Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter eleven

Hannibal's knuckles were bone white as he clutched the headboard of their bed,a thin sheen of sweat causing Will's palms to slide with silky purpose across his waist and up the tight contours of Hannibal's back. Will's fingertips descended again, teasing the faded outline of Verger's branding, now healing into a dark red welt that would hopefully fully disappear in time. The mark held no purchase on Hannibal, who was riding Will's cock in quickening determination while Will slid a hand towards his bonded mate's belly and then, tortuously, slowly, and completely out of sync with Hannibal's hidden sex, he stroked Hannibal's hard length. The lazy strokes accentuated the more powerful sensations coursing through Hannibal as he rode him, muscles tensed and clenched tight over Will. Hannibal could feel the crest of his orgasm riding along the wave of the other sex, his thighs quaking as he cried out, nearly there but determined to wait. He could see that Will was likewise ready, his mouth slack and panting, his hips bucking to slam deeper. With his fist clenched tight on Hannibal's slender cock, he leaned forward, capturing Hannibal's shuddering body above him in a tight embrace as he came deep inside of him, Hannibal's seed spilling soon after. Hannibal released his death grip on the headboard and fell back onto the bed in a tangle with Will, his heart hammering so hard he could feel its pulse point against Will's chest. Will wouldn't let him catch his breath, opting to steal long kisses that travelled the length of Hannibal's tongue and swirled around it, getting a proper taste. By the time he let him go they had softened enough to become languid in afterglow, and Will nuzzled the rough contours of his beard into Hannibal's smooth neck, prickly kisses stolen along his throat.

"I think we might have won at the same time," Will said.

"No." Hannibal was sure. Still breathless, he pressed his forehead against Will's, liking the slick sweat dripping from his brow. "I wasn't fully finished until after you." He laughed at the way Will kissed into his grin. "You won fair and square, dear Will."

Hannibal leaned over and snatched the set of keys sitting on the second shelf of a small bookcase close to Will's side of the bed and dangled them over Will's open palm on the mattress. "To the victor, the spoils," he said, dropping them, and Will's fingers closed over the keys like a Venus flytrap capturing supper.

"Not sure how much of a win this is. Much as I love driving the Bentley, we're set to get stuck in campaign traffic. McBain is halfway down the Atlantic coast already, he'll be in town by Friday and the roads are already full of parades, billboards and bullshit."

He sank into the way Will embraced him, his mouth captured in searching kisses that rode along the satiated ache that could easily be reawakened. Such pleasures were common in their shared bed, an omission that Hannibal had to concede made for a far emptier feeling in his memory palace, a lonely stretch of his life before Will that he hadn't recognized without the comparison. They were both so touch hungry they spent every night in fervent exploration, and for Hannibal he wasn't to be satisfied until he'd fondled every molecule in his mate's body. Will Graham was an exceptionally talented and creative lover, and even now as they lay spent, still catching their breath in a mutual gratefulness for the softness of their bed against their nude flesh, Hannibal felt he couldn't get enough of Will if he'd devoured him in his entirety. He buried his face in Will's chest, a low hum leaving him as Will stroked the back of his head, pressing down in an ever so pleasant tease of hot fingers along the sensitive points of his neck. The feeling of another warm body with him, the security of his touch, both of these always sent a relentless calm through Hannibal, one that at present was lolling him back to sleep.

Will softly kissed the top of his forehead. "We have to go to work," he reminded him.

Making a moue of annoyance, Hannibal rolled onto his back as Will slid out from between the fur covers and out of the bed. He was exceptionally messy in the morning, a scruffy Alpha covered in the scent of his Omega, an aroma Hannibal was happy to note never quite left him, not even after showering. He himself was probably likewise marked, but it was always a source of indelible pleasure for Hannibal to gently scent the back of Will's neck after he'd showered and dressed, ready to leave, and find hints of himself so deeply embedded into the Alpha's chemistry.

This easy bliss was now into its third month, and Hannibal found ample evidence that being bonded had a very positive effect on Will. Gone was the gaunt sallow of his cheeks as Hannibal ensured he ate a proper three meals a day. Gone was the canine halo of dog hair that had perpetually followed him, replaced with his own, unmistakable woodsy scent. The dogs had found ample space in the backyard of Hannibal's home and they traded time between the massive house in Baltimore and Will's sprawling property in Wolf Trap. Hannibal was fastidious in their grooming and upkeep, and this was reflected in the far more scrubbed version of Will Graham. Gone were the unkempt, wrinkled shirts and slacks that were his usual wardrobe, Hannibal always made sure they were now carefully pressed and spotless. Gone were the dark circles that lined sunken blue eyes constantly seeking sleep, for with an Omega at his side every night Will had no reason to toss and turn with restless, angry anxiety. Gone was the rougher edge of his perpetually bad mood, and it was not uncommon to find Will joking with Beverly in the crime lab, his posture relaxed and sure, hands loose in his pockets. His skin was no longer tight, pockmarked in red splotches like ink on paper, his flesh was now smooth, an alabaster health exuding from it that had much to do with adequate exercise and ample stress relief.

