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Chapter Text

May 13, 1982 – Arturo Parodi Station, Antarctica

          Hannibal was busy rechecking equipment in the small plane’s hold when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

          “Hello, Frederick.”

          “Hannibal! I thought we should toast before we fly to the base.” Chilton held up two plastic cups filled with cheap smelling red wine. “Forgive the crystal, apparently Antarctica isn’t the place to go for finery.”

          Hannibal raised an eyebrow at Chilton before taking the cup. “I don’t mind the vessel, but I can smell the contents from here.”

          “Come on, Hannibal.” Frederick hopped up on a crate, swinging his feet. “Live a little. A few gulps of rotgut will put hair on your chest.”  

          “Please don’t break the corer before we get to the base, Frederick.” Hannibal caught Chilton’s foot, laying it carefully to rest against the wood. Frederick shrugged, crossing his legs and taking a sip of the foul smelling wine.

          “See? This is why everyone thinks you’re fussy and uptight. Unclench for a minute, Hannibal. Have a drink, you’ve practically got the Nobel in the bag.” Frederick held up his cup in a little toast before draining it.

          “We won’t know that until we get to the anomaly.” Hannibal took a gulp of the wine, it tasted worse than it smelled and he sneered at the cup. “When I do go to Oslo, I hope to drink finer stuff than that.”

          “I’ll just let you check the equipment for an eighth time then, shall I? Cheers, Hannibal.” Frederick offered him a thin lipped smile, hopped off the crate, and walked toward the glowing camp.  

          Hannibal sighed, dumping the rest of the wine into the snow. He looked at his equipment list again. It was all here, everything he could need to explore the anomaly. The only thing he wanted was a better assistant.

          Frederick had been Hannibal’s fourth choice for the expedition. Alana Bloom had turned down the job, not feeling comfortable with the idea of leaving her son for at least six months. Beverly Katz had told Hannibal that she preferred to study anomalies found in tropical environments. Jimmy Price had been ready to accompany him until an unfortunate incident at an office Christmas party involving a rubber chicken and the fly of a university donor had landed him in front of the review board. It was either Chilton or an over-eager graduate student. 

          Clearly, Hannibal had made the wrong choice. Obsequious, vain, and clumsy in his methodology, Chilton had proven himself to be all but useless on the 16 hour flight to the first base camp. Hannibal would have to prepare for a long, vexing winter listening to Frederick natter about paper publishing rights and credit.

          Hannibal sighed. He was feeling sluggish and would need all the rest he could manage if he was to put up with Chilton on the flight to the Amundsen–Scott Station. He turned to leave and tripped over his own boots, his limbs suddenly thick and uncoordinated. Hannibal lurched for the wooden crate, his vision blurring.

          “Careful Dr. Lecter, don’t break my corer, I’ll need that to complete my research.”

          The last thing Hannibal saw before blacking out was Chilton’s smiling face.

Chapter Text

May 14, 1982 – Arturo Parodi Station – 960 miles to go

          Will ran a hand through his curls, snagging his fingers on knots. It was probably time for his annual haircut. He looked at the prissy little man before him in his shiny blue jacket and brand new snow boots. Will wondered if all the gel in his hair was going to freeze.

          “Ok, so you need to get to Amundsen–Scott to study an anemone?”

          “Anomaly,” Hannibal corrected with a slight sneer. “I spent three years studying aerial images of the plateau near the Amundsen-Scott station only to see that there is a clear deviation from the natural weather and snow fall patterns near a crater. This anomaly could be due to several factors, but my current theory is that the crater was caused several decades ago when an-”

          Will held up a hand. 

          “My mistake. So you need to get to a-” Will rolled his eyes. “Thing that’s off the Amundsen-Scott base. And you missed your flight.”

          “I did not miss my flight! I was drugged!” Hannibal snapped. “My research assistant is attempting to usurp years of research in order to claim the glory of discovery for himself. He has a shoddy reputation in the academic community but I would have thought treachery of this level to be frankly above his mental capacity. It’s almost impress-”

          “Look, is everything out of your mouth gonna be a speech?” Will asked, rubbing his temples. “Because I’ll level with you: I’m pretty fucking hungover right now and I could use small words and smaller sentences ok?”

          Hannibal blinked, his mouth forming a thin line.

          “Will you take me to Amundsen-Scott?”

          “Ah! Ok, I got ya now,” Will nodded enthusiastically before leveling the smug preppy fuck with a glare. “No. You have a good day, Harry.”

          “Hannibal.”

          “Hannibal?” Will whistled softly. “Well then you should have plenty of experience getting to hard to reach places on your own. I’ll holler if I see a team of elephants.”

          Will moved to go, it was getting near feeding time and he wanted to check on Sally’s paw. A surprisingly strong grip yanked him backwards and he found himself with a face full of preppy researcher.

          “Dr. Crawford assured me that you could take me there.”

          “And I can,” Will snatched his arm away. “September through April, I’m your guy, but I’m not running my dogs on a four day trek in May.”

          Hannibal opened his mouth to argue, but Will was faster.

          “I know you’re some fancy fucking scientist with more degrees than I can count so I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s fucking winter here.” Hannibal’s eyes narrowed, Will waved to the weather tracking monitors on the wall behind them. “Now, I’m not talking a few flakes, I’m talking blizzards. Whiteouts with zero visibility and winds that have been clocked at 300 miles per hour. I’m not risking my life or my team’s life in those conditions just because you couldn’t set a fucking alarm!”

          “I DIDN’T MISS MY FLIGHT!” Hannibal seethed, inches from Will’s face.

          “I DON’T CARE!” Hannibal’s breath was cooling on Will’s face, sending an odd shiver down his spine. Will glared into the maroon eyes and felt something hot twist in his gut. He had never been fond of eye contact, it confused the issue. “The plane will come back in the morning and you can be on you merry fucking way then.”

          “Actually,” A large man entered the control room, startling Will and infuriatingly having no effect on Hannibal. “I just got a call from Amundsen, it seems the plane suffered a mechanical failure on the runway. Jeff says he’ll need a week to fix the wiring.”

          “That’s far too late, Dr. Crawford!” Hannibal turned from Will completely, all his attention focused on Jack. “I need to get there now and you assured me that it would take me.”

          “It has a name,” Will muttered. Hannibal didn’t turn, but the muscle in his cheek ticked.

          “I thought he would,” Crawford said. “But Will’s right, it’s getting close to the dangerous season. If he says no, I can’t force him.”

          Will heard the challenge and hated himself for wanting to take the bait. Will brushed by Hannibal again, taking pains to jostle him as he moved. He looked to Jack with pained eyes.

          “What about MacReady and his deathtrap helicopter?”

          “Out on a scouting mission. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

          “It’s too close to the season, Jack.”

          “You’ve got a good week, week and a half before the first big gusts start.” Jack glanced at the monitors and back at Will. “You really worried you won’t make it?”

          Will cast a withering glance over his shoulder. “My real fear is I’ll get snowed in with Dr. Cheekbones over there and his shitty assistant. I won’t last six months with them, Jack. Someone’s gonna die.”

