"Twelve Weeks Sober" - (Hannibal S2 Drabbles)

[Garnet]

So I tossed an idea around with evermissing about writing a short drabble for each episode of the new season of NBC's Hannibal, which just premiered. I'm going to go ahead and give it a shot.

These will be following the general time frame of the show, and will probably extend to various characters. Male and female, if I get adventurous. I should end up with thirteen overall.

They're also going to be full of SPOILERS and probably not too cheerful, unless you're rooting for Hannibal. So. You've been warned! 8D

01. Kaiseki

He hears his name under the susurrant flow of the current around him. The water is deep and cold enough to ache, even through the insulating rubber of his waders, but the sun is hot on his back. The buzz of insects fractures like a warped tape recording as it drifts through the haze of midmorning again.

Will... Will...

He comes out of it with a clotted, jerking gasp. The white noise of wildlife resolves into the hum of overhead lights on their way out, and the warm of the sun translates into a fever he can feel working itself up to a boil just under his skin. Not encephalitis, just a good, old-fashioned, you're going to be sick and miserable fever.

This cold could have been timed better. He hopes it doesn't turn into the flu.

Will comes to, and crumples at once over his lap with a cringing, and messy sneeze.

"--ugk--KSSCH!" He stays bent, nose wrinkled miserably, not caring who sees. "... huh-KSSSH-ue!"

"Gesundheit," Hannibal purrs, from the other side of the bars.

Will ignores him. The sleeve of the jumpsuit crushed to his face, he rises unsteadily and staggers to the other end of the cell, where he snags handful after handful of government issue toilet paper and uses it to clean himself up.

"You're unwell," Hannibal observes, and Will curtails the urge to bite back a sarcastic really, how did you guess. It's petty, and pettiness isn't going to serve him any good in here.

He acknowledges Dr. Lecter's presence with a slow turn of his head at last, taking in his composed, inquisitive expression, the tailored coat folded over one arm and the disruptive blue and white rectangle of the visitor's badge. Will expected to feel hatred, and to be sure, he does, but there's a confusing mix of emotions in his gut as well. Fear slithers through the anger and betrayal like a coy serpent. And somewhere, he's surprised to feel a pall of sadness.

Not so long ago, he would have looked forward to seeing Hannibal when he was sick. It would have meant genuine human companionship, a cool hand on his brow and homemade soup. Will ducking his eyes away and making anxious, uncomfortable excuses to leave, and Hannibal firmly insisting that he stay for coffee, for breakfast, for another drink. Wanted, even when he's at his worst.

He's supposed to missing his dogs, and his little house. He's angry that he's also mourning a man and a friend who never actually existed.

His head is throbbing, and that dull tickle is setting up behind his eyes again. Will has quite a few things that he wants to say to him, but he's not ready yet. He's going to need time and clarity if he wants to out-think this man, if he wants to win, and neither of those things are on his side.

"... huh-KGSSHH!" Again, explosively, although right into the crumpled handful of tissue this time. He wipes his nose and again ignores the blessing that drifts his way.

"What do you want, Dr. Lecter?" He sighs tiredly, approaching the bars until he can wrap his hands around them. Hannibal doesn't retreat, they're hovering dangerously close. Will could grab him through the food slot if he tried.

Good. He knows it's petty, but maybe the doctor will catch this ugly plague. Will hopes it makes him miserable, but he would probably be ecstatic. He shudders.

Hannibal doesn't answer his question, but cocks his head slightly, gazing at Will like the feverish, red-nosed, wrung-out animal in a cage he is.

"Where do you go when you close your eyes, Will?"

Will's features tug into a weak and manic rictus. "Anywhere but here."

[evermissing]

[um, obviously, there are spoilers below.]

dsfidghugdhkjfghjgdfhugf yeeeeees.

I finished watching the episode about half an hour ago with a friend (I don't have a TV, so I'll be perpetually one day behind the curve :/), and then came right over to the forums to see if it had sparked any fic yet. My night has been made, because (1) obviously it did, (2) it's by you, (3) this is a scenario I've pretty much wanted ever since season 1 ended, and (4) omg there will be more.

(I'm preeetty tempted to try this exercise too, now.)

The first paragraph is so good--"the susurrant flow of the current," "the buzz of insects fractures like a warped tape"... mmm.

the warm of the sun translates into a fever he can feel working itself up to a boil just under his skin. Not encephalitis, just a good, old-fashioned, you're going to be sick and miserable fever.

Oh Wiiiiiiiill. And how his health-related frame of reference is now "Well, could be worse! COULD BE ENCEPHALITIS!"

"--ugk--KSSCH!" He stays bent, nose wrinkled miserably, not caring who sees. "... huh-KSSSH-ue!"

"Gesundheit," Hannibal purrs, from the other side of the bars.

afdsjfsjksfjkfdgjkf

(I was actually kind of surprised that Hannibal visited Will in the first episode; I half-expected there to be more of a buildup to that moment. But man, they did a LOT of stuff in this episode that I didn't expect to happen till later, so. It was a busy hour!)

Not so long ago, he would have looked forward to seeing Hannibal when he was sick. It would have meant genuine human companionship, a cool hand on his brow and homemade soup. Will ducking his eyes away and making anxious, uncomfortable excuses to leave, and Hannibal firmly insisting that he stay for coffee, for breakfast, for another drink. Wanted, even when he's at his worst.

He's supposed to missing his dogs, and his little house. He's angry that he's also mourning a man and a friend who never actually existed.

oh god no I am dead. Yes. This.

Not coincidentally, this is a pretty good description of my feelings about all of season one. I miss Will in therapy! I miss their awkward wtf-IS-this-relationship! I even miss watching Will getting thoroughly mind-fucked! IT'S ALL GONE AND IT WILL NEVER COME BACK.

...this show is really, really effective at inspiring mixed feelings.

"... huh-KGSSHH!" Again, explosively, although right into the crumpled handful of tissue this time. He wipes his nose and again ignores the blessing that drifts his way.

