Hannibal coursed his fingers through Will's hair, liking the way he leaned back, his throat exposed, lips half open as though expecting a kiss. Unable to resist such a temptation, Hannibal gave him one, tasting the exhaustion and elation he found there. "Surely, you do not mean to harm me further, Will, by denying me the one perk of being bonded?"

Will frowned. "What perk would that be?"

"I should think it's obvious." Hannibal leaned in, pressing against Will's groin and taking a far more searching, hungry kiss. He smiled into the breathless sound Will made when he broke free. "Sharing my bed with you."

"I'm not so sure about how great a perk that is, considering that you snore," Will said.

Hannibal instantly straightened. "I do no such thing."

"You snore and you *drool*." Will stood up, his hands roving up Hannibal's waist and along his back. "It's okay. I forgive you, even if you do leave a puddle of spit on my chest."

"And so we have devolved already into a universe of collective domesticity. How slippery a slope this is, Will. Soon we shall be engulfed in couple oriented ennui, such as endless household renovations and long discussions about linoleum." He cocked his head to one side, preventing Will from capturing his mouth. "Are you still hungry?"

Will teased the knot of silk at Hannibal's throat with the pad of his thumb before hooking his finger into a loop and releasing it. Hannibal's breath caught, his body shuddering in response to the not so subtle eroticism charging the action. "I'm starving," Will said, stealing away Hannibal's tongue and lips as he guided him into bed.