“Even steven,” Said Will at the head of Hannibal's table. He stood with his posture strong and before him there laid the evidence of his victory.
Hannibal assessed him blankly and nodded at that. Pulled by Will's static energy he gravitated towards the younger man, ingratiating his presence into Will's personal space. Gently, he held Will’s wounded hand within his grasp.
Will’s hands were undoubtedly soft but the tips had charming callouses from labour, like little stories imprinted into his very skin. Hannibal quietly scented the young man and hummed, pleased. Engine oil, dog, ash and snow, and infused between was the scent of blood and violence and power.
Will was not sure how to feel when Hannibal held him like that. He effectively shut down the connection in his brain between touch and contact -- dry, warm hands -- and the visceral catharsis of ending a life. It was a jarring association. Will steeled himself and forced a look at the monster.
Hannibal's face had a curved touch of amusement that shined in his eyes in the strangest of ways. Black diamonds and velvet smoke. It was unsettling how raw pleasure could be communicated in such a demure manner. Anything beyond that would take too much time for Will to ever deconstruct. Rather, he quickly turned his gaze away and thought of his plans, at this point he was fairly unconvinced that they were far from unsuccessful. Will was too successful, that was the danger now.
Both men looked upon the body of Randall Tier, face bloodied and beaten, undoubtedly dead until suddenly it wasn't.
The cold and stiff body shook, convulsing, it shrieked and crackled with the sounds of bones twisting and breaking beyond normal human limits. Randall's face gaped open, mouth wide, eyes alight. “Revetere, revetere, revetere--” Chanted the dead man. The voice was hollow and far, yet equally bold and haunting. It reverberated against Hannibal's dark cobalt blue dining walls, echoing as though there were several sources.
Hannibal did not jump but his body froze. “Will.” He said in lieu of asking for an explanation.
Will broke into action, surprised at the scene. “He--He was very dead the last time I saw him…”
Hannibal and Will looked at one another and in an unplanned moment of synchrony landed upon the flailing figure of Randall Tier.
Will held Randall down by his shoulders while Hannibal produced his trusty scalpel.
“Revetere, revetere, revetere--”
Hannibal supposed Randal had forfeited his life the moment he decided to prey on Will Graham, though to let the beast live had the potential to further his game in an unexpected direction. Hannibal contemplated the possibilities.
“Hannibal--!” Will stammered glancing from the body to Hannibal.
Randall kicked furiously but his eyes were distant. His spine bent strangely as his chest rose off the polished table. “Revetere, revetere, revetere--”
This was an enigma even Hannibal could not explain. He stared openly at Randall and voiced nothing further.
“Goddammit--” Will hissed, snatching the scalpel before plunging it into Randall's throat. He swiped across, deft movements that sprayed blood everywhere.
Hannibal closed his eyes and Will looked away, none of which spared them from being drenched in a wave of red hot liquid.
In what seemed to be an unending tidal wave of fluids, Randall was finally still and quiet. Both men breathed out in thankful relief.
Hannibal was the first to open his eyes. He tilted his head, unsure of what he was actually seeing. His pale eyebrows rose, and rose higher still when Will turned to stare at him in the eye.
Will's face was red, hair matted flat, but his eyes, those eyes were vibrant blue. An arresting look indeed. They were simply full of life, more so than usual, in fact, his whole face had been rejuvenated following the wash of Randall Tier's essence. Even his beard had been cleansed away, revealing smooth touchable skin. His beard?
“Will.” Hannibal began. “Your face,” He paused. “Has always been so characteristically youthful for you age,” He blinked. “But right now you look positively juvenile.”
“What?” Will squeaked. Squeaked?
“Yes, Will?-” Hannibal cleared his throat. “Yes, Will?” He repeated oddly before rubbing a hand over his throat. There was a distinct lack of timbre and depth in his voice. It rung higher, without gravel, much too smooth and none too commanding. He frowned.
“Your face!” Will pointed. “Y-your face! You look like you're still in highschool!”
Hannibal looked at his body. His coat and the suit underneath had nearly eclipsed him. It was as though he had crumpled beneath the fabric, or dressed in clothes far too large for his frame. He frowned, his tailor would never dress him in such an improperly fitted suit.
“Yes, it would seem so…”
“Christ…” Will sighed. He looked around and grimaced. A dead body, pools of dark blood and now somehow a teenager again, all while sharing the experience with The Chesapeake Ripper of all people. “Are you expecting anyone tonight?” Somehow this all took precedence over the fact that he had just killed someone in front of Hannibal. Will cursed internally, playing right into his hands.