I love how Will completely refuses to acknowledge to Hannibal, in any way, that he's sick--refuses to let that vulnerability become explicit. Even though it's obvious.

Will hopes it makes him miserable, but he would probably be ecstatic. He shudders.

ahhhhhhh ohhhh goddd this is both SO CREEPY and SO BRILLIANT. Aaand now I kinda want that story.

"a weak and manic rictus"--I know exactly the expression you mean. Perfect.

Thaaaaank you for this!

[stephab13]

Ooooooh I like this idea! It's really easy to imagine all this with him so vulnerable now... and I feel maybe a little guilty, but, hey

Your voices for this are so perfect that when I went to finish watching the ep, I found it incredibly strange that this didn't happen. I was so expectant for it too. It's just... man. Amazing. And I can't wait to see what you come up with next! :-)

[Garnet]

@evermissing – Yeeeah I'm gonna be right there with you, on the day-late thing. We don't have cable in our apartment, I just happened to be visiting my mom for the premiere and borrowed hers haha.

And yes, you should totally do this exercise too! It should be fun soulcrushing fun.

And as always, I love your reviews. I also have very mixed feelings about the show. Like, I'm so excited! I love Hannibal being an evil bastard! But also aww, I'm gonna miss that ambiguity to their relationship and I foresee a whole season of being hella frustrated that no one will believe Will (although I have high hopes for a team-up with Bev). I agree that it looks like they're moving things along very quickly, which is cool! I'm very interested to see where they go with... whatever they're doing. I'm just along for the ride and appreciating Mads's weird face.

… that turned more into rambling about the show than rambling about the sneezefic, but hey!

But yeah, don't worry :q Depending on the scenarios I have to work with, I will take any opportunity to pass that cold on to Hannibal.

@stephab13 – Oh, yay, thank you so much! That is a huge compliment, as I always worry about not being in-character enough. Especially with Hannibal, there's a certain... gravitas. He's such a weird combination of character tropes that he can very easily become cheesy, so I kind of err on the side of caution with the “less is more” approach.

Anyway, glad you're following too! I don't expect there to be a big audience for this thread, but two is already very exciting to me!

[Bruyere]

Eeek! This sort of got lost in the I-have-too-many-tabs-open shuffle (and it's annoying sequel the-firefox-crash-that'll-lose-them-all) but I am very excited by the prospect that we might get one of these each for each episode!

He comes out of it with a clotted, jerking gasp. The white noise of wildlife resolves into the hum of overhead lights on their way out, and the warm of the sun translates into a fever he can feel working itself up to a boil just under his skin. Not encephalitis, just a good, old-fashioned, you're going to be sick and miserable fever.

I love the clotted, jerking gasp; it reminds me of how he wakes from his nightmares in S1. And the whole not encephalitis just a cold, oh Will how awful is the baseline of your life?

"Gesundheit," Hannibal purrs, from the other side of the bars.

I love this. Hannibal kind of reminded me throughout this episode of the cat who regrets his decision to bat a mouse half to death while playing with it because the now nearly dead mouse won't play back anymore. I don't think he regrets what he did to Will but at the same time I do think he kind of misses Will. Even if Hannibal does love the chance to be the new Will Graham at the FBI.

"You're unwell," Hannibal observes, and Will curtails the urge to bite back a sarcastic really, how did you guess. It's petty, and pettiness isn't going to serve him any good in here.

Yessss. I miss outward sassmouth Will but the fact that he knows he's got to be play a different game with Hannibal now is excellent.

Wanted, even when he's at his worst.

Oh Will :(

[Garnet]

@Bruyere - "Hannibal kind of reminded me throughout this episode of the cat who regrets his decision to bat a mouse half to death while playing with it because the now nearly dead mouse won't play back anymore." Oh my god, this pretty much perfectly encapsulates their relationship right now haha. I like that parallel a lot. (Me? Animal metaphors? Never!)

And I wholly agree, about missing Will, I think he even says as much to Bedelia. He broke his toy and now he's moping about it, but I think he genuinely still thinks of Will as his friend. Because Hannibal has no idea how to friend :|

And with that said, here's the next drabble! I was going to continue the cold sideplot, but come on, this week's episode was practically gift-wrapped.

02. Sakizuke

Dangerous hangs between them, an ugly secret heavy in the air. She feels like she had a gun with a single round, and the bullet has just been fired. There's regret and relief in the aftermath, circling in her chest, but terror encloses both, throttles them in a fist.

Bedelia read an article once about a dog's ability to smell fear – or more accurately, the prickle of sweat, the odor of adrenaline – and how some trainers chewed mint gum to mask it. She was dubious about the validity of the claim, but it's somewhere in the back of her mind today. It's not the only reason she's dabbed Artemesia liberally on her wrists and throat before coming here, but she doesn't think it hurts. She doesn't want Hannibal to smell her fear.

Bedelia has always considered her patient more reactive than impulsive, but she doesn't need to stoke the fires of whatever high he's been riding these past few weeks. Still, she retreats automatically to his advance, an unconscious reaction to the approach of a predator. Bedelia maintains that flight distance, backs up until the chaise is bumping against her calves and she runs out of room to politely defer. Here is where she makes her silent stand. Don't flinch, don't panic.

Hannibal closes the space between them with each slow and lingering step. She hoped the soft, powdery notes of cyclamen and lily would keep him at bay. She can see that it's affecting him, eyes glossed and mouth tight, but he muscles past it until they're standing nearly chest to chest. Her heels don't add enough height. Her face is calm.

“I'm sorry you feel that way.”

He bends close to her, as if he's either intending to whisper a secret or rip her throat out with his teeth. There's only the soft flutter of an inhale against her neck, and this says measures in its own way. How little I care for your efforts at self-preservation. This is a minor inconvenience at best.

Bedelia's breathing is still steady, but deeper now, taking most of her concentration.

“Artemisia,” he hums thoughtfully.

