Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 09/27/2015 - (Various Fandoms)

[Garnet]

I'm just a machine for these lately, I don't know. Have some humanized anthros weewoo~

64 – Unfair - Original - Male (Visual Aid)

“It’s so damned nice out. We should go for a hike later,” Allie observed as the coasted her old beater station wagon lazily along the road. With the weather pleasantly warm and sunny, and their car full of odd treasures recovered from the morning farmer’s market, she was more than ready for a day off of simply lazing around and doing nothing. “There’s a neat trail my friend told me about, up by-- Kwame? Are you listening?”

Her boyfriend was usually fairly attentive to whatever blather she was rambling or about, or at least good at pretending, but at the moment he was focused intently on the passenger’s side window, with the crook of an arm half-raised to his face.

“What are you doing?”

The dark-skinned man sniffed sharply and slowly sat back in the seat, lowering his arm. He glanced aside at her, handsome as ever even in profile. Especially with his nostrils expanding and contracting like that in another faint sniffle.

“Sorry, thought I had to sneeze.”

While she was driving. Of course he did.

“Did it fucker off?”

He smiled at her terminology, then flared his nostrils again in beautiful irritation, and half-turned away. “Not qui--... quite. Hhuh-- !” He brought his arm quickly to his face again, held the pose for a few agonizing seconds, and then relaxed with a sigh of annoyance. “Stuck.”

“You are so unfair,” Allie groaned, catching little peeping glances aside at him while trying concentrate on the road.

Kwame laughed weakly, pinching a thumb and forefinger over his nose with another wrinkling twitch. “I would wait until we are home if I cou-- cou--hh!” He grimaced and held a hand in waiting, then fell to rubbing when the irritation apparently receded once more. “Although at this rate...”

“You’ll be justly rewarded if you do,” Allie smirked, but kept her eyes obediently on the road.

They drove in silence for another five minutes, save for the occasional hitch and quiver of her partner’s breath as the urge continued to toy with him, neither completely fading nor building to the tipping point of a sneeze. Few things seemed to genuinely annoy her boyfriend, but he was beginning to make frustrated noises each time he hung torturously on the edge only to have the sensation dissipate.

“This is maddening,” he grumbled, voice and accent thick with nasal irritation.

“I don’t know, I’m finding it pretty entertaining,” Allie mused, glancing over once more. Guh. He had a long forefinger itching at his nostrils, flared widely and throbbing with each sniffling breath. Her gaze flicked back to the road. “But distracting.”

“Please try not to kill us,” Kwame mused, rubbing the webbing between a thumb and forefinger beneath his nose as he gazed out at the stretch of rural highway headed back into town.

“Hm, I’ll do my best,” the freckled girl snickered, but took pity on him and gestured offhandedly towards the glovebox. “There’s some tissues --well, napkins- in there.”

“Useful if I could sn--... sneeze,” he sighed breathily, barely able to get through a sentence without catching.

“Don’t be a smartass, or I’m throwing a turnip at you,” Allie snorted, referencing their grocery yield in the back. “Take one of those twist it into a point and... y’know.” She made a nondescript wriggling motion with one hand removed from the wheel for a moment, too chagrined to actually explain in detail. She did catch his absolutely baffled look, however, and grinned. “The napkins. Not the turnips. Jesus.”

He gave her a marginally less strange look, but popped open the glove compartment and shuffled around until he found the small stack of napkins. He seemed to get the idea after a quick glance at her for confirmation, fingers shaping an end of the roughened paper into a wicked spear.

“I am s-uh--suddenly not so sure about this. I’d rather not poke my brains out.”

“Shut up and stick it in your nose.”

He grimaced, but complied, and she tried not to watch. Stupid bastard. While she was driving. Etcetera etcetera. She would think up proper ways to punish him later, but for now the main focus was not swaying into oncoming traffic (of which there was blessedly little today).

“Not sure this is worki--ih- hehH!HEHT’---!!”

She chanced a quick look sideways, and immediately bit her lip hard enough to hurt. Road, okay. Foot, gas pedal. Road. Car go. Yes. Definitely not at all concentrating on her boyfriend’s features crumpled into expectant misery, all quivering nostrils and the snarl of teeth sharply white against brown skin.

And then... nothing.

She almost groaned aloud with him as he sank back into the seat, pathetic and frustrated. She, on the other hand, was sitting forward a bit and squirming. Their exit was up ahead, they’d be home in a few minutes more and then, well. She hadn’t decided yet, but it was going to be something good.

“This is unfair,” Kwame corrected her earlier statement with a sigh, lowering the napkin and pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll grant you that one. We’re almo--”

“HAH-IHSSHHOO!!”

She nearly jerked the car off into the ditch in surprise alone. By some miracle, however, they stayed steady but for a slight speed burst as she jumped in place.

“Holy shit, bless you!”

She half expected (hoped) there to be more after all that, but her partner appeared to be sagging forward into his cupped hands with utter, blissful relief.

“Feel better?”

