Chapter Text
Leaning against the manor's balcony railing, Will somberly stares at the multitude of lights comprising the Paris nightlife. The full moon bathes him in luminescence, casting his profile with an ethereal glow making him appear exquisite, sublime. His bearing resembles that of an avenging angel, come to deliver death upon anyone that dares cross his path. Beautiful. Extraordinary. Perfection.
Biting his lower lip to refrain from smiling, Will eventually caves and a quiet laugh makes it's way past his throat. Flatterer .
Trust Hannibal to be such an incorrigible romantic every chance he gets.
The double glass doors leading to where Will has spent the past ten minutes open with a soft creak. It's the only sound betraying Hannibal's approach. His dear husband, always with the cat-like grace and viper-like deathly silence. Strong arms wrap around Will's shoulders, pulling him back against a hard, warm chest. What remaining tension he has coiled along his body melts off his frame. Will sinks into the embrace, tilts his head to the side, sighing as desired lips press against the delicate skin behind his ear.
He allows himself a moment to bask in Hannibal's love, his adoration and his fondness, his yearning that only seems to grow stronger every day they are together, before speaking.
"I'm sorry. I should have been the one to put Micah to bed tonight," Will says, whisper-soft, fingers interlocking with the ones clasped around his middle, a wry smile at the corners of his mouth as he feels Hannibal's light chastisement through the connection they share. "I know we already talked about it at length. I can't help but worry about her nevertheless."
"Understandable where our daughter's safety is concerned," Hannibal says in agreement. "But it is a crucial time for Abigail to navigate the perilous world on her own. We have to allow her to make her own decisions once in awhile or she will learn to hate us." Hobbs' unspoken name hangs in between them, momentarily souring the night air. "She is young, stepping into the role of an adult. She will make mistakes Will, and of those mistakes, we will be there to catch her and she will learn not to repeat them."
"I'd rather she make mistakes where I can keep an eye on her," Will tells him, concern bleeding into his tone, thinking back to the talk they had with Abigail that afternoon about her first venture going clubbing with her university peers. There will most likely be drinking, dancing, drunk men that would undoubtedly try to cop a feel. Despite the hunting knife Abigail carries around with her and a steady hand at gutting prey, Will still can't help but fret.
He'd volunteered to chaperone, which Abigail quickly shut down with an explosive no, looking to Hannibal with wide imploring blue eyes, the word “Papa!” coming out of her mouth in a comical sputtering, a plea for Hannibal to side with her. It was a true sign of Abigail's distress. The idea of having Will accompany her like a preteen was so horrifying, and was in her own words "equivalent to social suicide", she unconsciously fell back to calling them an endearment that she normally wouldn't use if she were in complete control of herself.
"I just don't want her to get hurt," Will breathes out gloomily. "She's in a foreign country. And I know she's with friends but who knows what kind of sick bastards prowl the night, in waiting to make a victim of a defenseless innocent person."
"Darling, you sound as if you’re describing us, though I would not call our usual quarry innocent."
Will swats Hannibal lightly on the head for this cheek. "You know what I mean."
"I know. I was merely teasing mylimasis ," Hannibal counters, kissing his temple and humming. "Just as you and I perfectly know that Abigail is anything but defenseless." He merely gets a sigh of acquiescence in reply. "Now, tell me Will, would you rather be watching Abigail in the club, known to be her father, in view of her friends so they know perfectly well to refrain from offering her even a single drop of alcohol?"
"Yes," Will replies with heated conviction.
Hannibal's lips spread into an amused smirk as he peppers Will's neck with chaste, bite-like kisses. "I believe that would be an embarrassment any self-respecting nineteen year old would not take kindly to," he says, then adds in a chillingly calm voice, a contrast to the wild surge of protectiveness Will feels through their link, "she will make mistakes, but if anyone is to try and harm our daughter, they will die a slow, painful death and there will be no pieces left to find."