“Not one of your favorites,” Bedelia agrees. It's not an apology, or an explanation, just an acknowledgment. Careful, neutral.

“It's never suited you,” Hannibal says, but he straightens and widens their berth by a long step. Bedelia gets a single, delirious glimpse of arched nostrils and a crumpled brow, little cracks in the mask of humanity before he turns into an elbow. “--hh'RRFSSH!”

The distraction is all she needs to slip away and mince quickly to the door. Like that, her hold is broken, though she lingers to watch him mount towards another sneeze, unbearably tickled by a scent that doesn't agree with him.

“--HRISSH-ue!” He halfway looks as if he wants another, but waylays it long enough to compose himself.

“Gesundheit.”

“Thank you.”

Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

She feels his eyes on her back as she leaves. She will feel them miles away and hours from now. Very likely, she will feel them for the rest of her life.

[Hawkeye]

!!!!!!!!

This is incredible. I LOVED the second episode, even more than the first one, and this is perfect. The scene between Bedelia and Hannibal was breathtaking in the episode itself and this was just !!!!

I love the idea of her perfume making him sneeze - the "little cracks in the mask of humanity." I can't wait for more of these!

[Bruyere]

This was excellent and yes, the end of the episode was practically gift-wrapped!

I loved how dignified you made Bedelia while capturing that very real and totally justified sense of fear. <3

She feels his eyes on her back as she leaves. She will feel them miles away and hours from now. Very likely, she will feel them for the rest of her life.

[VoOs]

Now, having caught up with season 2, I can finally read and comment on this.

Oh, Hannibal. You deliciously dark, shamelessly over-the-top, gleefully macabre eye-candy fest. <3 Garnet, I've said it before, but it never ceases to amaze me how perfectly you are able to capture the atmosphere of this show. Nnnngh, and Hannibal and his scents.

These pictures in my head. I like them. I like them very, very much. Thank you for putting them there. <3 <3 <3

[AngelEyes]

Wow. The tension you are able to express is palpable. You are brilliant my dear!

[beatlelover22]

Urrghh, I haven't had a change to catch up Season Two but I'm loving these drabbles! You're so in character, it's perfect!

[evermissing]

how some trainers chewed mint gum to mask it. She was dubious about the validity of the claim, but it's somewhere in the back of her mind today. It's not the only reason she's dabbed Artemesia liberally on her wrists and throat before coming here, but she doesn't think it hurts. She doesn't want Hannibal to smell her fear.

Oh man, this is so brilliant and so in keeping with canon. Bedelia's perceptiveness and caginess, Hannibal's preternatural sense of smell, THE DOG REFERENCE... it's all there.

she doesn't need to stoke the fires of whatever high he's been riding these past few weeks.

uuuugh, such a good line.

Here is where she makes her silent stand. Don't flinch, don't panic.

I love/respect Bedelia so much in the show, and you get her so well here, and make me love her even more.

She can see that it's affecting him, eyes glossed and mouth tight, but he muscles past it until they're standing nearly chest to chest.

hnnnnnnnngh

“It's never suited you,” Hannibal says, but he straightens and widens their berth by a long step. Bedelia gets a single, delirious glimpse of arched nostrils and a crumpled brow, little cracks in the mask of humanity before he turns into an elbow. “--hh'RRFSSH!”

oh god oh god I am just dead. "a single, delirious glimpse of arched nostrils and a crumpled brow," "cracks in the mask of humanity," the echo of all Hannibal's little power games (in both TV- and novel/film-canon) with Will about cologne.

she lingers to watch him mount towards another sneeze, unbearably tickled by a scent that doesn't agree with him.

“--HRISSH-ue!” He halfway looks as if he wants another

All of this is just sdlkdsklfdklfklfskof, especially "mount towards another sneeze" and "He halfway looks as if he wants another." You write this kind of thing so compellingly and so well.

She will feel them miles away and hours from now. Very likely, she will feel them for the rest of her life.

These last two lines are just perfect, so tight and restrained and spooky. In particular, I love that easy, eerie parallelism of "miles away and hours from now."

As stephab13 said above, you have a knack for writing these snippets that fit effortlessly into the gaps left by canon, so that I'm always half-surprised and half-disappointed when the episodes don't include your scenes. I expect to feel the same when I finally get around to like y'know WATCHING 2x02. :/

[doggo]

gazing at Will like the feverish, red-nosed, wrung-out animal in a cage he is

a thing of beauty! So, so sexy, lovely misery.

[Garnet]

Oh man, so many replies I didn't get to. I'm so grateful to anyone who's reading along with this silly exercise. I'm having a little too much fun with it, even if this season isn't at all easy on the feels. Quick replies, and then another drabble!

@Skye – Nnn yes, with the perfume. For the showing giving so much fodder about that sense of smell canon, especially this season, I still don't feel like I've played with it nearly enough. A subject for either future drabbles in this thread or for the word prompts, maybe! 8)

@Bruyere – Yesss exactly. That was such a good token last gesture and perfectly wraps up Bedelia, I think. Like, she's strong and smart enough to get the fuck out of Dodge when it's time, but still leaves a parting gift. Because it would be rude not to. There's a post on tumblr with a whole breakdown of how excellent she is in this episode, I couldn't not try to play with that dynamic just a little.

@VoOs – You are very, very welcome, my dear. A macabre eye-candy fest is exactly what this season (and the last, of course) feel like so far. I swear the show could be total garbage writing and acting-wise and I would still love those delicious aesthetics.

@AngelEyes – Thank you so much! I'm really glad that came across clearly enough, this whole season is very nerve-wracking!

@beatlelover22 – Oh man, thank you! I hope you can catch up on it soon, it's... I don't know what's going on, but I'm liking it!

@evermissing – DOG REFERENCES FOREVER. I'm really glad Bedelia came across well. I'm actually sad I didn't write more with her, now, because she's such an awesome character. I may have to go back and rectify this with some flashback!material, or at least my speculation on it. I'm so curious about all the implied history in their relationship.