“Ghhhg,” he groaned muffledly from within his hands, apparently too exhausted from that one explosion to move. “That was better than sex.”

Allie sputtered a laugh as she turned off onto the road near his apartment. “I guess I’m going to have to work twice as hard in about five minutes, then.”

[Anonymouse]

“Ghhhg,” he groaned muffledly from within his hands, apparently too exhausted from that one explosion to move. “That was better than sex.”

...

My God, I can only imagine. After what had to be like, at least ten straight minutes of torture.

[March Hare]

Ai...eeee.

I swear this is better than my birthday and Sinterklaas rolled into one. GAAAARNET, you make me HAPPYYYYY.

[SterlingSilver]

OMGH ALLIE + KWAME = OTP~~~~~

I LOVE THEM <3

And sorry, I was late to the party on this one LOL

like, a year late x'DD

[AngelEyes]

I adore your writing! Don't know most of the fandoms but you write them so well I can imagine them. Loved the X-Men one! Hotness!

[Anonymouse]

I was obsessed with X-Men briefly in high school, but I never really cared for Scott's character until I rewatched the Quadrilogy (yes, such a thing exists) a few days ago. Suddenly I was finding him very attractive. So of course I go digging on SFF and lo and behold, Garnet wrote a Cyclops drabble!

Evi was only too glad that Ms. Grey wasn’t here as well. Not out of jealousy, but she was sure she’d die of embarrassment if the telepath caught any of the teen’s wayward thoughts about her husband.

omg that would really suck for Evi if Jean was there. Can you imagine being around someone who will know if you're secretly perving out, especially if it's over their husband?

Evi has a pretty sweet power though. I would have never thought of that as a mutation, that's pretty cool. And I love the effect it has on others.

I love that the vibrations made his glasses slip a little. I always wondered what would happen if he sneezed so hard the glasses fell off, then I remembered people usually sneeze with their eyes closed, but afterwards he'd have to grope around blindly for his glasses.

[Garnet]

@Anony - Aw, you're so sweet! I felt much the same way about Scott, especially after doubling back to rewatch some of the old X-Men Evolution cartoon. Initially hated him, but then out of nowhere I wanted to bone the boyscout. I think it's the duality of the rigid, stick-where-the-sun-don't-shine personality coupled with the intense control over a potentially very destructive and chaotic power. I dig it.

And with that said, I didn't feel like doing crap today, so I wrote a little Hannibal drabble instead. Enjoy!

79 – Music

It took the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra a month to supplement their brass section with a guest musician, after a respectable period of silence. Alana read the article aloud, with a hip tilted to the corner of Hannibal's desk.

"So I'd heard," he agreed. "I suppose the season must go on."

Alana lowered her mobile device, and flicked a glance in his direction. Well put-together, with every crease and hem ironed to a razor's edge. The small cut across the bridge of his nose had healed without a scar. A pity, she was almost looking forward to seeing a permanent dent in that in that intractable mask of calm.

"I'm more of a cinema and fake-butter-on-my-popcorn kind of girl," she mused, delighting in the slight, grimacing tension gathered around his eyes. "But I admit that I'm curious."

She didn't need to belabor the point. The following week, there was a ticket to the orchestra in one hand, and the other snug in the crook of Hannibal's arm. It wasn't a date, far from it, but she mentally debated the wisdom of mentioning this outing to Will at all. Sometimes it was just nice to dress up and see how the better half lived, without having to wait for one of Hannibal's dinner parties.

"Tell me again about this piece?" She prompted, in the murmur of conversation and shuffling bodies pre-performance, as patrons found their seats or consulted their programs. She had given her own a cursory glance, but preferred to hear Hannibal tell it.

"Mahler's Second Symphony," he provided, attention tilted towards her even as his eyes followed the room like a child in a candy store. It was a feast for the senses, although there was an older woman sitting on Alana's opposite side who had clearly bathed in her perfume. It was tolerable to her, but she silently wondered if it would bother her companion. "Called the Resurrection symphony. Mahler completed it after the death of his conductor, mentor and friend while working at the Hamburg Opera."

Alana consider that, in light of recent events. "Not very subtle, are they?"

The corners of Hannibal's mouth curled as his gaze returned to her. "No, not very." The very bridge of his nose wrinkled slightly, as likely to be an emphatic gesture as it was a reaction to something unpleasant on the air. His attention darted briefly to the woman beside her. Alana smiled to herself.

Then the symphony began, and Alana was unexpectedly enthralled. She quickly lost focus on the people surrounding her, apart from her hand tightening on Hannibal's arm when a particular crescendo struck her. It wasn't until the fourth movement, however, when a tender mezzo-soprano salved the charge in the air, that her attention returned to Hannibal in full.

She felt rather than saw his shoulders give a sudden, tight quake, and in alarm cut him a sideways glance. She wouldn't have suspected Hannibal Lecter to be overcome with emotion, but supposed that if there were ever a time and place...

