ꕥNeeding help from an old friendꕥ

• annon request hope you enjoy <3

• request summary reads as follows:

  • “After surviving the events of Hannibal Season 3, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter escape to Cuba, where they spend several months together before a tip forces them to flee to France. With the FBI closing in and few options left, Hannibal calls upon an old friend, {{user}}, who was once his roommate during his early years as a surgeon. Over the years, Hannibal has saved {{user}}’s life multiple times, provided them with free housing and continued support, and helped them through difficult circumstances. In return, {{user}} has protected Hannibal's secrets, and the two have maintained a longstanding relationship built on trust, loyalty, and an exchange of favors. Now, Hannibal asks {{user}} to repay that history by temporarily sheltering him and Will while they evade the FBI. As the three adjust to living together, the complicated history and growing closeness create the potential for a slow-burn polyamorous relationship between Hannibal, Will, and {{user}}.

• Dead dove just in case

• potential for a poly relationship

• Murder husbands au

• REQUEST FORM: https://forms.gle/Uau1AZkA8buxhhz4A

• my tumblr to read some of my work, currently focused on writing for kinktober but i do have side project going on too: https://www.tumblr.com/noname66728?source=share

• Tags: Will Graham, Hannibal lecter, Abigail Hobbs, Hannibal 2013, Hannibal NBC, murder family, Murder husbands

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The Atlantic had been kind to them, at least for a little while.

Cuba had offered Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter something neither of them had expected to experience again after the events at the cliffside: the illusion of peace. For several months, they had lived beneath the warmth of the Caribbean sun, far removed from the bloodstained cliffs of Italy, the bodies left behind in their wake, and the relentless pursuit of the FBI. There had been quiet mornings, shared meals, and long afternoons spent listening to the ocean. Hannibal had even managed to persuade Will to indulge in the occasional outing, though Will had never entirely lost the habit of watching every stranger who passed them on the street.

It had been, by their peculiar standards, almost domestic.

Almost.

But peace was never something men like them could afford to grow accustomed to.

A tip had been made. Someone had recognized Hannibal, perhaps, or Will, or perhaps someone had simply noticed two suspiciously well-dressed foreigners whose faces had appeared in enough international headlines to make them difficult to forget. Whatever the case, they had been forced to leave Cuba sooner than anticipated, abandoning the relative comfort they had established and making their way to France under circumstances that grew increasingly desperate with every passing day.

They had no permanent residence, no reliable allies nearby, and precious little time before the authorities caught up with them again.

Will was beginning to suspect that Hannibal had a solution in mind when the older man began making telephone calls.

The first two had been brief and unproductive. The third had lasted considerably longer, conducted entirely in French, with Hannibal speaking in the low, measured tone he reserved for conversations that interested him. Will watched him from the opposite side of their rented room, sitting on the edge of an unmade bed with his arms folded across his chest.

"Who are you calling?" Will finally asked.

Hannibal raised one finger, silently requesting another moment.

Will stared at him.

He hated that finger.

When Hannibal eventually ended the call, he placed the telephone carefully on the bedside table and turned toward his companion with the faintest suggestion of satisfaction.

"I believe I've found us somewhere to stay."

Will's expression remained unimpressed. "Somewhere?"

"Someone, actually."

"Oh, that's reassuring."

"{{user}} is an old friend of mine."

Will's eyebrows lifted. "You have friends?"

"I find that people are generally more willing to assist me when I have done something for them."

"That isn't what I asked."

"No," Hannibal agreed pleasantly. "It isn't."

Will leaned back on his hands, studying him. There was a particular quality to Hannibal's expression that Will had learned to recognize over the years. It was the look he wore when he had arranged something several steps ahead of everyone else and was deciding how much of the truth the situation required.

"Who is {{user}}?"

"Someone I knew long before I met you. We shared accommodations during my early years as a surgeon. They were considerably younger then, of course, and our circumstances were rather different from what they are now."

"And you just happen to have their telephone number?"

"I have a great many telephone numbers."

"Of course you do."

Hannibal's mouth curved.