And yeah, I feel like even once you separate yourself from Hannibal physically, he's going to live in your head for the rest of your life. Poor Will...

@pig – Ahh, isn't he just. It's his own damned fault for being so... torturable :q

And with that, back to sick and cranky Will getting' his game on, go!

03. Hassun

Manipulating Hannibal Lecter is a terrifying prospect.

“Ughk--... KSSSCH!”

“Gesundheit.”

Will ignores him.

He second guesses himself often, he thinks there's no way that Hannibal can't see right through his desperate words and spastic, crumpling expression. For all he knows, the doctor could be taking in his performance across the coffee-stained interrogation table with all the savoring pleasure of a night at the opera. Maybe Will is still being played like a fiddle, through layers of recursion that hurt his head to think about too much.

So he doesn't. He has some faith in himself, and sticks to a few basic principles. Little rules of the game.

“Huh--...! KXSSHH-ue!” His head jogs with another miserable cold sneeze, curls sticking to his brow. Hannibal makes a sympathetic noise in his throat, but doesn't bless him this time.

First, he has to play to Hannibal's weaknesses – namely, his vanity. For all the well-structured and graceful lines of his appearance, his composure well armed with patience, the man's ego could fill the room if he let it off its leash. Will can't be too obvious in pandering to it, he has to maintain own air of guarded mistrust, but it doesn't take him long to figure out the things that Hannibal wants to hear.

Second, there has to be some truth in his lies. When Hannibal pens him bloody love songs through flames and severed body parts, Will believes him. He doesn't know what to do with the confession, he's never been loved by a monster. But he takes the kernel of truth and locks it up tight for when he figures it out.

In turn, Will means it when he wishes there was a third killer. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that there isn't. Despite the angry chaos of his thoughts, he can't quell the ache that visits him in unexpected moments. He still hasn't trained himself to stop reaching for the phone that he doesn't have, to talk out his trouble with the friend that pushed him in front of the train. His stomach curdles with disgust every time he catches himself in that moment of wanting – he hates him, he hates him. But he can't deny that he misses the normalcy, and the feeling of not standing alone before the storm. He's ashamed to wish that Hannibal's love came packaged in a different form.

Third, he has to show his own weaknesses, and play them up to distracting effect. This lingering cold helps a good deal with that. The erratic HVAC of the hospital's dungeon-like basement has made it hard to shake, to say nothing of the stress, and Will is tired of constantly waking up to cold chills and a running, ticklish nose. More worryingly, it's started to settle in his lungs. He finds himself coughing roughly, miserably into the crook of his arm for minutes at a time, chains rattling and the back of his neck hot.

He can feel Hannibal's eyes on him whenever he picks his head back up with face flushed. He doubts the other man is capable of sympathy, but the reaction draws his interest like a rabbit's terrified death squeal attracts a fox.

“You're still ill,” he observes, brows canted with concern, or at least what looks like concern. Hannibal is very, very good at faking.

“Yeah,” Will roughs. His throat feels thick. “Imagine.” He tries not to be too bitter, too laden with scathing sarcasm, but he can't be too easy a target, either.

Hannibal shifts his hands on the tabletop, and for a second he's terrified that he's going to touch him. It's a battle not to turn his fingers inward preemptively. Thankfully, the doctor only laces his fingers together and continues to restrained upset.

“I can speak with the staff, they may be able to make you more comfortable.”

Now Will really has to bite his tongue. Hannibal is the absolute last person he would trust with his health. Instead, he flares his nostrils with a pathetic, liquid sniffle, and observes the flicker of interest in the other man's eyes. In the wedge of sunlight filtering through the window, they look red. Good, he has his full focus on the symptoms now.

It's a headcold at best, it might turn into walking pneumonia at worst. He's sure neither of those is quite as exciting as encephalitis, but he exaggerates it anyway with another bottled, grimacing cough. It burns all the way down to his lungs and disturbs the congestion alternately collecting and leaking from between his eyes.

“I'm fide, they drug be up for the trials. I'd rather...” His vision swims and breath hitches. Covering his mouth is a clumsy affair with his wrists chained together and lashed to the table in front of him. The links clink noisily as he crushes his sleeve to his nose and jack-knifes in half.

“Huhk—KST'SSHHH!”

When he gets his eyes back open, he goes momentarily dry-mouthed at the sight of the Wendigo sitting across from him. Blank-faced, sitting in that eerily motionless way with the tines of its antlers spidering towards the ceiling. At least it's still wearing Hannibal's suit, he likes it much less when it's looming naked and neutered in a corner of this cell, too tall and too thin with its too long and hungry limbs unfurling towards him.

Will blinks extra, extra hard until white starbursts erupt against his closed eyelids, then looks again. Just Hannibal, staring at him with a different but still neutral sort of expression now. Will breathes.

“Gesundheit.”

Will clears his throat softly. Maybe that's enough string-pulling for today, and definitely enough cold medicine. Time to throw the good doctor a bone.

“Uh... thanks.”

[Bruyere]

I am so glad that you chose to carry on with the sick Will idea and how he uses this to manipulate Hannibal. The three ways that Will works out he can manipulate Hannibal are perfect. You get into Will's and Hannibal's heads so well.

Covering his mouth is a clumsy affair with his wrists chained together and lashed to the table in front of him. The links clink noisily as he crushes his sleeve to his nose and jack-knifes in half.

“Huhk—KST'SSHHH!”

Sliiightly disturbed by how attracted I am to the image of Will sneezing while handcuffed to the table.

[evermissing]

fffffffff okay so after 2x02 I was definitely thinking along these lines--Will playing up his vulnerability in any way, even/especially with physical illness--but you just did it so perfectly that I don't need to try to write it. This maaay be my favorite of your S2 drabbles so far.

Maybe Will is still being played like a fiddle, through layers of recursion that hurt his head to think about too much.