Instead of doubling forward in grief, however, she caught him with a thumb and four fingers gathering his nose into a loose pinch, brows drawn and chest swelling with breath. Oh. That was even better.

He sneezed viciously against the hard grip of his hand, bottling the explosion into nothing more than a near-silent "--hht!" He was obviously loathe to disturb the solemn quiet of the performance.

The doctor's highly sensitive nose, however, had other plans. Her interest in the rising tension of the fifth and final movement waned in favor of discreetly watching her own friend and mentor come apart. She'd never actually seen him sneeze. It was the perfume, it had to be the perfume. He was exhibiting an aching control over his reaction, but she could still catch the quick, bothered twinge of his nostrils now and again, or the occasional, fleeting moment of part-lipped dismay before he crumpled in on himself, holding the sneeze hard in his throat. Alana was struck with the want to rub his shoulders sympathetically, but sensing that it would only draw unwanted attention, she settled for linking her free hand with his and giving a brief squeeze.

His composure only began to slip disastrously during the blazing finale, when she caught a few quietly crushed "--hhrrsh!"s from her left, evidence of his frustrated attempt to clear the warm metallic scent from his nostrils. The odorous woman she suspected as the culprit even tilted her attention towards them a little, brow starting to crumple in disaste. Alana warned her off with an icy stare.

She didn't feel compulsively protective over Hannibal the way that she did over Will Graham, but she would still would gladly throw down if it meant preserving his public dignity. He'd been too good to her, even if sometimes she did want to strangle him.

After the thunderous applause had abated and the orchestra had taken their bows, most of the audience mingled in the hall beyond. She suspected that Hannibal normally would have joined them, charming the upper crust up one side and down the other with cool aplomb and an enticing accent. Instead, he wended his way in a smooth serpentine through the crowd, headed for one of the side exits. Alana took his arm and went along without complaint.

She heard a few calls of "doctor!" attempting to get his attention, or maybe even hers, she couldn't actually be sure, but he would just have to make his apologies later.

"Are you all right?" She murmured aside to him, feigning leisure as he pushed open the door into the cool night air beyond.

Hannibal already had a handkerchief drawn from his breast pocket, and dammed it to his nose with a choking, "hh-RFFSSHoo!"

It was possibly the most unfettered sound she'd heard from the doctor, and it put an immediate, guilty prickle of arousal in her belly as she led him carefully back to the parking lot.

"Forgive me," Hannibal tried to sigh, but his voice was still tight and shaking. Alana steeled her grip preemptively, holding fast as he pitched forward in an effort to clear out the tickle in one go. "HH'RISSHOO!"

God, it must have been killing him to just let go like that, but it sounded as if he needed it. Incredible.

"Gesundheit, Hannibal," she hummed as he put the cloth to his nose and held it there like a weary flag of surrender. "Something was really setting you off in there."

"I'm afraid so. I hope it wasn't too distracting."

Alana's mouth curved to a smile. "Not for me, though I think you didn't get to appreciate it much." She glanced at him sidelong as he tilted his jaw up with the quivering evidence of another sneeze. His eyes were watering. She pretended not to notice. "Why don't you let me drive back, and I'll tell you my thoughts on the performance instead?"

"HRRISSH!"

He surrendered the keys without protest.

[Bruyere]

I can't actually form a coherent response to this because it was so good and hit so many of my favourite things. Particularly loved this though, 'he put the cloth to his nose and held it there like a weary flag of surrender'.

[Spoo]

Oh, yum. Your Hannibal [and writing] is the best, Gar. I loved the slow build of the sneezes - from complete containment to "HAHA YEAH RIGHT". Amazing~

[evermissing]

Yeah, I officially love your writing.

One of my favorite things about this is how Alana is unabashedly fascinated by Hannibal's loss of control (as are we all). Like this:

God, it must have been killing him to just let go like that, but it sounded as if he needed it. Incredible.

Nggggh.

I also really like your Alana all throughout this, and how she's so fierce and loyal, even to the point of "gladly throw[ing] down if it meant preserving his public dignity" in the middle of a concert.

[Garnet]

@Bruyere - Thank you! Nnnh yes, Hannibal giving in and just letting his body run its paces trips more than a couple of my triggers.

@Spoo - Aww bb, thank you <3 Haha a lot of my stories follow that formula BUT HEY why mess with a good thing 8D

@evermissing - Guhh thank you. And yes, I don't necessarily ship Hannibal and Alana (no-strings-attached fooling around is delicious and does not count) , but I love their relationship in the show. You can tell she's protective of and respects him a lot, buuut also doesn't mind verbally eviscerating him for being a dick. And God, someone has to.

And now, another little drabble because I wanted more sick Will. Can't stop me.

97 - Fashion

“Sorry,” Will groaned from the depths of the tissue, still doubled forward over his own lap with the dizzying effect of that last sneeze. He didn’t usually take the offered chair or chaise unless Hannibal insisted, preferring instead to pace like a cornered animal, but today he was only too grateful to remain seated. “This is the tail end of it I swear, don’t think I’m contagious any...” His eyelashes fluttered spastically.