Will smiles at that, reassured to hear the exceedingly composed quality of his voice, the kind that Will intimately knows can draw out suffering from his prey to the highest degree. He turns his head sideways to affectionately nose along the firm line of his husband's jaw. Hannibal returns the smile, tilts his face just so and slots their lips together in an indulgent though no less passionate kiss.
It continues to fill Will with a quiet, warm sense of satisfaction to see how much Abigail had come to mean to Hannibal and vice versa. It took three visits, time carefully planned to spend together by Will in which both Hannibal and Abigail wisely chose to take part for his sake, for the awkward wariness between them to dissipate altogether.
Some fear still remained in Abigail, yes, but it was more from the bad association of what a father figure once meant in her life than actual fear over the Chesapeake Ripper and Will. He reckons it didn't hurt that Abigail had shed any moral qualms about eating their preferred variety of meat long before they seamlessly fit into a family unit. Shared interest and all that. A little over a year ago, she came clean to them about her involvement in her father's murders. In return, they revealed to her the whole truth of how Will was able to save her life that fateful day she lost any respect or love for Garret Jacob Hobbs. After which she became fixated on Hannibal. If it weren't for him helping Will, she would have died on that kitchen floor.
She was a survivor, a budding predator in her own right and very much eager to please. She feels she owes her life to Hannibal and Will, always wanting to impress. And Hannibal is nothing if not an opportunist.
Will knew of Mischa and how much Hannibal had loved her, the only one that loved Hannibal just as fiercely in return, aside from Will, before she'd been taken away.
Abigail's continued presence in their life was a reminder of what Hannibal lost, then of what he gained in Will. In her Hannibal found a student to teach his vast knowledge to, something that Will couldn't be for him, the first young life in a long time to provide for and an eager mind to mold, one he intends on keeping, a legacy for the future. She will be there to help guide and share all she's learned to Micah, their beautiful boy with Will's storm blue eyes and curls despite having not an ounce of Graham blood. Micah with his ash blonde hair, looking more and more like Hannibal and a dash of Will every day.
Where Micah takes after his Lithuanian father, Abigail is often mistaken as Will's flesh and blood, the similarities in appearance only serving to closer endear her to them. They had both grown very protective of her over the past couple of years. Saving her life was the event that enabled them to know of each other, to experience such a deep, all-consuming, intricately entwined connection. It was watching her blossom into a strong young woman that opened up the possibilities of having an actual family, the inspiration to nurture a child and watch it grow. And they vowed to never let anything or anyone harm their not-so-little girl.
They come to a mutual decision that Will may keep an eye out for Abigail, but he is to remain inconspicuous while in the club. Tonight is a night of fun, her chance to unwind and she's trusted them to not go behind her back to spy on her. They both gave her their word. Regardless, she is going to be spied on despite the promise given because they love her and don't want to risk her getting hurt. Will is only too happy to intervene, knock loose a few teeth if need be as soon as her immediate safety is threatened.
The bass blasting through several large speakers by the stage is loud enough to shatter anybody's eardrums at close range. Every thump is like a rock hitting Will in the temples, making his head throb, has him wincing every few seconds. He wonders if the DJ is hard of hearing and is unwittingly making everybody else suffer for it or he's just that much of an asshole. He wonders if he'd be missed if, say, he suddenly disappears.
He spots Abigail in the sea of bodies gyrating on the dance floor and is instantly overcome with the need for a drink. He hunches over the bar, orders his trusty old scotch and contemplates petty torture as he watches his nineteen year old lean back against some unrepentant bastard, large hands on Abigail's hips as they sway to the music rudely assaulting Will's ears. Fingers are the first to go if those hands wander anywhere higher or lower. Then he'd amputate both hands until they were mere useless stumps. He'd definitely pluck out those lust-filled eyes too for ogling his little girl like she's meat.
Hah. Guess who’s next on the menu.
