Chapter Text
The limousine came to a halt. Will stretched, feeling the fabric of his suit shift around him before moving to open the door. His blue suit would likely stick out like a sore thumb at the party, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He stepped out into the cool, winter air, seeing the brownstone rise in front of him into the darkening sky. He examined it while buttoning his jacket and shifting his overcoat before turning to reach behind him, offering a hand to the other within the car. His mother pressed a gloved hand into his and he helped her from the limo, while the driver shut the door behind them. He held out his arm to allow her to loop her own through. Given the wealthy elite who were attending this party, he assumed the house would be more pretentious and that made him suspicious from the moment he laid eyes on it. Others had already entered the party, he could hear a faint hum of classical music and idle chatter echoing from the house. His mother tightened her grip on his arm and he looked over at her.
He never knew what his father looked like, a one night fling had resulted in Will Graham. He did know his father's name, but he never had the inclination to look the man up and he died of cancer before Will ever could. He supposed, though, that he looked more like his mother than his father. Frances DuBois was a refined woman with long, dark curly hair and sky blue eyes. She had a sharp, fierce look about her at all times and a biting wit to accompany it. She had never married, not finding a man worth her time, but she would speak fondly of Will's father now and then. Over the years, her dark hair had gained hints of grey to it, peppered throughout. Tonight, she wore her dark hair pinned back, with pins the same silver as the long dress she adorned. Her hands were covered in white gloves with a silver bracelet on the one hooked through Will's arm and a sapphire ring on her left middle finger. She was covered in some expensive faux fur for a coat. She rolled her shoulders, making her dress dance in the evening light.
Her eyes met his and a silent agreement passed between them.
Will was often her date to the various parties hosted by the wealthy elite over the majority of the east coast. His mother had been a social butterfly for the majority of her life, first in France and again when she moved to America. Will had been attending parties such as this for as long as he could remember. He endured the parties when he was young, often finding a corner to hide in. As he grew older, he still hated the parties but found ways to entertain himself, normally finding some socially acceptable way for trouble until the two would leave. During these parties, he would also take the opportunity to people watch. It was easy for him to slip into the minds of others, though it was always easiest with sociopaths and psychopaths. Sometimes, however, he enjoyed seeing if he could slip into the minds of others. It was his own brand of fun to play on their expectations. However, this night, he had promised to be on his best behavior.
Their host was another wealthy European, a count or so the rumor went. Will should not have been as surprised as he was to find that the title Count was still used but he shrugged it off as quickly as his mother had told him the rumor.
The pair made their way up the walk toward the door. It opened before either could knock, likely hired staff making certain no one would wait on the steps too long. Both surrendered their coats before his mother looped her arm through his once more and they stepped into the dull roar of the party.
Will acquainted himself with his surroundings, taking in the various decorations of the house as his mother pulled him through it, greeting others as she went. He would mutter a greeting, though he let her do most of the talking as they milled about. The house didn't give away on the outside what it gave away on the inside. In fact, the outside was rather dull compared to the decorations inside. Most of the guests had gathered in the foyer or the dining room, milling about in conversation. However, they had also managed to spill into the yard outside. Glass double doors from the dining room were open, partially blocking off an opening that seemingly led to the kitchen. The yard outside was just large enough to accommodate the crowd with a patio decorated with a variety of lights and incredibly fancy chairs donning the immaculate grass. Will noted the herb garden in the dining room as his mother pulled him through, along with a Leda and the Swan painting over the fireplace. There were small space heaters outside, keeping the guests warm in the chill of the night. The whole house set off a million alarms in Will's mind.
When his mother was between greetings, he took his chance to whisper in her ear.
"This is the house of a serial killer," He whispered in French.
"Nonsense, darling." She whispered back, smiling at a man who passed them. "I know I haven't taken you home, but this is very much the style of the wealthy in Europe. I know I raised you to appreciate art." She sighed wistfully. "Someday I will take you to our home and you will see for yourself."
She greeted another and Will responded when they left. "Mother," Her eyes focused on him. "It's not the art."
She paused for a moment, pursing her lips. "You can tell." It wasn't a question but Will nodded anyway. "Like you?" Will raised an eyebrow in answer. She raised her free hand to press against his face gently. "Then we must meet our host."
She dropped her hand as another pair approached them. One Will knew immediately. Her sky-colored eyes were highlighted by her light blue dress. Her hair fell in a cascade down her shoulders and her smile was accentuated by her lipstick.
"Mademoiselle," He greeted, grasping her hand and pressing it to his lips playfully.
"Hello, Will."
Will had met Dr. Alana Bloom two years previously when they both had been asked to consult on a case. Will taught at the FBI Academy, a great way to keep an eye on the cases that came through Quantico, while also appearing normal. A man of his age living off his mother would raise suspicions, of course. Alana taught at Georgetown and had graciously covered his class a couple of times when his mother dragged him to some new event. The pair had never been alone in a room together, which he knew was done purposely. For a time, he had thought he might pursue a relationship with her, but that would be toying with fire.