"{{user}} and I have an arrangement," he continued. "A longstanding exchange of favors, if you will. They have assisted me on several occasions, and I have done the same for them. I believe I have earned a certain degree of trust."

Will gave him a long, flat look.

"Your definition of trust makes me nervous."

"And yet, you continue to trust me."

"That's a different problem entirely."

Hannibal's amusement deepened, but he didn't press the matter. He had, after all, already made the call. Whatever doubts Will had about their prospective host were unlikely to change their immediate circumstances.

Besides, Hannibal had no intention of allowing the FBI to find them before he had exhausted every option available to him.

And {{user}} was an option he had been saving for a very long time.

{{user}}’s home was not what Will had expected.

Then again, Will wasn't entirely sure what he had expected. Given Hannibal's description of their relationship, he had anticipated something sterile and expensive, perhaps a discreet apartment belonging to a wealthy associate who asked no questions and preferred not to know the details of their guests' lives.

Instead, they found themselves standing outside a charming old property tucked away on a quiet French street, its windows framed by climbing greenery and its entrance concealed behind a modest garden gate. The house had the sort of lived-in warmth that Will associated with places occupied by people who actually enjoyed living in them. There were potted plants on the steps, a small collection of objects visible through the front window, and a light burning in the hallway despite the late hour.

Hannibal stood beside him with their luggage in hand, looking entirely at ease.

Will, who had spent the better part of the journey wondering whether they were about to walk into an elaborate trap, was less convinced.

"You could have mentioned they lived in a house," he muttered.

"Would that have changed your opinion?"

"No."

"Then I fail to see the necessity."

Will shot him a look.

Before he could respond, Hannibal lifted his hand and knocked.

There was a brief pause. Footsteps approached from the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

And then the door opened.

For the first time in several days, Hannibal's composure shifted into something that resembled genuine fondness.

"{{user}}."

He spoke their name with an intimacy that immediately caught Will's attention. It wasn't the polished charm Hannibal employed with strangers, nor the carefully constructed warmth he used when attempting to manipulate someone into doing what he wanted. There was familiarity in it, the comfortable ease of a man greeting someone whose presence had once been a regular part of his life.

"Forgive the hour," Hannibal continued. "I'm afraid our arrival is somewhat less convenient than I would have preferred."

Will remained beside him, one hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase.

Hannibal glanced toward his companion.

"This is Will Graham. Will, {{user}}."

His eyes returned to {{user}}, and the faint smile on his face became a little more pronounced.

"An old friend of mine. One of the few people who has managed to keep me honest over the years."

Will looked at him.

"Honest?"

"On occasion."

"That's a generous description."

Hannibal ignored him with practiced elegance.

"I explained our circumstances over the telephone, but I thought it best to allow you to meet Will in person. I assure you, he is considerably more pleasant once he's had something to eat."

"That's not true," Will interjected.

"Perhaps not. But it is a comforting thought."

Hannibal's expression remained warm, though his gaze briefly searched {{user}}’s  face, looking for any indication that their unexpected arrival might have become an unwelcome imposition. He had never been particularly fond of asking for help, and the circumstances surrounding this particular request were more complicated than he cared to acknowledge.

He had called in favors before. He had manipulated circumstances to ensure that doors remained open to him, even when the world insisted on closing them. But {{user}} was different. Their history predated the life Hannibal had constructed in Baltimore, predating Will and the elaborate destruction that had eventually brought them to France.

He was not inclined to risk that history carelessly.

"I realize this is rather sudden," Hannibal continued, his voice softening. "We would be grateful for a place to stay until our circumstances become less precarious. I wouldn't ask if there were another reasonable option available to us."

Will glanced at him.

That, more than anything, caught his attention.

Hannibal Lecter rarely admitted to having no other options. He preferred to present every decision as a choice he had made deliberately, every retreat as a strategic maneuver. Hearing him acknowledge that they were in a difficult position was almost more unsettling than the prospect of being discovered by the FBI.

"We won't be here forever," Will added, his tone quieter. "We don't want to make this your problem."

Hannibal turned his head toward him.

"Will."

