So there was this one time in Mischa’s early twenties.
She’s just started living on her own. Hannibal is still a medical student so they’re in France. Mischa has forgone university at this point (oh boy that was an argument. ooooh boyyyy. But that’s another story for another time.) So she’s holding down some part time jobs, honing her skills, living her life. She’s even made friends.
And Hannibal thinks now’s a good time to test his level of control over her.
Which is precisely when one of Mischa’s friends goes missing. And Mischa is particular about friends. There are friends for company, friends for manipulation, and friends for..practice. Hannibal obviously knows Mischa’s particularities. The friend that went missing was one for company. She knows almost immediately. She’s been missing for just under 48 hours and Mischa knows.
And Mischa is angry.
I know what you’re thinking. So she goes and finds maybe one of the residents at the medical school Hannibal goes to and picks the ones he respects and makes sure they never see the light of day again?
But see, Mischa isn’t angry at the residents. Mischa is a single-minded individual. And Mischa knows her brother. And she knows he wouldn’t particularly mind losing a valuable teacher. Oh, he might be mildly annoyed. But mild annoyance is not what Mischa wants.
Hannibal values his reputation and intelligence above everything.
So on his first solo surgery Mischa finds the operating room he’ll be working in and messes with the equipment. The surgery fails spectacularly.
And guess who is waiting in the observation room like a good supportive sibling? Mischa just smiles when she notices the suction seems to be failing in actually draining away any blood. And all the other interns are of course observing as well. It’s not exactly Mischa’s fault that she accidentally hit the comm button so Hannibal could hear some of them snickering. Is it?
No worries the patient didn’t die. The residents on call figured out what was wrong in time to correct it, naturally. But it was months before Hannibal was able to get cleared to preform surgery again.
When that day came Mischa sent him over a card congratulating him, and taped on the inside was the missing piece of the medical equipment she broke the last time. And it just said “For luck.”
And THAT is why we don’t fuck around with Mischa Lecter
So this is for the Fic War prompt. Prag wanted fic of Will and Mischa becoming besties and then it all ending. So I don’t think it’s accurate to show them first meeting, but rather have a scene where I’ve headcanoned that they realize they’ve become one another’s best friends.
I. Time Change
At first Mischa was annoyed at the sound of her phone ringing. She put down her book and reached for her cell that she kept lying on the coffee table across from her couch. When she saw who it was annoyance quickly melted away into unexpected delight. She answered the call and switched it over to speakerphone and let the phone rest back on the table.
“It’s midnight you know.”
“What? Oh. East Coast. I’m back West. It’s only nine.”
“Road trip?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t even think to invite me?” Mischa took a sip from her tea and placed a bookmark against the page in the book she had been reading moments ago.
“You’ll only say no.”
“How do you know?”
“Hours stuck in an old car, sleeping in cheap motels, eating junk food for every meal, you want me to go on?”
“You paint a vivid enough picture. Where are you?”
“Arizona.”
“Why the hell are you in Arizona, Will? There’s absolutely nothing in Arizona.”
“Change of pace.”
Mischa laughed and for a time there was only silence on the other end of the line. “Why did you call, Will?”
“No reason. The night sky here is something else. What are you up to?”
“Reading.”
“Anything good?”
“Not particularly, no.”
Silence again. Mischa smiled. She was sitting cross legged, starring at the phone. “Hey,” Will said, “I was thinking I would stop by New York on my way back.”
“You’d better,” Mischa replied. “I still owe you a drink from last time.”
“I might hold you to that.”
“Okay, I’m going to go. You should sleep. I’ll call back when I remember not to fuck up the time change.”
“You know I don’t sleep. I don’t mind.”
“Yes you do. Stop lying to make me feel better. Good night, Mischa.”
“‘Night, Will.”
II. Knowing
“You’ve seen the news, I take it.”
“Yes.”
It was hard to be calm. Mischa kept fidgeting in her chair. Normally she was so at ease with Will. But they had both heard the news. Hannibal had escaped. What Will did not know was that he had been standing in the very same spot Will was currently pacing around. That had been five days ago. But Mischa still felt his presence like an itch in the back of her mind.
“He’s not liable to go after you,” she said.
“I wonder how you know that, Mischa, I really do.”
“I know my brother.”
It had come out so simply. Mischa hadn’t even thought of what she had just said. That was precisely the problem with Will Graham. She never thought about what she said or did. Actions came organically as if from a true sense of self. Mischa didn’t look up. Her eyes focused on the back wall behind Will, but her eyes were wide. She knew. She knew that in that second that Will knew too.
The click of a gun brought her focus round. Will had pulled out his pistol and was aiming it at her head. “Will,” her voice was all control. It was distant in her own ears.
“You knew?” His voice was spilled over with abandon.
“That’s not what I meant, I only—”
“You knew?!”
“You’re panicking. I know that. That’s alright, Will. You can stay here for as long as you like, you know. We’ll be left alone. Actually with the FBI monitoring my every movement I’m probably a walking safe zone,” Mischa’s laughter felt hollow.
