Fortune's Fool (Hannibal Fanfiction)

III: Baggage

Before reaching his exit, Will stopped by a greasy little burger joint and grabbed lunch. He knew how to cook, and he could do it well — he made homemade food for his dogs, and one of his favorite recipes was Creole-style gumbo. But most days, Will didn't have the time or energy to make meals for himself. He never slacked on making food for his dogs, because they depended on him, but for himself...well, he ate a lot of packaged, pre-processed meals and takeout.

He slid into a sticky booth and ate his cheeseburger and fries, wiping the dripping grease away with a wad of napkins. Then he drove the rest of the way home. Will relaxed as the terrain became more and more sparse, ending in the middle of nowhere, Wolf Trap. It was a peaceful expanse, acres of rolling trees and chilly fog. His house stood in the middle of it all, a nondescript two-story place with just enough room for him to live comfortably with seven dogs. He could hear them barking with excitement as he got out of his car and approached the porch.

"Hi, Winston." Will's first genuine smile of the day broke across his face as he opened the front door, the dogs crowding around him. "Tst! Zoe! Don't nip at Buster like that. You know he doesn't like that."

Zoe whined and thumped her tiny tail, her lower jaw jutting out in a perpetual pout.

Will let the dogs out and watched them run around the yard with glee. Some of the gloom and bitterness from earlier dissipated in the presence of his dogs, whom he cared about more than anything else in the world. He was already missing them, and he hadn't even left for New Orleans yet.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and sighed, his breath curling in front of him in the frigid Virginia air. He had other reasons to be reluctant for this case besides the nightmares, hallucinations, and recent near-death experience, as if those weren't reason enough. Will had grown up in Louisiana, moving from boatyard to boatyard with his father. His mother had left when he was very young, so he never knew her, and his family was always poor. The memories that visiting New Orleans would likely dredge up were not always pleasant. There were things about Louisiana that Will missed, but he was worried about the toll on his already unstable mental state. God knew that anything that could tip him in a worse direction should be avoided.

Will whistled to his dogs and let them back into the house. Then he wrote a note for Alana on how to make the dogs' food and began to pack for the trip. His dogs' eyes followed his every move with a curiosity and cheerfulness that Will wished he could distill and feel for himself.

Eventually, he slowed to a stop and sat on the edge of his bed. His suitcase was full, and he'd walked through the house to make sure that everything he needed was packed away. Will sighed heavily. He was so tired, and the day wasn't even half over.

He scooted into bed, set his alarm for thirty minutes, and whistled to his dogs, who yipped with excitement and immediately clambered into bed with him. He knew that he shouldn't, but he had trained the dogs to know when they were and weren't allowed in his bed, so he figured it was fine. He needed this. Will lay down, fluffy, unconditional warmth on all sides, and slept.

~ ~ ~

Dulles International was not particularly busy, understandably so for a weekday in the early afternoon. Will pulled his wheeled suitcase behind him through the half-full corridors until he found Hannibal where they'd agreed to meet, in front of one of the restaurants on the lower level of the terminal.

Hannibal Lecter was an oddly handsome man, with sharp, angled cheekbones and slowly graying hair styled to perfection. He was about an inch taller than Will and always dressed impeccably. Even though they were about to get on a flight, he wore a fancy zipper-sweater over a dark patterned tie and light blue dress shirt, with pressed pants and sleek dress shoes. If Will were a different person, he would've felt self-conscious about his perpetual bedhead, rumpled plaid button-down, and jeans. But he wasn't. His only acknowledgement of the difference was to glance at Hannibal's large wheeled suitcase and mutter,

"You have enough room for all your suits in there?"

Hannibal's mouth quirked up in amusement. "Not all of them, but enough for at least a week."

Will grunted in response.

If Hannibal took any issue with Will's grumpiness, he certainly didn't show it. Instead, he extended his arm in a graceful sweep towards the ticket booths on the upper level. "Shall we?"

After some haggling, showing of government-issued IDs and travel cards, and negotiating for cheaper seats, they booked a five-twenty PM flight from Dulles to New Orleans that had a few seats left. Then they made their excruciating way through TSA into Concourse C. There, they could finally rest and wait for their flight.

Will could feel a headache coming on, so he fished around for his aspirin and swallowed it dry, which earned him a look from Hannibal. However, the doctor declined to comment. They sat in comfortable, mutual silence, Will with his eyes closed and Hannibal sitting stiffly in the uncomfortable airport seat, watching the people go by.

Will dozed fitfully until Hannibal laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "They just called our flight."

Will rubbed sleep from his eyes and nodded, feeling uncomfortably feverish. As soon as they were on the plane, he closed his eyes again and swallowed, trying to push back the sick feeling pervading his entire body. Within a few minutes of takeoff, he was dozing again — that is, until he heard the tell-tale clip-clop of hooves coming down the aisle. He didn't want to look and confirm what he already knew would be there, but the sound stopped when it reached where he and Hannibal were sitting. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Will was looking right into the moist, black eyes of the creature that had been haunting his dreams and nightmares for weeks, perhaps months. It was a tall, fully-grown stag with large, smooth antlers and sleek black feathers in place of fur. It snuffled quietly, blowing hot air in his face.

He blinked and jerked away. The feathered stag was gone. A tall flight attendant wearing high heels that made soft clicking sounds was pushing a cart with drinks down the aisle. Will wiped sweat from his forehead and glanced at Hannibal, who had the window seat and was calmly sipping from a small cup of water.

"More nightmares?" Hannibal asked quietly, gesturing towards a second cup of water on the tray he'd pulled out from the back of the seat in front of him. "That's for you."

"Thank you." Will's voice grated against his vocal chords, and he downed the water in a few quick gulps.

He didn't go back to sleep, too afraid of what he'd see when he opened his eyes.