Will senses Hannibal's curious prodding in his mind as he has been steadily broadcasting his utter displeasure at the whole affair from the second Will walked into the club. He assures his dear husband that everything is fine, though not without first projecting the contempt he feels for the establishment. Hannibal's very refined and sophisticated taste is properly offended. Abigail at the least will have a severe talking to once she arrives home about what is acceptable behavior and what's not.
"I'd have to say I'm not too happy with your daughter's current choice in company, darling."
Will snorts and knocks back his shot of scotch as Hannibal materializes in front of him. He takes in the sight of his husband's form, clad in his pajamas and a red silk dress shirt, standing in the midst of a packed club of hormonal teenagers, hands loosely clasped behind his back. He looks plenty adorably ridiculous.
"Oh, so suddenly she's my daughter now."
"I did not mean anything by what I said, Will. I was merely stating that she takes after you the most," Hannibal returns with a raised brow.
"Who exactly is the social butterfly between the two of us that she's trying to mimic?"
Hannibal sniffs, affront in the slight downturning of his entirely too kissable mouth. Will wants to reach out and claim those lips for his own. He feels a bit bereft Hannibal's not actually there to haul into his lap and kiss senseless.
"I don't remember throwing myself at any of my peers, especially ones looking like the poster boy of steroid abuse, dear."
"You know my antisocial tendencies, hon. Don't look at me," Will says back with a smirk, wholly unrepentant in placing the blame on Hannibal.
"My dear William, what is that atrocious wailing?"
"Modern music. Apparently," Will says, then asks, "shouldn't you be asleep?"
"I was asleep. Until Micah lumbered drowsily into our bedroom in nothing but his underwear and I had no choice but to wake and entertain him," Hannibal answers, lips twitching in mirth, at which Will finds himself smiling back almost instantly.
"Did he now?"
"Yes. Upon being asked as to the reason why he was awake, your son proudly informed me that he did not need a reason because, and I quote, ‘I'm naked. I'm the boss,’ and proceeded to demand I give him a cookie."
Will nearly chokes as the alcohol, traitor that it is, goes down the wrong pipe. The mental image conjured by his mind of their two year old is so endearingly adorable he can't contain his laughter. Without even meaning to, Will manages to effectively scare the patron on the next seat over as he removes himself and his drink from direct contact of the crazy man talking and laughing at thin air.
"Well, I guess the 'I-am-better-than-everybody-else-in-this-godforsaken-earth' superiority complex of the Lecter blood is strong in this one," Will grins, knocking down another glass.
Hannibal matches the grin, strokes his cheek with the back of his knuckles in clear longing. "He was asking for you and Abigail."
"We'll be home soon. Kiss him for me?"
"You never need ask, dear. We'll be waiting."
Hannibal disappears and just like that, their little private bubble bursts and the world is suddenly back to its overly loud self.
"What's someone as beautiful as you doing out here all by your lonesome in the bar?"
The flirtatious lilt to the Italian accent and the sleazy voice accompanying it has Will rolling his eyes. He gives the man a perfunctory once over to assess a threat. One can never be too careful these days. He's tall, quite easy on the eyes, well-dressed. He carries himself in a self-assured way that could only mean he comes from money and is sporting a smile that's probably disarming to everybody else. He also looks to be the same age as his daughter.
"I'm Claude," the young man introduces himself, extending a hand. "And you are?"
"Married," Will raises the hand with his wedding ring on it. "And clearly too old for you." He smiles dryly, shrugs and proceeds to nurse his glass of scotch with a single-minded focus as he looks back towards the dance floor, ignoring any further attempts at flirting altogether. Only an idiot would fail to miss the blatant brush off.
He can't find Abigail and for a split second fear grips him like manacles around his heart until he catches sight of her. She's finally off the dance floor and is in the company of three other girls roughly of the same age, most probably the peers that invited her tonight. Will's blood suddenly runs cold, the glass dangerously creaking in his hand as soon as he takes in the scene unfolding before his eyes. Oh that fucking bastard.
