Chapter Text
Will sat in a camping chair, Walmart shoppers wandering by him, staring at a wall of halogen lamps . He could buy one, buy a tent, a sleeping bag, even the nylon chair he was sitting on. He could put it on his credit card, run home, pack the dogs into his car and drive into Wolf Trap National Park. If he ditched the car properly and hiked in, staying along the creek and keeping to the tree line, he and the boys probably wouldn’t be found for months, years if he was lucky.
Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana.
Will let his head fall to his hands. Why had that sounded so good? There was something in Hannibal’s eyes, a plea, that had made Will’s chest burn hot and tight. Will felt his denial on his tongue, bitter and heavy as it waited to be unleashed. He’d set too many things in motion to be robbed of his catch now. Even if it meant denying himself along with Hannibal.
But he hadn’t said it. He’d leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s. The doctor was shocked by the action too, an eerie stillness settling into the man as Will brought his hands to Hannibal’s cheeks. It didn’t take long for Will to reel back, a breath, maybe two, but he knew the trap had been sprung too soon. He’d managed to snare them both instead of just the man before him.
Hannibal had opened his mouth, raising a hand to Will as the empath scrambled backwards. If the doctor had wanted to immobilize Will, he could have, but instead he simply called after his stumbling form. Will could hear Hannibal’s voice as he raced for his car.
His fingers didn’t seem to work, his vision was foggy. For a moment, Will wondered if Hannibal had drugged him again. But as he put miles and state lines between himself and the FBI’s most wanted serial killer, Will felt his systems come back online. He wasn’t drugged, just high on adrenaline, guilt, and something darker that tugged his blood south and made saliva pool in his mouth – it was a heady combination he was eager to be rid of.
He raced into his house, letting out the dogs and slopping huge portions of food into each of their bowls. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back, when Hannibal, and later Jack, would come looking for him. It was better to let them glut themselves now and be sure their bellies were full until he could call Alana.
Winston and Buster chased his car for nearly a mile as he pulled away from the house. He left all the lights on and the door wide open. An illuminated boat on the ocean for the dogs to return to, a shelter to keep them safe while he figured out what to do. If he went back tonight, he’d probably find a raccoon or two in his kitchen, but the dogs would have their beds and a familiar place to sleep.
He’d driven aimlessly until he saw a Walmart sign glowing in the midst of a shopping center. They were open 24 hours and he was pretty sure they were warded to keep the likes of Hannibal Lecter from ever entering their doors. It would be a safe place to think. He needed to figure out what to tell Jack. What to tell Hannibal. What the hell to tell himself.
Will dug his hands into his hair, tugging at the strands he snared. The sound of nylon shifting made him still, but he didn’t look up – there was no need to.
“If you’re looking for conditioner, I believe that’s in aisle seven,” Hannibal said, his shiny loafers entering Will’s field of vision. “Though I don’t imagine my preferred brand is carried here.”
“You found me fast.” Will mumbled, letting his fingers sink into his scalp.
“Not as fast as I would have liked.” The camper chair beside his own shifted again. “Did you know there is a sale on boots at the Bass Pro Shop?”
Will huffed a laugh. None of this was funny, none of it, but his mind couldn’t help but conjure an image of Hannibal carefully scrutinizing a pair of waterproof oilcloth boots, asking a befuddled teenage employee if they came in a fawn color.
“They finally believe me.” Will said to his shoes. “Jack, Alana, everyone. They see you.”
Hannibal scoffed, the shoes left Will’s sightline. “They may believe, but they don’t see, not really. You’ve replaced their image of me with that of a monster, but that’s hardly an accurate picture, is it?”
Will looked up, sneering. “Yes, it is.”
Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “Then you should call for help. Let the security guards here know the Chesapeake Ripper is encamped under a blue light, waiting for the halogen lamps to go two-for-one.”