“Not even Alana,” Will spat bitterly.
Hannibal did not deign Will’s goad an answer and only quirked his brow. “What were your plans for Mr. Tier, Will?”
“My plans? This isn't the best time for that now Hannibal. Especially with you and I not being of legal age.”
“I don't believe there is a legal age for murder, Will,” Hannibal smiled with his eyes.
Will chuckled deprecatingly. “He hurt my dog, Buster. Did you tell him to do that too? Or just kill me?”
Hannibal pouted his lips. “Just kill you, as I recall,” It was an unfortunate likelihood, Hannibal thought as he made a note to give Buster an extra sausage the next time he visited Will's canine family.
“You petty son of a bitch,” Will shook his head then gestured to Randall's prone figure. “Well, we need to dispose of him, show me your kill space, I'm assuming you have a basement here.” Will gritted his teeth.
Hannibal tilted his head ignoring Will’s profanity, pleased to know Will had guessed correctly. Yes, Hannibal was bold and confident enough to have such a place so close to home, at the heart of the home as it were.
“I prefer to call it my extended pantry,” It was unnecessary to speak so vaguely now.
Will rolled his eyes indignantly, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “Show me.”
Teenage Will and Hannibal have to deal with clean up
Hannibal opened his mouth but shut it quickly before broaching a subject he felt Will would be adverse towards. In his experience it was more favourable to let people come to their own conclusions rather than explicitly tell them. These were delicate times and associations came quickly for dear Will. He must tread carefully. Hannibal had no qualms in taking charge but he did not think Will would enjoy that in the slightest. Best to start small and insignificant, foot-in-the-door phenomenon and all that.
Hannibal was giving Will a patient look that reminded Will of this kid he knew back in high-school. Once, in class when Will finally had the courage to put up his hand for the teacher, and was praised for his correct answer, the Nerd of the class-- and it seemed this was a universal thing in every school and every class he had ever had the pleasure of transferring to in his miserable childhood life-- had the goodwill to further expand on Will’s simple answer as though he was giving a lecture, complete with the typical “Well, actually-,”.
“You... want me to wash?” Will guessed.
Hannibal beamed. “Yes, the guest bathroom is fully stocked-- first floor in the bedroom to the right, please try to not contaminate the rest of the house as you go.”
Will blinked slowly. “Sure.”
Now that Will and Hannibal had cleansed themselves of Randall Tier's blood they reconverged to deal with the matter at hand.
“Thanks for the clothes, but they’re a little big,” Will waved about in one of Hannibal’s dress shirts. He rolled up the sleeves and made extra holes in Hannibal’s leather belt to secure his waist. He copied Hannibal’s presentation to make it as neat as possible.
Watching with an uncontainable twitch in his eye, Hannibal cleared his throat. “An unfortunate consequence,” He said with all seriousness. “I have taken the liberty to burn our soiled clothes,” And he planned to throw away that belt Will wore too, its leather ruined by Will’s machinations. He should’ve used the leather hole puncher when he laid out Will’s outfit but he had little time.
Will found it a little disconcerting to look at Hannibal when he looked so young now. He looked like the school’s head boy, the perfect pupil on the honour roll. If it weren’t for the permanent look of smugness on his face he would look entirely innocent. But obviously Will knew the truth. With circumstances as alarming as they were, Will had to take a moment to amalgamate the terrifying vision of a cannibalistic serial killer with that of a boy sporting a side part that would've looked at home at the Maths League or Spelling Bee.
Hannibal, on the other hand, wasted no time soaking in the veritable existence of Will into the depths of his memory palace. Youth had not changed his intrinsic scruffiness in the slightest, but rather transferred it into his hair. It was all soft curls and angelic deposition. A perfect model for an iconic piece of Renaissance art.
They were both covered within clear body suits that Hannibal had happily procured. Will took them with a hasty and insincere ‘thanks’ which turned sharply into a satisfied smirk when Hannibal realised the aesthetic did not quite match his body size. Rolls of extra plastic made noise like one of Will’s dog's squeaky toy.
They carried Randall Tier down first before returning to the dining table to clean the mess. Will was just about to begin with the bleach when Hannibal stopped him.
“Will, I don’t think my furniture would survive, nor the floor boards.” Said Hannibal with a heavy heart.
Will looked at the blonde, he was blonde now, not the usual salt and pepper mane, and scoffed. “This whole place is going to light up, Hannibal.”