"I said I don't wanna go with you. Let go, you're hurting me!" Abigail's French is heard loud and clear despite the ongoing noise, a mixed hint of fear and murderous rage in her voice as she tries to shake off the bruising grip the soon-to-be-dead bastard has on her arm.
Words are exchanged, impossible to parse through the racket that has clung to the walls of the club like a plague but the sound of his daughter's distress is more than enough. Will slides off his seat, practically storms over and is twisting the asshole's arm, the one Abigail was dancing with earlier, behind his back as soon as he's within grabbing distance.
"Dad!" Abigail squeaks, startled at the sight of Will. The slack-jawed expression of her friends at the outburst could almost be funny if the situation wasn't so aggravating.
"Maddy," one of her friends, the one with the heavy mascara, blurts out as if in awe, green eyes raking over Will's form, from his fitted dark blue button down shirt and black suit jacket, the Rolex that Hannibal gave him as a gift on their first year anniversary, among other things, to his flat-fronted black chinos, down to his polished shoes. Will shudders because she's a teenager no doubt, Christ. What business does she have leering at men twice her age? "That's your dad?"
"Yes, and we're going home," Will bites out as he pushes the younger man off to join the rest of the Ken Doll club to curse and nurse his very sore wrist.
Abigail comes out of her momentary stupor, eyes narrowing. "Were you spying on me?"
Will's reply is an unimpressed stare. He shoots her a look that brooks no argument, making Abigail freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. "We'll talk once we get home. Your other father isn't very happy with you."
Her mouth opens as if in rebuttal but she promptly closes it and nods vigorously.
"Right, umm. Let's go," Abigail says, does one twitchy wave at her friends as she adjusts her scarf and bag, and apologizes that she'd have to cut it short in her flawless French. Will wraps his right arm around her shoulders and they walk side by side towards the club exit.
"Before you tell me how disappointed you are with how I behaved tonight, I feel it only fair that you give me a chance to explain myself first."
Their footsteps grind to a halt as soon as the rushed words come out of Abigail's mouth. It's still a bit of a walk to where they've parked their cars, though the immediate vicinity is secluded enough to deem safe from prying ears, should their conversation take a turn for the macabre and all the ways Will is going to enjoy taking apart the waste of good air that dared try to force his daughter into compliance.
"Alright, I'm listening," Will says as he allows Abigail to extract herself from his protective half-embrace, only to turn so they are face to face, hands reaching out to hold Will's own.
She takes a deep breath. "I was out hunting," she admits, then quickly amends her words with a sigh. "Or at least I tried to. I was only supposed to be at the club for thirty minutes. Just enough to show that I'm having a good time, dance with a couple of guys that I would appear to be interested in, and go out the back door. Disappear and have the girls draw their own conclusions while I… hunted at the other side of the city." She huffs, displeasure on her young features. Will can't decide if Abigail looks more angry at herself for not taking every possibility into account or at the guy who ruined her plans.
"Who?" Will asks as he squeezes their joined hands.
"You know who," Abigail cryptically says, revealing absolutely nothing.
Will watches her expectantly but before Abigail can give a name to her intended target, understanding dawns on Will and he nods his head. "Ah yes. That."
He remembers with startling clarity the simmering rage he saw from Abigail that day months ago when they came across a babysitter and a crying baby outside the coffee shop they frequented. The twentysomething-looking Asian girl had been yelling at her clearly upset charge to shut up, and would even go as far as slapping her fingers against the baby's crying, open mouth. Abigail had given the sitter a piece of her mind, carrying in her arms Micah, who couldn't be bothered with the crying and yelling as he continued to play with his Rubik's cube. Will had to drag away a fuming Abigail, who looked one breath from clawing the petite woman's face off. It would benefit no one if they were to attract attention to themselves. However, it would seem that Abigail didn't manage to simply let it go.
