Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was supposed to be a quick fucking trip. Go into town, get the ostentatious but sinfully delicious coffee that Hannibal likes because Will is a good husband, go back home. 

Mother Nature is much crueler than that, apparently.

The snow started to get bad about fifteen minutes into his thirty-minute drive to the store, and only seemed to pick up from there. His thirty-minute drive turned into a forty-five-minute drive, and the drive back is closer to an hour now. Will is good at driving in snow and of course, Hannibal made sure his truck had snow chains and perfect tires for the Canadian terrain, but for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. 

The temperature has easily dropped below freezing now if his tense, chattering teeth and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel are anything to go by. Will reaches over to crank up the heat but lets out a frustrated noise when he realizes that it’s already up as high as it can go. Bullshit. This is all bullshit. 

And, of course, because today just loves Will Graham so much, he left his phone on the kitchen table and only realized it once he was already almost to the goddamn store. 

Hannibal is going to be pissed. 

Will sighs. The last thing he really wants to deal with after this is a moody husband, but he also knows that if their roles were reversed and Will was the one waiting for Hannibal to come home during a blizzard with no way to get ahold of him, Will would be pretty angry too. Luckily he’s almost home. 

Their recovery cabin is well hidden by the mountainside and the thick trees that grow wild out here. It actually reminds him a lot of the home he shared with Molly with the dark wooden walls and the vast forest that surrounds them on every side, though that cabin in Maine never really felt like home. Will’s going to miss it quite a bit, but he’s looking forward to going back to Florence in a few weeks, now that the FBI has declared them missing; presumed dead and the general consensus with the public is that there is absolutely no fucking way they survived that fall. Even Freddie Lounds seems to think so at this point. Obviously, Jack Crawford is still advocating for the search, but no one is biting. They’re free. 

Briefly, Will looks down at the band on his left ring finger and feels his heart soar. It’s funny; he’s never been so in love with someone that just the mere thought of them had the power to lift his spirits even when at his most irritable before this. Hannibal is still the most annoying person he’s ever met and they squabble like mad, but even their loudest and most intense arguments come from the deepest corners of their hearts where their love blooms brighter than any star.

He doesn’t even care anymore if Hannibal is bitchy when he gets home. Will’s in too good of a mood now. He’ll walk through the door, throw his arms around his husband’s neck and kiss the angry frown off of his gorgeous fucking face until he’s forgiven. If that doesn’t work, he’ll just get down on his knees, with a coy little smile and swallow him down until Hannibal’s knees buckle. That will certainly earn him forgiveness. 

Grinning like an idiot, Will slowly presses down on the break, readying himself for the oncoming turn. It’s a slightly sharp right turn and there’s a slight dip on the driver’s side as you go around it, which is nothing he can’t handle, but it’s certainly going to be a bitch with how slick the roads are. He goes slowly up the incline, turning the wheel to the right, pressing gently down on the break for the dip in the road—

The black ice under the snow sends the back end of his truck skidding sideways and Will’s stomach drops. Having been through this before, his reflexes are relatively fast and with a loud string of nonsense curse words, Will’s truck misses hitting trees on his way into the small but noticeable ditch and plows into the deep snow. 

“Fuck.” He growls when the truck stops. He lets himself breathe for a second to calm his racing heart, then throws the truck into reverse and steps down on the gas. 

The truck doesn’t budge. 

“Fuck!” He shouts even louder. He throws it back into drive and presses down. 

The tires are rotating but there’s no traction and the snow is too deep. He’s fucking stuck. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Will’s palm hits the steering wheel with every word just for emphasis, and by the end of it, he not only doesn’t feel better but now his fucking hand hurts. 

Will tilts his head back against the back of the seat with his eyes closed. He breathes in and out in an attempt to gentle the storm that’s brewing beneath his skin. He could dig the truck out; it wouldn’t take long and he has a shovel, but it’s already fucking freezing and dark and the house is just a short walk down the road from here. A very wet and fucking frigid walk, but it would take less time than digging the truck out of the ditch and then going home. Plus, this trip has taken much longer than planned, his mood has definitely deflated, he still has no phone, and Will really, really doesn’t want to make his husband angrier than he already will be. 

