A/N: This was written as a fill on the Hannibal kinkmeme. The prompt was:

"I would like to see Hannibal speaking his native language while not fully in control of himself (for example, he may be drugged or talking in his sleep or something). He's clearly upset or panicking (a panic attack, or nightmare?), and keeps repeating certain phrases.

I would like someone (Will, or a member of forensics) to hear him and attempt to comfort him in his distress. I would quite like for that someone to remember some of what he says and to seek a translation."

The case that Jack has Will working on has been screaming "surgeon" at him even before he saw the bodies. Price, Zeller, and Katz all back him up, attesting that only someone with a surgical background would have the know-how to dismantle the bodies in the way they were found. With that and some other information that Will is able to gleam from the crime scene, Jack has a list of potential suspects before the end of the day. Scanning the list, some of the names seem to jump out at Will; he's sure he must have heard or read the names somewhere before. Perhaps Hannibal had mentioned them as one of his old colleagues or med-school peers, and the names had lodged in his brain.

He offers to take the list with him when he goes to see Hannibal for their weekly session that night; maybe Hannibal will recognize one of the names and provide them with more information. Jack allows it, but as he's handing the list over, he says,

"Listen, if you think you've got a jump on any of these names, I'm the first person you call. I'd be going over there myself tonight if Bella and I didn't already have plans."

"You got it, Jack," Will says, folding the list and stuffing it in his back pocket.

He's getting into his car when he realizes his mistake. Every Thursday evening for the past few months, Will has been visiting Hannibal for his unofficial "therapy" sessions, which have become an instinctive part of Will's schedule. However, last week Hannibal had informed Will that the following Thursday, today, he wouldn't be able to meet at their normal time. They had rescheduled for Friday instead.

Will pulls his phone out from his front pocket and attempts to call Hannibal, trying to see if he can meet with him anyway to discuss the case. When Hannibal doesn't answer, Will leaves a message, hoping Hannibal that will get it and call him back. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of his car in thought, Will decides to make the drive over to see if he can find Hannibal himself. With a potential lead so close, Will would hate to leave talking to Hannibal until the following day. Besides, he'd rather not have Jack breathing down his neck when he talks to Hannibal about it, which is what Jack will be doing if he waits.

It takes Will forty-five minutes to drive to Hannibal's office, but he can tell as he drives up that Hannibal isn't there. The windows in the building are dark, and there are no cars parked next to the curb out front. Will turns around and decides to pass by Hannibal's place as well. After coming all this way, it would be pointless not to check, although Will's already resigned himself to the fact that Hannibal is probably out somewhere attending a dinner party at some colleague's house.

A light in one of the windows and Hannibal's car in the driveway surprises Will, and he pulls along the curb in front of the elegant house. He checks to make sure the list is still tucked in his back pocket before getting out of the car and making his way to the front door. When Hannibal doesn't answer the door after five minutes of Will's insistent knocking, Will peeks in through the front window, but the room behind it is dark. Thinking that maybe Hannibal is upstairs or perhaps doing something in the kitchen, Will tries the door and finds it unlocked.

He feels a little like he's breaking and entering as he steps into the front hall, and he hopes that Hannibal will forgive him for this glaring breach of etiquette. From somewhere within the house, Will thinks he hears the sound of Hannibal's voice, and something about the wisps of it that reach his ears makes Will suddenly concerned.

"Hannibal?" he calls.

The voice stops, but there is no answer. Will walks down the hall and into the kitchen where the light is on. There is no sign of Hannibal, though a wine corkscrew lies abandoned on the counter, looking slightly out of place in the otherwise orderly kitchen. Will takes a moment to glance into the dark dining room, but it too is unoccupied. Passing back through the kitchen, he finds another hallway that contains the back stairwell, and down this hallway a door is ajar, soft light leaking out from the room behind it.

". . . Hannibal?" Will pushes the door open to find what looks to be Hannibal's study, all dark wood and ornate furnishings.

When Will sees the man he's been trying to find, his heart sinks into his stomach, and he immediately regrets his intrusion. Hannibal is sitting at his desk, elbows resting on its surface with his face hidden in his hands, behind which muffled words and quiet sobs are emerging. His hair is disheveled, his untamed bangs hanging down over his covered face. Beside him on the desk sits an empty bottle and a half finished glass of red wine.