There were also changes within himself, some attributable to his discontinuation of the Alpha pheromones he had used since he was eighteen years old. The loss of body hair was a little disconcerting as his Omega hormones gradually morphed back into normal levels, and by the end of the first month he no longer needed to shave. His skin, always sensitive, was now far more easily bruised and was hyper reactive to the fabrics and chemicals used to wash them. He found he had to discard some of his shirts and matching suits, the material suddenly too uncomfortable to wear. The bright lights of the forensics lab at Quantico were unbearable, as was the light in Jack's office, to the point of causing actual pain instead of mere discomfort. Beverly was kind enough to lend him red goggles as a courtesy when he was in the lab, and Jack Crawford always shut the curtains and turned off the overhead fluorescent fixtures when having meetings in his office when Hannibal attended. Other physical attributes in alignment with Will's were in evidence, he'd gained a bit of weight as well, his belly softer, the outline of his muscles slightly less defined. Arousal happened much quicker than before, as he discovered even just thinking about their acts of lovemaking could leave him slicked and swollen with need, resulting in it not being all that uncommon for Will to show up for lunch at Hannibal's office and be given a highly sexually charged workout instead.

There were, as there always are in such unions, some contentions. Will was not happy about the contents of Hannibal's cellar refrigerator, for one, and they'd had a heated argument over the use of leftover offal. Hannibal insisted it wasn't right to allow it to go to waste and it wasn't like Will hadn't had a taste of the charred human body anyway, but Will was adamant. Eating the pheromones of another Alpha was tantamount to courting a rival, and he physically couldn't tolerate it. Irrational as it was, knowing Hannibal was devouring another Alpha in a very literal sense made Will go into an Alpha rage that he found difficult to control. When Will put his fist through a plate of balsamic liver and split open his knuckles, Hannibal had enough. He tossed the contents of the cellar refrigerator that had been his aid in freedom for half of his life and replaced the human body parts with dairy products. Large wheels of blue cheese manufactured by Benedictine monks and logs of organic Omega goat cheese amongst other rare varieties aged in a perfectly temperate environment. There was even a variety of cheese that was packed in human excrement. Jimmy Price would be enthralled.

Domestic life was far easier to bear with two rather than one, Hannibal discovered, much to his pleasant surprise. He had revealed most of his secrets to Will, though there were still those little locks meant to be kept hidden, a bolted door against his soul that barred all Alpha entry, even the one he'd chosen. The bonding ceremony still sat ill within him, and though he had enough perception to understand why Will felt the need to perform it, there was still a barrier constructed as a result, one that Hannibal was confident would remain in place until he took the wall down himself. When he did it would be Hannibal's power that would remain in its place and from that moment Will would have a choice of either destruction or creation. Broken teacups could not be put together perfectly. The best of all worlds would be to put an entirely new one in its place.

"Why did you become the Ripper?" Will had asked him, not long into their union, his voice a rasping, whispery thing in the darkness between them as they lay beneath animal furs, the perfume of sex and angora surrounding them. "I mean, I get that you needed to hide your gender, but you could have easily passed as a Beta, you didn't have to go the riskier Alpha route. No one would have found you out."

"Why should I suffer the debasement of my talents, my intellect, and place it under a lesser title? My dear Will, I do not believe myself to be something 'less than' in any sense of the word, and it is not ego that makes me know this, it is simply the construction of who I am. The answer you seek has many layers of complexity, but it is not a case of a pauper looking to become king, rather a king deposed, seeking back the throne."

Will stroked his hair, fingers slung through silk, his breath hot and cascading over the tendrils of fur that lay thick between them and Hannibal sought out his skin, liking the way he could feel Will's blood pulse in a different rhythm from his own. "You've put yourself on quite a pedestal," he warned. "Kings get overthrown."

"A divine birthright should be exalted. You would deny me the right to it?"

Will smiled and kissed his lips before nuzzling against him, noses touching as they talked. "There are many kings and queens in the world, Hannibal, but there's only one of you. That uniqueness tells me you're missing the mark."

"I am not to be king?"