“Gck--KSSSCH!”

“Prosit,” Hannibal murmured from the chair opposite, though Will couldn’t manage more than a soft, throated sound of response. He felt like a zombie.

He’d also expected to feel naked and exposed, being sick in front of his chronically composed shrink. But despite feeling like more of a trainwreck than he normally did, he’d found Hannibal’s company to have an ameliorating quality. He neither made sympathetic noises at him nor tossed vaguely disdainful glances in his direction while playing twenty questions to the tune of how sick is Will, is he too sick to work?

It had been a long day.

Hannibal seemed content to merely sit there with hands folded, blessing him patiently in a melange of languages. Will appreciated the discretion.

“Thag you,” he muttered, pulling a slight face as the congestion caught up with him. He put his head down and cleared his nose miserably into the wad of Kleenex.

“Where did you pick that up?”

Will’s attention came up groggily, thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. “Oh, the cold? I’b... dot sure,” he admitted, frustrated at how quickly his voice had thickened again. He was surprised that Hannibal could understand him at all, especially through the slight, embarrassing drawl that tended to come through when he was completely wasted.

Which he was.

“Studedt, baybe. Couple of deteg--” He sniffed hard, nose crinkling into rabbitish wrinkles with the effort. “Excuse me, detectives at the crime scene were sick, too.”

Hannibal clicked his tongue softly, though Will couldn’t be entirely sure what that meant. “We can reschedule.”

“I’b okay,” Will dismissed, sighed, and began the familiar transfer of tissues once again. Used folded over as neatly as he could, into the left pocket. Fresh ones from the...

Ugh, empty. His hand curled in the right pocket of his coat, uncomfortable, as his gaze skimmed discreetly sidelong. What kind of doctor didn’t keep a requisite box of tissues on their desk?

Hannibal didn’t, apparently. He was watching him coolly, weighing the appearance of options in his head.

Aaand now naturally, Will could feel the hot prickle of irritation start up between his eyes again, threading its way slowly through his sinuses. He fumbled one hand to his nose in a loose, preemptive pinch, eyes blurring.

“Uh,” he started uncertainly. “Do you have...”

It was as far as he got before the crawling sensation promptly crystallized somewhere in the back of his nose. He could feel the fluttering curl of his nostrils against the concealment of his palm.

“Uh--KGKSSCH!” God, what he wouldn’t give for one of his comparatively tiny, dry allergy sneezes just now. But by some misfortune, headcolds always tended to hit him like a truck. His breath shivered, head dipped. “KSSCH! KXSSH!”

It didn’t quite clear out the tickle, something that had been eluding him frustratingly for a few days now. But it subsided long enough for him to crack a defeated glance across, hand clasped guiltily in place.

“Sorry.”

“Salud,” Hannibal corrected, and snapped the crisp, buttercream colored handkerchief from his breast pocket. Will watched in muzzy confusion for a moment, then blinked when the doctor sat forward to offer it across. He accepted it, but then sat there with the cloth limp in one hand. It even felt expensive.

“I cad’t use this.”

A wrinkle of bemusement appeared in Hannibal’s brow. “Why not?”

Will tucked his chin down slightly, eyes at once woeful and resigned beneath the fringe of his curls. “Id’s too dice. I’d ruid id.”

Hannibal’s expression was hovering somewhere between confusion and mirth. “I have dozens more. Please.”

Will felt ridiculous arguing, and he certainly needed to use something, so with a sigh he angled himself away from the doctor and cleared himself out for several moments. The quality of the fabric felt admittedly much kinder to the raw, chapped state of his nostrils, and after folding it over to a clean spot, he just held it there indulgently as he roamed a look back towards Hannibal.

“My nose is going to be spoiled, now.”

“It could do with some extra attention, I think” Hannibal replied.

“Thank you,” Will said belatedly with a sigh, wicking his eyes dry with a gesture from one knuckle. He eyed the handkerchief. “I feel very... fashionable.”

Hannibal’s mouth crimped hard with a smile.

[March Hare]

Om nom nom. Your style is exquisite as always. Such delectable descriptions and spellings of his symptoms, especially. Lovely bits!

[MusicaDiabolos]

Soooooo pretty Always love your work! And I love "chronically composed" Hannibal combined with embarrassed Will, so adorable

[Anonymouse]

Computer: "Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 7/20/13"

Me: ....... OMG THAT'S TODAY.

New Garnet stuff is awesome. I think you're the only person who can entice me to read sneezy fanfiction for shows I don't watch.

It was as far as he got before the crawling sensation promptly crystallized somewhere in the back of his nose. He could feel the fluttering curl of his nostrils against the concealment of his palm.

ermehgerd.

Maru-Chan is right, exquisite is the word.