“If someone were to search my home, perhaps. Is there someone with a search warrant planning to search my home, Will?”
Well, of course not, the FBI were useless. “The dining table would be the least of what they find.” Will grumbled and snatched at the spray bottle that had the claim ‘With a touch of Olive oil!’ written across it.
After the brief clean up of the dining table and a lengthy speech about the fragility of antique furniture and different types of woods and their origins, Will and Hannibal headed for the bulkier task of disassembling Randall Tier.
Hannibal’s basement was a scene straight out of a horror movie; a metal work bench, curtains of plastic sheeting, but predictably without the artificial grime or macabre decorations. Hannibal ran a tight ship, congruent to Will’s profile. For the most part it was utilitarian but the section with the snail colony living in the glass cabinet was a little too pompous. Will sneered at the slimy creatures, happy to feed from whatever Hannibal had given them. Will assumed it must be an act of disturbing poetry, since it reminded him of Hannibal's many dinner parties. The attendees both guests and future main course being fattened up by the most artisanal of methods. By the looks of it, the snails seemed to be enthusiastically attached to some part of an arm, probably Gideon’s, since the report after the whole Chilton farce stated several missing pieces of the deceased inmate. “Half eaten”, that’s what Chilton had said to Will.
Hannibal looked on to Will in his usual serene stare while both of them were elbow deep in Randall Tier's beastly cavern.
Will was a quick learner, not an accidental nip on any organ and Hannibal was quietly impressed. He glanced every so often as he passed Will various tools; bone saw, forceps, knives. All in all, Will was a natural. Even with smaller hands Will was steady and dexterous. Will demonstrated fine motor skills and muscle memory from his time at the fly tying desk. Hannibal appreciated all origins of latent talent.
As Randall’s chest was being emptied Hannibal's own seemed to fill. He was simply delighted with Will's becoming. The fantastical vision he had dreamed of repeatedly was suddenly reality and he felt he did not have quite the right amount of time to wholeheartedly savor it. As satisfying as it was to do these things alone, to do them now with Will had reduced all other memory into mere insignificant echoes.
“This wasn't my design,” Will stated as he wiped his forehead with his forearm. Hannibal gave him that nonchalant tilt that Will knew was anything but. Their eyes locked all but half a second and it was too much for Will. He sniffed feeling a lot warmer, the plastic suit was stifling. A second shower was in order, he thought in grievance. But he’d be damned if he'd enjoy another second of it in Hannibal’s lavish bathroom. The first wash had given Will’s skin a good soaking of Bergamot and Ylang Ylang to last him the rest of the year.
“I had thought as much,” Hannibal hummed.
“I wanted to elevate him,” Will gestured to the cadaver. “Turn him into who he really was,” Will sighed. His adrenaline had faded now and he felt dead on his feet, not as dead as Randall though.
“To match the animal he believed he was,” Hannibal mused. “We could still do that, Will.”
Will was jolted by images of prehistoric bones and pliable flesh. A frightening and gruesome sculpture born of his understanding of Randall. The idea seemed to whet his appetite considerably. He licked his lips. “Wh-where do you purpose this scene should be made?”
“Come now, Will, I believe you knew where already.” Hannibal quirked his eyebrow and tilted his head. Squeezing the spongy lungs of Randall Tier, he placed them gently on a metal tray. They would do quite nicely minced and packaged inside pork caul fat for a hearty casserole, perfect to warm Will against the cold winter weather. Randall was a very healthy young man, and besides when have bears or wolves ever smoked?
Will eyed the lungs, and scowled. “We can't drive, we're too young. We don’t even look 18.”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes. “In body not in mind, Will.”
Will contemplates his role as murderer. Hannibal thinks about the future.
Will’s father knew of this saying that he used to always repeat to Will; ‘Only dead fish go with the flow’ or something to that effect. In retrospect it wasn't the most rousing piece of wisdom, but that’s just how dads were, spouting morbid proverbs completely unaware of their effects on young impressionable minds. It became a saying that Will subconsciously lived by, so much so it gave him an aversion to submit to the consensus, or in layman's terms, it made him a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. God forbid his father gave him some sort of advice on how to be happy or content. Imagine where he would be otherwise.
So naturally, when faced with the mighty rapids that is one Hannibal Lecter, a fish like Will Graham did the only thing he knew; he swam. As Will prepared himself for the journey against the pull of a strong current he was confronted instead with a gentle stream; and eerily, it was deceptively calm. Any other man would take the offer of refuge, but not Will. He was made of much stronger stuff; he could see things others could not. And see he did, because to his horror he saw that he was no longer swimming in a river, but had found himself in the middle of the ocean.