Figures there was something more to this partying scheme than what met the eye. Abigail had never been one to show any interest in the kind of fun young women her age seemed to be obsessed with. Her very own person suit of Madison Adams, carefully modelled after Hannibal's, tended to lean on the refined and cultured, as expected of her as the eldest child of Jacques and Matthew Adams. To go clubbing, drinking and flirting with complete strangers was definitely not her or Madison's kind of scene.
"Abigail," Will says as he places both hands atop her shoulders, "I won't say that since you were hunting it makes it okay because it's not." He smiles as he rubs her upper arms, helping to fight off the chill. "I feel a sense of pride, yes, that you would so eagerly rid the world of such a repugnant character. But what you tried to do tonight is very dangerous."
"I know." Abigail's shoulders sag with a dejected air. "I only managed to attract a stubborn pervert built like an ox. I thought I could do it alone. So much for making you and Hannibal proud."
"Hey." Will tilts her chin, blue on blue gaze locking. "We are proud of you. But your safety always comes first. And Abigail, you are not obligated to lure or kill anybody like your biological father made you. We won't love you any less if you decide to not take up the knife. Do you understand?"
"I understand. I do," Abigail responds fiercely. "But I want to do this. For you, for Hannibal, for our family. You both saved my life, gave me a home, and a fresh start and everything that I do, it's because I love you both. And Micah."
Embarrassingly enough, Will feels tears prickle his eyes seeing the concentrated and unabashed loyalty Abigail seems to exude from every pore. He leans down to lovingly kiss her on the forehead, Hannibal's pleasure a complete mirror of his own as it flows between their bond.
Will pulls back and cradles her apple-like cheeks adoringly. "Alright. Hunt your intended prey. But we'll be there with you to supervise, yes?"
Abigail's reply is a blindingly bright smile.
"Wow, the moon's really big tonight."
"That's the full moon for you," Will replies with an amused quirk to his lips as he too turns his gaze skyward, arm in arm with Abigail as they make their way across the slightly damp road leading to Abigail's chosen parking space, away from the public, already preemptively covering her tracks.
"Wonder if there are any werewolves prowling in the shadows. I bet Hannibal loves to be compared to any creature of the dark. He'll totally take it as a compliment," Abigail comments impishly, soft giggles dissolving into teeth chattering as she shivers from the cold. She burrows deeper into Will's suit jacket and pouts miserably, lightly hitting Will in the arm for laughing at her expense. "Stop it."
Will reaches over to pat her gently on the head in apology. "Sorry. You just looked so excited earlier. You grateful for that rain check yet?"
Abigail nods, not really having a choice since the temperature drop. "Yeah. I guess there's always the next week or tomorrow. I sure don't want to freeze my butt off tonight," she grumbles. "Oh, we're here."
Will looks over the entirety of the deserted area, quickly spotting Abigail's gray Toyota Prius C. They half-jog towards the car while Will tells her of where his own Honda is parked and to drive him there.
Abigail is just about to unlock the car's door when a terrified scream disrupts the relative quiet of the night, making her drop her keys. Abigail and Will's heads snap towards the direction of the sound, sudden tension in the lines of their backs. All too suddenly from around the corner a young woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in rags, comes running like the hounds of hell are on her heels. Her wrists are trapped in medieval looking cuffs that are pulsing with light. Will's body goes taut as a bowstring and he pulls Abigail to crouch behind the car.
They watch in stunned surprise as the woman falls to her knees and hastily picks herself up, another scream scrambling up her throat as she looks behind her and catches sight of her pursuer, all clad in black, some kind of militaristic uniform Will's never seen before, and brandishing a whip. Its presence causes Will's gaze to zero in on the red welts littering the woman's exposed skin and he feels his blood boil underneath.
She begs in a language Will could've sworn sounded Lithuanian but her pleading falls on deaf ears as she's grabbed by the hair and a collar is jammed around her neck, pulsing with a sick bluish glow just as the cuffs around her wrists had been.
"You think you can run, huh? Think you can escape, you freak? Why the government keeps your kind alive I'll never understand." The man spits on the ground, kicks the woman one more time and hauls her up by the arm.