“And just why hasn’t your brother killed you yet? He’s killed everyone who ever suspected. Why would he…” Will’s voice trailed off as his eyes widened. He reaffirmed his aim. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “God damnit. Damnit. You’re like him.”
“Stop it,” Mischa snapped. “Put the gun down and stop it.”
“Have you been keeping tabs on me for him?” Will asked. “Is that what we’ve been doing this entire time? Waiting around for him to escape so he could finish the job?”
“I thought we were friends.” That plea came from a well of emotion Mischa was not aware she had. A rawness overcame her. Something still remaining to her that was human moved under the skin. It was childish. It would be. That was the last time she was ever human.
“We are,” Will looked like he might shout at her again, or cry. Mischa wasn’t sure if she was confusing him with her own sympathy.
“How many people have you killed?” Will whispered.
“You have no proof,” Mischa said. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m so sorry. I won’t give you proof.”
“Damnit, Mischa. Damnit.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you going to shoot me?”
“No,” Will finally said, lowering the gun. “No. I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. Don’t contact me. Don’t look for me. I’m walking out of here and I’m not going to the FBI with this. That’s the last thing I’ll do for you. As your friend.”
“Will, please just listen to me.”
“Don’t try to find me. That’ll be the last you do as my friend. You’ll leave me alone. Get it? You’ll leave me be.”
Mischa didn’t make a move as she watched Will go for the door to her apartment. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Will. I’m sorry, truly. For everything. Believe me.”
“I’m sorry too, Mischa,” Will said, “but I don’t believe a damn word you’re saying.”
The door slammed shut behind him and Mischa winced. She glanced fervently around the empty apartment, feeling her heart race. It had been a long time since her heart had beat that fast. It came back down to a normal pace quickly, leaving her numb. She took in a breath and let it out slowly.
And then for the first time since she had been five years old, Mischa put her hands over her face and cried.
“Let’s just skip the formalities and get on with it. I know how this works.”
“You understand this is just an informal interview, Dr. Lecter?”
“Of course. I’m happy to provide whatever information or assistance I can offer.”
“I’m going to be asking you about the events of January 8th. You were with Dr. Lecter that night.”
“I was at his house, yes.”
“On the evening of January 8th, you were with Will Graham. Is that correct?”
“Will came to my home at my invitation. He’d visited for dinner on a few prior occasions as well. He was always highly complimentary in regard to my cooking and I’ve found him to be a most pleasant dinner companion.”
“What was the reason for your visit?”
“He likes feeding me.”
“So, this was a regular thing – the two of you having dinner?”
“Regular is a matter of subjective opinion, of course. It was not an infrequent occurrence. As I said, I enjoy Will’s company. I enjoy providing a fine meal. Something I expect he rarely takes time for outside of our shared repasts.”
“You’ve had dinner there before?”
“Yeah.”
“What time did he arrive?”
“I believe it was close to nine. Yes. I recall that I had just taken the roast out of the oven to rest. I was moving on to prepare a vinaigrette for the salad when I heard him at the door.”
“What time did you get there?”
“Around nine.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about him?”
“I dare say Will is an unusual fellow. Part of his charm. As to that particular night, he arrived as he often does. With an air of brusqueness and a sprinkling of dog hair.”
“Anything seem different about him?”
“Have you met Hannibal Lecter?”
“So, then you had dinner?”
“Not immediately. Will joined me in the kitchen to share a glass of Barolo while I put the finishing touches on dinner. I know that he prefers whiskey but I find a pre-meal glass of wine is much more suitable for preparing the palate. He’s kind enough to indulge me.”
“Did you sit down for dinner then?”
“No. He’s always got to make a little show of having a glass of wine first.”
“What did you talk about?”
“If I recall, I was telling Will about the winery where I purchased the Barolo. Rolling hills. The soil so dense it’s nearly black. A long growing season gives the wine an almost licorice taste, with the faintest touch of hibiscus. Have you been to the Piedmont region?”
“What did you talk about?”
“Wine. Italy. Something.”
“And then you had dinner?”
“Yes. Will accompanied me to the dining room where I served the salad course. He’s not very fond of vegetables, but I’ve learned that if I add a touch of honey to the dressing he will acquiesce to taking a few bites.”
“Then did you have dinner?”
“Yeah. We sat down for dinner.”
“Any conversation?”
“Good conversation is essential to a good meal. Among the reasons I prefer to dine with company.”
“Did you talk?”
“He talked.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Art, life, literature. We spoke at length about the battle-forged friendship of Achilles and Patrocles. A fond subject for both of us.”
“What did he talk about?”
“History. Some Greeks.”
“And then?”
“After the salad plates were cleared, I served a roast saddle of venison. It’s one of Will’s favorites and I enjoy making it for him whenever possible.”
“Did he talk about anything else?”
“Probably. I was eating. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“After dinner?”
“After dinner we retired to the living room for a snifter of brandy. The room was rather cold so Will started a fire. One of the small graces of winter, the smell of a fireplace.”
“What did you do after dinner?”
“We had another drink in the living room.”
“And you did that until what time?”
“Time is a bit fluid when you’re in good company. I would imagine it was about an hour later when we finished our drinks. One can’t rush brandy. It must yield itself.”
