The Story

The Story
Story By: The Adrians
Music/Lyrics By: Brandi Carlile

Authors' Note:
So...This is a hugely late Valentine's fic...not necessarily set on Valentine's Day or anything...it's just fluffy as all hell...
Um...It's probably hard to think of Han/Will as being fluffy...
Yeah...Well...Try.
Again, this isn't part of TLT universe. This is an entirely seperate dealy...We just thought you'd enjoy maybe having a little from us on the side.
That whole cross-over deal is only vaguely mentioned...and it's Harry Dresden from The Dresden Files. We thought that would be sorta cute. XD
If you like short bits like this, tell us 'cause we've got a billion ideas and not all of them can go into TLT. Maybe we'll write an explicit one eventually...
Oh well...Tell us what you think.
Enjoy everyone,

-T.A.

PS: READ AND REVIEW

-The Story-

All of These Lines Across My Face
Tell you the story of who I am…

“Hannibal?” The questioning voice was soft and quiet as it drifted upward from somewhere in the vicinity of the doctor’s chest.
“Yes, Will.” The responding voice was faintly nasal, faintly metallic, but gentle, if not a little sleepy as it wove through golden blonde hair and into the ex investigator’s ears.
“Are you asleep?” Long fingers traced small circles into the silky fabric of Hannibal’s shirt.
“Yes.” The older man replied with a bemused smile.
Will smiled a little to himself. “Good, because I have something to tell you.”
“Oh, well…It’s good that you caught me so asleep then, else I’d never be able to listen properly.” A large, warm hand gestured vaguely before returning to its warm spot at the base of Will’s back.
“Yes, well…I wanted to tell you, now that you’re asleep, that I…Well…I’m…” The fingers stopped circling for a moment.”
-“You’re?”
-“I’m not sure how to tell you this. I thought it would be easier now that you’re sleeping, but it isn’t.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes a little. “I’m sorry that I can’t be more reassuring- even in my sleep.”
Will shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I have to find a way to say this somehow…”
-“Why not try a story, Will?”
-“But you’re already asleep.”
-“Would you like me to be awake?”
-“No, I don’t want to disturb you.”
-“How very courteous of you. So how does the story begin?”

All of these stories of where I’ve been
And how I’ve got to where I am…

Will shifted a little between the blankets and Hannibal’s chest before he settled, one leg between the doctor’s two, arm circling as far as it could around the broad chest, head resting directly over the man’s heart.
“Comfy?” Hannibal ‘s tone was a little sarcastic, but Will didn’t let it bother him. He cleared his throat and began speaking.
“Our story begins in the usual way…”
-“Once upon a time?”
Will frowned. “Yeah. You know, for someone who is asleep, you certainly aren’t listening half as well as you should be.”
A small chuckle made Will’s pillow dip a few times. “Sorry.”
“Once upon a time, in the vast African planes there lived a lion cub. In a lion pride, the females do most of the important work. The male, if he’s even around, does a lot of sitting and brooding. Most cubs live around their mothers and each other, learning how to be good, accomplished lions. Our story is about a little lion cub who didn’t always feel like a lion. Of all the cubs, he was his father’s favorite. The old lion believed his young son had a particular gift for being a very good lion so he wanted to make his son the best he could possibly be. The old lion gave him the most meat when the females returned with the hunt, the most hunting practice when it was time for the cubs to play, and promised the cub that someday he too would be lord and master of the pride-”
-“Tell me, Will…Was the old lion’s name Jack Crawford?”
Will ignored the doctor’s question and continued.
“But the young cub didn’t always feel like a lion. Sometimes he felt like one of the birds flying by. Sometimes he just felt like spreading his wings and flying far, far away from the African plains.”
Hannibal placed a gentle kiss at the top of Will’s head.
“One day, while the cub was playing with his father, the two of them stumbled upon a massive wall of green trees. The old lion, having lived a great while knew that beyond the trees was the jungle, and in the jungle there were panthers. ‘Never venture into the jungle,’ the old lion warned his son. ‘In there lay panthers.’ The lion cub was confused.
‘What is a panther?’ he asked.
‘The panther, my son likes nothing more than to eat the hearts of young lion cubs. He is reclusive, he is vicious, and he has no pride of his own. He is the stuff of nightmares, my son.’ His father replied as he turned them back towards the plains.
The young cub was terrified, but as he lay to sleep that night he couldn’t help but wonder about the mysterious panthers that lived in the darkness of the jungle.
Now and again, when the cub was able to wander on his own, he would make his way across the plains to that seemingly endless green wall to gaze at it. Looking at it couldn’t hurt, could it?
It was on one of these visits, in the outskirts of the jungle, a large black panther was on the prowl for his latest prey that he spied the young lion sitting in the golden grass of the plain, staring into the trees. The cub would have been easy enough to kill and might even fill his stomach for a few days, but the panther saw something in the dreaming brown eyes that made him stop before he leapt from the trees. He decided instead to watch the young lion. At first the lion only sat, staring motionless at the trees. Just when the panther thought that maybe he was hallucinating, the cub ran, leapt and tumbled in the area where jungle met plain. When he was in the air, the panther thought of the birds in the sky. The little lion was trying to fly. This made panther laugh. The panther hadn’t realized just how long it had been since he’d last laughed.
Days passed and every so often the lion would return. The panther started making it part of his routine to watch the cub as he tried to fly. With each tumble, the panther wanted more and more to speak to the little lion, to learn why he wanted to be a bird.
One day, just as the sun was setting, the panther leapt from his tree. He sauntered out of the jungle, well muscled, dark, sleek, and beautiful-“