Hannibal waltzed into the sitting room with a tray of tea. His body moved with such fluidity that it would be better to describe the action as a demonstration of diffusion. The energy of youth had reclaimed his person, from bone to muscle, allowing skills of old to perform better than ever with new equipment. "Will? I bought us some tea,"
Hannibal could see that Will was brooding. The brunette had not even blinked at the call. Not even the savoury aroma of Sencha was able to rouse him. Hannibal repeated what he said but to no avail. Rude, but forgivable, a war seemed to have erupted within Will's mind, no doubt a battle between guilt and newly discovered freedom. Brooding, Hannibal thought, was a much better result than outright rejection and he surged at the opening to maneuver himself within Will’s indecision.
Will could barely register whatever Hannibal was spouting off. By the sounds of it the cannibal had the merry tone of a newly engaged lady in waiting and it troubled him to no end. He spied at the imposing Harpsichord across the room, sending it dirty looks. That 18th century monstrosity was quite obviously disapproving of Will's terrible posture. Disgruntled, he decided to sink even deeper into Hannibal’s plush couch.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Hannibal. New horizons discovered and many more to experience. Now with Will by his side it wasn't something he would willingly let go. Youth had gifted them a fortuitous opportunity to leave the past and its suspicious eyes behind and start anew. Hannibal’s mind was already in the midst of creating clever ways to make the old, and adult Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham disappear without a trace.
Will shifted his glance towards Hannibal who was sitting so closely another inch and the cannibal would practically be on top of him. Hannibal was articulating something profound and poetic, most probably, Will guessed, though he heard none of it. There was nothing but a ringing silence in his ear as the surreal realisation of what had occurred descended all at once. Randall was packed away in neat little packages, flash frozen, fresher than any product sold at the local supermarket. An actual adult human was processed through the Lecter abattoir just like that, with Will an active participant. He had absolutely no right in feeling so oddly accomplished. And it wasn’t that monumental glory from winning a race either, no, it was more like the quiet pride felt from a hard morning run with the dogs. His young body was abuzz with endorphins, tired but delightfully relaxed. Disturbed by the thought, Will shot up, he didn't like it one bit. Hannibal, of course, looked on amused, and Will cursed internally. His treacherous mind had just compared murder and butchering to a healthy goddamn lifestyle choice.
“Yes, it is a healthy lifestyle choice, Will.” Hannibal smiled widely.
“Christ!” Will’s spell was broken, and as expected, Hannibal pervaded his personal space like a supernatural spirit. “Don’t smile like that, you look like a possessed altar boy.”
He reached out to place a comforting squeeze on Will's delicate shoulder. “And you look like the embodiment of Nerites,” Hannibal replied adoringly.
Will stared incredulously, slightly paranoid that his quiet contemplation was anything but silent. “Nerites chose to remain in the ocean, even when offered wings by Aphrodite. Offended, the goddess turned him into a shrimp .” He gritted out.
"Is that where you believe you are at this moment, Will? In the middle of a vast ocean?"
"And if I choose to stay I'll be cursed."
“But Poseidon turned him back."
"That's all well and good but we all know Poseidon to have a vengeful personality." Will quirked an eyebrow.
"He can. The old gods were quite capricious." Hannibal hummed. "But some say Poseidon loved Neirtes and Nerites loved him back," Hannibal continued easily. "And their mutual love gave rise to Anteros, the god of returned love."
Will huffed. “There are different versions,” He said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“I know which one I prefer, do you, Will?”
Will rubbed his face with his hands feeling how strangely small they were. Right, he was a teenager now. Will ignored Hannibal's opening, he had no time for a deep conversation. Nevermind that he wasn't even an expert on mythology. “Look, I've got to go, the dogs need me, especially Buster, he's probably biting at his wound already,” Said Will distractedly.
Hannibal caught Will by his arm and held on firmly ."Will," Hannibal started. The veritable bubble had suddenly burst for Hannibal. This would not do in any circumstances. Yes, he may have decided that having Will direct would be most beneficial, but this current direction was not what he had in mind. The mere thought of Will Graham walking away, pilfering joy from the very air was deeply wounding. A number of scenarios flashed in Hannibal's mind and many of them included syringes and restraints. "Stay with me," He said as he held back the tone an inch short of pleading.