Shit, Will thinks. For a long moment, he stands there indecisively, unsure of whether he should leave or at the very least attempt to see if Hannibal is okay.

"Hannibal?" He asks uncertainly, "Are - are you alright?"

At the sound of his voice, Hannibal raises his face from his hands. His eyes are red and swollen, and the lines on his face seem darker than usual, as if gravity has increased its weight on him.

"Mischa?" Hannibal asks, his voice constricted with what to Will sounds like grief. His eyes are unfocused, and Will wonders if he actually knows that someone is standing in the room with him.

"Mischa?" Will repeats, confused, "No, Hannibal, it's me, Will."

Hannibal drops his head back into his hands, and his shoulders start to shake as tears seep between his fingers. In between sobs, Hannibal is saying something in a language that Will doesn't understand. He keeps hearing the name 'Mischa,' but the rest is muffled by Hannibal's hands.

Hannibal is completely undone, and Will is at a loss for what to do, disconcerted at seeing this normally so well-composed man clearly in pain before him. Taking a few uncertain steps toward the desk, Will notices one of Hannibal's suit jackets crumpled on the floor next to him. He picks it up and places it on a small decorative table before approaching Hannibal. Reaching out cautiously, Will places a gentle hand on his arm.

"Hey, Hannibal, listen, it's going to be okay," Will tries to assure, but when Hannibal feels the touch on his arm, he lets out an anguished cry and turns toward Will to clutch Will's shirt in his hands. He rests his forehead against Will's chest and his shoulders shake as he continues rambling on, slurring together unfamiliar words.

"Atleisk man . . . atleisk man . . ." Will feels hot tears seeping into the fabric of his shirt. "Aš negalėjau išgelbėti jus . . . Mischa . . ."

Will can smell the wine on Hannibal, and he wonders if the bottle had been full earlier this evening.

"It's okay. It's okay, everything's okay," Will tries to soothe, patting Hannibal awkwardly on the back.

"Aš nežinojau . . . kaip apsaugoti jus . . . atleisk man." The words are choked and strained.

Will allows Hannibal to cling to him, pressing a still hand against his back as Hannibal's body shakes. A torrent of pleading words tumbles from Hannibal's lips, great sobs and gasps for air punctuating the slurred soliloquy. It feels a long time that he is like this. Many minutes pass, the silence in the room filled only by Hannibal's crying, until, eventually, the tremors and tears begin to subside, replaced by a calm only brought on by exhaustion. Hannibal's breathing evens out, but he is still clutching onto Will, who feels his attempts to comfort the desperate man are nothing but inadequate.

Will sighs. "I guess I better get you upstairs," saying it more to himself than to Hannibal, who, Will is pretty sure, is too far gone to really know what's happening.

Will attempts to get Hannibal to uncurl his fingers from his shirt, and, with persuasive touches, Hannibal complies, slowly unclenching his fists. Stepping to one side, Will grasps Hannibal's upper arm with one hand and and places the other on the small of Hannibal's back. Hannibal follows the pressure of Will's hands and stands up, swaying dangerously without the chair underneath him. Will steadies Hannibal quickly and begins to guide him out of the study.

"Atleisk man, Mischa . . ." Hannibal is still rambling, but the unbridled emotion that had incapacitated him before has passed.

Slowly, Will leads Hannibal up the back staircase, keeping him steady as best he can. Though he has never been on the upper floor of the house before, it does not take Will long to locate what is either Hannibal's bedroom or an extremely well-furnished guest room. Not really caring which it is, Will brings Hannibal to the bed and has the man sit down on the edge of the mattress. As Will removes Hannibal's tie and waistcoat, unbuttoning the cuffs and top button of his oxford shirt, and then his shoes and belt, Hannibal stares blankly ahead, jaw slack, eyes bloodshot.

Will places the articles of clothing on the dresser before getting Hannibal to lie down. When Will swings Hannibal's legs onto the bed, Hannibal's tear-crusted eyes meet his own,

"Mischa," he whispers.

Will shakes his head. "It's okay Hannibal, everything's okay now."

"Aš negalėjau juos sustabdyti tada, Mischa. Prašau, atleisk man . . ." His voice cracks. Resting his head on the pillow, Hannibal closes his eyes and is silent.