          Jack laughed, letting a hand drop to Will’s shoulder. “It’s Graham’s call, if he says it’s a no, it’s a no, Dr. Lecter.”

          “A hundred thousand dollars.”

          Will blinked. Jack’s grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.

          “What?”

          “I will give you the rest of my grant, it’s a hundred thousand dollars.” Hannibal crossed his arms and leaned wall. Jack’s eyes went wide, he shook Will’s shoulder.

          “That’s enough to get you out of here and back to-”

          “Yeah, I got that.” Will sighed and scrubbed his face. He fixed Lecter with a glare. “Here’s the deal. I make the rules, you follow them without question, I get you to your fucking station, you pay me, and I never hear from you again. Deal?”

          Hannibal smiled thinly, extending his hand. Will had the absurd notion he was supposed to kiss it instead of shake it.

          “Quite acceptable, though I’m sure I’ll mourn your company.” Sarcasm dripped from every word and Will felt rage bubbling in his chest.

          “Great, we leave by 10,” Will moved to the door. “That gives me time to get the team ready and you time to find actual outdoor gear.”

          “Excuse me?”

          “That little blue parka probably looks adorable in Vale, but we’re going to be sleeping in thermal tents and fighting hurricane force winds, Doc. You’ll be dead by sunset in that cute little outfit.”

          Will slammed the door. Hannibal glared, turning to Jack.

          “Is he always so charming?”

          Jack shrugged. “He’s great with the dogs and he’s probably the best guide at the station. You want charm, stay here with Bella and I.”

          Hannibal sighed. He could survive Will Graham for four days.

          Will went over each of the dogs carefully as he hooked them to the sled. Malamutes were a hearty breed, but the ice could be hell on their paws if a sledder wasn’t careful. Sally was still healing from a vicious crack to the pad of her paw, so Will gave her extra cuddles and left her with Jack and Bella. He wasn’t going to risk losing one of his dogs because some yuppie scientist needed to get to Amundsen right before whiteout season.

          “Why is that one brown?”

          Will jumped. He hadn’t heard Hannibal approach. Will recognized Jack’s old parka and bulky sweater, both too big for Hannibal. Somehow the doctor still looked put together, which just made Will feel scruffier. He glowered at the doctor, noticing his fancy new boots were still on his feet. Will hoped he got frostbite. Will threw a protective arm around Winston, pulling the fluffy mutt to his chest.

          “Winston was a pet that one of the scientists abandoned here a few years back.”

          “Is he capable of dealing with the elements?” Hannibal regarded Winston with the same detached distaste he spared Will.

          “He spent 8 weeks on the ice before I found him.” Will latched Winston’s harness onto the rig. “I’d say he’s qualified. You want to go over his résumé first?” 

          Hannibal put up his hands. “Could we perhaps find some sort of truce before I entrust you to deliver me safely across an arctic wasteland?”

          “Listen to me, respect my dogs, and we’ll get along fine.”

          Hannibal knelt next to Will and held a hand out to Winston.

          “Mr. Winston, please forgive my impertinent comments as to your qualifications. I’ve been under a great deal of stress recently and it was quite unbecoming of me to take it out on you.”

          Winston cocked his head, ears flopping to the side. He moved past Hannibal’s hand and slurped at the doctor’s face. Will smiled, his cheeks warming even against the cold. Hannibal met his eyes, lips quirking as he wiped away the rapidly crystalizing slobber.

          “Yeah, yeah, ok, get on the sled, Doc.” Will motioned toward the open spot on the sled. He took Hannibal’s bag as the doctor settled, testing its weight and raising a skeptical eye. “Please tell me Jack went through your pack.”

          “Bella was kind enough to outfit me with essentials, I had no idea that long underwear had such varying standards.”

          “Did she give you a hat?”

          “Surely the furry hood of this jacket will suffice.”

          Will rolled his eyes before moving to the wooden crate by the dogs’ pen. He dug for a few minutes, producing a worn black ushanka. He deposited it on Hannibal’s head, noting irritably that the doctor managed to look quite at home in the ridiculous hat.

          “Thank you, Mr. Graham.” Hannibal tugged the hat further around his ears. How in the hell did he look so cute?

          “Will. We might as well go with first names since we’ll be together for a few nights.”

          Hannibal found the blankets piled under his feet and pulled them around his legs. He turned as Will mounted the sled, offering a toothy smile.

          “I do try to be on a first name basis with all the men I sleep with.”

          “Hike!” Will braced as the dogs took off, ignoring the heat pooling in his stomach.

Chapter Text

May 15, 1982 – 720 miles to go

          Will woke up with a mouth full of fur and a sore back. Nothing new, he’d woken up like that for about 10 years now. What was new was the rumbling snore emanating from the fancy-pants doctor on his right. He shoved at Rufus and Buck, who frequently camped around his head so he could start moving his stiff joints.

          He turned to watch Hannibal sleep and noticed the doctor had Winston firmly wrapped in his arms.

          “Traitor,” Will grumbled. Winston wagged his tail but made no move to loose himself from Hannibal’s grip. Well, at least Will knew why his side was cold last night. “Come on, outside!”

          Winston shimmied from Hannibal’s arms and moved to the tent flap where dogs were already tapping, anxious to go outside. Will didn’t technically need a 10 man army-grade arctic tent, but it gave him enough room to keep the dogs with him all night. He opened the flap and watched as the dogs streaked across the snow, seeking patches of ice to mark.

          “What’s for breakfast?”

          Will jumped. He turned to see Hannibal sitting up in his sleeping bag, stretching luxuriously. Will’s breath caught as his eyes landed on the unbuttoned long johns that offered him a tantalizing view of a surprisingly broad, hairy chest. Christ, it had been a long time and Will found himself grateful for the frigid winds sweeping into the tent and up his front.

          “Dehydrated packets, client gets first choice.” Will gestured over to his pack, which was stuffed with silver packets.

          Hannibal rolled his neck, ruffled hair falling over his eyes as he examined the packages. “I can only imagine what dehydrated scrambled eggs look like.”

          “They got us to the moon and back.”

          “But at what cost?” Will rolled his eyes and Hannibal went back to his inspection. “Which would you recommend: Turkey dinner or pot roast?”

          “Depends. Do you want Turkey burps or heartburn for the rest of the day?” Hannibal dropped both packages and recoiled. Will laughed, moving to the pile of clothes his dogs had slept on. Sure, they were covered in hair, but they were still warm.

          He tried not to notice Hannibal watching him dress. With a few layers on to obscure morning bulges, Will felt ready to face the day and the man who was still staring at him from the partially zipped sleeping bag.

          Will moved to his pack, digging through the pile of silver until he found the right one. He tossed it to Hannibal, hitting the doctor square in his unreasonably broad chest.

          “Breakfast skillet?” Hannibal sounded out the words as though he’d never heard them before in his life. Will shrugged.

          “It’s better than it looks.”

          “It would have to be.”

          Will rolled his eyes. “I’ve got to take care of the dogs and break down the camp, can I trust you to make breakfast while I do that?”

          “I shall do my best to add water, Will,” Hannibal replied with a solemn face.