"You are not a man. You definitely aren't a woman. And yet you're both." Will shifted and Hannibal sank against him, liking the way their pieces of their bodies fit together so perfectly. He could lose himself inside of Will's skin, he could wear it and dive within him into that swirling mass of empathy that pulled him along the current of his hot blood, his soul pressed against the deep rocks of Will's foundations. When Will opened his eyes, he would know what to look for when he saw himself. "There's no throne for you, Hannibal. The power you have is too strong for that."

He'd closed his eyes against the hand that stroked his face, kissing Will's palm and slipping into that gentle eroticism he had come to expect from his mate. He pulled the fur blanket over their heads, a cave of animal scents. "Every Alpha I met treated me like meat," Hannibal whispered into the perfumed dark. "I deemed it fitting to return the sentiment."

Will swallowed, deeply at this, and traced a shaking thumb along the scar at Hannibal's throat, his whispered words carrying more weight with them than he would ever hope to know. "What happened to you?"

Simple questions are the hardest to answer. There are no equations with enough analysis to pinpoint the exact causes of one decision over another when the vast variables of hurt are piled so deep any number of chosen pieces out of it could fashion a monster from them. He felt the pinch of iron at his throat as the shackle was snapped shut, and he shuddered when Will traced the outline of the Verger brand still open and sore on his back, his nail digging slightly beneath a scab. Neither event had much to do with the other, save for the eventual outcome. Hannibal kissed Will and opted for a blander version of his choice.

"It was a professor of ethics, if you can believe it. He was my first victim. The chemical Alpha pheromones weren't as effective as I'd needed them to be and I realized through my studies that it was direct Alpha hormones that would supplement what the pheromones couldn't do, especially when taken in organically." Will continued to touch his throat, small kisses placed in a ring around the scar, making Hannibal's breath catch as he released his carefully chosen confession. "He persistently made disparaging remarks about Omegas and I knew he had an Omega daughter. I felt that ridding the world of him in order to elevate an Omega such as myself was an irony that could not be missed. I lured him to an abandoned basement section of the hospital with the promise I had found a rare plaything for him to try out, I even made him think he was paying a hefty transaction for the experience. Quite simple, really, he had no ethics at all and I have to wonder about the study of it, it seems to attract such types. That which we profess to know we aim to learn. It's why madmen like psychiatry."

"So you killed him," Will said.

"With a scalpel to the jugular. He bled out into the drain of an old operating theatre rather like a butchered pig. I dismembered his body after taking my preferred organs and tossed the pieces into an organic waste disposal. It was still lined with lye, the professor's body dissolved in less than a week."

Will bit the inside of his cheek at this. "I guess you were an expert right from the beginning."

"Murder wasn't always necessary, though it was a natural recourse, yes. By the time I was in residency and practising surgery, it was an easy thing to allow certain Alpha patients to die and secretly harvest their organs. Of course, a surgeon cannot keep up such a ruse indefinitely, there will eventually be questions as to why the survival rates of your patients have some unexpectedly skewed statistics. Thus, after practising surgery for only a few years I went into psychiatry and was forced to revert back to my killing jar methodology, as you so succinctly put it."

Will had been quiet, then, his hands still softly roving, his sighs far too benign for the disturbing conversation they were having. "You still aren't telling me everything," Will said, and Hannibal felt his mouth go dry, for Will was diving far too deep and Hannibal was worried he'd crush beneath the pressure of what Will might discover on that black ocean floor. "You don't have to tell me," Will said, and Hannibal could feel the pressure release, Will bones click back into place as his soul found a more buoyant place to rest upon his heart. "When that story needs telling, just know I'll be ready to hear it."

The sound of the shower echoed through the cellar and Hannibal frowned into the fluffy down of his pillow, realizing he had fallen back asleep. He sighed and rolled onto his back, alone now in the bed, and waiting for Will to be finished. He supposed he could join him, but he liked his showers more tepid than scalding and he didn't want Will to suffer in shivering cleanliness. Instead, he would lie in bed and patiently wait for Will to be done, enjoying the taste of his newly scrubbed, steamed flesh when he left it. He was delightful at those moments, Hannibal thought with a sensual smile. He never told Will, but there were times he was so very tasty a morsel it was all Hannibal could do not to take a hungry chunk of the muscle near his rounded shoulder and eat it.