[evermissing]

ohhhh man do I ever love this. You get so much into such a compact scene. Like Will's first concern being whether or not he's still contagious (that scene in "Roti" with him and Jack in the car always gets me for the same reason--YOUR HEAD IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE, WILL, STOP WORRYING ABOUT WHETHER YOU'RE GOING TO INFECT SOMEONE).

And Hannibal blessing him "in a melange of languages," because of course he would.

And "the slight, embarrassing drawl that tended to come through when he was completely wasted." sadjfdkfddfs I don't know exactly why, but this kind of thing is such a button-pusher for me, the accent that comes through only in vulnerable moments, that little reversion. It reminds me of what Hannibal says about Will's childhood being an anchor for him. (Also, I grew up in the southeast US and have had people tell me that I sometimes unconsciously slip into a drawl, so it's a familiar phenomenon to me. ) Anyway, this is totally headcanon for me now.

He sniffed hard, nose crinkling into rabbitish wrinkles with the effort.

Ohhh this line.

Hannibal clicked his tongue softly, though Will couldn’t be entirely sure what that meant.

And this! Is that a noise of sympathy? Just verbal punctuation? Something else?? I love it, and the later line about Hannibal just watching Will and "weighing the appearance of options in his head."

And then the part where he runs out of tissues and has to ask and doesn't make it in time... yeah, I pretty much melted into goo at that point and didn't solidify for the rest of the story.

God, what he wouldn’t give for one of his comparatively tiny, dry allergy sneezes just now.

WELL NOW I WANT THIS STORY. (I've actually sort of been writing an allergic-Will story in my head, among other things, but it's always more satisfying when it's from someone else.)

The handkerchief thing--I'd been thinking about this too! How Hannibal would politely offer it, and Will would be completely dismayed at the prospect of ruining something of Hannibal's, particularly something he can't even throw out afterward. I love that you did it here, and how Hannibal just calmly insists until Will surrenders to the necessity.

Aaand then:

“My nose is going to be spoiled, now.”

“It could do with some extra attention, I think” Hannibal replied.

I can't even.

I could just read your writing forever. It's so good. Guhhhhh.

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Garnettttttt! Why are you so goooooood? Have you, like, cursed me to like every one of your drabbles? Cause if you did I appreciate it.

[Dusty15]

UGH SICK!WILL!!!! THE BEST!

I adore this bit:

“Uh--KGKSSCH!” God, what he wouldn’t give for one of his comparatively tiny, dry allergy sneezes just now. But by some misfortune, headcolds always tended to hit him like a truck. His breath shivered, head dipped. “KSSCH! KXSSH!”

Ahhh tiny allergy sneezes and big wet cold sneezes? Perfect for Will <3

[Bruyere]

This was excellent.

He was surprised that Hannibal could understand him at all, especially through the slight, embarrassing drawl that tended to come through when he was completely wasted.

Hnnnnnnggggg, yes. Between that and Hannibal blessing him in multiple languages you managed to hit a surprising number of my buttons again.

still doubled forward over his own lap with the dizzying effect of that last sneeze

Yesssssss.

I love these drabbles!

[Garnet]

Whew! I meant to respond to these sooner, but I knew I was going to post another little something, so I figured I'd wait.

@Maru - Ahhh thank you! I do love being descriptive, occasionally to the point of going overboard, haha!

@Musica - They do make an interesting juxtaposition, don't they? I love it. Thank you!

@Anony - OMG you are adorable, haha, I am so glad you read them, even if it's not a relevant fandom! Aaand you've just reminded me that I have a head full of commentary for that Charles/Erik ficlet you did that I need to actually type out :q Omnom.

@evermissing - Adkjghf YOUR COMMENTS. The best. And yes, that is totally also my headcanon. Sometimes I even pretend he had a borderline Cajun patois that he worked to suppress, because Louisiana, but I figure given Will's canon propensity to pick up and drop other people's speech patterns, pretty much anything goes.

Aaand since you mentioned the allergy thing, I expanded on it a little bit haha. Enjoy!

@Vongola - IF I DID I HAVE NO IDEA HOW, this is just random brain spew, but I am really glad it's well-received!

@Dusty15 - Yesss, I read a (surprisingly) non-fetish fic where he had tiny kitten sneezes and that was adorable, but he's also kind of a walking disaster so he needs ugly, messy ones too. Why not both? 8D

@Bruyere - Ahh, thank you! I am glad that you're into this show and fandom now! :q And also glad that my buttons are also other people's buttons, because I'ma just keep pushing 'em!

And now, a thing. I think Hannibal and Abigail might be next, because I love their unhealthy and weird relationship, but in the meantime...

47 - Wary

"You have so many!" Abigail laughed, crouching down to greet the sea of excited dogs that swarmed around her. She counted... seven, eight? The pinwheel of furry bodies and wagging tails was moving too chaotically for her to be sure, although they had apparently been taught not to jump or paw. She still had to turn her cheek with grimacing laughter as a few sloppy tongues darted out with eager kisses. It had been a while since she'd taken such unabashed joy in anything. "Are they all mutts?"