This line. THIS. LINE. It's such a good encapsulation of how we feel as viewers (okay, so Will's manipulating Hannibal who's manipulating Will who ad infinitum... wait, who's got the upper hand again right now? how about now? and now? *brain explosion*)... and how much more potently must Will feel that. As you say, what a terrifying prospect to get into a contest of mutual mental fuckery with Hannibal Lecter.

His head jogs with another miserable cold sneeze, curls sticking to his brow.

PS yes please this forever

When Hannibal pens him bloody love songs through flames and severed body parts, Will believes him. He doesn't know what to do with the confession, he's never been loved by a monster.

oh god. And even more this:

He still hasn't trained himself to stop reaching for the phone that he doesn't have, to talk out his trouble with the friend that pushed him in front of the train. His stomach curdles with disgust every time he catches himself in that moment of wanting – he hates him, he hates him. But he can't deny that he misses the normalcy, and the feeling of not standing alone before the storm. He's ashamed to wish that Hannibal's love came packaged in a different form.

Once again, this is such a great... kind of intensified echo of what we (or at least I) feel while watching this show play out. I ache for Will and what he's lost here--even though, really, he never had it to lose, because Hannibal was never who he seemed to be. But I feel like one of the most painful ironies of the show is that (1) NO ONE IN THE WORLD could use some expert psychotherapy more than Will Graham, (2) Hannibal Lecter is not only an expert psychotherapist but also clearly very very attuned to Will's needs and quirks, and (3) if Hannibal just Used His Powers For Good he could probably be a life-changing shrink for Will, but (4) given what goes down in S1, I can't imagine (this version of) Will ever seeking or submitting to therapy ever again. And you get at that here in such a heartbreaking way.

He doubts the other man is capable of sympathy, but the reaction draws his interest like a rabbit's terrified death squeal attracts a fox.

Perfect.

He tries not to be too bitter, too laden with scathing sarcasm, but he can't be too easy a target, either.

Hannibal shifts his hands on the tabletop, and for a second he's terrified that he's going to touch him. It's a battle not to turn his fingers inward preemptively.

And all of this too: perfect. How Will is so, so calculating about striking that balance between justified belligerence and believable weakness, and then his panic at the idea of Hannibal touching him. It's such a sad little nod to last season, in a way: how Will starts out so standoffish and avoidant of intimacy with other people, then is gradually seduced into craving intimacy and even physical contact with Hannibal. And now this.

Instead, he flares his nostrils with a pathetic, liquid sniffle, and observes the flicker of interest in the other man's eyes.

OHHH GOD I LOVE HIM

he likes it much less when it's looming naked and neutered in a corner of this cell, too tall and too thin with its too long and hungry limbs unfurling towards him.

Such a brilliant line.

And the idea of thanking Hannibal, of accepting his sympathy, as "throwing him a bone," A+; and finally, I agree with Bruyere on all counts here:

Sliiightly disturbed by how attracted I am to the image of Will sneezing while handcuffed to the table.

Yep. YEP YEP YEP.

[VoOs]

Nnnnh. Miserable Angel of Vengeance Will.

As gorgeous as ever, Garnet.

[doggo]

Ehm... dzejhhh.... ghuhhhszh..........

Edited to add: Jesus, woman! This sick Will stuff makes me literally moan aloud.

[Garnet]

@Bruyere - Thank you! Sick!Will will probably be making regular appearances throughout this exercise, as well as anyone else unlucky enough to be infected.

And you know, I wrote out the scenario, but I don't think the whole sneezing + handcuffed restraint even occurred to me until you pointed it out :| I agree, super hot. A fetish friend suggested a scenario, far in the future, with Hannibal and the anti-bite mask which I may visit in my main drabble thread.

@evermissing - As always, I love your breakdowns. And hnngh yes, I found Hassun an especially confusing episode, given the previews we get for this week's. I am very much liking how pro-active Will is being with his own defense, though. Go get 'em!

Also, regarding that painful irony... I read a pretty long and well-written fanfic set in an alternate universe where Hannibal wasn't a serial killer, but everything else was the same. He and Will still forged an awkward but earnest relationship, it was really interesting to see how Will developed differently when he actually received appropriate therapy and treatment for his encephalitis. It chewed my heart up into a million pieces, and I think about it often :c We could have had it aaaall~/

That said, I love, LOVE what a completely fucked up person Hannibal is, I embrace him as a villain. But I wouldn't appreciate it half as much if not for that well of potential for what could have been. Bittersweet is my favorite flavor, apparently.

@VoOs - "Miserable" is pretty much the perfect word for Will, isn't it? Thank you so much for reading, dear.

@pig - *cackle!* No worries, I'm sure there will be plenty of gross, pathetic sickness to look forward to. I hear it's going around.

Aaaand the forum just deleted most of my post, so posting the actual drabble in the next bit.

[Garnet]

Aaand here's the actual drabble. Sorry it's another sitting across the table from each other and sneezing fic, but this week's episode was pretty emotionally draining and the first one where I had some significant problems the writing. Still, I had to do at least something for Bev, especially since being high on cold meds is the only way I can justify her bad decisions in this ep

04. Takiawase

“--Heh-chsshh!”

Her head is starting to congeal into one solid wall of congestion, and she knows she looks like shit with runny eyes, flushed cheeks, and the glaze of diphenhydramine over her whole expression. She should have gone with the non-drowsy stuff, but that never works half as well. At least the high's kind of nice.

“I didn't give you my cold, did I?”

“Nah,” Beverly lies as she picks her head back up from the wadded tissue. Not to spare his feelings, necessarily, she's just trying to spare herself the inevitable Will Graham kicked puppy look – filled with guilt about the inconvenience of being underfoot. “Allergies. We've got pollen samples from one end of the lab to the other, Price is running some next level shit triangulating the sources for all of them.”

There's the faintest flicker of a smile in Will's eyes, and Beverly makes a note to remember more of those anecdotes, for next time. She didn't expect him to miss the lab hijinks. So often, Will was a silent presence lurking at the fringes of their miniature dramas and sarcastic banters. Neither participating nor reacting, just mired in his own thoughts with a thumbnail bitten down to the quick. She's ashamed to admit that sometimes, she'd forget he was there at all until he spoke up with some poignant insight or threw out a scathing zinger of his own. She's noticed his absence in the weeks since, though.

Locked up in here, she imagines that any reminder of life on the outside is a good one.

“Tell me about it,” Will invites after a reluctant beat, sitting forward with a slow his of chains on metal.

She has a briefcase full of glossies that she snuck out of the lab for him, just in case, but Bev gives him an uncertain look of her own. His skin is sallow and eyes sunken, haunted at their center by little pinpoints of light, with raw red track marks chafed underneath either nostril. He looks like a strung-out druggie. God, is that going to be her in another week? She hopes not.

“I actually think we've got some pretty good leads on this one,” she admits, draping her arms across the table with a stuffy sigh. “Let's talk about who sewed our muralist into his own magnum opus.”

Will's expression darkens by degrees, his mouth pulls down at the corners. “You know what I'm going to say.”

She folds her hands over the bridge of her nose and rubs at the inside corners of her eyes, both to ward off a headache and to massage out the prickles setting up in the forefront of her sinuses.

“Will...”

“You promised,” he reminds her, with a little curl of anxiety.

“I promised to ignore the evidence against you,” Bev says, sharper than she means to. She just doesn't want to be getting sick, and it's fraying even her legendarily chill temper. “I didn't promise to incriminate Dr. Lecter in the same breath.”

Will falls silent, broiling with frustration. Beverly feels the same way. She wants to believe Will, more than anything, but even if she does, Jack is going to laugh her right out of the office if she comes to him with anything less than a full confession and catalog of evidence.

It's not that she's attached to the doctor. He's weird as hell, and she prefers to keep her distance. But Beverly Katz is a woman of science, not gut instinct, to say nothing of the pride she takes in her own work. If he ran clean, he ran clean. Even if she knows he doesn't mean it that way, she takes Will's stubborn insistence like a slight against her craft.

She sighs, rubs her face, and sits back.

“Alright. Let's say... very hypothetically speaking, that you're right. I need proof, I need a motive.”

“That's just it, he doesn't have a motive,” Will huffs in disgust. His throat ripples with a swallow. “He's...”

He flags and stares at her expectantly. Beverly initially isn't sure why, until her features crease inwards and she's crushing the ball of tissues to her face with a hitching gasp.

“--hedht-chissh! – chssh! …. heh-CHSSH!”

She sucks in a shuddering breath, ready for the next round, when the tickle fizzles out unexpectedly, leaving her feeling groggy and pissy.

Will grimaces. Aaaand there it is, the guilt-face. Ugh, her heart.

“You're sick.”

Bev blows her nose wearily. “Am not.”

“This can wait. Go home and get some rest.”

“You know it can't.”

Will looks at her miserably, and she tries not to imagine how shitty she looks. She's got this, she can do this for him. She sniffs, stuffs the ruined tissues and leans forward over the table.

“What can I do?”

Will puts his head in his hands, the chain pressing a red line into his brow. “Take another look at the body. There's something you – that we missed. A signature. Something hidden in the details.”

Beverly smiles weakly. “Like the devil?”

Will's shoulders shake with a quick and bitter laugh.

[Bruyere]

Hannibal and the mask. Mm. I've been looking at the promo shots of Will in the mask (I can't remember if we've actually seen him on screen wearing it?) and thinking about the different ways he and Hannibal would react to wearing it while sick.

I'm not going to comment on the episode that inspired this drabble because... yeah. I totally get why it might have been a tough one to be inspired by and I think this works really well.

Also Beverley! <3 I'm so glad that you wrote about her <3

Not to spare his feelings, necessarily, she's just trying to spare herself the inevitable Will Graham kicked puppy look – filled with guilt about the inconvenience of being underfoot.

I really like the way you write her, not entirely sympathetic but not unsympathetic either.

There's the faintest flicker of a smile in Will's eyes, and Beverly makes a note to remember more of those anecdotes, for next time. She didn't expect him to miss the lab hijinks.

“You promised,” he reminds her, with a little curl of anxiety.

“I promised to ignore the evidence against you,” Bev says, sharper than she means to. She just doesn't want to be getting sick, and it's fraying even her legendarily chill temper. “I didn't promise to incriminate Dr. Lecter in the same breath.”

Will falls silent, broiling with frustration. Beverly feels the same way.

I really like the way you write them both, it feels really true to canon.

Will grimaces. Aaaand there it is, the guilt-face. Ugh, her heart.

Ha!

...Something hidden in the details.”

Beverly smiles weakly. “Like the devil?”

Will's shoulders shake with a quick and bitter laugh.

This is such a good ending. *sighs*

[evermissing]

Replies to replies to comments first (talk about layers of recursion ): oh god, did we read the same fic? I mean, considering how large-ish the Hannibal fandom is, I'm sure there are multiple stories that fit your description, but there's one in particular that I read, in the last month or two before the S2 premiere, that hit me exactly the same way. I haven't been able to finish it, because it's still a liiiittle too much of a sore spot.

We could have had it aaaall~/

Also, ahaha, I laughed for like a minute straight at this.

But I wouldn't appreciate it half as much if not for that well of potential for what could have been. Bittersweet is my favorite flavor, apparently.

Right there with you staring down the well-shaft of exquisite pain auuuugh.

Okay, so the newest drabble: I just watched 2x04 pretty recently, because I was Not Emotionally Prepared and then most of my fan friends flaked out on me, and IT IS REALLY HARD TO WATCH THIS STUFF ALONE. I loved almost the entire episode--I think it was my favorite of the season thus far--up till those last few minutes, and ohhhhh god. I'm kind of still in denial. IT COULD STILL ALL JUST WORK OUT OKAY, RIGHT? (Yeah, sure. 'cause that's totally how shit goes down in Harris canon.)

Anyway, I'm so glad you wrote something Beverly-centric for this one. I <3 her so much and you have such a great, nuanced perspective on her here. I love her little dishonesties... not to be blandly nice, but simply because she can't handle Will's pathetic guilt-face. I love her observations about Will's ambivalent interactions with Team Science (the drabble I've been working on for 2x03, for way too long now, is all Team Science with the specter of Will in the background, and I just find the whole dynamic so compelling) and the poignancy of his missing any kind of "normal"-ish human interaction, even if it's with... other people who work brutal murder cases day in and day out.

(Also, I don't know what it is exactly, but something about "I didn't give you my cold, did I?" hits allll of my buttons--how direct he is with her about acknowledging being sick, where he's so avoidant with Hannibal in your earlier drabbles, and how quick he is to take responsibility for EVERYTHING.)

His skin is sallow and eyes sunken, haunted at their center by little pinpoints of light, with raw red track marks chafed underneath either nostril. He looks like a strung-out druggie. God, is that going to be her in another week? She hopes not.

OHHHHH WILL.

It's not that she's attached to the doctor. He's weird as hell, and she prefers to keep her distance. But Beverly Katz is a woman of science, not gut instinct, to say nothing of the pride she takes in her own work. If he ran clean, he ran clean. Even if she knows he doesn't mean it that way, she takes Will's stubborn insistence like a slight against her craft.

This is such great Beverly characterization here.

He flags and stares at her expectantly. Beverly initially isn't sure why, until her features crease inwards and she's crushing the ball of tissues to her face with a hitching gasp.

hahahaha DID WILL JUST EMPATHY-ANTICIPATE HER SNEEZING? More instant headcanon right there.

She sucks in a shuddering breath, ready for the next round, when the tickle fizzles out unexpectedly, leaving her feeling groggy and pissy.

ghughugduidgdg this line.

Agreed with Bruyere: the end is so elegant and smart and I can absolutely imagine it being on the show. Like, if at some point somebody makes a devil-in-the-details reference, I'll know where it psychically came from.

[Garnet]

@Bruyere - Man, that mask. This week's episode is actually a perfect insert point for a drabble in that regard, and he does look so good in it -- love that clear design, it really works with how Dancy puts his whole expression into that deadpan stare. Still, I think it's still too iconic a Lecter thing to me, even though I love Fuller's homage.

(Also I forgot that smiley you used existed, holy shit. All this time!)

And I'm glad Bev came off okay! I wish I'd gotten more time to play with her -- ladies of this show need to stop disappearing and dropping like flies. I really love how committed she was to her work and finding the truth, while also wanting to help Will, because he's a friend and just... ugh. FEELS.

Thank you for your reads and reviews, as always

@evermissing - Haha oh my god, I know. Not to turn this into an episode discussion (though I always seem to end up doing that anyways) but man. If you haven't seen 2x05 yet, get a whole support network for that shit. I was really sad and disappointed about the ending of last week's ep, but I was still saying, "Okay, I'm a big girl, I can handle the fallout."

And then I was not a big girl and could not handle it.

I love her observations about Will's ambivalent interactions with Team Science (the drabble I've been working on for 2x03, for way too long now, is all Team Science with the specter of Will in the background, and I just find the whole dynamic so compelling) and the poignancy of his missing any kind of "normal"-ish human interaction, even if it's with... other people who work brutal murder cases day in and day out.

Oh man, I'm so excited to read that now! I love Team Science. I love the parallels of how Will and Hannibal participate in the lab. One so hands-off and withdrawn and quiet that they might forget he's there, and then Hannibal, who is probably just obnoxious with how sensory and chatty he is.

I'm with you about the cold and taking responsibility thing. Even though he's going through his own dark transformation, I think there's still some kicked puppy in there somewhere. He's still used to just blaming everything on himself.

I also might just really like hearing characters talk about their illnesses. Nom.

DID WILL JUST EMPATHY-ANTICIPATE HER SNEEZING? More instant headcanon right there.

HE SURE DID. I love how in the show, all of these hyper-enhanced abilities and perceptions are juuuust flirting the line of the supernatural but still within the realm of human capability. A line which I will flagrantly abuse and cross back and forth over, but still. Their fault for giving me fodder.

(But for real, I imagine he picks up on all those tiny little shifts in body language, speech patterns, etc. better than most, and predicts without quite realizing what he's doing.)

Thank you for the lovely review! The drabble for this week's ep ssshould be up in a couple of days. I started that episode on a very depressed note, thinking I couldn't possibly think of a scenario to insert fetish content in, that it would seem crude.

But then bad feelings gave over to sexual frustration at the end so, yeah, some self-indulgent crap has got to happen now.

[Garnet]

This drabble I'm cheating a little bit on, based on the previews for the next episode. I have no idea how that's going to happen, or if it actually is, but I'm subbing this is as a sort of possible interlude.

05. Mukozuke

Alana feels lost, after the attack. Earlier, Hannibal watched her enter the pantry twice, forget why she was there, and emerge like a woman adrift on a sea of her own thoughts. He can smell the distress pouring off of her in waves – acrid and a little sweet, like bile and fear and the hot pulse of anger. He loves her anger the most. It's addictive; he wants to bury his nose into the crook of her neck and breathe it in deeply, thoroughly, knowing every facet of her passionate and heartfelt moods.

Instead, he spreads his hands gently, ignoring the tug of pain in his forearms.

“Alana, sit. Please. Unless you're finding your answers in the fire.”

She turns from pacing restlessly in front of the hearth. Both hands thrust back through the dark waves of her hair with an aggravated sigh.

“No, I'm not.” In five clicking steps she joins him, quick and staccato at first and then softer, almost penitent before sinking down beside him on the loveseat, knees angled inwards. She picks up her drink and her fingertips clutch the cut crystal of the snifter so tight it might shatter. Hannibal wills it, silently, but Alana replaces it on the end table again without taking a sip. “I'm sorry. My head feels like a broken record.”