~*~

"...The campaign trail is well underway, with Maryland hopeful Governor Jeb McBain leading the polls and taking his message of family on a tour of the Coastlines, starting with the entirety of the Atlantic Regional Main and ending in the upper Pacific Regional Main in the far northwest section of Washington. With the brutal murder of his PR representative, Galvin McDermott, Governor Jeb McBain's personal security has been questioned, especially with concerns of his Mainland travels as he cuts across Upper Louisiana through Texas and then across the desert dead zone to Arizona.

'The swamp areas can be pretty treacherous just from a traveller's point of view.' Jeb McBain's voice erupted through the Bentley's speakers, the Coastline prettiness of it offering a balm of normalcy to the bulk of his voters. 'Don't get me wrong, I know the Mainlanders are an odd bunch, but they are part of the United Main, like it or not (laughs). It's my hope, as you all know, that we can bring the Mainlanders into the same ethos as the Coastline. That's what the 'Make A Family' campaign is all about. There is a lot of untapped resources waiting for us within the belly of this fine country, and though their world view is as different as any foreign shore, we have to find a way to breach that ignorance and bring the Mainlanders into the twenty-first century. Concentrating on becoming a strong, Alpha centric nation is what's going to keep our shores safe from economic decline. The Mainland has a lot of challenges: unbridled poverty, unbonded Alphas not producing more Alpha offspring, prehistoric concepts of family units, Omegas allowed to walk freely and getting assaulted and murdered. It's just not what the United Main should be about..."

"Can you believe this shit?" Will said, incensed. "That asshole hasn't got a clue. I never heard of an Omega murder in the mainland. *Never*. The first time I witnessed the aftermath of an Omega assault was when we were living on the coast in Florida. He's just piling on the urban myths to get a cheap, ignorant vote, the prick. This shit won't fly in Texas, those guys are crazy mad about staying out of the Coastline economy, they'll kick his head in for just suggesting it."

Hannibal sighed at Will's erupting fury and turned the radio to his preferred classical station, filling the Bentley with the far more soothing sounds of Bach. Will gave him a sidelong look and ran his fingers along the silk hiding Hannibal's neck in slender, layered ribbons, ending in a french knot at the base of his throat. This binding was pale blue in colour, in a hue that went well with the blue plaid evident in the sheen of his perfectly tailored suit. Will pinched at the silk fabric layer, slightly separating it but not revealing skin. "A little old fashioned, don't you think? Most bonded Omegas just wear a loose scarf."

"My nature may have been forced out into the open, but there is no reason I should not take pride in my status as a bonded mate, especially to you." Hannibal pushed his shoulders back, his head held high as they approached the building holding his office. "Besides it makes me far more visible should I dare to venture across the street to Demeter's Cafe to get take out coffee and a slice of their exceptionally delightful napoleon. They make the mille-feuille in house, not a common practise of even the most high end bakeries in the region." Hannibal frowned slightly when the radio broke into static, marring his enjoyment of the Bach. Will cursed as one of the usual streets they turned off of was blocked by a marching band, the participants shivering in the cold and snow and off tempo as a result. Will took the long detour around it with a scowling mutter. "The binding prevents unwanted advances," Hannibal added. "It's a useful discovery, though the taunting and scandalized glares that I've ventured in public without my Alpha is perhaps just as irritating."

After zig-zagging his way through a dozen more streets, Will finally pulled into the driveway of the Victorian home housing Hannibal's office and parked, his mood significantly heavier than when they'd left their home together that morning.

"I hate that this is life for you," Will said.

He'd said it with such mournful sincerity Hannibal couldn't help but cage Will's face into his hands and pull him in for a kiss. He kept Will in the embrace, reluctant to leave him feeling helpless. "My dear Will, you have found more solutions for me than any other would have. The fact I can even leave my home is a miracle I would never have dreamed possible, the severity of that imprisonment an issue I see in my practise daily. I have to wear my bond as a source of pride and steal what small freedoms I can lest I allow society's law to completely shackle me. I need to be a positive example for my patients. Small protests also hold great significance, do you understand?"

"I think so," Will said. Still worried, as he always was, the weight of Hannibal's own societal burdens empathically made his own, Will leaned in and gave Hannibal a fairly chaste kiss. "Call me if you need anything. I'm going to be in Jack's office for most of the day, going over that last Omega case. He's pissed you haven't given a statement, he wants Mason Verger in jail."

"I'm confident the results found on Dr. Doemling's body were statement enough," Hannibal said with curt finality. "Don't eat out, I know you've been sneaking fast food on rushed breaks, and there is no point sliding back into ill health thanks to Jack's relentless schedule. I packed the lunchmate for you, it's in the trunk. A grilled fresh turkey sandwich on rosemary foccacia with cranberry, goat cheese and rocket, along with other palatable accompaniments."