          “Super, now pack away that bearskin rug,” Will gestured to Hannibal’s chest, “and get dressed, we leave in an hour.”

          Hannibal blinked for a moment, then smiled wolfishly. Will felt like a penguin who never saw the leopard seal coming. If he rushed out to call the dogs, it was because he needed to feed them, certainly not because he was fleeing a partially dressed doctor and his disarming smile.

          Will had broken down the tent and securely rolled the sleeping bags when he noticed Hannibal tearing through the sled. Thirty minutes of careful packing destroyed by a crazed preppy scientist.

          “What the hell are you doing?”

          “Looking for water for the food, I’ve already set up the camp stove.”

          Will gaped.

          “Did I forget to pack the Evian?” Will asked with wide eyes. Hannibal squinted at Will when he recognized the sarcasm in his tone. “Hey doc, what’s your degree in?”

          “I have doctorates in astrophysics, particle physics, organic chemistry and medicine.”

          Will nodded.

          “Impressive. When you were earning that chemistry degree, they ever tell you what happens when you put this stuff over fire?” Will held up a handful of snow. Hannibal sneered.

          “That can’t possibly be sanitary. The dogs have peed out here.”

          “They have. So try not to scoop up the yellow stuff when you make breakfast.” Hannibal’s mouth ticked, Will watched the doctor war with the temptation to say something. “I’d appreciate it if you could get on breakfast, I’ve got to repack the sled.”

          Hannibal moved back to the stove, muttering in a foreign language. Will smirked and said a silent prayer the doctor had at least connected the liquid fuel properly. By the time the sled was packed and the dogs fed, Will could smell synthetic hash browns and sausage.

          He grabbed his packet in a gloved hand and started forking the hot grey contents into his mouth. Will watched with amusement as Hannibal poked at his packet, as if he was hoping the real food would reveal itself if he stirred long enough.

          “Eat up, doc. We’ve got to go.” Hannibal managed a bite before pulling a face. “Do I have to come over there and make a little airplane with your fork?”

          “I believe this is called a spork,” Hannibal said with a tone that implied the hunk of steel in his hand had somehow insulted him and his whole family. “How often do you eat this?”

          “Three times a day.”

          “Even at the station?”

          Will shrugged. “Sometimes Bella and Jack invite me for dinner, but I tend to avoid the mess hall when I can.”

          Hannibal cringed. “I wish I could make you a proper meal. Or at least a meal that didn’t consist of reconstituted chemicals.”

          Will’s mouth curled in a wry smile. “Next dinner party you have, you send me an invite. I’ll even brush my hair.”

          Will made sure to hold his pinky aloft as he took his next bite of food.

          “Oh, is that hair on your head? I thought it was another dog.”

          Will flicked a spoonful of grey hash at Hannibal, laughing.

          Hannibal soon discovered it was nearly impossible to talk when the sled was underway. Between the winds, the dogs barking, and the ambient sounds of the sled, he was nearly deaf from the moment Will yelled hike to the moment he yelled whoa. To keep himself occupied, Hannibal spent the wind-beaten hours imagining elaborate and increasingly painful ways to kill Frederick Chilton. Picturing the light draining from the weasel’s eyes warmed Hannibal’s heart as he zipped through the cold. 

          But the dogs could only run for four hours at a time, after which they had to be fed, watered and rested for at least three hours. During these lulls, Hannibal was able to talk. He found himself chattering away while helping Will check the beasts over, heating snow for water, scooping out special dog food the sledder had apparently formulated himself.

          “So you literally wouldn’t feed these packets to a dog?” Hannibal cocked an eyebrow at Will as they ate alarmingly red noodles labeled lasagna during their lunch break.

          “I’ve tried, but they can’t operate the camp stove worth a damn,” Will smiled. “And sporks are completely beyond them.”

          Hannibal wondered if Will knew just how brightly his eyes sparkled when he smiled. Winston had finished his food early, as was apparently his custom, and taken up residence by Hannibal’s feet. Will scoffed when Rufus turned Judas as well, curling his bulky body by Hannibal’s side.

          “At this rate, you’ll be running the team and I’ll be out of a job.”

          “I assure you, your chosen career is safe.” Hannibal said, shoving at Winston’s muzzle as the dog tried to examine Hannibal’s packet. “How does one become a sledder down here? Shouldn’t you be in Alaska somewhere?”

          “I had no desire to run the Iditarod, doc.” Will took a sip from the horrific instant coffee he brewed. Hannibal held his hoping that the frigid winds would sweep the grounds and the taste from his mug.

          “What did you have a desire for?” Hannibal smirked when Will sputtered into his coffee.

          “Seals.”

          “I’m sorry?”

          “Specifically, the social behavior leopard and Weddell seals as well as their migratory movement of under the pack ice.” Will shrugged. “I doubt you read my paper. It was published by the American Society of Animal Science in 1977. It did make the cover though.”

          Hannibal cocked his head, before realizing he was doing a rather convincing impersonation of Winston. “You’re a scientist.”

          “Zoologist with another PhD in general biology,” Will held out his hand. “Dr. Will Graham, dog sledder.” 

          “Jack said you ran supplies for the station. He never mentioned your research.”

          “Don’t have any anymore.” Will chucked the rest of his coffee onto the ice and began breaking down the camp stove. “Right after I submitted my paper I started getting a little loopy. Long walks in my underwear around camp, losing time, terrible hallucinations. My research partner Matthew thought I was cracking under the isolation, but I knew something else was wrong. He wrote to the grant committee and had me dismissed. I tried to fight it, but it’s hard to argue you’re not crazy when you keep waking up in your boxers on snow drifts.”

          “You could have been killed. Didn’t Matthew try to have you sent back?” Hannibal moved to secure their packs to the sled, Will had taught him how to tie them down properly.

          “I wouldn’t leave, toward the end, I think he was hoping to find me frozen. It would have made things easier for him. But Bella Crawford found me first. One day, she went out to check on the dog team and found me sleeping among them. Brought me to her clinic, ran three tests and drew some blood.”

          “Encephalitis?”

          Will tapped his finger to his nose.

          “Anti-NMDA encephalitis,” Will whistled and the dogs swarmed him. He raised his voice over their whines and yaps. “She sent away for a few IV bags and I was good as new in three months. Didn’t matter to the board. No one wants to work with an unstable biologist on an isolated ice floe.”

          “Why didn’t you return home?” Hannibal knelt by Will, helping him hook Murray into his harness while Jones licked him.

          “To what? No position left at the university. No research money.” Will sat back on his heels. “I’d been sick and alone so long, I just didn’t want to go back to society. Luckily, the Crawfords needed a dog sledder, and I needed an excuse to stay as far away from society as possible.”

          Hannibal met Will’s eyes, for once Will didn’t look away. “I understand.”

          Will huffed a small laugh. “You know what it’s like to be professionally disgraced while you’re trapped on a giant hunk of ice?”

          “I know what it’s like to be alone and sick.” Hannibal fiddled with the strap on Winston’s harness, worrying it between gloved fingers. “When I was young, my family lived in a great house in Lithuania. The grounds were beautiful, but also kept us far away from the village. When the typhoid hit, my mother was the first to go, followed by my father. The staff fled, fearing infection, which left me to tend to my sister Mischa.”