“How long did that take?”
“I don’t know. An hour?”
“What time would that have been?”
“Closing in on midnight would be my best estimate.”
“That would put it around …”
“Midnight maybe?”
“So, Will left at midnight?”
“No. He stayed a few more hours.”
“You left then?”
“Not right then.”
“I have to ask, Dr. Lecter. What did you do during those hours?”
Some way to stop seeing bowler hats or glowing cigarette butts from the
corners of his eye. Sometimes he swore he could smell them, unwashed
bodies muted with mud, a godawful stench really, but his godawful stench. His men.
“And he did indeed look very fine. You’re still better.” He rocked up onto his toes and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Go tell ‘em Mister Stark approves and appreciates the rush job.”
Thankfully, Pepper simply laughed instead of taking offense. “Good heavens, your mother is almost as bad as mine! I didn’t even know she read the New York papers until she called and asked me all about you after the gala. Next thing I know she’s going to be unearthing the hope chest she started for me when I was sixteen.”
“Jus’ go to the tenth floor,” he said, he said, slurring a little; vodka always went to his head, along with whiskey, tequila, and scopolamine. “I can get you the right sort of gun.”
“These are special, aren’t they?“
Steve raised his eyes to meet Buck’s, then, and
he held Buck’s gaze for a long, still moment before he nodded and turned away.
He carefully laid the two pennies in the exact center of the big table, side by
side, two bright glints in that dark expanse.
Finn smirks a little, and Poe must feel it against his skin; because he presses his hand to the back of Finn’s head: keep doing what you’re doing buddy. Finn’s mouth moves, biting down perhaps, and Poe hisses a little, his hips rocking involuntarily.
“I want you to come to bed with me,” Victor says. It doesn’t sound as romantic as he wishes, but it makes Yuuri shiver in his arms, which is just as good. “Unless you’re too tired?”
Without realizing it, they’ve become one of those couples: the kind that texts each other from different rooms in the same flat because even the smallest disconnect is a living nightmare.
The adult in him balks at being so co-dependent. The 12-year old who used to jerk off to the pictures of this man that were plastered all over his bedroom walls says to keep up the good work.
Hannibal let himself imagine a winter to come when he might open the jars and taste summer again. He considered things he could make for Will in the cooler months, sauces and stews that would warm and nourish them both. If they were still here then and not long gone, one way or another.
‘Oh, yeah. Funny.’
Both smiling, neither meaning it.
Well, maybe, just maybe, it’s because she’s been trying to get an answer out of him for the last minute, but he’s been busy staring atHannibal’s fingers nothing in particular again. He shakes himself out of it and tells her he’s just tired when she asks if he’s alright. It is not entirely a lie, these cases have been sucking the life out of him lately.
Go on.Tell it to do its duty now, Hannibal, in the state it is in.Can it do its duty in such a state?Is it functional as it is? Or has its circumstances affected it?
Me, on a random sunny day, writing about my emotional state:
“I went to the bathroom after I woke up from this dream, looked out of the window, and I saw the sun starting rising. I looked around and decided I didn’t give a fuck anymore, it was too beautiful outside to not go for a walk.
I had to get this out of me, writing being my therapy and all, and now I can go eat breakfast and hopefully find warm pants in which I can safely go out without freezing my thighs off. I pray I won’t fall or fuck up my knee. Fingers crossed.”
Me, on another sunny day, approximately 150000 words into a 547646 words long fic that’s set in the Victorian era, when I feel the need to pour my current feelings onto paper:
“I thought I was, at last, clear of the influence of depression that has plagued my mind since January. Granted, such dark thoughts never did leave my head completely, they just got buried so far back in the vast land of my mind I couldn’t access them as easily as I do now. My walls have crumbled down. What once was the fiercest fortress guarding the fragile contents of this human shell now lays in ruins.”
“I grieve for my former self. Why couldn’t I lose both weight and the mental shackles that prevent me from living? Does one always have to forfeit one thing to gain another?”
Welp, it’s been one hell of a ride! Thank you to everyone who stuck with me from the first chapter to the last, and to those of you we snagged in along the way! You all have been the absolute best, the most patient, and most supportive Fannibal Family I could have asked for and I love you all to bits!
“Will, no,” Hannibal wept, smoothing his still, cold face, unable to bring himself to do what he knew he must in order to save their child.
Take the baby and risk losing Will in the process.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.
He would save him, as he hadn’t been able to save Melinda. He would bring his mate through this, his ferocious and unpredictable Omega who had fought to sheer exhaustion and, perhaps, hadn’t the strength to fight any longer.
“You’re my husband, Will. Your battles are my battles, just as mine are yours, remember?” he whispered, his words as urgent as the kisses he pressed to his mate’s cold, stiff fingers. “And when you tire, I fight in your place, as you would in mine. I said before there is no weakness in tiring, having fought for so long. I will fight for you, Will, always and forever.”
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Everyone stay calm IT’S HAPPENING
you know what I just found out this exists, read the summary (which was right up my alley btw), saw it’s loooong af, but it’s not like I have work to do amirite
"Technically, you killed him." 