“Oh, fuck this.” Will turns the car off and slips the keys into his pocket, then kicks the door open and lets himself drop down into the snow that’s nearly up to his knees. 

_________________

By the time he makes it up the porch, the temperature has dropped again and Will’s clothes are almost soaked through. His boots are lined and made for this sort of weather and they’re doing a magnificent job of keeping his toes from falling off, but then again, he can’t fucking feel them, so who knows? Maybe he’s toe-less. 

He forces his rigid arms to uncross from his chest and he fumbles for the house key in his pocket with numb, shaking fingers. He’s almost there, if he can just get steady his hands enough to get the fucking key in the fucking lock—

The door unlocks with a loud click and swings open with Hannibal standing on the other side. He’s still in his day clothes, but his shirt is uncharacteristically rumpled and untucked like he’s been up all night. All of the apologies and explanations die on Will’s tongue instantly, because he has seen Hannibal angry, he has seen him concerned, but he has never in his fucking life seen Hannibal look at him like… this. 

His husband’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black instead of maroon, and once Will catches them he can’t look away. Eyes are distracting, he told him once upon a time, but Hannibal’s aren’t. There is so much happening in those eyes right now, another storm is brewing, but Will can’t make heads or tales of what he sees. It’s not anger, but a cold, steady rage that’s hiding not exactly fear but something deeper, some word that probably doesn’t exist in the English language. 

“A-are y-y-you ok-kay?” Will stutters out. His voice is raw from breathing in the icy air and he doesn’t sound like himself, but he can’t stop himself from asking because something is very wrong with Hannibal. 

At the sound of his voice, Hannibal seems to come back to life. With a scarily fast move, he strikes out, scoops Will up in his arms like he weighs nothing, and all but manhandles him inside the house. “Hannibal — ” Will’s too frozen and stiff to fight back, but as his husband carries him into the living room and sets him down in front of the fire, he loses all ability to speak again once the warmth hits his skin. He lets out a husky groan as a pleasant shiver runs through his body. It feels like bliss, but it’s not enough. “C-cold.” He stutters, curling his arms around his chest in a desperate attempt to warm himself. 

“Ne!” Comes the hissed reply just as Hannibal’s strong hands grip both of his arms.

The forcefulness of the command makes Will look up in shock. His husband’s jaw is locked so tight it must be hurting him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem to feel it. Something is flickering behind his expression, like a hologram with connection issues, something that seems to have been unlocked tonight, and it makes Will frown. He doesn’t understand what’s happening half because he’s still drenched and freezing, but mostly because he’s never seen Hannibal look so… detached. 

He used to believe Hannibal didn’t experience emotions like regular people, but now he knows better. Hannibal is prone to his moods, but whatever this is, it’s certainly not that. It’s not just anger at Will and the weather; it’s something else. Something deep-set and instinctive, and something much more alarming.

Before he can even begin to decipher any of it, Hannibal’s hands are all over him, yanking his coat off of his shoulders quickly and efficiently, then they’re busy stripping off his shoes and socks, then back at his chest as he removes his flannel, and Will’s stomach is beginning to churn with anxiety. “H-Hannibal, what’s wrong?” He tries wearily. 

Hannibal doesn’t answer, he just pulls Will’s Henley over his shoulders and then frantically starts trying to remove his belt. 

“Hannibal, what—” Will tries to bat his hands away, but Hannibal makes a noise in his throat and knocks Will’s hands back, then rips the belt off of him. “S-stop it, wh-what’s wrong with y-you?” He grits out while Hannibal tears at his jeans. “Hannibal, knock it off!”

“Ne, turiu tave sušildyti.” He replies, and it makes Will pause with concern. 

That’s twice now Hannibal has answered in his native tongue rather than English. Will married a polyglot, so he’s used to hearing his husband speak in different languages, but the only time Will has ever heard him resort to Lithuanian like this while he was half-delirious with fever during the first few days of their recovery. Sometimes when he’s really tired he slips up, then promptly frowns like he’s grumpy that his brain isn’t catching up with his mouth, and while it seems that something similar is going on now, it’s definitely more than just that. More than this, more than that, but it doesn’t make sense. 