With a seeming rush of adrenaline and a strength born of desperation, the woman headbutts her captor and makes another run for it, leaving the man with a bloody nose and a colorful set of expletives spewing out of his mouth. From where he's in hiding with Abigail, Will tracks the woman's movements and sees her crawl into a small space, near adjacent with the ground beside an unfinished building, in obvious hopes that she will be passed by. She curls in on herself, hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking in fear and quiet sobs.
Will's hard gaze darts back to the injured man and he hisses in Abigail's ear. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere until I get back," he instructs and quickly asks for her hunting knife.
"Dad." Abigail swallows nervously, but there's fire in her eyes as she rummages through her bag and hands the weapon over. "I can help. Let me watch your back."
"No." Will denies her outright.
"But—"
"No buts. This isn't a planned hunt. I can't risk you becoming hostage, you hear?" he says sharply, hand coming up to tenderly stroke the soft skin of her neck, foreheads touching.
"Okay,” Abigail swallows and reluctantly agrees, ”okay. I get it."
A heartbeat later, Will sends her a reassuring smile and winks. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Hannibal is with me. We can handle this."
"You're bleeding, Will."
"Yeah, I noticed. Kinda hard to miss," Will answers in a strained laugh, shallow breaths leaving panting lips. Hannibal is crouched over him, his dark sanguine gaze holding barely-tempered savagery, yet appearing utterly tormented at the same time. "Hey, stop moping. I'll be fine," he says in an attempt to lighten the unfortunate situation he's in, and fails.
Will looks down at his hand, with the large diagonal gash starting from his palm to near half of his forearm steadily pulsing blood, his own hunting knife having sliced deep along the skin, rupturing veins and making it a sticky mess. He's far from new to pain. It came with the job description in law enforcement, and then there was his short stint in apprehending serial killers. And later marrying the alpha of serial killers, whose idea of romance is gifting Will with prey they could hunt together, which would at times manage to land a kick or a scratch. It has been a while, however, since the last hunt in which either of the two had to worry about potentially life-threatening injuries.
If he doesn't manage to calm his heart rate soon he's going to inevitably die from blood loss before his husband gets to suture the wound shut. Sometimes adrenaline can be such a pain in the ass.
The gentle cadence of his husband's voice percolates through the pain-filled fog in Will's mind. "Breathe with me. Concentrate on my voice, my darling boy," Hannibal instructs, a familiar melody emanating from within his chest. It's the Lithuanian lullaby that he usually sings when putting Micah to bed.
Hannibal smiles encouragingly at Will, an apparent contagion since Will can't help but smile adoringly back. "There you are," Hannibal croons. "Now, put pressure on the wound and come straight home." He looks over his shoulder towards Abigail's running form and adds, "You may want to stifle the pained moans temporarily, dear. Our girl looks a fright."
"Will? Will! Oh my god, daddy are you okay?" Abigail cries out and swiftly drops to her knees, face pale and looking to be a hair's breadth from going hysterical. "Please tell me you're okay."
"I'll live," Will quickly assures her with a jaunty grin, and has to stamp down a groan from erupting for her sake. "Would you be a doll and lend me your scarf?"
Abigail nods and hastily takes off the scarf to help Will wrap it around his arm, making sure there's sufficient pressure to staunch the blood flow.
The uniformed man lays dead at Will's feet from a broken neck, courtesy of Hannibal's hands overtaking Will's when he'd been temporarily overcome by the agony the injury inflicted, when he couldn't physically move. The foreign interloper had some pretty impressive fighting skills, which was obvious from the get-go what with the militaristic posturing. Not that that's enough to stop Will when he's got his mind made up. Despite the bloody nose and getting the drop on the guy, he still ended up with a sliced forearm, ego bruised. Christ. How humiliating.
The continued sound of quiet sobbing drags their attention from the fallen attacker towards the trembling silhouette partly hidden by debris.