          “Christ,” Will’s eyes were wide and full of sorrow. Hannibal wondered if the sledder realized he’d taken Hannibal’s hand.

          “My fever broke one morning and I found that Mischa was in bed beside me. She’d been dead for several hours, stiff and cold when I touched her.” Hannibal felt Will’s hand clench around his. He usually despised such banal expressions of sentiment, but no such sour note spiked in the back of his throat when he looked at Will. “I lived with the corpses of my family for a few days, a week perhaps, before the servants returned with a doctor. I was not keen on returning to society either.”

          Will opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Hannibal studied the sledder’s blue eyes, finding a remarkable empathy among Will’s other fine features. In a blink, Hannibal was drawn into an embrace, his face buried in Will’s worn jacket, buffeted by soft curls. Will smelled of dog, sweat and old leather, and Hannibal wanted nothing more than to be consumed by the scent.

          When Will released him, Hannibal fell backwards into the snow, suddenly unmoored. Will’s cheeks were a deep red as he checked the remaining harnesses and offered Hannibal a hand up. He would not meet the doctor’s gaze.

          “We should get going, we’ve got another 40 miles to cover before we camp.”

          Hannibal barely noticed the winds howling around him as he stood outside the tent, face angled up. Will and the dogs had gone into the tent, but Hannibal found he couldn’t abandon the night sky so easily. Without any light pollution, the cosmos were luminous. The star seemed drawn to the ice, the Milky Way a swath cloudy light that wound through the darkness.

          A warmth along his back alerted Hannibal to Will’s presence. He had the absurd notion he should take the sledder’s hand under the celestial whirl.

          “It’s beautiful,” Will whispered.

          “I’ve seen quite a bit of unparalleled beauty on this trip,” Hannibal murmured, glancing at Will in the starlight. The sledder held his gaze for a moment before slipping his hand into the crook of Hannibal’s arm.

          “You’ll be able to stargaze all you want at Amundsen,” Will’s voice was rough. “Come to bed, we’ve got to get an early start in the morning.”

           Hannibal allowed himself to be led into the tent, where the dogs excitedly milled at his feet, waiting for him to settle so they could choose their spots for the night.

          Will removed his parka, revealing a worn set of thermal long johns with a bare patch just below Will’s left ass cheek. Hannibal closed his eyes and imagined worrying that spot with his teeth and what sounds he could draw out of Will.

          Hannibal waited until Will settled into his sleeping bag before he started to strip. He removed layer-by-layer with meticulous precision and an unhurried demeanor. Down to his long johns, Hannibal unbuttoned the top, exposing his chest and the thatch of hair that led lower to a downy trail. Will had seemed especially fond of his chest this morning, and Hannibal was delighted to note that the sledder was rapt in the little show the doctor was putting on. 

          When Hannibal settled in his bag, he offered Will a sleepy grin before allowing his eyes to trace the fine boned features of Will’s face. Around them, the dogs snuffled and settled, furry reminders of the space between them.

          Will narrowed his eyes. “Stop staring at me and go to bed, doc.”

          Hannibal raised an eyebrow imperiously. “You’re staring at me, too.”

          “I expected better behavior from such a distinguished doctor,” Will groused, his cheeks felt hot.

          “And what type of behavior is this?”

          Mating behavior. Will bit his lips to keep from saying it.

          Will had studied it thousands of times and the patterns were always the same. The male preened and nipped at the object of their affection, drawing their focus and demonstrating their worth. Will wasn’t ashamed to recognize the behavior, but he was a little distraught that it was working so well.

          Will huffed and flopped on his side, walling off Hannibal with his back.

          “It’s the behavior of a man who won’t be very happy when I wake him tomorrow for re-hydrated scrambled eggs.” Will could hear Hannibal’s easy laugh as he doused the light.

Chapter Text

May 16, 1982 – 480 miles to go

          In the morning, Hannibal rose without complaint and helped Will breakdown the tent. Will had forgotten how easy an extra pair of hands made menial tasks. He had also nearly forgotten how distracting attraction could be.

          He forgot how to breathe when Hannibal ran a finger lightly over the exposed skin just below his ass, murmuring that Will should patch up his long johns. He tripped over Rufus while he watched Hannibal pull on his pants. He stuck his finger when Hannibal laughed too loud and caused his knife to slip.

          His only consolation was Hannibal’s complete bewilderment when Will pressed against the doctor’s back, guiding Hannibal’s hands as they fastened the slats with precise bowline knot loops. He had lingered perhaps a little longer than necessary while showing Hannibal the simple tie, but Hannibal relaxed back into Will, eyes forward and body radiating heat.

          Breakfast was a heady affair, filled with sidelong glances and knowing smirks. Will stirred his packet of scrambled eggs and forked another mushy bite into his mouth. Hannibal sat next to him, boots tucked under Winston, quietly shoveling chemical eggs into his mouth. Will nudged Hannibal with his knee.

          “Not one comment about wishing you had paprika or having chickens shipped here so you won’t have to suffer through another horrendous egg dish?”

          “I find myself in excellent spirits this morning.” Hannibal pressed his knee into Will’s.

          “Do you act this way with all your travel companions?”

          Hannibal’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “I suppose I’ve been bewitched by your inherent charm.”

          “Big fan of scruffy men who drink too much and smell like wet dogs?”

          “Only if they have blue eyes and friendly coworkers,” Hannibal said, leaning forward to scratch at Winston’s ear. The dog preened under the attention and soon more noses were crowded around gently insisting on some affection.

          “Ridiculous.” Will grumbled, his mouth fighting a grin as he packed away the last of their gear. 

          Will watched with amusement as Hannibal fed the dogs. He seemed to address each one personally before offering it food. In turn, each dog wagged their tail politely and waited for their strange new companion to continue with formal lunch service.

          Hannibal had insisted on performing the rest duties, noting that Will’s legs must be cramping after four hours of working the sled. Will worked through a few stretches, his muscles protesting against the pull and the cold. After Hannibal stored the food and surveyed the dogs, he moved to sit beside Will, pulling the sledder’s legs into his lap and massaging the calves. Even through four layers of cloth, Will thought he could feel the heat from those powerful hands.

          “Can I ask a personal question?”

          “I’ve disclosed the tragic tale of my dead family, disrobed repeatedly, and spent two nights sleeping with you-.” Hannibal’s voice was teasing as he paused. Will felt his mouth tug up in the corners. “-and a pack of dogs. What other personal inquiries could you possibly have?”

          “What do you think about?”

          Hannibal looked up, his hands still working.

          “In general? Or do you have something specific in mind?”

          “When we’re underway.” Will clarified. “I watch you and you have this little smile plastered on your face. I’ve been wondering for two days now what you’re thinking about.”

          Hannibal’s hands stilled. He watched Will carefully for a few breaths.

          “Most of the time I’m planning the death of Frederick Chilton.” Hannibal dropped his hands from Will’s body, waiting.

          “Chilton? The assistant who drugged you at Arturo?”

          Hannibal nodded.

          Will tucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing at chapped skin for a moment.

