Plagued By An Imagine

Part 5

Light chatter was taking place somewhere out of sight and he followed the two voices. He recognized both, but couldn't exactly place them. One was rough and gravely as it would be if someone were sick. The other was light and floating. Both held accents to them, both incredibly different.

He rounded the flybridge and the large metal mast for the sails that were secured with no rush to be opened. The boat was more than content to bob along at the current's mercy. Sitting at the bow of the boat sat the two persons to whom the voices belonged to.

He was finally able to put names to the tones. Chiyoh was one. Her dark hair was swept out of her face in a bun as it always had been and she held her knees to her chest. Her clothing was black, the usual once more and her riffle was sat beside her, ready for anything to come. Old habits died hard.

Across from Chiyoh was Will. His face was pale, though mostly hidden beneath messy windswept curls and an unkept beard. A white t-shirt blew in the wind and peaking out of the collar were white bindings, bandages. Loose fitting jeans covered his legs that were crossed in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.

Their soft conversation continued until dark eyes caught sight of him and whatever Chiyoh had been answering died on her lips. Will's head snapped around he Hannibal could only name the expression as deep relief across the man's face.

The line of stitching down his cheek was abhorrent and Hannibal couldn't help but worry what kind of haphazard scaring there would be, not to mention the nerve damage and whatever was broken from the knife that had been used against Will.

Curiosity at who had performed the botched work pulled at him. Had it been Chiyoh in some silly sort of revenge against Will or Hannibal himself? He knew that Chiyoh tolerated Will at best after what happened in Italy and he also knew that she was better at stitching up injuries than that. Or maybe Will had done it himself, too stubborn to let Chiyoh touch him. Staring at himself in a miniature mirror on a moving boat and attempting to sew together his own face with shaking hands. Both were possible.

"You're awake," Will said, his voice having been the one sounding like he had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. He pushed himself to his feet with his good arm and Hannibal could only watch as Will walked with an extensively heavy limp. Hannibal fought the urge to immediately drop to his knees and demand to see Will's leg to assess the damage.

"You shouldn't be walking," Hannibal attempted to say, but nothing more than a hoarse whisper could be heard. It burned and he winced at the sound of it, but he didn't mind at the smile on Will's face. It was a rough smile, tugged a bit more on one side due to the stitching, but it was warm and kind and a smile he had seen given to other people but never to him.

"We were beginning to worry about you," Will pressed on, a hand taking Hannibal's shoulder and pulling Hannibal carefully closer so he could be wrapped up in a hug. Hannibal grunted at the pain that flooded his abdomen, but returned the warm gesture, clinging to it. "We weren't sure when you were going to wake up."

The hold didn't loosen and Hannibal wasn't sure if Will just didn't want to let go of the embrace or if he maybe was using Hannibal for balance as the boat rocked a bit more with a stronger wave.

Movement caught Hannibal's attention. Chiyoh had gotten to her feet, rifle in hand. She gave a nod to Hannibal who returned the gesture. She passed by them, muttering a soft: "I'll let you two talk," before she disappeared below deck.

Hannibal was finally released and Will hopped back, using the metal railing to lower himself back to the deck. Hannibal followed the movement, sitting beside Will, letting his back rest against a metal pole to the railing. He closed his eyes as his body relaxed, muscles untensing.