Will stopped his exit from the parked Bentley with a firm hand on Hannibal's shoulder. A stroke of his thumb along the silken fabric of his suit turned it into a caress.

"I love you." Then, frowning, that burdened weight pushing him down again into black depths, Alpha concern for his vulnerable Omega rushing through every cell in Will's tightly wound body. "If there's any problem, no matter what it is, I don't care if it's small, I'll be here right away."

"I'll be fine." Hannibal gave Will a small smile and gently squeezed the hand on his shoulder before getting out of the Bentley and waving good-bye. Will made sure he was safely inside and the door shut behind him before driving away. It was a gesture Hannibal considered unnecessary, after all, he'd proven he could protect himself and the facts were if there was a serious altercation, Will would merely get in the way by trying to prevent murder or some such silly interference. Still, it was rather sweet, that Alpha paranoia creeping in, ensuring he was lurking on Will's mind for the entirety of the day.

He made his way up the narrow stairs to the second floor, where his practise was, giving a bland wave in greeting to the two lawyers of the small legal firm who took up the ground floor. This lately earned him a shake of their heads and rude stares, but he hadn't yet determined if this was due to malice or shock. He checked his watch and noted he didn't have much time before his first two appointments. He would have to convince Will to drop him off earlier, so he could go over his patient notes and encrypted battle plans with a more relaxed mindset.

~*~

Cindy Blackstock was a pleasant, chatty Omega who was bonded to a gay Alpha male who had used their union to hide his romantic relationship with a Beta male his parents did not approve of. As loveless unions went, this one was far more amicable than most, and it was difficult to discern who had the most unhappy arrangement in this marriage. Cindy possessed a great deal of freedom since her own parents died in a car accident twelve years ago, and her inlaws were too busy keeping tabs on their son's movements to care about hers. She often drifted out in public without her neck covered, pretending to be a single Omega and took frequent trips into the Mainland--for excursions Hannibal knew would earn her incarcerations in a GSF facility should she ever be discovered.

She pointed to her own, bare neck and nodded at Hannibal. "I like the colour. I guess it's congratulations? You never really had me fooled, you know. It's a side effect of having to watch someone spend their life in a closet."

"I'm glad to know I was so transparent." Hannibal crossed his legs, annoyed with Cindy's flippancy over his situation. Her own freedom was one earned by chance and she had never truly understood the significance of it. Her rage was comprised of compassion, the long nights she spent consoling her bonded mate who only wanted to be with his Beta boyfriend and whose parents insisted he forget that particular misguided romance and concentrate harder on making Alpha heirs. Quite an impossibility, Cindy had told Hannibal, since just the thought of sex with a woman made her mate dry heave. Cindy used contraceptives when on her heat induced trips to the Mainland where she had an Alpha who 'helped her through tough times' as Will's grandmother used to say.

"He's getting suicidal again." She wrung her hands in sympathy, her elbows balanced on her knees. Cindy was tall and thin like the usual Omegas, but there was little elegance attached to her, and she spread out in the chair before Hannibal like a loose-limbed spider. "His mother cut off his money when he was on a business trip in Cairo. She found out Brandon had gone with him and shit hit the fan in a big way. When he came back, she sent him to the GSF for a week for electric shock therapy to 'reset his balance'. He lost time, he has no memory of Cairo at all or two of the months before that. It's hurting the management of his business, he's going to go bankrupt if this keeps up." Cindy's knee bounced as she clasped her hands in front of her. "I need to know your plan is going to work. I'll make sure he's not there, but I want his parents front and centre, I want them to suffer for what they've done to him."

"My bonding to Will Graham has not put the plan into danger, that I can assure you." He gave Cindy a cold assessment, wondering how much use she was going to be in the long game of things. She would be adequate for the current battle, but she was strangely self assured for an Omega female, and he worried she would over think the situation, miring it in a sense of indignation that she, with her near limitless freedom, had no right to feel. Still, she had a measure of care within her that could easily be exploited, and Hannibal considered a group therapy session of his Omega warriors might be a good idea. Hearing the torment of her compatriot's lives might make Cindy open to more creative expressions of sympathetic rage.

Their session ended with some dull advice on how to assist her Alpha mate's distress, which mostly involved sneaking his Beta boyfriend into the Blackstock mansion without the watchful eye of her inlaws detecting him. What's a week of lovemaking gone when a passionate night can be placed above it? She was unsure of this plan, but she promised to implement it anyway.