-“Thank you, Will…”
Will snorted. “What makes you think you’re the panther?”
Hannibal slid his hand under Will’s t-shirt and rested it in the center of the man’s back. “I don’t see any other well muscled, dark, sleek, and beautiful men in your life, Will.”
The blonde nodded. “So true…”
The doctor smiled. “Continue.”
-“The lion didn’t know what he was seeing. The creature approaching him looked a little like the females of the pride, as it had no mane, but it was black and had very blue eyes. ‘Hello, little one.’ It said, once it had completely cleared the trees. ‘Tell me, why is it you want so much to be like those birds above us?’
The cub frowned a moment, unsure of how to answer. ‘I suppose that sometimes I don’t feel very much like a lion. When that happens I want to fly away, like the birds do.’
The panther nodded. ‘If you don’t feel like a lion, what do you feel like, little one?’
‘I feel like a panther’ he said quietly. ‘My father says they like to eat the hearts of lion cubs, and live alone, without a pride. Sometimes I want to be alone, want to hunt and live by myself.’
The panther laughed again, deep and warm in his chest. ‘Silly little cub. Do you not know a panther stands before you now?’
The young cub was frightened of course, but stayed where he was, intrigued by the creature that was so much like him.
‘Are you going to eat my heart, panther?’ the cub asked shakily.
‘No, little lion, I will not.’ He replied. ‘I will take you into the trees with me away from the plains and you will never have to touch the ground again.’
The little lion followed the panther into the jungle and never looked back.
The end.”

But these stories don’t mean anything
If you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true. I was made for you.

Will sighed. “I don’t think I conveyed what it is I’m trying to tell you.”
Hannibal rubbed the man’s back reassuringly. “Do you want to know what I got out of it?”
-“You’re the psychiatrist.”
The doctor shook his head. “Not as a psychiatrist. As your lover. I got that you are appreciative of my accepting, if not embracing what you are, especially since we are so similar and what we are isn’t what society deems normal.”
Will nodded. “That’s true, but it isn’t what I was going for.”
-“If at first you don’t succeed…”
The blonde shrugged and began.
-“Once upon a time-“
-“Wait a second, Will. Why not try a little non-fiction? Tell me about you when you were younger.”

I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
Baby, I broke them all for you…

Will acquiesced. “Once, when I was fifteen, I carved my name into a huge boulder out in the woods behind my parents’ house.
It was one of those huge, ancient ones that feel like marble, or granite, or something old and indestructible.
I used to hike out there all the time to be alone when things were getting too messy at home.
I think I first got the idea when I was walking home from the bus stop one day. I used to have to walk through town to get to where the public bus stop was so that I could catch it home. I lived way out in the woods compared to where school was.
When I was walking through town one day, I passed the ball park. There were a few trees facing the street and I could see a heart or two carved on one of the big ones. They said the usual things, ‘Dan loves Jan’ or ‘Jeff and Kelly forever.’ I remember stopping and staring at the stupid things for nearly an hour. I was completely transfixed with the idea of making a monument out of love, no matter how silly and high school superficial it was. That was the day I decided to carve my name on one of the boulders in the woods behind the house. I chose the one I liked to spend my time on the most.
The one Laura Jennings kissed me on when we were 13.
First I carved a heart, then my name. I figured that eventually I’d have someone else’s name to put next to mine so that it would be like all the carvings you see on trees in the movies. I never did go back and carve in any other name. I can’t remember if it was because I didn’t meet anyone, or if I was just too scared that things wouldn’t work out if I did. Hell, it might have been both. If you’re wondering about Laura, she moved that summer she kissed me. I never saw her again.” The blonde snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “That sounds pathetic. I’m pathetic.”
The doctor smiled, kissing the top of the younger man’s head again. “You’re not pathetic.”

Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do, and I was made for you...

-“Thanks.”
-“You seem to do better with your own experiences rather than metaphorical ones. Why not try another memory?”
Will nodded. “In grad school, I had a bit of an infatuation with a professor of mine. I spent a lot of time with him, attending lectures, assisting him, hell, sometimes we had dinner together. One year on New Years we had been drinking and talking about our resolutions when he stopped and stared at me. I asked him what was wrong. He said it was nothing and we continued to drink and talk. When midnight rolled around and we were heading back to our respective dorms, he stopped me in the middle of the courtyard and kissed me. When he broke the kiss he had tears in his eyes. I felt horrible suddenly and I didn’t know why. The next morning when I woke up in his bed, I remembered he had a wife. We didn’t speak to each other much for the next week or two. After that we just pretended like it had never happened. To this day I think could ask him about it and he’d have no idea what I was talking about.” Will let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Is this depressing you yet?”

You see the smile that’s on my mouth.
It’s hard when the words, they don’t come out.
All of my friends, they think that I’m blessed
They don’t know that it is a mess...

Hannibal’s brow furrowed. “This professor is still living, you say?”
The blonde nodded. “Alive and wel...”
The older man’s arm tightened around his lover’s chest. “What is his name?”
-“Dr. Reid Walden.”
“The editor of Forensics?”
Will nodded. “The very same. I used to help him with editing here and there.”
The doctor frowned. “William, why don’t you ever tell me these things? You were lover to the editor of the only journal I couldn’t get my work published in?”
The younger man laughed a little, lifting his head to kiss his lover. “I didn’t know that, sorry. But yeah, I was one-time lover to that man.”
“Did you ever get over your infatuation with Dr. Walden?” Hannibal’s tone was even and conversational. Will knew instinctively that it was shielding mild jealousy. “Yes. Somewhere down the line I met a doctor that intrigued me even more than Walden.”
-“Oh?”
-“Yeah. He’s the well muscled, dark, sleek, beautiful, and short type.” Will chuckled.
Hannibal arched an eyebrow. “Short?”
Will chuckled. “Yeah, short.”
-“I’ll have you know, William that 5’10” is the average male height just now.”
“Not for cats, it isn’t.” He reached out a little to the side of the bed where Dr. Faustus, their black long-hair lay sleeping in a furry ball. The blonde smiled at the gentle swat to his ass.
-“And here I thought you were talking about the doctor you share your bed with. The same doctor, may I remind you, that cooks your dinner and lets you drive his Bentley.”
Will smiled. “Oh, that one?”
-“How soon we forget…”
The blonde chuckled, tilting his head to leave small kisses on the older man’s jaw. “I didn’t forget. He’s my favorite doctor so far.”
Hannibal smirked as the kisses turned into gentle biting on his earlobe. “You’re my favorite FBI agent…. Don’t you have another story to tell?”
Will shook his head, now thoroughly enthralled in the kissing and nibbling at his lover’s neck. The doctor slid a hand to the back of Will’s neck and stilled him. “I think you do.”

The blonde sighed, leaving a parting nip at the juncture of jaw and ear before he settled again on the man’s chest.
“After the New Year’s incident in Grad school, I thought I was done with guys for good. I dated a slew of girls, none for more than a month each before I met a guy named Harry. He and I hit it off pretty quickly. He liked drinking, I liked drinking. He liked making out at drive-ins, I liked making out at drive-ins…”
“A very cerebral relationship, I can tell…” Hannibal noted with mild distaste.
Will frowned. “Harry was a good guy. Yeah, our entire relationship hinged on sex, but that’s kind of what we agreed on that first night. We weren’t going to fall in love because we both knew we were meant for other people. That, and I couldn’t see myself working for the FBI and being involved with an occult investigator.”
“Occult investigator?” Lecter’s brow arched.
“Yeah…But that’s not the point. Harry and I had some great times. We watched hockey together, drank beer - We were friends.”
-“Friends with benefits?”
The blonde nodded. “Yes. I think Harry’s the antithesis of this whole thing.”
-“So you aren’t trying to tell me that you’d like to be friends with benefits?”
Will lifted his head in time to catch the glimmer of humor in Hannibal’s eyes. “No.”

