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Title: Waiting For the Sun
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Author's Note: Sequel to "Noctuary."
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.
***Will closed the journal he'd been writing in, glancing up at the clock.
It was only midnight, and he didn't feel the slightest bit sleepy. Well, that was more or less his own fault; he'd told himself that he would go to bed early tonight.
Instead, he'd stayed up to write in this journal, since he'd gone out of his way to buy it today. It almost felt like he was a kid again, getting all excited about writing down the details of his day; he'd written so much that he felt as though he'd lived through it twice.
But wasn't that the point in keeping a journal? he asked himself. To note down all of the details of what he had done, and also to write down his feelings and thoughts.
That was exactly what he'd done, which was why it had taken so long.
Unfortunately, instead of making him sleepy, the process of writing had only seemed to make him even more wakeful than usual.
He sighed softly, closing the leather-bound book and laying his pen down next to it. It wasn't like he hadn't already been used to being at his desk late at night; there had been nights when he'd had papers to grade that hadn't been able to wait, and he'd been up nearly all night.
But this was very different from grading papers. This wasn't something to do with work; this was something personal, something of his own.
He really shouldn't let this add to his sleeplessness, but he didn't feel that he had a choice. Will was sure that keeping a journal was going to be good for him; it would help him get his thoughts out, sort through them, and clear his head.
He was also sure that Hannibal would request to see his journal at some time or other, but he was hesitant about letting anyone else see what he wrote down.
It wasn't for other eyes. It was only for him.
Nobody else would see what he had written in this little book, or any others he might happen to fill with his thoughts. This wasn't for public consumption.
He didn't even feel comfortable showing any of this to Hannibal, even though the man was his psychiatrist. This was too personal; there was too much of his mind, even his heart, that would go into those pages. It wasn't meant for anyone to peruse.
Anything he'd write in this book could possibly be used against him in some ways -- and he didn't intend to let anyone get that far into his mind.
No, this was just for him. Nobody else would see him that intimately.
It didn't matter that Hannibal was already his lover, and already knew him so well. There were some things that the other man didn't need to know.
After all, everyone had to have some personal refuge where no one else could enter, didn't they? Will was sure that Hannibal had that private place of his own, a place where Will wasn't allowed to be. Even people in the best, most secure relationships needed their privacy at times.
It wasn't like he was shutting Hannibal out of his life, he reasoned. Just a little part of it, a part that he felt he needed to keep for himself.
Hannibal was a psychiatrist. He, better than anyone else Will knew, would understand that his lover needed a little privacy, a place to be alone.
Of course, alone was what he'd been all of his life, and what he was trying to get away from, in a lot of ways, Will thought, his lips twisting in a wry smile. The relationship with Hannibal was meant to keep him from feeling so alone, to make him more sociable.
It was working, in some ways. He felt marginally more comfortable around people now; that was one of the many things that Hannibal had done for him.
But he still needed his privacy, his alone time. He always would.
His glance wandered to the window, and he sat back in his desk chair with a sigh. It was a long time until morning; he'd sit here a long time waiting for the sun.
Which was ridiculous, as he needed to sleep -- but he didn't feel like going upstairs, getting into bed, and then spending the rest of the night tossing and turning, wondering when the next victim who looked like him was going to turn up.
Something told him that it was going to happen. Whoever this killer was, he wasn't going to stop until he had achieved his ultimate goal.
And his ultimate goal was, in the end, getting to Will.
The thought made him shudder; just knowing that a serial killer was focused on him was more than a little disquieting, even frightening.
He had already given up his walks in the woods; he still let the dogs out and let them wander around, of course, but he didn't go wandering after them. They never stayed away long, and they never went far from the house. He didn't worry about them.
But he had taken Hannibal's warning to heart; as well as he knew these woods; if he was harmed in some way, he was too far from civilization for anyone to come to his aid.
Oh, he was only a 15-minute drive from the nearest town, but that was still too far away for help to get here in time if he was bleeding out rapidly. And if an assailant took his phone, then he would be done for. There would be no way for him to summon help.
He wasn't going to lose his life to some crazy killer. He'd seen it happen to too many other people, and he didn't intend to join their ranks.
He would be careful -- and he would catch this murderer.
But it would have to be done in the sunlight, Will told himself. He wouldn't be able to capture this monster in the darkness; he was sure of that.
This man had already proven that he acted at night, under cover of darkness. Will would have to wait for the sun to catch him, to see him in the light and know who he was. He knew why this man killed, or at least he thought he did. Now it was time to discover the who.
He would do so, somehow. He had no doubt that sooner or later -- hopefully sooner -- he would track down this killer. He wouldn't stop until he did.
He wasn't going to let this man continue to overshadow his life.
Slowly, he got to his feet and clicked off the lamp, then headed up the stairs to his bedroom. There was no sense in sitting down here all night.
But even as he undressed and climbed into bed, Will knew that he would spend the night unable to sleep, tossing and turning, waiting for the sun that would herald the start of a new day. Sleeping lately had become a near-impossibility for him.
Was it because of all the stress he was under, or was there some underlying reason? He was fairly sure that it was an amalgam of both those things.
He wasn't sure that he wanted to know which one was the strongest.
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