The creaking was ancient sounding, belonging to old and weathered materials. The gentle rocking that matched the creaking was enough to make him want to throw up, dizzy with nausea. Something bright kept fluttering over his closed eyes to the point of annoyance and with a deep, brightly electric breath, he willed his body to push towards the surface of consciousness.
The groaning turned to an unpleasant screeching and the light was far too bright in its swinging. He really thought he was going to be sick and nearly considered letting himself sink back into the power of whatever sleep-like entity had been keeping a hold on his mind.
His eyes finally flicked open and dust dancing on a sunbeam greeted him. The window it came from was a small slit in the side of white fiberglass, too far out of reach for him to dare to look through. It took a while longer for the rest of his surroundings to come into place. It wasn't familiar but at least he understood the catalog before him.
The bed he rested in took up the space of the room in its entirety, save a small space at the foot of the bed where a closed door greeted him. The rocking tilted the room to and fro as if he was not meant to be part of the movement.
He pushed himself up, arms trembling under the weight. A dull thudding prickling shot through his torso and he moaned, the sound strangled from the disuse of his voice. His hand wrapped around his center in an attempt to hold himself together as things repositioned themselves, feeling like they were tearing apart. Beneath the fabric of a grey t-shirt he could make out the outline of bandages helping keep him together.
His body felt different to him. Thinner, smaller, and weak as if he hadn't eaten in a while.
The sound around him was grating now and with clenched teeth, he dragged himself to the foot of the bed. His knees gave out as he put pressure on them and his hands shot out to the face of the door to catch himself. The swaying of his surroundings was only amplified with the spinning of his head and his full weight pressed into the door in hopes that everything around him would stay still, even for just long enough that he could obtain his bearings.
The blessing didn't occur and finally the determination to figure out exactly where he was was strong enough to make him straighten up. He opened the door and found a small compact living space equivalent to an RV. Lining a skinny walkway was a couch on one side, made of durable and horribly patterned material that looked scratchy at best. Across from it was a dinette, the C shaped booth made from the same irritable fabric. Beside the dinette was a sink, counter space and the smallest of ovens and microwaves. On the other side of the couch was a set of stairs that disappeared, leading to the only other place there was to go in this pocket sized house that was still rocking back and forth incessantly.
With hands outstretched and using the table for balance, ignoring how weak it was under his grip, he stepped down the walkway until the doorway with the stairs. When he looked to where the case led, he was pleasantly welcomed by a fraction of the brilliant blue sky, the door at the top of the stairs having been left open.
His hands took either side of the enclosed staircase and helped propel him upwards, towards the waiting world. It was nearly too bright to see when he finally came to the open door and a hand went up to shield his eyes so he could take in more of his surroundings. The source of the rocking was finally identified at an expanse of blue ocean as far as the horizon dared to go. The blue was only slightly deeper than the cloudless sky and the sun was warm against his skin, though the breeze that came off the water was chilly and light with a salty mist.
A boat. He was on a boat. He turned slowly around and found that this was the only boat in sight, the skyline bare on all sides of him. The sun was high above indicating midday and giving him no indication of which direction he was facing.
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.
"How long-" Hannibal broke off, the strain of using his voice far too painful for him to continue.
"It was hard for me to speak at first too. We'll make you some tea in a bit," Will offered. Hannibal opened his eyes, head tilting to the side to find the still kind smile on his lips, though his gaze stayed focused out at the sea opposite them. "I'll try to answer all of your questions the best I can. I don't remember much. Chiyoh would be the best one to talk to if you want anything solid."
Hannibal licked his dry lips, his mind scrambling for something before the darkness that he had just awoken from. Cold, crushing darkness. Deeper than the sleep he had been in. Water rushed about him, roaring in his ears. His heart beat fiercely in his chest and his air was ripped from his lungs.
There were bright lights mixed with yells, the voices far too muffled for him to make out any words. Beyond the blurs, there wasn't much left there for him to piece together. Pain was present in dizzying quantities.
He struggled for a clearer picture, after the rush of air and the water that got closer and closer, but there was only one thing that stuck out sharply in his memory. Will's voice, stronger above everything else, and so intently demanding.
"Stay alive, you motherfucker!"
A smile pulled at the corner of Hannibal's lips as the words echoed there on repeat for him.
"I take it, you remember some of it," Will muttered and Hannibal gave a light nod in answer. "Chiyoh pulled me from the water first. I can only recall waking with a start on that couch and immediately trying to find you and you weren't there. I was still bloodied, but when I saw her taking care of you in the bedroom, I had to help." Hannibal watched Will's face as Will described the events, taking in any small expression. "Couldn't walk." Will reached down and pulled at the leg of his jeans, hiking them up enough to reveal a heavy spidering pattern of bruising from his ankle upward that disappeared under more of the fabric. "Chiyoh said that a wave smashed me up against a rock. I don't think it's broken, but we haven't stopped anywhere inland for me to get it checked out yet."