"Ms. DuBois." Alana greeted. She looked between them and Will could easily see the train of thought her mind was taking. It was amusing to him and rather than correct it just yet, he waited for Alana to ask. He had never run into Alana at any of the events his mother had attended, though it appeared the two had come across each other in the past. "How do you two know each other?"
His mother glanced at him, humor evident in her eyes. He debated toying around the subject to see what reaction he could elicit from Alana, but she hadn't greeted them alone.
"This is my mother," He answered after a moment. He watched as Alana's brain attempted to catch up with his statement before turning to the man who accompanied her. Will was immediately caught in the amber eyes of the other man. The other man had a knowing looking as their eyes met, the pair examining each other. Will hated eye contact, he always had. Over the years, he forced himself to tolerate it, but he would never keep eye contact for long. Normally, he wore glasses as a kind of physical shield between his eyes and the eyes of others but he had neglected them tonight, allowing the other man to gaze into his eyes fully. His dark hair was neatly in place atop his head, peppered with almost unnoticeable strands of grey. He wore a dark, three-piece suit with crimson stripes over a pressed white shirt and a crimson paisley tie. "I'm afraid we've been terribly rude."
Alana shook herself, a smile returning to her face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you haven't met."
His mother took her opportunity to introduce herself. Much as Will had done with Alana, the man took her free hand and pressed it to his lips in greeting. "Frances DuBois." She glanced over at Will, a gentle smile on her face. "As we have established, this is my son. Will Graham."
"Hannibal Lecter." He answered with a small smile. Will could hear the accent in his voice as he spoke. He had grown used to his mother's accent over the years, though his own didn't sound like hers. He had lost his accent in his adult life. The other man, Hannibal Lecter, hadn't though. Much like him, his mother too picked up on the accent.
"Lithuanian?" She asked.
"Yes." The other man answered, switching effortlessly to French. "And I assume yours is French. Paris?"
His mother's smile widened. "Very good." She responded. As always when she thought about the home she left, her face became wistful for a moment before she returned to the conversation. "I assume you are our host tonight."
"I am indeed."
"You have a lovely house." She commented. "Thank you for inviting us tonight."
"The pleasure is all mine," The other man practically purred.
His mother glanced between Alana and Will before returning to English. "How do you two know each other?"
"Through work," Will said lightly. His eyes met his mother's and again, a silent exchange passed between them. Alana didn't know who he was, didn't know anything about his upbringing or the life he lived outside of Quantico. It took a look to convey all of this to his mother before she looked away, smiling at Alana.
"Do you work for the FBI or are you a consultant like Will?"
"I consult. I teach psychiatry at Georgetown."
"Ah. Doctor Alana Bloom then."
Alana's face flushed red for a moment before nodding. "Yes. Hannibal was my mentor at Johns Hopkins."
Will had felt the other man's eyes on him for the majority of the conversation, only moving away when Alana addressed him. Will took the opportunity to excuse himself, to remove himself from the heavy gaze of their host.
"Mother," He said politely, "Doctors. If you will excuse me, I'm going to track down something to drink." He slid his arm from his mother's. "A pleasure to meet you." He nodded to their host.
"The pleasure was mine," The other man hummed.
The moment he faded into the crowd, he felt himself shiver. Everything about Hannibal Lecter screamed serial killer. His posture, the knowing look in his eyes, his house, the lavish decorations. And what a serial killer he was. Most tended to live a solitary life avoiding connections and interactions with others. Some couldn't stand it, others thought it would make them less suspicious. His mother had been vehemently against him living a solitary life, encouraging him to be more social than he would like. But no one had looked his way for anything, so he obeyed his mother's advice. It seemed Hannibal Lecter followed a similar pattern, placing himself in the spotlight as a wealthy, eccentric socialite. No one would think to look his way for anything just as they wouldn't think to look Will's way. But it was only because of the monster under his skin that he knew what the other man was. And it was likely for that same reason that the good doctor knew what he was.
But what kind of monster was Hannibal Lecter?
Will managed to track down some champagne, resisting the urge to swallow a glass's worth quickly. He instead grabbed one for himself and another for his mother. He took a small breath, centering himself once more before returning to his mother. It was unlikely the other man would still be in conversation with so many other guests to attend to, a position Will did not envy but was grateful for. He suspected he might be locked in conversation with his mother and Alana until the dinner began, but he cared less about that than the lingering, dark gaze of their host. He turned, ready to brave the crowd to return to his mother to find another behind him.
The other's keen, amber eyes were framed by his high, sharp cheekbones that Will was certain could cut glass.
"You seemed tense, Will." The other stepped forward. "I wanted to make certain you were all right given your quick departure from the conversation."
