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Hannibal Lecter was grateful the hobby shop was open on Christmas Eve. He was not so grateful for the man who waited on him. The boorish individual sneered at his questions and seemed to willfully misunderstand his accent. He also complained loudly to his coworkers about having to come in today, taking out his frustrations by apparently insisting that if he must work he’d be damned if he did it well.
Hannibal’s lip curled into a snarl, but only momentarily. It was certainly not with a transparency that this oaf would pick up on.
“Be thankful tonight I celebrate Kūčios,” he said in a friendly tone.
“Tonight is Christmas Eve. What is that, Jewish?”
“It is Lithuanian…” Hannibal began.
“Yeah,” the man interrupted. “This is America and it’s Christmas.”
Hannibal batted his eyes, took his parcel, and left the sneering employee completely oblivious to what he had just evaded.
Hannibal tried to retrace his previous steps through the snow of the parking lot. He didn’t care to trudge through it again. Chunks of icicles dropped down from a lamp post, spitting up a white cloud and riddling pock-marks into the blanket at his feet. He stopped suddenly, thinking of how it seemed vaguely like bullets shooting into the snow before him. A memory traipsed behind his eyes, but it billowed away as quickly as the cloud of disturbed snow.
Grateful to be back in his home, Hannibal began to cook and set the table in the dining room. The sounds of china and cutlery filled the empty space of the house, making it seem larger, colder. He carried the dishes of food out to the table and looked over every detail to see that it was perfect. He shivered a bit and realized that it could not only be from loneliness but an actual draft. Placing a ladle into a steaming pot, he investigated the source of the chill.
His front door was standing open. He quickly shut it and looked around the room, back straight, eyes narrowed. He heard a scuffling sound near the kitchen and quietly peered inside. His tense jaw relaxed when he saw who was there.
“Will Graham,” Hannibal said softly.
Will turned back to face the voice, but his eyes seemed to lack focus. They were bleary and yellowed. His hair was drenched with sweat and he was shaking. He wore no coat despite the freezing December weather, and clutched at his shirt as though it were burning him.
Hannibal walked closer and he could feel the heat coming off of the young man. Most of all, he could smell the cloying indication of infection on him. He put his arm across Will’s forehead. It was unnaturally hot.
“Will, do you know where you are?” he asked. His voice was monotonous and aimed to have a calming effect. Will only shuddered.
“Are you having an episode?” he asked, pushing Will’s curls out of his face and trying to make eye-contact.
Will had been making his way to Hannibal’s house regularly. Sometimes it was in desperation: needing someone who would be an open fortress where he could hear his own thoughts echoing off of the strong, dependable walls. Other times, like tonight, it seemed compulsory and without Will’s own knowledge. The instinct was there, though, and Hannibal felt a tenderness rise in him every time Will proved how much he needed him. He took the young man by the elbow, placed a hand behind his shoulder, and led him to the counter. He opened a drawer and began to prepare a syringe, which he injected into Will’s arm.
As Will’s shaking subsided, his mind grew clearer. He looked at his surroundings, smelled the enticing aroma of food, and was relieved to instantly realize where he was.
“Dr. Lecter,” he said, and turned to face him. The doctor’s face was placid and reassuring as always, and he held out a glass of water for him.
“Thank you,” Will said, “How did I get here?”
Hannibal glanced out the window to see Will’s car parked far off into a snowdrift.
“You drove,” he answered. “You let yourself in.”
Will sighed. He felt ashamed to hear that, and was not a little bit scared at how he had been in his own home one moment and was found intruding in his doctor’s home the next.
“It’s a good thing I know where to go,” Will said, gulping the water. “I might get myself shot if I end up in the wrong house.”
“I’m glad you trust, even in an unconscious state, that this is a safe place you can go.”
Hannibal thought for a moment, observing his friend and patient. Then he retrieved another syringe and prepared it.
“What is that?” Will asked.