          “What could you possibly be planning for four hours at a time?” Will cocked his head. “When I think about killing Matthew, I usually just use a gun.”

          “A gun would be effective, but I’d rather like Frederick’s death to mean something.” Hannibal stretched his back, eyes still on Will. “A demise that would both alleviate my rage and demonstrate to the world what a worthless sycophant he was. Typically I use a blade, carve him down his barest elements while his heart still beats, then expose him to the world as a hollow husk, stuffed with the works of other scientists he stole from.”

          “I can see it.” Will closed his eyes, breath catching. “Strips of journals shoved into his mouth, bloating his empty head, and spilling forth from his gut. It would be beautiful.”

          “Beautiful?”

          Will nodded, blue eyes looking off into the distance.

          “A venomous end for a thief and a liar, remembered forever for his shortcomings.” Will huffed a laugh. “I’m a little ashamed my own plots for Matthew lacked your elegance.”

          “There is something to be said for the direct approach.” Hannibal sunk his fingers into Will’s calf muscle again. “Perhaps we could collaborate and find fitting ends for both?”

          Will scrunched his mouth into a thoughtful moue.

          “Perhaps, but now we should collaborate on some food, we’re losing daylight.”

          Hannibal choked down the turkey dinner with a smile on his face. The packet of warm lumpy mush still tortured his palate, but he found himself dismissing the protestations of his tongue as he watched Will. Their eyes kept catching, crinkling at the edges as they flirted silently. For the first time in days, Hannibal wasn’t cold. A slow building heat seemed to consume him from the inside out. Judging by the high color on Will’s cheeks, the sledder felt it too.

          “Hungry tonight, doc?” Will’s mouth curled in the corner, his eyes trained on his packet of food.

          “I find myself ravenous, Will.” Hannibal stretched slowly, showing off the arc of his back, the breadth of his chest, and the elegant slant of his legs. He watched Will devour the sight. Eyes fixed on Hannibal’s chest, Will missed his mouth with the spork, sending turkey flavored mush cascading down his parka. Thatcher nosed his way under Will’s arm to clean up the mess.

          “Shit.” Will’s face was nearly maroon now as he slapped at the bits of food in his beard.

          Hannibal sat his packet in the trash bag and leaned toward Will, both hands rubbing gently at Will’s knees.

          “You seem exhausted, Doctor Graham. I think we should go to bed, don’t you?”

          Will’s lips parted, a fog of breath ghosting across Hannibal’s face, warm then prickling cold. Will nodded.

          “Yeah, bed would be great,” Will whispered. He blinked and shook his head. “The dogs. I, uh, have to get the dogs in.”

          Hannibal’s lip ticked slightly. He wasn’t planning on an audience tonight, but he would persevere in the name of fewer clothes and more Will Graham. 

          Will whistled, bringing 11 dogs to his feet. Buck nuzzled at Hannibal’s hand as Will looked into the blackness that surrounded them.

          “WINSTON!” Will’s voiced boomed over the vast expanse. “WINSTON!”

          There was a bark, but no further sign. Hannibal watched as Will tensed.

          “WINSTON!”

          A movement, maybe thirty yards from their location, on one of the frozen floes Will had pointed out. Hannibal squeezed Will’s shoulder.

          “I see him. Get the rest inside and I’ll get Mr. Winston.”

          Will snorted, herding the dogs into the tent. “He likes you better anyway.”

          Hannibal crunched out toward Winston, who was busy investigating something on the ice. Hannibal hoped it wasn’t a rotting penguin, his sensitive nose had just become accustomed to the scent of wet dog. The crisp sound of his footfalls changed in tone, echoing slightly as he moved.

          Odd. He’d ask Will about it later.

          Hannibal could finally see Winston, who was still snuffling at a dark patch in the ice.

          “Winston, you are ruining my evening.” Hannibal scolded. “Please return to the tent so that-”

          Something gave from beneath Hannibal. The last sound he registered was Winston’s frantic bark as Hannibal plunged down, the water stabbing the breath from his body.

          Will was debating taking off his clothes when he heard the frantic howls. The team picked up on Winston’s distress and soon the noise around him was deafening. He shoved on his jacket and was out of the tent in an instant, the dogs rushing past his legs as they sought out Winston.

          He could see his dog in the distance, barking and clawing at the ice. Will’s gut dropped. He grabbed a length of rope and chased after the dogs, boots slipping as he runs. He slid the last 10 feet to Winston on his belly, cautious in case the ice was cracking.

          The hole wasn’t visible until he’s almost on top of it. A seal hole, carved by the teeth of hundreds of Weddell seals as they chipped an air hole into the core of the continent. For them, the opening was a vital air hole so they could traverse the ice shelf. For travelers, it was a thinly-iced chasm, waiting for an unsure foot.

          Will strung the rope around five dogs, preparing to dive into the void. Hannibal breached the surface, gasping and flailing. Will seized his arm instinctually, wrapping the rope around Hannibal’s wrist.

          “Hike!” The dogs took off for the tent, dragging Hannibal from the water in seconds. The dogs were the fastest option, so Will allowed them to move the doctor across the white. The wind picked up. Will could see Hannibal’s blue lips in the moonlight. None of this was good.

          “Whoa.” The dogs were still barking as Will yanked the rope from their lead collars. He left them to huff and whine as he dragged Hannibal inside.

          Once inside, Will tore at Hannibal’s clothes. Ice was already forming on the parka and Hannibal’s cheeks. Will felt panic seeping into his system, churning his stomach and making his hands unsure. He shook his head, forcing the jitters down and using the adrenaline to spur him.

          “Doc? Doc! HANNIBAL!” Will smacked the doctor’s chest hard, forcing a gasp from the shaking man. Will kept pulling at clothes, stripping the frigid material from Hannibal roughly. “Look at me. Come on, Doc, look.”

          Hannibal didn’t have control of his body, trembling and twitching under Will’s hands. Will noted that his skin was cold, but still supple under his hands. No tissue damage, then. Small mercies.

          “You’re in cold shock and hypothermic. Your systems are fighting shutdown right now,” Will explained, voice strained. “I need to get you out of these clothes, dry, and warm.”

          “I-I k-know,” Hannibal pushed the words out between convulsive shakes. “D-doctor.”

          Will laughed, forcing Hannibal to roll so he could pull the long johns and pants off him in one sure tug. “You fucking prick, you’re dying and you still need the last word.”

          “M-move f-faster, w-won’t die.”

          “And he fucking complains about how I save his sorry ass.” Will smiled, hope surging in his chest. “Can you sit?”

          It was a clumsy, arduous process but Hannibal righted himself, naked and quaking on the tent floor.

          “Good. Good.” Will whistled. The dogs who had been excitedly circling came careening in. “I need to set up the sleeping bags, you let the guys keep you warm for a minute while I do that.” 

          Hannibal jerked, Will thought it was probably meant to be a nod. Winston and Rufus were pressing into Hannibal’s sides while the doctor continued to hyperventilate. The rest of the team circled, trying to find a spot to warm. Will worked quickly, zipping the sleeping bags together and rushing to the packs for the emergency blankets. He zipped up the tent and turned to Hannibal.

          The doctor lay prostrate on the ground, the dogs whining and poking at him.

          “Don’t you fucking dare!” Will lunged for Hannibal shaking him until tawny eyes snapped open. “You’re not dying on me, asshole. Come on.”

          Will hooked his arms under Hannibal and lifted. The doctor was heavier that he looked, his weak knees and shuddering limbs making the 5 foot journey to the blankets arduous. Will huffed as he deposited Hannibal in the sleeping bag, pulling the blankets high around the doctor’s neck.

          “Don’t you close your fucking eyes, Hannibal.” Will was trying for commanding, but the fear was clear in his voice. “Tell me the symptoms of hypothermia, doc. Keep talking so I can hear you.”

          Will yanked at his clothing, popping a button on his favorite thermal as he shoved it over his head.

          “Sh-shiv-vering,” Hannibal managed. “Sp-peach distortion. Fatigue. P-p-poor c-coordination. W-will I-”

          Finally naked, Will slipped into the bag behind Hannibal, hissing as he wrapped himself around the frigid skin he found. Hannibal gasped at the sudden warmth, shoving backwards into Will. The sledder coiled his arms around Hannibal, strong arms banding around Hannibal’s torso and stroking the thick hair that blanketed his chest. He made soft shushing sounds in Hannibal’s ear.

          “This is the worst of it, right here,” Will whispered, brushing his beard across Hannibal’s neck. He hooked a leg around Hannibal’s shivering thighs, pulling the freezing flesh closer. “You’re going to get warmer now. Every second you’ll get a little warmer, a little closer to ok. Just talk to me, Hannibal. Keep talking to me.”

          “When I th-thought of you n-naked and pl-plastered to m-my back,” Hannibal drew a shaky breath. “It s-seemed much m-more erotic.”

          “Hey!” Will tugged at Hannibal’s chest hair, running his free hand from Hannibal’s pecs to the soft flesh below his navel in soothing strokes. “Are you calling me a lousy lay? Because I can dump you back in that seal hole.”

          Hannibal’s teeth were still chattering. Will made a kissing noise with his mouth, drawing the dogs to settle around them. Hannibal’s fingers tightened on Will’s forearm. It was a good sign that the doctor could still move them.

          “Come on, doc. You never want to shut up until I want you to fucking talk.” Will nudged Hannibal with his chin. “Talk.”

          “Ab-bout what?” Will could feel Hannibal’s heart thundering under his hand. He willed it to slow.

          “Anything. Something you love.” Will pressed his lips under Hannibal’s ear, yanking the blankets tighter around their bodies. “Mischa. Tell me about Mischa.”

          Hannibal’s quaking seemed to worsen for a moment.

          “She p-played with a little st-stag t-toy I bought her at the m-market when I w-was eight. It was an ugly thing, ch-chipped paint, a long gash across its nose, and one antler b-broken. She called it Hannibal. It was her favorite toy. She would sleep with it, eat with it, she never allowed the monstrosity out of her sight.” Hannibal paused. Will squeezed him, wondering if Hannibal realized his speech was getting smoother. “When she died, I couldn’t bring myself to bury it with her. I carry it with me always.”

          “Do you have it now?” Hannibal’s skin felt warmer as Will continued to stroke his torso.

          “It’s in my pack, wrapped in my other set of long underwear.”

          “Will you show me? In the morning?” Hannibal nodded and Will rubbed his lips against Hannibal’s neck again. “Thank you. Tell me more about her. What was her favorite game?”

          “Hannibal Hunt. She would chase me through the woods, stalking me like a beast. I, in turn, would attempt to creep up on her and eat her.”

          Will laughed softly.

          “Who won?”

          “It never mattered.”

          Hannibal told Will about Mischa’s favorite foods, her insistence that lavender ribbons brought out her eyes, and her ability to charm the nastiest pony in their bar, Friedrich. By the time Hannibal fell asleep again, his body was warm to the touch and his shivering had abated. Will stayed up another hour, watching the doctor sleep before he allowed himself rest. He drifted towards unconsciousness, surrounded by dogs and holding Hannibal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy.

Chapter Text

May 17, 1982 – 200 miles to go

          Will woke to find he’d become the little spoon. More alarmingly, Hannibal had heated up during the night and now Will was faced with six feet of hot Lithuanian flesh pressed to every crook on his body. This press included a partial erection that was rubbing tantalizingly at the cleft in Will’s ass.

          Every muscle in Will’s body tensed. He mentally berated his filling cock, and when that didn’t shrink his want, he tried the power of positive thinking. He was so focused on telepathically drawing blood away from his groin that he barely registered Hannibal’s arms tighten around his middle.

          “It seems I’ve survived the night,” Hannibal whispered in Will’s ear. Will made an aborted noise that was certainly not a scream. Hannibal’s lips stayed by the shell of Will’s ear. “My hero.”

          Will shivered. Hannibal ran his hand from Will’s throat to his belly button, making Will gasp when he grazed his nipple. Strong fingers began rubbing at Will’s lower belly, circular motions that steadily traveled lower. Will started rocking into Hannibal’s hand, his ass rubbing obscenely against Hannibal’s cock.

          When Hannibal’s fingers reached the base of Will’s cock, his hand froze. Will let out an embarrassing whine, trying to rock Hannibal’s hand lower. Hannibal leaned forward, stubbled jaw scraping deliciously along Will’s throat.

          “Let the dogs out,” Hannibal rasped. “I doubt Rufus and Buck will care, but Winston will be scandalized.”

          Will snorted, but moved on shaking legs to open the tent flap. The dogs scattered around the campsite, nosing at the food packs and finding snow drifts to claim. Will dove for the sleeping bag, the glacial winds chasing his bare ass back to warmth. He wiggled into the cocoon of flannel, goose down, and body heat, where Hannibal’s arms quickly snared him.

          “Good morning, doc. How are you feeling? Stiff?” Will blinked, his eyes wide and innocent, one eyebrow raised.

          Hannibal smiled wolfishly and wrapped a warm hand around Will’s cock, it jumped softly in Hannibal’s grip. “I find myself very stiff this morning, Will.” 

          Will caught Hannibal’s eye and snorted, collapsing forward to giggle helplessly against the other man’s chest. “Jesus, we sound like a porn.”

          Hannibal’s chest was shaking. Will rode the mirth, his head cradled on Hannibal’s warm pecs.

          “I’m usually more eloquent,” Hannibal confessed between peals of laughter. His hand cupped Will’s cheek, eyes warm and smiling.

          Will bit his lip, still snickering. The sledder ran his hand up Hannibal’s stomach, tangling it in the thatch of chest hair he found. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, you went through quite a trauma last night.”

          “It’s true.” Hannibal’s thumb brushed along Will’s jaw. The laughter quieted, leaving only warmth between them that was rapidly becoming heat. “I suppose I should be grateful I have blood flow to my extremities.”

          “I think we should both be grateful for that.” Will slid his hands to Hannibal’s cheeks, dragging the doctor in for a gentle kiss. Their lips were chapped but a slow swipe of Hannibal’s tongue made the glide slick. Will opened his mouth, worrying Hannibal’s lip before sucking away the sting.

          Hannibal’s hands were suddenly everywhere, strong fingers kneading the flesh of Will’s ass, blunt fingernails scratching up Will’s spine. It was too much, but Will wanted more. He rolled his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing along Hannibal’s length and pressing softly into the meat of the doctor’s belly. Both men broke apart to moan.

          Hannibal recovered first, surging forward to plunder Will’s mouth. Will clawed at Hannibal’s chest, he needed to be closer, to consume the man in front of him. Hannibal moved down, slick lips trailing past the beard and down the column of Will’s throat. Teeth caught the jut of Will’s collarbone, biting down briefly before Hannibal laved the skin.

          “Fuck,” Will hissed, arching into Hannibal’s lips as they traveled lower.

          “We’re getting there.” Hannibal grazed Will’s nipple, sucking briefly before nipping his way lower. The sleeping bag shifted, yanking Will forward as Hannibal tried to scrunch lower in the tight space. Hannibal tried to shift again, causing the fabric to catch Will and knock him up and to the side.

          Both men started to laugh.

          “Is the mood dead?” Will ventured as Hannibal reemerged from the depths of the bag.

          “If 12 dogs couldn’t dampen my ardor, I refuse to allow goose down to do so.” Hannibal pulled Will to him, kissing him fiercely. “My initial plan didn’t work, so like any good scientist, I shall make adjustments.”

          “If this ends up in a scientific journal-”

          Hannibal licked his palm and wrapped it around Will’s throbbing cock.

          “I’ll be sure to give you your share of the credit, Dr. Graham,” Hannibal whispered, sucking gently on Will’s neck. “Now, please roll over.”

          Will let Hannibal manhandle him onto his side, Hannibal pushing up against him. Long fingers wrapped around Will’s cock, teasing strokes making him grunt. Hannibal pushed between Will’s thighs, biting at Will’s shoulder as he thrust.

          “Wait,” Will rasped. Hannibal stilled behind him, hand releasing Will’s cock. Will reached one hand from the bag, slapping at the nearby pack. He searched for the bottle, coconut oil he used to give the dogs a boost of energy at night. When his hand hit the thermal wrapped container, he pulled back, handing it to Hannibal. “Here.”

          “See? You're already making valuable contributions to this effort, Will.” Hannibal slicked his hands, rubbing them together to warm the frigid oil. He worked one hand between Will’s thighs, slicking the corded muscle. His other hand gripped Will’s cock, a tight channel for the sledder to fuck.

          This time, when Hannibal pressed his cock between Will’s legs, the glide was smooth. Will arched into the sensation, head turning to offer sloppy kisses to Hannibal. Will moaned, it had been so long since he’d been touched, kissed, stroked. The desperation for release forced wanton little sounds from his lungs. Lost between fucking into Hannibal’s hand and pushing into Hannibal increasingly frantic thrusts, Will felt himself unravel. His stomach tightened, the low heat pooling as his balls drew tight.

          “You are exquisite like this, Will.” Hannibal whispered into his neck, breath puffing as he thrust. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go again.”

          “Then don’t.” Will gritted, his whole body quivering as rolled between Hannibal’s hand and hips. He could feel Hannibal’s smile pressing into his shoulder before the doctor bit down on the juncture of his neck.

          Will came with a hoarse cry, Hannibal’s arms seemingly the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He felt Hannibal’s hips stutter a few moments later, come slicking his thighs.

          Will knew they should move, clean the mess from themselves and their bags. They had a couple hundred miles to travel before nightfall and the dogs needed to be fed. Daylight was a luxury they could not waste.

          He knew all this.

          But he also knew that Hannibal was warm. The doctor smelled like a heady mix of sweat, sex, and that expensive cologne that seemed to waft from him even after three days on the ice. So he closed his eyes and let himself sink into Hannibal, just a moment, a few breaths before they had to resume their journey.

          “I’m becoming worried about the dogs,” Hannibal murmured into Will’s curls. “They began baying when you did, but they haven’t stopped.”

          Will flushed red, then laughed. “Shut the fuck up.”

          Hannibal pulled Will into his arms the second the sled stopped. Will smacked at Hannibal and his octopus arms, struggling without really trying to move.

          “Off! Off! I’ve got to feed the guys and let them rest,” He sounded far too pleased as he shoved at Hannibal. “What was the first rule? Listen to me!”

          Hannibal grinned and released Will, who tumbled backwards into the snow. He was still laughing when a handful of loose powder hit him in the face.

          After tending the dogs, both men settled on the sled, blanket around their legs. Hannibal rested his chin on Will’s shoulder and surveyed the emptiness around them.

          “Do you have to go back?” Hannibal’s voice was almost lost to the wind.

          “What?”

          “Do you have to go back?” Hannibal moved off to the side fiddling with the bindings on his pack. “I need a new research assistant, I clearly can’t trust Frederick.”

          “You want me to stay with you for six months?” Will felt a surge of warmth in his chest, he had almost forgotten what hope felt like.

          “As I said, I need a new assistant. You have a background in biological fieldwork that I think would be quite useful.” Hannibal still stared resolutely at the pack. “You wouldn’t have to stay in the same quarters, if that’s your concern.”

          Will’s head swam. It was far too soon, they knew next to nothing about each other. It was a terrible idea.

          “Ok, but if I wanted to stay in the same quarters?” Will’s throat felt tight, he coughed. “…would that be a possibility?”

          Hannibal grinned. “I believe arrangements could be made.”

          “Shit. What about the dogs? They belong to Jack and Bella.”

          “Well, I believe your current employer has offered to pay you one hundred thousand dollars to deliver him safely to Amundsen,” Hannibal offered. “Perhaps the Crawfords would part with the team for that sum?”

          Will snorted, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair.

          “I have to pay for the sleeping bags too, I doubt Jack will want them back after this morning.”

          Hannibal nodded, face serious. “Indeed, it would probably be rude to return them in their current, sticky state.”

          Will rolled his eyes. “So, if we’re going to be working together, I guess you better tell me about this anomaly.”

          Hannibal’s eyes brightened. “It’s not the anomaly, I’m interested in. It’s what the anomaly means… What do you know about aliens, Will?”

           Will raised an eyebrow.

          “I get fired because I’m unstable, but universities throw money at you to chase Marvin the Martian. Perfect.”

          “You don’t believe me?”

          “I didn’t say that,” Will said, leaning against Hannibal. “Tell me all about Marvin.”

          The Amundsen-Scott Station was a sprawling set of buildings that dotted the flat expanse of the land. Will steered by CAT snow runners and research trailers, heading for the main building, known as The Dome.

          When the sled stopped, five men came rushing out of the building.

          “Graham? Graham! What the fuck are you doing out here?” A man with long hair and a bushy beard ran out to Will.

          “I had to come out here, Mac. Your stupid fucking plane was broken and he needed to get to the base.” Will nodded at Hannibal. “MacReady, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter, head of the Tome-Wan Anomaly Project.”

          MacReady cocked his head. “Dr. Chilton said you couldn’t make it.”