Will Graham jingled a set of keys back into his pocket, leaving the front door open from the mass canine exodus as he descended back down the porch steps. Abigail had to admit that it was a beautiful house and property. Rural, remote. It reminded her of her father's cabin, although the old farmhouse looked nothing alike.

"All mutts and all strays, except for the jack russell," he agreed, and wiped his nose. He'd been sniffling for the duration of the car ride back from Quantico. Usually Dr. Bloom or Dr. Lecter drove her back to the hospital, on the rare occasions that she was admitted to leave, but Will had been headed back to Baltimore anyway, excusing a brief detour to Wolf Trap to let the dogs out. It was the long way back, and Abigail was yet uncertain about the man who'd saved her life and killed her father in the same stroke, but she also wasn't in any hurry to get back to the hospital.

"We had a Brittany spaniel when I was a kid," Abigail admitted, roughing her hands into the thick fur of a large, pinto-marked shepherd cross that had invited itself into her kneeling lap. It was currently fighting for space with a tiny ivory something-or-other with the saddest eyes and most ridiculous underbite she'd ever seen. She was smitten. "It was my mom's idea, actually, she thought my dad could train her to hunt with us, as a gun dog, but he didn't like her much at all."

Will looked distinctly uncomfortable as he recovered a wad of tissues from his pocket. "Did he..."

Abigail frowned. "No, no. We did end up surrendering her, but it was to friends of the family. She had a pretty good life after that, I think, but I missed having a pet."

Will started to nod in response, but only got in a single dip before he hastened the fold of tissues to his nose and turned away with a sneeze.

"... huh-kssch! ... ksh! ... ksh!" Or three. He looked woozy for the space of a second or two, eyes slivered open to a faint gleam, then shivered in a quick breath. "... uh-ksshue!"

Abigail rose an eyebrow. It was hard to be too wary of someone who sneezed like some kind of baby animal.

"Bless you."

"Ghh, thagks," Will muttered, then cleared his throat roughly. "I report these guys to the shelter when I find them, but no one's ever come to claim. Can't say that I mind the company, so. Here we are."

"Here you are," Abigail agreed, watching in amusement as one of the dogs dropped into a playbow at her, tail waving. It barked in a high, pulsing falsetto.

"Riley, shhh," came Will's mutter. He was pressing a thumb against the inside corner of one eye, as if he had a headache. The little terrier cross just gave a final, shrill yap and promptly took off in a gleeful bound towards the long grass. The shepherd and one of the larger mutts followed, booming cheerfully. "They're not usually barkers," he apologized with a grimace.

"They've been cooped up too much."

"Maybe you should trade places," Abigail hedged, eyeing him as she brushed off her pants and stood. "You look tired."

Will made as if to wave her off, breathed shakily, and tucked the crook of the arm to his face instead. "Huh-kssh! ... kssh!"

It sounded like the least satisfying sneeze in the world. In spite of her reservations, Abigail drew her brows together with sympathy swelling in her throat.

"Are you okay, Agent Graham?"

"Will. And it's fine. I'm not sick," he warned, pausing guiltily when she just crinkled her brow and gave him a patented long, slow dose of her baby blues. He sighed. "It's just allergies."

"Oh." Her bewildered look didn't resolve. Who the hell lived in the country, surrounded by woodland and fields and animals, if they suffered from hayfever?

"Something in the fall, only for a couple of weeks. Ragweed, maybe. It's manageable."

Ah. Better than a chronic case, but the humor was not lost on Abigail as the dogs came charging back into the yard, coated in the yellow-brown dust of grass pollen from their adventures. Will groaned, and crushed the little bundle of tissues to his nose preemptively. It didn't do much to assuage his flushed and crumpled expression, the picture of allergic misery.

"Uh-KSSH! ... ksshue! ... hh!" His head came up uncertainly, the slightly irregular shapes of his nostrils cringed, but it left him in the form of a bleary sigh. "Mostly manageable." He cleared his throat again, and wiped his eyes. "Sorry."

"Bless you. Do you take something for it?"

Will nodded groggily. She made meaningful eyes towards the house.

"You should probably go take that, then. I'll depollenate the dogs?"

It earned a throated laugh as he turned for the house, apparently trusting her not to bolt as soon as his back was turned. "I'm not sure I even want to know how you're planning on doing that, but thank you."

[MusicaDiabolos]

Ooooooo this was the best! Allergic Will is adorable

[Anonymouse]

Abigail rose an eyebrow. It was hard to be too wary of someone who sneezed like some kind of baby animal.

eeheeheehee

And omg how brilliant, the dogs covered in pollen. I love how descriptive you were with the dogs too, that little one with the underbite - I could almost picture it. So much attention to the little details like that in such a short story.

Those soft, unsatisfying sneezes. Poor guy.

[evermissing]

Sometimes I even pretend he had a borderline Cajun patois that he worked to suppress, because Louisiana, but I figure given Will's canon propensity to pick up and drop other people's speech patterns, pretty much anything goes.