“Just something to bring you clarity,” Hannibal said. He pressed the needle into Will’s arm without so much as asking him.
“I’m not partial to breaking and entering,” Will added.
“Of course not,” Hannibal replied. “Violating another creature’s den is the oldest taboo. That is why the warped individuals you hunt find such arousal in slipping in without notice.”
Will nodded and spoke through his teeth, “I’d rather not talk about those warped individuals right now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“As you wish.”
Will looked at the dishes and signs of cooking around the kitchen. He was silent for a moment then added, “I apologize for interrupting your…”
“Kūčios,” Hannibal informed him, “the traditional Lithuanian Christmas Eve dinner.”
“I figured you would be having a party; a large dinner with a table full of guests for Christmas.”
“Kūčios is meant to be celebrated with the family only.”
Will felt awkward and glanced at the door.
“I am glad you are here,” Hannibal assured him. “It is better to have a friend in place of a family member than to be alone.”
Hannibal led Will into the dining room, which was set for four people. Only one place setting had utensils. Will began to sit down at the table, but Hannibal reached out his arm, placing his hand across Will’s chest. The heavy warmth of his palm spread through Will’s thick shirt.
“I will set you your own place, Will. These seats are for the members of my family who have died.”
Will waited while Hannibal fetched china and flatware and a linen napkin. He looked over the table, which had straw spread out beneath the white cloth. There were wafer cakes with images of the Nativity impressed upon them, sliced apples, cranberry sauce, carafes of water and cider, beautiful breads, boiled potatoes, many savory-smelling sauces, and a pot of small dumplings in a creamy emulsion.
His eyes fell on one of the place-settings. A raised, small chair was pushed in before a tiny plate. The implication of the setting fell over him heavily. He looked up at Hannibal, who had set his place at the table and was now returning with three candles, one small enough for the diminutive plate. He placed the candles upright and began to light them. He felt Will’s eyes on him and lifted his own. He noticed Will’s expression of profound sadness and pity.
“Mischa,” he whispered as he lit the smallest candle. Then he gestured at Will’s chair. “Please, sit.”
“A child,” Will murmured.
“My sister,” Hannibal replied. “She was three.”
Will swallowed.
“How did she die?”
“Disease,” he answered in a strangely sturdy voice. “A despicable disease that struck Lithuania. I was eight, and nearly died myself.”
The moment of silence pained Will and he grew fidgety.
“Kūčios is a meatless feast, in keeping with the traditional Christmas Eve fast. No beasts are to be slaughtered or prepared before the celebration.” Hannibal said, changing the subject. A faint grimace touched his face when he remembered the rude hobby store clerk. “There are twelve courses, to represent the 12 seasons of the Christian calendar and the 12 apostles of Christ.”
“That’s a lot of food for one person,” Will remarked.
“According to tradition,” Hannibal explained. “Every course must be sampled. If one course is skipped or if the dinner is interrupted, it brings a curse upon the family.”
Will didn’t need any more encouragement. Hannibal brought out herrings, roasted eel, and a beautifully-colored pudding. Everything was new to his palate, and looked so delicious that he didn’t want to miss anything. Hannibal took a wafer cake from the basket and then handed it to Will.
“God grant that we are together again next year,” he said.
“I never took you for a religious man,” Will said, eagerly sampling the cake. The imprinted image on it was almost too lovely to ruin.
“Religious? No,” Hannibal replied, “Observant of tradition? Yes, very.”
Will began to feel strange as the liquid Hannibal injected him with flowed through his veins. Everything became lucid, and yet oddly dreamlike. He felt heavy in his chair, but not uncomfortable. In fact, he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember. Hannibal dished him up some of the pudding.
“Kutia with wheatberries, poppy seeds, honey, walnuts, and raisins.”
It was sweet, but hearty and satisfying. Will felt as though he could eat a pot of it without stopping.
“I’ve never had the opportunity to try Lithuanian food, Dr. Lecter,” he said.
