Again he finds Will in his waiting room, agitated, lost, clearly with no idea of how he got there.

Enough is enough.

He takes Will through to the office and takes off his own coat, his own tie, his waistcoat.

He puts gentle hands on Will�s shoulders to ground him, lifts one and sweeps the beanie hat from his head.

Will�s still panicked, unsettled, close to an attack.

He murmurs, �Easy,� and unzips his jacket, every movement slow, every gesture deliberate. �Sit down,� he whispers and applies the slightest pressure to Will�s shoulders so that he perches on the edge of the wide consulting couch in the centre of the room.

Hannibal keeps one hand on Will�s right shoulder as he walks about the head of the couch and sits too, behind his patient and his friend, slowly brings his legs up and lies down on his side, makes himself comfortable.

�Lie down, Will,� he says, his voice barely audible, pulling him ever so gently back. Will comes as he�s led, lifting his legs, settling his shoulder and his head against the back of the couch.

Hannibal moves his hand so slowly from Will�s shoulder, down his arm, lifting it to settle it very surely on his hip.

�Close your eyes.� He makes it a suggestion, not a command. �You�re safe here. I�ll keep you safe. Sleep without dreams.�

He knows when Will closes his eyes. Knows when he lets all the hell in his head go for just a little whole and lets himself rest. He kisses the thick hair on the back of Will�s head and closes his own eyes. He doesn�t sleep. He won�t sleep. He won�t let Will down.

When he tries to move, Hannibal holds him in place with that one hand on his hip and the tension goes away. He relaxes, returns to a deep sleep.