"Help me up," Will tells Abigail as he cradles the injured wrist close to his chest. Abigail does as told, carefully pulling Will up by the torso, grunting as she goes, a short ”oomph” sound coming out of her lips. As soon as he feels the world stable enough, when it doesn't tilt at an odd angle, Will lumbers over to the dead assailant's body, kicks him in the face, vexed, and proceeds to pat his pockets for keys. He finds the jangle of the metal chain easily and shuffles his way to the traumatized young woman.
"Dad, we have to get Papa to look at your wrist as soon as possible. Stop lingering. Let's go," Abigail pipes in, hovering anxiously.
"This'll only take a minute. Then we're going home." Will sends Abigail a smile that's supposed to be comforting, not that it does anything since she remains looking perfectly frazzled and worried for Will's continued health, which he so far doesn’t seem to be very invested in.
"Dad."
"Hush, sweetheart," Will shushes as he takes measured steps, careful not to further spook the girl. He's had plenty of experience in getting strays of the canine variety to trust and willingly come to him with a meticulous combination of non-threatening body language and genial tone of voice. Hopefully such techniques will work just the same on the girl. Fortunately, Will manages to get to her cuffs fairly quickly, as she proves to be more than amenable the second she realizes her attacker is no longer in a position to hurt her. Her gaze is wary, however, as Will helps. He can't really blame her for the ingrained distrust. There is something in her eyes that has him thinking of Hannibal.
He gestures to the collar around her neck after the cuffs fall to the ground with a clang and she complies with not an ounce of hesitation, more than ready to be rid of her bonds.
The collar's barely off when the world suddenly tilts. An agonized scream rips itself from Will's throat as the woman pushes against his chest hitting him full blast with something that sends him flying to the opposite concrete wall. He hears Abigail's shocked gasp followed by Hannibal calling out his name before he free falls into darkness.
Will opens his eyes and it's to the image of an all-too familiar ceiling, with the all-too familiar sensation of fur brushing over his heated skin in an all-too familiar bathroom. He struggles to sit up and finds that he can't really move. Even his head refuses to cooperate, not to mention everything seems to be fucking spinning. He groans pitifully, looks down his body and is met with the bewildering sight of his naked torso, teal blue boxers and nothing else. He sees a bloodied straight razor clutched in one hand while the wrist of his other is gushing blood once again without Abigail's scarf tied - Will jerks from his position on the cold, tiled floor at the thought of his daughter. Abigail. Hannibal. Micah. Where?
"Oh my god, Will!" A stranger's frantic voice pierces his eardrums before somebody female appears in his field of vision. Her face is familiar but not in a way that is personal or even from mere acquaintance. The kind of face that you only see in magazines or news outlets, never anywhere else. "Your window was broken and I heard your dogs barking and the lights were on. But no one was answering the door." She pauses, paling as she catches her breath. "Oh my god, there's so much blood. Why is there so much blood? What did you do, Will?"
"Hannibal," Will rasps out, his uninjured hand grasping at her coat lapel as he begins to hyperventilate. Will struggles to breathe, panic seizing his chest at the sheer nothingness he feels where Hannibal's steady, warm presence is supposed to always be. What the hell is going on? He can't sense his husband anywhere. "Hannibal. Where? My baby. Abigail."
"Will, I'm calling 911 and then I'm going to call Dr. Lecter, okay?" the concerned woman tells him and practically jumps as soon as someone picks up on the other line. She gives the directions to the house and the condition she's found him in, oblivious to Will's mounting hysteria. The demands to know of his family's whereabouts last for a total of fifty seconds before Will's eyelids start to droop and a deep-seated sluggishness begins to seep into his bones, Will barely hearing her next words before everything turns black.
Hello? Dr. Lecter. This is Margot. Listen, please. I'm at Wolf Trap. You have to come as soon as you can. It's Will... I think he tried to kill himself.
To anyone wondering how I pictured Micah to be:
