Behind the Mask: A Hannigram Fanfiction

8- Dio

Monday, at the break of dawn. The sky was still a deep shade of indigo, but the birds had begun their morning songs, and the bedroom slowly began to light up as the sun rose. William and Hannibal lay in bed with their arms wrapped around each other, their faces so close that William could imagine Hannibal's long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. He could only stare at the man in front of him, unsure of how to feel. This was what he wanted; there was no question about that. But it wasn't what the world wanted. No one could know about this, despite how much he wanted to shout his passion from the rooftops. 
William finally understood the sonnets about infatuation, comparing women to beautiful flowers and lamenting about the pain that such lovely people can inflict on the heart. He'd always read them, but he never comprehended them. He wasn't the target audience.
Hannibal opened his eyes, and William made no effort to hide his staring. Hannibal's maroon eyes were calm.
"This is how things will be?" He asked, voice groggy. "What you wish for?"
"This is how things will be."
     They smiled. Hannibal kissed William's knuckles, and together they were warm.
Hannibal slipped out of the room only once that morning, and it was to pay the servants and then immediately send them back home. Besides that, they slept with their bodies entwined.
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     The first few days of work under Hannibal's watchful eye were relatively normal. William quickly learned his way around the hospital, as well as the names of everyone around him, and he worked well with Hannibal. He seemed to know what the doctor needed before he even asked, which was convenient for both of them. They talked about work and work alone, letting William forget about all the horrible things that were soon going to sneak up on him and make him feel trapped and scared.
     Sometimes it was hard to forget, especially when Hannibal had to hurry over to the morgue or a patient's experience was particularly bloody. William thought of filthy birds festering inside of him— no, no, it's too early. Not now— and Hannibal's hands twisting that man's neck. The parts of him that would inevitably end up on the gas stove, sizzling like pork..
     Disgustingly enough, the idea made William's stomach growl. Now that his body had a taste of regular mealtimes, he couldn't get enough food in him. He never mentioned this to Hannibal, though, in case he seemed too greedy. He ate what he was given and moved on. So far, the only dinners had been pastas or pork served directly from Mason Verger. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Would it ever come to a point where William would be eating the same as Hannibal? Where they would split a victim among them? It made his insides churn thinking about it.
How many horrific things had passed through those lips, into that stomach? He'd kissed those lips. Felt that stomach on top of his own.
     Hannibal was very good at making William forget about the bad things, though. Stolen pecks on the cheek in the supply closet. Moments when Hannibal would stand so close that his hot breath would disturb the fine down on the nape of William's neck, and William would go weak in the knees like he was tranquilized. A wink from across the room.
He knew he was being spoiled. Things were suspiciously perfect— it was all too much love at once. He kept waiting for Hannibal to step around a corner and wring his neck, prick another needle into his arm and make sure he felt every agonizing second of a fatal knife wound. Sometimes he felt like it was worth the risk, as long as he got to wake up next to him.
Every patient was polite and reverent, middle class and above. You had to have a good reason to visit Doctor Lecter, and you had to be able to pay the price. They all looked at him with a twinkle in their eyes, nodding along even when what he was saying was rather conventional.
There was one specific incident that stood out to him, though.
     They were in a single room with a man who was having severe breathing issues. When he had first arrived the previous day, he had pushed his way past the nurses and demanded to see the best doctor that the city of Florence had to offer. Of course, the entire office had turned to Hannibal. The man was still unforgiving— he had practically threatened Hannibal to take care of him or else he would incur the wrath of "my men." Hannibal had simply smiled and politely ushered him in.
     The man had since gone through a cycle of waking up, shouting at the employees, gasping like a fish out of water, and falling back into a deep sleep. When he was knocked out on the bed, his chest rose and fell at a rapid, uncontrollable rate.
     He and Hannibal had considered many options, but they couldn't nail down a specific cause for the issue. It didn't help that the man was not at all informative when he was awake. He had complained of chest pain, making William think that this could be an infection.
     "He hasn't been coughing all that much," Hannibal remarked. "Just the breathing."
     "He's doing it while he's asleep, so it's not just for show. His voice is like sandpaper— smoker, I assume."
     "A fatal flaw, in the literal sense." He sauntered over to one of the cabinets and crouched down on the floor, digging through supplies. "Perhaps I'll do some bloodletting."
     "If he'll let you." Will glanced at the man, whose eyelids were fluttering as he dreamt. "I'm surprised you're letting him get away with this."
     "What, exactly?" Hannibal was holding a syringe, which made William instinctually cross his arms to hide his inner elbows. He wasn't going through that again.
     "He's been.." Another glance.
     "He can't speak English. I've checked."
     "He's been very rude. Disrespectful."
     "Oh, if I let them all get to me, half of this world would be gone, wouldn't it?" He chuckled. "Besides, I don't want his men coming after me."
     "I wonder what he means by that?"
     "Oh, nothing at all. He's one of the Verdinos. Complete social hermits that not even their Nonna could love. The only men he has are probably homeless."
     William raised his eyebrows. "Goodness, Doctor."
     "That is the life that God delivers when you are a cheat. Swindled the money out of many families back in the day." Hannibal stood, carrying the syringe along with a few other tools that looked threatening even to a doctor. "Now the whole of Florence knows he's a fraud."
     As he sat at the man's bedside, the man stirred. Hannibal patted his arm gently and muttered in Italian not to worry, that he was going to administer a painkiller before bloodletting. The man lay back, seemingly too tired to shout for once.
     William asked the man if he needed anything, to which Hannibal turned to look at him with a surprised expression.
     "You speak Italian?"
     "I'd say I'm close to advanced." William shrugged. "You haven't given me the chance to do so."
     It was true— since they'd met, their conversations had all been in English, despite the fact that English likely wasn't Hannibal's first, or even second, language. That was fine with William. His Italian was good, but it wasn't anywhere near that of seasoned speakers. Hannibal had always been the one in charge of talking to the patients, so of course he didn't know until now.
"How did you learn?"
"I lived in Sicily for about a year and a half before I came up here. I assume you know that immersion is the best teacher."
"Oh, yes. Definitely. Lithuanian, Russian, Italian, English. In that order."
"You speak expertly, although I'm sure you don't need my compliments."
     "I'll take compliments from you. You always surprise me, my dear." Hannibal smiled.
     "I like to do the unexpected."
     "Oh, I know that. You can imagine my shock.." He trailed off. The sentence didn't require an end. He singled out a vein in the patient's arm and plunged the needle in. William winced internally.
     "And you can imagine mine."
     "Now that I know the truth though, I think it fits you. The erratic methodology. The brutal execution. And yet you still do a beautiful job." He got a dreamy look in his eyes. "Your victims were always admirable to me in the mortuary."
     William frowned. He didn't want his actions to be admired. He wanted to stop. He wanted to be a safe person, someone with good morals. "I don't wish to continue forever."
     "Nonsense. The things you told me that night..oh, William, they were so lovely." He was swooning. Hannibal was swooning.
     "Did you ever feel guilt? Like I do now?"
     "No. I knew this was my calling from God."
     "God would never ask you to do...that."
     "He has yet to punish me for it."
     "Do you worry of judgement day?"
     "I do not hide from what I choose to do. It gives me peace to fulfill my needs and feel no guilt."
     "What we do is wrong, Hannibal. Evil."
     "We have free will. I believe we can choose to do whatever we wish with that gift." He closed his eyes. "What matters in the end is your acceptance of God. Of Christ. I accept them. When the day comes, I will embrace them. Thank them for my gift of free will."
"I ask God for forgiveness every day. I still wonder if He'll ever gift it to me."
Hannibal looked hurt, pitying. "There's no need for that. That is Michelangelo apologizing for his masterpieces. What you do is a beauty in its own."
     "I'm afraid I cannot pay you the same credit, Hannibal." He struggled to think of what they did as beautiful. To him, it was disgusting, something that disrupted his life day after day.
     "I understand." He nodded. "But I will continue."
     "..Will they always come to stay with us like Franklyn did? Do you like getting your hands dirty?"
     "Not particularly, no."
     The men's attention was immediately drawn to the patient on the bed, who had let out a loud, strangled groan. His body tensed up, his back arched, and his round face contorted in pain. Red and sweating, he began to convulse. The cot rocked underneath his weight.
     William's head swiveled towards Hannibal, expecting him to be alert and on duty. Instead, the doctor was standing over Verdino, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze was fixed on the man's suffering.
     Verdino's limbs jerked left and right until he eventually began to settle, his body sinking into the cot. This wasn't a simple faint, though; this was an escape of the soul, a weight pushing down on the body like never before. Verdino lay still. His chest never rose. His eyes never opened.
     Hannibal blinked.
     "I like to watch."
     His breathing was too erratic. It got the best of him, William would tell the nurses later.
     No, Hannibal did not give him anything. I should know-- I was there.
     They slept that night with their bodies entwined.