Will froze his movements to assess Hannibal. That quiet tone, how the other avoids connection with his eyes. It occurred to Will how clear these tells were, now that his mind was fresher, younger, healthier. Refusal for Will could cost greatly, but what vexed him more was how much he didn't want to refuse. And what did that say for a man, well, boy now, to find such pleasant company with someone as dangerous as Hannibal? Apart from any of that, what Will gathered from Hannibal's display was how mercurial the cannibal was. Could this be the moment where he tragically becomes the cursed shrimp? It didn't seem very smart to upset a guy who thought about Greek and Roman tragedies as relationship aspirations, best that he chose his next words carefully.
Will tried a different tactic. "Why don't you, " He pointed a finger. "Stay with me?" He challenged.
Hannibal blinked. “I will join you, and accompany you back home,”
"Fine." Said Will tersely.
"Lead the way."
They drove in Hannibal's car, not the Bentley, his other car, the one no one knew he had. Like a gentleman, Hannibal offered to drive but didn't necessarily object when Will volunteered.
Since he had always been curious about the true logistics of Hannibal’s many murder escapades, Will took the wheel, eager to uncover another piece in the Chesapeake Ripper puzzle. Apparently, the Honda-CR V was fully stocked for a least a few day’s worth of dubious errands, complete with laundered suits and a bottle of perfume in the armrest storage. Will whistled at Hannibal’s level of planning and asked if such a hauteur serial killer had ever tolerated a night to sleep in such an average car, to which Hannibal did not deign an answer, merely pouting in response.
Hannibal could have done without Will’s numerous verbal jabs but the more he listened the more he understood that this was Will Graham being playful. To his surprise the rudeness didn't stir the violence creativity quite like many others Hannibal had harvested. It was a good sign as any, like a victory, and he began to enjoy the car ride more openly, much to Will's dismay.
"What will you do if we get pulled over?" Will broached.
"What we will do, you mean," Hannibal chided. "There are several syringes in the glove compartment ready for use. You will be in charge of distraction and I will incapacitate the officer."
"Do any of your bright ideas not include murder?" Will remarked sarcastically. "Plenty of boot room in the back," He added as consolation.
"Plenty of space in your barn, plenty more around Wolf Trap" Hannibal tilted his head. "Though with the way you drive I doubt any law enforcement would find a reasonable excuse to stop us."
Will snorted. "I don't drive that often anymore, ever since y'know, losing my mind and you being the main determinant of--"
Like a jinx, suddenly, from behind, a siren was heard and a flash of light could be seen from the rear view mirror. Blue and red washed the interior of the car reminding them both of the long arm of the law.
Will pulled over and killed the engine. Looking around nervously, he gripped the wheel and straightened his back. Hannibal on the other hand was calm, completely at ease since his pockets were laced with all the necessary tools. Policemen weren't ideal victims but Hannibal was flexible.
They could see the police officer step out, an older gentleman with a large build. Hannibal was calculating his chances of success, coiling his wits for when an altercation arises. Certainly with his current age and smaller frame he had forgone physical strength but speed was on his side. Hannibal reached for the door handle and waited.
Will looked over at Hannibal and grabbed his arm. "Don't," He hissed. "We could pass for at least 16 as long as he doesn't ask for identification,"
"What are the chances of that particular outcome, Will?"
"Very low but the officer looks tired, it's late, everyone just wants to go home." Will whispered as he lowered the driver side window.
"Evening gentlemen," Greeted the officer. Deputy Simon Barrett of the county sheriff's department knew he had a deep intimidating voice, but he kept it slow and far from unkind. In his line of work people reacted better that way, because sometimes it wasn't what you say but how you say it. "Boys," He corrected, raising his eyebrows, when he finally got a good look at the driver and passenger. Nothing wrong with some boys riding in a car, boys will be boys, as they say. Nothing wrong with the driving either, none of that swerving or speeding nonsense. But the time, it was late as hell , so Simon had to pull them over, just in case, you never know. He wasn't one to flex his authority, or whatever the kids say these days, but he was cool, he could be cool. It was probably nothing anyway.
The officer adjusted his belt and relaxed his stance, Will spotted a wedding ring snug on his finger. The man looked old enough to be a father, old enough to be a father of a teenager. Will remodelled his expression. "Evening, sir." He replied. Keeping his face open, Will offered eye contact, not overly long but just enough to communicate nervousness.