Once Will is naked and shivering on the living room floor, Hannibal disappears for a second, then returns with not one, not two, but three very thick blankets and begins tucking them around Will’s body like he’s trying to mummify him. Hannibal’s expression is still fierce, but his eyes, shockingly, seem to have gone cloudy and unfocused, like he’s seeing Will, but he’s not seeing him. 

Will’s hand sneaks out of the blanket cocoon and he takes Hannibal’s face in his palm, forcing him to look up. “Hannibal,” He says gently. 

Their eyes lock, and Will has to place his other hand on the floor to steady himself because it suddenly feels like the ground beneath his body has given way and he’s falling, tumbling, blindly scrambling for purchase while his mind gives way for Hannibal’s thought to crowd deep inside, and it’s only then that he finally understands. 

Skin too cold, blood too cold, heart might stop don’t let it stop. 

He needs waterfireshowerwarmbath, he’s so cold he needs to be warm he won’t survive like this. 

Don’t let him get sick you know what happens next. Tasteless meat in a watery broth ‘where is she’ no they won’t tell you but you know you know you know.

Shaking, he’s shaking, make him warm, make it go away or you’ll lose him, lose him, lose him—

Will lets out a gasp, which is decidedly the worst thing he could do because Hannibal is on him in a second, pulling him close, tucking him against his chest, and rubbing his hands up and down Will’s body through the mountain of blankets. Will lets him do this, realizing now that Hannibal isn’t here in the present with him, but somewhere colder and less kind where there was blood in the snow and a devastating loss to come.

Will suddenly feels very stupid. He figured that Hannibal would be concerned about him in the storm until Will came home safe, and then his concern would melt into relief and then into irritation, but he never considered that his husband would be frightened to this degree. God, what a sight he must have been when Hannibal opened the door; wet, shivering, halfway to hypothermic after being gone with no means of contact for nearly two hours. 

Above him, Hannibal is has begun to whisper a reverent string of Lithuanian into Will’s hair that he only partially understands, but one phrase keeps repeating over and over: “Aš ne per vėlu. Aš ne per vėlu. Aš ne per vėlu.” From the way that Hannibal has Will caged in against his body for warmth, he can’t see his husband’s face, but the raspy way he utters this foreign phrase on a loop makes Will unsure that Hannibal even realizes he’s talking out loud. 

“Aš ne per vėlu. Aš neleisiu, kad tau kas nors nutiktų. Aš neleisiu.” Hannibal continues on, somehow bundling Will up even tighter in his lap so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe, but he doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t think Hannibal would let him up even if he tried. “Aš turiu tave, turiu tave, turiu tave. Tu dabar esi saugus, aš tave saugosiu.” 

“I c-can’t understand you, love,” Will murmurs against his husband’s throat. Normally he can figure it out, but his mind is still muddled from the cold. He wants to reach out and touch Hannibal back but the blankets are too tightly wrapped, so he just nuzzles his throat instead. The danger of hypothermia passed several minutes ago, but Will is so attuned to Hannibal that he knows this coddling is something Hannibal needs to do to feel alright again, and Will is fine with that. “Could you run me a bath?” He asks quietly. 

Hannibal pulls back just enough to look at him, and Will’s breath catches when he sees the sudden appearance of glassy tears that are threatening to fall. A wounded, anxious noise gets pulled from Will’s throat and he untangles his hand from the blanket so that he can caress his fingers over Hannibal’s cheekbone. He stiffens under Will’s icy touch, their eyes never breaking contact, and he lays his own hand over Will’s, trying to warm it up and keep it there all at once. It’s only then that Will realizes his husband is shaking too. 

Will can’t fucking stand it. 

“Come on, love. Bath.” Will repeats gently. “Take me with you.” He adds after Hannibal’s grip on him tightens, the ‘I don’t want to leave your side’ clear in every line of his rigid body. 

Hannibal seems to accept the compromise because he shifts his body weight then lifts Will up in his arms and carries him through their bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom where he deposits him on the floor in his blanket cocoon. “Pasilik ten.” He orders as he goes to start the bath. 