No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what I’ve been through
Like you do.
And I was made for you…

He rolled over onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. One of the doctor’s hands found Will’s and squeezed it gently. “I’ve never known there to be a subject that made you so unsure that you couldn’t discuss it with me, Will.”
Will sighed, closing his eyes and covering his face with one hand. “Yeah, I know…”
-“Maybe it’ll help if I tell you a story…”
The blonde smiled faintly beneath his hand. “Maybe…”
“Once upon a time, there was a gardener who lived all alone in a small house at the furthest western corner of a large manor in Virginia. His job, while the tenants were still living, was to tend to the rose garden that lay in the center of the property. He did his job very well. He cared for the plants as if they were children, speaking to them, singing to them as he fed them day after day. When the owners died, the gardener went on living in his little house and continued preening the large rose garden as the owners had left him the entirety of the property in their will. With even less human contact then before, the gardener grew increasingly attached to the plants, especially one in particular, a very pure white rose that was planted in the center of the garden. Every day he would spend hours tending to just that one plant, making sure the soil was rich with water and nutrients and that no weed or insect ever marred the exceptionally beautiful plant. Years went by, and with every passing day, the roses grew more beautiful and the gardener grew more devoted to them. Word passed that the biggest and most beautiful roses in the world could be found at the ancient manor in Virginia. Soon people from all over the country were drawn to see the rose garden, and more specifically the purest, most beautiful white rose to have ever existed.
Now, the gardener was pleased to see so many people admire his work, but he was also afraid that man, in all of his greed and selfishness, might want to steal his precious white rose. So every night, he stayed curled up next to it, shotgun in one hand, pruning shears in the other, standing guard. One night, his worst fears proved true. Two men in black ski-masks snuck into the garden after sunset, prepared with shovels to dig out the white rose. The gardener heard them as they approached and prepared to confront them. The robbers, being spry young men, killed the gardener with their shovels before he even got a chance to shoot. The two then set to work on digging up the rose. They dug around the plant for hours, but didn’t once come anywhere near the ends of the roots. Frustrated and tired, the robbers sat down in the hole they had dug, several feet beneath the surface of the ground. No sooner had they set their shovels aside, when a deep, angry groan split the relative silence of the night. Thinking that they might not have killed the gardener completely, the two robbers tried to climb out of the hole to finish the job. But as they climbed, dirt poured over their heads, forcing them back to the bottom of the hole, and ultimately beneath several tons of dirt.
The next morning, as tourists arrived, they were shocked to see that the world’s purest and most magnificent rose was no longer white, but deep, bold, bloody red and the gardener was nowhere to be found. Other gardeners came to tend the roses after the other’s untimely death, but soon all the roses died. Even the most beautiful one at the center of the garden wilted after a week or so. In its last few hours, the tourists present said the rose had taken on a peculiar shape. Something like a heart, if one could believe that…It stayed that way until the last few seconds, when it broke into pieces and fluttered to the ground…Like a broken heart…After that, no one came to the ancient Virginian manor anymore. The topiary grew rampant and wild. A new type of rose grew from the graves of the old southern beauties. Truly feral, bloody red plants grew labyrinthine-like about the old garden, giving it a truly despotic appearance, and at the heart of the garden, was a beautiful, white rose…”
Throughout the course of the story, Will’s hand had left his face and his blue eyes had come to focus on the slightly curved lips as they carefully caressed each word that passed them.
Once the lips stopped and red-brown eyes had met his, Will smiled a little.
The doctor chuckled, shaking his head.
“Hannibal?” Will whispered softly.
-“Yes, Will?”
The blonde swallowed, “I’d die… without you…”

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am…

The red-brown eyes were unreadable for a few moments, but slowly they melted into tenderness, understanding, and gratitude.
The blonde curled himself close to the man he shared his bed and his life with, then whispered softly in his ear.
“Once upon a time, there was an ex FBI special investigator who had spent his entire life searching for the one person who could make him feel whole. His search led him through lots of failed relationships, including a marriage, before he realized that the missing piece had been staring him in the face since before January of 1980. It only took this person’s incarceration and escape, amongst other things to get the ex investigator to see that the person in his nightmares was really the answer to his loneliness.”
Lecter arched a brow, slowly, gently. “What are you trying to say, Will?”

Oh, but these stories don’t mean anything.
If you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true, and I was made for you…

Will Graham smiled a soft, secret smile. “I’m trying to say ‘I love you’…”
When the man felt Hannibal’s lips meet his and tasted the deepest, most complete passion he’d known to exist, Will wondered why he had ever hesitated…

Oh well, it’s true…
I was made for you…

-End-