Chapter Text
On November third, 2016, Dr. Hannibal Lecter boarded a plane from Baltimore, Maryland to Vilnius, Lithuania. He had plans to evaluate the condition of his ancestral estate and decide the best course of action regarding its continued maintenance. There was some discussion about setting up a trust with a local historical society, but Dr. Lecter had privately expressed doubt as to the legitimacy of the organization and was not optimistic. He also planned to attend two symphony performances, several private dinner engagements, and an art auction. His husband of two years, William Graham, was not accompanying him, but the two of them made contact several times throughout the first week and a half of the trip.
Mr. Graham did not notice anything odd about his spouse’s behavior at the time.
Dr. Lecter was seen in and around Vilnius and two other towns on the way to his family estate. He never appeared at any of his pre arranged engagements, although his husband did continue to receive correspondence from him until the evening of the eleventh, including several text messages and one video chat session, during which Dr. Lecter appeared to be on the grounds of the estate.
When Dr. Lecter failed to appear for his scheduled appointments with patients on November twenty fifth, some mild alarm was raised. Several voice messages were left on his personal cell phone from concerned patients. Mr. Graham maintains that he was unaware that any attempt had been made to contact his husband, and that he had not been given an exact date when Dr. Lecter meant to return; only that it would be within the month depending on the business that needed to be conducted while he was in Lithuania. It was not unusual, he claimed, for the two of them to go several days without speaking while one of them was traveling, especially considering the time difference.
A colleague of Dr. Lecter reported him missing to the Baltimore PD on November seventh. Mr. Graham still refused to cooperate with investigators. He maintained that this was not unusual for his husband, and that the man who had made the missing persons report was overreacting.
On October eleventh, he allowed their shared Baltimore home to be searched, and submitted his and Dr. Lecter’s cell phone records and search histories to the police and their personal lawyer. His whereabouts and movements during the past weeks were accounted for, and a formal statement was taken, although he maintained that he did not suspect that his husband was truly missing.
Bank accounts and other joint assets were frozen. No attempts were made by Mr. Graham or any other party to access or transfer funds. He admitted later that it was at the revelation by law enforcement that there had been no activity on any accessible accounts that he seriously considered the possibility that something had happened to his spouse.
Extensive investigations by both the FBI and Interpol revealed no new information as to the whereabouts or ultimate fate of Dr. Lecter after two years. Although the case was still officially open, active investigation was halted, and he was declared to be missing and presumed dead in the eyes of the United States and Lithuania. His husband remained an official person of interest in both cases, although he was never formally accused or charged with any crime.
It was at this point that the legal battle over Dr. Lecter’s extensive estate began. No Last Will and Testament was found, and consequently dozens of parties claimed to be owed or promised money, various pieces of art, publishing rights, and in one case an entire house. The matter was further complicated and widely publicized when Mr. Graham refused to appear in court to defend his late husband’s millions. He fought no claims or debts against the estate, and let huge swathes of the fortune go through deliberate inaction.
Many media outlets at the time had used this as an argument in favor of Mr. Graham having had nothing to do with his husband’s disappearance. Others took it as a cue to dig deeper. Private email and phone accounts were hacked into and their content published, revealing a shared history between the couple that was murkier than the public had been led to believe. Mr. Graham had been profoundly ill when he agreed to marry his psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter; he was admitted to the hospital less than a week after the private ceremony and diagnosed with Anti-NMDA Encephalitis. He had been hallucinating and displaying erratic behavior for weeks. He later privately accused Dr. Lecter of not only convincing him to not seek treatment for much longer than was safe, but using his disoriented state against him. Strangely, Mr. Graham never spoke to friends or colleagues about his concerns regarding his husband at the time.
This was a different sort of story altogether. Now, Mr. Graham was painted as either a pitiable victim unable to defend himself, or a man bent on revenge at any cost. Again, he ignored any requests for comments or interviews. One of the last photos published of Mr. Graham was of him standing in the darkened doorway of the Baltimore home he and Dr. Lecter had once shared; a sneer on his face as he closed the door against the camera.
Several complaints were made to the neighborhood HOA regarding the declining state of the home. Letters were sent and ignored. More complaints were filed, until the whole thing was given up as a lost cause - no senior member of the HOA would volunteer to actually knock on the door and confront Mr. Graham directly.
Although he worked in the early days of his husband’s disappearance, he eventually resigned from his position at the FBI academy and his consulting position with the BAU.
Alana Bloom had not spoken to Will much since then. A few texts, fewer phone conversations, and even fewer face to face interactions. Will had been antisocial before his marriage, and Hannibal had liked to keep him close to home while they were together. He was a recluse now. She, like everyone else, had received more updates about Hannibal’s disappearance from the news than she did from Will directly.
The townhouse Alana had once known so well looked abandoned in the winter morning gloom. No lights on in the windows, no car in the driveway, no sound from behind the front door as she rang the bell.
“Will? Come on, I know you’re in there.” She knocked before ringing the bell again. “Will, let me in. It’s cold.”