Awww, man, yesssss.

I really wish they'd done more with that little detail about Will's unconscious mimicry on the show.

The story: hnnnnnngh. I saw that you'd updated with another Hannibal fic this morning, and made myself leave it till this evening after work, so I'd have something awesome to look forward to. It didn't disappoint.

I LOVE that you paid so much attention to the dogs. Seriously, one of my favorite things about Hannibal's version of Will Graham, one of the first things that endeared him to me, is how his dynamic with the dogs is foregrounded. (I mean, there are dogs in the book, and there are dogs in Harris's introduction to it, but they're mostly just... scenery.) I only wish they did more with them on the show! Or even gave them names! So it was so cool to get more glimpses of them here.

Will looked distinctly uncomfortable as he recovered a wad of tissues from his pocket. "Did he..."

OHGOD. My mind didn't even go there until this, but auuuuugh. I'm with Will in feeling distinctly uncomfortable about being fed your own dog.

It was hard to be too wary of someone who sneezed like some kind of baby animal.

Dawwww. You do a great job with their relationship here. Abigail gets close to Hannibal so quickly but seems to stay somehow a little... "wary" is exactly the word... of Will throughout the season. Which is sort of heartbreaking.

He was pressing a thumb against the inside corner of one eye, as if he had a headache.

<3 <3 this detail.

It sounded like the least satisfying sneeze in the world.

Yeah, okay, we're reached the inevitable point in the story where I lose the ability to make English words and just keysmash all over the place. (Also, I love that even this traumatized teenage girl is worried about Will's wellbeing, he's just that vulnerable.)

Will groaned, and crushed the little bundle of tissues to his nose preemptively. It didn't do much to assuage his flushed and crumpled expression, the picture of allergic misery.

"Uh-KSSH! ... ksshue! ... hh!" His head came up uncertainly, the slightly irregular shapes of his nostrils cringed, but it left him in the form of a bleary sigh. "Mostly manageable."

All of this, just, saklfdgklfdgkdfgk;

Thaaank you for this. It totally made my night.

[evermissing]

Also:

I think Hannibal and Abigail might be next, because I love their unhealthy and weird relationship

YES PLEASE

[Bruyere]

Will groaned, and crushed the little bundle of tissues to his nose preemptively. It didn't do much to assuage his flushed and crumpled expression, the picture of allergic misery.

Love this description. And that of Abigail's 'baby blues'. And this:

It was hard to be too wary of someone who sneezed like some kind of baby animal.

Oh, Will.

[Garnet]

Y'all are great <3 Here's another Hannibal thing, surprise surprise. I ran out of brain tonight but I... mmmight continue this one? I dunno.

The wine hit her a little harder than she'd expected. Hannibal was abundantly liberal with it, at least at the dinners Dr. Bloom was absent from, with little apparent concern for American drinking age laws. Abigail's parents had only ever permitted the traditional glass of pear brandy at Christmas, and apart from a few smuggled beers sipped from red solo cups at high school crushes' parties, her experience and tolerance were somewhat lacking.

She awoke on the leather sofa in the study, draped in a throw blanket that registered chenille under the brush of her fingers and smelled reassuringly of Dr. Lecter's home.

Her mouth was dry, but her head felt clear. A glance to the window revealed the fading light of the day, evidence that she'd probably been in a wine nap for at least a couple hours. Two glasses with lunch, or was it three? She'd have to keep better track next time. Pushing herself to her feet, Abigail gathered the puddled fabric of the throw in both hands and refolded it neatly to the back of the sofa. She didn't strictly remember falling asleep there. Had Will carried her in? Hannibal?

The soft strains of music were audible drifting down the stairs. Finger-combing herself back into order, Abigail wended her way slowly up to the second floor, letting her fingertips map out a tactile route across the bannister and wall mouldings as she went. She'd never actually ventured beyond the ground level rooms, but she'd also never felt less than comfortable in Hannibal's home. Even and especially when he offered her drugs and booze. Such a role model. Dr. Bloom would have a conniption if she knew.

Abigail was wise enough not to poke into any of the second floor rooms uninvited, for all that she was curious, and instead followed the notes of Prokofiev to the stairs leading up into the attic. The door was left ajar, and so carefully, ghosting her footsteps the way her father had taught her and the way that she'd seen Hannibal silently approve of, she crept up the flight and into the loft above.

The attic was clean and furnished. Bare beams in a cathedral slant to the roof and unfinished wood floor beneath, but still drenched in the fading sunlight from half-sized windows, and reassuringly free of cobwebs and storage clutter. A cracked window and a small art deco fan cured the stuffiness from the air. Dr. Lecter was roosting on a stool between the two, dressed down into slacks and a button-down shirt that had been folded open at the collar. He was curled over an easel with head bent to a canvas she couldn't see from the angle of the doorway. A brush in hand clicked and shuffed against the stretched fabric softly, and she glimpsed a square palette cradled on his forearm with the same ease that he balanced elegantly plated dishes en route from the kitchen. It bore a controlled riot of pigments in creamy, folded dollops, and she could smell the linseed on the air. It didn't surprise her that Hannibal favored oil paints. The earthy, mineral scent of them alone would have attracted him, but there was also an appreciably tactile pleasure to blending and blending and blending the thick paint on the edge of a palette knife. It was a sensory experience for more than merely the eyes.