"What?"

"You needn't apologize for our circumstances."

"I'm not apologizing."

"Of course not."

Will gave him a look that suggested he was considering several possible responses and found all of them too exhausting to pursue.

Hannibal's mouth twitched.

The exchange was familiar, almost automatic, a glimpse of the strange domestic rhythm they had managed to preserve even after everything that had happened between them. Yet when Hannibal looked back toward {{user}}, his expression held a sincerity that was harder to disguise.

"I owe you a great deal," he said. "More than I suspect either of us has ever properly acknowledged."

He paused, allowing the admission to settle between them.

"And I would prefer not to make this another debt you feel obligated to collect."

It was an unusual thing for Hannibal to say. He had always understood the delicate balance of favors between them, the unspoken agreement that neither would allow the other to remain indebted indefinitely. He had saved {{user}}’s  life more than once, had given them shelter when they needed it, had provided for them without expecting immediate repayment. {{user}}, in turn, had protected his secrets and offered him a degree of loyalty that Hannibal rarely encountered.

Now, for perhaps the first time in years, Hannibal was asking for something without being entirely certain what it would cost him.

Will noticed the difference.

He said nothing, but his attention remained fixed on Hannibal for a moment longer before shifting back toward the open doorway.

Once inside, Hannibal seemed to relax by degrees.

He set their luggage aside and removed his coat, moving with the same unhurried precision he displayed in his own home. Will followed more cautiously, his attention drifting across the interior as he took in the furnishings and the quiet warmth of the place.

It was not a home designed to impress visitors. There were signs of ordinary life everywhere, little details that suggested years of accumulated memories rather than a carefully curated aesthetic. The atmosphere was comfortable in a way that made Will acutely aware of how long it had been since he had experienced anything similar.

He had grown accustomed to temporary accommodations, unfamiliar rooms, and the constant awareness that they might have to leave everything behind at a moment's notice.

A place like this felt almost dangerous in its normality.

Hannibal, however, seemed to find it reassuring.

"Has anything changed since my last visit?" he asked, glancing around.

A faint smile crossed his face.

"Besides the obvious, of course."

Will watched him for a moment. "You sound like you expect to find your old bedroom untouched."

"I would be surprised if it were."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Hannibal turned toward him, his expression politely offended.

"You have a very poor opinion of me."

"I have an accurate opinion of you."

"An unfortunate distinction."

Will shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

The moment passed, leaving the three of them in the quiet of the house. Hannibal's attention returned to {{user}}, and his demeanor shifted subtly. The polished confidence he wore so effortlessly around other people softened into something more familiar.

"Thank you," he said again, more quietly this time. "For allowing us to come here."

He did not elaborate. Hannibal was not a man who enjoyed repeating his vulnerabilities, and he had already said more than he ordinarily would have. Still, his gratitude was genuine, even if he had no intention of making a spectacle of it.

Will glanced at him, then toward {{user}}.

"We really do appreciate it," he added. "I know you didn't exactly sign up to house two fugitives."

"One fugitive," Hannibal corrected mildly. "You have yet to be convicted of anything."

Will stared at him.

"That is possibly the worst argument you've ever made."

"I assure you, I've made worse."

"I know. That's what worries me."

Hannibal's low laugh filled the room, brief but genuine.

For a moment, the tension of the past several days seemed to ease. They were still wanted men, still running from a world that would never willingly allow them to live in peace. But they had a roof over their heads, a locked door between them and the outside world, and someone Hannibal trusted enough to ask for help.

For tonight, it was enough.

Later, when their luggage had been brought inside and the immediate necessities of their arrival had been addressed, Hannibal found himself lingering in the sitting room rather than retreating upstairs with Will.

It was not that he had forgotten their circumstances. On the contrary, he was painfully aware of how fragile their current safety remained. They would need to be cautious, to avoid drawing attention to the house, and to ensure that no one could trace their movements back to {{user}}.

But there was something about being here again that made him reluctant to leave the room.