Finally she heard several locks turn, and the large door opened slightly to reveal a sliver of Will’s disheveled clothing and unkempt hair. “Hi, Alana.”
“Hey. Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
He eyed her for a few more seconds before fully opening the faded front door and stepping back. The foyer of the house was not much warmer than the stoop, and she frowned to see that everything was in even worse shape than the last time she had been allowed inside. Furniture has been haphazardly pushed against walls, and two open, arched doorways were covered over with antique carpets nailed into the casing.
“I take it you’re here to talk about whatever Jack’s been calling for all morning.” Will closed the door behind her. She followed him across dusty floors to Hannibal’s former office. All the curtains were drawn, but there was a low fire burning. Books were piled up around two chairs, and the pillows and blankets tossed over the sofa told a damning story of where Will had been sleeping. Alana stood awkwardly in the center of the dim room, watching Will stand with his back to her at the fireplace.
“I am. You may want to sit down, Will.”
He shook his head. “Whatever it is, you’ll be bringing him an answer he won’t like. Just skip to that part.”
“It’s not about a case.” She took a fortifying breath. “Hannibal just got off a plane in Washington DC.”
Will turned to look at her. His expression was completely blank. “If that’s a joke, there better be a hell of a punchline.”
“I said nearly the same thing. Customs agents stopped him when his passport was scanned, and the FBI was called. Jack is on his way already. When he couldn’t get ahold of you, he asked me to come get you.”
There was a short but potent silence before Will answered. “What exactly does Jack need me to do?”
“You have to come see him.” She said gently.
“Where has he been?”
“His flight came in from Kaunas International Airport. Beyond that, he has declined to speak to customs agents. He asked for you, and then Jack.”
Will ran his hands roughly over his face a few times before answering. “He cannot possibly have been in Lithuania all this time.”
“We won’t know until we get there.”
He stood looking at her, and she took in how thin his shoulders had become. “Then I guess I’d better get dressed.”
The drive to Washington was long and mostly quiet. Will had emerged from the downstairs bathroom in khakis and a sweater that didn’t appear to be molting, though no better fitting than the clothes Alana had found him in. She had made a quick call to Jack, letting him know they were on their way. She offered to stop and pick up something for breakfast but Will had refused.
The walk from the car to a side entrance of the airport was equally fraught; Will rushing ahead and lagging behind Alana’s measured steps but never managing to keep pace. He was nearly shaking by the time they were walking down a long hall towards a holding area made up of rows of benches and beige cubicles. Jack Crawford was waiting for them, hat in his hands. Behind him, security and customs agents ebbed and flowed.
“Will, it’s good to see you. Thank you both for coming.”
“Where is he?” Alana asked, resisting the urge to peer over his shoulder.
“He’s in a cubicle at the other end of the room. I thought it would be best for me to brief you both before you see him.”
“What has he said?”
“Mostly, he’s just been asking for Will.” Jack said, examining Will as he remained silent, clearly taking in his poor condition and jittery hands. “He told me he was injured in Lithuania, and is suffering from some lingering amnesia as a result. He didn’t know who he was until nine days ago.”
Will’s brows drew together sharply. “What?”
“However, he recognized me on sight, and has been able to correctly answer every question the agents here asked. He gave an account of being in the hospital and not knowing he was a doctor, but the nurses told him he must have been because he kept correcting their technique.”
“That does sound like him.” Alana said with a small smile.
If Will saw it, he ignored her. “They searched the hospitals. We ruled out dozens of people.”
“The Vilnius police must have missed him.”
“That’s a big miss, Jack.”
“We can start knocking heads tomorrow. Right now, I know he is eager to see you.”
Will swallowed, throat tight when he finally nodded. Jack led them down the rows and rows of cubicles; nearly all of them empty now.
Alana’s first clear view of him was of his profile as he sat speaking to an FBI agent. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, maybe grayer. His clothing was casual, and rumpled more than she knew he would have liked from the long flight. His eyes were tired, but they were his eyes as he turned his attention to the three of them.
Beside her, she felt Will nearly stumble as those eyes landed on him.
He stood. Alana saw his right hand clench and unfurl. Saw how his chest expanded when he took a deep breath.
The agent sitting across from him gathered his papers and said something to him as he stood to leave, but was completely ignored. Jack made a sharp, one handed gesture, and the agent hurried out.
Will looked glazed over; unsteady on his feet as he took the last few steps towards him.
“Will.” He said, and his voice carried the low, rolling accent she remembered. She felt tears start to sting her eyes.
Will stopped dead, a few feet still separating the two of them.
He didn’t sway, as she half expected him to. In fact, his spine straightened, and his arms hung loose at his sides.
“Hannibal?”
“I cannot tell you how good it is to see you, Will.”
“Oh.” Will started to slowly shake his head, dark curls catching along his collar. “You’re not him.”
From beside her, Alana heard Jack say, “What?”
The man’s head tilted ever so slightly, eyes narrowed as he took in Will’s words.
“That’s not Hannibal.”