“Yessir.” Will grumbles back, sitting firmly on the bathroom rug to show he isn’t going to move. 

A faint flicker of a smile pulls at the corner of Hannibal’s lips and it settles some of the nervous energy in Will’s stomach. Whatever dense fog he was under before seems to have cleared up a bit. Will knows what a panic attack looks like, and he also knows that his husband is coming down from his version of one, even if Hannibal would never admit to feeling something so illogical as panic. If Will weren’t so concerned by this behavior he’d roll his eyes. 

With the bath running and the tub filling, Hannibal returns to his side and carefully unwraps the three layers of blankets. A chill goes through Will’s body the second the air hits his naked skin and instinctively his arms come up to shield his chest. “Tau viskas bus gerai. Aš turiu tave.” Hannibal pulls him close, hands stroking over his face, his arms, his throat like he’s trying to force the warmth from his own body into Will’s by touch alone. “ Aš tai ištaisysiu, padarysiu tave geresniu.”

You will be fine. I have you. I will fix it, I’ll make you better. 

“Of course I’m fine,” Will mumbles lightheartedly and presses a kiss to Hannibal’s wrist. “My Doctor’s got me.”

That seems to help a little because before Will can comprehend what’s happened, Hannibal has lifted him up again and is placing him down in the delightfully warm bath that makes him groan in pleasure that has nothing to do with sex. “Fuck.” He stutters as the water envelopes his body and finally, finally starts to warm him up. 

He forces his eyes open and finds Hannibal kneeling by the tub at his side, raking his eyes over every part of his body in a stiff, clinical sort of way. Looking for injuries, Will’s brain supplies. His husband is still practically vibrating with the panicked-not-panicked energy from before, turning Will’s hands and arms over while his own are still shaking. 

“Hannibal,” Will says as he reaches out of the water and clasps one of those hands in his own. Hannibal does look at him, but whatever progress they may have made before has backtracked into the glassy, unfocused attention from earlier, and Will lowers his voice even more. “I’m still cold, love.” He utters, and Hannibal’s eyes flash with something like fear before Will smooths that look away with a soft smile. “Come here, warm me up. You’re the only one who can.” 

That is what finally does it. Hannibal is up on his feet and stripping off his clothes and Will just smiles to himself. He shifts forward so that Hannibal can climb into the large tub behind him and is promptly pulled back against his muscular chest and wrapped up tight in strong arms with one hand pressed firmly against his heart like he needs to make sure it’s still beating. Will breathes out and relaxes into his husband’s warm embrace. The closeness is what Hannibal needs. He needs to feel Will’s heartbeat and hold him in his arms like he needs air to breathe because he’s afraid. Will turns to Hannibal when he’s afraid, and now Hannibal is doing the same and allowing him to see how vulnerable he is. It’s an incredible display of trust, and even though they’ve gone beyond trust issues with each other, Will can’t help but feel touched by this. 

They lie like that for a while, just lounging together in the warm water, and as the fog in Will’s brain begins to finally clear, he actually begins to doze off a little bit until he feels Hannibal press his lips against the side of his face. He lets out a groggy-sounding grunt of acknowledgment. 

“Are you alright, beloved?” Hannibal whispers in his ear. 

Will smiles. “Oh, there’s my husband. I was wondering when he would join us.” He teases. 

Hannibal’s arms tighten around him. “I never left you, Will.” He sounds much too solemn, and Will realizes that he’s still struggling quite a bit. 

God, it really shows how much Will has changed; he used to love the idea of Hannibal suffering, but now all he wants to do is make that heartbreaking, miserable look on his face go the fuck away. 

He adjusts so that he can still look up at his husband without actually crawling out of his arms and he frowns. “Yes, you did. For a little bit. You worried me.” He doesn’t mean it as a reprimand, of course, and Hannibal seems to know that. Will reaches back and runs his wet fingers through Hannibal’s hair, grabbing a gentle fistful. 

Hannibal cups his jaw and strokes his thumb over his cheekbone. He still looks sad and Will hates it. “What happened to you, Will?” He asks like he’s expecting something horrible to follow. 

“The storm was bad so I had to take it slow coming back.” Will sighs in annoyance. In all of the concern and chaos, he forgot about the fucking truck. “I went into the ditch by that stupid curve and had to walk back here.” 

Hannibal makes a regretful-sounding noise and presses his lips to Will’s forehead. “Are you hurt at all?” 

“Nah, I just need to go out tomorrow and dig the truck out.” 

“You’re certain you’re not injured?”

“Yes, love. I promise. You know I’d tell you if I was hurt.” 

There isn’t a response to that, but Hannibal visibly relaxes. 

The rest of the bath passes by in comfortable silence, and once Hannibal deems him sufficiently warm (Will is so pruned by this point that he’s certain he looks like a raisin’s ugly cousin) he moves Will to the toilet seat and dries him off with a towel, then carries him to bed. Normally, Will would complain about the carrying because he has two perfectly good legs, but Hannibal still hasn’t recovered, so Will just lets him do what he needs to do. 

Hannibal bustles around the room, starting a fire in their bedroom hearth and retrieving a glass of water for each of them, all while Will is forced to stay under the blankets like a toddler in timeout. It’s difficult to be annoyed though. 

Finally, though, Will gets sick of watching his husband flit around like a nurse and orders him to get into bed. To his surprise, Hannibal goes willingly, only to position Will half underneath his body and cling to him like a fucking octopus. Will lets out an impatient sigh but allows the smothering. 

There’s a very long pause before anyone speaks, but when Hannibal seems to find his voice and breaks the silence, the words break Will’s fucking heart. 

“I was worried I was too late.” Hannibal murmurs brokenly into his hair. 

Will lets out a soothing noise and cranes his neck so that he can kiss his face. “You weren’t.” 

“I could see the storm was getting worse,” He continues as if Will hadn’t spoken. “When I realized you were without your phone, I considered going out to find you, but I also wanted to be here… when you came home.” The pause makes Will frown. He can hear the if even though Hannibal didn’t say it. 

“I’m sorry,” Will breathes, meaning it genuinely. Now that Hannibal is talking again, the guilt is building up. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen. “I’m sorry, Hannibal. I should have made sure I had my phone.” 

“All sorts of terrible things kept running through my mind.” Hannibal goes on, his voice low and haunted, and Will doesn’t need him to elaborate. He can feel it. “When I saw you on the porch in such a state, I…” He swallows audibly and buries his face in the back of Will’s neck. “I have never felt more afraid than I did tonight, Will.” 

Will shushes him gently. “It’s alright now. Here, let me—” He pushes himself up and turns his body so that they can face each other, then lets Hannibal resume his iron hold on his body, still afraid to let any amount of warmth seep from Will’s skin even now that he’s safe. “I’m here. It wasn’t even that bad.” He smiles and presses a kiss on his husband’s cheek. “It fucking sucked, but I’m okay.” 

Hannibal manages to smile too, though it’s still too tight for Will’s liking. “But you could have easily not been.” He replies. 

“But I am.” Will argues, not unkindly. 

Hannibal purses his lips, seemingly unconvinced despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. 

Will sighs and strokes a hand up his husband’s chest until he can rest his palm over his heart. He finds a fast but steady beat there, and Hannibal shudders beneath him. Oh, my love, what have I done to you? He thinks guiltily. “I really scared you, didn’t I?” 

Hannibal chuckles humorlessly and rests his own hand over Will’s. “You did, beloved, but I’m not angry with you for it.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” Will assures him. “I promise, from now on, I’ll make sure my phone is on me before I leave the house. I’ll never do that to you again, Hannibal, I promise.” 

“Thank you.” Hannibal hooks his arms around his shoulders and cradles the back of Will’s head in his hand. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I was… not entirely present tonight.” He says this with an uncharacteristic amount of hesitancy that’s not quite embarrassment, but something like it. 

Will thinks back to the way Hannibal held him in front of the fire, speaking broken, repetitive phrases in his native tongue, how Hannibal’s emotions, all tragic and devastating, had nearly suffocated him. The thought sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine and he presses his lips against his husband’s throat, collarbone, shoulder, and anywhere else he can reach. He’s too overcome to form a sentence but hopes the kisses will convey his apologies and promises alike. I love you. I need you. I’ll never let us be separated. Trust me as I trust you. I’m here, I’m always here. 