Her mother had painted, albeit amateurly. Flowers, mostly, canvases and canvases of blooming color immortalizing the modest but pretty garden she kept so carefully tended, like trophies of her own work hung beside her father's mounted antlers. Abigail highly doubted that Dr. Lecter was painting peonies, but the familiarity of the smells and set-up put an unexpected lump of emotion in her throat.

Ugh, dammit.

She anticipated Hannibal looking up at once, but unless he was ignoring her, he actually didn't appear to notice her arrival. That was a little unusual, and gratifying at the same time. He was perceptive, and hard to surprise, she wasn't sure he was even physically capable of the expression. Somehow, strangely, this felt like sneaking up on a predator. For a moment, Abigail hesitated in the doorway, tongue pressed to the backs of her teeth as she debated between hailing his attention, or creeping back downstairs. She never got to observe Hannibal unawares, and the focused but unguarded line of his elegant profile was tempting.

Suddenly, he straightened, and she readied a submissive greeting. It caught in her throat, however, as he turned from the canvas with a crumpled expression of displeasure, both hands still occupied. She was baffled, right up until his posture expanded with a deep, shuddering breath and he sneezed openly into the air.

"... hrrssh-shoo!"

The sunlit window actually caught the thin aerosol of the release, briefly illuminating it into a thousand short-lived points of light. Rather than smoothing in relief, however, the doctor's features wrinkled deeply as he drew another inhale.

"Hh-hh... ! ... --hatssch-shoo!"

Abigail stood still as stone, but her mind reeled. She may as well have seem him stripped naked, head to toe, for the logical anomaly of Hannibal Lecter sneezing uncovered. Or sneezing at all. She felt the sudden urge to sit down and process it all. Instead, she offered a surprised and compulsive, "Bless you!"

No, no. Whatever doubts she might have had about it initially, the doctor was definitely capable of looking startled, and even stricken. "Forgive me," he huffed in chagrin, transferring the brush to a hand already balancing the palette and turning his head from her. "I didn't hear you come up."

"That might have been the intention," Abigail admitted, taking a step into the room and listing just slightly to catch a better look at the quick switch of his fingertips over arched nostrils. It only seemed to make them react with a twinge, and she waited with patient anticipation as it gestated. "Am I interrupting? I can go."

Hannibal parted his lips to respond, but got no further than a throaty, indistinct syllable before he was obliged to curl into the crook of an arm, shoulders trembling.

"HRRSH-shoo!"

Either they were getting stronger, or the effort of trying to hold them in only augmented the force. Either way, Abigail was terribly amused, and smart enough not to show it.

"Bless you." She edged a step closer, as one might approach a wild animal. But she couldn't resist asking, "Are you catching a cold, doctor? Your voice sounded a little thick, at lunch."

That wasn't a lie. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, Hannibal's words were often slurry and rounded, but there was a perceptible difference in resonance that she made note of now.

She also expected him to curtly deny her insinuation, but she ought to have known better than to go predicting anything he did.

"I'm fighting something," he agreed, recovering slowly, and this time making to set palette and paintbrush aside. She still couldn't see what he'd been working on, although she'd caught him sketching a few times with a kind of thoughtless accuracy for form that suggested an eidetic memory. He reached for a plain linen handkerchief from a pocket, clearly one intended for actual use and not display, and touched it carefully to both nostrils. The right continued to tic gently from time to time, bothered. She wondered if he noticed.

"That's a shame," Abigail hummed, mincing another step while he was preoccupied. And another while he paused for a moment with head bent into the cloth, eyes creasing shut. Inhale.

"HRRSH-shoo!"

She would have suspected a sneeze slightly more.... was delicate the word she was searching for? No, not quite. Hannibal was unarguably fancy and old-fashioned, decidedly indulgent, but he wasn't effeminate, or airy. A more controlled sneeze, that's what she would have anticipated, though she was unexpectedly delighted that his grasp over it seemed tenuous at best.

"Bless," she offered dutifully, skirted a floorboard she thought might creak, and moved another stride. "It sounds like it's come on quickly."

"Excuse me. The dust doesn't help," Hannibal confessed, bundling the handkerchief less gracefully to his nose this time, enough to distort its rigid shape just slightly.

"Really? I'd say your cleaning regimen is pretty thorough."

His head came up, freezing her in place a few feet away as he fed her a look both wary and a little amused. "... what are you doing, Abigail?"

Her brows furrowed in puppy-eyed innocence. "Stalking you."

Hannibal narrowed his own eyes, mouth tightening subtly in a not-quite smile and an expression that said proceed.