The distressed look on Hannibal's face makes Will's stomach turn, but there is nothing more that he can do, so he leaves Hannibal and returns to the study where he turns off the light and collects the empty bottle and half-filled glass. Before shutting off the light in the kitchen, Will dumps the wine down the sink and rinses out the glass, placing it on a towel next to the sink when he is done. He shuts off the kitchen light, exits the house, and pulls the front door closed behind him, wishing he could lock it as he leaves.

The forty-five minute drive back to his own home feels short with his mind preoccupied with concern for the man he has just left. Will feels guilty, seeing his friend in such a state. It was like seeing him naked, the normally composed and pristine Dr. Lecter disheveled with all his defenses down. Curiosity nags at Will, wondering what it was that put Hannibal in such a state. And the phrase that he kept repeating, 'atleisk man,' what did that mean? Part of him wants to ask what it was all about, but that would be an intrusion into Hannibal's personal life that Will doesn't feel comfortable making.

His dogs greet him when he gets home, and he's forgotten all about the list of names in his back pocket.

The next day when Will is waiting in the morgue for Jack and the forensics team, part of his curiosity gets the better of him, and he pulls up a translator on his phone. Since he has no idea how to spell the phrase Hannibal had been using, he flips through the different languages and attempts to speak the words into his phone, trying to get the application to recognize it.

"Atleisk man . . . atleisk man." He's still repeating it when Katz, Price, and Zeller walk in.

"Atleisk man."

"Why, what have you done?" Price asks.

Will's head snaps up, "What?"

" 'Atleisk man.' It means 'forgive me' in Lithuanian." Price explains.

"You speak Lithuanian?" Beverly asks, incredulous.

"Well, yes. That and the two other Baltic languages."

Zeller throws up his hands and rolls his eyes in a show of disgust.

"But what are you doing attempting Lithuanian, Will, and rather poorly at that?" questions Price, lifting an eyebrow.

Will wracks his brain for a suitable excuse, "I, uh, was walking through the lobby and someone bumped into me and said that. I was trying to figure out what they were saying."

"Mm-hm, yeah. Okay." Beverly clearly doesn't believe a word of it, but before she can call him out, Jack bursts through the doors to the morgue with a look of solid determination.

"Will," he barks, "How'd it go last night with Dr. Lecter?"

"Um, well, it didn't, actually. I forgot that we had rescheduled my session for Friday this week, so I haven't actually talked to him yet."

Jack eyes Will with a look of disapproval before turning to the other three who are grinning at his annoyance. "Why don't one of you make yourselves useful and call Dr. Lecter and tell him that I need him to get down here as soon as possible."

"No need, I'm already here."

All five of them turn to see Hannibal walking into the morgue, looking tired but as put together as always. Jack assesses the dark circles under his eyes.

"Late night, Dr. Lecter?"

"I'm afraid it was, Jack." Hannibal gives a calculated half smile. "Will left a message on my phone saying that you had a list of names you wanted me to look at for a case. It sounded urgent, so I thought I would make my way down here this morning to see if I could be of any service."

As Jack commands Hannibal's attention, Will is left to mull over the events of the previous night. So Hannibal had been repeating "forgive me" over and over? And who was Mischa? Obviously something had happened to them that Hannibal feels guilty about or responsible for. Will shakes his head; it's too much to guess over. Watching Hannibal talk with Jack, it's hard to believe the state that Will had found him in last night. The only clue that anything out of the ordinary had occurred was the tiredness in Hannibal's eyes. Jack had noticed too.

Will doesn't know if Hannibal remembers his appearance in his house last night, but if he does, he doesn't say anything about it. And neither does Will, to Hannibal or anyone else. Whatever that night had meant to Hannibal, that he had canceled his appointments for the day and drunk himself into an emotional stupor in his study, Will decides that he allows Hannibal the privacy of keeping those secrets to himself.

Translations:

Mischa - referring to Hannibal's deceased younger sister, Mischa Lecter
Atleisk man - forgive me
Aš negalėjau išgelbėti jus - I could not save you
Aš nežinojau kaip apsaugoti jus - I did not know how to protect you
Aš negalėjau juos sustabdyti tada. Prašau, atleisk man. - I could not stop them then. Please, forgive me.

Thank you to fanfiction user MelloRawr for correcting the translations of the above.