“You must never leave me, Will.” Hannibal finally says though it sounds nothing like him. His voice is hollow and raspy, impossibly sad and it cuts him right down the middle. 

A startled, regretful sound slips out before Will can stop it, and he hauls himself on top of Hannibal’s body, wrapping both arms around his neck and clinging to him as hard as he can, hoping to press his love out of his skin and into Hannibal’s just so his husband can feel him, hear him, see him, understand him, understand that Will isn’t going anywhere, that he loves him and that nothing on this fucking planet could ever make him leave. 

“I won’t.” Will murmurs into his throat, pressing a kiss against the pulse point for emphasis. “And if something happened—”

“Nothing will happen to you. Never say that.” Hannibal cuts him off, his voice shaking and his arms tightening around Will’s body. “Never say that to me.” 

Will shushes him gently, mulling over his words in his mind. They’ve both been through this train of thought before for one reason or another, though it’s usually Will catastrophizing and flinging himself into a desolate sense of hopelessness before Hannibal comes to the rescue. I would never do anything intentionally that would put our safety at risk, He had whispered into Will’s hair one night after a particularly bad night of anxiety. But should the unfortunate event arise that we are separated, I would fight my way back to you, beloved. If I perished before I found you again, I would find you in the next life, and the one after that. 

Will could say that now, but the state that Hannibal is in now, he’d never listen. The raw wound that Mischa tore when she was ripped from her brother’s arms is open and bleeding at the moment, and he no doubt considers tonight to be hitting too close to home, so Will isn’t going to make it worse. They’ll talk about it in the morning if Hannibal wants, but for now, Will is just fine with holding him until his husband feels secure again. 

He tilts his face up and kisses Hannibal tenderly, lovingly, then takes hold of his arms and flips them so that Hannibal can cage him in against the bed. He goes willingly, bearing down with most of his weight and covering Will completely like a human shield from any and all outside forces. Will sighs, already feeling drunk off of Hannibal’s love, then hooks his arms around his husband’s neck and tangles his fingers in soft blonde hair. “It’s alright, love,” Will whispers against his lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” 

Hannibal murmurs his name like a prayer and kisses him again, his body rocking against Will’s just so… 

“Oh.” Will gasps, his skin suddenly on fire as the heat of his husband’s hip brushes against his cock and sends a spark of pleasure down his spine. He shivers with the intensity of it, and Hannibal pulls back, his own expression heated and urgent. 

Please, let me feel you. Let me touch you, let me press myself into your body, cut you open so that I may crawl inside you and never have to be without you. I couldn’t survive losing you a second time. 

“Yes,” Will gasps, nodding fervently and squeezing his eyes shut. He feels Hannibal’s body stretch over him, then hears the soft thud of the bedside table drawer being shut and a soft click as the bottle of lube is opened. Hannibal is holding him down still, not to dominate, but just because he can’t stand the idea of Will moving away. As if he would move even if he could. 

“Yes.” Will groans, long and drawn out as the length of Hannibal’s fingers press inside. It’s good, it’s so good, and the air around them is still thick with desperation that is becoming close to overwhelming. His eyes fly open when a third finger presses past the tight ring of muscle and his hand is gripping Hannibal’s arm so tightly that he’s certain his nails have drawn blood, but neither of them seems to care. “Come on, love,” He gasps out. He needs this as much as Hannibal does at this point. “Make me warm, I’m so cold without you, please—” 

His words are cut off with a loud, high-pitched whine as Hannibal cages him against his chest and presses inside, releasing a moan of his own that sends sparks all the way down to his toes. Hannibal’s lips are on his, devouring all of the little sounds he’s making with greedy swipes of his tongue while he fucks him slow and deep and whispers I love you’ s into his skin. 

Despite the low sounds of their coupled moans and the sliding of skin on slippery skin, this has nothing to do with sex. Hannibal needs to remember that Will is here, that Will is his, and Will needs to reassure him just as much. This has everything to do with connection, obsession, understanding, and acceptance. It has everything to do with love.