“Please, Will. It’s Christmas. Tonight you can call me Hannibal.”
“Anniba,” Will muttered, his mouth too full of food to properly say the name. Hannibal stopped short and looked at him with an expression Will had never seen. His eyes were open wide and his face seemed spread thinner over his sharp cheekbones.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Will cleared his mouth and said, “Hannibal.”
For a moment he thought that Dr. Lecter was just shocked at his rude table manners, but it seemed as though it was more than that. He looked genuinely startled. No matter, because as quickly as it came upon him it was gone and Hannibal looked calm and reserved again. He sat down and joined Will in sampling each and every one of the delicacies he had prepared. Hannibal looked at the wall behind him to see the shadows the candles cast upon it. They were thin and sparse. His lips pursed.
“Can you remember what brought you here tonight?” he asked Will.
“No,” Will answered. “Running from some unpleasant monstrosity in my mind, I imagine.”
“If you run from a wolf, you may run into a bear,” Hannibal said.
Will sniffed with a smile and ate until he could hold no more. Every course was complete. Hannibal left the food to sit on the table and invited Will into the sitting room with him. An elegant Christmas tree stood in the corner, casting a golden light through the dimness. Will sat on the couch with a muffled grunt. His full belly was pleasantly burdensome.
“I have a gift for you,” Hannibal said, bringing out the parcel covered in brown paper from the store. “I haven’t had time to wrap it for you. I was going to give it to you the next time I saw you, but now seems appropriate.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” Will confessed. He seemed reticent to even reach for the present.
Hannibal sat beside him on the couch and pushed it closer to him. He was smiling. Will pulled away the paper to reveal an old-fashioned ship-in-a-bottle kit. He was surprised by the thoughtfulness of it.
“I remembered that you have experience with ships,” Hannibal explained. “Also, you’re so used to getting bottles with ships on them, I thought…”
Will looked up at him, realizing he was being teased. He released a laugh, and it was strong and genuine. It must have startled himself, as he quickly quieted and rubbed his whiskered chin with a smile.
“Thank you, Hannibal,” he said. “This is…”
Hannibal patted him on the back, and his touch seemed to bring Will further into his reverie. As Hannibal started to pull his hand back toward himself, Will leaned into him and gave him an armless hug. Hannibal grinned.
“Would you like some Christmas music?” he asked.
“Sure,” Will answered, not entirely wanting Hannibal to stand. He watched the doctor move over to his harpsichord and begin to play “Oh Holy Night.”
As Will listened, he blinked, trying to clear his eyes. He felt as though he was dreaming, but felt no confusion or lack of clarity in his thoughts. Finally he went and sat next to Hannibal at the harpsichord.
“You have such a beautiful home,” Will said.
“In your childhood, you didn’t have much in the way of beautiful things,” Hannibal said.
Will chuckled.
“And you? Were you always surrounded by beauty?”
“Many people who hoard items of value do so because they once have had them stripped away from them.”
“Did that happen to you?”
Hannibal didn’t answer but finished the song he was playing.
“Any requests?”
“Something from your childhood,” Will said. His voice was soft. He was sitting very close to Hannibal, but his face turned toward him, watching him from an inch away.
Hannibal began to play something.
“It’s not really particular to Christmas, but it brings back memories.”
Will nodded and continued to watch him with earnest.
The tune was jaunty, but Hannibal played it slowly, and sang along in a deep, gravelly, but soothing voice.
Ein Männlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm,
Es hat von lauter Purpur ein Mäntlein um.
Sagt, wer mag das Männlein sein,
Das da steht im Wald allein
Mit dem purpurroten Mäntelein
By the time he had finished the verse, Will had lowered his head and closed his eyes, his forehead nearly touching Hannibal’s shoulder as he played. Hannibal stopped and gently moved a curl out of his friend’s face. Will cooed and leaned even closer.
“Are you still with me?” Hannibal whispered.