“You don’t think I won’t? I could call Jack right now-”
“You could have called him when you left my home. You could have called him before you came to dinner,” Hannibal’s face remained a mask but the corner of his eye narrowed just a bit. “I can only assume it was his idea for you to kiss me? A clumsy step after such an elaborate seduction.”
Will flushed, his mouth thinning to a firm line. It was most certainly not Jack’s idea, though he wished to Christ he could blame it on him. He looked at the floor, that tight feeling in his chest returning.
“I suppose the dance of the seven veils would have been too obvious for even Uncle Jack, but I’m surprised you agreed to something so base.” Hannibal sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking like a monarch on a neon green throne.
“You allowed it to happen,” Will accused. “You could have stopped me.”
“I was curious.” Hannibal allotted, a minute nod of his head.
“To see if I would go through with it?”
“To see if you would enjoy it.”
Will could feel his cheeks burning. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Perhaps not to you, but it does to me,” Hannibal picked up a pool float box, a unicorn inflatable, and studied the image of the family on the front.
“How?”
“I feel conflicted over your allowing Ms. Lounds to live.” Hannibal’s finger traced the blonde hair of the little girl atop the unicorn. “It would be a bit of comfort to know that you felt some conflict about allowing me to die.”
“No, not die.”
Hannibal looked up, an amused expression. “Do you think Uncle Jack plans to take the Ripper alive?”
“He does,” Will said fiercely. “I don’t want him to take your life.”
“Just my freedom, then?” Hannibal sat the box back on the display, adjusting it so it was exactly centered. “Cruel boy, using your love to lure me into a cage.”
“If you knew, why did you let me?”
"You know the answer." Hannibal smiled. “I believe that’s why we’re sitting in the camping aisle.”
Will opened his mouth to argue. But something cold stirred in the base of his brain. Something like animal panic. He might know the reason, and it was more frightening than he thought.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m waiting for you to make your decision.”
“I made it.”
Hannibal sat back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Then I suppose we’re waiting for the SWAT team.”
Will scrounged in his pocket, pulling out his phone and scrolling to Jack’s number. Hannibal watched impassively. Will dialed, Hannibal’s face remained still.
“Will. Will? Any news from Lecter?”
Will watched Hannibal, eyes burning. “Had dinner with him.”
“Anything we can move on?” Will’s heart was beating too fast, he was getting that drugged feeling again. “WILL. Do you have any evidence? Did he make any threats? I need something concrete.”
Hannibal raised a hand, making vague stabbing motions in the air. He looked so fucking smug, so sure of himself. Will hated that he was right.
“Not yet. But I’m working on an angle.”
“You have until my dinner on Tuesday, the warrants should be in order then.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Let me worry about that.” Jack hung up the phone. Will stared at it.
“If we’re to wait here until Tuesday, I think I would like to investigate another chair, perhaps the one with the built-in shade that reclines?” Hannibal struggled only slightly as he stood.
“You’re so fucking sure aren’t you?” Will stood, lip curling. He clenched the phone in his hand trying to convince himself to redial.
“Of myself? Usually. Of you? Never.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “But it’s fascinating to see what you do.”
“I’ll call him back.”
“You might.”
Will let his head drop, just slightly. “Go. Just... go. Let Jack find you missing when he comes to dinner.”
Hannibal tilted his head. “Will you be missing as well?”
Will shook his head.
Hannibal turned. “I’ll procure a cart, we’ll need it for the sundries.”
The doctor hadn’t walked three steps before Will found himself following. That drugged feeling making the blood hammer in his ears. “Sundries?”
“I think perhaps you operate more effectively on a deadline.” Hannibal selected a cart, grimacing slightly as he set his hand upon the sticky handle. “Jack has given you until Tuesday, I’ll give you until Monday night.”
“To what?” Will fell into step behind Hannibal following him to the produce section. “Develop a taste for murder?”
"That, you have." Hannibal regarded him for a long moment over a head of lettuce. “But I have other questions regarding your palate.”