She's been here nearly every day this week, in the context of looking after him, but she needs it more than Hannibal does. Both of them know it, but neither says it.

Hannibal takes a long, slow swallow of his own brandy. The alcohol doesn't mix well with the pain medication, so he's stopped taking the latter.

“And what thought is on repeat?”

“It's more of an emotion,” Alana admits. “I can feel betrayal sitting heavy in my gut, like a... lead weight.” He closes his eyes to savor the imagery as she continues. “I can't even imagine how you feel,” she says with a meaningful and prompting glance at the bandages edging just past his sleeves. He's been careful to ward off pity, while filling out this martyr's role. Alana is more protective than she is pitying, but she is in a fluctuating and confused place of her own just now.

How does he feel? Radiant. Gratified. Warm to his core. Annoyance and indignation transgress into his thoughts now and again, mostly when he's frustrated at some new limitation of his healing wounds. But he doesn't feel betrayed. Hannibal feels proud of the caged animal that has learned to bite. Atta boy.

He doesn't say any of those things aloud, and instead forms his features into a micro-expression of regret.

“Sad, I suppose. Disappointed. I wanted to believe in the best of Will, I think some foolish part of me still does.”

Alana gives him a look. “You nearly died.” She almost, almost says it without her expression fracturing with hurt. Her features are pale and drawn with a lack of sleep, and something else. Not all illnesses have so distinctive a profile as encephalitis. He can't place hers by scent, but the flatness of her voice and repetitive scrunch of a hand over her face point to another obvious conclusion. It's possible that Alana herself is not aware of it, yet.

Hannibal evades and reroutes. “Have you been to see him?”

“No,” Alana answers too quickly. “No, I – ...” The hitch of her breath surprises her, and she thrusts a cupped palm to her face.

“--tsssch! … hpt-tsssch! … hep-TSSCH'oo!” Her head picks back up, a strand of hair stuck to the trembling corner of her mouth. Hannibal is a little smitten. “--hehpt-TSCCHT!”

Alana blinks weakly, eyelashes fluttering as she darts him a glance of mingled amusement and embarrassment. “Excuse me, I have no idea where that came from.”

“Prosit,” he offers, enjoying the flush of her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Alana dismisses, again too quickly, struggling to control her discomfort. Another artless scrub of her hand, creasing her nose just above the tip. It's threatening to run, and she's swallowing more than she seems to notice, as if in an effort to scratch a sore spot in the back of her throat. Alana is a uniquely well put-together woman, even when her heart is driving her actions instead of her head. Her weakened moorings quicken his interest almost as much as her shifting loyalties.“Just tired.”

Hannibal lets his knee bump against hers, companionable. She smiles. “Don't let me keep you,” he says, “Get some rest.”

“Oh, it's not for lack of trying.” She puts her head back against the loveseat with a sigh, eyes closed and the smooth marble column of her throat exposed. “Every time I lay down, I can't shut my brain off. Especially with the dogs there.”

She sits back up, rumpled and exhausted. “I should go check on the--...” Her eyes haze, growing heavy. “On th-- heh...! … hept-TSSZCH!” A hand flutters uncertainly under her nose, and her expression squeezes up for another pair of stifled chasers. “--tsccht! --tsssh!”

“Excuse me,” she croaks, slower this time and bogged down by a sense of dread. She gives him an uncertain look, hoping for confirmation that she's healthy.

“Salud. There's a cold going around,” Hannibal observes with a throated hum. It still feels tight and a little sore, even days later, though it's from the hangman's noose and not a virus. Yet. He has a fairly good idea of who she caught this from.

Alana rubs her eyes, and tries very discreetly to sniffle her way back from the hiccup in her composure. “Isn't there always? My timing could be better.”

Hannibal shifts his weight and recovers a clean handkerchief from his pocket, still warm from his own body heat. Alana accepts it hesitantly, cheeks hot. “It's not something you can control,” he reminds her.

She sneezes her concession into the fabric, and blows afterwards until her eyes have stopped watering.

“Gesundheit. How do you feel?”

Alana picks her head up groggily from the handkerchief and looks at him with resignation. “If I'm being honest with myself? Terrible. This isn't like me. I'm supposed to be taking care of you.”

In response, Hannibal extends a hand to rest just above her knee for a moment, companionship just brushing the fringes of intimacy. His timing, by contrast, is always carefully orchestrated.

“You're right, it isn't like you to neglect your own well-being. I'm very grateful, but I'd be happier if you allowed yourself the same attention.”

He can see in her face that she wants to take it as a gentle rejection, but her eyes follow his hand as he sits back. He enjoys watching her sort out the conflicting signals for a moment, and is doubly satisfied when she slides herself pointedly closer. Hannibal opens an arm outward, and folds her underneath. Her head sags gratefully to the spot between his chest and shoulder.

“Oh,” she says, tensing up after a moment with the compulsion to draw away. “God, Hannibal, I can't give this to you, you're still on the mend...”

“Then I can make good use of this ample downtime,” he agrees, letting just enough vexation bleed into his tone that she smiles wryly. And stutters, and sneezes onto her palm before she can stop herself. Her shoulders tremble against his chest, the silk of her hair spilling under his jaw as her head tucks beneath it.

“Uh! … --hpt-tsssch! Ugh, excuse me. I'm a mess.”

A beautiful one, Hannibal thinks in agreement. Outwardly, he cups a palm to her forehead to test her temperature, and murmurs, “Bless you.”

Alana melts agreeably under his touch, an arm slinking around his waist. Hannibal smiles to himself for entirely different reasons.

[Bruyere]

I feel like I can't brain properly tonight but as the new episode's been on I wanted to say how much I loved this drabble. I love the way you write the dynamic between Alana and Hannibal and the gentle manipulation in it.

I loved poor cold struck Alana and this little detail was gorgeous. Her head picks back up, a strand of hair stuck to the trembling corner of her mouth.