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They were outside a club in Barcelona when he slipped. “Go peddle that shit somewhere else,” Will murmured back at the dealer trying to pass him a small sac of what Will was assuming to be coke. He wasn’t great with his spanish yet, but the soliciting gestures are universal.
Apparently the man knew english; as Hannibal’s raised brow steered them down a back alley, the dealer dogged their steps, hollering in their wake, “You must respect me! You must respect me!”
Will could sense Hannibal planning a course in his mind, something sweet and savory, unlike this swine’s callus and bitter behavior. They were still trying to keep a low profile, so anything artistic would have to be displayed on the dinner table, not for public consumption.
They still hadn’t hunted since washing up tangled in each others’ arms. Hannibal’s injuries didn’t allow him to move fast enough to carry out anything more taxing than a midnight stroll, which they had already accomplished. Will, on the other hand, was spry, and itching to sink his teeth into whatever it was that he and Hannibal had brewed in the churning atlantic. Will could tell Hannibal was still feeling him out, determining how fragile their small world was, how willing and twisted into one another they had become.
Rounding the lane to their apartment, Will could tell Hannibal was tired and needed his rest. Patting his jacket, Will flicked his eyes up to Hannibal’s grey face. “I think I left my wallet at the coat check, I’ll be right back.”
Unimpressed, but unsuspicious, Hannibal inclined his chin. Will left him wilting by the apartment door, a brisk skip in his step pushing Will down the cobbled back alleys. The crowds had mostly cleared out around the most popular haunts.
A calculated risk. Turning his jacket inside out, Will fished his switchblade out of the internal pocket and shoved it into his belt. He doubled back to the bar the dealer had been staked at, coming at the man from his peripheral. Purposefully stumbling into the man, Will grasped his shoulder with one hand and punched his fist into the man’s solar plexus, knocking the wind from him.
“OH, I’m so sorry, let me just check on that,” Will said loudly into the lit street, hauling the man into the dark alley he and Hannibal had escaped down earlier. A flash of steel, and the crisp pop of cartilage.
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Hannibal crawled into bed, still damp from his shower. Will was taking longer to get back than he expected, so he had been brisk, cleaning his wounds as efficiently as possible to fall into bed. He smashed his face into Will’s pillow with an inelegant grunt, peeved with his partner. With Will’s scent in his nose, Hannibal fell steep and deeply into sleep.
Hannibal awoke to the smell, rather than the sizzling sound of bacon. The fatty hiss of grease hit his ears once he wandered into the kitchen. Will was in Hannibal’s dignified white apron. Unfortunately. The apron was smeared in what must have been pig’s blood. Hannibal was going to have to soak the thing in bleach to keep it sanitary. Or burn it.
“Look who decided to wake up at noon. Breakfast is ready,” Will was scraping bacon straight from the frying pan onto a plate of scrambled eggs
Hannibal smiled. “Protein scramble. How poetic.”
Flashing a dagger sharp grin, Will untied the filthy apron. “Our first meal. You’re a sentimental sap.”
Hannibal took a tentative forkful of eggs and bacon into his mouth. Will was entirely too pleased with himself this morning. Suspicious, Hannibal bore his gaze into Will’s face, unmoving, until the man stopped smirking into his eggs.
“What?” Hannibal asked, when this never happened.
Rubbing his hands together, Will got up from his chair and fished a parcel from the fridge. “I was going to give it to you last night, but you wouldn’t wake up.” He placed the parcel by Hannibal’s plate and stood there excitedly, shifting his weight from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms.
Hannibal felt a soft smile pull his cheeks at Will’s enthusiasm, it was so rare after everything they had been through. Peeling off the brown paper wrapping, Hannibal could smell it before he saw it, and his expression froze on his face. He looked up at Will, who was still grinning like a mad man. Hannibal was disbelieving and buzzing with irritation. A hollow harrumph puffed from his nostrils and he tore open the brown paper in his hands with a jealous spirit. There, sat in pyrex and a pool of blood, was a raw heart.
Too physically tired to make a proper fuss about the ordeal burning a warpath in his brain, Hannibal rolled his jaw and then his head to side eye Will without getting up. With iron clad resolve, he decidedly did not fling the offending heart at Will’s head. “What is this.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you went hunting unprepared and endangered yourself for a paltry pusher. Where’s the rest of the body?” This statement had obviously ruffled Will’s feathers. The ghost of that lizard brain Hannibal was so fond of peered through his Will’s eyes.
“In the river. Bled him on the pier, took what I wanted, and rolled the rest of him over for the fish.” Hannibal relaxed, fractionally. Stepping around the table, back to his seat, Will shoveled more eggs into his mouth. As Hannibal picked up his own fork, still eyeing the offending heart, Will murmured a smug, “And on your plate…”
Hannibal practically have himself whiplash, throwing his wide eyed gaze from the heart to Will’s face, down to his own plate. A hysterical little giggle was making its way out of Will’s throat, interspersed with, “The bacon… it’s people!”
Feeling the need to be petty, Hannibal speared a rasher of bacon with his fork and said, quite cool, “Ah. Our first meal together was similarly comprised. A little sausage to start the day. You might recall a Ms. Cassie Boyle.”
Will’s face melted. “You son of a bitch.”
Pleased with the turn about, Hannibal twisted his fork in a rotation, eyeing the ‘bacon’.