Will frowned, “And how will you determine my palate, Dr. Lecter?”
Hannibal smiled, picking up a container of pomegranate seeds and considering it before placing it in the cart. “An extended observation, I think.”
“Going to have me locked up again?”
“No, I think you’ll find incarceration hurts both of us.” A few lemons and a bag of potatoes were added to the cart. “We are more interesting together than apart.”
Will raised an eyebrow at this. The chill of the meat aisle made him shiver as they approached the bloody packages. “You want to give me a chance to test that theory?”
“I will. On Monday, or at any moment when you decide my company has become tedious.” Hannibal was examining a duck breast, poking at it through the plastic. When he was satisfied, he added two to the cart. “Uncle Jack and your salvation are just a phone call away.”
“You’ll just let me call. Take everything away from you?”
“I let you call five minutes ago.” Hannibal steered them toward the clothing aisle. He studied a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Is your home cold or warm at night?”
Will blinked.
Hannibal blinked back, that amused expression curling at the very tip of his lips.
“You’re suggesting a sleepover?”
“If you’d like.” Will opened his mouth, but Hannibal held up a hand. “Nothing salacious, you understand, just some time, a few days for you to decide. Call it a long weekend, if you’d like.”
“So… a timeout? We just pretend you’re not a cannibal and you try to woo me for a few days?” Will scrunched his brow.
Hannibal smiled. “We won’t pretend anything. You did want honesty, did you not?”
“I-”
“I expect honesty from you as well, then.” Hannibal tossed a shirt into the cart along with the pants.
“What if I don’t decide in your favor?”
“Then you and Jack will have the honor of catching the Ripper.”
“Just like that?”
“Just so.” Hannibal looked over his cart full of box-mart food and clothes. “Do you need anything? Perhaps a hairbrush?”
“What if I call Jack back, right now?”
“You’ve already put your phone away.” Hannibal tilted his head. “Must one have a membership card to shop here or may I check out?”
Will looked at his empty hands. He didn’t remember pocketing his phone. He seemed to forget a lot of things when Hannibal was around.
“Don’t worry yourself, Will, I’ll just ask the young lady snapping her chewing gum at the counter.” Hannibal spun the cart around and started for the checkout lanes, leaving Will clench his hands and stare at his feet.
He should call Jack back. He should rush home and get his rifle. He should do anything but follow Hannibal to checkout lane three. He walked up to the doctor, letting his hand drop on the fine fabric that covered Hannibal’s shoulder.
“I’ll see you at home.”
The lights were still on and the doors still open when Will pulled into the drive. One dog laid on the porch and Will could guess its identity before he got close enough to see Winston’s sandy fur. The other dogs ran out, save for Buster, who Will presumed was likely passed out on the bed, exhausted after chasing the car.
Buster was snoring on the bed, as predicted, and offered no welcome as Will tromped through the room. Will bent to let the others sniff his hands and lick his fingers, tasting his journey and probably his building anxiety. When they had finished their greeting, Will moved to the drawer where he kept the rifle’s bullets, emptying the box into his jacket pockets.
There were no raccoons in the kitchen, but the air buzzed with mosquitos and flies. He had the odd urge to clean, run a cloth over every dingy surface before Hannibal arrived. He considered hanging some fly paper, but something about it seemed crass. He could see Hannibal’s mouth thinning as he regarded the spools of brown sticky paper hanging from the ceiling. Instead, Will closed the doors and took the dogs out for one last run. Buster remained on the bed, still snoring.
The headlights from the Bentley drew the dogs from the woods. They circled around the car as it pulled to a stop behind Will’s. When Hannibal opened the door, he was greeted with yips and wagging tails – they remembered him. Will tried not to think too hard about the last treat Hannibal had brought them, or how he’d given up cleaning Mason’s blood from the wood floor and bought an area rug.