Will looked up and nodded, smiling.
“Just… feel a little… odd…” he said. “Must be the fever breaking.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said. He studied Will’s eyes and then looked down at his fingers as they draped over the harpsichord keys.
“Mischa did not die from disease,” he said. Will furrowed his brow. He tried to bring himself together so he could fully hear what Hannibal was saying. “Not literally, anyway. She was murdered, by Hilfswillige soldiers.”
Will blinked, realizing the gravity of Hannibal’s revelation.
“I was protecting her, and they ripped her from my weak arms.”
“Why would they kill a three year old girl?” he asked. Hannibal looked deflated. His posture had slumped uncharacteristically. He seemed to age before Will’s eyes.
“It’s midnight,” Hannibal said, looking up at the clock. “The Kūčios is over. You can suggest some Christmas traditions of your own, if you like.”
Will stared back at him, but chose not to push any further.
“Ehm…” Will thought back to his own childhood Christmases in Louisana. There were no gleaming layers of crispy snow outside, no ethereal music or heavily-laden feast table. He remembered sitting on a musty couch with his father, watching some Christmas programs on TV, eating off of trays on their laps until the old man fell into a whiskey-induced sleep. There was nothing he wanted to bring here, into this elegant home, into this moment right now.
“Hot cocoa,” he said finally, ending as more of a question than a statement.
“Absolutely.” Hannibal smiled and went back into his kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with two glass mugs for the both of them. They relocated to the couch and Will sipped from his mug; no powder mixed with hot water and topped with tiny marshmallows as his own “family tradition” would have called for. This was creamy melted chocolate that coated his throat and further tempted him to drift away into bliss.
He felt himself leaning again toward Hannibal, his head down, eyes lowered. Contentedness filled him when he felt Hannibal’s arm lower around him. He couldn’t imagine such arms ever being weak. Will curled up into the enclave of Hannibal’s body, and began to nuzzle, an animal-like impulse that was made stronger and less inhibited by the drugs in his body. Hannibal pulled him against himself and buried his nose into Will’s curls. Will thought he felt him kiss the top of his head before he drifted off to sleep.
When Will awoke he was lying on the couch with a cozy knit blanket wrapped around him. The Christmas tree was still lit but sunlight was pouring in through the windows. He sat up and breathed in the smell of Hannibal cooking breakfast. Tempted, he followed his nose into the kitchen.
“Sausage brioche and…”
“Leftover pudding,” Will finished with a happy sigh.
Hannibal smiled up at him as he plated the food. His smile broadened as he watched his guest wolf it down pleasurably.
“Traditionally, leftover food from the Kūčios is set out all night for the spirits. I thought you might appreciate it if I saved that course for you.”
“Oh yes,” Will agreed. He stopped and thought hard about the events of the night before. They were blurry and unrecognizable. All he could remember was that he was happy. That and something was shared between them. Something incredibly important. “What did we talk about… last night?”
Hannibal paused and studied him carefully.
“We talked about your coping with unwanted thoughts. Also, Dr. Bloom was mentioned.”
Will grimaced, embarrassed. It still didn’t satisfy him. Perhaps he had confided in him some pathetic story from his Christmases past, and Dr. Lecter was too polite to mention it.
“Thank you for putting me up for the night. I’d better get back home.”
“My pleasure, for a friend,” Hannibal said.
Will headed for the door when Hannibal stopped him.
“It’s far too cold for you to go like that. Let me get you something.”
He fetched from his closet a long, charcoal wool jacket and scarf. He handed him his bottled ship kit.
“Thank you,” Will said, putting the jacket on. “I’ll return it to you when I see you again.”
“Keep it,” Hannibal insisted. “It’s become too small for me anyway.”
Will looked at Hannibal, his face filled with gratitude. Memories of last night or no, he felt innately closer to the man. He began to exit, but then stopped.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Lecter,” he said.
“Merry Christmas, Will.”