On the Mend (Hannibal Fanfiction)

Piece VI

Dessert was uneventful but delicious: the mini cake was moist and had some kind of berry filling in the middle, which the fresh fruit on top complimented, and then was finished off with the whipped cream sauce. When they finished, Alana made stilted small talk with Will as Hannibal cleared the table, asking him polite questions about his classes and his dogs. He refused to ask her similar questions in response, giving her the bare minimum, and she soon gave up. They sat in cold silence until Hannibal came back.

Will stood up to leave, but Hannibal looked at Alana and said, "Alana. A moment?"

Alana looked confused but complied, giving Will one last scrutinizing look before she left the dining room. Will sat back down, figuring that Hannibal was sending Alana to the living room or the study to wait there until he left, but when Hannibal returned a few minutes later, there was no sense of urgency to his movements, as if it were Will who was staying the night with him and not Alana. Will raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Would you like some more wine?" Hannibal asked, instead of explaining.

"I shouldn't, if I'm to drive home." However, Will didn't move from his seat.

Hannibal pursed his lips. "Alana has left," he said, as if that affected Will's blood alcohol content. "She has a long day tomorrow. We can sit in the study until you feel clear-headed enough to drive."

And that was how Will found himself in Hannibal's study instead of Alana, nursing a glass of wine as Hannibal stoked the fire in the fireplace. He hadn't thought of this possibility, so he was thrown a little off-guard, but he could modify his plans. He would give Hannibal the teacup and go home as planned, but in this case, Hannibal would spend the night completely alone. It still worked to show him what he was missing, but with the added sting of having no company instead of unsatisfactory company. Will just hoped that Hannibal wouldn't ask him to stay the night. He didn't know if he would be able to say no.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to give you what I brought," Will said, leaning his head back and sipping his wine as Hannibal tidied his desk.

The look Hannibal gave him was enough of an encouragement. Will got up, took the gift-wrapped box out of his satchel, and handed it to him. Hannibal took it from him and studied it with open curiosity and bemusement, an eyebrow slightly cocked.

"Is it my birthday?"

Will nearly snorted, but he refrained. "Open it," he said instead.

After a moment's contemplation, Hannibal sat down at his desk and picked up a scalpel, peeling back the wrapping paper to leave it folded neatly on the desk. Then he opened the box. Will watched his face and was rewarded with the bright, subtle flicker of emotion as the contents registered. Hannibal lifted the teacup out of the box with so much care that one might think it was brand-new fine china rather than a broken porcelain cup glued back together with gold dust and prayers.

"The art of kintsugi," Hannibal said, his voice thick with emotion. A bittersweet smile played on his face as he studied the cup from every angle. "Emphasizing and beautifying brokenness rather than hiding or devaluing it."

Will sat on the edge of Hannibal's desk and watched him study the cup with a strange twist of warmth and grief in his stomach. "Although some teacups are beyond repair...time doesn't have to reverse for a teacup to come back together."

Hannibal was still looking at the cup, rather than up at Will, but Will caught the wetness of his eyes.

"I see you, Hannibal. I understand you. And I..." Will paused before the plunge, nearly choking on the truth of what he was about to confess. "I...I forgive you. You can't bring back Abigail, and I will always grieve that. But......" He swallowed. "I've never known myself as well as I've known myself when I'm with you. Abigail's death doesn't change that."

Hannibal looked up and met his eyes. Will was startled by the intensity of the emotion behind them. They glistened in the light, dark and wet, but underneath, they were drowning in wonder and shock, hope and fear, hunger and longing, and something that dangerously was close to fondness.

Hannibal dropped his eyes back to the teacup, and silence stretched between them as he studied its cracks, turning it over and over again in his hands. Then he said, almost hesitantly: "The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what you see in others."

Will bit his lip. "Patience has never been my problem."

"What has?"

"Acceptance."

He watched Hannibal swallow and felt another quiet rush of power. Hannibal traced his finger along one of the mended cracks on the teacup and said softly, "Happiness can only exist in acceptance. Are you happy, Will?"

"I don't know if happy is the right word. Pacified, maybe. Less at odds with myself."

Will wasn't aware of how true his words were until they left his mouth. It was a strange feeling, being so open and honest, not just with somebody else, but also with himself. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but he'd had less than two glasses of wine the entire night. No, it was just how he was around Hannibal. Maybe that was why he was here of his own volition, with a gift and unearned forgiveness. He didn't want to think about it, but the box in his mind of things he didn't want to think about was too full to hold anything else.

He wanted to be here. He wanted to be here with Hannibal. He could no longer deny that, which meant that he needed to leave before he did something stupid and rash. He swirled the last bit of his wine around in his glass and said, forcing the words past his lips, "I should go."

Hannibal placed the teacup lovingly on his desk, then, after a moment's contemplation, stood up. "Would you stay a moment longer? I have something for you, as well."

Will frowned slightly as Hannibal moved to the doorway. That hadn't been part of the plan, either. He couldn't imagine what Hannibal could have in mind; he hadn't been obvious about why he had taken the teacup home with him, so how would Hannibal have known to plan accordingly?

Hannibal reached the door and turned back to look at him. "Will you wait here?"

Will hesitated for only a moment before he nodded and settled back in his chair, nursing his glass of wine. Curiosity got the best of him — at least, that's what he told himself to justify his staying. It was true that he had no idea what Hannibal had in store for him. It could be negative, but he doubted it; it would be rude to answer a gift with ingratitude or maliciousness. So it would be a positive or neutral surprise. But what? It occurred to him as he sat and pondered that he hadn't often, if ever, been left alone in Hannibal's house, other than in the dining room. It would be the perfect opportunity to snoop. Jack would want him to. But Will didn't want to. He couldn't imagine breaking Hannibal's trust like that when he was so close to properly gaining it.

You don't want to break his trust at all, his inner voice mocked, but he didn't have the energy to fight it. He sipped his wine instead and waited.

Time stretched out, so long that he almost wondered if Hannibal was coming back. Shadows crept across the room as the fire dwindled in the fireplace. He finished his glass of wine and set it on the side table. Part of him thought that he should feel wary, but if anything, what he felt was anticipation. Tonight felt like a breakthrough. A breakthrough in what, he couldn't say, but it had him on edge in the best possible way. Perhaps the worst possible way, too.

Eventually, Hannibal rapped on the door frame to announce his presence. Will glanced up. He stood up to meet him, then almost sat back down in shock when he saw what — or who — Hannibal had with him.

He'd been right about the breakthrough.

It was Abigail.