Laden with Walmart bags and surrounded by dogs, Hannibal was an odd sight as he marched across the lawn toward Will’s house. Some sort of dark omen, bearing five-for-three lemons and a pack of store-brand underwear.
“SWAT team had trouble finding the place?” He asked cheerfully, as he strode inside. Will frowned at him and reached into his pocket, the weight of his phone a small comfort as Hannibal breached his fort.
Will stayed outside longer than necessary, the dogs had long abandoned him for the interloper, and frost was beginning to build on the grass and leaves. He watched for long minutes as Hannibal made himself at home, a blotch of black parading around the bright innards of his house, putting away groceries and unpacking bags.
When he could feel fine tremors turning into outright shakes, Will relented and walked back into the house. Winston waited on the porch for him, following his master inside on uncertain paws.
“It’s temporary.” Will wasn’t sure if it was a promise to himself or the dog. Before entering the house, Will opened his phone to a recording app, and hit the start button.
It was annoying how effectively Hannibal had consumed his space. A fire was crackling happily in the living room, a steaming mug of spiced tea waited for him on the table, and the dogs milled around his legs as he carefully chopped something on the counter.
“Make yourself at home,” Will said sourly. He clutched the tea in his cold hands, telling himself he wouldn’t drink it.
“I have, thank you.” Hannibal turned to offer Will a smile. “Why are you carrying the bullets to your rifle with you?”
“Seemed like a good idea.”
“Did you think I’d attempt to shoot you?” Whatever Hannibal was chopping was scraped into a dish filled with liquids and vegetables. “Or were you planning on shooting me in the night?”
“I thought it was a good idea to have the option.”
“Feel free to put the bullets back in the drawer by the bed.” Hannibal waved a hand dismissively at Will. “I’ve no interest in firearms.”
“Thanks.” Will sipped the tea, then paused. Hannibal knew where the bullets were. Hell, he probably knew every inch of the house. “How many times have you been here?”
“Several.”
“And how many of those times were invited?”
“I looked after your dogs, if you recall.”
“And looked in my drawers.”
“I think it’s rather clear I have an interest in your drawers.”
Will rolled his eyes and took another sip of tea, hoping it would cover the heat seeping into his cheeks.
“I’ve prepped lunch and breakfast, if you’re amenable, I thought we could discuss a few things before bed.”
Will waved his hand to his bed. Hannibal breezed by him and sat in one of the high-backed chairs Will had found along the highway. He’d spent a weekend fumigating the thing and installing a new leg. The stain in the new wood never quite matched the old, but it was close enough for his needs.
“Why haven’t you called Jack, yet?”
Will sat on the bed, holding the tea up between them. Hannibal’s face wavered in the steam.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“That, we both know the answer to.”
“I don’t.”
“Why did Jack tell you to kiss me, Will?”
Will’s fingers tightened around the mug. In for a penny, in for a pound. “He didn’t.”
Hannibal’s brows raised at this, and something close to genuine shock passed over his eyes before receding into the depths of his people suit. “An improvisation, then?”
“A mistake.”
Hannibal’s head moved almost imperceptibly, a nod. “Then we return to the initial question, I’m afraid: Why am I not in FBI custody?”
“You’ve avoided it for years.”
“And yet I could not avoid you.”
“Does that make me skilled or you foolish?”
This time, a smile lingered on Hannibal’s face. “I have a suspicion that both are true.”
“Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“You’re not a hostage, Will.”
“A serial killer who framed me for murder is in my home.”
Hannibal lifted his hands, palms turning up in his version of a shit happens gesture.
“Why are you here? Why aren’t you in Europe, eating fancy French people with capers and good wine?”
Hannibal folded his hands in his lap. “You already know the answer.”
“I don’t.”
Hannibal settled back in the chair. “Fearing the answer and not knowing the answer are different, Will. You can’t keep feigning ignorance and professing to speak truth.”
Will licked his lips, he took another long pull from his mug before setting it on the nightstand. His shaking fingers found Winston’s ear. “What are you hoping to gain by this, Hannibal?”