It was just after his lunch hour and Hannibal was about to give Will a call and ask if he wanted to leave Quantico early in order to pick up his dry cleaning and perhaps go over his latest findings in the Omega murder. He liked the way talk about it always incited Will's Alpha rage, sparking a blood soaked tirade against Mason Verger wherein Hannibal vicariously lived through Will's imaginary murder and torture of the monstrous little worm. For the past three months, Hannibal had allowed Will's creative, complex mind to form its own story of what had happened to him in that Verger basement, the bruises, cuts and branding melding with the additional indignities he made sure to tell Will he'd suffered at the BHCI, and the not so subtle reminder that it was Mason Verger's fault he'd ended up there at all. Will's white hot rage would be terrifying to anyone else, and Hannibal knew that all he had to do was whisper to him to cut Verger down and Will would run to Muskrat Farm, eager to test out all of his torturing fantasies. They were delightfully elaborate, at times even artful, though Hannibal had to wonder why he had such a strange fixation on goring Verger with bleached white stag antlers, a rather phallic symbol in his opinion, he would have much preferred if Will would simply flay off his skin with a carving knife.

There was a knock on his door and Hannibal frowned, as he had no further patients pencilled in for the rest of the day and was going to spend the majority of it sketching his latest battle plans along with finishing his anatomical study of Will. Annoyed by the intrusion, the feeling was further exacerbated when he opened the door to his office and found a twitchy Dr. Chilton standing in its frame, alongside a rather demure, blonde haired woman with an ice cold demeanour and blue eyes that matched. "Hannibal," Dr. Chilton said, and he pointed to the new sign Hannibal had placed on his door. "So you dropped the 'Dr. Lecter, psychiatrist' and replaced it with 'Holistic Therapist'. Very clever method of sidestepping regulation, I see." He stepped into Hannibal's office without invitation and Hannibal made a move to block him.

"You do not have an appointment, Frederick," Hannibal said.

"No, but you most certainly do." Dr. Chilton handed him an envelope which Hannibal cautiously took. "It's a decree by the GSF that you are to have mandatory out patient therapy and since I know the sorts of goings on that happen in those GSF quack factories, I made a point to step in for you and forced them to allow a qualified psychiatrist of *my* choosing." He nodded to the slight, rather stiff and uncomfortable ice queen standing beside him who was shrouded in pastel hues and a mask of non-personhood. "This is Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier. She is an Omegan specialist, and I do believe..."

"I am not a specialist," she made clear.

Her sharp high heels clipped through the carpet as she walked further into Hannibal's office, taking in the careful decor and professionalism with an unreadable absorption. Dr. Chilton, of course, continued to prattle on, and Hannibal sighed as he motioned for both of them to take a seat, one on the chaise in front of the office's long, thin windows, and one directly across from him, his patients' chair. Dr. DuMaurier picked the chaise, her back rigid as she sat gingerly on its edge. Hannibal watched her carefully, the way one predator might assess another, but it was a painfully uneven fight. A tiger versus a house cat and both seeking the same bird to eat.

"You were able to stonewall this for months, and I have to say, it's quite a thing to put up that kind of barrier against the GSF. Of course, being bonded has been the main crux of that matter, they don't like to interfere in family matters. Most other psychiatrists would have left you to your Alpha and washed their hands of you, but as I witnessed the forced bonding myself, as well as the distress of your capture, I could not in all conscience leave you adrift. You need therapy, Hannibal. It is my professional duty to make sure you get it."

Hannibal rolled his eyes and demurely crossed one leg over the other, keeping careful watch of Dr. DuMaurier in his periphery. Dr. Chilton immediately took out a notebook, pen eagerly poised above blank paper which he began scribbling on before asking a single question. Hannibal had to wonder what the dim man could possibly have seen in these simple interactions to warrant that much ink. "I would like to start off this assessment with a fairly direct question, if you don't mind, Hannibal. I've noticed you've dropped the 'doctor' prefix in front of your name, why is that?"

"Because as you well know, Frederick, my license has been revoked."

Dr. Chilton leaned forward in his chair, his pen poised and his gaze one of pushy intensity as he fixed it on Hannibal. "And how does that make you *feel*?"

Hannibal gave Dr. DuMaurier's silent observation a calculated once over. "Considering you have a mass murderer in custody in your asylum who still retains his professional title I would ask in turn how *you* would feel about that."

"This is not about me, Hannibal," Dr. Chilton reminded him. "This is about you." Dr. Chilton turned towards Dr. DuMaurier and gave her a knowing look. "He is very obtuse and will constantly try to deflect your questions and efforts to get to a clear answer. He can be quite infuriating."

"It is impolite to talk about a patient when they are in the room, Fred, or have you lost that bedside etiquette in the asylum?"