Simon blinked on closer examination. These kids were something else. Models? Actors? Maybe they were Youtubers. The baggy clothes were a little strange but what did Simon know about fashion anyway? These two definitely have parents worried sick about them, and he would know, Simon wouldn't want his own son driving around past midnight, so he should probably make this quick. Simon was just about to get down to the heart of things when a movement caught his eye. Zeroing inside the vehicle he saw the driver, a pretty boy brunette, holding the blond boy's arm. Oh, it was like that was it? Simon shifted uncomfortably, hell, he had no issues with that sort of thing, and he certainly didn't want to look like he did.
"...You boys aren't in any trouble are you?" Simon pointed with his eyes to where they were connected. "Mom and dad okay with you out this late? What'r your names?"
"Uh, Billy, sir." Will followed the officer's line of sight.
Hannibal smirked, removing himself from Will's grip only to surprise the latter by lacing their fingers together. "Mikhail." He answered confidently.
Simon scratched the back of his head. "Ya'll don't have to lie to me. Look son, running away is not, take it from me," He stressed the point. "Not the best way to teach your parents. Have you tried talking?"
Whatever Will wanted to spin to the officer had perished in his throat. He looked at Hannibal and passed the torch, like a tag team, he was out.
Never one to drop the ball Hannibal replied seamlessly. "I assure you officer," He smiled warmly. "Our parents could not be happier. And thank you for your concern, if more people were as kind as you the world would be a far better place."
Simon sighed, it was a nice feeling to do the right thing and be thanked for it. "Alright, alright, no need to lay it on too thick," He chuckled. “So, what were you two up to tonight anyway?”
"Tonight we were just at a small party. We stayed a little later to clean up the mess our friend had left," Hannibal explained.
Will gawked, not missing the villainous glint in Hannibal's eyes. Without the officer noticing, Will shut his unhinged jaw and returned to his facade, struggling to convince himself he was completely and truly unimpressed at how believable Hannibal looked. Somehow, an innocuous conversation had sprung and both Will and Hannibal were able to navigate it with ridiculous ease. Lies upon lies built atop of each other. And It may have, if he dared, been a little fun. Will filed away that particular thought for later and continued to mirror the pleasantness that Hannibal was radiating, glad that in the end it was enough for the officer to let them go.
“I’m glad we didn’t kill him,” Will breathed out as the patrol car drove away.
Hannibal chuckled. “We, Will? You don’t mean me? How Freudian of you,”
The rest of the drive was an uninterrupted journey into darker and darker roads. Here be dragons , Hannibal thought gleefully . Finally, Will's house emerged from the distance and Hannibal smiled with the lingering warmth he felt in his hand, the hand that held Will. Will's innate ability mimic had made him the perfect partner in crime. Hannibal had never doubted what he saw in Will but to be reminded of it was always a momentous occasion.
"What are you smiling about?" Will parked the car and yanked the hand break. "You smooth bastard." He huffed.
Jack Crawford was getting worried. The last he heard from Will was three days ago. They were in the middle of a case and now their main suspect, Randall Tier, along with Will was mysteriously missing.
His door swung open and in stormed Alana Bloom, all pale and wide eyed. Her hands were crossed over her chest and her stance looked as though whatever she wanted, she wanted it immediately.
Jack sighed and prepared for the onslaught. "Dr. Bloom." He greeted.
"Jack. Where is he? Where is Hannibal?"
Jack frowned when he heard this information."Hannibal is missing?" He didn't share any of his own concerns with her, not until it was necessary, which at the moment it was not. He rubbed his chin, processing the revelation. Will Graham was missing, Randall Tier was missing and now Hannibal Lecter was missing. "Have you checked his office? His home… since the two of you are--"
"Yes, I’ve checked. He's not there," Alana began to pace. "I knew it was a bad idea to have Will return as his patient, Hannibal is not the type to give up on someone, he’s stubborn like that,"
"They seemed alright to me," Jack lied.
"Will is unstable Jack! He tried to have Hannibal killed or have you forgotten? What Will needs is a therapist that he doesn't have delusional thoughts about." Alana was getting worked up but Jack felt it best to let her simmer.
"I believe this energy is best directed towards a more appropriate audience," Jack broached. "Maybe you should see Will,"
Alana paused and looked at him. She narrowed her stare as though trying to decipher something.
"I am going to get to the bottom of this, Jack." She announced before leaving in a gust of wind.
Jack leaned back in his chair, seemingly unaffected. After a moment of pregnant contemplation he spotted Zeller walking past. He called out to the technician.
"I need you to track a mobile phone. Make it two." Said Jack.
"Oh? Someone we know?"
"Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham."
Zeller raised his eyebrows. Jack replied with a pointed stare.
"This doesn't get out."
Zeller nodded. "Got it."