Hannibal opened his mouth to argue, to reprimand, but sighed and closed his mouth again, feeling the way that his throat kept all the words trapped in it. They hadn't gotten Will proper medical help. He could have torn something and was making it worse by walking on it, making it unable to heal the more he used it, but they didn't know. Didn't have a clue. But then what about his own injuries?
"She took care of you first," Will pressed on, pulling the jeans back down. "You got sick. It was bad. You stopped breathing once and..." he trailed off and Hannibal took in the way that Will's brows furrowed, but swiftly softened with a laugh. "That was a long night. But your fever eventually broke." Will gave a shrug as if it were just another day. And maybe it had become routine by then. Making sure that he didn't die. "You were out for about a week. We were able to wake you enough to keep you hydrated. Ran a saline drip for a while."
Will finally turned to look over Hannibal and Hannibal felt his eyes slip closed as Will's calloused fingers slipped over his cheek, gently caressing. His touch was warm.
"You haven't eaten in a bit. Your face is thinner," Will muttered. "We'll get you something to eat in a moment." Hannibal nodded in understanding and his eyes opened slowly as Will's hand left his face. "Chiyoh and I have been navigating our way to Trinidad, but there was a really bad storm one night that blew us off course. We've been trying not to be active on the radio and so we don't know exactly where we are, but we're pretty certain we're-"
Hannibal didn't care where they were. All he cared about was Will's well being. Will's words dropped when Hannibal returned the gesture, taking his face in both of his hands and turning it to the side to better see the mess that was there. Hannibal's lips turned into a disapproving frown and he ran a finger down the stitching.
"That bad, huh?" Will asked back, though he chuckled. "I'll need to see a dentist when we stop too. Broke a good few of my molars apart." Will pulled back and opened his mouth to reveal chipped, broken and split teeth. "Can only chew on this side." Will pointed to the good one with another laugh. Hannibal's features twisted to one of concern and he brushed back curl's from Will's face. "I'm alright. Promise." Hannibal's hand dropped to Will's shoulder, where the bandaging was and Will nodded. "I'm stitched up there too. I promise yours are much prettier than mine."
Will exhaled deeply and returned his gaze to the ocean ahead of them. Despite the pain, the hurt, everything that was still wrong with his body, Will's spirits seemed high. That little smile didn't leave his lips. He looked at peace.
Three Months Later
The sun was warm as it set in deep oranges. It turned the horizon of the ocean a rich royal blue painted with marmalade that left sea brine kisses against the sandy shore as the waves licked at it.
Hannibal watched as Will, still with the slightest limp, made his way back up from where he had been standing in the shallows, nothing more than a glowing silhouette against the setting sun.
Hannibal had wanted to get Will's leg looked at much sooner than they had been able to, the ligaments having been torn and needing surgery to fix. He had just gotten off his crutches that morning and had been at the beach since they had arrived back home.
Home. Their new home sat on the cliff face above, large glass windows faced their private beach so that Hannibal could cook and Will could drink his morning coffee while watching the sun rise. The smell of the ocean breeze was always present in the house and Hannibal didn't mind the way that Will's once pale skin was now a lovely golden color.
"Are you ready for tonight?" Will questioned with a soft smile, coming to sit in the sand beside where Hannibal was lazily lounged out with a glass of wine in one hand and an unread book held open in the other.
Hannibal sat upright, the book and wine set aside so he could put his already full attention more so on Will.
"Yes, he replied. "I thought I should be asking you that."
"I'm fine," Will said with a shake of his head. "Leg is back to normal." Hannibal did his best to give Will an incredulous expression, having had to learn to lean on them a bit more to get his point across. He hated that he could no longer hide certain things safely behind his person suit, but Will would always be welcomed behind it. "OK, it's a bit weak. But I'll be fine. And when the fuck is Bedelia ever gonna be on another random vacation down here? This may be the only chance we have."
Hannibal answered in a nod. Will was right. They might not have the opportunity present itself so cleanly to them again. And South America was a rough place. People went missing constantly and were never seen again.
"There are many things I have to say to her," Hannibal sighed and Will tilted his head to the side. "I don't know if I can exactly voice them though."
"I'm fine translating your thoughts. Though I doubt it will have the same finesse." Will crawled forward at a frown from Hannibal and Hannibal let himself be kissed, momentarily forgetting the way that the ocean had stolen his voice from him. He supposed he could trade something as trivial as his voice if he got to keep Will by his side. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"Please be careful," Will teased and Hannibal was gifted another kiss. "Need to save your words for later when I take you in her warm blood. Your sounds are always so sweet."
Hannibal's lips picked up in a smile. Will had been so gentle with everything, had been the positive force between them with that same peaceful look across his features as was there the day that Hannibal woke up on that sail boat.
"Let's get cleaned up. I'm getting hungry and you have yet to tell me how you're preparing her for dinner."