Dr. Chilton let out a long suffering sigh. "Hannibal, much as you want to believe it, I am not the enemy here. I recognize your adjustment to this new lifestyle is something that will not come to you easily. You went from Alpha to bonded Omega in an expanse of less than twenty-four hours, that is a massive upheaval of all you know and believe of yourself. This is a highly traumatic experience and one that I fully comprehend is set to have considerable fallout."

"I imagine you believe that to be true, however, I can assure you I am adjusting and have been fortunate enough to bond with someone who is not so draconian as to fully decimate my independence. That appears to be your job with this unnecessary and uncalled for investigation into my coping skills. I am sure it will make quite the academic paper when you submit it. If you want, I can write it for you and you can just sign your name to it, a harkening back to old habits."

Dr. Chilton became red faced at this, and he closed up his notebook with a loud snap. "I am not here because I want to advance my career with you. I know you don't believe it, but I actually consider you a worthy peer in my profession and I am disgusted that as a qualified psychiatrist you can have your entire life revoked in this way. I know that if I was in your shoes, I would be suffering. You know it yourself, you read the same textbooks I did, you are at high risk of depression, suicidal ideation and possible psychotic episodes. Having your life uprooted in this way is traumatic, and regardless of how much your Alpha mate permits your freedoms, the facts are you went from hero to zero in a big fat mushroom cloud and there's no way you came unscathed from that kind of fall. Did you ever ask yourself why you ended up in the BHCI and not in some cesspit of a GSF facility? Because *I* insisted! *I* went to bat for you and did what I could to protect you because you are my *colleague*!"

Hannibal remained unmoved. "So I suppose this is the part where I fawn over you in thanks for such a delightfully pleasant incarceration. If you are expecting me to celebrate your altruism, you will be sadly disappointed. The facts are, the courts believe I committed a felony and you eagerly put me under glass."

"The United Main is the only country in the world where gender subterfuge is a crime, and I am not so ignorant as to leave you hanging for it!"

Hannibal shrugged and turned his head to the side, and avoided looking at Chilton altogether. "They shall be making saintly icons of you to put up on the walls of the BHCI and lighting candles in your honour. I'm sure your acts of good will make for wonderful banter at the round tables of professional conventions and amongst peer review boards. Move over Mother Theresa, Dr. Chilton's elbowed you out of your angelic seat."

Dr. Chilton was incensed. "I am not having this fucking pissing contest with you, for God's sake! Please, I am not the enemy here, Hannibal, I am genuinely trying to help you, you pompous bastard!"

Dr. Chilton's red faced shouting was placated by the pale, slender hand of Dr. DuMaurier on his knee. "Fred," she said, her voice like cold water. "You need to step outside into the waiting room and let me finish the former Dr. Lecter's assessment myself."

"He's still a goddamned doctor, don't kid yourself! I don't give a damned what the GSF and their schizophrenic quacks have to say about it!" Chilton gathered up his notebook and pen and leapt from his seat, turning on DuMaurier. "I'm giving you twenty minutes!"

He stormed out of the office, the door slamming hard behind him. Hannibal glanced at his watch, ready to time Dr. DuMaurier's visit. He had no intention of saying one word to her.

Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier remained where she was perched on the edge of the chaise and tilted her head to one side. "Don't worry, I have no intention of psychoanalyzing you, *Doctor* Lecter. I think you're coping with this whole upset just fine. Fred is a man of short fuses and poorly lit matches, burning bright only to sputter out." She gave him a shadow of a smile. "We will be sitting here together for some time, I would not be averse to a glass of wine if you care to offer one."

Such a novel idea, and he was loathe to resist it. Hannibal rose from his seat and headed for the small decanter he kept in an antique cupboard near his sprawling desk. He returned with two deftly poured glasses of a heady merlot, one that would chase out the chill Dr. DuMaurier was marinated in. She took hers with careful, artful grace, long fingers balancing the rounded glass and avoiding the stem.

"If you would permit me, there is only one question I would like to ask."

Hannibal considered it, and the politeness of her request and his own curiosity bid him to give her a small nod. "You may ask it."

"The binding you have chosen to wind onto your neck is very old fashioned. I have to wonder...Is it uncomfortable?"

Hannibal swirled his wine and gently sifted it before taking a delicate sip that slid past his tongue in thankful bitterness. "What bindings aren't?" he replied, and took a second, larger, gulp.