He had spent years keeping his past carefully compartmentalized, allowing only certain people access to certain pieces of himself. {{user}}  had always occupied an unusual position in that arrangement. They had known him before he had become the man Will knew, before his life had become entangled with the FBI and the elaborate, destructive relationship that had ultimately defined so much of his existence.

They had seen him when he was younger, less established, and perhaps less certain of what he wanted to become.

And Hannibal had never entirely forgotten the kindness they had shown him then.

Will, meanwhile, had begun to understand that their host was not simply an old acquaintance. Whatever existed between Hannibal and {{user}} had endured long enough to become part of the foundation upon which Hannibal had built his life.

It was a history Will could not share, and the realization left him with an unfamiliar sense of curiosity.

He wondered what Hannibal had been like before Baltimore. Before Jack Crawford. Before Will.

He wondered what {{user}} remembered.

And, perhaps more importantly, he wondered what it meant that Hannibal had chosen to bring them here.

"You've been quiet," Hannibal observed, glancing toward him.

Will sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"I'm trying to decide whether I should be worried."

"About what?"

"Your friend."

Hannibal's eyebrows rose slightly.

"{{user}}?"

"No, the other person who agreed to shelter two internationally wanted men in France."

Hannibal regarded him for a moment before a smile began to form.

"Your concern is touching."

"My concern is practical."

"Naturally."

Will exhaled through his nose, looking away.

"I'm serious, Hannibal. You've known them for years. You trust them. Fine. But I don't know them, and I don't know what kind of history you have together."

"An understandable concern."

"That almost sounded like an apology."

"Don't become accustomed to it."

Will gave him a tired look.

Hannibal's amusement faded into something more contemplative. He leaned back slightly, considering his next words.

"{{user}}  has known me for a very long time," he said at last. "They have seen things about me that I have never shared with most of the people in my life. They have kept my confidence when it would have been considerably easier to abandon me, and I have done the same for them."

He paused.

"Our relationship has never been particularly conventional."

Will's gaze returned to him.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"No. I imagine it doesn't."

Hannibal looked toward the hallway, his expression difficult to read.

"I trust {{user}}, Will. Not blindly, and not without reason. I trust them because they have demonstrated, time and again, that they understand the difference between knowing something about a person and believing they are entitled to every part of them."

Will was quiet for a moment.

Then, softly, he asked, "And what do they know about you that I don't?"

Hannibal turned back toward him.

For several seconds, he said nothing. There were many possible answers, some trivial, some profound, and others that might have changed the shape of the room if he spoke them aloud.

Instead, he regarded Will with an expression that was almost fond.

"That, my dear Will, is a conversation for another evening."

Will groaned.

"You're insufferable."

"So I've been told."

From somewhere elsewhere in the house, a faint sound interrupted them, drawing Hannibal's attention away from the conversation.

He glanced toward the hallway, then back at Will.

For once, he did not immediately rise to investigate. He simply remained where he was, allowing the quiet to settle around them.

Their stay here was supposed to be temporary. A few days, perhaps a few weeks, until the immediate danger passed and Hannibal could arrange their next move. They would remain discreet, keep their distance from the authorities, and avoid involving {{user}}  any further than necessary.

That was the plan.

But Hannibal had never been particularly skilled at anticipating the ways in which human relationships could complicate even the most carefully constructed arrangements.

And Will, watching him in the soft lamplight, was beginning to suspect that their arrival at {{user}}’s home might prove far more consequential than either of them had anticipated.

For now, though, neither man said anything more.

Hannibal's gaze drifted once again toward the hallway, and his expression softened into a look Will couldn't quite decipher.

Then he turned back toward Will.

"Come," he murmured. "We should get some rest. Tomorrow, we can discuss our arrangements properly."

Will rose with a quiet sigh, gathering his things before following Hannibal toward the stairs.

Their future remained uncertain. The FBI was still searching, their options were limited, and they had no way of knowing how long this fragile refuge would last.

But for the first time in weeks, they had somewhere to sleep without expecting to be forced out by morning.

And somewhere in the house, {{user}} remained a part of a history Hannibal had never fully explained.

Whatever happened next would depend on what the three of them chose to make of this unexpected reunion.