Will plastered on his well-honed mask, offering a smile to his host. "I appreciate that, Doctor." He made a point of drawing out the title, making the other man's pupils narrow just slightly. "This party is fantastic." He stepped closer to drop his voice. "Killer, one might say." Will watched something flash in the other's eyes and he felt satisfaction hum in his gut. "If you will excuse me, I should hunt down my mother." He offered a small bow. "I assume I will see you again, Doctor Lecter."
Will rejoined his mother, offering her the champagne while she took his arm once more. She and Alana were locked in conversation about something that didn't pique Will's interest. Instead, he was focused on their host who expertly maneuvered from conversation to conversation, making every guest feel welcome in his home. He could see how some of the women, and even some of the men, preened under the doctor's attention as he made his way through the party. Even though the doctor's attention appeared to be on those in front of him, Will knew it was elsewhere just as his own attention was. Someone else caught Alana's attention and she excused herself with a promise to find Will and his mother again later in the night. He managed to tear his gaze away from the doctor and to his mother.
"Like me," He whispered in French.
His mother sipped her champagne. "Does he know?"
"I believe he does."
"Is he a threat?" She smiled as the doctor glanced toward him once more, her face not betraying the words leaving her mouth.
"No. I don't believe he is."
She hummed slightly, tapping the glass in her hand. "You will kill him if he is."
"Of course, Mother."
Their conversation was interrupted by the tapping of glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served." Their host's accented voice called over the party.
What kind of witchcraft was employed to accommodate so many people, Will didn't know. But they were seated without feeling as though he was on top of the people on either side of him. To his right sat his mother and to his left Alana. To Alana's left was their host at the head of the table, waiting patiently for everyone to seat themselves. Idly, Will wondered if the name cards were moved before the start of dinner, but it only made him hum with smug satisfaction.
"I should warn you," The doctor's voice said into the now silent room, "Nothing here is vegetarian."
Cheers echoed through the room before they began to move for the food. Will watched the man sit and place his napkin on his lap. Every movement was deliberate and careful, no doubt like his kills. Will watched as his eyes danced with amusement, listening to people hum about the quality of the food. The doctor was likely an intelligent psychopath, none of his kills would appear to be connected. He removed his own napkin from the table while he mentally went over a list of the killers he had seen before and recently. There had been a series of four murders the prior weekend and several murders before and after that. Will only consulted on the weird ones like the case that first brought him into consulting with the FBI; the Chesapeake Ripper. Will had met Alana on the Ripper case two years prior, both having been called in after the disappearance of FBI trainee Miriam Lass. The Ripper had gone silent after that, however, without any attempt to let the world know he was alive and about still.
He raised his fork to his mouth, the expertly artful food resting on the tines. The moment he took a bite, however, he was immediately struck by a very specific flavor.
Human.
The monster under Hannibal Lecter's skin was becoming more and more evident by the moment.
"Darling," His mother said quietly, leaning over as she caught his attention. "Does this meat taste different to you?"
Will glanced at their host who was currently watching him over the rim of his wine glass. He leaned toward his mother, twisting his face from view. "It's long pig."
His mother looked down at the food as he took another bite. "Oh." Was all she said before she continued her meal and her conversation over the table.
The dinner continued without much more fanfare until it was over. Will caught bits and pieces of conversation here and there, pretending to be more interested than he was. They were dismissed before dessert, which would not be served at the table. He watched as the hired staff began to move amongst them to clear the table while the others spread out once again and the conversation built back up to the dull roar it had before dinner. Will stood on the outskirts, watching as his mother flitted between conversations. After a moment, another joined him.
"Did you enjoy dinner?" The accented voice asked into his ear.
"I can honestly say I've not had a more enlightening meal in a while." He turned, facing the doctor hovering at his shoulder. The other didn't answer, obviously waiting for Will to continue. "There was much to consume during the meal."
"We often consume from others," The other said between sips of wine. "Ideas, body language, intentions."
Organs. Will thought to himself as he took a sip of his wine.
"Do you have these parties often, Doctor?"
"I had them more in the past, though I am tempted to continue them into the future."
"Is there a reason for your temptation, Doctor?"
"Perhaps," The other's eyes drifted over him unabashedly.
Will hummed. "Perhaps." He echoed before looking over the party.
He watched as his mother began to drift through the crowd, likely having her fill of the party.
"Doctor, it was a pleasure meeting you."
"And you, Will." Hannibal stepped closer, leaving only a little space between them. "I hope to see you again."
"Ready, darling?" His mother asked, coming to his side.
"Yes, Mother." He said with a smile though he was unable to remove his eyes from where they were locked with the other's.
"Thank you for having us, Dr. Lecter." The other turned to address his mother, reaching again for her hand and pressing it to his lips.
"Thank you for attending. I hope to see you both again." His eyes flitted back to Will's. "Ms. DuBois." He let out a slow breath. "Will."
"Doctor."