~*~
Will Graham is not a man who can put his obsessions to one side and pretend he does not long to push its boundary. After dropping Hannibal off at his office, Will Graham did not go to Quantico, he had no meeting with Jack Crawford, he had no classes to attend to, no lab work to fuss over with Beverly, Zeller and Price as they handed him evidence and asked him to wrangle his empathy into photographs of wounds. Will Graham had a fixated mission in mind and he didn't want his bonded Omega mate to know about it.

Will Graham wanted to kill Mason Verger.

He'd openly fantasized about it for months, his empathy digging into all the small omissions Hannibal left him when he'd asked what had happened in that Verger basement and Hannibal remained reticent about telling him. He noted the way Hannibal would flinch in his sleep when he'd touched the brand, a fire burning through his throat as he longed to growl and tear into the monster that would be so damned audacious to think he could touch his mate without recrimination. Will's aggressive Alpha instincts increased daily, to the point that Hannibal was constantly on his mind, the unresolved crime a torment he wasn't about to let fester unpunished.

So, for the past three months, Will had staked out the Verger estate and memorized Mason Verger's habits and movements, surprised by how meticulously predictable he was. Mason was an early riser, mid morning napper, and from the research Will had put into his hunting, he knew Mason slept like the dead. The best time to kill him would be in mid-morning when the house staff dwindled down to only a single maid and a limousine driver, who wasn't too attentive when it came to security. He'd scaled the back fence with ease, and even went so far as to cut himself a hole in it that he could easily travel through and bind back up again. It would be a while before anyone found that broken link in the fence. He'd travelled the long hallways of the Verger estate, investigating eerie rooms full of sex toys and stuffed animals, most of which weren't presently in use. The children's playroom was situated next door to Mason's bedroom and he had a large two way mirror installed so he could watch them like one does animals in a zoo. It creeped Will out that people would drop their kids off here, but then desperation and poverty did terrible things to one's perception of right and wrong. This was the Coastline way, no one helped one another here.

Will parked the Bentley off of the property and onto the main road, walking by foot down the long stretch of forest that led into the back end of the property and the hole he'd cut in the fence. He slid through it, the snow crunching beneath his feet. There was a light snowfall beginning which made his heart sing since this would obscure his footprints.

He entered the massive estate via a small broken window in a forgotten pantry near the main kitchen. Since the house operated on two people during this time of day, he could travel through it freely, his mind quickly mapping out the areas where he knew Mason could be lurking. At present, he knew where he was, he was sleeping in his large, circular bed, snoring into his sheets, his hand wrapped around his spent cock, his room stinking of aged semen. That poor maid deserved hazard pay.

He passed the large portrait of Mason in the main foyer, his piggy eyes following Will as he bounded up a couple of sets of stairs to the third floor, where Mason's bedroom and the children's playroom was. He passed the playroom which was full of unsupervised kids, toys strewn everywhere, children laughing and crying as they roughly played, and not always nicely. There was a four year old howling mournfully in the middle of the room, her nose bleeding. A slightly older child comforted her. Another child knocked on the door, begging for help, but of course, no one was going to answer. There wasn't going to be a daycare worker present for another four hours. They were basically children in a fish tank.

Will tested Mason Verger's bedroom door and held his breath as the lock gave and allowed him access. He pushed the door open a tiny crack, getting a good view of Mason in his bed. He was a lump slug of a person, snoring, loudly, his eyes reduced to pinpricks when they were closed in deep sleep. Will slipped inside, his bag of tricks ready to use. His fingers itched to clasp around the handle of his knife.

He'd spent many a night describing his potential kill to Hannibal, revelling in the way his mate would listen, enraptured to the flow of blood that spilled from Will's lips. Hannibal would offer his own suggestions, such as cutting out his tongue so he couldn't speak and irritate Will with his ignorant discourse. Eyes could go next, for nothing hurt more than not knowing where the next blow was going to come from.

Will crept closer to the bed, Mason's snores catching in his thick throat and then messily coughing up a plug of phlegm as his breathing regulated again. Will reached into the pocket of his black jacket, one he'd bought for this purpose and ready to be discarded when he was done. He pulled out his hunting knife, ready to get to work...

"Will?"

He whirled around, and was shocked to find Alana standing behind him. His eyes widened further still when he saw how she was dressed--all in black with a pair of goggles over her balaclava, her hair tied up in a tight bun and hidden beneath the black toque. The best part, though, was what she held in her hand. A two inch linoleum knife ready to tear into flesh.

Dr. Alana Bloom had just walked into Will Graham's attempt at murder and didn't scream or ask him what he was doing or rail at the amorality of it. She didn't because she had come here to do the exact same thing. Rid the world of Mason Verger.