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Title: The Alcohol Talking
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Table: Holiday Non-Bingo, tv_universe
Prompt: 9, Drink
Author's Note: Sequel to "His Obsession."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
He needed a drink. Preferably more than one.
Will stumbled to the kitchen, going directly to the cabinet where he kept a few bottles of liquor and taking out the first one he grabbed. It happened to be the Scotch.
He didn't bother to pour the liquid into a glass; his hands were shaking too much to do so. It was all he could do to open the bottle and drink directly from it.
Making his way back into the kitchen, he collapsed on the couch, taking another long drink from the bottle. What was he supposed to do now? He knew the truth; he couldn't continue his relationship with Hannibal. He doubted that he could look his lover in the eye again.
He doubted that he would ever be able to look at Hannibal again without seeing that murder in his mind's eye. It was imprinted there, a memory that would never go away.
It hadn't been a dream. Will didn't know why he was so sure of that, but he was. He knew that what he'd seen was what Hannibal had been doing tonight.
He didn't doubt for a second that his lover was a murderer.
Will had no idea why he was so sure of that; only that there was something about Hannibal that he'd never managed to touch, a part of him that stayed hidden in shadows.
He'd never really known Hannibal, in far too many ways. He had never been able to get inside the other man's mind, as Hannibal had gotten into his. He'd known his lover on the surface -- and their bodies had been intimate. That was all. It had all been .... well, superficial.
Will took another long drink, not caring that he would be good and drunk long before he finished the bottle. He wanted to be drunk. At the moment, he had to be.
He'd have to call Jack Crawford and tell him what he knew, what he had seen in his dreams. And then convince Jack that it was true and not just some vision.
That wouldn't be easy to do. Jack wouldn't be able to take that to a court of law; saying that Will had seen something in a dream and expecting them to make a leap of faith and arrest Hannibal on nothing more than that would more than likely get Jack -- and himself -- laughed out of the FBI.
But what more could they do? Hannibal was far too clever -- and too careful -- to allow himself to be caught. That was why no one would ever have suspected him.
What he had to do was get some proof that Hannibal was the killer.
And he had to find out why, Will told himself. He had to know why his lover was doing this, had to know why he was the object of such a fixation.
What he had to focus on now was telling Jack what he'd seen, and hoping that somehow, he could come up with a way to get Hannibal to confess his actions.
That wasn't going to be easy, Will told himself, taking another long drink of Scotch and running a hand through his unruly curls. Jack had to have some kind of solid evidence to bring Hannibal to justice, and Will knew that getting Hannibal to confess would be like pulling teeth. It might not even be possible.
But he had to try, he told himself, getting to his feet and going into the kitchen for two glasses. A dream wasn't going to cut it, not with the FBI. He needed proof.
First, he would call Jack, ask him to come here, and they would have a drink -- or a few -- while he told the other man what he knew. It wasn't something he could bring up in the office.
Was he in any shape now to call Jack, though?
Will sighed, knowing that he needed to call his boss and talk about this. He just wished that he hadn't decided to get a bit drunk first -- he didn't want Jack to think that he was making this up.
He contemplated putting his head under cold water, but he doubted that would do the trick. He would simply have to wait until he had sobered up to call Jack.
If Jack thought that it was the alcohol talking, he'd dismiss everything Will said. The last thing he needed was for his boss to sit there looking at him and shaking his head, a small smile on his lips, thinking that Will was drunk and had no idea what he was saying.
Once he made Jack realize that what he was saying was true, once he pointed out all the things that Hannibal did and said that were suspicious, he was sure that Jack would believe him.
As long as Jack realized that it wasn't merely the alcohol talking, that Will really had seen a prophetic vision, he'd be more than willing to open his mind and let himself believe.
When Jack heard this, he would also probably be in need of more than one drink.
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