          “Yes, well, it’s rather hard to make your transportation when one is drugged by an underling and left for dead in the snow.” Hannibal held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. MacReady.”

          They shook hands. Will wandered off to set up the dog’s bed and food while Hannibal was given the grand tour. He was ushered into the station, which was sparely decorated with beer cans, pictures of palm trees, and pinball machines. Hannibal made a note to send for more books.

          The rest of the crew was milling in the breakroom, save for Childs, who had run off to get Chilton. When Will returned, the scientists, Fukes and Blair, took them on a tour of the labs. Garry showed Hannibal to his living quarters, raising an eyebrow when informed that Will would be living there but making no further comment.

          Eventually Childs returned with Chilton, holding the doctor by the neck of his jacket.

          “Is this the motherfucker who drugged you?” Childs shook Chilton at Hannibal. Before Hannibal could open his mouth, Will bounded forward, cracking Frederick across the jaw with his bare fist.

          “You so much as look at him again, I’ll kill you,” Will snarled. Hannibal bit back a smile as he watched the sledder’s territorial display.

          “Frederick, I’m afraid I have bad news,” Hannibal said in a condescending tone. “In light of your recent behavior, I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you work on the anomaly project. You’ve just met your replacement, Doctor Will Graham.”

          “I’ll sue you and this mangy little miscreant for assault!” Chilton’s lip was torn, blood trickling down his jaw.

          “You’re lucky I don’t just toss your ass in the snow,” Childs said, grip still tight. “I don’t like living with a snake, I can tell you that.”

          “I’ve got bad news for you, about the anomaly, doc,” MacReady slapped a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, drawing his attention from what appeared to be a pinup model with President Reagan’s face glued on it in the kitchen. “I think I saw the Norwegians around these coordinates a few days ago when I was making a supply run. Chilton’s had his panties in a wad about it since he got here.”

          Hannibal’s mouth thinned, sharing a look with Will. “I’m not sure the Norwegians understand what they’re dealing with. Would it be possible to visit the site now?”

          “It doesn’t look like you’ll need to,” said Fukes pointing out the window. “Isn’t that their helicopter coming this way?”

          “Are they shooting at something?” MacReady squinted out the window, then bolted for the door, the rest of the Amundsen station hot on his heels.

          The helicopter seemed to be chasing a large Alaskan Malamute, the crew of the chopper shooting blindly at the terrified dog. Will’s first response was to run toward the creature and attempt to protect it, but a large hand caught his arm. He looked up to find Hannibal's intense stare. Hannibal shook his head slightly, and Will moved back. 

          Out of bullets, the Norwegians began tossing grenades at the dog, who was still dodging impressively and moving toward camp. One of the grenades rolled free of the man throwing them, exploding in the chopper.

          As the chopper crashed, the dog made the camp, panting and exhausted.

          “Why the fuck were they trying to kill a dog?” Garry asked. “Windows! Bennings! Go put out that fire and check for survivors.”

          As the men ran for the crash site, the dog approached Will. Its whole demeanor had changed since the threat was eliminated. It was now calm, oddly so. Will crouched and held his hand out to the creature. When he met the dog’s eyes, a chill ran over him. The dog cocked its head and continued to stare.

          Will stood and took two steps back, leaning close to Hannibal.

          “I don’t know what the fuck that thing is, but it is not a dog,” Will hissed. Hannibal smiled.

          “I thought I’d have to search for months,” Hannibal whispered. “But here it is, practically presented to us on a silver tray. We need to quarantine it quickly.”

          “What’s wrong, Will?” MacReady asked. “Thought you never met a dog you didn’t like.”

          “I think this dog is sick,” Will said, keeping a safe distance from the creature. “Do we have a quarantine room?”

          “Yeah, I can show you.” Childs released his grip of Chilton and motioned for Hannibal and Will to follow him. Will slipped a rope around the dog and led it toward the building. It followed with no complaint, but the eerie watchfulness of the creature set his teeth on edge.

Chapter Text

May 20, 1982 – 5 months to go

          “Feed the dog, Frederick.” Chilton grumbled as he slopped dry food into a bowl. “I have a PhD and this sweater is cashmere!”

          He muttered down the long hall to the isolation room. He’d get his revenge on Lecter. The fussy doctor had been so happy recently it turned Chilton’s stomach. Whispering with that mangy dog man, stealing kisses as he worked on lab findings, keeping Frederick up all night with the most ungodly moans he’d ever heard – it was enough to make Chilton wish he had more sedative to give the insufferable men.

          Worst of all, the rest of the base loved them. MacReady and Graham spent the day plotting out new routes around the station. Childs had developed Lecter’s taste for opera, and the two spent hours dissecting arias in the mess hall. Honestly, Chilton wasn’t sure he could make it another month in these conditions.

          He reached the iron door of the quarantine room and slid the bolt. He still didn’t understand why the mutt had to stay here. It looked fine.

          “Here’s your dinner, fleabag.” He tossed the bowl to the floor, watching as the kibbles spilled out. The dog glanced at the food before looking at him. “Eat or don’t, I could care less.”

          Frederick moved for the door when he heard an odd growling sound. He turned to see the dog shaking, the flesh of its head tearing apart.

          “What the fuck?” Frederick ran for the door, only to find the handle immobile. Behind him the sounds of bones cracking and flesh rending were getting louder.

          He screamed.

          The cries were muffled by the iron door, but Will could still hear them as he pressed the camera to the plate glass window. Hannibal leaned against his side to watch. Chilton was banging on the door, pleading for them to open it. Hannibal waved at him while Will readjusted the focus to the creature that used to look like a dog.

          The former dog seemed to be melting, its fur splitting to reveal wet spindly legs and an oozing flesh. Tentacles shot from the mess, wrapping around Chilton’s throat and legs, dragging the doctor backwards. More tentacles wound around Chilton. The creature seemed to split in half, each side part of a larger gaping maw. In two bites, Chilton was gone.

          “Holy shit, Marvin really is an alien.”

          “I told you the anomaly was likely extra-terrestrial” Hannibal hummed watching as Chilton was consumed. *Make sure you capture the way it’s replicating Frederick’s cells, please, Will.”

          “You know, I’ve done biological studies before, doc.” Will grumbled, kicking Hannibal’s shin as he refocused the camera.

          “Apologies, Dr. Graham.” Hannibal snaked an arm around Will’s waist. The pile of goo was reforming. Soon, Chilton’s face began forming in the creature, then arms and a torso. Within 10 minutes, the creature in the isolation chamber looked exactly like adjunct professor Frederick Chilton. It even mimicked his stupid wooly sweater. The only sign that something was wrong was the puddle of blood on the floor. “The blood looks quite black in the moonlight, doesn’t it?”

          Will hummed.

          “This is amazing stuff, Hannibal, but how do you propose we keep it alive until the weather lifts?”

          “It should only need to eat about once a month, if my calculations are correct. How do you feel about MacReady?”

          “No, we might need a pilot,” Will smiled at Hannibal. “But maybe we should call a biologist in for a consult in about a month?”

          Hannibal grinned wolfishly.

          “I’ve heard excellent things about a Dr. Matthew Brown. I’ll get on the radio and put in a request.”