“A choice.”
“And if my choice disappoints you?”
“I have only been disappointed in you once,” Hannibal’s fingers stiffened slightly.
“Lounds.”
“I admit I was unprepared for the… reaction that provoked.”
“I betrayed you.”
“I wonder if you did.”
Will leaned forward. Winston licked his hand. “What?”
“You’re aware of my sense of smell, you’re aware of my fondness for…certain scents,” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. Will pictured the doctor, inhaling deeply whenever Will walked by him. “And yet you made no attempt to remove her scent from your person before coming to see me.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Was it? Or was it a cruel taunt?” Hannibal’s eyes seemed fathomless as he watched Will. The empath felt like an exposed nerve, bright and sensitive in the open air. “Did you want me to know of your betrayal, Will?”
“No. I wanted to catch you.”
Hannibal spread his hands. “And yet I am free.”
“I- There’s nothing to prosecute. It’s all circumstantial.”
“I helped you dispose of a body. I helped Abigail Hobbs as well, which I admitted to you. Surely you could use those?”
“That’s not what I want.”
“Shall I give you what you want?”
Hannibal smiled, leaning forward. Will felt his whole body surge hot and cold as Hannibal’s face approached, inches from his own. He licked his lips, a blatant invitation for something he knew he shouldn’t want. Will leaned forward, just a fraction. Hannibal tilted his head down.
“I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper,” Hannibal addressed Will’s pocket. He looked up, eyes dancing as he watched Will tremble. “There. Surely even Jack could make something of that?”
“I’m tired.” It was true. Will had never felt so bone tired in his life. Even when the encephalitis was burning his brain, chasing him through forests with specters of the man before him, he hadn’t felt so helplessly weary.
“Yes, well, we have a whole weekend to look forward to, don’t we?” Hannibal moved back so quickly, Will felt dizzy in his absence. He watched as Hannibal fished a few items from a bag before turning to Will. “Would you mind terribly if I used the bathroom first?”
Will made a sweeping motion with his hand. When the bathroom door clicked shut, he considered propping a chair against it and calling Jack. He got up, kicking off his shoes and padding quietly to the door. He could hear water running and the faint sound of scraping. It seemed so odd to think Hannibal Lecter did something as mundane as brushing his teeth. Of course, he’d need his teeth in good form to bite into all that human flesh he consumed…
Will shook his head, starting when he realized his hand was resting on the door. He drew it back quickly, examining it as if it had been burned. Sticking his hand in his pocket he drew out his phone, it was still recording.
Walking over to the bar, he poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, tossing it back as he thumbed through the recording’s play bar.
-at’s not what I want… Shall I give you what you want?...I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper… There. Surely Ja-
Will rewound it again.
-want?...I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper…Th-
Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper
Will stared at the recording, thumb hovering over it. It was certainly enough for a warrant.
The door opened, and though he didn’t hear Hannibal in the room, he could feel his presence. “The bathroom is free.”
Will hit delete, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, thanks.”
Brushing by Hannibal, Will caught the scent of chemically mint toothpaste and drugstore soap, it seemed wrong on Hannibal’s skin.
He closed the bathroom door and locked it, immediately regretting the gesture. If Hannibal wanted to get in the room, a flimsy push-button lock wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, the action had probably brought that amused smirk back to the doctor’s soft lips.
Will felt a surge of panic prickling at the back of his neck. Who the fuck cared what his lips felt like? And why had he deleted that fucking recording?
Splashing water on his face, Will took out his toothbrush and tried to scrub the memory of Hannibal from his mouth. Hannibal would probably check his phone while Will slept. It was smart to get rid of the recording, he was just buying himself some time. He’d get a more thorough confession if he just played this out, anyway. He could call Jack the moment he got it.
Will spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth. He kept his eyes down, focused on the tendrils of blue toothpaste inching toward the drain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look in the mirror right now.